Ydnas: The Girl of the Prophecies

By Paul D. Bowen

Ydnas is a novel of ideas in the form of fantasy fiction. In the vast and decadent city of Kondrastibar, the social Balance has been preserved by Theo-Anarchy for centuries. Countless churches and gods form the organizing principles for a decentralized society composed of thousands of largely independent neighborhoods. As the book begins, Kor, who runs an orphanage, rescues a young girl, Ydnas, from a slave auction. She brings Ydnas to the orphanage, where they are assisted by a priest from the local Church of Irony. But it is soon evident that Ydnas is no ordinary girl, and the immensely powerful and ambitious Lord of Evil suspects she may be the Girl that the Prophecies predict will upset the old Balance. The reader follows the adventures of many different characters, including Amazons, a crime lord, soul harvesters, and a Kelosian monk whose religion requires him to steal from the rich to give to the poor. Through its multiple plot lines, the novel explores ideas about religion, society, nonviolence, and money before coming to its stunning conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul D. Bowen
• Release date: Mar 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311473622

Paul D. Bowen

Although Paul D. Bowen often claims to have been born on Arcturus IV, records indicate an Earthly birth. He has had a number of jobs, including factory work, apartment rehab, an associate professorship in Philosophy at an Ivy League school, and a High School teacher of assorted subjects at a school for the gifted.

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[Readers may wish to skip this preface and proceed directly to the story.]

It is a great privilege to be able to present this new translation of Ydnas, which is believed by many to be the greatest novel in the Gastripi language, in spite of the fact that parts of it have apparently been lost, and other parts forged or altered. Recent scholarship has, however, discovered or restored 720 previously unknown fragments dating from the Trang Interregnum, bringing the total of known credible fragments to 5,040. These in turn can apparently be plausibly gathered into as few as 120 complete variants; within each variant, the separate fragments are consistent except for minor details. Of these variants, 24 appear to tell a fairly complete story, although it is hard to be sure, given the tendency of the author(s) to ignore many of the usual conventions of the tale or novel. As far as I know, mine is the only translation so far to profit (I hope!) from perusal of all this material and from the scholarly controversies thereon.

I must confess that I have added to the confusion by combining episodes from several variants, although in the main I have followed the Karlekola-Staxvalt variant, number 6 in the Rimraf listing. I cannot justify this from purely historical evidence; I did it because it seemed to me to make a better story that way. I have tried to make the work as a whole self-consistent, although I am intrigued by Serimenth’s contention that the original was deliberately made not so.

Indeed, some may object to my incorporating the new material, since speculating about the missing parts has always been one of the greatest pleasures of reading Ydnas. One might even say that it has become a huge collective work with thousands of authors, each filling the gaps in his own way. Furthermore, Mirple and others have argued that the novel was originally and deliberately written with multiple versions, and Gratibulash has presented intriguing evidence that it was originally and deliberately written with parts left out. Of course, they may both be right. I can only reply that although my version may be too complete and coherent for some tastes, the reader who enjoys attempting to improve on it is free to do so. Readerly creativity is therefore still an option.

Quite apart from the problems of missing or multiple versions, scholars have long argued about what exactly Ydnas is supposed to be. Is it a work of pure fiction, or are we supposed to take it, to some extent, as history, or prophecy? Is it a serious work in Theology, sweetened with tales of sex, drugs, violence, magic, and intrigue, or is it a satire on that very genre? Or do sex, drugs, violence, magic, and intrigue constitute the main point, and Theology the sweetening? Do some characters and events have symbolic or archetypal significance? Is the work meant to propose a complex but coherent picture of the universe and human society, or is it meant to suggest that the complexity of the world will always be too great for us?

Is it meant to precipitate a religious conversion, as Tordel Rei now claims (having experienced one), or is it meant to build the reader’s resistance to religion, as Rei insisted in her younger years? Is it a systematic exploration of moral failure and redemption, as Trr has suggested? Or is it rather about the Problem of Evil, as the D’reneki School argues? Is the Arjikranz Group correct, that it is about the nature of the self? Is it a Utopian socio-political tract, as the Zugurgili Collective has maintained? Or is it just a patchwork of various loosely connected tales, as A’Artigan has proposed?

I have argued that it attempts to be all those things, like Ydnas’ chameleon god, who can (and no doubt will) take form as a mountain, a sound, a mood, a prime number, a style of literature, a headache, a mystery, time, evil, Philosophy, a contradiction, a city, a world, pictures of worlds, a community of literary historians, a book and its reader, a chameleon god, and everything else. As my esteemed colleagues will happily tell you, this sort of claim cannot be proved. Besides, general acceptance of such a view would put an end to the debate, which would surely be an unfortunate outcome.

We will probably never know whether there was ever a single correct version of Ydnas, whether it had one author or many, how many of the fragments we now have are forgeries, or to what extent chance and mathematics played a role in its creation. Fortunately, the non-scholarly reader doesn’t have the slightest need to have an opinion on these matters.

Please accept a wish of good luck from your hopeful translator,

Intipisk,

Three-quarters through Shortmoon 6, year 1729 of the Aluid Aristocracy.

YDNAS

"A journey of a thousand horizons begins

with a single act of the imagination."

(The Book of Achievement)

It is written that once there was a fabulist. He was intrinsically creative, and so he began to make up stories. In his stories he created many people, and many worlds for them to live in. Among the people were gods and mortals, women and men, parents and children, criminals and saints, teachers and students, demons and angels, rulers and ruled, writers and readers. There were laborers, warriors, monks, philosophers, merchants, aristocrats, con artists, healers, farmers, thieves, kings, fishermen, fabulists, and many others. Over time, these people interacted with each other in a progressively more intricate way, creating various patterns on a larger scale. Language and custom changed with time and place, and every person had to grapple with his own uniqueness. Many of them tried to see larger patterns in their lives, and to grasp the meaning and purpose of it all. They had mixed success.

