CHAPTER 23

  Ran pawed at the biblio in his pocket while he and Word Ferapa rode the surprisingly spacious lift in silence. His fingers ran across strange bumps, and he remembered the faded, eldritch characters. Logograms, likely.

  The Word for his part seemed totally relaxed, and stood with hands in his jean’s back pockets. Ran had wondered why a lift in such a tower would only have a ten-floor dial, until he noticed the needle didn’t start to move until a few moments ago. Likely the Word’s private floors.

  Polished, warm woods carved and inlaid with golden scenes from the Text, at least one from OxLife, the Two to Town who noticed Heir beneath his hat-Ran liked that one-the Lawman and he guessed some of the Reeds, wrapped about them.

  A gentle, hollow pang came when the cab lurched to stop, and then the doors slid open, and Ran blinked against the sunlight.

  "My roof-garden,” said Ferapa. "Supposed to look like Cradle. I hate subtlety.”

  Ran stepped from a marble floor straight onto squishy, emerald grass, was soon wandering aimlessly as if in a vision through a grove of tall trees that dappled the ground in shadows of leaves and ruby apples.

  Movement brought Ran’s eyes to the trunk of one nearby. There sat a strange blue bird, head cocked to one side, that eye fixed on Ran. Behind its body trailed a green cloak sprinkled with blue and black rings. Suddenly the thing brought its long neck up and the cloak rose about it like a green corona.

  Ran gasped.

  "Wonderful,” Ferapa said from behind.

  "What is it?”

  "A peacock.”

  The bird moved away with an astonishing grace until a gentle hooting pulled Rans eyes up.

  "Monkeys,” Ferapa said. "Traders know I love them. So adorable. Like little people. This way, Ran.”

  Ran followed, staring back at the animals, down a tightly packed cobblestone road that wound, great and lazy, through the forest. Soon it ended at a set of wide steps, and at the apex of these sat a latticed gazebo. Around it a thin curtain moved gently in the breeze; from within it came the smell of deliciouness, which Ran saw emanated from a table covered in plates of steaming food.

  "Twelve steps,” Ferapa said.

  Ran gave a quizzical look.

  "Sebi always have twelve leading up to their most important buildings.” The Word sounded surprised Ran didn’t know this. "It reminds them of Sebu, all the Tors united.”

  "You’re not like Word Urba, then?”

  "How do you mean?”

  Ran was such a moron. Had he really just said that? To another Word! "His. . .um. . .reluctance to. . .um. . .”

  Ferapa laughed, the cracks around his eyes deepening. "His hatred for the Sebi.”

  "No!” Ran shouted. "No! I didn’t mean. . .”

  Ferapa waved Ran’s off as he moved to a seat. "Don’t be silly. Urba hates the Archives. Hates the Sebi too, Rokk save him.” Ferapa pushed aside a book on the table, and Ran saw it was the bruised and battered copy of the Text he used weekly.

  Ran swallowed. He, like most, had assumed that people like Vox had badly misunderstood The Glory Word. "Why?”

  "Hmm. . . I don’t know. Before Wordheal Urba was one of the last Words in Old Honour. I remember him saying once how he had put so much of his soul into the truth of the Archives then. I can only assume one of the historians or philosophers, perhaps even some of those so-called rokkologists broke that when they kicked the big Cantons off of the island city. Not surprising that the numbers for his estate are so far down this year. Dreary. At least the Glories of old could entertain. Nothing like ours. Some party today at Morning Gift, wasn’t it?”

  Ran smiled, glanced up at the sun and was shocked to find it high. To his left, through the lattice, Ran could still make out the smoke trail from the earlier demolition.

  Ferapa followed his gaze. "Progress has a high price. Ah well, it all has to go someday.” This startled Ran, for it was as if the Word spoke of the whole city. "Old things must be destroyed before something new can be built. I doubt I have to explain that to a history-buff like you. Eat. I’m sure you haven’t had anything since breakfast. Urba’s not so thoughtful.”

  Ran was hungry, and so he sat and reached for a roll, buttered it before stuffing into his face. Ferapa stood, moved to the swaying curtain.

  "Don't get me wrong. I sympathize with Urba. So much the Text doesn’t say. Could make anyone feel cheated. See why the number of estates grow by the day.” He chuckled. "My fellow Words like to lay all of that at my door. They make so much of their antiquities, but if they’re older than me, and I responsible for these. why don’t they take the blame for me? Is it my fault I’m malleable? That they can’t change?”

  Ran was chewing on a slice of juicy ham and a forkful of sweet corn when motion to his left caused him to freeze.

