Christopher Priest - The Inverted World

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THE INVERTED WORLD

by Christopher Priest

United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in

any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief

quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address

Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.

FIRST U.S. EDITION

To my mother and father

Wheresoe'er I turn my view,

All is strange, yet nothing new;

Endless labour all along,

Endless labour to be wrong.

-- SAMUEL JOHNSON

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Some of the situations described in this novel were incorporated into a

short story entitled "The Inverted World," which was first published in

England in _New Writings in SF--22_ by Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd.

Beyond a slight duplication of background and the inclusion of a few

similarly named characters, there is not much between the two that is common.

CHRISTOPHER PRIEST

PROLOGUE

Elizabeth Khan closed the door of the surgery, and locked it. She walked

slowly up the village street to where the people were gathering in the square

outside the church. There had been a mood of expectancy all day as the huge

bonfire took shape, and now the village children ran excitedly in the street,

waiting for the moment when the fire would be lit.

Elizabeth went first to the church, but there was no sign of Father dos

Santos.

A few minutes after sunset one of the men put a light to the dry tinder

at the base of the pile of wood, and bright flame crackled through and up. The

children danced and jumped, crying to each other as the timber popped and spat

sparks.

Men and women sat or lay on the ground near the fire, passing flagons of

the dark, rich local wine. Two men sat apart from the others, each lightly

fingering a guitar. The music was soft, played for its own sake, not for

dancing.

Elizabeth sat near the musicians, drinking some of the wine whenever a

flagon was passed to her.

Later, the music became louder and more rhythmic, and several of the

women sang. It was an old song, and the words were in a dialect Elizabeth

could not follow. A few of the men climbed to their feet and danced, shuffling

with arms linked, very drunk.

Responding to the hands that reached out to pull her up, Elizabeth went

forward and danced with some of the women. They were laughing, trying to show

her the steps. Their feet threw up clouds of dust that drifted slowly through

the air before being caught and swept up in the vortex of heat above the fire.

Elizabeth drank more wine, danced with the others.

When she stopped for a rest she realized that dos Santos had appeared.

He was standing some distance away, watching the festivities. She waved to

him, but he made no response. She wondered if he disapproved, or whether he

was simply too reserved to join in. He was a shy, gauche young man, ill at

ease with the villagers and as yet unsure of how they regarded him. Like

Elizabeth he was a newcomer and an outsider, although Elizabeth believed that

she would overcome the villagers' suspicions faster than he would. One of the

village girls, seeing Elizabeth standing to one side, took her hand and

dragged her back to the dance.

The fire burned down, the music slowed. The yellow glow thrown by the

flames dwindled to a circle about the fire itself, and the people sat on the

ground once more, happy and relaxed and tired.

Elizabeth refused the next flagon that was passed to her, and instead

stood up. She was rather more drunk than she had realized, and she staggered a

little. As some of the people called out to her she walked away, leaving the

centre of the village, and went out into the dark countryside beyond. The

night air was still.

She walked slowly and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. There

was a way she had walked in the past, across the low hills that surrounded the

village, and she went that way now, lurching slightly on the irregularities of

the ground. At one time this had probably been rough pastureland, but now

there was no agriculture to speak of in the village. It was wild, beautiful

country, yellow and white and brown in the sunlight; now black and cool, the

stars brilliant overhead.

After half an hour she felt better, and headed back towards the village.

Walking down through a grove of trees just behind the houses, she heard the

sound of voices. She stood still, listening . . . but she heard only the

tones, not the words.

Two men were conversing, but they were not alone. Sometimes she heard

the voices of others, perhaps agreeing or commenting. None of it was her

concern, but nevertheless her curiosity was piqued. The words sounded urgent,

and there was a sense of argument to the conversation. She hesitated a few

seconds more, then moved on.

The fire had burned itself out: now only embers glowed in the village

square.

She walked on down to her surgery. As she opened the door she heard a

movement, and saw a man near the house opposite.

"Luiz?" she said, recognizing him.

"Goodnight, Menina Khan."

He raised his hand to her, and went inside the house. He was carrying

what appeared to be a large bag or a satchel.