This particular fabulist created the wonderful and terrible city of Kondrastibar, on the coast of the Sea of Dreams. Sometimes small and sometimes large, Kondrastibar at its greatest extent rose from the many-fingered shores of the coast, sprawled across the rich tropical delta of the river Kron, marched over the dry but fertile plain of Yuclo, groped through the soulful mists of the Thousand-Lakes region, scaled the cliffs and gorges of the Hill Country, and finally climbed the ever-steepening sides of the great mountain Archonect, almost up to the tree-line. To and from Kondrastibar go more kinds of convoys and caravans than anyone will ever think of. Thence go even the diaphanous Tellamir, singing in prismatic ships, and the deep-dwelling Rotimor, echoing through their caverns.

In Kondrastibar, everything possible must happen. Of course, the likelier things happen more often. This particular story begins in a Slave Market, where a young girl was being offered for sale by the one-eyed slave merchant, Dolla. Scrawny, unkempt, pre-pubescent, disoriented, and bruised, the girl was not likely to fetch a high price, so Dolla’s irritation was tempered with relief when there was only one bidder, an elderly Suimi woman who offered a tiny copper coin. Dolla quickly made the exchange and turned to his next item, a platoon of hypno-soldiers being sold by their pirate captors.

The elderly woman, whose sole mark of status was a small tattoo on her left earlobe, approached the shivering girl slowly and stood an arm’s length from her, smiling gently, while Dolla’s blind assistant removed the chains and pinions.

Easy, there, Dearie, she said, smiling, as she slowly unrolled a white blanket, turning it to show both sides, Let me just drape it over you, poor thing. The girl did not understand the woman’s language, but some part of her heard the gentleness and concern in the woman’s tone, and so she did not flinch as much as she might have.

Reaching into a pocket of her robe, the Suimi produced a piece of black bread. Muttering a short prayer, she handed it to the girl, who accepted it hesitantly, examined it surreptitiously, and finally mimed for permission to eat it. Of course, Dearie, replied her new mistress, nodding and smiling, and when we get home, you can have some hot soup. After sniffing, poking, and licking the bread carefully, the girl tried a small bite. With an expression first surprised and then dreamy, she chewed it, slowly and deliberately. Then, closing her eyes blissfully, she swallowed it.

Do you like it? asked the Suimi woman. By the way, my name is Kor. Kor, Kor, she repeated, gesturing to herself.

Ydnas, Ydnas, said the girl, making a similar gesture.

Shall we go then, Dearie? asked Kor, reaching out a hand. Ydnas took it, very hesitantly. They walked away from the auction block area, like two little insects in a swarm, beneath the towering, many-handed statue of Honggur, God of the Free Market. Throughout his temple, people, things, and services were being advertised, bought, sold, rented, liened, loaned, traded, assayed, promised, insured, imagined, bonded, futured, gambled with, and manipulated in countless other ways that Kor would never have wanted to understand. She gave one of her tiny coins to a cheap policeman, who, quarterstaff raised, escorted them through the feverish crowd to the hot and spicy afternoon outside.

Proceeding down the seemingly endless marble steps of the Temple, and through a smiling crowd of naked Zillist wanderers, Kor and Ydnas found themselves at the edge of an avenue whose great width would, in most cities, have made it a major thoroughfare. Lined by the huge trunks of ancient baobob trees, this avenue was made of huge blocks of blue granite. The traffic of the ages had worn the pavement down so far that courses of steps had been installed to allow pedestrians to get down to their lane. At the far edge of that lane one could see the lane for elephants and other large, slow-moving transport. When traffic was light, and the air clear, one could make out, in the distance, the lane for chariots. There were said to be other lanes, but they could not be seen from the edge.

Kor waited until she could position herself and her charge between a phalanx of brightly-hued Korzibian accountants and a division of elegantly scarified mercenaries from the Church of Balan-Ching. She and Ydnas then entered the thoroughfare and proceeded, passing frequently under overpasses for other streets, or leading to other lanes. Many of these bridges, pleasantly wrapped with ivy or wisteria, were lined at the sides with houses, stores, or temples; more than once Kor and Ydnas had to leap aside to avoid garbage (or worse) emptied from windows. As they marched, the accountants chanted a contrapuntal oratorio declaiming the fine points of multiple-version bookkeeping, while the mercenaries made an intricate chiming music by tapping with the pommels of their daggers on their shields, which were dented after the manner of steel drums. A somewhat modernist symphony of smells played on the afternoon air, and now and then they saw tendrils of red mist drifting on the breeze, indicating that magic had recently been used nearby.

Their way was long, and Ydnas, not in the best of health, was soon exhausted. Fortunately, traffic was stopped for a time, for up ahead, the caravan of a wealthy merchant, insufficiently disguised and defended, was being sacked by a local street gang. Kor encouraged Ydnas to use this time to eat a bit more, and to take a nap on her blanket.

Afterwards, they walked past an abandoned neighborhood, where all the buildings, including a huge ziggurat that had apparently once been a mall, were covered by vines and creepers. The next neighborhood, abandoned for an even longer time, was entirely given over to trees, except for a small portion that was being used for gardens. Soon after that, a large aqueduct crossed the road at an acute angle; the mercenaries apparently knew how to use it as a short-cut, for they scaled the piers like mountaineers, and made an antlike line along the top. Kor would have been more comfortable with the company of soldiers, but she resigned herself to the rowdy crowd of university students that took their place.

Soon after that, the two sojourners passed through a wealthier neighborhood, with great high temples of bronze and obsidian, and private residences large as hills. By this time their road had grown smaller, and they could see, in the distance, crowds, cavalry, and caravans going the other way. Then they rose on a sinuous bridge over a great river. Pausing to peer between two of the laughing gargoyles that made up the rail of the bridge, Kor and Ydnas briefly observed the network of barges, naval craft, houseboats, police vessels, floating temples, and pleasure boats below.

Later, the road entered a great dark tunnel beneath a ridge. Ydnas, fearful, refused to enter it, in spite of Kor’s reassurances; so they left the main road, and Kor improvised, eventually finding a small path of cracked steps that led to the top of the ridge. There, exhausted by the climb, they paused to rest, observing a crowd performing some ritual by a broken-down statue of the Goddess of Entropy. Looking back, they saw the road they had come by, as far as the bridge; following the river with their eyes, they saw it join with another, larger one, which disappeared into the horizon’s haze. Looking ahead, they saw a steep and tumbled land, covered with an exhausting variety of architecture, and punctuated with parks, lakes, and regions of decay. One small hill appeared to be on fire.