  "Sitor, give it a rest.” Ferapa said without turning. "Always scowling, creeping.”

  The wormy man nodded before sliding away.

  "You can see the logic in my thinking, Ran? The older I get, the more I realize that there’s only one thing that matters,” Ferapa threw the curtain aside, revealing a breathtaking view of the entire south. "Big, strong walls.”

  Ran gasped at the sight, realizing they were somehow perched out and over the southrise corner of the tower. He rushed to the Word’s side, stared down and across, so high he could see even over wall to the distant outline of First before the sparkling Mesogaen.

  "Walls do more than keep out. They keep in. Keep order in. Contain it, at least for a bit.” The man’s eyes shone as he said, "Without them? Nothing. Doom. Dead. Dust.”

  Ran’s face twisted. Rokk is all that matters. That’s what a Given would say. Walls rise, fall, bur Rokk doesn’t.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Meaningless, but that wasn’t Ran’s thought, but that of his double-consciousness. The taunting enemy. Nameless, alone, alone, alone. Like wasps, furious at being so long ignored, they stung and stung and stung.

  Ran moved back to the table and sat, breathed slowly like Kiyo said.

  "Ahj. Now I’ve seen that face before. I know what you’re feeling.”

  "Sir, I’m sorry, but I doubt it.”

  "Overwhelmed. Anxious.” Ferapa returned to the table and sat across from Ran, "Alone.”

  Ran stared at the Word, and held back tears.

  "What troubles you?”

  A simple question, but it shook Ran so that it he felt it had the power to empty him. To sever his link to the world. Madness.

  Then, with fantastic, reckless hope, like a great barrel of water pushed over, Ran did empty. Save for the day of his finding, he told Ferapa everything. Not even with Kiyo, maw not even with Tek, had he been so candid, so thorough. Time folded, and it soon seemed as if he’d never not been talking.

  Ferapa was as a mountain, moved only when he blinked, never took his eyes from Ran’s. After a bit Ran somehow forgot he was there at all and only when a terrible, alien silence spread between them, and a light breeze circled through the gazebo and tickled Ran’s ears did he realize he had stopped, and felt lighter somehow.

  "I used to be like you.” Ferapa’s voice seemed to echo from eternity.

  "What?”

  "Surprised? Don’t be. I come from a city far set of here. Despicable place. 'Dry’ we called it. Wanhope was its name though. Nothing like Wordheal, Dry. No Given. Nothing really bad either. No one there was anything, far as I can remember. Just a bunch of sad, meaningless people, dolls in motion, going through the motions. Rokk how I hated that place. Got out when I was about your age. My father said, 'Don’t like it? Leave.’” The Word smiled. "Only useful thing that ever came out of his mouth.”

  Ferapa picked a comically big grape. Its squish in his mouth was like a giant beetle being crushed.

  "What’d you do?” Ran asked.

  "Do?”

  "To fix it?”

  Another grape. Another squish. "Gave up.”

  Ran waited.

  Squish.

  "I don’t--”

  "Of course not.” Ferapa pushed himself out of the chair. "You’re still fighting. When I say I understand what you’re going through I am not lying.” He looked over the city. "Before going any further. I need something from you. So, how about an exchange?”

  "Me?”

  The Word didn’t take his eyes off of Wordheal. "Interesting isn’t it? I hear you like stories. Never a reader, myself. This certainly sounds like the pattern from an old story. A reversal of expectations. The king needs something only the pauper can provide.”

  Pauper? Thought Ran. King? "Um. . .Well. . .What can I do?”

  Ferapa turned with alacrity, "Wonderful, appropriate response! Much easier than I thought it would be. I like you, boy! Here is how it is: You can talk to your friend Wayfarer for me. Don’t look so shocked. My people know you’ve been spending quite a bit of time together. They know he’s calling himself Nod, know is ensconced with his friends at that shelter, that he frequents your tavern. Many saw you together last night, and this morning.”

  "Frequents’,” Ran sputtered. "I wouldn't say that. He walked me home last night. He came in to the pub a few times. I only really met the guy yesterday. I don’t even know if he’s really Pilgrim Wayfarer. He may just be a nut.”

  "My people don’t think so. We know the Wayfarer came through southcontinent recently, caused quite the upheaval. Last anyone knew he was living with a group of savage gray eyes south of Mesogaen’s Lesser Gate. Only once before did he come this far north. Some time ago he went up to the orange-eyes. If those. . . uh.. . .folks. . . can be trusted, of course. It was right about the time that shaking Deathcloud became a real problem, else I might have rooted him out then. You may not know about that. We’ve tried to keep those things quiet for you young ones. But I’ve been listening, waiting for Pilgrim Wayfarer for many years, hoping he’d pass through. The single most popular Given teacher alive. Maybe the greatest ever. If you count followers, impact, he’s greater even than Heir.”

