TheStarsAreRight:CarlJournal2
Monday, 13 August. Stockton
The crisis is over. I shall recover. The dreadful discoveries of last week are placed in perspective now, I think. It is a much subdued Ellis who resumes his place here; but an Ellis who is much more at peace than he who left.
Adam has taken good care while we have been gone. The responsibility has changed him for the better; and he has assimilated far more out of my textbooks than I might have expected in so short a time. He is going to help me in the lab; and I shall fix up the old toolshed as a workplace for him. With his help, of course.
Some seedlings in the flower boxes. I am told they appeared yesterday. Rachel is quietly excited as well as Adam – they spend a lot of time watching. Waiting for something to move.
POSSIBLE REDACTION
The weekend has been good for me. So many things have changed! Some have become clearer; others are murkier now, or forgotten. But I have come to grips with my new knowledge. I shall go on. And I shall not turn aside.
So much of what I wrote before seems incoherent now. So many meaning lost … the ideas come and go too quickly in my fevered brain, I suppose. They are forgotten even as I am changed.
I wonder if Adam sees the difference in me. Does he know me that well? We have known one another only for two weeks.
This week I shall complete my Chase Symbol, the Exotic Detector. I shall begin tonight with the alloying. Adam can help me draw wire tomorrow or the next day.
And, of course, my exercises continue.
The Reno research was of mixed utility. There does appear to have been a small company there making ponic devices. But they have all vanished, along with the company of officers, since last December. I have names – but names mean so little these days. And the goods were all shipped to San Francisco, according to an ex-employee; but no one knows quite where.
I must get my wife a passport.
Wednesday, 15 August 1928; 8:30 PM
Back to business as usual. More letters to read, and to answer; and continued development in the lab.
Despite some cautious probings, I remain unable to divine the true purpose of the Jar. It holds ponic energy like a capacitor, but is rather more complicated than that task requires. Why so big and convoluted? And what are the other two posts on the top for? It must have some function other than merely storage – the whole thing will only hold about 7 or 8 rands – but I cannot imagine what.
Meanwhile Adam continues to putter around the house and yard, “fixing” things. Remarkably industrious young man! Quick, too. He is good in the lab and a diligent study of things that interest him. We have opened up and cleaned out the toolshed; moved one of my workshelves in there for him to use, and a footlocker to store his things. Tomorrow a new latch for the door. Perhaps next week I’ll wire the shed for electricity. That will be fun, I think.; I wonder if Adam would get a thrill out of a telegraph set? House to lab to shed. Could be fun, and I have not messed around with them myself in quite some time. Hm.
All the flowerboxes are sprouting now, except for one which started roiling with ants so we replanted it yesterday.
I had forgotten how much seedlings can be.
My first success in the lab yesterday … my very own home-grown “bauble”. One of Chases’s Exotics – and it works fine. Unfortunately, the only thing to test it on here is Julian. (Unnerving, that!) Would have done it sooner, but it is very difficult to play “pitch and catch” with one’s own energy in a useful fashion. I tried to cure one Monday, but the sensation was so unnerving that I failed utterly to keep control, and ended up merely with a headache and fatigue. Yesterday morning, therefore, I cannibalized the ponic transmitters and made a “curing lathe”. Very flashy when in operation! And rather “splashy”, too – so I am forced to operate it within the cage, then sweep the area afterwards. Nonetheless, in an hour I can turn out an amulet, rather than having to try and try again for days.
To date I have made three. Exotics of varying sizes, one Elder Symbol, and three variants of the Islie Sigil, none of which seem to do anything. At all. Either I have badly misguessed the required materials and design (which is possible!) or some other step is needed in the construction.
IDEA: What would happen if: one took three separate spheres and hinged them concentrically together into a single spherical container: The inner sphere of silver, the middle of a diponic such as wood or stone, the outer of a phopic like iron. One could charge up the interior to high level and close the thing, making a “battery in a box”. How fast would it discharge? Hmm.
Is it possible to “cure” iron? Interesting.
Thursday, 16 August 1928; 5:00 PM
Visitors! Andrew Scott is here (or was; he just left to return to San Francisco) and Alex Chase is due tomorrow. Andrew looks good; and apparently he is travelling in the company of a young lady, so it is little wonder he was so anxious to get back! We have made plans to meet in the City on Monday.
He filled us in on the rest of the Pembrook affair and I showed him what we are up to here. It was a bit odd, in a way … after all this time I should think we would have more to say to each other. We do, in fact, I think; but events seem to have overrun us so that they are all buried (or perhaps it is we who are buried; does that make sense?) and bringing it all to the surface is a daunting and avoidable task. There are so many things I want to share and to explain; but what are they? Just now I cannot remember. Why? Bewildering!!
