Robin McKinley - Pegasus

It was only going to be herself and Ebon and Lrrianay going into the Caves, and Ebon and Lrrianay were used to humans. To the funny way they looked, and the funny way they moved. There was no human equivalent of ss shasssha, which filled the Caves and called your name. It won’t call mine, she thought, but this gave her no comfort.

That morning even Ebon was subdued. She asked him on her way to her bath if she should hurry. No, he said immediately, but then he hesitated. Do you have—do you have a way of putting yourself in— and then there was a word she didn’t know. She stood there in her crumpled nightdress, clutching her towel and staring at her best friend—her best friend who was so hopelessly unlike herself—and saw the unbridgeable chasm lying between them again. You know, in your head?

I don’t know that word, she said, and she said it as if she were pronouncing her own doom. It’s only one word, she told herself. It’s just one word.

Uh, said Ebon, and she thought she heard in his silent voice that it was an important word, and that he was seeing the same chasm she was. Eah. Dad said you wouldn’t. Dad said—Never mind. You humans , you only seem to see now. A kind of squared-off, pillar-at-each-corner now, and a few weighed-and-measured years before and after. All of us in bound families have to study some of your history, whether we’re individually bound or not. I always thought it was something about the translation, about the fact that we can’t talk to each other and even our shamans couldn’t get it right, that it was all “he was king from the eighth day of the first month of spring in 892 to the eleventh day of the last month of winter 921,” “her army contained ninety-six regiments and the colours on her banner were red and gold.” Your history is only what someone remembers or has written down—and it’s just history, it’s not— and he used the word again. It’s the way into ssshasssha—your magicians talk about our ssshasssha, don’t they? You’ve asked me about it. But how do they describe it? It’s easy to get stuck in now—are you hungry, what’s the weather, what are you doing tomorrow? What words can you give these things so you can give them to someone else? From when we’re really little we practise getting out of now. I’m not very good at it. Niahi is hopeless, although Mum says she’ll get better as she gets older, but she’s worse than most kids, which is probably why she thinks the Caves are spooky.

Sylvi said, I’ll be okay. I can stand spooky. I won’t embarrass you. I’ll—I’ll try so hard and be so respectful you’ll scarcely recognise me.

Ebon stamped, and lashed his tail so violently it was as if he were trying to shake it loose. That’s not what I mean. He stepped forward and put out one of his feather-hands to her cheek again; the tiny breeze of his half-opening wing fanned her face. I want you to—to like the Caves! He stamped again. Oh, like ! It’s a stupid word. Liking the Caves would be like liking water or daylight. If you’d lived in the dark or never tasted water they’d be overwhelming. You wouldn’t be able to think about liking.

Like flying when you haven’t any wings, thought Sylvi.

But I don’t care if this is a historic moment or not, bringing a human into the Caves. All that is grown-up stuff. I knew something was up when I asked Dad if I could bring you here and he didn’t say no. I’d been thinking how to be a royal pain in the pinfeathers and then it didn’t go like that at all. But then it was too late, I’d got used to it that I was going to be able to bring you here and I told myself the other stuff didn’t matter, the grown-up stuff didn’t matter to us—and Niahi, Niahi’s okay, and it would be nice if you couldtalk to more of us than just me. But it does matter, the grown-up stuff. Why the grown-ups wanted to bring you.

You’re not happy here. I never thought about that. I never thought . . . I shouldn’thave brought you. I wanted you to see the Caves, and I didn’t know how else to do it. They’d never have agreed to bringing a lot of you—you humans. I couldn’t bear your palace—even with you—if it weren’t that there are always at least twelve or a gazai of us around too. I was blind with what Iwanted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry....

Stop, she said, and put her hand to his mouth, as if he were human, as if he were speaking aloud. He dropped his own hand and dipped his head, pressing his nose into her hand, till she was looking at the arched crest of his neck, and in that moment she thought that the way his glittering black mane fell down his shining black shoulders was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Stop, she said. I knew before I came that it was really allabout grown-up stuff, that that was the only reason they were letting me come. That you and I—the way we think of you and me—would be a little thing that happened accidentally too. Have you ever wondered what will happen when they lift the ban on letting us translate? If the guild lets them.... But I still wanted to come. I knew better than you did—I went to all those senate meetings. I thought . . . I didn’t think. Just like you. I wanted to come. It is worth it—whatever it is—to come. She couldn’t resist running her hands up his long silky face and down the perfect arch of his neck, and burying her hands in his mane. It’s that I’m all wrong here. You must feel it at the palace, even though there are more of you.

You’re not all wrong to me, said Ebon, and turned his head to rest his nose on her shoulder.

They stood silently for a moment or two and Sylvi thought, if I could just stand here like this forever, I’d be happy.

And then she sighed, and stooped to pick up the towel she’d dropped. I’d better get ready. Did you ever say when I should be there? Wherever. I don’t know where it is yet either.

It’s not like that, going into the Caves. The right time is when we all get there—the right time only happens some time after we all get there. That’s part of getting out of now, into— This time she almost heard the word as a distinct word, but she still had no translation for it: ssshuuwuushuu.

The way to ssshasssha , she thought. I wonder if Fthoom knows? I wonder how much our magicians know that they haven’t told us?

Time—

We have time, said Ebon. Time isn’t a—a thing. And the Caves are the Caves; day and night aren’t things either. And days—hours—are different.

The Caves themselves help with going there, with ssshuuwuushuu. You’re half there just by crossing the threshold. It’s why if you can’t go there yourself the Caves are harder—like the difference between jumping and being thrown. He paused. Once you’re there, it’s—it’s almost like dreaming, when you’re in your dream as yourself instead of your dreaming self, when you’re both nothing and everything in your dream. Everythingmatters when you’re not in now.

She gave a little grunt of surprised laughter. I almost know what you mean.

Ebon smiled. Of course you do. How could you not at least almost know anything I know?

It’ll be all right, she said.

Eah. Yes, it will.

But her heart was beating rather too quickly when she and Ebon arrived at the clearing near the entrance to the Caves. Sylvi had one hand wrapped around the little wooden bead Ebon had just dropped round her neck; he was wearing one too. Its creamy glow was startling against his blackness.