‘What is your horse’s name, Al·Ith?’
‘I haven’t thought of a name good enough for him.’
‘Ah, then, he is a special friend!’
‘Yes, he chose me as a friend almost from the first moment.’
‘Yori,’ he said. ‘Your companion, your friend.’
‘Yes, that is very good!’ And she stroked the horse’s nose and whispered his name, Yori, into his ears.
‘And I, too,’ said the man. Of course I have always known you, but when I saw you, I felt at once that you were of me. My name is Yori, too.’ And he sat down on the grass opposite to her, and rested his arms on his knees, and leaned forward smiling.
And now Al·Ith was altogether thrown into doubt. She smiled, and nodded, but kept silent. If things had been normal, these words were of the sort she would have responded to at once. This man was her kind, and her flesh and his flesh communicated easily, and had from first glance. Sitting there with him among the warm drily scented grasses, the shade from the little tree sifting gently over them, it would have been the easiest thing to put out her hand, to his, and start a delicious hour or two of play. But voices seemed to ring through her, saying No. No! Why? Was she then already pregnant? Oh, she hoped not, for it was not in such a way that she had chosen children in the past. And if she were pregnant, then it was in the order of things and, indeed, required, and prescribed, to allow herself to be bathed and sustained by this man’s particular and individual being, so that the child would be fed by his essences and so that it would hear his words and be nourished. When she had been pregnant — and after what care, and thought, and long careful choices—in the past, she had, as soon as she had been sure, chosen as beneficial influences for her child, several men who, knowing why they were chosen, and for what purpose, co-operated with her in this act of blessing and gracing the foetus. These men had a special place in her heart and in the annals of her Zone. They were Fathers of the children just as much as the Gene-Fathers were. Every child in the Zone had such exactly chosen Mind-Fathers, who were as responsible for it as were the Gene-Fathers. These men formed a group who, with the Gene-Mother, and the women who cared for the child, considered themselves joint-parents, forever available to her, or him, any time they were needed, collectively and individually. If she were indeed pregnant, then she could not begin too soon to choose her child’s good influences.
‘Yori … ’ and the horse pricked up his ears and moved forward, so that the two people both smiled and touched him gently to soothe him, ‘do you think I am pregnant?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Would you know, in the normal run of things?’
‘Yes, I have always done until now.’
‘Are you many times a father?’
‘Twice a Gene-Father — and I expect to be one again in five years’ time when my turn comes around. And seven times a Mind-Father.’
‘Have you always known?’
‘Yes, from the first.’
They looked at each other reflectively, in the way that would have led to play, but there was a barrier between them.
‘If I were myself, it is you I would choose above any man, and I would choose you, too, for a Gene-Father, if a Gene-Child were required of me, but …’
Shadows came racing across the great steppe, the grasses rippled and hummed, the tree above them rustled, Yori the horse lifted his head and whinnied as if letting out into the air thoughts too painful to keep in, and she sat there with tears running down her face.
‘Al·Ith! You are weeping,’ he said, in a low, appalled voice.
‘I know! I have done nothing else these last days. Why? I don’t understand myself! I understand nothing!’ And she put her face in her hands and wept, while Yori the man caressed her hands, and Yori the horse snuffled at her arm.
Waves of understanding passed between her and the man through their hands, their severed flesh mourned because their two bodies knew they should be together, and she said, ‘That is a terrible place down there. Have I been poisoned by it?’
‘Why is it? What is its nature?’
‘How should I know?’ She sounded peevish, and this shocked her. She sprang up. ‘I am irritable! I am angry! I feel the need to fling myself into strong arms, and weep — yours … oh, don’t be shocked, don’t be afraid. I shall of course not do any such thing. I have become suspicious of words and looks — now you tell me what the nature of Zone Four is!’
‘Sit down, Al·Ith.’ This command, which was as she heard it, brought her to sit down: and she sat thinking that he had not meant an order, a command, but it was the sort of suggestion a friend made, yet she had heard an order.
‘It is a place of compulsion,’ she said. ‘There are pressures we do not have here, and know nothing about. They can respond only if ordered, compelled.’
‘Ordered?’
‘No, not the Order, not Order. But do this. Do that. They have no inner listening to the Law.’
‘Have they always been like that?’ he asked, with a sudden illumination which she felt at once, so that she sat up and leaned forward, searching his face.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That may be it. I think you are right.’
‘Al·Ith, things are very bad with us here.’
‘Yes, I know it. I know it now. I should have known it before. If I had not been remiss.’
‘Yes, we are saying now that you must have been remiss. Only now. For it is only now that these different events have come together to make the understanding.’
‘Why was it no one came to tell me … ’ and she remembered that they had, and she had not been listening. ‘Oh, it is right that I am being punished … ’ she cried out, and the amazingness of the words caused her to say in a low bitter voice, ‘Did you hear that? That’s what I mean.’
‘I heard.’
Again, they were quiet, sitting close, enclosed in harmonies.
‘Perhaps if we came together you might be cured?’ he suggested.
She said, ‘As you said that my first thought was suspicion — no, wait, listen. “He is saying that for self-interest.” No, you must not be shocked at me. I am trying to explain … that is how it is with them down there and I am infected by it… . I believe that perhaps, if we joined, completely, I might be cured, improved at least. But there is some other obligation on me, an imposition I have to obey… . I feel it would not be honourable.’
‘Honourable?’ And his smile was quizzical.
‘Yes. Honourable.’
‘You do not belong to Ben Ata and his kingdom.’
‘Who knows!’ And she got to her feet again. The thin white wrapper left her almost naked. She might as well have been. He wore the comfortable loose clothes of his calling, loose trousers, and singlet. They stood close together, hands joined. The black horse Yori stretched out his nose to them from a few paces away. This is a very favourite scene among Chroniclers and artists of our realm. It is called ‘The Parting.’ Or, for the subtler minds, ‘Al·Ith’s Descent Into the Dark.’
‘I would ask you to travel with me,’ she said. ‘But I am not going to. I do not know myself. I do not trust myself. I must go alone. Meanwhile, tell me quickly how things are with you in this part of the steppe.’
Holding her hands, he talked for a while about the sadness of the animals, the poor crops, the falling-off of the weather, the lessening in conception among animals and people.
‘Thank you. And now I shall put on this dress. Tell me to whom I shall return it.’
‘It is my sister’s. She sends it with her friendship.’
‘I shall send one to her in gratitude when I get back to my home.’
He saluted her with a smile, and a gentle kiss on her cheek, and went off. She took off the white wrapper, standing naked, for comfort, among the sunny plants, and then put on the sister’s robe, which was a dark red, shaped as she liked best, close-fitting in the bodice and sleeves, loose in the skirt.
She got back on Yori and rode on towards the northern parts of her kingdom.
Everywhere she stopped her horse, and went to homestead or farm or herdsman’s shelter, to talk and make enquiries, she heard the same news. Either things were worsening fast everywhere, or they were worse here, in the north, where already the chills of an early autumn thickened the air.
