12

“Are they truly dead?” Haramis asked, overwhelmed with pity and horror at the sight of the countless glowing bubbles and the bodies within them—men, women, and children.

“No,” said Denby. “They sleep, as they must continue to do, forgotten by everyone except me and the surviving sindona.”

“But why can’t you free them?” she cried. “The poor souls—neither dead nor truly alive! It’s dreadful!”

“I’ve waited twelve thousand years, hoping that the appropriate time would come. But it never did. If these people were revived now—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“What would happen?” Haramis demanded.

“I’ll tell it all to you, lass,” said Denby, taking her arm and pulling her back toward the black disk of the viaduct, “the real story—not the half truths you got from Iriane during your time of study. But we can’t talk here. Not in this accursed Death Moon. Come with me.”

In spite of herself she was drawn away again into ringing darkness. When the passage was complete they were in another place that at first sight seemed ordinary enough, a paved hexagonal eminence a dozen ells in diameter, bordered by a parapet of pierced stone. The sun shone brightly overhead, and for a moment she felt a great surge of joy and relief, thinking that they had returned to the world of her birth.

“Come and take a look,” Denby said, going to the platform’s edge and flinging out one arm in an inviting gesture.

Standing beside him, Haramis gave a cry of amazement. She and the Archimage of the Firmament stood atop an enormous pyramid composed of stacked terraces. The level directly beneath was planted with geometric beds of blue and orange flowers, alternating with orchards of small trees laden with many different kinds of fruit. The third terrace from the top had groves of larger trees, meadowlike expanses where some kind of animals grazed, and irregular bodies of water that glistened in the sunlight. Still lower were more green terraces, broad and encircling, that spread far down into the misty depths. Haramis lifted her eyes, looking off into the distance, and was astounded to discover other huge pyramids dimly visible in every direction. There was no horizon, only a dizzying concavity soaring upward, bearing endless numbers of the mysterious prominences. And what she at first thought were oddly shaped dark clouds on the blue bowl of the sky turned out to be more hexagonal shapes, closely spaced, with the “sun” obscuring the smallest ones immediately overhead.

They were inside a colossal globe studded with pyramidal gardens, having a bright light source at its center.

“Once there were dwellings and pleasure-domes and places for games here,” the Dark Man said. “But their emptiness made me sad, so I had the sindona take everything away but the plantings and the things in the Grotto of Memory.” Again he took her arm. “We’ll go down to the grotto now. But I wanted you to see the Garden Moon from this vantage point first.”

The viaduct had changed into a black circular pit precisely at the center of the platform. Before she could say a word, Denby stepped nonchalantly into it and dropped out of sight.

“I’ll never get used to this,” Haramis murmured crossly. Holding tight to her talisman, she followed the old man.

Instantly, she found herself in a sun-dappled woodland clearing, standing beside her smiling host. A little pool glimmered in the distance. Haramis looked at the peculiar vegetation underfoot, which had a certain familiarity. The grass was very fine and smooth-edged rather than properly saw-toothed, and odd wildflowers with cushiony yellow heads grew here and there in sunny spots. “The Place of Knowledge had strange plants like this,” she observed.

“Yes. That was the landside floral archive of our university. But mine’s much nicer, don’t you think?” The old man reached down and plucked a globular seedpuff. “These are the plants of our original home world, kept in both places for sentimental reasons as well as for their unique genome.” He blew, and the seeds flew off, hanging from tiny parasols. “Aeons ago, these plants served as foundation breeding stock for the hybrids that are the most valued crops down below. Of course, there were many more varieties before the Conquering Ice came along and destroyed the ecological and geophysical balance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t! That’s one of the reasons why you’re here.” He turned and started off in the direction of the pool, forcing her to trail along behind. “The Grotto of Memory is over yonder, among those rocks on the other side of the water. It has something interesting inside that I want to show you, and we can sit down and rest for a bit, too.”

