Your father is a wise man, the reply drifted back after a while.
Herewiss nodded.
(Herelaf wouldn’t tell me what he was for,) he said. (There can, of course, be no deception on that last Shore—and he did tell me that he might not have been finished. Which leaves me with a conclusion that I find frightening. Was he trying to tell me that what he was for—was specifically to be my brother, to die on the end of my sword—and so to begin the events that ended in last night? To make me into what I am now? Was that it?)
The silence drifted around him for a long time.
(It’s not an answer I like,) he said.
It is the answers we dislike the most, came the reply, that tend to have the most truth to them.
(But, Mother, it isn’t fair! Not to him, not to me—)
He knew what the answer was going to be. It was spoken with a smile, a sad one. Who ever said anything was fair, son of Mine? That’s My fault, and every time I hear that cry, it goes straight through Me. But next time. Next time—
He nodded, sighed. (I’m sorry. Mother, I really feel guilty about complaining. I have so very much: the Fire, my Name…and one of Yours, too. That’s what I’m for—to find the rest of Your Name, as much as to find mine.)
That’s a start.
(You’re looking too,) he said in sudden realization. (But it is through we who live that You look. And when all who live find their Names, and all the other pieces of Yours—)
Silence. A star fell.
Herewiss smiled. (My life had been so pointed toward one thing that I guess I panicked—I was afraid there would be nothing left for me to do. Béorgan’s mistake…. But if this is true, if I’m for seeking out Your Name wherever it is to be found, and freeing it, I’m going to be awfully busy. This is a big world….)
He ran the fingers of one hand up and down Khávrinen’s blade again. (Mother, mightn’t You have chosen better for the first man to have Flame in all these years? The Fire won’t lessen my flaws—they’re in danger of getting bigger, if anything. And even with all this Power—and I know I have much more than the average Rodmistress—can I really change the world that much, will I really be worth it? There’s so little time, so little of me—)
That, and the voice came firmly as that of a mother taking a sharp knife away from a child, that evaluation I reserve for Myself. By the common conception of it, humankind doesn’t consider something ‘worth it’ unless they get their investment back, preferably with a profit. By this criterion, most of the Universe is ‘not worth it.’ But I know—as do all the others who care—and the voice smiled at Herewiss— that it’s often necessary to give and give and not get back in any way save the knowledge that the worlds are better for it. Freelorn is right, in that respect. Béaneth was right. Béorgan the doomed was right; so were Earn and Healhra and all the others. They knew they were doomed, but they did the right thing anyway, trying to make the world better.
The voice sighed. Valiant absurdity, lost causes, such things may be doomed to incompletion and failure of one kind or another, but they are none of them ‘wasted.’ Judge these things by whether they will prolong the Universe’s life, or bring joy to what I made, and that is their worth. All things must die, but I will not scatter My poor botched creation like a child kicking over a misbuilt sandcastle. I will make it work the best I can.
Herewiss nodded.
(What shall I do now?) he asked.
You’re asking Me? Herewiss could feel an amused grin stirring somewhere. What would I do?
He grinned back. (Share the gift. Defy the Death.)
The answer was silence.
Herewiss stood up and was silent in return for a while as he gazed up at the stars. High above him burned the Moon, chill and silver in the quiet. Down the gray length of the sword, the blue Fire flowed and rippled in the stillness.
Wordlessly, he told the stars and She Who watched his inner Name. It surged in him like fire, and made him blaze with sheer joy, just to say it.
As he did, across the western sky there burned a line of fire, slow and silent. Then another fell, but closer, and another, trails of brilliance all around him, falling stars like rain in summer—burning blue, a storm of starfire, beating on the silver desert. At the white heart of the downpour Herewiss waited, hardly breathing, as he watched the bright rain fall.
Slowly, then, the starfall lessened, passing like a sudden shower—fewer stars and fewer falling, here and there a single stardrop. One last one, vivid blue like Flame, and then the sky was still.
Herewiss breathed out, smiling. “I’ll keep Your secret,” he said.
He slipped Khávrinen through his belt, and went back to the hold, and Freelorn.
The “Tale of the Five” continues in The Door Into Shadow
and The Door Into Sunset.
About the author:
Diane Duane has been a writer of science fiction, fantasy, TV and film for thirty years.
Besides the 1980’s creation of the Young Wizards fantasy series for which she’s best known, the “Middle Kingdoms” epic fantasy series, and numerous stand-alone fantasy or science fiction novels, her career has included extensive work in the Star Trek TM universe, and many scripts for live-action and animated TV series on both sides of the Atlantic, as well as work in comics and computer games. She has spent some time on the New York Times Bestseller List, and has picked up various awards and award nominations here and there.
She lives in County Wicklow, in Ireland, with her husband of twenty years, the screenwriter and novelist Peter Morwood.
A more complete biography is here: DD’s full bibliography / filmography is here.
Her favorite color is blue, her favorite food is a weird kind of Swiss scrambled-potato dish called maluns, she was born in a Year of the Dragon, and her sign is “Runway 24 Left, Hold For Clearance.”
For more info on other works by Diane Duane, visit
http://www.dianeduane.com
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
Diane Duane, The Door Into Fire
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