Monday, 20 August 1928; Mark Hopkins hotel
What a cavalcade of days! And such a busy time. Andrew on Thursday, Chase on Friday (and a letter from Lazlo), Friedman on Saturday (and a letter from Meagan; hmph!), lots of business on Sunday, and then this morning we all bundled up and headed for the Big City. F,W, and I met with Byron this noon; and I spent all afternoon with Maddy. She is well; happy; and rather concerned for her future and ours.
This evening we had a long and mildly depressing conversation and planning session with respect to China and Stone. I do not know what to do; they seem to wish to insist on making me TELL them what to do, give the orders to them; and that is not my place, nor do I wish to fill it.
“You are the Quarterback, Ellis!” says F. Feh.
Tomorrow Andrew and I travel to Stanford to poke under a few rocks around Mr. Redman. Hmm.
Wednesday, 22 August 1928; still in San Francisco
Another bust. Mister Redman is no longer attached to Stanford … but he still lives in town and travels frequently. Comes and goes all the time, and has several woman friends who visit often. One sounds like K; the others (a sultry Italian brunette, a tall ash blonde) are unknown to me. No further information yet. Yet. Andrew has hired a man to find out more. So we shall see what we see ……!
Tomorrow I am going home, I think. Chase and co. do not need me further; dear me, they’re better off on their own! Maddy says she will come to visit us over Labor Day.
I want to go home. Soon I will be leaving again for a long time. For now I wish to surround myself with the things I have made.
I wonder who will return? Mm.
Andrew has taught me some things, and I have traded with him. Spells. Huh. I distrust the things, indeed! But they are weapons in the arsenal. I will transcribe them, keep them for the others.
What is it? What? I am distracted; nervous; it is happening again, that sense of the Impending. Pressure. Potential. Again I feel it – something is happening, or is about to happen, beyond my current vision.
What is it!! It is soon – but what?
Julian?
(Later) I thought that I had passed through that, put it aside. That the weird unease was merely the unconscious alarm – the knowledge of prices … and loneliness ……
Once I knew, I thought it was over; that the moods would stop. And so they did.
But now, again, I am chilled by unfelt winds.
Why now?
What new bubble is about to burst?
It is an uneasy thing, waiting.
Thursday, 23 August 1928; 7:30 PM
Home. How nice. The house is the same; Peanut is the same; the kids seem the same; the flowers have shot up remarkably, it seems. I have been given an earnest, though choppy, account of all the new leaves in the window boxes, and the improvements to Adam’s workshed, and how many times we had iced tea, and how far from the house we have been lately. Ah, me, children! Your enthusiasms are wonderful. Why do we not see more of them?
Time enough for now to stretch out and relax. Maddy will be out in a week; and then nothing but unalloyed time for correspondence and study; O luxury!
Friday, 24 August 1928; 6:00 PM
Not much time to write before dinner, but then I have little to say either. Today was murderously hot; perhaps the worst day yet, or perhaps I am merely spoiled by a week of cooler air. In any case, I could not stand to be in the lab for too long – merely let the machines churn away while I drank tea on the back porch. I felt like a plantation owner somehow. Hmm.
Amusing scene for the day. Peanut “trying” to chase the birds. He cleverly “hides” himself in the middle of an open lawn and waits for the hopeless victim to approach. Whenever a bird walks within ten feet or so, he starts clawing the grass and waving his hindquarters around exuberantly in a manner guaranteed to telegraph his intentions to all and sundry. On the very rare occasions when the would-be victims do not cotton to this sly ploy, he galumphs triumphantly forward about four feet …. And skids to a halt and looks confused as they all fly away.
Almost, I could swear the birds were sneering.
A call from Carl this afternoon! Not much new to say, just keeping current. We discussed Maddie, and the kids, and Franklin and the rest who were at the Meeting. Apparently Lazlo got hold of everyone a few days ago and told them all to wait until now to come down. So; the plunge begins. Good luck, all of you. Be careful. My prayers go with you.
Off to dinner now. Tonight, a treat: grilled hamburgers and sausages on the back patio. Hope they like it; I intend to have fun.
Sunday, 26 August 1928; 10:30 AM
Yesterday just before dinner the gates of Hell opened into my life once again.
It starts in the kitchen. Friedman, in my head. *Ellis* he says. *The Goddess is getting free! Get Zigfried on your front lawn, in five minutes. Go!!*
Well, of course he knows what he is doing – so Julian runs to France and comes back with Zigfried. We three are on our way up the stairs when there is a ripping noise and a woman starts to scream. In the driveway is a glowing doorway, a woman on the ground, and DAF. “Ellis! Get your guns; Julian! Link – NOW!” Yelling and waving his arms.
What the devil is a gun going to do? Especially if Willows is loose! I send Rachel to safety and bring Adam with me; this is his kind of fight! Everyone is arguing, screaming – such a mess! And why? Confusion – my Lord! – and nothing getting done.