Elizabeth frowned. Luiz had not been at the festivities in the square;

she was sure now that it had been him she had heard in the trees. She waited

in the doorway of the surgery a moment longer, then went inside. As she closed

the door she heard in the distance, clear in the still night, the sound of

horses galloping away.

PART ONE

I had reached the age of six hundred and fifty miles. Beyond the door

the guildsmen were assembling for the ceremony in which I would be admitted as

a guild apprentice. It was a moment of excitement and apprehension, a

concentration into a few minutes of all that my life had been until then.

My father was a guildsman, and I had always seen his life from a certain

remove. I regarded it as an enthralling existence, charged with purpose,

ceremony, and responsibility; he told me nothing of his life or work, but his

uniform, his vague manner, and his frequent absences from the city hinted at a

preoccupation with matters of utmost importance.

Within a few minutes the way would be open for me to join that life. It

was an honour and a donning of responsibility, and no boy who had grown up

inside the confining walls of the crèche could fail to respond to the thrill

of this major step.

The crèche itself was a small building at the very south of the city. It

was almost totally enclosed: a warren of corridors, rooms, and halls. There

was no access to the rest of the city, except by way of a door which was

normally locked, and the only opportunities for exercise existed in the small

gymnasium and a tiny open space, bounded on all four sides by the high walls

of the crèche buildings.

Like the other children I had been placed in the charge of the crèche

administrators soon after my birth, and knew no other world. I had no memories

of my mother: she had left the city soon after my birth.

It had been a dull but not unhappy experience. I had made some good

friends, and one of them--a boy a few miles older than me called Gelman

Jase--had become an apprentice guildsman a short time before me. I was looking

forward to seeing Jase again. I had seen him once since his coming of age,

when he returned briefly to the crèche, and already he had adopted the

slightly preoccupied manner of the guildsmen, and I had learned nothing from

him. Now that I too was about to become an apprentice I felt that he would

have much to tell me.

The administrator returned to the ante-room in which I was standing.

"They're ready," he said. "Can you remember what you have to do?"

"Yes."

"Good luck."

I discovered that I was trembling, and the palms of my hands were moist.

The administrator, who had brought me from the crèche that morning, grinned at

me in sympathy. He thought he understood the ordeal I was suffering, but he

knew, literally, only half of it.

After the guild ceremony there was more in store for me. My father had

told me that he had arranged a marriage for me. I had taken the news calmly

because I knew that guildsmen were expected to marry early, and I already knew

the chosen girl. She was Victoria Lerouex, and she and I had grown up together

in the crèche. I had not had much to do with her--there were not many girls in

the crèche, and they tended to keep together in a tight-knit group--but we

were less than strangers. Even so, the notion of being married was a new one

and I had not had much time to prepare myself mentally for it.

The administrator glanced up at the clock.

"O.K., Helward. It's time."

We shook hands briefly, and he opened the door. He walked into the hall,

leaving the door open. Through it I could see several of the guildsmen

standing on the main floor. The ceiling lights were on.

The administrator stopped just beyond the door and turned to address the

platform.

"My Lord Navigator. I seek audience."

"Identify yourself." A distant voice, and from where I was standing in

the ante-room I could not see the speaker.

"I am Domestic Administrator Bruch. At the command of my chief

administrator I have summoned one Helward Mann, who seeks 'apprenticeship in a

guild of the first order."

"I recognize you, Bruch. You may admit the apprentice."

Bruch turned and faced me, and as he had earlier rehearsed me I stepped

forward into the hall. In the centre of the floor a small podium had been

placed, and I walked over and took up position behind it.

I faced the platform.

Here in the concentrated brilliance of the spotlights sat an elderly man

in a high-backed chair. He was wearing a black cloak decorated with a circle

of white stitched on the breast. On each side of him stood three men, all

wearing cloaks, but each one of these was decorated with a sash of a different

colour. Gathered on the main floor of the hall, in front of the platform, were

several other men and a few women. My father was among them.

Everyone was looking at me, and I felt my nervousness increase. My mind

went blank, and all Bruch's careful rehearsals were forgotten.

