THE NIGHT FACE




originally published as


Let the Spacemen Beware.t'




Copyright Š, 1963 by Ace Books, Inc.




INTRODUCTION


Copyright Š, 1978 by Poul Anderson




WORD


Copyright Š, 1978 by Sandra Miesel




All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced 
in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion 
of brief quotations in a review, without permission in 
writing from the publisher.




All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance 
to actual persons, living or dead, is purely 
coincidental.




An ACE Book




Second Ace Edition: February 1978 
Cover art by Michael Whelan




Printed in U.S.A.




INTRODUCTION




At first this was a novelette called "A Twelvemonth 
and a Day." I revised and expanded it for 
book publication, whereupon the then editor stuck it 
with the ridiculous title Let the Spacemen Beware.t 
My thanks to Jim Baen, now in charge, for recognizing 
that readers have more intelligence than they 
were once given credit for having. In return, I admit 
that he's probably right in considering the original 
name too cumbersome; hence the new one.


Otherwise the tale is unchanged. It can stand 
alone, without reference to anything else. However, 
you' may be interested to know that it does fit into the 
same "future history" as the Polesotechnic League 
and the Terran Empire. Nicholas van Rijn, David 
Falkayn, Christopher Holm, Dominic Flandry, and 
quite a few more characters lived in its past. Now the 
Empire has fallen, the Long Night descended upon 
that tiny fraction of the galaxy which man once 
explored and colonized. Like Romano-Britons after 
the last legion had withdrawn, people out in the 
former marches of civilization do not even know 
what is happening at its former heart. They have the




THE NIGHT FACE




physical capability of going there and finding out, 
but are too busy surviving. They are also, all unawares, 
generating whole new societies of their own.


I do not, myself, believe that history will necessarily 
repeat itself to this extent. Nor do I deny that it 
might. Nobody knows. Equally uncertain, at the 
present state of our knowledge, is the validity of 
some assumptions about human genetics and 
psychobiology which I made for narrative purposes. 
Here is just a story which I hope you will enjoy.




--Poul Anderson




vi




THE




NIGHT


FACE




TmQuetzal did not leave orbit and swing toward the 
planet until she got an allclear from the boat which 
had gone ahead to make arrangements. Even then 
her approach was cautious, as was fitting in a region 
as little known as this. Miguel Tolteca expected he 
would have a couple of hours free to watch the 
scenery unfold.


He was not exactly a sybarite, but he liked to do 
things in style. First he dialed PP, IV^CĽ on his 
stateroom door, lest some friendly soul barge in to 
pass the time of day. Then he put Castellani's Symphony 
No. 2 in D Minor with Subsonics on the 
tapester, mixed himself a rum and conchoru, converted 
the bunk to a lounger, and sat back with his 
free hand on the controls of the exterior scanner. Its




THE NIGHT FACE




screen grew black and full of wintry unwinking 
stars. He searched in a clockwise direction until 
Gwydion swam into view, a tiny disc upon darkness, 
the clearest blue he had ever seen.


The door chimed. "Oa," called Tolteca through 
the corn-unit, irritated, "can you not read?"


"My mistake," said the voice of Raven. "I 
thought you were the chief of the expedition."


Tolteca swore, folded the lounger into a chair, and 
stepped across the little room. A slight, momentary 
change in weight informed him that the Quetzal had 
put on a spurt of extra acceleration. Doubtless to 
dodge some meteorite swarm, the engineer part of 
him thought. They'd be more common here than 
around Nuevamerica, this being a newer system 
.... Otherwise the pseudogee field held firm. 
The spaceship was a precision instrument.


He opened the door. "Very well, Commandant." 
He pronounced the hereditary tide with a curtness 
that approached insult. "What is so urgent?"


Raven stood still for an instant, observing him. 
Tolteca was a young man, middling tall, with wide, 
stiffly held shoulders. His face was thin and sharp, 
under brown hair drawn back into the short queue 
customary on his planet, and the eyes were levelly 
aimed. However much the United Republics of 
Nuevamerica made of their shiny new democracy, it 
meant something to stem from one of their old professional 
families. He wore the uniform of the Argo 
Astrographical Company, but that was only a simple, 
pleasing version of his people's everyday garb:




THE NIGHT FACE




blue tunic, gray culottes, white stockings, and no 
insignia.


Raven came in and closed the door. "By 
chance," he said, his tone mild again, "one of my 
men overheard some of yours dicing to settle who 
should debark first after you and the ship's captain."


"Well, that sounds harmless enough," said 
Tolteca sarcastically. "Do you expect us to observe 
any official pecking order?"