Through the door. Wind, fire, rock; and around the corner, IT. Do not look! Eyes to the wall, sit down, and join with us to the Plain of Battles. We arrive – just start to see the Light of the Goddess far away, so bright! – and the universe shatters. The godforsaken ledge gives way.
We tumble down the hillside. There is nothing we can do. It doesn’t even notice us as it strides away! Adam down, Julian hurt. For nothing.
Home again. DAF yells at Zigfried. Hits him! Threatens me! WHY?
God damn the man! What RIGHT has he to wound us, insult us all that way? And now he squats in my house with that arrogant smile, disturbing the Children and eating my food. I feel as though my home has been taken over by a gangster or bandit, and I am powerless to tell him to go!
I feel as though I demean myself by my inaction! Yet I cannot merely tell him, “Darken my door no more!,” for we need him, need them ALL, too much to risk the enmity.
No! No!
What a bitter cup is this.
I will work. And say nothing. Care for the children. And say nothing. Prepare my gifts and the Gathering. And say nothing. And wait.
Nothing.
But oh, what a bitter gall!
Monday, 27 August 1928; 4:00 PM
How I must hurt my love with this fury! I see her, oh yes, large of eye and mute, waiting to heal my soul once more with touch and flowing gold. Oh, Julian! How much I need you now, when I am most silent! This grim despair, these silent screams … only your touch eases the acid of self-recrimination within me.
Do you wonder why I hold so tightly to you as I do, trembling and desperate?
I have been thinking about what went wrong. Chase, Hunter, Hutton missing; Daf says they are dead but that I cannot take so simply.
What happened?
Too many cooks, I think; and none. Let that be a lesson for the Family.
One: Know your resources. They did not. All members of an expeditions must know what the can rely on from all others. This includes strengths, weaknesses, powers, tools, and information pertinent to the mission. Vital! Secrets between team members can do nothing but harm us all.
Two: Know your limits. We must all be aware of the sorts of things we cannot do. This is somewhat harder than One, particularly in the case of the arcane, since so much of it is new or untested. But we must try. It is quite clear to Julian, and I suppose to me as well, that no such number of fighters as we could bring There would have a hope of fighting something like Shubrigrath. Or even, I suppose, tricking it; though I could hope. By the time those doors were open it was useless to try to stop Her. All that followed was foolishness.
Three: Know your mission. If we spend all of our strength reacting to everything that moves we will never advance, never catch up. In this case, the mission was not even assigned, but undertaken; and it was to kill Stone and keep the Temple closed, nothing more. Once that had failed survival was the important thing, for all of them. Throwing more of us into the Goddess’ path was not only stupid, it was criminal. My fault as much as any.
Four: Know your mandate. When you go on a mission, you go with whatever is available or as much as you think you will need. And you do your best. You do not blame others because it wasn’t enough! If you need more, and there is more, you may ask for it; but never must we weaken the salient at a crucial moment to grub for resources that may not be forthcoming. Also, if a crisis is at hand, and there are several ways of accomplishing a task, use the best one! Short of lives lost, there is little we cannot spare.
Five: Know your foe. This is an obvious one, and one that (nowadays) is usually followed.
So much of what happened wen on because there was no (I shudder to say it) chain of command. But can I get the others to understand the necessity? And especially to follow such orders, when everything they love is threatened? It will never work with these, unless the situation is fully known to every man!
Ye Gods and little fishes .... what an army.
I shall write all this up and send it to the others, along with the devices I want to make. It is work for my mind, for my hands; it will keep me busy until I am once again at peace.
Poor Adam. He seems recovered, but … it was cruel and improper to take him in unprepared.
Wednesday, 29 August 1928; 10 AM
News. The missing three are all alive, though Hutton is badly hurt. They are in Georgia now. The others, including Daf, have left at last. At last; it will be a while before things settle again. My house is … abused … soiled; it too needs cleaning of more than just the furniture; but it is ours again, for now.
Ziegfried has returned to France. Funny; once again I spend days with the man and say hardly a word to him, when there is so much we need to speak of. I am uncertain whether he even got to meet the Children; except for Adam, of course, at the height of confusion.
Young Mary has taken the morning train for the Coast, bound for Boston to meet Mr. Hunter. Curious woman. No one seems to understand quite why she was here.
And HE … he is gone too. Dedicated, I must admit – he has returned to China to follow the Goddess.
Julian and I had an interesting talk last night. Interesting – but I am not sure I understood it all.
There as something about my not deserving to be on that battlefield. That it was an honor that belonged solely to those who walked and suffered to get there. But then is that not true of all of us then, her as well? What was she trying to tell me? And were we not summoned, invited into battle? I do not make out her meaning.