After their rest, they rejoined the granite road, which was once again sunken and lined with beobab. In another hour, afternoon was itself exhausted. The sun was a mottled orange ball imprisoned by distant spires, and chilly breezes of evening were blowing. Both travelers were weary to the bone, and Kor had to use both her hands on the rail to help her arthritic body to climb out of the thoroughfare. She hoped to find a temple hostel where they could obtain food and lodging for the night. As they passed between the trunks of the beobabs, however, they were struck by the astringent reek of pari blossoms, for they were entering a park frequented by fashionable addicts. But I will not tell you the whole story of their journey; should you wish to know more, it is the subject of an exquisite 1,729-line poem by the 108th-Century Trong Dynasty Poet, Pseudo-Aminthine of Telosium. Pseudo-Aminthine’s poem, a work of allegorical fiction, predates the incident itself by over 17 millennia, but describes it quite accurately, presumably by coincidence.

Suffice it to say that it was five days later, when, utterly exhausted, they finally reached Kor’s dwelling, a condemned building in a badly decayed slum whose name does not bear repeating. The building’s exterior was boarded up, and covered with obscene graffiti and advertisements for a local suicide parlor. A painted-over sign above the main entrance (no longer usable) could barely be seen to have once read, Madame Caramami’s School for Courtesans. Stepping over the comatose body of a local drunk, and ignoring the smell of urine, Kor led Ydnas around behind the building and into an inner courtyard. There, after making sure no one else was observing, she knocked an intricate rhythm on a boarded-up door. She listened for a moment, and knocked again. A knocking was heard from the inside, and Kor knocked yet a third time, with a different rhythm. A few moments later, the entire raft of boards swung silently outward, revealing crumbling steps that descended into total darkness. By this time, Ydnas had come to trust Kor enough to hesitantly enter that darkness with her. They stood, holding hands, breathing must and mildew, as the secret door shut and latched itself behind them, depriving them of all light; Kor could feel Ydnas’ hand trembling in her own. Then, an inner door opened. Suddenly they were bathed in light, warmth, music, color, the fragrance of food, and the sounds of happiness and love. A crowd of joyously screaming children of various ages rushed up to hug and climb on Kor, who sat on the floor, so as to be accessible even to the smallest. Ydnas shrank back into the dark, shuddering, but she did not panic, and the wideness of her eyes was not entirely due to fear.

**********

I found myself in a place of love.

(from the popular song, Finding Myself)

The Fabulist had a warm feeling about having brought Kor and Ydnas to a safe and friendly place, and about having spared them most of the details of their grueling five-day journey. At the same time, he felt familiar doubts about the world that he had created. Could he be proud of a world in which little children were sold as slaves? Why did his creation have to contain so much ugliness, suffering, stupidity, and evil? Was there some dark, malevolent side in himself? Certainly no one was under as much temptation as he, for his power was absolute, and he could be called to account by no one but himself.

He wasn’t sure he could do better, though, for whenever he tried to imagine some more perfect world, he failed. Would it be a world without pain or problems? What would people do in such a world? It would be easy enough to create a world in which numberless people floated in pure bliss forever, wanting and doing nothing, but such an idea seemed to him terrible rather than wonderful.

He also worried about his characters. He had complete power over them. They were his slaves. They were worse than slaves, they were puppets, they were phantoms; they thought and acted as though they had being and will of their own, but really, they had none. ‘How bizarre of me,’ thought the Fabulist, ‘to create such trivial beings. But perhaps I can redeem myself: as each one develops his own character, I will simply have that character play itself out; I will not interfere. Then they will be independent.’

Unfortunately, he had doubts about his ability to do that. If a character he liked were threatened by one that he considered evil, would he be able to just stand aside? Or, would he even be able to let such a situation come up, if he was not willing to intervene?

Perhaps this was a bad idea, he thought; perhaps I should stop now, before I get any more attached to Kor and Ydnas and the others. But he felt that it was already too late to stop; he had created them, and he could not just abandon them, trapped in their last frozen moment of time. To be sure, they were not real; but then, was the Fabulist himself, real? How could he ever know?

He was also worried about where it all was going; was there some point to it, or would it just be one thing after another? He had ideas about that, but they were vague; he was hoping that they would clarify themselves as he went along. Besides: if he was really going to set them free, how could he hope to predict the outcome? He would just have to wait and see. He feared this would make for a long and disorganized story.

With a sigh of resignation, he turned back to Kor and Ydnas. He decided that at first, when the inner door had opened, Ydnas had shrunk back into the shadows. But the sight of so many happy children was the one thing that could convince her that at last, she had found herself in a place of safety. At first tears wet her cheeks, but after she had watched for a moment, her mouth trembled into the beginnings of a smile.

Kor’s head emerged from the hill of children, and whistled shrilly for silence; then she performed the best introduction she could. This is the child I went to get, she said. She doesn’t speak our language, and I do not even recognize hers, but I believe she is called ‘Ydnas.’ Come here, please, Ydnas, said Kor, smiling and gesturing, and I will introduce you to the others. Ydnas came shyly forward, and Kor proceeded to introduce them all. There were too many names and faces for Ydnas to remember, especially since she found many of their names difficult to pronounce, but she was struck by two: a boy of about thirteen, with pale blue hair and a deep purple complexion, named Sronk, and an older girl, three-eyed, blonde, and very tall, named Intipisk. All the children were barefoot and dressed in patchwork clothes. Their hair was cut short and they were generally without ornament of any kind, except for a few tattoos and some scarification.

Now, said Kor, as you can well imagine, Ydnas and I are in need of three things: food, a bath, and sleep, in that order. Will there be any problem with that?

No, no, replied one of the older boys, we have been simmering soup and keeping bathwater hot ever since the ninth day, as you suggested.

Thank you, Tak, I knew you would, said Kor, smiling warmly at him. Let’s go into the kitchen.

