Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [47]
“And what books do you like?” I asked with sign language, moving my hands slowly.
I could have used the notepad, but it seemed out of place in this world, an intrusion.
“What books do I like? That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” Eliza was delighted to understand me. “The Earth books. I know a great deal about Earth’s geography and history, science and art. But my favorites are fiction.”
I looked my astonishment. If there had ever been Earth books on Thimhallan, they must have been ancient, brought here at the time of Merlyn and the founders. If she has learned science from those, I thought, she must think the Earth is flat and that the sun revolves around it.
I remembered then that, according to Saryon, Simkin had once gotten hold of a copy of Shakespeare’s plays. How he managed to do this, Saryon was not certain. He speculated that back before the Iron Wars, before Simkin’s magical power began to wane as the magic Life in Thimhallan began to wane, Simkin had once traveled freely between Earth and Thimhallan. It’s possible that he either knew Shakespeare or—as Saryon used to say ironically—perhaps Simkin was Shakespeare! Had “Teddy” given Eliza books?
Eliza answered my questioning look. “After Thimhallan was destroyed, the evacuation ships came to take the people to Earth. My father knew he would be staying here and he requested that the ships bring supplies, tools, food until we could raise our own. And he asked them to bring books.”
Of course. It all made sense. Joram had spent ten years of his life on Earth, before returning to Thimhallan. He would know exactly what he needed to survive with his family in exile, what was needed for both body and mind.
We had, by this time, reached the portion of the Font where Joram had taken up residence. We did not enter, however, but skirted around the Gothic-style buildings (I was reminded of Oxford ). We followed various meandering paths and walkways past the enormous edifice and I soon became quite lost. Leaving the buildings behind, we continued down the mountainside, but only for a short distance. Ahead of me was lush green hillside. Running against the green grass of the hill, I saw a white blotch—a flock of sheep, and one dark spot—the man tending them.
At the sight of Joram, I halted. My coming did not now seem like such a good idea. I pointed to Eliza, then out to her father. Touching my breast, I patted the top of the stone fence, which was, by the smell and the sight of one or two sheep resting in sheds, the sheep pen. I indicated I would wait here for their return.
Eliza looked at me and frowned. She knew quite well what I had said; indeed, the two of us were communicating with an ease which, had I thought about it, was quite remarkable. I was too dazzled and overwhelmed to think coherently about anything then.
“But I want you to come with me,” she said petulantly, as if that would make all the difference.
I shook my head, indicated that I was tired, which was true enough. I am not much accustomed to physical exertion and we must have walked two kilometers already. Taking out my notepad, I typed, Your mother is right. You should see him alone.
She looked at the notepad and read the words. “Father has something like this,” she said, touching it hesitantly with one finger. “Only much larger. He keeps records on it.”
She was silent. Her frowning gaze turned from me to the sheep and the distant, dark, roving figure that kept watch over them. Her frown eased; her gaze was troubled. She turned back to me. “Mother lied to Father Saryon, Reuven,” Eliza said calmly. “She lied to herself at the same time, so perhaps it doesn’t really count as a lie. Papa is not happy. He was content, before that man Smythe came, but ever since then Papa has been brooding and silent, except for when he talks to himself. He won’t tell us what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to worry us. I think it will be good for him to have Father Saryon to talk to. What is it,” she asked,