Skirting the shore, Haramis admired the pink and white exotic blossoms that grew in the water, surrounded by round flat leaves that floated on the surface like rafts. Strange little green animals crouched on the leaves and watched her with protuberant golden eyes, and a very large four-winged insect darted just above the water’s surface, keeping well clear of the leaf-sitters.

“It’s time for you to know the history of the World of the Three Moons,” Denby said as they reached the cave mouth. It was broad, but only slightly higher than their heads. “I know that Iriane told you something about it when you studied with her, but there’s much more. Please come inside.”

The cave was almost cozy, the size of a modest cottage parlor. From somewhere in the shadows came the tinkle of falling water. Ferns grew lushly on the walls and ceiling, and the floor was carpeted with moss. At the center stood a low pedestal topped by a ball of stone about an ell in diameter. Behind it was a curved wooden bench.

Denby touched the ball. Instantly it glowed from within, becoming deeply blue with a single irregular area of ocher and dark brown, thickly dotted with azure.

“Why, it’s a representation of our own world!” Haramis exclaimed. “I recognize the single continent from charts in my Tower library, even though its shape on this globe seems slightly different. But where is the Sempiternal Icecap?”

“Ah!” Denby crowed. “This shows the planet as it was before the coming of humanity—when the Skritek dwelt in abominable primacy at the summit of animal evolution.” His forefinger poked at the brown patch. “You’re right about the continent being somewhat different in contour then. The sea was higher, but the land was, too—because it wasn’t weighted down by a thick icy mantle covering over half of its surface.”

He motioned for her to sit down on the bench. One of the omnipresent domestic machines called tenders now appeared, tiptoeing discreetly through the viridescent twilight and bearing two glass goblets of reddish–purple liquid in the box on its back.

“Your requested refreshment, master,” it said buzzily. “Will there be anything else?”

“Bring me a schematic diagram of the Threefold Sceptre of Power,” said Denby, giving one cup to Haramis and taking the second for himself. The tender stalked away into the depths of the cave.

Haramis gazed into her drink, as if into a scry-bowl. Its scent was both heady and familiar. It was mistberry brandy, one of the favorite drinks of Ruwenda, her home. “The Sceptre … is that at the heart of the matter, then?”

“Oh, yes, lass. It’s been both our shining hope and our ultimate menace ever since the world’s imbalance worsened. But let me tell the whole story to you properly, in my own way.”

“I presume you also told this tale to Orogastus, during his sojourn here.”

The old man giggled. “Three Petals of the Living Trillium and the last Star Master … Of course I told him! And he learned more delving through my archives, discovering how the imbalance might be corrected. That’s why he was born. That’s why you were born!” And he began to chant:

“One, two, three: three in one.

One the Crown of the Misbegotten, wisdom-gift, thought-magnifier.

Two the Sword of the Eyes, dealing justice and mercy.

Three the Wand of the Wings, key and unifier.

Three, two, one: one in three.

Come, Trillium. Come, Almighty.

“That’s the rhyme! That’s the secret! The way to call forth the Sky Trillium and heal the ancient wounds of the world! Binah and Iriane thought you three girls would be able to do it, but I put my money on Orogastus. It’s impossible to unite all those disparate nations and tribes with sweetness and light, you know. It’s against human nature—against aboriginal nature, too. Force! That’s the only way to get things done. Crush the opposition! We tried persuasion and reasoning during the war of enchantment, and what did it get us, eh? Disaster, that’s what! And in the end, a Death Moon. Could never let ’em wake up into this primitive environment. They’d destroy your simple civilization with their science and high magic—start the fracas all over again.”

He had leapt to his feet during the fevered harangue, his eyes wide and flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. She drew back in alarm.

He is insane, she thought. As unbalanced as the world itself—

“I know what you’re thinking,” he caroled. His frenzy evaporated and he took his seat once more. After taking a swig from the cup of brandy he stared at the shining world icon and vented a doleful sigh. “Yes, I do know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I’m a lunatic. That’s why I could never fix things all by myself.” Two great tears rolled down his wrinkled dark cheeks.

Haramis spoke gently. “You were going to tell me the story. Please begin.”