In the silence that followed my entrance, I stared straight ahead at the

man sitting at the center of the platform. This was the first time I had even

seen--let alone been in the company of--a Navigator. In my immediate

background of the crèche such men had sometimes been spoken of in a

deferential way, sometimes--by the more disrespectful--in a derisory way, but

always with undertones of awe for the almost legendary figures. That one was

here at all only underlined the importance of this ceremony. My immediate

thought was what a story this would be to tell the others. . . and then I

remembered that from this day nothing would be the same again.

Bruch had stepped forward to face me.

"Are you Helward Mann, sir?"

"Yes, I am."

"What age have you attained, sir?"

"Six hundred and fifty miles."

"Are you aware of the significance of this age?"

"I assume the responsibilities of an adult."

"How best can you assume those responsibilities, sir?"

"I wish to enter apprenticeship with a first-order guild of my choice."

"Have you made that choice, sir?"

"Yes, I have."

Bruch turned and addressed the platform. He repeated the content of my

answers to the men assembled there, though it seemed to me that they must have

been able to hear my answers as I gave them.

"Does anyone wish to question the apprentice?" said the Navigator to the

other men on the platform.

No one replied.

"Very well." The Navigator stood up. "Come forward, Helward Mann, and

stand where I can see you."

Bruch stepped to one side. I left the podium, and walked forward to

where a small white plastic circle had been inlaid into the carpet. I stopped

with my feet in the centre of it. For several seconds I was regarded in

silence.

The Navigator turned to one of the men at his side.

"Do we have the proposers here?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Very well. As this is a guild matter we must exclude all others."

The Navigator sat down, and the man immediately to his right stepped

forward.

"Is there any man here who does not rank with the first order? If so, he

will grace us with his absence."

Slightly behind me, and to one side of me, I noticed Bruch make a slight

bow towards the platform, and then he left the hall. He was not alone. Of the

group of people on the main floor of the hall, about half left the room by one

or other of the exits. Those left turned to face me.

"Do we recognize strangers?" said the man on the platform. There was

silence. "Apprentice Helward Mann, you are now in the exclusive company of

first-order guildsmen. A gathering such as this is not common in the city, and

you should treat it with appropriate solemnity. It is in your honour. When you

have passed through your apprenticeship these people will be your peers, and

you will be bound, just as they are, by guild rules. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have selected the guild you wish to enter. Please name it for all

to hear."

"I wish to become a Future Surveyor," I said.

"Very well, that is acceptable. I am Future Surveyor Clausewitz, and I

am your chief guildsman. Standing around you are other Future Surveyors, as

well as representatives from other first-order guilds. Here on the platform

are the other chief guildsmen of the first order. In the centre, we are

honoured by the presence of Lord Navigator Olsson."

As Bruch had earlier rehearsed me I made a deep bow towards the

Navigator. The bow was all I now remembered of his instructions: he had told

me that he knew nothing of the details of this part of the ceremony, only that

I should display appropriate respect towards the Navigator when formally

introduced to him.

"Do we have a proposer for the apprentice?"

"Sir, I wish to propose him." It was my father who spoke.

"Future Surveyor Mann has proposed. Do we have a seconder?"

"Sir, I will second the proposal."

"Bridge-Builder Lerouex has seconded. Do we hear any dissent?"

There was a long silence. Twice more, Clausewitz called for dissent, but

no one raised any objection to me.

"That is as it should be," said Clausewitz. "Helward Mann, I now offer

you the oath of a first-order guild. You may--even at this late stage--decline

to take it. If, however, you do swear to the oath you will be bound to it for

the whole of the rest of your life in the city. The penalty for breaching the

oath is summary execution. Is that absolutely clear in your mind?"

I was stunned by this. Nothing anyone had said, my father, Jase, or even

Bruch, had said anything to warn me of this. Perhaps Bruch had not known.. .

but surely my father would have told me?

"Well?"

"Do I have to decide now, sir?"

"Yes."

It was quite clear that I would not be allowed a sight of the oath

before deciding. Its content was probably instrumental in the secrecy. I felt

that I had very little alternative. I had come this far, and already I could

feel the pressures of the system about me. To proceed as far as this--proposal

and acceptance--and then to decline the oath was impossible, or so it seemed

to me at that moment.