Going down a short hall and turning left, and followed by a crowd of curious children, Kor guided Ydnas to the kitchen, which was full of warmth, and of the pleasant fragrance of soup that simmered in a big black kettle. Kor took a bent but serviceable ladle from a rack, two crude earthenware bowls from a cupboard, and a pair of roughly-carved wooden spoons from a drawer, and doled out some thick soup for herself and Ydnas. It steamed as it plopped into the bowl. Ydnas stared at it with wide and fascinated eyes. Be careful, Dearie, Kor said to Ydnas, waggling her finger in warning. "It is hot. Hot!" She pantomimed putting the tip of her finger in the soup, snapping it back with a dismayed expression, and blowing on it. Ydnas looked the tiniest bit amused. Then Kor took a spoonful of her soup and blew dramatically on it, before very tentatively putting it to her lips. Finding it cool enough, she took it in and swallowed it, making an exaggerated expression of relish. Ydnas did the same, pausing especially long to taste a tiny bit of the soup before she took the rest from her spoon. Then she began to eat steadily, until she had eaten three bowls.

Now, Intipisk, said Kor to the tall, three-eyed girl, would you mind? Please take Ydnas to the bathroom with the statue of Isiliar. I will use the one upstairs; if there is any problem, send someone to fetch me.

I will, said Intipisk, who was clearly very eager to welcome their new housemate, and to get to know her. At first, Ydnas was a bit reluctant to leave Kor, but Kor made it clear with smiles and gestures that Ydnas had nothing to fear, and finally she was willing to follow Intipisk through a couple of rooms and passageways, down a short flight of stairs, and along another corridor, until they came to a room with a large stone tub. As Intipisk got home-made soap and a cloth and towels from some cupboards, and verified with gestural language that Ydnas understood the significance of these things, Tak and two other boys appeared with steaming kettles of water, which they emptied into the tub with great gusto. Two hundredbreaths later, they appeared with more, including a lidded one which they left on a small stove beside the tub, with a dipper beside it. Meanwhile, Intipisk had lit several aromatic candles, and the room began to fill with the fragrance of lilac.

After the boys had gone, Intipisk pantomimed, Just call me if you need me, and also left. Ydnas removed her clothes; this was a bit tricky, as her underclothes had in a number of places become amalgamated with scabs from various injuries. She found the water so hot that she had to enter it gradually; but then it was wonderfully relaxing. The tub had been designed with a slope, so that she could lie with her head and shoulders on a soft place and relax completely without having to worry about her face going under. She felt a soft tingling: the soap, which Intipisk had already placed on an underwater shelf, seemed to be cleaning her body without the need for any scrubbing on her part. As she relaxed more and more, she heard a tinkly, high-pitched music. Looking up, she saw an intricate wind chime hanging from the ceiling, played by the warm air rising from the bath.

As she lay in such warm and pleasant surroundings, Ydnas came close to dozing off, but that made her anxious, and motivated her to complete the bath. Moving to a deeper part of the tub, she scrubbed herself, gently but thoroughly, including her hair. Then she lifted the drain-plate and climbed out. Drying herself with the huge and fuzzy towel that Intipisk had provided, she reached for her clothes, but noticed that Intipisk had laid out a set of patchwork clothes similar to those worn by the other children. After a long pause, she examined them carefully, and decided to wear them instead, transferring a few small objects from the pockets of her old clothes. She then gathered the latter, and deposited them in a wicker hamper.

As she turned to the door, she saw an alcove that had been behind her, with a small statue in it. She went over to take a closer look.

The statue was made of pear wood, with only a clear varnish for decoration. It was very realistic, and astonishingly beautiful. It showed an ancient woman, dressed in a robe of many folds, and leaning on a staff. With incredible skill, the sculptor had made the grain of the wood itself help to portray the intricate age lines of her face, and the falling folds and wrinkles of her robe. Her entire bearing radiated happiness and love. Ydnas looked surprised, like a person who has just remembered something that had long been forgotten. "Lithiel Isili!" she breathed, and stood before it for a long time, tears streaming down her face.

**********

"Things are sometimes what they seem,

just enough to keep us guessing."

(from The Book of Irony)

The next day, as Kor was taking some warm and fragrant bread out of the oven, Tak came to her and said, Talek is here to see you.

The rest of supper, we can do, said Lessie, one of the older girls who had been helping. Thank you, Dearie, said Kor, and found her way to the visitor’s wing. This part of the house was separated from the main part by a reinforced door, which she closed after passing through, locking it with a combination lock consisting of several levers.

Kor then turned to another heavy door. Removing three iron locking bars and turning a large wheel several times around, she opened it, revealing the anteroom of the visitors’ entrance. Its windows had been covered over with wood, backed by bars of steel. In this dark cage stood a small, bent man whose face was completely hidden by the veil of black cheesecloth in front of the large black hood that he wore. This hood was part of a full-length robe, also black. In a black-gloved hand, he held a straight wooden staff, also black, with a shard of obsidian fixed to the top. In the dim light, he was little more than a shadow. Good morning, Kor, he said, in a whispery voice, both soft and dry, while making a stiff little bow.

Do come in, Talek Dear, and have a seat! said Kor brightly.

Thank you, replied Talek, stepping silently forward, and settling wraithlike into a chair. His voice seemed to have a tiny bit of echo built into it, which gave it a strange resonance. Kor closed the door to the anteroom, seated herself near him, and asked, What’s new?

I presume that you found the child you were looking for, said Talek, leaning forward expectantly. His movements were very slow, suggesting great age.

Yes, replied Kor, and she now seems in good health, although of course she’d been mistreated, poor thing! She has gotten fairly used to us, although things occasionally happen that scare her. Harmless things, really, but I guess they remind her of other things. On the whole, I think she is quite happy to be here.

I’m sure she is, said Talek. This is a wonderful place. That was a difficult trip, though, all the way to the Temple of Honggur and back.

Kor grimaced and rolled her eyes. Five days each way, and I can tell you, Dearie, we had one scare after another!

I imagine so, said Talek, with the ghost of a chuckle. I admire your courage in going through with it.