"No. What-um-puzzled me was, nobody mentioned 
my own detachment."


Tolteca raised his brows. "You wanted your men 
to sit in on the dice game?"


"According to what my soldier reported to me, 
there seems to be no doctrine for planetfall and 
afterward."


"Well," said Tolteca, "as a simple courtesy to 
out hosts, Captain Utiel and I--and you, if you 
wish--will go out first to greet them. There's to be 
quite a welcoming committee, we're told. But 
beyond that, good ylem, Commandant, what difference 
does it make who comes down the gangway in 
what order?"


Raven fell motionless again. It was the common 
habit of Lochlanna aristocrats. They didn't stiffen at 
critical instants. They rarely showed any physical 
rigidity; but their muscles seemed to go loose and 
their eyes glazed over with calculation. Tolteca 
sometimes thought that that alone made them so 
alien that the Namerican Revolution had always 
been inevitable.




THE NIGHT FACE




Finally--thirty seconds later, but it seemed 
longer--Raven said, "I can see how this misunderstanding 
occurred, Sir Engineer. Your people 
have developed several unique institutions in the 
fifty years since gaining independence, and have 
forgotten some of our customs. Certainly the concept 
of exploration, even treaty-making, as a strictly 
private, commercial enterprise, is not Lochlanna. 
We have been making unconscious assumptions 
about each other. The fact that our two groups have 
kept so much apart on this voyage has helped maintain 
those errors. I offer apology."


It was not relevant, but Tolteca was driven to 
snap, "Why should you apologize to me? I'm doubtless 
also to blame."


Raven smiled. "But I am a Commandant of the 
Oakenshaw Ethnos ."


As if that bland purr had attracted him, a cat stuck 
his head out of the Lochlanna's flowing surcoat 
sleeve. Zio was a Siamese tom, big, powerful, and 
possessed of a temper like mercury fulminate. His 
eyes were cold blue in the brown mask. "Mneow-rr," 
he said remindingly. Raven scratched him 
under the chin. Zio tilted back his head and raced his 
motor.


Tolteca gulped down an angry retort. Let the fellow 
have his superiority complex. He struck a 
cigarette and smoked in short hard puffs. "Never 
mind that," he said. "What's the immediate problem?"


"You must correct the wrong impression among 
your men. My troop goes out first."




4




THE NIGHT FACE




"What? If you think--"


"In combat order. The spacemen will stand by to 
lift ship if anything goes awry. When I signal, you 
and Captain Utiel may emerge and make your 
speeches. But not before."


For a space Tolteca could find no words. He could 
only stare.


Raven waited, impassive. He had the Lochlanna 
build, the result of many generations on a planet with 
one-fourth again the standard surface gravity. 
Though tall for one of his own race, he was barely of 
average Namerican height. Thick-boned and 
thick-muscled, he moved like his cat, a gait which 
had always appeared slippery and sneaking to Tolte-ca's 
folk. His head was typically long, with the 
expected disharmony of broad face, high cheekbones, 
hook nose, sallow skin which looked youthful 
because genetic drift had eliminated the beard. 
His hair, close cropped, was a cap of midnight, and 
his brows met above the narrow green eyes. His 
clothes were not precisely gaud.v, but the republican 
simplicity of Neuvamerica found them barbaric--high-collared 
blouse, baggy blue trousers tucked 
into soft half boots, surcoat embroidered with twined 
snakes and flowers, a silver dragon brooch. Even 
aboard ship, Raven wore dagger and pistol.


"By all creation," whispered Tolteca at last. "Do 
you think we're on one of your stinking campaigns 
of conquest?"


"Routine precautions," said Raven.


"But, the first expedition here was welcomed 
like--like-Our own advance boat, the pilot, he was 
feted till he could hardly stagger back aboard!"




THE NIGHT FACE




Raven shrugged, earning an indignant look from 
Zio. "They've had almost one standard year to think 
over what the first expedition told them. We're a 
long way from home in space, and even longer in 
time. It's been twelve hundred years since the 
breakup of the Commonwealth isolated them. The 
whole Empire rose and fell while they were alone on 
that one planet. Genetic and cultural evolution have 
done strange work in shorter periods."


Tolteca dragged on his cigarette and said roughly, 
"Judging by the data, those people think more like


Namericans than you do."


"Indeed?"


"They have no armed forces. No police, even, in 
the usual sense; public service monitors is the best 
translation of their word. No---well, one thing we 
have to find out is the extent to which they do have a 
government. The first expedition had too much else 
to learn, to establish that clearly. But beyond doubt,


they haven't got much."