"I will take the oath, sir."

Clausewitz stepped down from the platform, walked over to me, and handed

me a piece of white card.

"Read this through, clearly and loudly," he told me. "You may read it

through to yourself before, if you wish, but if you do so you will be

immediately bound by it."

I nodded to show my understanding of this, and he returned to the stage.

The Navigator stood up. I read the oath silently, familiarizing myself with

its phrases.

I faced the platform, aware of the attention of the others on me, not

least that of my father.

"I, Helward Mann, being a responsible adult and a citizen of Earth do

solemnly swear:

"That as an apprentice to the guild of Future Surveyors I shall

discharge whatever tasks I am given with the utmost effort;

"That I shall place the security of the city of Earth above all other

concerns;

"That I shall discuss the affairs of my guild and other firstorder

guilds with no one who is not himself an accredited and sworn apprentice or a

first-order guildsman;

"That whatsoever I shall experience or see of the world beyond the city

of Earth will be considered a matter of guild security;

"That on acceptance as a full guildsman I shall apprise myself of the

contents of the document known as Destaine's Directive, and that I shall make

it my duty to obey its instructions, and that further I shall pass on the

knowledge obtained from it to future generations of guildsmen.

"That the swearing of this oath shall be considered a matter of guild

security.

"All this is sworn in the full knowledge that a betrayal of any one of

these conditions shall lead to my summary death at the hands of my fellow

guildsmen."

I looked up at Clausewitz as I finished speaking. The very act of

reading those words had filled me with an excitement I could hardly contain.

"Beyond the city . . ." That meant I would leave the city, venture as an

apprentice into the very regions which had been forbidden me, and were even

yet forbidden to most of those in the city. The crèche was full of rumours

about what lay outside the city, and already I had any number of wild

imaginings about it. I was sensible enough to realize that the reality could

never equal those rumours for inventiveness, but even so the prospect was one

that dazzled and appalled me. The cloak of secrecy that the guildsmen placed

around it seemed to imply that something dreadful was beyond the walls of the

city; so dreadful that a penalty of death was the price paid for revealing its

nature.

Clausewitz said: "Step up to the platform, Apprentice Mann."

I walked forward, climbing the four steps that led up to the stage.

Clausewitz greeted me, shaking me by the hand, and taking away from me the

card with the oath. I was introduced first to the Navigator, who spoke a few

amiable words to me, and then to the other chief guildsmen. Clausewitz told me

not only their names but also their titles, some of which were new to me. I

was beginning to feel overwhelmed with new information, that I was learning in

a few moments as much as I had learned inside the crèche in all my life to

that date.

There were six first-order guilds. In addition to Clausewitz's Future

Surveyors guild, there was a guild responsible for Traction, another for

Track-Laying and another for Bridge-Building. I was told that these were the

guilds primarily responsible for the administration of the city's continued

existence. In support of these were two further guilds: Militia and Barter.

All this was new to me, but now I recalled that my father had sometimes

referred in passing to men who bore as titles the names of their guilds. I had

heard of the Bridge-Builders, for instance, but until this ceremony I had had

no conception that the building of a bridge was an event surrounded by an aura

of ritual and secrecy. How was a bridge fundamental to the city's survival?

Why was a militia necessary?

Indeed, what was the future?

I was taken by Clausewitz to meet the Future guildsmen, among them of

course my father. There were only three present; the rest, I was told, were

away from the city. With these introductions finished I spoke to the other

guildsmen, there being at least one representative from each of the

first-order guilds. I was gaining the impression that the work of a guildsman

outside the city was a major occupier of time and resources, for on several

occasions one or other of the guildsmen would apologize for there being no

more of their number at the ceremony, but that they were away from the city.

During these conversations one unusual fact struck me. It was something

that I had noticed earlier, but had not registered consciously. This was that

my father and the other Future guildsmen appeared to be considerably older

than the others. Clausewitz himself was strongly built, and he stood

magnificently in his cloak, but the thinness of his hair and his lined face

betrayed a considerable age; I estimated him to be at least two thousand five

hundred miles old. My father too, now I could see him in the company of his

contemporaries, seemed remarkably old. He was of an age similar to Clausewitz,

and yet logic denied this. It would mean that my father would have been about

one thousand eight hundred miles at the time I was born and I already knew

that it was the custom in the city to produce children as soon after reaching

maturity as possible.