I do what the Goddess says, Talek.

Indeed. I trust the girl is as you expected?

Of course she is, Talek. The Goddess would not lie to me.

Let me rephrase that. Does she straightforwardly appear to be, what you are sure she is?

Well, no, she doesn’t. She just looks like a sweet little girl – one who’s been through some hard times. Very smart, I think, and good-natured. Such a dear, really! She doesn’t know our language, so I still don’t know much about her.

I’d like to meet her.

Of course, Dearie, but please, not yet. I want the poor thing to rest, and get to know all the other little ones, and feel a little safe for once. Maybe in a few days.

Certainly. I hope you don’t mind my curiosity.

Oh, no, Talek, not at all! I just can’t tell you much right now.

Of course not, said Talek, nodding. That was only to be expected. There was a pause in the conversation. Then Talek said, I’m afraid I have some disturbing news.

Kor’s eyebrows went up. Oh, Dear! What’s that?

I’m told that the Angels of Rejuvenation will swarm here soon.

Kor looked aghast. For the span of several breaths she was speechless. Are you sure?

I’m afraid so. I have it independently from several very good sources, and I have assured denials from several bad ones.

Another silence. How soon?

Hard to say. They’re deliberately impulsive in such matters. Maybe in a smallmonth or two.

Who else knows?

Around here, just you and me, as far as I know. Well, no doubt they have some secret agents in place, getting to know the area.

We must warn people!

I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Kor. I doubt that anyone will believe you, but if they do, they will probably panic. Many will loot, riot, sell spurious protection, find scapegoats, and do what few things they have been afraid to do before. Some will stack their possessions on carts and head for other communities, where they will not be welcome. In short, telling them might just bring on a catastrophe more rapidly.

Can’t someone help us?

The Angels are a very powerful institution, Kor. They are the core of Urban Renewal. And the people they attack are not terribly popular.

Everyone has lost hope for this neighborhood, then.

I’m afraid so, Kor. Can you blame them? But there are those who appreciate that there are pockets of good here, and I have made sure that they know of your work. That includes my Church, of course. With their help, you will be able to escape the Angels, and relocate.

Kor was holding her head in her hands. But Talek, I’ve put so many years of my life into this house!

Talek leaned forward. No, Kor, you have put that many years of your life into service to the children. And that must not come to an end.

There was another silence. Then Kor straightened up, took a deep breath, and said, Well, I have to agree; we must leave. Is there anything else?

I’m afraid I haven’t had time to make further inquiries. I hope to return tomorrow with more information. He stood.

Kor said, I’ll consult the Goddess.

Of course! I look forward to hearing what you learn.

Thank you, Talek.

You’re welcome.

Standing, he made his stiff little bow. Then he turned to face the exit. Kor turned the wheel, and the door to the anteroom slid open once again. Talek walked through it, and Kor shut the door behind him, replacing the bar. She felt a little silly about this ritual, for she was certain that Talek could, if he so desired, use his magical powers to enter the house easily at any time. She appreciated the fact that (as far as she could tell) he had never done so.

**********

Serve even those who oppress you.

(Traditional Suimi saying, attributed to Isiliar)

In the watery predawn light, Kor was scrounging for food. It was very cold. Her breath came out in a cloud, and settled as frost on the edge of her hood. She was shivering as she went through the barrels of garbage. It would be warmer later, but this was a time when most of the inhabitants of the neighborhood were asleep or comatose, and therefore unlikely to bother or compete with her. Also, this gave her the pick of the late-night fare.

She was in a fenced-in courtyard attached to Rongongyula’s Bar and Grill, where the elite of the neighborhood came to dine and socialize. The building was an elegant nine-story pagoda, dating from the glory days of the Rentrizine Democracy, when it had apparently been used by a local legislature. Its walls were covered with mother-of-pearl, its roof-tiles were onyx. From a distance, its lines were simple and serene; from close up, countless details could be seen, including bas-relief, statuary, mosaics, texts in several languages, and intricate filigree, all of which harmonized in some miraculous way. Each higher floor was devoted to a criminal clientele of successively higher prestige. The highest of all was reserved for Pappi, the dominant local crime lord and owner of the establishment, and his guests. From the spacious windows of that floor, Kor would have looked like an insect feeding in the garbage.

The clientele of Rongongyula’s Bar and Grill usually left most of their food uneaten, especially the vegetables. Kor went through the remains, separating what appeared to be untouched and wholesome from the rest. This she placed in a linen bag that she had brought with her. She would check later for poisons, diseases, and spells, and to make sure that none of the meat was human. She paused frequently to rub her hands together or to blow on them.

A noise. She gave a start and turned. A man was standing there. He was wrapped in a ragged blanket. He too was shivering, even more violently than Kor.

He appeared to be about ninety years old, but Kor knew enough to tell that he was only about twenty, and that he was an addict of ‘Smoke,’ a drug that accelerates the aging process. Also, patches of the skin develop an incurable whitish mold, which is the outer indication of a profound inner rotting. At present, his face was little more than skin and cartilage, hanging loosely on a skull. He would soon die. Most people were aware of the dangers of Smoke, but they were still irrevocably addicted when it was given to them by guile, or against their will. Wealthy people were often a target, for once hooked, they would sell all their property, and then their relatives, in order to obtain more.

Lightly dressed, the addict shivered in the cold. His right hand held a long kitchen knife, pointed at Kor.

Robe, he said, pointing at Kor. Give robe. He wiggled the point of the knife. One of his eyes had been overwhelmed by the mold, but the other tracked her accurately.

Kor was trapped between him, the fence, and the barrels. Right away, Dearie, she said with a smile. I can see that you could use it, on a morning like this! She dropped her scrounging bag, bent over, and pulled her robe over her head. Here, I’ll throw it to you, she said cheerfully. Rolling it up, she gave it a toss, so that it fell just to his left. Watching her carefully, he moved to the left and began bending at the knees to retrieve the robe with his left hand.

