A Tale from Tsai
by Chris Fellows
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It was not customary to hold lectures in the Observatory of Hûak, but an unseasonable thaw and poorly maintained drain had left a foul-smelling pond in the Astronomical Theatre. The observatory was rarely used in this age, and could easily accommodate the number of acolytes expected. More than a hundred now stood patiently in rows, each reflected with mirrorlike clarity in the unnaturally smooth black stone of the floor. All of On’s students were present, save Plör and Hugûr - their absence was noted by the more perceptive. On herself was late, as she had often been in recent weeks. In the last few hours, the storm clouds had rolled off to the north, leaving the moonless sky still and clear. Beyond the crystal walls of the observatory a thousand stars shone with a brilliance rarely seen on less favoured spheres. They twinkled hardly at all in the thin mountain air. Red Thobas, proudest luminary of the northern hemisphere, blazed directly overhead. Where is Plör? Quiet, it is not our affair. Attend to the remembrance of the lesson. It was Phâr who spoke, the incautious, the spy of the masters, and his elder brother Ömnuk who chided him. The attentive observer might have noticed another conversation, near the birdlike pillar as tall as a flaigar that marked due south - Where is Hugûr? He is distracted from the contemplation of the stars, I think. What do you mean? I mean the motions of other bodies have distracted his attention - I would not have you repeat this to anyone, but I have heard - and there Hlâr stopped, for she saw that Kôhak was disturbed, and guessed that her bookish friend was herself enamoured with the erratic and brilliant Hugûr. Here they came, moving with unseemly haste, their faces pallid and damp. Expressionless, they gave no hint to the few other students who risked a surreptitious glance at them. Plör and Hugûr took their separate places at the back - with no time to spare, for here was On, plodding into the gigantic chamber. Lips parted flaccidly, eyes watery and unfocussed, she extended the customary courtesies to the students. They responded, with the three encomiums to Wisdom and the four inviolate aphorisms, and On began her lecture. Not tonight on the stars, for all that they glistened around her on every side, but on those more prosaic bodies, T’sai and the sun. Imagine a circle in representation of the circumference of T’sai, as it were cut in half through the poles. Imagine on the perimeter of this circle a point. Then imagine a second on the perimeter, to the right, no more than a fourteenth part of the circumference away from the first. Kôhak discreetly attempted to catch a glimpse of either of the latecomers. She saw Plör, and tried to bespeak her privately - Where have you been? Why were you late - you nearly shamed us before the learned On. From the centre of the circle, imagine lines extending to each of these points. Call the angle between these two lines N. Now extend the two lines beyond the circle a short distance; imagine that these are two poles, which we have set up - for an example, one here at Mûnak and one at Khlôn. Plör replied with a faint emanation of triumph. Kôhak shivered, but not from cold, though it was far from warm in the crystal bubble of the observatory. Acolytes nearby turned their attention from the lecture as she clearly broadcast distress. Here now, stop that, don’t concern yourself with that borrow-pit - Hlâr reached out nervously with a patter of words. Don’t make a scene, you don’t want to disgrace us. Now at midday on the same day of the year - at the same midday in both places - imagine that we cause to be measured the shadows cast by these poles, when they are at their shortest. We know of course the length of the poles already. The extrema of these shadows may be shown by imagining two further lines, parallel to one another, extending from the ends of the lines in representation of our poles to the perimeter of the circle. Exuding apologetic sympathy, Plör too tried to mollify Kôhak. To Kôhak, her cheerful tone seemed derisive, and then through an ill chance Plör turned so that the smear of pinkish vomit on her chin was visible. Borrow-pit! Kôhak exploded, her insult clearly heard throughout the observatory. Aie! Look what you’ve done now ! Hlâr wailed subvocally. The two rivals were now the centre of attention. Phâr, among many others, waited avidly for On’s reaction. The angles described by the intersection of these lines with the lines in representation of the poles call L, at Mûnak on the left, and M, at Khlôn on the right. Now, imagine an extension of the line through the centre and Mûnak, intersecting an extension of the line that shows the end of the shadow at Khlôn, so that a triangle is produced whose three angles are N,L, and fourteen less M. As these must sum to give 14, we find that N is equal to M less L. It must be true, Phâr said to his brother with surprise. On must be dribbling away into witless senility. Borrow-pit! Did you ever hear such language in a lecture? You have no right to speak in such a way, no matter how wise you think you are, brother. Mind yourself or I will poke out your eyes. Phâr recoiled from Ömnuk in mock horror. I will get some more. Wait and see who is Master of Astronomy in forty revolutions - it will not be Hugûr, of that I am sure. You will see by your construction that the distance between the latitudes of Mûnak and of Khlôn bears the same relation to the whole circumference of T’sai as N bears to 28. Borrow-pit! Did you not hear me, Plör? Be quiet! Silence, you fool! Hlâr’s words were also clearly heard throughout the observatory. Leave us be - aie!, aie! Why don’t you go outside and die in the snow? Plör hissed the words viciously. Cruel, witless larvae! So it is only necessary to determine the distance between the latitudes of Mûnak and of Khlôn to establish the dimensions of T’sai - it was of old said that this distance was seven and four fortynines of parasangs, but these measurements are uncertain. And in these times, who will make them again? Khlôn has been in the hands of the barbarians for seven generations. And so all our learning comes to nothing. And all the wisdom of T’sai is forgotten, a little by a little. Little - by - little - it - is- lost - lost On stood silent, while the hall threatened to dissolve into chaos. The mass of orderly, habitual students were disturbed by this unexpected and premature break in the lecture, while the friends of Kôhak and Plör struggled to silence their heedlessly broadcast accusations. Students began to shuffle and shiver nervously, waiting for On to take up the thread of her lecture again. A low hum of vocalisation, an unheard of violation of the solemnity of the ancient place, slowly gathered in intensity - Quiet! Ömnuk shouted, with an air of authority. Behave like what you are - can you not hear it? Below, from the warrens? There was silence. A long stream of drool fell from the lips of On. And faintly, from far below, the gathering could hear the alarms of the criers. Ware ye, ware ye! The foe approaches! The fires of the Thudun have been seen from the northern towers! Their quarrels forgotten, the acolytes formed into rows and descended into the bowels of the mountain, their master gently guided along by two of the eldest students. They laboured, as they had been taught, at the making of banes and alchemical fires, but this siege had not been predicted by the astrologers. No one succeeded On, for both Phâr and Hugûr had been born into the last of Mnak’s hundred and eighty centuries. The armies of Ar-Kahan, fierce eyed Thudun as numberless as the stars, purified every corner of the Phthonian city with fire, and Plör’s eggs, germinating in the stomach walls of Hugûr’s host, never hatched to burrow their way to the surface. |