And there was something about the two different roles of leadership, the healer of souls and the general (NOT General!) and how I could not be both and was not yet either, since I did (and do) not see why that was so. Dear gentle adamant Julian, she sees so clearly sometimes! I have come to earnestly believe in her intuition. But I do not always understand it. There is so much for me to learn. Is she steering me? Grooming me for leadership, as I am doing with her to bring her fully into the world? How funny; if true. Each of us molding the other.
And as I sat in the darkness, fuming with frustrated rage at myself and at Daf, she looked at me with those lovely eyes and gave me peace with a few words. Healed me.
“But do you absolve him, Carl?”
Do I? And I though; and I saw that I could, and that I must; and the rage ran out of me like water. So simply, she brings me back to my humanity. Back to peace.
How dearly I adore you, dear heart!
But there is still much I do not understand.
Thursday, 30 Aug 1928; 8:00 PM
Julian is restless … The China thing, however disastrous, was our first taste of real action in a very long time. She feels it, it shows, irritation, tension, jumpiness. Poor dear, it was not so obvious before … but I ought to have known. She has no such work as I do to fill her days – and, born to action as she is, all these idle times in the garden and with the Children do not satisfy. She needs to DO.
How rare and wonderful these gentle days can be … and how quickly they are gone. I am saddened.
But we spoke at length about China; and about roles, and leadership, and what must come to be. Generals and Healers; Kings and Princes. Pierre was everything to his people; is that possible anymore? Should I, can I, may I, will I try to do the same? How many people truly trust me so far? How many would follow my lead?
A burden, once lifted, that cannot be put down.
To teach, to grow, to share … these things are a great joy to me – I will follow that road gladly, even though parts of it sometimes pain me. Bu the rest: CAN I do it? Am I, gentle soul that I am, truly capable of asking my friends and loved ones to walk away and die?
Can I? How can I not?
So much waits for Gathering. Organization, decisions, hierarchy, and planning …. Gawd. And how does it all fit together? I showed my journal entry with the suggestions in it to Julian. She had only one thing to say: “Do not mail it out – speak to them all at Gathering.” I am torn. I need feedback; and feedback is best when there is time to consider before speaking. But I see her point as well.
More and more I am eagerly looking toward my trip, and points east. I want to go! You see, I am just as bad as Julian in my own way. Tomorrow the two of us go up to Stockton to get passports for her and for us. Should be interesting.
Taking the Children along involves extra plans and difficulties. We have to prepare as much as possible beforehand; and they, naturally, are not at all pleased at the thought of leaving this refuge.
Bank balance yesterday says $13,660,28. Enough to retire on – or to get married on. Heh heh.
So – Rail to Billings, Mt. 2 days. Put the others up in a hotel there? Could … but it looks funny. Find another way if possible. If Mr. Outt is willing to put us up, perhaps that is an answer; but there remains the question of getting out to his place, and even if he drives, the ride will be anything but sedate!! Poor Rachel. Explore options. A day in Outtheim? Two? Then onwards.
Rail to Chicago, then to Lafayette. Settle in, spend a day there poking around. Julian and the kids may stay here while I go on.
Evening trip to Evansville, Ind., night in a hotel there; then in the morning hire a car to Madisonville and SG. A 2-3 hour tip each way, but plenty of light for the trip if I start early.
Back to Newhaven for breakfast. Holiday.
Now J&I to Chicago, kids stay here. See Miss Durrell in the afternoon, maybe – and dinner. Get together with Meagan next morning; but I have to leave to visit NJ while J stays to do bridesmaid things.
From NJ, north on the night train to see Lucius and his lady. I wish J could come; but even if she did, L would not let her in his home. Sigh. Then the night train back to Chicago.
Say ‘bye to Meagan until November, and back to Newhaven to get the kids.
Newhaven to Boston; a long rail!; and settle into Arc’s place. I hope he is there, I need to speak to him.
On the 6th or 7th, get together with Emerson, and arrange to bring the Children together. They have not seen each other for quite a while. And Lazlo. And Tony. How are they all?
Evening 7th, get the kids settled in France. J, anyway. She’ll come back afternoon 8th, and we move to NYC.
Morning 9, head for Charot to see LH.
Morning 10, set sail! Arrive London the evening of the fifteenth.
Visit Miriam. Visit TMF. Visit Andrew?
Into Paris, on to Chalon. J says that at this point there will be a huge fuss and ballyhoo, over precisely what is unclear. “You know.” Shrug.
Talk to Zigfried and Theo – and hopefully, at some point, get to the house in Lyon. If I can find it. No telling what is there!
Homeward bound! On a French liner for a change of pace, what say?
After this, the schedule is open. It depends on other folk: Theo, Tony, Zigfried, the kids, et cetera. I expect to be in Chicago by the 6th or 7th, wedding the 11th, and Gathering the 15th.