Under her robe, Kor had been wearing a long cotton shift. Here, D-Dearie, take this t-too! she said, her teeth chattering from the cold. Bending over again, she pulled the shift over her head, rolled it up, and tossed it a little further to his left. She was now wearing only a loincloth, tied at the corners above her hips. Her lined and wrinkled skin, usually robin’s-egg blue, was bleached nearly white by the cold. She was covered with goose pimples, and shivering violently.

Kor now had three or four hundredbreaths’ time to get home before the cold paralyzed her. I n-need to g-go now, D-Dearie, she said, c-could you s-step aside, p-please? She gestured with her hand that he should go to his left. Very slowly, watching her carefully, he did so, and Kor sidled slowly past him, holding her open hands over her head to show that she had no weapons and was not going to do anything hostile. He did not attack.

She backed away from him, then turned and pushed herself into an arthritic lope, holding her pendulous breasts with her hands so that they would not flop. As she ran, she addressed a prayer to her goddess, Isiliar. Thank you, Isiliar, she said, for helping me to feel compassion, not just fear.

As soon as Kor was out of sight, the addict donned the shift and then the coat. Carrying his knife and blanket, he then proceeded to a nearby alley, where he crawled into a broken packing crate which had been partly filled with dried leaves. Reclining, he brushed leaves over himself until only his face was visible. Then he lay still, for hours; but he was not yet dead, for once he muttered something – a name, perhaps? – and out of his one good eye there trickled a tear.

Then a shadow fell over him. A man with a gray beard, and dressed in a gray, hooded cloak, was crouching at the entrance to the box. His eyes were also gray, his skin the color of slate. He carried an iron staff. He wore a smile of cruel and superior amusement.

The addict’s good eye lit with fear, and he started to get up, but the gray man curled his lips in a sneer, and made a clawing gesture with his hand; the addict was frozen by a spell. Crawling partway into the crate, the gray man muttered a short enchantment. A little shard of light, like a firefly, rose from the leaves that covered the addict’s chest. From a pocket, the gray man removed a small vial and uncorked it. He muttered again, and the little light entered the vial. The man replaced the cork and the vial, and departed. A bit of red smoke dispersed into the air. The body of the addict remained, and now it was truly dead.

All this was observed, from a floating mote of dust, by someone neither Kor nor the addict had ever heard of, and who was only partly there. His name was Vidigeon.

**********

Synthesis is Life, Analysis is Death.

(from the popular song, Making a Family)

Vidigeon was the First Seer of the Guardians of Evil. His capacity for perception and cognition were massive. He could with a single glance see the unique coloring of every grain of sand on a vast beach. In a thunderstorm, he could hear and analyze the splash of every drop. From the footprints of an army marching in the desert, he could count the number of soldiers, and estimate the height and weight of each, to within a tenth of a knuckle and a hummingbird’s heft. Toss a speck of sawdust into a torrent, and Vidigeon could calculate where it would be in a day, and miss by less than a manlength. Watching Kor run, he knew that she would make it home, in 11,031 steps (give or take 3), and that she would take a hot bath to warm herself up.

Without leaving the present, Vidigeon could infer much about the past and the future; without leaving Kondrastibar, he could analyze the interiors of stars; and by observing the dances of galaxies, he could come to understand the tiny pixies, unimaginable numbers of which are required to form a single speck of dust.

All manner of things fascinated him, and he never ceased to learn. Nor was he squeamish; he would investigate maimed and diseased bodies with the same enthusiasm as he would investigate healthy ones, and in fact he would often experience a kind of childlike delight upon coming across a victim of some rare or extreme indisposition, or someone who had several infirmities at once. Thus did he observe, categorize, predict, and explain various forms of infection, rot, blight, canker, taint, poisoning, infection, putrefaction, festering, bloating, dysfunction, collapse, decomposition, decay, trauma, fracture, pestilence, rigor, gangrene, parasitism, boil, abscess, tumor, monstrosity, pain, convulsion, depression, defect, disability, decline, and death. Likewise, he spied eagerly upon humans in their sexual and excretory activities, and in their moments of vice and crime. But he was interested in every side of human life, in all its glorious variety.

And yet sometimes, he felt boredom. There was always something new to observe, categorize, predict, and explain, and often the task was challenging, even for him; but he was like a child in a flower garden: every flower was beautiful, and yet, after looking at a few, he would get tired of them all. Such fatigue was a problem for him, since there was little else he was capable of doing, besides observing and theorizing. He would continue such activities, but they would become tedious.

At such times he would contact his Systems Confessor, Geristor, who would render him temporarily unconscious, run a diagnostic, and, tinkering with Vidigeon’s inner workings, re-invigorate his sense of wonder. As Vidigeon knew, it was a matter of replacing certain small numbers, in certain places within him, with larger ones; 1/4 by 15/16, for example. The most important such number (for this purpose) was called his ‘coefficient of wonder.’

He had once wondered why he couldn’t make such changes himself, and immediately he figured it out: there was a danger when intelligent beings could tinker with their own ultimate feelings of pleasure and pain: such beings would always be tempted to make themselves feel good, regardless of the situation. He was aware that humans became addicted to drugs, entertainment, wealth, power, prestige, work, danger, punishment, and religious experiences, for just this sort of reason.

He also wondered why his coefficient of wonder couldn’t just be permanently set to 15/16, and immediately saw that without the ability to have different degrees of wonder, varying according to object and situation, a sentient being might well be unable to direct its attention rationally to one subject rather than another.

Finally, he wondered why his system needed constant intervention by Geristor. In fact, he proposed to Geristor a way of re-constructing himself, so that his system would correct these problems itself, but involuntarily, and hence without his being in danger of addiction. Geristor agreed that the revisions that Vidigeon had suggested would solve the problem, but explained that, for various reasons, Vidigeon’s Creator and Lord had decided to create him with what amounted, from the point of view of pure rationality, to a flaw. Trusting his Lord implicitly, Vidigeon ceased to criticize this aspect of himself.

