Modesitt, L.E. - Timegods 03 - Timegods' World

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TIMEGODS'
WORLD
TIMEDIVER'S DAWN
THE TIMEGOD
L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
v1.0
Scanned and Proofed
By Neugaia (#bookz)
[16/05/2002]
TOR®
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
TOR BOOKS BY L.E. MODESITT, JR.
THE SPELLSONG CYCLE
The Soprano Sorceress
The Spellsong War
Darksong Rising
THE SAGA OF RECLUCE
The Magic of Reduce
The Towers of the Sunset
The Magic Engineer
The Order War The Death of Chaos
Fall of Angels
The Chaos Balance
The White Order
Colors of Chaos
Magi'i of Cyador
Scion of Cyador*
THE ECOLITAN MATTER
The Ecologic Envoy
The Ecolitan Operation
The Ecologic Secession
The Ecolitan Enigma
THE FOREVER HERO
(comprising Dawn for a Distant Earth
The Silent Warrior
In Endless Twilight)
TIMEGODS' WORLD
(comprising Timediver's Dawn
The Timegod)
Of Tangible Ghosts
The Ghost of the Revelator
The Green Progression
The Parafaith War
The Hammer of Darkness
Adiamante Gravity Dreams
*Forthcoming
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these
novels are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
TIMEGODS' WORLD
This book comprises the novels
Timediver's Dawn, copyright ©1992 by L.E. Modesitt, Jr., and
The Timegod, copyright ©1993 by L.E. Modesitt, Jr.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Design by Jane Adele Regina
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 0-312-87495-2
First Omnibus Edition: August 2000
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
TIMEDIVER'S DAWN......................................................................................................... 5
THE TIMEGOD............................................................................................................... 301
Click PageNumber/Link to jump to book
TIMEDIVER'S DAWN
For Wendy, Margot, and Mimi
Just because,
although each of you knows why.
I
THINK OF A world of witches, of high technology and space travel, of science and
superstition. A world on the verge of changing inhabitable planets into green pastures and
endless forests, a world so short of energy resources that all fuels are grown or captured
from the sun.
You say there is no such world? Or that it is only our world, dressed up for a storyteller's
pleasure?
Set aside your doubts . . . this world was as real as any you will know . . . and learn about
the timedivers' dawn. Perhaps it began here:
"MERYN." THE SLIGHT, sandy-haired woman looked as though she carried perhaps a
score of years, until she gazed upon one, and the darkness behind her eyes delivered the
weight of centuries.
"Yes, Mother." The second woman, also slender and sandy-haired, could have been a
twin to the first, except for the lesser depth of her eyes.
"It's time."
"I know."
"There can be no more witches in Eastron. Not now. Not with the empress of Westron's
demands, and the weaknesses in the Duchy."
"But the Bardwalls still stand. . . ."
"And they will, and you may always return to look upon them. You must make a place
among the people of Westron and learn their technologies. Our time has gone and will not
come again for centuries. Not until they have stripped the last metals from the ground. Not
until they have been hurled from the skies."
"Mother?"
"Yes."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Daughter, I know that Eastron is dying, and all the villagers and all the gentry will blame it
on the witches. Because of the duke our faces are too well known. So I will face the
empress with him, come what may, and you will survive."
"Mother!"
There is no answer, for the older witch has vanished.
The younger woman looked around the retreat, then continued placing her few things in
the pack, which will be all that she can carry on her instant yet long journey.
IT SEEMS SO simple. It is not. It could have begun here as well:
————
"WITCH! WITCH!"
Thud! Crack!
One rock, then another, struck the whitewashed wall.
Their target, a stocky boy-child with strawberry blond hair, a dazed expression, and
shoulders already overbroad, looked down from the low wall where he balanced. Looked
down at the whitewashed surface where the rocks had struck near his feet, then back at
the gathered handful of women, crippled veterans, and the priest.
". . . like his mother . . ."
". . . dead . . . thank Verlyt . . . !"
Crack! Whmmmpt!
"Suffer not a witch, nor a witch's child . . ."
The boy looked from one face to another, back and forth, as if seeking reassurance.
Crack!
One of the rocks struck his shoulder, hard enough to stagger him.
"Witch! Witch! Witch!" The chant began in earnest, echoing between the walls, drowning
out the occasional low rumble of dry cloud thunder. Thunder that promised nothing but
clouds that delivered no rain, no respite.
"Witch! Witch! Witch . . . !"
Crack!
Suddenly, the boy's dazed expression vanished and his face screwed up, as if he were
about to cry. In a single motion, he tightened his lips and jumped down on the far side of
the wall, away from the crowd, and began to run.
Pad, pad, pad, pad . . . ! The alleyway remained silent for an instant, the villagers
momentarily silenced.
"Witch! Witch! Witch . . . !" The chant took on an even more frantic note.
Some of the veterans dragged themselves over the wall and hobbled or ran, knives in the
hands of those who still had hands, after the fleeing child. Others turned back into the
main street and dashed around toward the other end of the alley into which the child had
fled.
"Witch! Witch! Witch . . . !"
Thud! Thud, thuuddd, thhuuddd . . . The heavy roll of the priests' drums supplemented the
chant.
From huts and houses, from the vintners and the villas, the pursuers gathered, pounding
down street and alley, tearing through house and hovel.
"There he is!"
". . . witch-child . . . !"
"SUFFER NOT A WITCH TO LIVE, NOR A WITCH'S CHILD!" boomed the amplified voice
of the priest.
The boy, backed into a narrow niche between two walls behind the produce market, held a
rock in each hand, waiting.
Crack! The first rock from a villager slapped against the wall.
Crack! Thud! Crack! Thud! The past experience of the rock throwers showed as stone
after stone bounced against and around the boy.
He threw one stone back. It missed. He threw the other.
"Devil! Witch-child!"
Overhead, the dry thunder rumbled, and the dry clouds churned.
A rivulet of blood dribbled down the boy's face, no longer expressionless, but filled with
rage, even as the tears diluted his blood into pinkish streaks.
Crack! Thud! Thud!
"Gone!"
". . . damned witches . . . ! reclaimed their own . . ."
The small niche in the walls was empty, vacant but for rocks and streaks of blood upon
the walls.
". . . YOU HAVE RECLAIMED YOUR BIRTHRIGHT FROM THE WITCHES THIS DAY . .
." bellowed the amplifier.
A third of a world away, two soldiers paused by the roadside to investigate a heap of
clothing.
"Kid . . . been beaten . . ."
"Forcer!"
"Frillen, now what? Another discarded sack that has to be an aggrebel?" The heavy-set
and silver-haired forcer glared at the two as he spoke.
The trooper pointed. "Kid. Beaten. He's still breathing."
"He'll live. Put him in the rear freighter with Garchuk. He looks strong. The ConFed home
will take him. Now, let's get moving."
The two troopers shrugged. One lifted the boy and marched toward the military freight
steamer. The other followed the ConFed forcer.
摘要：

TIMEGODS'WORLDTIMEDIVER'SDAWNTHETIMEGODL.E.Modesitt,Jr.v1.0ScannedandProofedByNeugaia(#bookz)[16/05/2002]TOR®ATOMDOHERTYASSOCIATESBOOKNEWYORKTORBOOKSBYL.E.MODESITT,JR.THESPELLSONGCYCLETheSopranoSorceressTheSpellsongWarDarksongRisingTHESAGAOFRECLUCETheMagicofReduceTheTowersoftheSunsetTheMagicEngineer...

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