We are not going to make it home in time for Thanksgiving – unless we go via France. Hmm.
Holidays. Holiday. Hm – our anniversary meeting ic coming soon, too!
… When oh when should I tell my family about my “wedding plans”? Soon?
Dear me.
Friday, 31 August 1928; 8:30 AM
Off for the Customs Office in a while; the adventure begins! My kind of adventure: lots of time to relax and enjoy, with interesting parts between.
Lab harvest so far: Fourteen Elder Symbols, three Alien Detectors, and three Shifters, one of which I wear. Also a few amulets of various types that do not seem to work. I must have done something wrong, or perhaps missed a spot.
Still not certain that I like the Shifters – rather like wearing orthopedic shoes to change one’s walk – I feel certain that there must be longer-term effects from extensive use.
The Children are not very enthusiastic about a long series of trips; but that is no surprise. And they do not argue; but that is no surprise either. I feel cruel, and heartless, to uproot them so; but what else can I do?
Oh, if only I had another six months to be idle and watch them grow! But if wishes were horses … It is too late, too late for gentle growth and the butterflies of spring. Harden your heart, Carl Ellis; open the gates, and sound the horns! We are marching to war! O yes, harden your heart – but do not cease to love. Hard, hard road, to open to the burden and still hold my hands to others -! But I am not a martyr, never that. I will do as I must, and as I can. The Dreamer is waking to a long, long day; but the Dream itself continues.
I want to draw Rachel out, get her to talk to me a bit … but how? Perhaps we shall play The Game – perhaps she can debrief me. At least it is an opening.
The odd hints and moments of distortion continue. They mean something, I know; or they should at any rate; but it all continues to elude me. My curiosity is ready to kill (poor Peanut!); but I will wait; and it will come.
Peanut! What will we do with him this time? Poor lazy fellow … we cannot exactly turn him out, can we? And I cannot just hand him off to someone now, either. I know. Adam and I, brilliant handmen that we are, will build a feeding machine! No steak and potatoes for fatso here; but it will serve. And a “cat door” in the kitchen, so he can come in out of the rain.
Lots of work. Good, now, to have a task for my hands – it keeps my thoughts from turning to the terror and the sorrow. Dear God, why tears, why now? I have been happy; let it not let it not let it not end!!
7:00 PM, same day
Home again. Business out of the way, and we wait for delivery and Arc’s place. This is dangerous, this public documentation; but we all know that, however revealing paper trails can be, something as huge as the national government cannot be closely watched by any one man or small group. Besides, they must know what they look for, mustn’t they?
Meagan’s letter of yesterday is fascinating. All of her philosophies are so different! It is nearly as bewildering as the first time I read Pierre. Questions have been running intermittently through my brain ever since.
Upon consideration I have decided to write my little tirade as I had planned – but to send it only to a few folks: Lazlo, Carl, Tony, Andrew. Then we shall speak further in November.
November. Brrr! Why the sudden shiver of dread?
So: all these people to meet, and what to ask?
Ceryous and Rachael: Everything. They are unplumbed. Impressions of Pierre and the Old Guard; anecdotes; threats and promises; everything. A certain old book about the Island. These two go back a ways and have been in the thick of it. Be careful. Try not to tread on too many toes – there must be scars.
Newhaven: Examine. Documents? Talk to “Straight”; though if he is as tough to talk to as I hear Bent is, that may be no easy task. History.
Gravemaster: Everything. The man fascinates. Talk to him about Eisly. About his own history and condition. About my ideas of how to deal with the Island. Mustn’t forget fruit!
Meagan: Wedding stuff and philosophy. Dangers of someone identifying Julian; of assembling us in this public place; and how all this might affect the THREE of us. Wedding gift?
King: Jobs. The Fight. Khorri. Columbo. The Disease. Arimius and Avila. Cairo. Riswold.
Alexandria: Allertons. Knorri. Gatherings. Hope. NJ?
Colbert: Memories? Attitudes? What he fought? His son?
Lucius: Willow, China, FoxLady. Singing Chimes. The Island. Unity. Nature, his own Goddess. Wettsprings. The Earth soul. Pierre. More anecdotes.
Lisel: Pierre again. The Old Guard, the good days and the bad. Gatherings. DeGaspard. Riswold. 1884. THERE?
Miriam: Gossip, mostly. Depends on SG’s statements.
TMF: Properties, resources, safe boxes, etc. Riswold?
ZVH: Light. Power. Pierre. Theo. Knorri. Unity. Eisly.
So much to say and to do! I have written to most of these, requesting interview. Now we merely wait for replies.
