They didn’t want to talk about the other things they’d done in my world. Vroon said they would do so only at my “royal command.” As I had no intention of encouraging their foolish beliefs in the matter of royalty, I let the matter drop. “We’ll talk more of these things another time.”
“Quietness,” said Ob, nodding sagely and smiling at the other two as he lumbered alongside us.
Vroon smiled and poked Ob’s massive, humped shoulder in a brotherly way, and then leaned close to my shoulder. “Ob has always believed our king will be a quiet person, whose words are deep like his own. One person we found, a noisy, ever-talking one who claimed to be a king already, we took straight to the Guardian, lest perchance we be mistaken. But we always believed that the one we sought would be unmatched in wholeness. As you are.”
Eventually, our strange procession arrived at another cluster of hundreds of towers and wound our way through them to a wide open space paved with stones. A commard, we would call such a place in Leire, suitable for markets or ceremonies or celebrations of thousands of people. Rows of braziers, flame-filled bowls of stone that stood on slender pillars taller than a man, lined three sides of the commard. And on the fourth side, beyond a set of wide steps, stood the largest tower yet, an elongated spiral of pale blue, imposing in its height and sweep, though nowhere wider than five men standing shoulder to shoulder. The tower was the one I’d seen in my dreams.
Our three guides gestured excitedly toward the place. As we ascended the steps, the crowd behind me milled about, people settling themselves on the flagstone paving as if to watch a festival pageant.
“This is the place? The Guardian’s place?” I said, standing on the top step and gawking up at the soaring tower somewhat stupidly. I felt foolish that I couldn’t find a gate to walk through or a door to knock on in the smooth curved flank of the structure.
“No, Majesty, this is your place, formed by many Singlars working as the Source commanded us through the voice of the Guardian. Of course, yes, the Guardian lives here, keeping it for you.” Vroon stood on tiptoe and whispered in my ear. “He will expect your calling out to him.”
I whispered back. “How would I go about doing that properly? I’d like to understand more about the Guardian…” And the towers and this grotesque land and my dreams and a number of other things.
Vroon put a finger to his lips, and pondered the question for a moment. “Mmm. Quite… uh… unimpressed is he with your standing as the Bounded King. He doubts. Willfully, he doubts. Until the king is among us, only the Guardian speaks the Source. When the Bounded King rules, the Guardian’s ears will be closed, and his voice will be very small. But, of course, he dearly wants a name… not that giving it will friendly him completely… ”
“I think I understand,” I said. “Guardian!”
“Who calls?” The words echoed from the stone walls and steps as if the speaker were shouting from out of a barrel.
“A traveler,” I called out. Then, I bent down to Vroon and spoke quietly again. “So do you happen to know a name the Guardian likes?”
“Contemplating Mynoplas was he at my last hearing,” whispered the dwarf, grinning. “A noble name it would be for the Guardian.”
“What seek you here?” echoed the booming voice from the tower.
“Answers. Shelter if the rains come again. Nothing more.” The wind had picked up again and smelled ominously damp as it raced out of the muddy lanes and across the wide commard.‘ I ran my fingers over the blue stone. The surface felt warmer than you might expect and was threaded with tiny veins of purple and silver.
“There are no answers here for you, traveler.”
“But I understand that you have great knowledge, clear authority, high standing in this place. Surely many come to you for answers.”
“Not you.”
“Why not?”
“I await the One Who Makes Us Bounded. Go away.”
Vroon’s estimate of this fellow’s state of mind seemed quite accurate. Exasperating.
“How will you know him - your king?”
“You will not trick me into giving you answers.”
“Then I will take this noble name I carry in my head and spend it elsewhere. Good day, Guardian.”
A very long, straight, and well-proportioned nose poked itself through the curved blue walls, quickly followed by a prominent brow, a pair of wide lips, and a jaw with a sharp, square edge, grizzled with wiry black hair. One cheekbone bulged grotesquely from the otherwise ordinary face of a man of middle years. His eyes protruded from under the dark brows in a rather belligerent fashion.
“Humph! I knew it. You are but a youth. Bounded perhaps… yes, clearly so… but a mere youth, ignorant of important matters. No surprise that you seek answers. A frivolous person. A child.” His gaze skimmed over me from head to toe, then his protruding eyes settled on my own for a moment before looking quickly away. “Well… perhaps not a child. No. Perhaps not excessively frivolous. What name is it you carry?”
“The name Mynoplas dances on my tongue, but this good friend at my side could use such a sturdy name to good effect, so I might give it to him.” I gripped Paulo’s shoulder with one hand and gestured toward my Singlar companions with the other. I tried to act as if I saw heads protruding through stone walls every day. “Your messengers bear their new names nobly: Vroon, Zanore, and Ob. Come, friends, let’s go.”
“Wait! Singlars, has this traveler truly bestowed names?”
Vroon bowed to me first and then to the Guardian. “He is the One Who Makes Us Bounded, Guardian. I feel the wholeness of being Vroon. It is unmatched in glorious truthfulness that I tell you: I am Vroon. I am bounded.”
A rippling murmur swept through the air behind us, surged over us like a whispering tide, then faded into a long sigh.
“Who else…?” The Guardian poked a sinewy neck farther out of the tower and caught sight of the mass of beings sitting quiet and expectant on the commard, their oddness and deformities almost hidden in the shifting pools of light cast by the flaming braziers. “Confound you, disobedient Singlars! Why have you come here? You trespass the law!”
He is the One… the king… the One Who Makes Us Bounded. He ate the white fire in the old one’s cluster. He will save us from the storms. The flurry of words floated on top of the crowd.
I wanted to leave, but we needed shelter.
“No, he is not the king! He is but a boy. Return each to your fastness and wait as you have been commanded. Any who remain outside will be thrown from the Edge.”
I turned and started down the steps.
“Wait, traveler! I shouldn’t - You’re not - But if you’ve given names - Well, come in, then, and I’ll give you hearing. Then we’ll see. Maintainers, herd these unruly Singlars back to where they belong. Whip them if they do not obey.”
Two ranks of thuggish fellows, all wearing elaborately knotted rope belts about their tunics, emerged from the shadows and herded the rapidly dispersing crowd away from the commard. The Guardian popped back into the tower, leaving no clue as to how to follow him. An icy blast of wind curled around the towers and peppered us with sleet.
Vroon grinned up at me, his single purple eye twinkling. “Well done, Majesty.”
“Now, how do I get inside?” Even watching the Guardian’s movements closely, I had missed the door.
“Think of yourself in,” said Vroon. “More in than out. Enclosed, as to say.”
Think of myself in… This world was too odd. But I gave it a try. I considered what might lie on the other side of the curved wall. Then I ran my fingers across it - the smooth blue surface felt like stone - and imagined how it would feel to walk through it. I considered the thwop sound I’d heard for the past hours. No luck.
“In,” said Vroon, quite seriously. “Not through. Not beyond.”
I imagined the curved walls and turned them inside out so they were curved around me instead of away from me. At the same time I brought to mind all the ideas of “in-ness” I could: being under the blankets in my bed, closing a door behind me, walls, clothes, gloves… And then I was in.