On Blue's waters

Scylla, a major goddess of the LONG SUN WHORL, the patroness of VIRON.

SEAWRACK, a one-armed maiden.

Shadelow, HORN’S name for the western continent.

She-pick-berry, He-pen-sheep’s wife.

SHORT SUN, the star orbited by the WHORL.

Patera SILK, the caldé of Viron at the time the colonists boarded their landers, also called Caldé SILK.

SINEW, HORN and NETTLE’s eldest son.

Sister, a small girl living with her brother in a forest northwest of GAON.

Generalissimo Siyuf, the commander of the Rani’s horde.

Skany, an inland town some distance from GAON.

Somvar, an advocate.

Captain Strik, a master mariner of Dorp.

Sun Street, a wide diagonal avenue in VIRON.

Tail, the southern end of LIZARD Island.

Tamarind, a fishmonger’s widow.

Tartaros, a major god of the LONG SUN WHORL, the god of darkness and commerce, and the patron of thieves.

Thelxiepeia, a major goddess of the LONG SUN WHORL, the goddess of learning, trickery, and magic.

Three Rivers, an inland town near NEW VIRON.

Tor, a rocky peak on LIZARD Island.

Trivigaunte, a desert city well south of VIRON.

Toter, Strik’s son.

Tuz, one of the travelers assembled in PAJAROCU.

Urbasecundus, a foreign town not far from NEW VIRON.

Vanished Gods, the gods of the NEIGHBORS.

Vanished People, the NEIGHBORS.

VIRON, the city of the LONG SUN WHORL in which SILK, HORN, NETTLE, and many others were born, also called Old Viron.

Vulpes, an advocate of the LONG SUN WHORL.

West Foot, the westernmost peninsula of LIZARD Island.

The WHORL, the generation ship from which the colonists came.

Wichote, a riverine village on BLUE’s eastern continent.

Captain WIJZER, a master mariner of Dorp.

Tksin, the traveler who robbed and deserted SINEW.

Zeehm, the daughter of the RAJAN’s head gardener.

To Every Town:

Like you we left friends and family and the light of the Long Sun for this new whorl we share with you. We would greet our brothers at home if we could.

We have long wished to do this. Is it not so for you?

He-hold-fire, a man of our town, has labored many seasons where our lander lifts high its head above our trees. The gray man speaks to He-hold-fire and to us, and it is his word that he will fly once again.

Soon he will rise upon fire and fly like the eagle.

We might clasp it to our bellies. That is not the way of hunters, and there are many beds of hide. Send a man to come with us. Send a woman, if it is your custom.

One alone from each town of this new whorl, whether he or she.

With us the one you send will return to our old home among the stars.

Send soon. Send one only. We will not delay.

Speak our word to others. The Men Of PAJAROCU

- 1- HORN’S BOOK

It is worthless, this old pen case I brought from Viron. It is nothing. You might go around the market all day and never find a single spirit who would trade you a fresh egg for it. Yet it holds…

Enough.

Yes, enough. I am sick of fancies.

At present it holds two quills, for I have taken the third one out. Two were in it when I found it in the ashes of our shop. The third, with which I am writing, was dropped by Oreb not so long ago. I picked it up, put it in this pen case, and forgot both Oreb and his feather.

It also holds a knife for pointing pens and the small bottle of black ink (more than half full) into which I dip mine. See how much darker my writing has become.

It is facts I need-facts I starve for. To Green with fancies!

My name is Horn.

This is such a pen case as students use in Viron, the city in which I was born, and no doubt in many others-a case of black leather glued over pressboard; it has a brass hinge with a steel spring, and a little brass clamp to keep it shut. We sold them in our shop and asked six cardbits; but my father would accept four if the purchaser bargained awhile, and such purchasers always did.

Three, if they bought something else, a quire of writing paper, say.

The leather is badly scuffed. More facts later, when I have more time. Rajya Mantri wants to lecture me.

Reviewing what I wrote yesterday, I see that I have begun without plan or foresight, and in fact without the least notion of what I was trying to do or why I was trying to do it. That is how I have begun everything in life. Perhaps I need to begin before I can think clearly about the task. The chief thing is to begin, after all-after which the chief thing is to finish. I have finished worse than I began, for the most part.

It is all in the pen case. You have to take out the ink and string it together into the right shapes. That is all.

If I had not picked up this old pen case where my father’s shop once stood, it is possible that I might still be searching for Silk.

For the phantom who has eluded me on three whorls.