Monday, 3 September 1928; 11:00 AM
Labor Day. A day of rest? No! A long workday, as the name implies; at least for me. I swore I would finish these sets of amulets by now; and I still have eight to go. About ten hours’ work, I expect. Sigh.
I sent Meagan her next installment on Saturday before Maddy arrived. Important letter – though necessarily incomplete. I am eager to see what you say to that one, my little witch!
Tomorrow Adam and I shall begin the cat and plant feeders. The tanks and planks are all stacked up around the back, waiting. Before we go I must also make some modifications to the weapons here, so that I may come back and feed the cat or water the plants through the Portal when it is available. Simple enough to do …
It was nice to see Maddy again, although I fear all of my grim news rather put a damper on some of the pleasure. She is well; she is happy, more or less; though her exercises proceed only slowly. Maddy wants to be a healer. Well, we certainly could use a few just now!
Tuesday, 4 September 1928; 8:30 PM
Many letters today. Most worrisome is the one from Grimaldi. Tony! Are you all right, my friend? So worried, so upset … and you do not yet even know the worst!
I shudder at his nightmare. Such a vivid disaster! And what a great loss it would be, to all of us …. Yet, in some perverse way it gives me hope. Tony is always so insular, so unwilling to share with others except as a “statement” – is this the first crack in the wall? Tony, we love you. Do not consign yourself to doom.
Lazlo’s note disturbs me deeply. Eighty years! They have been doing their gate research at Eveling for eighty years! What on Earth or off of it can they be seeking for all that time with such single-minded fervor? And why have they not found it? Who was Rory’s wife, Laurence’s mother? What happened to her?
Adele Samistis. (!!!)
What sort of a name is that? Not English, for certain, I don’t care if that is where he got her. WHO? Another longlife? Katyana? Another? Or an innocent?
And that piece about Kinnerly. The thing that interests me most about this is the bit about the Italian woman, Contessa Berenice della Bonannio – who was a GOOD friend of both Mr & Mrs K, and who conveniently died on the Titanic but who later turned up in connection with a Kinnerly scandal. Too pat? Lots of Italians showing up of late. Bonnanio, Gundoni, Redmun’s Italian ladyfriend – Connections?
There is something softly and deeply terrifying in this somewhere. I feel it in my bones.
Wednesday, 5 September 1928; 6:30 PM
Whew! A long day of letters, both sending and receiving. We hardly got started on feeders at all. Thank goodness Adam works well without supervision; they may be sloppy but they will do the job.
Boy my hand aches. I hope it will all be useful: packages for nearly everyone, it seems, and invitations to the Gathering; and for the select few the notes about field discipline.
Tomorrow I go to see the ticket agent. Poor fellow does not yet know what I shall do to him in one afternoon! (Heh heh…) complete itinerary, times, and tickets …. And then I shall cancel almost all of them and buy directly from the lines & rails themselves. Still, a couple hundred dollars will surely not be regarded as an irritant, dear me no!
Took the load down to post, and there was another note from Lazlo! Where does he find the time? So I whipped off a quick reply right then and there and added it to the outgoing … and then Tony caught me on the drive coming home with his mental call! Are we not social butterflies? But it certainly is good to hear from him! And to know he is all right.
It seemed like a long talk, as such things often do. He was all done with the Frights, though still upset with the way things turned out down there. It sounds as if their group had fewer problems than ours, but ones of the same bird. I had not the heart to fill him in on all the awfulness we went through here – but it did affect me in that I found it difficult to be as alarmed as he obviously was. Although was worried for tony and for Lazlo and Carl, the success of the mission seemed a fait accompli, somehow; and I could not feel his worries.
Poor Tony. We spoke at length, but not about Eveling. He is sending me a package of stuff, and I suppose we shall speak again when it arrives. For the nonce we spoke about each other; and about Power and the Vow. I hope it helped him. He seemed excited about some of the things I said, though with Tony it is sometimes hard to tell. He is worried about Crossing for the wrong reasons. I forgot to tell him that, while one may take the Promise for any reason or none, one may not truly Cross Over unless one already knows the reason and the answer. Sleep tight, my little Prince; do not move hastily.
Saturday, 8 Sept 1928; 10:15 AM
A new letter from Miriam today. I am cowed … Somehow … by the depth of her sorrow for Henry. Every man deserves such mourning, yes; but why him, and not her son? It is as though, in some unspecified way, his death at the estate is a much greater loss than Peter’s in Turkey. I suppose this is possible – but how and why? Something to do with the Lady & the House’s barriers? Or is it merely that they already thought Peter long dead, and this is fresh?
“There is a lessening in all of us,” she says. Henry would no doubt be pleased. Poor, sad, tortured man.
I feel so guilty. Each touch between us brings nothing but further sorrow. How can I justify this contact? I cannot. Especially as I deny to her and to them the thing they dearly crave.