Great though Vidigeon was, though, some things were hidden from him. The actions of human beings were sometimes difficult for him to predict, and the nature of the gods was unclear. Above all, Good and Evil, and the Unity and Purpose of all things, were beyond his comprehension. To Vidigeon, the world was a collection of separate, meaningless facts about space, time, and probability, connected only by similarities, differences, logical entailment, and causal laws. For example: he was familiar with 1,597 distinct forms of slavery, and the vast ethical literature concerning them, but he had no opinion of his own about whether slavery was right or wrong; in fact, he strongly suspected that there was no truth to the matter, that people’s judgments of right and wrong were purely subjective, reflecting their own personal preferences but completely unrelated to the objective world, in which things just were, without being good or bad. But he had a great ambition to gain greater wisdom, and he read (looking over the shoulders of human readers) hundreds of books every day, including many on Ethics and related subjects.

Only what was thoroughly hidden away, or veiled by magic, could escape Vidigeon’s sight. His millions of tiny eyes were mounted on floating dust motes throughout Kondrastibar. He also had millions of diminutive ears and noses. All these sensors were connected, via a great invisible net, known as the Ectoplasmic Reticulum, that spread throughout the city. This net, which had existed long before Vidigeon himself, brought the information to his brain, which was divided into many parts; each such part was a calculating crystal, hidden underground. There were millions of them, scattered throughout the city. Each one was self-sufficient, and all could think simultaneously, and communicate with the others through the net. The destruction of one, or a hundred, would weaken him, but as long as one of them remained, Vidigeon would survive, and process information for his Lord.

Because of his great powers, Vidigeon was able to check on every inhabitant of Kondrastibar, at least once, in the time of a breath. Some were more interesting to him than others, however, and he distributed his attention accordingly. One of those who attracted his special attention was Talek. Vidigeon, like Kor, had never seen through Talek’s cloak; whenever he attempted to do so, the sensor would malfunction. Occasionally, Vidigeon could not even locate him. For just this reason, Vidigeon paid a lot of attention to Talek when he could.

When his Lord (who called himself The Lord of Evil) had first created him, Vidigeon had been charged, as his first and foremost task, with finding a girl who was to fulfill a number of ancient prophecies. One of these prophecies said:

In the moment of crisis, a Girl will find a new balance for Good and Evil, and lead us to a new and higher life.

Eagerly, Vidigeon had begun to search. Since he did not understand Good and Evil, he did not at first know how to look for someone who might find a new balance for them. But he had quickly remembered that he could find things without understanding everything about them; he only needed to know something about them. Very rapidly, he had learned a great deal about the ancient prophecies. He also learned what various people considered good and evil to be, although this was often vague, and although they often disagreed with one another, and even with themselves. These disagreements, he suspected, were themselves important clues. Using this as a beginning, he began to search Kondrastibar for the Girl.

Vidigeon’s ken went through the streets faster than lightning; it entered closed houses like a clap of thunder. It saw a thousand details on a grain of dust, and unraveled patterns that stretched for a thousand horizons. Searching for the Girl, he found a million clues, in the time of a single breath; each clue by itself was quite misleading, but taken together they formed an intricate puzzle that Vidigeon could tentatively solve. Relentlessly, he continued. Vidigeon’s ken thus wove a massive tapestry of relationships about Kondrastibar and its inhabitants. Every detail of the city became a mirror in which the others were almost perfectly reflected. The imperfections showed him where he was going wrong. One day, he found an indication that felt a little more solid than the others. A year later, another. Six smallmonths later, yet another.

Imagine an eye, deep in the heart of a mountain of ice. At first, it can see nothing. But once a year a bird flies past the mountain, and its body heat sublimes an invisibly small fraction of the crystal. After some unimaginably long period of time, most of the ice is worn away, and the eye sees a little light. Millennia later, the light is brighter, but still no details can be seen. Later still, the ice is a mere coating on the eye, and the eye can get a vague impression of details. Finally, the ice is gone altogether, and the eye can see the stars, the sun, the moon, the sea, the land, birds, seals and polar bears, fishermen and hunters, and even the shapes of particular snowflakes that float past. The eye never sees cold, but it begins to realize that there is such a thing.

Time moves more slowly for Vidigeon than for us, and so it was only a matter of a few years before that day came for him; on that day, Vidigeon learned that a good candidate for such a girl did indeed exist. He requested a connection to the Lord of Evil immediately. No image appeared, but a massive presence could be felt.

Where is she?

I cannot yet say, my Lord. There are forces working to hide her from me.

Keep looking!

Yes, Lord!

Vidigeon returned to his search. He began to understand many of the tricks of those who were trying to hide her. He learned to ignore their misdirections, and to penetrate by inference their magical disguises. His vision became clearer. And finally, there she was! Disguised as an ordinary girl, in an ordinary neighborhood.

I have found her, he reported, telling who and where.

Watch her, and report if she leaves. I will send agents.

Vidigeon watched. He saw and reported the girl being warned, taken up by friends, and moved, pursued by the agents of his Lord. He struggled to keep her in view. His vision flickered and blurred as his Lord’s enemies cast powerful spells to hide her. He saw numberless battles, large and small, between the Lord and his enemies. Some took place on blood-soaked fields, others in the hearts of individuals. Centuries passed, yet she never grew older. From time to time, Vidigeon would get a glimpse of her, only to lose her again. Finally, the forces of the Lord of Evil seemed to prevail. The Lord concentrated these forces on the girl. She disappeared.

The Lord of Evil asked, "Has she been destroyed?"

I cannot find her anywhere, Lord.

Perhaps she is only hidden.

I do not know, Lord.

Do you keep searching, and let me know if you see her again.

Yes, Lord. So he had searched again, and found ever new ways to penetrate ever new kinds of illusion. It seemed that every apparent road to truth was actually a road to falsehood. Yet by thoroughly exploring the false, he finally began to glimpse the true, as a sculptor chips a statue out of a block of stone by removing what does not belong to it. One day, he felt her presence yet again.

Lord, said Vidigeon, the Girl of the Prophecy is alive. She is near to her Temple, but she knows not who she is.

I will send agents to that neighborhood. Do you keep watching.

Yes, Lord. The connection died.

As always, Vidigeon felt a deep loneliness when he was disconnected from his Lord. In fact, he still felt isolated, when conversing with the Lord, for conversation still involves distance and difference. His second greatest desire was to serve his Lord, but his greatest was to be merged with Him, to be one with Him. He knew that this was his destiny, and that his life as a separate individual was only a test. He was determined to pass this test and sacrifice his own individuality, losing himself in his Lord.

