Sheri Tepper - Necromancer Nine

Walk on fire but do not swim in water.

Seek Out sent-far’s monument, but do not look upon it.

In looking away, find me.

“It makes no sense,” I cried, outraged. “No sense at all!”

“Go to Havajor Dike,” he said soothingly. “Then north from there. She would not have made the directions too difficult for either of us, Peter. She does not want to be lost forever, only very difficult to find. You’ll be able to ravel it out, line by line. There is only one caution I must give you.”

He waited until he saw that he had my full attention, then made his warning, several times. “Do not go near Pfarb Durim. If you go to the north or northwest, do not go near that place, nor near the place they call Poffle which is, in truth, known as Hell’s Maw.” He patted me on the shoulder, and when I asked curious questions, as he must have known I would, said, “It is an evil place. It has been evil for centuries. We thought it might change when old Blourbast was gone, but it remains evil today. Mavin would not send you near it—simply avoid it!” And that was all he would say about that.

We went down into the kitchens, sat there in the warmth of that familiar place, eating grole sausage and cheese with bread warm from the baking. It was a comforting time, a sweet time, and it lasted only a little while. For Gervaise came bustling in, his iron-tipped staff making a clatter upon the stones.

“An Elator has come, Mertyn,” he cried. “He demands to see you at once. He comes from the Bright Demesne…”

So we went up as quickly as possible to find an Elator there, one I knew well, Himaggery’s trusted messenger.

“Gamesmaster,” he said, “the Wizard Himaggery and the old Seer, Windlow, have vanished.”

“Vanished?” It was an echo of my own voice saying that word, but this time we were not talking of Shifters. Mertyn asked again, “What do you mean, vanished?”

“They went to Windlow’s rooms after the evening meal, sir, asking that wine be sent to them there. When the steward arrived, the room was disturbed but empty. We searched the Demesne, but they are both gone.

“Why have you come first to me?”

“Gamesmaster, I was told by the Wizard some time since that if anything untoward should happen, I was to come to you.”

“Windlow told me,” I cried. “Just before I left. That’s what he meant when he said they would need your help soon. That word would reach you.”

“I warned them,” Mertyn grated. “I warned them they might be next if they went on with it.”

“Next?” The word faltered in my throat.

“Next to disappear. Next to vanish. Next to be gone, as too many of our colleagues and allies now are gone.”

“I might have stopped it,” I cried. “Himaggery told me he needed me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

He shook me, took me by my shoulders and shook me as though I had been seven or eight years old. “This is no time for dramatics, my boy, or flights of guilt. Be still. Let me think.”

So I was still, but it was a guilty stillness. If I had been there? If I had been willing to take up the Gamesmen of Barish and use them, use the Talents? Would Himaggery and Windlow still be there? I wanted to cry, but Mertyn’s grip on my shoulder did not loosen, so I stood silent and blamed myself for whatever it was that had happened.

Mind’s mistress, moon’s wheel, Grandmother Didir, First Demon.

cobweb Didir, shadow-steel. Talent, Telepathy.

Mighty wing, lord of sky, Grandfather Tamor, First Armiger,

lofty Tamor. hover high. Talent, Levitation.

Night-dark. dust-old, Dorn, First Necromancer,

bony Dorn, grave-cold. Talent, Raising of Ghosts.

Flesh-queen, love-star, Trandilar, First Ruler,

lust-pale, Trandilar. Talent, Beguilement.

Pain’s maid, broken leaf, Dealpas, First Healer,

Dealpas, heart’s grief. Talent, Healing.

Cheer’s face, trust’s clasp, Wafnor, First Tragamor,

far and strong is Wafnors grasp. Talent, Telekinesis.

Far-eyed Sorah, worshipper, Sorah. First Seer,

many gods who never were. Talent, Clairvoyance.

Here and gone, flashing fast, Hafnor, First Elator,

Hafnor is Trusted last. Talent, Teleportation.

Chilly Shattnir, power’s store, Shattnir, First Sorcerer,

calling Game forevermore. Talent, Power storage.

Fire and smoke, horn and bell, Buinel, First Sentinel,

messages of Buinel. Talent, Fire starting.

Shifted, fetched, sent-far, Thandbar, First Shifter,

trickiest is Thandbar. Talent, Shapeshafting.

When all time is past,

eleven first, eleven last

The eleven represent the pantheon of elders, the “respected ones” of the religion of Gameworld.

NOTE: There are short verses for every Gamesman in some issues of the Index of Gamesmen, over four thousand different titles. In some areas, skip-rope competitions are held during which young men and women attempt the recitation of the entire Index. The last person to complete this task successfully was Minery Mindcaster, in her eighteenth year, at the competition in Hilbervale.

AT THE END OF THE SHORT TIME which followed, it was Mertyn who left me, not I who left him. I had never seen him in this kind of flurry, this Kingly bustle with all the House at his command and no nonsense about not using Talents in a Schooltown. He simply ordered and it was done, a horse, packing, certain books from the library, foodstuffs, two Armigers and a young Demon to accompany him. I did nothing but get in his way, each time trying to tell him that I would go back with him to the Bright Demesne to do what I should have done in the first place. He would have none of it.

“For the love of Divine Didir, Peter, sit down and be still. If there were anything you could do, I would have you do it in a moment. There is nothing. Believe me, nothing. Just now the most important thing you can do is what you were intending to do anyhow, find Mavin and tell her what has happened here. Give me a moment with these people and I’ll talk to you about it.”

So I sat and waited, with ill grace and badly concealed hurt. It was quite bad enough to remember that I had come away when I was needed; it was worse now to be denied return when I was eager to help. At last Mertyn had all his minions scattered to his satisfaction, and he came back to me, sitting beside me to take my hand.

“Thalan, put your feelings aside. No—I know how you feel. You could not have failed to love old Windlow. All who know him do. As for Himaggery, it is hard not to like him, admire him, even when he is most infuriating. So, you want to help. You can. Hear me, and pay utmost attention.

“For some time there have been disappearances. Gamesmen of high rank. Wizards. Almost always from among those we would call ‘progressive.’ Many have been Windlow’s students over the years. It can’t be mere happenstance, coincidence. We suspect the cause but have no proof.

“Are those who have vanished dead? If they are, then some among the powerful Necromancers should be able to raise them, query them, find out what has happened. So, Necromancer after Necromancer has called into the dust of time, but none of the vanished rise. Instead, for some few of the searchers, it has been Necromancer Nine, highest risk, and they have vanished as well. Gone. Not dead. Or, if dead, dead in a way no others have ever died.” He shivered as though cold. “If not dead, then where? Demon after Demon has sought them, and for some of them it has been Demon’s Eyes Nine; they have disappeared as well. Are they imprisoned? Pursuivant after Pursuivant has searched, Rancelmen have delved. We find nothing. Those who vanish are simply gone.