Neverness by David Zindell

Author:David Zindell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0-917657-97-7
Publisher: Donald I. Fine, Inc.

Chapter 16

The Death of a Pilot

I am fond of the sea and of all that is of the sea’s kind, and fondest when it angrily contradicts me; if that delight in searching which drives the sails toward the undiscovered is in me; if a seafarer’s delight is in my delight; if ever my jubilation cried, “The coast has vanished, now the last chain has fallen from me; the boundless roars around me, far out glisten space and time; be of good cheer, old heart!” Oh, how should I not lust after eternity and after the nuptial ring of rings, the ring of recurrence?

Never yet have I found the woman from whom I wanted children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love you, O eternity.

For I love you, O eternity!

fifth death meditation of the warrior-poets

Somewhere along the stream below the cave, we stopped to heave shagshay meat off the sleds, to lighten our loads. I took my mother into the woods, through the yu trees sparkling with snow. I made her tell me everything. At first, she lied to me, saying that she had no idea why the Devaki had thought Katharine was a witch. But then she grew angry and said, “Wasn’t Katharine a witch? What is a scryer, if not a witch? Why else would my son lie with a scryer? Why would you be so careless? To rut like a beast and have your fun - how did it feel? You men! You have your fun, and then we must have the child. But Katharine wanted the child, didn’t she? Your child. Yes, I know, the child was yours. Your seed. I heard Katharine say so. Your cousin and ... and Soli’s daughter, Katharine. She knew. She was a scryer and she saw the truth. Willingly, she took you willingly! That witch! And so I went to her and called her a witch. Can you blame me? She should have aborted the fetus. When she had the chance.”

It was the second time in my life when I almost struck her. I was sweating and hot despite the bitter cold. I could hardly look at her. “You killed her, then,” I said.

“Who killed her? Was it I who wanted this expedition? Was it I who went to her bed? My seed? The things you say - my son can be cruel when he forgets to think before speaking,”

In silence we walked through the deep snow back to the sleds. The fingers of my wounded arm were numb as I gripped the rails. We followed the stream down through the hills below the cave. We wound our way east away from Kweitkel, where the mountain’s many frozen rills and brooks flowed into the stream, swelling it into a small river. Rising up above a bend in the river was a barren hill the Devaki call Winterpock. (The hill is visible from the cave but because of its peculiar barrenness, when the light is poor or diffuse, the hill appears as a depression rather than as a prominence.

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