Robert Silverberg: A Time of Changes

For some days I simply walked the desert, thinking. I went to the place where the hornfowl struck my father down, and had no fear of the sharpbeaked circling birds: let them have me too. I considered the events of my time of changes, asking myself, Is this what you wanted, Is this what you hoped to bring about, Does this satisfy you? I relived each of my many soul sharings, from that with Schweiz to that with Halum, asking, Was this good? Were there mistakes that could have been avoided? Did you gain, or did you lose, by what you did? And I concluded that I had gained more than I had lost, although my losses had been terrible ones. My only regrets were for poor tactics, not for faulty principles. If I had stayed with Halum until her uncertainties had fled, she might not have given way to the shame that destroyed her. If I had been more open with Noim — if I had stayed in Manneran to confront my enemies — if — if — if — and yet, I had no regrets for having done my changing, but just that I had bungled my revolution of the soul. For I was convinced of the wrongness of the Covenant and of our way of life. Your way of life. That Halum had seen fit to kill herself after two hours of experiencing human love was the most scathing possible indictment of the Covenant.

And finally — not too many days ago — I began to write what you have been reading. My fluency surprised me; perhaps I verged even on glibness, though it was hard for me at first to use the grammar I imposed on myself. I am Kinnall Darival and I mean to tell you all about myself. So I began my memoir. Have I been true to that intent? Have I concealed anything? Day upon day my pen has scratched paper, and I have put myself down whole for you, with no cosmetic alterations of the record. In this sweatbox of a cabin have I laid myself bare. Meanwhile I have had no contact with the outside world, except for occasional hints, possibly irrational, that Stirron’s agents are combing the Burnt Lowlands for me. I believe that guards are posted at the gates leading into Salla, Glin, and Manneran; and probably at the western passes as well; and also in Stroin Gap, in case I try to make my way to the Gulf of Sumar through the Wet Lowlands. My luck has held well, but soon they must find me. Shall I wait for them? Or shall I move on, trusting to fortune, hoping to find an unguarded exit? I have this thick manuscript. I value it now more than my life itself. If you could read it, if you could see how I have stumbled and staggered toward knowledge of self, if you could receive from it the vibrations of my mind — I have put everything down, I think, in this autobiography, in this record of self, in this document unique in the history of Velada Borthan. If I am captured here, my book will be captured with me, and Stirron will have it burned.

I must move on, then. But -

A sound? Engines?

A groundcar coming swiftly toward my cabin over the flat red land. I am found. It is done. At least I was able to write this much.

Five days have passed since the last entry, and I am still here. The groundcar was Noim’s. He came not to arrest me but to rescue me. Cautiously, as if expecting me to open fire on him, he crept about my cabin, calling, “Kinnall? Kinnall?” I went outside. He tried to smile, but he was too tense to manage it. He said, “One thought you would be somewhere near this place, The place of the hornfowl — it still haunts you, eh?”

“What do you want?”

“Stirron’s patrols are searching for you, Kinnall. Your path was traced as far as Salla’s Gate. They know you’re in the Burnt Lowlands. If Stirron knew you as well as your bondbrother does, he’d come straight here with his troops. Instead they’re searching to the south, on the theory that you mean to go into the Wet Lowlands to the Gulf of Sumar, and get a ship to Sumara Borthan. But they’re bound to start hunting for you in this region once they discover you haven’t been down there.”

“And then?”

“You’ll be arrested. Tried. Convicted. Jailed or executed. Stirron thinks you’re the most dangerous man on Velada Borthan.”

“I am,” I said.

Noim gestured toward the car. “Get in. We’ll slip through the blockade. Into West Salla, somehow, and down to the Woyn. The Duke of Sumar will meet you and put you aboard some vessel heading out. You can be in Sumara Borthan by next moonrise.”

“Why are you helping me, Noim? Why should you bother? I saw the hate in your eyes when I left you.”

“Hate? Hate? No, Kinnall, no hate, only sorrow. One is still your -” He paused. With an effort, he said, “I’m still your bondbrother. I’m pledged to your welfare. How can I let Stirron hunt you like a beast? Come. Come. I’ll get you safely out of here.”

“No.”

“No?”

“We’re certain to be caught. Stirron will have you, too, for aiding a fugitive. He’ll seize your lands. He’ll break your rank. Don’t make a useless sacrifice for me, Noim.”

“I came all the way into the Burnt Lowlands to fetch you. If you think I’ll go back without—”

“Let’s not quarrel over it,” I said. “Even if I escape, what is there for me? To spend the rest of my life hiding in the jungles of Sumara Borthan, among people whose language I can’t speak and whose ways are alien to me? No. No. I’m tired of exile. Let Stirron take me.”

Persuading Noim to leave me here was no little task. We stood in the midday fire for eternal minutes, arguing vehemently. He was determined to effect this heroic rescue, despite the almost certain probability that we would both be captured. This he was doing out of a sense of duty, not out of love, for I could see that he still held Halum’s death to my account. I would not have his disgrace scored against me as well, and told him so: he had done nobly to make this journey, but I could not go with him. Finally he began to yield, but only when I swore I would at least make some effort to save myself. I promised that I would set out for the western mountains, instead of sitting here where Stirron would surely find me. If I reached Velis or Threish safely, I said, I would notify Noim in some way, so that he would cease to fear my fate. And then I said, “There is one thing you can do for me.” I brought my manuscript out of the cabin — a great heap of paper, red scribbling on grayish rough sheets. In this, I said, he would find the whole story: my entire self encapsulated, and all the events that had brought me to the Burnt Lowlands. I asked him to read it, and to pass no judgment on me until he had. “You will find things in here that will horrify and disgust you,” I warned him. “But I think you’ll also find much that will open your eyes and your soul. Read it, Noim. Read it with care. Think about my words.” And I asked one last vow of him, by our oath of bonding: that he keep my book safely preserved, even if the temptation came over him to burn it. “These pages hold my soul,” I told him. “Destroy the paper and you destroy me. If you loathe what you read, hide the book away, but do no harm to it. What shocks you now may not shock you a few years from now. And someday you may want to show my book to others, so that you can explain what manner of man your bondsbrother was, and why he did what he did.” And so that you may change them as I hope my book will change you, I said silently. Noim vowed this vow. He took my sheaf of pages and stored them in the hold of his groundcar. We embraced; he asked me again if I would not ride away with him; again I refused; I made him say once more that he would read my book and preserve it; once more he swore he would; then he entered the groundcar and drove slowly toward the east. I entered the cabin. The place where I had kept my manuscript was empty, and I felt a sudden hollowness, I suppose much like that of a woman who has carried a child for the full seven moontimes and now finds her belly flat again. I had poured all of myself into those pages. Now I Was nothing, and the book was all. Would Noim read it? I thought so. And would he preserve it? Very likely he would, though he might hide it in the darkest corner of his house. And would he someday show it to others? This I do not know. But if you have read what I have written, it is through the kindness of Noim Condorit; and if he has let it be read, then I have prevailed over his soul after all, as I hope to prevail over yours.