  No way Ferapa had just said that, so Ran just shook his head.

  "The point, Ran, is that I think your bald friend is Pilgrim Wayfarer. No, that’s not right. I don’t think. I know. So always has my luck ran. Everything gets real bad just before it gets marvelous.”

  "Bad?”

  Ferapa waved a hand like a striking snake. "Nothing you can do anything about, but you can with regard to this. My people have contacted Pilgrim three times, I think you were there for one, though I am not sure which. His response has been. . . less than positive. Evidently, he likes anonymity. I can’t have that. Can’t afford it. Not now. This city is divided. Estates within estates within estates. We need unity, or at least its veneer.” Ferapa stood over Ran now, looking down on him with shining eyes and a wide grin. "I’d appreciate it if you could pass that message along to him, and with some subtle encouragement from a friend.”

  Ran looked down at the table. "I really don’t think Pilgrim would listen to me, Word Ferapa. I was there when Sitor talked to him earlier. He really didn’t seem like. . .” he groped, "I just don’t know what I could do.”

  Ran expected Ferapa to brood above him, but instead he moved back across the table and resumed his seat. "I was like you once. I too was a coward. But I had my watershed moment. I told you I’d help, and I told you how I escaped the madness: I didn’t. I gave up. 'Meaningless,’ or whatever you want to call it. I walk alongside it, now. Us it as a partner, or weapon if you prefer. When you start looking at the world the way it is, dust and dust, well, it just doesn’t matter. To you or anyone. Especially it doesn't matter to me.”

  Ran’s head swirled. Coward? "I, just. . .”

  "I’ll be your teacher. The last teacher you’ll need. I’ll help you see. I’ve heard you like books. I think I said that. My people are very thorough. I’ve heard you especially favor a bookshop run by a black eye named Cree. Everyone on your block seems to know how much you like this shop. Sitor himself saw you leaving it today, as it happens. Said you looked spooked. Like you’d just stumbled out of a tomb.”

  Ran wiped his palms on his pants., I’ve no reason to be scared. Why am I?

  "Sometime last night, around midnight, as best it can be determined, this black eye was killed. Oh yeah, I too am shocked. Though I did not know the man I’m sure he was lovely. We have no idea why. Shredded as if by a beast. The place is in shambles, but I understand its always that way. The reason you and your family haven’t heard this yet is because I deemed it not so, as I do with many such things. Wordheal is big. People die all the time.

  Then I hear you love the place. The very place! Imagine it! The boy who the Wayfarer has taken such a shine to. Like I said, things always seem to click at just the right time for me.” The Word’s eyes shined. "Now, I don’t actually expect anyone would believe you would, or could, have done what was done to the black eye. No rational person would ever think that. But I don’t need rational people. Sitor will say whatever I want him to say. CityGuard will find whatever I want them to. Now this is the moment of education. I have that sort of power. I wish I could find angles on his friends at the shelter, but they have gone to ground. At least the ones I know He likes. And they seem to be that odd brand of Given who actually believe this shit.” Ferapa held up his copy of the Text before dumping it on the ground. "Why waste time chasing them down, when I have you, here, now? The closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever seen.”

  Everything had become sideways for Ran. It had been that way for several minutes now. How was he sitting? Why wasn’t he in the sky, falling? Always falling sideways?

  "Now, don’t waste time and fury wrestling with labels like 'evil.’ There is no such thing, and it won’t help you. This is also part of the education. Only action will help. You have much to think on, and I’ve taken much of your time. I won’t wait for an answer. I’ll know tomorrow at Gift what you choose. I want Pilgrim Wayfarer on that stage and standing next to me or....” Ferapa stood and walked down the twelve stairs. "I won’t have Sitor take you home, don’t worry. He’s as insufferable to me as anyone; I’ll leave you here to decompress. Leave when you feel ready. One last thing, Ran. The people you love are within my reach. This city is mine. I do not care for you, or them. Follow me, learn from and I promise you your enemy will get more and more quiet until it is just you."

  Ferapa looked around the garden, and said. "Life." He walked down the stairs, down the path and was gone.

  Ran stared down at the Text. His limp hand dropped off the table and his knuckles struck the biblio in his pocket. He watched the leaves twist in the breeze, saw a cluster of blue feathers dot the empty spaces of a nearby bush. Not Cradle, but maw. Open, festering, Maw.

  He had learned. Before Ferapa, he knew nothing. Now he knew three things: he was broken, alone, and not Given.