James Tiptree Jr. - Up the Walls of the World

But—but—what’s happening? In his total disorientation Dann is conscious of one overwhelming sensation: Joy. Somehow, he is living again the magic time of waking on Tyree. He pumps air, trying to savor the wonder of this release, only vaguely attending to the remembered action unreeling around him. But just as he hears his own voice speak, the illusion shivers and fades out, the joy evaporates.

He is back in reality, hanging in the dark wind-bottom of a burning world. Around him others are stirring; did they feel the strange thing too?

“Tivonel! What happened?”

She jets effortfully closer to him, towing her inadequate protection. Her burns and scars are back; all is as before.

“A great time eddy,” she tells him in the ghost of her old laughing voice. “They happen here. That One was nice, wasn’t it? I hope it comes back.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, look. How nasty.”

Dann has been noticing a sharp but oddly different squeal of pain from one of the Tyrenni groups. “What is it?”

“That child is draining its hurt into a plenya. What’s its Father thinking of?”

Probably of his child’s pain, like any normal parent, Dann thinks. But he admires this world’s ethics. Never add to another’s pain— even here in a world conflagration. He watches a nearby Father rouse himself and separate the child from its crying pet. The Father seems to be sheltering a child of his own, but he holds the errant one in contact beneath the shelter.

“Probably an orphan,” Tivonel says. “Poor thing.”

She goes back to the Hearers, and Dann nerves himself to “heal” Waxman’s blistered vanes. It’s not quite so bad this time; maybe he can do one more. Frodo is exposing her young body recklessly, trying to hold the shield in place over Val. He bullies her into letting him take over at the ropes.

The painful hours drag by. Two more time eddies pass, but they only yield brief interludes from their long progress down the Wall. It is eerie to see dead bodies stir to life. Dann hears again old Omar’s dying words: “Winds of Tyree… I come alone.”

The Sound is a frightful shriek now and the very air is scorching them. The shelters are all but useless. Dann can see a few crippled figures moving painfully from group to group; perhaps Tyrenni Healers. As he watches, one of them crumples and its field goes dark. All around, other Tyrenni bodies are drifting down toward the Abyss. Lomax and his Hearers are still at their vain efforts, their forms horribly blistered, their great fields weak and pale.

Winona’s voice speaks quietly beside him. “We’re dying, aren’t we, Doctor Dann?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’m glad I… knew it.”

“Yes.”

Not much longer now. They can’t take much more. Dann finds he cannot look toward the sad form of Tivonel. Under the human shelter, someone is trying not to groan. Dann can feel the pain that means he must act again. He sees that it’s Frodo; her small body has developed great rotted-out burns. Oh, no.

“Chris, take this rope a minute.”

He goes through the dreadful routine again. The sharp young agonies that jolt through him are almost beyond bearing, mingled with the real pain of his own now-blistered vanes. I can’t take this again; I can’t. Let it end.

As he is emerging from the invisible fires he becomes conscious of screaming or shouting outside. It’s coming from the Hearer group, but it is Tivonel’s burned mantle flashing wildly.

“That’s Giadoc! I heard him! Listen!”

“Be silent, female.” The big form beside her is barely recognizable as Bdello.

“It was his life-cry!” Tivonel flares stubbornly. “Listen, Lomax! It’s Giadoc, I know it.”

“It is only the Destroyer’s emanations,” Bdello says. “It calls us to our deaths.”

“Wait, Bdello.” The wounded form of Lomax struggles out of the shelter. “Wait. Help me.”

His weakened life-field probes painfully upward, reluctantly joined by Bdello’s. Tivonel hovers impatiently beside them, so excited that she dares to join her smaller energies to theirs.

After a long interval Lomax’ mantle lights.

“It is from the direction of the deathly one,” he signs feebly. “But it is Giadoc He calls us to come to him in the sky. We must form a Beam.”

His field collapses, and he drifts for a moment inert.

Bdello’s life-energy drops down and enfolds his chief. “How can we form a Beam?” he demands. “Most of our Hearers are dead.”

Lomax stirs, and disengages his mind-field from Bdello’s. “Thank you, old friend. This is our last chance. For the children, we must try. Call Heagran.”

“It is hopeless,” Bdello says angrily, making no move.

“Then I will go!” exclaims Tivonel, and she struggles off through the smouldering dark to where the senior Fathers lie. Dann can hear faint golden light from her burned mantle. “Oh, I knew he would come!”

But Giadoc has not come, Dann thinks. And how are they to raise the energy to get to him? Nevertheless, a wild hope begins to stir in him.

But as the Elders make their way to Lomax, Dann sees with dismay how few they are, how damaged and weak in field-strength. Has this hope come too late, much too late?

Old Lomax is saying with heart-lifting vigor, “Heagran, all your Fathers must serve as Hearers now. Help me form a bridge, a Beam. Giadoc has found some refuge in the sky. If we can send our children there they will live.”

“What if it is a trap of the Destroyer?” Bdello demands.

“Then we will be no worse than we are,” Lomax replies. “Heagran, will you help? We cannot surround the pole now, but we can concentrate here.”

“Yes.” Dann can see the old being’s pain and weakness, but his voice is strong. “Those of you who can still ride the wind, go and summon the people here in my name. Tell the Fathers we have a last chance for the children’s lives. Now, Lomax, instruct me in the method of our help.”

Despite himself, Dann feels a growing hope. Have the powers of these people really found some magical way out of this nightmare?

He watches the surviving Tyrenni jetting painfully in to Lomax through the deadly air. Many Fathers have two, even three children in tow; orphans whose Fathers died protecting them. Here and there he sees a female trying to guide and shelter a child… If this hope does not materialize, he is seeing the last hours of a wondrous race.

They crowd around Lomax and Heagran in silence; Dann senses the odd faint jolts of energy he has come to associate with the touch of life-fields. The Tyrenni must be transmitting Lomax’ instructions directly mind-to-mind; an emergency mode of communication, perhaps. Presently they disperse somewhat, and Dann senses a gathering of strength, as if a field of athletes were each preparing for some ultimate exertion. Can they really do something, achieve a real escape from this death?

Suddenly the silence is broken by a flash from Tivonel. “Lomax! Remember the strangers!”

“Ah, yes,” says Lomax. “Strangers, come near. Be ready to send your lives out when you feel the power. I will help you if I can.”

The other humans have heard the call, are struggling out. Dann shepherds them to a position near Lomax. No one says anything. A feeling of effortful, building power is already charging the air, riding over the sears of pain. It is thrilling, formidable. For the first time Dann lets himself truly hope.

“Now!” calls Lomax. “Fathers, Tyrenni all—give me your lives!”

And his mind-field flares up in splendor, towering toward the dark sky. But not alone—the massed energies around rise with him, building, joining chaotically, forming a great spear of power launching up through inferno. Dann feels his life sucked upward with it, drawn up and out of his dying body, hurtling into immaterial flight.