It is clear to me that I have burdened our mutual affection as much as I dare; as much as it is worth. Poor woman; she has her own crosses; I should not lade her with mine. The tough of friendship is, after all, the important thing. I shall apologize.
And yet …. She has answered me as best she may, between warnings. She knows of SG, but, it seems is forbidden to speak further. I hear familiar cadences in her evasions; and thank her for these as well.
And Marklin is ours, if we truly want him. How violent she is, how vehement indeed! “His bite is poison death,” she says. “There is no man within him, merely an empty skin filled with crawling horrow….!”
Bait him and trap him – but let him not approach. She is afraid for me. For me. Thank you, Miriam; you gift me greatly. I do beware.
A couple of days ago I received a curious gift. An article from, some unnamed newspaper about the death of Paul Kinnerly. But who sent it? It was mailed from Evansville Ind. On the afternoon of the First, so I suppose any of the Madisonville people could have nipped out and sent it. But whoever did so, sent it to my box here, not in Emeryville …. A box I have almost never used. I did not even think anyone still knew about the box! So who sent this? I have asked, but expect no quick replies.
POSSIBLE REDACTION
Monday, 10 Sept 1928; 5:00 PM
Byron is coming out to see us. He should be here Wednesday afternoon. It was good to talk to him. He seems eager to get involved, to learn, to take my offer of a job – so he will join us for a few days, until we leave on our trip. What fun.
Now I think I will go back outside, and finish what I started.
POSSIBLE REDACTION
Tuesday, 11 Sept 1928; 7:30 PM
A troubled day. Spent most of it beating my metaphorical head against a metaphysical brick wall. Am I getting overly impatient? I could not find an Entry!
This is frustrating. Entries to Green and Small came easily; so I suppose I expected this one to be the same. But why should it? I tried the obvious clues (or at least those I thought were obvious!) but none of htem are Entries. WHAT WHAT WHAT? I now realize that I have no true points of reference whatsoever! I cannot afford to throw whole days away this way without result!
Then I return to the house. Insanity! Adam has cut his hand badly on a screwdriver and bled blueblack sticky all over the place; and Rachael is collapsed into a corner with the quiet freaks over a big grass spider that has crawled onto her leg. Julian is trying to bandage Adam, who won’t allow it because he’s trying to reassure Rachael; and the stew is quietly boiling off in the kitchen.
Lord in Heaven! Bring on the Night Gaunts!
Eventually, however, things were quiet; and dinner was tasty even though reminiscent of charcoal.
Adam is out on Perimeter Patrol. I am not feeling peaceful; all the frustrations of the day have not yet leeched away. I think a long sunset walk would do me good, and Julian as well. Communing with Nature in the ordinary way. Yes.
She has not been happy either, of late. It seems sometimes as though we never talk about anything but work; and that is a crime. Are we growing apart?
I will not allow it!
Am I causing it?
Can I avoid it?
Every day I get itchier, ready to leave. To do something together again. Together with her. A change of scenery, a chance to break the patterns that are becoming so burdensome, will do us both no end of good.
Yes.
And now, I think, I go to make my proposal.
Letter from Zigfried today. He confirms a few things we have already guessed… but how different it feels to have another voice say them, another set of eyes to see! It feels good; and how different it is, to hear it in another’s words! A new clarity: information from another source, new, strange, and fresh!
Yes. I only wish the news were good….
Wednesday, 12 Sept. 1928 – 9:00 PM
More. Always more. More to see, more to do, more to know…. Is that not what he wants? Well, Byron is here, and he is getting just what he asked for … but somehow I do not think he is happier. He has retreated to his room with a rather odd smile, to ponder all of this uncomfortable newness.
And so have I.
Letter from Andrew today. Contains lots of stuff from England. The peons in the enemy ranks are being sacrificed callously … and H-W has disappeared as well. Everything points to a new, more unpleasantly virulent form of the Ponic Plague – but is it the Type Two they have sought? I doubt it; but cannot afford to assume.
The records claim that H-W died of the plague, but we (as KR) received a TWX from him a week after his supposed death. Hyp: he is too far up the ladder to be sacrificed.
Is there a close connection between this and Kinnerley’s demise? I wonder. If so, then the article becomes even more important; as does the Redmun operation. I hope that PI reports soon.
I do not think the Children like Byron.
Short session, today, looking for the Quick Path. It must be there! But aspect after aspect has been tried and discarded, and still no luck. Frustrating.
Thursday, 13 Sept 1928; 9:30 PM
Better, indeed. I wait impatiently to leave …. I am rady, yes ready… and only a few more days!
And today was much nicer than yesterday.
First, a breeze from the north; it is always nicer with a bit of a wind! Then, another short session at Springboard, and I FOUND IT! YES! The beginning of the Quick Road, I think.