Oh, very well [said Denby Varcour]. The trouble started twelve-times-ten hundreds ago.

In those days, the whole world looked just like that globe. The continent had a myriad of lakes with islands scattered upon them, and that’s where we built most of our cities. You’ve seen some of the ruins, deep in your Mazy Mire: gorgeous places like Trevista, laced with canals and adorned with verdant parks and gardens. We modified the original planetary flora to suit our needs, and worked over some of the animals, too—although they were already compatible with our basic biology.

The settlement was a success for many hundreds. Then we were abruptly left on our own when the outside political ultra-structure crumbled and it became dangerous to sail the firmament. For some other worlds, that spelled calamity, but not for us. Oh, no! Our planet was small but it was completely self-sufficient, and our population was stable, enlightened, and contented. We lived as long as we liked, then passed safely beyond when the time seemed appropriate to move on to another plane of existence. Most of us were worker-philosophers, but there were lots of artists, too, and a cadre of professional scientists and engineers who kept the necessary machinery in order.

I was one of those, until the Restless Time began.

It’s not easy for me to explain our Restless Time to a simpleminded person like yourself, accustomed to life in a relatively harsh preindustrial culture. (Don’t look at me like that! You’re nothing but a barbarian—an intelligent primitive … Oh, very well. I apologize for insulting you. But it’s still true.)

To you, the world we lived in then would have seemed like paradise: no one was hungry, sick, ignorant, or oppressed. Crime was almost unheard of. Everyone had a fulfilling job to do, as well as plenty of leisure time for other pursuits. Nevertheless, after years of tranquillity, a strange new discontent seemed to appear out of nowhere. All of a sudden, people began to question the old customs and beliefs and systems of values. We argued passionately about things such as the nature of the universe and our own place in it, about the profundities of life and mind and love and free will.

At first the debates were civilized and rational, but as time went on the opposing philosophical groups became more and more intolerant and fanatical. Disputes began to end in physical violence. That should have warned us what lay ahead, but it didn’t. We’d been at peace for so long that we had no true weapons. The rowdiness seemed part of the fun and excitement that were sweeping the world.

Not everything that happened during the Restless Time was bad. Scientific inventions proliferated—including the wonderful viaducts that were capable of carrying a person anywhere in the world within an eye-blink. New forms of entertainment and new schools of art sprang up. The Three Moons were built, originally as holiday colonies and pleasure parks for those who found themselves unsatisfied with traditional modes of amusement. Novelty piled upon novelty, squabble upon diverting squabble. It was a thrilling time and it was scary, too, for the wisest among us suspected that our once-peaceful society would never be the same again.

None of our historians was ever sure who first resurrected the ancient human craft that some people call magic … but there it was, all of a sudden, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Fascinating, eh?

Magic was more than just another passing fad. The practitioners learned to manipulate both the inner resources of the human mind and also those mysterious wellsprings of the natural order that the mind is able to influence. Genuine magicians are always avid for more and more power—especially the ability to control other human beings. We worked away at it, and interestingly enough, those of us who had been scientists (like myself) turned out to be the best enchanters. Not everyone could perform magic, of course. Those who couldn’t do it began to fear and envy and hate those who could.

As the magicians became more influential, they split into two opposing factions—the magi, who were very self-righteous about using their occult skills for the so-called good of humanity, and the sorcerers, who tended to look down on non-adept persons and think that they had a God-given right to dominate society.

A woman named Nerenyi Daral was the spark that finally set our precarious social tinder alight. Her sort of charm and personal magnetism hadn’t existed among us for uncounted ages. She was supremely beautiful and appealing—not by dint of mere physical perfection, but because of her brilliant intellect, the strength of her will, and her ability to compel loyalty and the deepest kind of devotion.

She founded the organization of sorcerers called the Star Guild and the best of the sorcerers flocked to follow her. The express purpose of the Guild was the forcible improvement of the world through magical science, and the restoration of travel through the firmament. The most powerful of the magi belonged to an opposition group called the Archimagical College, dedicated to a more conservative view of society, where no one would ever be oppressed by magic—not even in the name of the common good. I was the head of the College, and no one envied me the position.

