Read Online The Tides of Kregen by Alan Burt Akers - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Burt Akers
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perfectly still. Sounds stretched and became muted. The ticking of the ormolu clock sounded like lead weights dropped slowly into a bottomless pool. I stared at Madam Ivanovna, feeling the tensions, the excitements, feeling that, perhaps, my staked ponsho had brought a leem . . .
"Mr. Prescot," said this enigmatic Madam Ivanovna. "You will disregard the people here, even Doctor Quinney. You have been causing trouble and I am here because it seems meet to us that you should work again."
I remained mute. There was no doubt about it. The other people in the room remained silent, static, unmoving — frozen.
"Mr. Prescot, you do not appear surprised."
I had to speak. "I have been trying—"
"You have been successful."
I swallowed. Now that it had happened I could not believe it. I licked my lips. "Perhaps, then, I should not say, ’Good evening’ to you, Madam Ivanovna. "Perhaps I should say ’Happy Swinging.’"
"You may say ’Happy Swinging’ and you may say ’Lahal.’ Neither would be correct." Through the roar of blood in my head — for she had said "Lahal," which is the Kregish form for greeting new acquaintances — I wondered what on Kregen she could mean by saying neither would be correct.
"You are from the Savanti?"
"No."
"The Everoinye?"
"No."
If this was madness, a phantom conjured from my own sick longings, then I would press on. I recall every minute, every second, as we two sat and talked in a Victorian room stuffed with mummified people who saw and heard nothing.
"You know me, Madam Ivanovna. You know who I am. Why have you sought me out?"
"First, I use the name Ivanovna because it is exotic, foreign. It will soon be fashionable to have a Russian name in psychic matters. It helps belief when you found a society. But you may know my use-name. It is Zena Iztar."
I knew about use-names. My comrade Inch from Ng’groga was called Inch; his real name was different, secret, something, I then thought, he would share with no one.
"You are from Kregen?"
"Well, yes and no."
The blood in my head pained. I thumped the table. "Damn it!" I burst out. "You’ll pardon my manner, Madam Ivanovna, or Madam Zena Iztar, but, by Zair! I wish you’d—" She smiled.
That smile could have launched a million ships.
"Yes, Pur Dray."
I felt numb.
"You call me Pur Dray," I whispered. I swallowed. "You must know I hold only being a Krozair of Zy as of importance. Tell me, Madam Zena Iztar, tell me, for the sweet sake of Zair!" She placed both white hands on the table. Her fingers were long and slender and white, as they should be, and she wore no rings. She wore no jewelry of any kind that I could see.
"Now," she said, and her voice in its hard practicality made me sit up. "The Savanti have set their hands to the work they consider proper for Kregen, for they are of that world and are a last faint remnant of a once mighty race. You have heard of them as the Sunset People or the Sunrise People. The Savanti have at heart the well-being of apims, Homo sapiens like yourself. As for the Star Lords, their plans are different, wider and more universe-embracing, and I shall tell you only that you will have to make a choice one day, and the choice will be the hardest thing you have ever done."
"Put me back on Kregen and I will choose!"
"Oh, yes, Pur Dray! You would promise anything now, just to return. I know."
"Can you—?"
Her look made me hold my foolish tongue.
"Am I not here? Do you require any other proof?"
"No, I meant only—"
"You have always been reckless, foolhardy, as that brash bird the Gdoinye says, an onker of onkers." How it warmed my heart to hear the brave Kregish words, here in London, even if they were insults!
"Now," she went on, in that firm mellow voice. "If you will cast your mind back to your arrival in the inner sea at the Akhram, when you struggled to remain on Kregen?"
"Yes. They were going to banish me back to Earth, but I fought them and so returned—"
"That was a compromise. The
"Mr. Prescot," said this enigmatic Madam Ivanovna. "You will disregard the people here, even Doctor Quinney. You have been causing trouble and I am here because it seems meet to us that you should work again."
I remained mute. There was no doubt about it. The other people in the room remained silent, static, unmoving — frozen.
"Mr. Prescot, you do not appear surprised."
I had to speak. "I have been trying—"
"You have been successful."
I swallowed. Now that it had happened I could not believe it. I licked my lips. "Perhaps, then, I should not say, ’Good evening’ to you, Madam Ivanovna. "Perhaps I should say ’Happy Swinging.’"
"You may say ’Happy Swinging’ and you may say ’Lahal.’ Neither would be correct." Through the roar of blood in my head — for she had said "Lahal," which is the Kregish form for greeting new acquaintances — I wondered what on Kregen she could mean by saying neither would be correct.
"You are from the Savanti?"
"No."
"The Everoinye?"
"No."
If this was madness, a phantom conjured from my own sick longings, then I would press on. I recall every minute, every second, as we two sat and talked in a Victorian room stuffed with mummified people who saw and heard nothing.
"You know me, Madam Ivanovna. You know who I am. Why have you sought me out?"
"First, I use the name Ivanovna because it is exotic, foreign. It will soon be fashionable to have a Russian name in psychic matters. It helps belief when you found a society. But you may know my use-name. It is Zena Iztar."
I knew about use-names. My comrade Inch from Ng’groga was called Inch; his real name was different, secret, something, I then thought, he would share with no one.
"You are from Kregen?"
"Well, yes and no."
The blood in my head pained. I thumped the table. "Damn it!" I burst out. "You’ll pardon my manner, Madam Ivanovna, or Madam Zena Iztar, but, by Zair! I wish you’d—" She smiled.
That smile could have launched a million ships.
"Yes, Pur Dray."
I felt numb.
"You call me Pur Dray," I whispered. I swallowed. "You must know I hold only being a Krozair of Zy as of importance. Tell me, Madam Zena Iztar, tell me, for the sweet sake of Zair!" She placed both white hands on the table. Her fingers were long and slender and white, as they should be, and she wore no rings. She wore no jewelry of any kind that I could see.
"Now," she said, and her voice in its hard practicality made me sit up. "The Savanti have set their hands to the work they consider proper for Kregen, for they are of that world and are a last faint remnant of a once mighty race. You have heard of them as the Sunset People or the Sunrise People. The Savanti have at heart the well-being of apims, Homo sapiens like yourself. As for the Star Lords, their plans are different, wider and more universe-embracing, and I shall tell you only that you will have to make a choice one day, and the choice will be the hardest thing you have ever done."
"Put me back on Kregen and I will choose!"
"Oh, yes, Pur Dray! You would promise anything now, just to return. I know."
"Can you—?"
Her look made me hold my foolish tongue.
"Am I not here? Do you require any other proof?"
"No, I meant only—"
"You have always been reckless, foolhardy, as that brash bird the Gdoinye says, an onker of onkers." How it warmed my heart to hear the brave Kregish words, here in London, even if they were insults!
"Now," she went on, in that firm mellow voice. "If you will cast your mind back to your arrival in the inner sea at the Akhram, when you struggled to remain on Kregen?"
"Yes. They were going to banish me back to Earth, but I fought them and so returned—"
"That was a compromise. The
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