The other guildsmen were considerably younger. Some were evidently only

a few miles older than myself; a fact which gave me some encouragement as now

I had entered the adult world I wished to be finished with the apprenticeship

at the earliest opportunity. The implication was that the apprenticeship had

no fixed term, and if, as Bruch had said, status in the city was as a result

of ability, then with application I could become a full guildsman within a

relatively short period of time.

There was one person missing, whom I would have liked to be there. That

was Jase.

Speaking to one of the Traction guildsmen, I asked after him.

"Gelman Jase?" he said. "I think he's away from the city."

"Couldn't he have come back for this?" I said. "We shared a cabin in the

crèche."

"Jase will be away for many miles to come."

"Where is he?"

The guildsman only smiled at this, infuriating me . . . for surely, now

I had taken the oath I could be told?

Later, I noticed that no other apprentices were present. Were they all

away from the city? If so, that probably meant that very soon I too could

leave.After a few minutes talking to the guildsmen, Clausewitz called for

attention.

"I propose to recall the administrators," he said. "Are there any

objections?"

There was a sound of general approval from the guildsmen.

"In which case," Clausewitz continued, "I would remind the apprentice

that this is the first occasion of many on which he is bound by his oath."

Clausewitz moved down from the platform, and two or three of the

guildsmen opened the doors of the hail. Slowly, the other people returned to

the ceremony. Now the atmosphere lightened considerably. As the hall filled up

I heard laughter, and in the background I noticed that a long table was being

set up. There seemed to be no rancour from the administrators about their

exclusion from the ceremony that had just taken place. I assumed that it was a

common enough event for it to be taken as a matter of course, but it crossed

my mind to wonder how much they were able to surmise. When secrecy takes place

in the open, as it were, it lays itself open to speculation. Surely no

security could be so tight that merely dismissing them from a room while an

oath-taking ceremony took place would keep them in the dark as to what was

happening? As far as I could tell, there had been no guards at the door; what

was there to prevent someone eavesdropping while I spoke the oath?

I had little time to consider this for the room was filled with

activity. People spoke together in an animated way, and there was much noise

as the long table was laid with large plates of food and many different kinds

of drink. I was led from one group of people to another by my father, and I

was introduced to so many people that I was soon unable to remember names or

titles.

"Shouldn't you introduce me to Victoria's parents?" I said, seeing

Bridge-Builder Lerouex standing to one side with a woman administrator who I

assumed was his wife.

"No . . . that comes later." He led me on, and soon I was shaking hands

with yet another group of people.

I was wondering where Victoria was, for surely now that the guild

ceremony was out of the way our engagement should be announced. By now I was

looking forward to seeing her. This was partly due to curiosity, but also

because she was someone I already knew. I felt outnumbered by people both

older and more experienced than me, and Victoria was a contemporary. She too

was of the crèche, she had known the same people as me, was of a similar age.

In this room full of guildsmen she would have been a welcome reminder of what

was now behind me. I had taken the major step into adulthood, and that was

enough for one day.

Time passed. I had not eaten since Bruch had woken me, and the sight of

the food reminded me of how hungry I was. My attention was drifting away from

this more social aspect of the ceremony. It was all too much at once. For

another half an hour I followed my father around, talking without much

interest to the people to whom I was introduced, but what I should really have

welcomed at that moment was some time left to myself, so that I could think

over all that I had learned.

Eventually, my father left me talking to a group of people from the

synthetics administration (the group which, I learned, was responsible for the

production of all the various synthetic foods and organic materials used in

the city) and moved over to where Lerouex was standing. I saw them speak

together briefly, and Lerouex nodded.

In a moment my father returned, and took me to one side.

"Wait here, Helward," he said. "I'm going to announce your engagement.

When Victoria comes into the room, come over to me."

He hurried away and spoke to Clausewitz. The Navigator returned to his

seat on the platform.