The conflict between our two factions grew into a war that raged for over two hundred years. It was fought with the most ingenious weapons and magic that we could produce. Over four-fifths of our populace died, and in the end the very planet itself seemed finally to wash its hands of us—although we magi knew that humankind was to blame for upsetting nature’s balance.

From the start of the war of enchantment, devastating earthquakes shook the regions where the worst of the fighting was going on. Volcanoes spawned by magic gone awry sprang up where none had existed before, filling the sky with smoke and turning day into night. Plants and animals perished from mysterious murrains. Wildfire engendered by occult conflicts swept the forests and grasslands. When the Three Moons did shine, they were a dreadful color like clotted blood, a seeming portent of the great disaster to come.

Then the climate began to change.

Don’t think that the worldwide temperature abruptly plunged below freezing. Not at all! The winters did become more severe, but what actually doomed us was a speeding up of the natural precipitation cycle. It had something to do with the dust in the air produced by the new volcanoes, and the smoke from the burning woods and plains. In the lowlands, the rain almost never stopped, and in the mountains and the interior highlands snow fell in massive amounts and didn’t melt. Instead it piled higher and higher, turning to ice as it was compressed by its own weight. By the end of the two hundred years of magical strife, the Sempiternal Icecap was established and a true Glacial Age had begun.

Even then, when most people came to their senses at last, the Star Guild refused to abandon its original goal or halt its hostilities. Not even the sindona, those marvelous mechanical servants of ours, were able to conquer the Star. In desperation, the surviving members of the Archimagical College created the threefold device called the Sceptre of Power, which was designed to counter the awful sorcery of the Star Guild and restore the world to its previous natural balance.

The Sceptre was entrusted to the three principal Archimagi, one of them being me. We set about to destroy the headquarters of the Guild, which was located in the Ohogan Mountains in the western part of the world. Each Archimage wielded a separate part of the Sceptre—those devices that you Petals of the Living Trillium have called your talismans. But we prayed heaven that we would never be forced to put the three pieces together and call upon the Sceptre’s full potential.

We were afraid of it, you see.

When the talismans were used separately, they were formidable channels of occult power. That we had already demonstrated. But the unified Sceptre would theoretically command totipotent magic. It was able to tap the vitality of the entire planet and all of the living things dwelling upon it, capable not only of conquering the Star but also of reversing the ecological insult that had brought about the Ice Age.

There was also a danger that the Threefold Sceptre’s power might cause the unbalanced world to be torn to bits.

In the end we could not bring ourselves to use the device, not even to end the war that had destroyed our civilization. Instead, each of us three Archimagi carried a separate piece of the Sceptre in the final assault upon the Star Guild’s stronghold. We were supported by an army of those sindona called the Sentinels of the Mortal Dictum, who are empowered to kill.

My two colleagues fought valiantly against the sorcerers, but they perished in the far-ranging battle. I myself, using the Three-Lobed Burning Eye, defeated the Star Men in a climactic contest of magic against magic. Afterward, I gave the three pieces of the Sceptre to the sindona, commanding that they be hidden where no one would ever find them.

A handful of surviving sorcerers fled and hid away in the glacier-bound highlands near the center of the world-continent. Nerenyi Daral was among the Star Guild members captured and imprisoned by us in the Chasm of Durance. Most of my colleagues demanded that she be put to death, but I would not allow it, for as soon as I saw the Star Lady in person, I loved her with all my heart and soul. I still do, heaven help me.

When the great war of enchantment was finally over, our beautiful World of the Three Moons lay in ruins.

Less than a million people remained alive. The monstrous icecap persisted, in spite of the combined science and magic exerted by the Archimagical College, and it seemed certain to continue growing until it engulfed all dry land excepting the coastal margin and the fringing islands. In such a world, human life could exist only on the most desperate, primitive level. Not even our undersea colonies, dependent for food upon a relatively warm ocean, would be able to survive when the icebergs ruled the waters.

