Gene Wolfe - Return to the Whorl

Everyone has gone to bed, including me. Everyone except Oreb, that is, and I have sent Oreb away.

I slept beside you for a few hours, and woke. Even Jahlee was asleep; she will have to hunt in a day or two, I know. I was afraid I would wake you-you, most of all. Here in the mill I will not disturb you. I have lit the old lamp, and am writing at the little table where I kept our accounts.

For an hour or so I walked alone along the beach, listening for her song.

Up there, I wrote that Silk is behind us. Well, so he is. But when I myself was in that whorl which we have put behind us, Nettle, Master Xiphias walked beside me for a time.

He is dead, of course. He went to fight the Trivigauntis, and it is likely they killed him. If they did not, the twenty-two years now past surely have; he was an elderly man when I fetched him to the Calde's Palace for Silk and asked him about swordcraft. Yet he was there and he is here, because he is in my memory and yours. "What would Silk do?" you asked. What could he? Not merely for us (in all honesty, you and I no longer matter) but for New Viron? I told Capsicum that an evil people can never have a good government.

Silk would pray, of course.

Jahlee is dead. She died in Nettle's arms.

I killed her.

Nettle came in while I was praying. I heard the rattle of the latch and the opening of the door, cut short my prayers, and rose; and it was she. We talked, at first here in the mill and afterward sitting on the beach in the Greenlight, trying to find the Whorl among the stars. We told each other about a great many things; at some later time I may set them down, or some of them.

You fell asleep. I laid you on the sand and went into the house for blankets, thinking that I would cover you and sit beside you until you woke. Maytera was awake, and I knelt at her side for perhaps two minutes while we spoke in whispers.

When I went outside again with the blankets, I thought you had gone. That is the simple truth. Not knowing what else to do, I walked toward the place where we had been sitting. The shadow that had covered you moved, and I saw her face.

I called your name, and you woke and screamed. The azoth was in my waistband, but I did not use it. I struck Jahlee with my fists, and when she fell I kicked her like Auk. A day may come when I can forgive myself for that.

I cannot bring myself to write the details. Everyone who had been in the cabin came pouring out, Babbie first, followed by Hide with a slug gun. There was a great confusion; and I, not knowing that Jahlee was dying, I said only that she had gone into convulsions. I carried her inside and made everyone get out.

They left-or everyone save Maytera did, and I thought she might be useful as a nurse-but you soon returned with the box of bandages and salves we keep in the mill. I had laid Jahlee on our bed; she was writhing in a way that showed very plainly that she had no bones. She had never screamed, and spoke only when you took her in your arms. Then she told you that she had intended to kill you, and that I had been right to strike her.

"He won't do it again," you promised her.

I carried the candle to her bedside. It was as though the face of a beautiful woman had been molded in wax, and the heat of the flame were softening it; but the flame was death.

"I wanted him so long… Did you tell her about Krait, Rajan?"

I shook my head.

You said, "He told me he'd adopted a boy shortly after he and Sinew left, but the boy was killed on Green."

"Krait was one of us."

You stared at her, and I said, "She is an inhuma."

Jahlee was struggling for breath, and after a minute or two Maytera whispered, "I don't think she'll talk any more."

You were still holding Jahlee, but you were staring at me. "You brought an inhuma here? You couldn't have!"

"I thought she would do no harm." It was hard to meet your eyes, but I met them. "Krait and I…" I could not explain, although I have tried to in another book, saying in cold, black words how much we hated each other, and how much we meant to each other.

It was as if a corpse spoke from the coffin. "Krait was my son. And Sinew's. You guessed, didn't you, Rajan?"

I nodded. "You knew too much about it, my daughter. And you were too concerned to learn more."

"You think we don't care…"

"About your children?" I started to deny it, then realized that I have always assumed they did not.

"You do, so we must."

There was a silence. I felt certain she would not speak again. Her face was the color of chalk beneath the tinted creams and powders and rouge.

You asked, "What did she mean?" and I answered, "To pass among us, they imitate us-even our emotions. Most of their spawn are eaten by fish while they are still very young."

"Rani?" Jahlee gasped. And again, "Rani?"

Maytera told you, "She means, you I think."

You said, "She tried to kill me. I don't want to talk to her." Yet you held her still.

Something like a smile touched Jahlee's lips. "He had so many, Rani, in Gaon. I couldn't kill them all. Lean closer."

As if compelled, you did.

"Without blood, our children have no minds."

I shouted, "Don't!"

"Closer, Rani. It's a great secret."

"You're betraying your own kind," I told her.

"I hate my kind. Listen, please, Rani."

"Yes," you whispered. "I hear you."

Maytera touched my hand, and I knew her gesture meant, So do I; but I did not send her away.

"We take their minds from your blood. Their minds are yours. Here, long ago, I drank the blood of your small son. Krait was my son, the only one who lived with the mind it took from yours."

She gasped, and when she spoke again I could scarcely hear her, although I bent as close as you did. "Without you, we are only animals. Animals that fly, and drink blood by night."

Then she died, and you, Nettle, will die too, if the inhumi learn what you have learned from her. Indeed, you may die anyway if they learn I am here; they will surely assume I have told you.

I should not have come back.

[This is the end of the record that he wrote for our mother in his own hand.]

The Prolocutor's prothonotary entered, bowed obsequiously, and handed the Prolocutor a folded paper. When he had gone, that small and pudgy worthy said, "I implore your pardon. In all probability it is a matter of no importance whatsoever."

The white-haired man he addressed smiled and nodded. "I am flattered Your Cognizance has so much confidence in me."

"Good Silk!" Oreb assured His Cognizance.

"It is not misplaced, I feel certain." He opened the note, read it, glanced gravely at his visitor, and read it again.

"You needn't confide in me, of course. I realize-"

The Prolocutor had raised a plump hand to silence him. "It concerns yourself. I will not conceal that from you. I ask you now, openly and forthrightly, whether you repose trust in my judgment and discretion."

"Much more than in my own, Your Cognizance."

"Then I tell you now that this missive concerns you, but I dare not let you peruse it. Its substance I shall impart when I deem it appropriate. You will willingly assist me?"

"Very willingly, Your Cognizance."

"Exemplary." The Prolocutor looked toward a flower-decked porcelain clock. "Less than an hour remains, and we shall each desire to spend precious moments in private prayer. Let me be succinct."

"Please do, Your Cognizance."

"First, I shall make you do all the work, though I myself shall read the victims. Prepare yourself to address the devoted supplicants of the immortalgods."