"Guildsmen and administrators!" Clausewitz called over the noise of the

conversations. "We have a further celebration to announce. The new apprentice

is to be engaged to the daughter of Bridge-Builder Lerouex. Future Surveyor

Mann, would you care to speak?"

My father walked to the front of the hall and stood before the platform.

Speaking too quickly, he made a short speech about me. On top of everything

else that had happened that morning this came as a new embarrassment. Uneasy

together, my father and I had never been so close as he made out by his words.

I wanted to stop him, wanted to leave the room until he had finished, but it

was clear I was still the centre of interest. I wondered if the guildsmen had

any idea how they were alienating me from their sense of ceremony and

occasion.

To my relief, my father finished but stayed in front of the platform.

From another part of the hail Lerouex said that he wished to present his

daughter. A door opened and Victoria came in, led by her mother.

As my father had instructed I walked over and joined him. He shook me by

the hand. Lerouex kissed Victoria. My father kissed her, and presented her

with a finger-ring. Another speech was made. Eventually, I was introduced to

her. We had no chance to speak together.

The festivities continued.

I was given a key to the crèche, told that I might continue to use my

cabin until accommodation could be found in guild quarters, and reminded once

more of my oath. I went straight to sleep.

I was awakened early by one of the guildsmen I had met the previous day.

His name was Future Denton. He waited while I dressed myself in my new

apprentice's uniform, and then led me out of the crèche. We did not take the

same route as that along which Bruch had led me the day before, but climbed a

series of stairs. The city was quiet. Passing a clock I saw that the time was

still very early indeed, just after three-thirty in the morning. The corridors

were empty of people, and most of the ceiling lights were dimmed.

We came eventually to a spiral staircase, at the top of which was a

heavy steel door. Future Denton took a flashlight from his pocket, and

switched it on. There were two locks to the door, and as he opened it he

indicated that I should step through before him.

I emerged into coldness and darkness, such extremes of both that they

came as a physical shock. Denton closed the door behind him, and locked it

again. As he shone his flashlight around I saw that we were standing on a

small platform, enclosed by a handrail about three feet high. We walked over

and stood at the rail. Denton switched off his light, and the darkness was

complete.

"Where are we?" I said.

"Don't talk. Wait . . . and keep watching."

I could see absolutely nothing. My eyes, still adjusted to the

comparative brightness of the corridors, tricked my senses into detecting

coloured shapes moving about me, but in a moment these stilled. The darkness

was not the major preoccupation; already the movement of the cold air across

my body had chilled me and I was trembling. I could feel the steel of the rail

in my hands like a spear of ice, and I moved my hands trying to minimize the

discomfort. It was not possible to let go though. In that absolute dark the

rail was my only hold on the familiar. I had never before been so isolated

from what I knew, never before been confronted with such an impact of things

unknown. My whole body was tense, as if bracing itself against some sudden

detonation or physical shock, but none came. All about me was cold and dark

and overwhelmingly silent bar the sound of the wind in my ears.

As the minutes passed, and my eyes became better able to adjust, I

discovered I could make out vague shapes about me. I could see Future Denton

beside me, a tall black figure in his cloak, outlined against the lesser

darkness of what was above him. Beneath the platform on which we stood I could

detect a huge, irregularly shaped structure, black and black on black.

Around all this was impenetrable darkness. I had no point of reference,

nothing against which I could make distinctions of form or outline. It was

frightening, but in a way which struck emotionally, not in such a way that I

felt at all threatened physically. Sometimes I had dreamed of such a place,

and then I had awakened still experiencing the after-images of an impression

such as this. This was no dream; the bitter cold could not be imagined, nor

could the startling clarity of the new sensations of space and dimension. I

knew only that this was my first venture outside the city--for this was all it

could be--and that it was nothing like I had ever anticipated.

Fully appreciating this, the effect of the cold and dark on my

orientation became of subsidiary importance. I was outside . . . _this_ was

what I had been waiting for!

There was no further need for Denton's admonition to silence; I could

say nothing, and had I tried the words would have died in my throat or been

lost on the wind. It was all I could do to look, and in looking I saw nothing

but the deep, mysterious cape of a land under the clouded night.