We knew what must be done. We would have to Vanish—abandon the world and attempt to find another home beyond the outer firmament. Most people began to prepare for the emigration, while we Archimagi undertook a different task. Since we shared responsibility for the war, we made a collective vow to ameliorate some of the terrible damage humanity had inflicted upon the planet. Our own race could no longer survive here, but it was possible that another, more hardy species might. Then, after aeons of time passed and the glaciers melted, perhaps the World of the Three Moons would be repopulated once again by thinking beings.

Our College created a new race, combining the heritage of humanity and of the savage Skritek—the only sentient aboriginals, who still lived in the swampy Ruwendian Plateau, where the climate was not yet too severe. Our laboratories were in the subterranean Place of Knowledge, also situated in the Mazy Mire, where our greatest university had been. The newborn race we eventually created was that of the Vispi—handsome, intelligent beings having a modest ability to utilize magic in their daily lives. We also bred a species of companion-helpers for them, giant telepathic birds that you call lammergeiers or voors, who would assist the Vispi to travel between their scattered settlements amidst the ice and snow.

Meanwhile, the time came for humanity to go off in search of a new home.

Six immense transport vessels had been constructed and were waiting near the Three Moons. Since the voyage was expected to last for uncounted years, everyone on board was to be put into an enchanted sleep, from which they would be awakened automatically at a suitable destination. One of the Moons was modified into a holding area for the passengers, since it took some time to prepare them for sleep and enclose them in special containers.

The first five vessels were loaded with sleepers and successfully launched into the firmament. Then it was time for the sixth to depart.

As you know, my dear Haramis, at the last minute numbers of human beings elected to stay behind. Some of them were stubborn diehards who refused to abandon their old homes, but others had more serious motives for remaining.

You see, a new disaster had occurred.

Nerenyi Daral and several other ranking members of the Star Guild had escaped from the Chasm of Durance. We had thought the prison was impregnable, knowing nothing of the Star Men’s magical safety device called the Cynosure. This contrivance—the same that twice rescued Orogastus from certain death—had been carried away from the scene of the last great battle by the sorcerers who avoided capture. Those fugitives eventually found a place of sanctuary in the Inaccessible Kimilon, where they activated the Cynosure and snatched Nerenyi and a few of her chief lieutenants away from us.

We of the Archimagical College were unsuccessful in our attempts to track the escaped Star Men down. When the time came for us to board the last sky ship we hesitated, fearing that the powerful sorcerers of the Star might find some way to enslave the naive Vispi and frustrate the noble scheme we had worked so hard upon.

Hoping to prevent this, we Archimagi also decided to stay behind.

The last group of emigrants, already unconscious inside their womb-bubbles, waited in one of the Moons to be transported to the ship through a viaduct. The world below was locked in winter, and ghastly storms roared over the land and sea. With great difficulty, we had deactivated all of the landside viaducts that were not already buried in ice so that the escaped Star Men would not be able to use them. None of us suspected that a single viaduct located in the Kimilon had been melted free by the original small group of fugitives.

We were in the midst of maneuvering the vessel into its proper position before putting the passengers on board when it happened.

Nerenyi Daral and her cohort came through that viaduct onto the ship and attempted to seize control. There was a brief but fierce affray. Nineteen of the twenty-eight surviving Star Guild members and most of our College were killed. Only six Archimagi remained unhurt, while eleven survived with serious injuries. I captured Nerenyi Daral, but the eight sorcerers who still lived escaped back to the surface of the world through the reprogrammed viaduct and once again disappeared.

We sent our wounded back to the Place of Knowledge for the sindona consolers to nurse, while the rest of us attempted to resume our urgent work loading the sky ship. But a fresh disaster had occurred: the great vessel was mortally damaged by the artificial lightning of the Star Men’s weaponry. Being semi-sentient, the ship bespoke us a warning of its inevitable destruction within two days, showing us also how we might send it speeding away from the Three Moons so that they would not be harmed when the vessel burst into fragments.