POSSIBLE REDACTION
Most of the rest of the day was spent with Byron. He certainly has a lot of questions! And I do not believe that my answers are being all that helpful. He has a two-inch pile of letters and photographs in his rooms, and my early journals as well. It will be interesting to hear from him what he makes of it all.
But; and I say this with a soft smile and a secret silent pride; today Rachael learned a spell.
I taught her the Healing spells – both of them – as Miss Crawford taught me. How nice to see her learn! To watch her realize her accomplishment; and to see her understand that at last she has a thing of value that is her own, that cannot be taken and cannot be used to harm.
The biggest obstacle was the Saying of the Words. Poor thing: she will mumble; and precision is so necessary! The gestures came easily (she is a quick study!) and the manipulation of the energies was not much harder, though she shies away from the sensation of it.
But I am happy. Like a proud father. A good deed.
Yes.
Friday, 14 September 1928; 7:00 PM
More letters. Carl. Meagan. And Radosta.
Carl is lost in Vision, seeking guidance and direction. Meagan’s letter is fascinating reading and illustrates a number of fascinating differences in perspective. And some good questions that need answers.
But Radosta’s package leaves me cold. Redmun is well; Redmun is active, visited by KR and others, and a LOT of big packages from foreign points – and from Brinley in Boston.
The Disease is loose again. Now this. What do we do?
Do I cancel my trip? If I cannot find someone both competent and discreet to discharge this duty, I must not go. But who? Maddy? Tony? Both would be best, but Tony is out of touch.
Oh dear.
Saturday, 15 Sept 1928; 9:15 AM
I did not want to rise. A late night with Byron, and Redmun and the realities of war. Uneasy sleep, filled with alarums and fragments of ungentle dreaming. The Plague. The Italian. Katyana and the Black Man. And that hellish twinned spiral of the Dance, the Dance!
Tony called. Four in the morning, I make it, or thereabouts. Yanked up from slumber: “CARL!”
Funny. He got my note about the Kinnerly article. All upset. True, I was too, at first. But consider: what then? Nothing has happened, yet; but Grimaldi’s code of Islie-ism for its own sake does not ring true, either.
He & R. are going to come here in a few days, to take over the Redmun thing along with Maddy and, I suppose, Byron. I have told him how to come.
I am free to leave. We are. Yes.
But still, I must face the oban.
I have thought, and I have though, and I have thought. Was Julian right? Was I right? She, I think.
One cannot be both creator and destroyer.
I cannot. I must not.
If the truth be known, I have not the soul of a destroyer. I may have the tactical understanding, but it is not RIGHT. If necessary; but I shall die, myself, with each death.
No. Another. Who?
One who is hard. Hard enough.
One who is Avowed.
One who is Across the Veil?
One who has the knowledge and the will.
There is no such person. Yet.
But consider. Am I right? That the will is necessary is obvious. That the strength be there equally so; and that means someone hard and ready. That there be knowledge enough to command successfully is a necessity of the job.
But. Why Avowed? Because they need to know that side of things as well. The Avowed have needs and restrictions and perceptions not shared by the others. The one who commands the troops must know those; and it were best if the knowledge were from experience. Best – not mandatory.
And: Across the Veil? To start with my reasoning is similar. But can someone who is truly Across shoulder that burden? Perhaps not. I am willing to be persuaded out of this.
Same day, 9:30 PM; Northbound
Gifted with Grace, huh? Bother it all. I am getting tired of folks looking at me and nodding sagely, as if to confirm some privately granted opinion or perception. Rightly or wrongly does not matter; but what the devil do they see that is so obvious – and how did they all get to be able to see it?
Ye Gods and Little Fishes! As my grandfather was wont to say.
The Temple is all but closed. There is only one junior priest left (the one with the ‘ahah’) and he said he was expecting me. All the others have left to do something else, somewhere else. He waited for me. Perhaps he, too, is gone by now.
They have their goals and methods (which we do not know) and, someday, we will meet again.
I wonder what it all means, & whose side they are on.
Monday, 17 Sept 28; 4:00 PM; Montana
Another hour or two, and we arrive. I find myself edgy, nervous. What will he be like? What will they? What about the scandalous child?
Outt is the oldest one left, I think. The last of the true Old Guard, the only one who might be able to tell me what they were like from the inside – how things worked during the “golden age” before the Great War. How old is he? Did he know Riswold? Harden? Was he there in ’84, and does he know what really happened to PF’s family – or how Harden died?
How can I have the gall to approach the man? By what right do I disturb him? I have no power to wave the Farquellion banner before him. His tenure is at least of twenty years – and I am a child of three.
What do I want from him, besides everything? Permission to proceed? Knowledge of why he stopped? Yes, and more. But I have as yet done nothing to earn his help.
It should be interesting.
