Mr. Weathereye, who had been leaning in the doorway, said, “We are told the Keeper is an observer, not a creator. It is eternal and omniscient but generally uninvolved; one who hates being bothered but enjoys puzzles and riddles. The last people to bother it were the Pthas, who came to the Keeper with a request. The Keeper honored their request, but then it put itself in a place where no one could bother it again unless one person could walk seven roads at once. It sounds childish in the saying, like a nursery rhyme. Just as nursery rhymes mean far more than the children who chant them know, this meant far more than it said. It was anything but childish in the doing.
“Twice before, the Siblinghood had found seven way-gates that made one road. Stars and their planets move, you know; they don’t stay in the same relative positions forever. Consider the movements of billions of stars in a galaxy. Consider how difficult to find seven of them, well in advance, mind you, that will make the one configuration. The First Order of the Siblinghood tried, and most of them died in the attempt. The Second Order tried and was forestalled. Now, this hour, the Third Order of the Siblinghood makes the attempt once more. Here are the seven walkers who are one, and before this hour passes, they must walk the roads, find the Keeper, and ask it to give humans back the racial memory the Quaatar took from them when they were barely human.”
“Now?” said Wilvia in weary but dignified disbelief.
“Now, while the vile races are preoccupied elsewhere,” said the Gardener. “Before that machine runs out of power and they start thinking again about finding and killing you. We must not take an extra moment. Come now, just you seven and Falija. We must go back up the mountain to the way-gate into Fajnard. Mr. Weathereye is no doubt needed on B’yurngrad, and the rest of you must stay here.”
We moved, though unwillingly. Wilvia and I seemed least disposed to go, I imagine for identical reasons. Each of us felt we had just returned home, to those who mattered most to us. As we went, I noticed Ferni still standing at the corner of the house behind us, staring after us as though his whole life were being torn away.
The Gardener walked among us. “I have something to tell you. Some of you may not return from this effort. If a choice were to be made among you, Margaret, how would you feel about that?”
I looked at her with disbelief. “You mean, some of us may end up dead.”
“It’s possible.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “If you had asked me that a week ago, Gardener, I’d have said fine, so long as I don’t have to go on ruing all the mistakes I’ve made.”
“And now?”
“When I saw Wilvia’s children and realized they weren’t cursed, as mine had been, when I saw the others…I don’t have to rue my life. Together, Margaret has not done badly.”
“So you’re no longer willing to die, to escape your regrets?”
“If you have to choose one to live, choose someone younger.”
“And you, Ongamar?” the Gardener asked.
Ongamar whispered. “Oh, I’ve looked forward to forgetting what I’ve seen for such a long time…don’t choose me to live, Gardener.”
“And you, Mar-agern?”
“I have no thoughts on the matter. I’ve never thought of doing away with myself, but if a choice had to be made, I wouldn’t be afraid…”
“And you, Naumi?”
He turned to stare at her. “I have wanted only a few things in my life, only one of them greatly. Since that is not to be, further life seems rather barren. There are others here who will live more happily than I.”
“And you, Wilvia?”
Wilvia smiled. “My dearest wish…one of them, at least, has been granted. My husband and children were, are far more important to me than my own life. If Joziré were still alive, he’d have returned to me! And if he is truly gone, and I can save my children by letting them go, then I will let them go.”
The Gardener whispered, “And you, my child, Gretamara?”
She looked up, far up, where the stars reached their light across the universe. “My life has always been in your hands, Gardener. I’m content to leave it there.”
“And lastly, you, M’urgi?”
She replied truculently, “Well, don’t expect me to march off to battle singing hymns of martyrdom! A few years ago, when life was smoke and dirt and desperate interventions that didn’t work a lot of the time, I’d have been more willing. But lately? I have something to live for. I saw Ferni’s face back there. He’s waiting to see what happens…” She stopped, looked up, tears glinting at the corner of her eyes. “Even so, well, even so, if my death helps the human race…the shaman taught me to die.”
We had arrived at the way-gate and the Gardener lined us up while glancing at the horizon where the first faint light was showing. “We don’t know how the Keeper will respond. It may refuse us. It may grant your request but take your lives in payment. Nothing of the little we have learned of the Keeper tells us it will do this, but it is a possibility. It may let all of you live, which is also a possibility, and if that is so, when this is over, we will have much to rejoice over.”
I, Margaret, heard a sigh from someone, a deep breath from another, the slight shifting of our feet, but nothing more.
“Very well, one at a time: you, Margaret, go seven roads, and stop just inside the way-gate we just arrived through, up the hill, here on Tercis.” She pointed up the hill, toward the black pool hidden in the forest. “You, Wilvia: six roads, stopping on the world where we found you, just inside the gate. You, Gretamara: five