We moved the ship to the other side of the planet, where it was consumed in a fireball brighter than the sun.

My fellow Archimagi retired to the Place of Knowledge to mourn. I remained in the Moon that now bears my name as custodian of the Ones Unable to Vanish, together with Nerenyi Daral, the Lady of the Star whose dead body you have seen. It was my intent to convert her through my love, but instead she contrived the ultimate escape, leaving me alone with those poor sleepers who would never open their eyes upon a new world.

I have remained here close by them, meditating upon ways to better their sad fate and that of the world, ever since.

Over eleven thousand years passed. The Glacial Age seemed to wane. The tiny pockets of human settlement endured a difficult, primitive existence, but they survived. So did descendants of the escaped sorcerers of the Star Guild, who concealed their powers and attempted to blend in with ordinary humanity.

The Vispi had a better life, thanks to the remaining members of the Archimagical College and their sindona assistants, who were their benevolent guardians. But our cherished new creatures did not multiply as quickly as we had hoped. Because the Vispi are beautiful, the stay-behind humans sometimes mated with them. The offspring (who proved more fertile) frequently did not resemble the parents. Some of these Oddling children were cruelly abandoned by human parents in infancy, while others voluntarily left human or Vispi society to live with their own kind as they matured. Over the ages the Oddling tribes became true races—Nyssomu and Uisgu and Dorok and Lercomi and Cadoon, the people of mire and mere and mountain and jungle. The ferocious Skritek also persisted, and inevitably their blood merged with that of the Folk, giving rise to taller aborigines of less human appearance—the Wyvilo, the Glismak, and the Aliansa.

But the most prolific race of all was the paradoxical remnant of humanity! They managed to thrive in spite of the ice, and after thousands of years had passed they greatly outnumbered the Folk and took over the most desirable lands. A new human civilization was born, much simpler than that of the Vanished Ones, and the ancient history of the World of the Three Moons was almost completely forgotten.

We Archimagi were less successful in propagating ourselves. The surviving original members of the College were longlived, but in time all passed beyond … except me. Our adopted successors eventually left the Place of Knowledge and took up residence in different parts of the world, where they served as caretakers and fonts of wisdom.

Now only three of us remain.

So does the Star.

And the world, which had seemed to be regaining its lost balance, totters once again on the brink. Nine hundreds ago, I witnessed the dire retrogression’s beginning, and so did Iriane and your predecessor, the Archimage Binah. I caused the birth of Orogastus—last of the true Star Men—and Iriane and Binah contrived the birth of you triplets in hope of counteracting him. As the Blue Lady and White Lady had hoped, you and your sisters Anigel and Kadiya found the lost pieces of the Sceptre of Power.

You Three and the Star Master have endured many vicissitudes since then. My vision of your joint destiny and the future of the world is clouded and flawed. I’m so old, so worn, so tired … and very likely I am no longer even sane.

Be that as it may, I do know that there are two possible ways of restoring the great balance, both dependent upon the Sceptre of Power and both exceedingly perilous. Orogastus is certainly capable of performing the restoration. If he becomes ruler of the world, he can do what must be done by brute force and the dark sorcery of the Star.

The Flower—and you Three, who are its human embodiment—might also restore the balance, and your victory would certainly be a more propitious and elegant one than that of the Star. But I do not understand the Black Trillium. It is part of the original magical heritage of this world, more ancient than either the College or the Star, and for this reason I do not trust it. All logic says that you Three Petals of the Living Trillium will surely fail.

But I could be mistaken …

That’s why you’re here, my dear Haramis! Perhaps we can work out the elegant solution together, and perhaps not.

But I won’t let you leave my Moon and interfere with Orogastus. I saw the pair of you together, when you were ready to kill him in spite of your love and your holy oath. Fool! He is the true hope of the world—not you and your futile sisters.

No, don’t you dare argue with me, Archimage of the Land! Here you are, and here you’ll stay, until Orogastus conquers the world and uses the Sceptre to save it.

Or destroy it once and for all.