Putting aside his loneliness and his hopes, Vidigeon gathered himself to keep track of the girl. He was very tired. He tried to force himself to focus, but he failed; without knowing it, he fell asleep, and began to dream.

In his dream, he saw the girl standing before him. I’ve come to give you a hint, she said, smiling at him. "Goodness is appropriateness. The Unity of All Things is complementarity." Very pleased at having found the girl, he now began searching for himself. He sought and sought, but he could find no clue. How could that be so? He knew who he was; or at least, he knew a vast number of facts about himself. Each of those facts involved some relation between himself and other things. There was no fact that was just about him.

The girl was smiling. Why did you search for me? she asked. I was always very close to you. As close as your own self is when you think of yourself.

"Are you me, then?" he asked.

"Do you know who you are?" she replied, smiling teasingly at him.

He heard his own voice saying, We … we … Why was he thinking of himself as we? Finally, he said, I have forgotten myself. He was astounded. She was smiling impishly at him. He was smiling at his own perplexity. He felt a laugh bubbling up. This is impossible, he thought. I have no sense of humor. And no mouth with which to smile, and no larynx, and no lungs, with which to laugh. That too was amusing. The laugh felt itself bubbling up. He was a bubble, and the bubbling was turning him into a laugh. The laugh hugged the girl, who was also bubbling. Soon everything was a bubble, each reflected in all of the others. Or was there only one bubble, endlessly reflecting itself? Yes, the bubbling and the laugh and Vidigeon were all hilariously one.

"You are the Unity of All Things!" laughed the girl. The laughing exploded in a brilliant flash. For a moment, there was nothing. A moment later, Vidigeon thought he saw the nature of Good and Evil, and the Unity and Purpose of All Things, only to lose them again. The explosion spent its force, and his world was cloaked in darkness.

Vidigeon slept.

**********

Rules and laws create chaos.

(from The Book of Irony)

An elegant carriage, preceded and followed by platoons of mercenaries, pulled up to the side of the street near Kor’s orphanage. Talek was standing there, with one of his neophytes (who was dressed like him, but was a good deal smaller). Now we will use the spell I showed you this morning, Talek whispered to the neophyte, who nodded.

One of the carriage doors opened, and a middle-aged man in elegant vestments emerged and called out, Excuse me, sir, but I’m looking for an orphanage run by a woman named Kor.

And who would you be? asked Talek.

I am Ininka Codrifex, Area Witness from the Cathedral of Child Welfare Services, said the man, a little pontifically.

What you are looking for, you will not find here, said Talek, in a dark, sepulchral voice. This building, which was a school for courtesans, has been condemned.

I had heard that they might be in just such a building, replied Codrifex, a little sternly, and while we admire the work of well-intentioned amateurs, we want to be sure that the children live in a safe and healthy place. That is part of the function of our Order, you know. The welfare of children is our first concern. Surely you can understand that, Mr., Ah, …

My Name is Talek. I’m a priest at the local Church of Irony.

Talek. Yes. Unfortunately, this neighborhood has deteriorated greatly in the last few years, and we are very concerned about the children here.

You have good reason to worry, Brother Codrifex. Almost all children in this neighborhood are malnourished and abused. The death rate is very high, and they receive no formal education. The main exception to this principle is Kor’s orphanage.

Does your Church minister to the poor, Mr. Talek?

That’s a fascinating question, Mr. Codrifex. We don’t give them edifying lectures, nor do we give handouts. I might also mention, that we recognize many different kinds of poverty. We tend to believe that everyone is poor, in one way or another. But yes, we do try to help them, mostly through subverting their world view.

"That is fascinating, Mr. Talek, and I’m sure your Church is doing a wonderful job. I’d like to learn more about it. We often share resources with community organizations, you know. Under certain guidelines, of course."

Of course.

But now, I do have a job here. I believe this is the place?

Talek sighed and hesitated for a moment. Then he raised his staff. Something indefinable seemed to radiate for a moment from the obsidian shard attached to the end. Yes, he said, pointing to his neophyte, and you’re in luck! Here is Kor now!

Ah, pleased to meet you, Miss Kor, said Codrifex. "I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you and your work."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Codrifex, said the neophyte brightly, making a little curtsy, and I’m happy to say that I’ve filled out our part of all the forms that apply to this case. Here they are." And suddenly there appeared in the neophyte’s hands a huge bundle of papers, which he (she?) handed to the Area Representative. A little staggered by the weight of the bundle, Codrifex managed to turn and place it in the carriage. As he turned again to face them, his expression showed, for a moment, traces of puzzlement and despair.

I do so look forward to seeing your report, Mr. Codrifex, said the neophyte, brightly, do you think you can prepare it soon?

Well, these things do take time, said Codrifex, with a knowing smile. I will have to confer with my superiors, check with other cloisters. You know how it is. But you can be assured that I will do everything in my power to expedite matters.

Talek’s posture showed the relaxation characteristic of relief. Well, I know you’ll do a wonderful job, Mr. Codrifex, said the neophyte cheerily. "Now, do have a wonderful day!"

Why yes, thank you, and the same to you! said Codrifex, bowing briefly, and disappearing into his carriage, which quickly rolled off, somewhat to the disappointment of the small crowd of con artists, prostitutes, muggers, pickpockets, drug zombies, beggars, spies, touts, fences, and voyeurs that had been converging on it.

That will keep him busy, said Talek. Although it is far from obvious, those forms make a kind of circle; each of them will ultimately require him to fill out one of the others first. After a moment he added, I wish I hadn’t done it that way. I mean, there must have been a better way, a way not involving deceit, a way not so burdensome for him.

You are too hard on yourself, said the neophyte. Where would be the irony if there was some perfect solution?

Maybe just in that, said Talek. I mean, perhaps we have become so convinced of pervasive ironies in our lives that we would miss a chance for unblemished action, even though it was staring us in the face. That would be so ironic that it is almost certainly true!

"Maybe