[New Sun 04] The Citadel of the Autarch
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Now—will you answer a question for me? It’s not official, so you can tell me it’s none of my affair if you want.”
“I will if I can.”
“What will you do when you leave the Pelerines?”
I was somewhat taken aback. “Why, I hadn’t planned to leave at all. Someday, perhaps.”
“Well, keep the light cavalry in mind. You look like a man of your hands, and we can always use one. You’ll live half as long as you would in the infantry, and have twice as much fun.”
He urged his mount forward, and I was left to ponder what he had said. I did not doubt that he had been serious in telling me to sleep on the road; but that very seriousness made me hurry forward all the faster. I have been blessed with long legs, so that when I need to I can walk as fast as most men can trot.
I used them then, dropping all thoughts of Master Ash and my own troubled past. Perhaps some thin presence of Master Ash still accompanied me; perhaps does so yet. But if it did, I was and remain unaware of it.
Urth had not yet turned her face from the sun when I came to that narrow road the dead soldier and I had taken only a little over a week before. There was blood in its dust still, much more than I had seen there previously. I had feared from what the uhlan had said that the Pelerines had been accused of some misdeed; now I felt sure that it was only that a great influx of wounded had been brought to the lazaret, and he had decided I deserved a night’s rest before being set to work on them. That thought was a vast relief to me. A superabundance of the injured would give me an opportunity to show my skills and render it that much more likely that Mannea would accept me when I offered to sell myself to the order, if only I could contrive some tale to account for my failure at the Last House.
When I turned the final bend in the road, however, what I saw was entirely different. Where the lazaret had stood, the ground seemed to have been plowed by a host of madmen, plowed and dug—its bottom already a small lake of shallow water. Shattered trees rimmed the circle. Until darkness came, I walked back and forth across it. I was looking for some sign of my friends, and also for some trace of the altar that had held the Claw. I found a human hand, a man’s hand, blown off at the wrist. It might have been Melito’s, or Hallvard’s, or the Ascian’s, or Winnoc’s. I could not tell.
I slept beside the road that night. When morning came I began my inquiries, and before evening I had located the survivors, some half dozen leagues from the original site. I went from cot to cot, but many were unconscious and so bandaged about the head that I could not have known them. It is possible that Ava, Mannea, and the Pelerine who had carried a stool to my bedside were among them, though I did not discover them there.
The only woman I recognized was Foila, and that only because she recognized me, calling
“Severian!” as I walked among the wounded and dying. I went to her and tried to question her, but she was very weak and could tell me little. The attack had come without warning and shattered the like a thunderbolt; her memories were all of the aftermath of hearing the screams that for a long time had brought no rescuers, and at last being dragged forth by soldiers who knew little of medicine. I kissed her as well as I could, and promised to come and see her again—a promise, I think, that both of us knew I would not be able to keep. She said, “Do you recall the time when all of us told stories? I thought of that.”
I said I knew she had.
“I mean while they were carrying us here. Melito and Hallvard and the rest are dead, I think. You will be the only one who remembers, Severian.” I told her I would remember always. “I want you to tell other people. On winter days, or a night when there is nothing else to do. Do you remember the stories?”
“‘My land is the land of far horizons, of the wide sky.’ “
“Yes,’ she said, and seemed to sleep. My second promise I have kept, first copying all the stories onto the blank pages at the close of the brown book, then giving them here, just as I heard them in the long, warm noons.
XIX. Guasacht
THE NEXT TWO DAYS I spent in wandering. I will not say much of them here, for there is little to say. I might, I suppose, have enlisted in several units, but I was far from sure I wanted to enlist. I would have liked to return to the Last House, but I was too proud to cast myself on Master Ash’s charity, assuming that Master Ash was again to be found there. I told myself I would gladly have returned to the post of Uctor of Thrax, yet if that had been possible, I am not certain I would have done so. I slept like an animal in wooded {daces and took what food I could, which was little.
On the third day I discovered a rusty falchion, dropped, as it appeared, in some campaign of the year before. I got out my little flask of oil and my broken whetstone (both of which I had retained, together with her hilt, when I had cast the wreck of Terminus Est into the water) and spent a happy watch in cleaning and sharpening it. When that was done, I trudged on, and soon struck a road.
With the protection of Mannea’s safe-conduct effectively removed, I was more chary of showing myself than I had been on my way from Master Ash’s. But it seemed probable that the dead soldier the Claw had raised, who now called Miles though I knew some part of him to be Jonas, had by now joined some unit. If so, he would, be on a road or in camp near one, if he was not actually in battle; and I wished to speak to him. Like Dorcas, he had paused a time in country of the dead. She had dwelt there longer, but I hoped that if I could question him before too much time had erased his memories of it, I might learn something that would—if not permit me to regain her—at least help reconcile me to her loss.
For I found I loved her now as I never had when we tramped cross-country to Thrax. Then my thoughts had been too much of Thecla; I had always been reaching inside myself to find her. Now it seemed, if only because she had been a part of me so long, that I had grasped her indeed, in an embrace more final than any coupling—or rather, that as the male’s seed penetrates the female body to produce (if it be the will of Apeiron) a new human being, so she, entering my mouth, by my will had combined with the Severian that was to establish a new man: I who still call myself Severian but am conscious, as it were, of my double root.
Whether I could have learned what I sought from Miles—Jonas, I do not know. I have never found him, though I have persevered in the search from that day to this. By midafternoon I had entered a realm of broken trees, and from time to time I passed corpses in more or less advanced stages of decay. At first I tried to pillage them as I had the body of Miles—Jonas, but others had been there before me, and indeed the fennecs had come in the night with their sharp little teeth to loot the flesh.