A new sensation affected me: I could smell the soil! It was unlike

anything I had ever smelled in the city, and my mind conjured a spurious image

of many square miles of rich brown soil, moist in the night. I had no way of

telling what it was I could actually smell--it was probably not soil at

all--but this image of rich, fertile ground had been one that endured for me

from one of the books I had read in the crèche. It was enough to imagine it

and once more my excitement lifted, sensing the cleansing effect of the wild,

unexplored land beyond the city. There was so much to see and do. . . and even

yet, standing on the platform, it was still for those few precious moments the

exclusive domain of the imagination. I needed to see nothing; the simple

impact of this fundamental step beyond the city's confines was enough to spark

my underdeveloped imagination into realms which until that moment had been fed

only by the writings of the authors I had read.

Slowly, the blackness became less dense, until the sky above me was a

dark gray. In the far distance I could see where the clouds met the horizon,

and even as I watched I saw a line of the faintest red begin to etch the shape

of one small cloud. As if the impact of the light was propelling it, this

cloud and all the others were moving slowly above us, borne on the wind away

from the direction of the glow. The redness spread, touching the clouds for a

few moments as they moved away, leaving behind a large area of clear sky which

was itself coloured a deep orange. My whole attention was rivetted on this

sight, for it was quite simply the most beautiful thing I had experienced in

my whole life. Almost imperceptibly, the orange colour was spreading and

lightening; still the clouds which moved away were singed with red, but at the

very point at which the horizon met the sky there was an intensity of light

which grew brighter by the minute.

The orange was dying. Far more quickly than I would ever have guessed,

it thinned away as the source of light brightened. The sky now was a blue so

pale and brilliant that it was almost white. In the centre of it, as if

growing up from the horizon, was a spear of white light, leaning slightly to

one side like a toppling church steeple. As it grew it thickened and

brightened, becoming as the seconds passed so brilliant and incandescent that

it was not possible to stare directly at it.

Future Denton suddenly gripped my arm.

"Look!" he said, pointing to the left of the centre of brilliance. A

formation of birds, spread out in a delicate V, was flapping slowly from left

to right across our vision. After a few moments, the birds crossed directly in

front of the growing column of light, and for a few seconds they could not be

seen. "What are they?" I said, my voice sounding coarse and harsh.

"Just geese."

They were visible again now, flying slowly on with the blue sky behind

them. After a minute or so they became lost to sight beyond high ground some

distance away.

I looked again at the rising sun. In the short time I had been looking

at the birds it had been transformed. Now the bulk of its body had appeared

above the horizon, and it hung in sight, a long, saucer-shape of light, spiked

above and below with two perpendicular spires of incandescence. I could feel

the touch of its warmth on my face. The wind was dropping.

I stood with Denton on that small platform, looking out across the land.

I saw the city, or what part of it was visible from the platform, and I saw

the last of the clouds disappearing across the horizon furthest from the sun.

It shone down on us from a cloudless sky, and Denton removed his cloak.

He nodded to me, and showed me how we could climb down from the

platform, by way of a series of metal ladders, to the land below. He went

first. As I stepped down, and stood for the first time on natural ground, I

heard the birds which had nested in the upper crannies of the city begin their

morning song.

Future Denton walked with me once around the periphery of the city, then

took me out across the ground towards a small cluster of temporary buildings

which had been erected about five hundred yards from the city. Here he

introduced me to Track Maichuskin, then returned to the city.

The Track was a short, hairy man, still half-asleep. He didn't seem to

resent the intrusion, and treated me with some politeness.

"Apprentice Future, are you?"

I nodded. "I've just come from the city."

"First time out?"

"Yes."

"Had any breakfast?"

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THEINVERTEDWORLDbyChristopherPriestCopyright1974byChristopherPriest.Allrightsreserved.PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica.Nopartofthisbookmaybeusedorreproducedinanymannerwhatsoeverwithoutwrittenpermissionexceptinthecaseofbriefquotationsembodiedincriticalarticlesandreviews.ForinformationaddressHarper&R...

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Christopher Priest - The Inverted World

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