Robert Silverberg - Downward to the Earth

He feels vast relief that the time of pretending is over on this world and that nothing need be hidden any longer, that the sulidoror may go down into the lands of the nildoror and move freely about, without fear that the secret and the mystery of rebirth may accidentally be revealed to those who could not withstand such knowledge.

He knows joy that he has come here and survived the test and endured his liberation. His mind is open now, and he has been reborn.

He descends, rejoining his body. He is aware once more that he lies embedded in congealed gelatin on the cold floor of a dark cell abutting a lengthy corridor within a rose-red mountain wreathed in white mist on a strange world. He does not rise. His time is not yet come.

He yields to the tones and colors and odors and textures that flood the universe. He allows them to carry him back, and he floats easily along the time-line, so that now he is a child peering at the shield of night and trying to count the stars, and now he is timidly sipping raw venom with Kurtz and Salamone, and now he enrolls in the Company and tells a personnel computer that his strongest wish is to foster the expansion of the human empire, and now he grasps Seena on a tropic beach under the light of several moons, and now he meets her for the first time, and now he sifts crystals in the Sea of Dust, and now he mounts a nildor, and now he turns his torch on Cedric Cullen, and now he climbs the rebirth mountain, and now he trembles as Kurtz walks into a room, and now he takes the wafer on his tongue, and now he stares at the wonder of a white breast filling his cupped hand, and now he steps forth into mottled alien sunlight, and now he crouches over Henry Dykstra’s swollen body, and now, and now, and now, and now…

He hears the tolling of mighty bells.

He feels the planet shuddering and shifting on its axis.

He smells dancing tongues of flame.

He touches the roots of the rebirth mountain.

He feels the souls of nildoror and sulidoror all about him.

He recognizes the worlds of the hymn the sulidoror sing, and he sings with them.

He grows. He shrinks. He burns. He shivers. He changes.

He awakens.

“Yes,” says a thick, low voice. “Come out of it now. The time is here. Sit up. Sit up.”

Gundersen’s eyes open. Colors surge through his dazzled brain. It is a moment before he is able to see.

A sulidor stands at the entrance to his cell.

“I am Ti-munilee,” the sulidor says. “You are born again.”

“I know you,” Gundersen says. “But not by that name. Who are you?”

“Reach out to me and see,” says the sulidor.

Gundersen reaches out.

“I knew you as the nildor Srin’gahar,” Gundersen says.

LEANING ON THE sulidor’s arm, Gundersen walked unsteadily out of the chamber of rebirth. In the dark corridor he asked, “Have I been changed?”

“Yes, very much,” Ti-munilee said.

“How? In what way?”

“You do not know?”

Gundersen held a hand before his eyes. Five fingers, yes, as before. He looked down at his naked body and saw no difference in it. Obscurely he experienced disappointment; perhaps nothing had really happened in that chamber. His legs, his feet, his loins, his belly — everything as it had been.

“I haven’t changed at all,” he said.

“You have changed greatly,” the sulidor replied.

“I see myself, and I see the same body as before.”

“Look again,” advised Ti-munilee.

In the main corridor Gundersen caught sight of himself dimly reflected in the sleek glassy walls by the light of the glowing fungoids. He drew back, startled. He had changed, yes; he had outkurtzed Kurtz in his rebirth. What peered back at him from the rippling sheen of the walls was scarcely human. Gundersen stared at the mask-like face with hooded slots for eyes, at the slitted nose, the gill-pouches trailing to his shoulders, the many-jointed arms, the row of sensors on the chest, the grasping organs at the hips, the cratered skin, the glow-organs in the cheeks. He looked down again at himself and saw none of those things. Which was the illusion?

He hurried toward daylight.

“Have I changed, or have I not changed?” he asked the sulidor.

“You have changed.”

“Where?”

“The changes are within,” said the former Srin’gahar.

“And the reflection?”

“Reflections sometimes lie. Look at yourself through my eyes, and see what you are.”

Gundersen reached forth again. He saw himself, and it was his old body he saw, and then he flickered and underwent a phase shift and he beheld the being with sensors and slots, and then he was himself again.

“Are you satisfied?” Ti-munilee asked.

“Yes,” said Gundersen. He walked slowly toward the lip of the plaza outside the mouth of the cavern. The seasons had changed since he had entered that cavern; now an iron winter was on the land, and the mist was piled deep in the valley, and where it broke he saw the heavy mounds of snow and ice. He felt the presence of nildoror and sulidoror about him, though he saw only Ti-munilee. He was aware of the soul of old Na-sinisul within the mountain, passing through the final phases of a rebirth. He touched the soul of Vol’himyor far to the south. He brushed lightly over the soul of tortured Kurtz. He sensed suddenly, startlingly, other Earthborn souls, as free as his, open to him, hovering nearby.

“Who are you?” he asked.

And they answered, “You are not the first of your kind to come through rebirth intact.”

Yes. He remembered. Cullen had said that there had been others, some transformed into monsters, others simply never heard from again.

“Where are you?” he asked them.

They told him, but he did not understand, for what they said was that they had left their bodies behind. “Have I also left my body behind?” he asked. And they said, no, he was still wearing his flesh, for so he had chosen, and they had chosen otherwise. Then they withdrew from him.

“Do you feel the changes?” Ti-munilee asked.

“The changes are within me,” said Gundersen.

“Yes. Now you are at peace.”

And, surprised by joy, he realized that that was so. The fears, the tensions, were gone. Guilt was gone. Sorrow was gone. Loneliness was gone.

Ti-munilee said, “Do you know who I was, when I was Srin’gahar? Reach toward me.”

Gundersen reached. He said, in a moment, “You were one of those seven nildoror whom I would not allow to go to their rebirth, many years ago.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you carried me on your back all the way to the mist country.”

“My time had come again,” said Ti-munilee, “and I was happy. I forgave you. Do you remember, when we crossed into the mist country, there was an angry sulidor at the border?”

“Yes,” Gundersen said.

“He was another of the seven. He was the one you touched with your torch. He had had his rebirth finally, and still he hated you. Now he no longer does. Tomorrow, when you are ready, reach toward him, and he will forgive you. Will you do that?”

“I will,” said Gundersen. “But will he really forgive?”

“You are reborn. Why should he not forgive?” Ti-munilee said. Then the sulidor asked, “Where will you go now?”

“South. To help my people. First to help Kurtz, to guide him through a new rebirth. Then the others. Those who are willing to be opened.”

“May I share your journey?”

“You know that answer.”

Far off, the dark soul of Kurtz stirred and throbbed. Wait, Gundersen told it. Wait. You will not suffer much longer.

A blast of cold wind struck the mountainside. Sparkling flakes of snow whirled into Gundersen’s face. He smiled. He had never felt so free, so light, so young. A vision of a mankind transformed blazed within him. I am the emissary, he thought. I am the bridge over which they shall cross. I am the resurrection and the life. I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life. A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.