“Jinian,” I said, thrusting my request into a brief niche in their conversation, “I have something I’ve been studying, a little book. Would you read it to me?” She said she would, though I could tell that she was surprised at the request. I dug out the Onomasticon and gave it to her. My hope was that hearing it in another voice might let the words fall into some pit of comprehension. Thus Jinian, and when she tired, perhaps Silkhands.
“Shall I start at the beginning?” She was doubtful, having dipped into it and found little sense there.
“Pick a page,” I said. “At the beginning, or anywhere. There is supposed to be some deep meaning or content in these pages, so an old friend of Silkhands and mine thought. However, I’ve been unable to find the key to it. Perhaps you’ll find it for me.”
She began. “ `When the Wizard returns for the ninth or tenth time, there will be much work to do.’ “ She stared at the page, then turned to me. “Which Wizard is that?”
“Barish, I suppose,” I said. “You’ve heard it. So have I. People saying, `When Barish returns.’ I heard one codger in a market say he would drop his prices at the twelfth coming of Barish.”
She nodded thoughtfully and went on. “ `The greater power these Gamesmen have, the more they are corrupted … yet there are still some born in every generation with a sense of justice and the right … so few when compared to the others. I would that they become many!’ And I say so-be-it to that,” said Jinian. “I would there were more like you, Peter, and Silkhands, and fewer like that Ghoul.”
I think I may have flushed, conscious as I was of my own struggles to perceive and do the right. Gamelords! It is not hard to risk your life when you have nothing to live for, but it is a hard thing when life is sweet. I tried to catch Silkhands’ eyes, hoping for a lover’s glance from her, but her eyes were closed and she breathed as though asleep. Jinian went on reading, unaware.
“ `In the meantime, Festivals will provide opportunity for reproduction by young people … School Houses will protect them … I fear that those at the Base have lost all touch with reality. They are breeding monsters in those caverns and they do not come into the light…
“ `I have met some of the native inhabitants of this place. How foolish to think there were none. They leave us untroubled in this small space but will not do so forever…
“ `I have set this great plan … a thousand years in the carrying out … centuries of the great contract between us and the people we have set to guard us.’”
“Read that last part again,” I said to her.
“ ` … a thousand years in the carrying out. It will depend upon a hundred favorable chances, the grace and assistance of fate and those who dwelt in the place before we came, and the perpetuation through the centuries of the great contract between us and the people we have set to guard us.’”
“Nothing ponderous about that,” I said in an attempt to be witty. “Lords, but the man took himself seriously.”
“What man? Who wrote this? I thought at first it was printed, like some books, but someone wrote it by hand in tiny printing in old style letters. In places it’s all smudged, as though the person was tired or confused.” She thrust it at me, pointing with one strong finger, and I saw what she meant. Over the years the ink had faded and the paper discolored to make the whole monochromatic and dim. Her question triggered that evasive thought which flickered at the edge of my mind. It was too late; we were too weary. I could hardly see the road verge, much less the pages in the failing light.
“I believe Barish wrote it,” I said. “A kind of diary of his thoughts? Though why such a diary should now be considered so important is beyond me. Windlow the Seer searched for this book for decades and read it constantly once he had found it, searching in it for¾what? Right now I believe the Immutables are searching for this book. Perhaps others search for it as well. Oh, it’s an important book, I’m sure. If I could only find out why. I thought hearing it in your voice might help, but the solution won’t come…”