"Is this good?"


"By my standards, yes. Read our Constitution." 
"I have done so. A noble document for your 
planet." Raven paused, scowling. "If this Gwydion 
were remotely like any other lost colony I've ever 
heard of, there would be small reason for worry. 
Common sense alone, the knowledge that overwhelming 
power exists to avenge any treachery toward 
us, would stay them. But don't you see, wen 
there is no evidence of internecine strife, even of 
crime--and yet they are obviously not simple 

chil


THE NIGHT FACE




dren of nature--I can't guess what their common 
sense is like."


"I can," clipped Tolteca, "and if your bully boys 
swagger down the gangway first, aiming guns at 
people with flowers in their hands, I know what that 
common sense will think of us."


Raven's smile was oddly charming on that gash of 
a mouth. "Credit me with some tact. We will make a 
ceremony of it."


"Looking ridiculous at best--they don't wear 
uniforms on Gwydion--and transparent at 

worst-
for they're no fools. Your suggestion is declined." 
"But I assure you--"


"No, I said. Your men will debark individually, 
and unarmed."


Raven sighed. "As long as we are exchanging 
reading lists, Sir Engineer, may I recommend the 
articles of the expedition to you?"


"What are you hinting at now?"


"The Quetzal," said Raven patiently, "is bound 
for Gwydion to investigate certain possibilities and, 
if they look hopeful, to open negotiations with the 
folk. Admittedly you are in charge of that. But for 
obvious reasons of safety, Captain Utiel has the last 
word while we are in space. What you seem to have 
forgoUen is that once we have made planetfall, a 
similar power becomes mine."


"Oa! If you think you can sabotage--"


"Not at all. Like Captain Utiel, I must answer for 
my actions at home, if you should make any complaint. 
However, no Lochlanna officer would 

as


7




THE NIGHT FACE




sume my responsibility if he were not given corresponding 
authority."


Tolteca nodded, feeling sick. He remembered 
now. It hadn't hitherto seemed important. The Company's 
operations took men and valuable ships ever 
deeper into this galactic sector, places where humans 
had seldom or never been even at the height of the 
empire. The hazards were unpredictable, and an 
armed guard on every vessel was in itself a good 
idea. But then a few old women in culottes, on the 
Policy Board, decided that plain Namericans 
weren't good enough. The guard had to be soldiers 
born and bred. In these days of spreading peace, 
more and more Lochlanna units found themselves at 
loose ends and hired out to foreigners. They kept 
pretty much aloof, on ship and in camp, and so far it 
hadn't worked out badly. But the Quetzal . . .


"If nothing else," said Raven, "I have my own 
men to think of, and their families at home."


'ZBut not the future of interstellar relations?" 
"If those can be jeopardized so easily, they don't 
seem worth caring about. My orders stand. Please 
instruct your men accordingly."


Raven bowed. The cat slid from his nesting place, 
dug claws in the coat, and sprang up on the man's 
shoulder. Tolteca could have sworn that the animal 
sneered. The door closed behind them.


Tolteca stood immobile for a while. The music 
reached a crescendo, reminding him that he had 
wanted to enjoy approach. He glanced back at the 
screen. The ship's curving path had brought the sun




THE NIGHT FACE




Ynis into scanner view. Its .radiance stopped down 
by the compensator circuits, it spread corona and 
great wings of zodiacal light like nacre across the 
stars. The prominences must also be spectacular, for 
it was an F8 with a mass of about two Sols and a 
corresponding luminosity of almost fourteen. But at 
its distance, 3.7 Astronomical Units, only the disc of 
the photosphere could be seen, covering a bare ten 
minutes of arc. All in all, a most .ordinary main 
sequence star. Tolteca twisted dials until he found 
Gwydion again.


The planet had gained apparent size, though he 
still saw it as little more than a chipped turquoise 
coin. The cloud bands and aurora should soon become 
visible. No continents, however. While the 
first expedition had reported Gwydion to be terres-troid 
in astonishing detail, it was about ten percent 
smaller and denser than Old Earth--to be expected 
of a younger world, formed when there were more 
heavy atoms in the universe--and thus possessed 
less total land area. What there was was divided into 
islands and archipelagos. Broad shallow oceans 
made the climate mild from pole to pole. Here came 
its moon, 1600 kilometers in diameter, 96,300 
kilometers in orbital radius, swinging from behind 
the disc like a tiny hurried firefly.


Tolteca considered the backdrop of the scene with 
a sense of eeriness. This close, the Nebula's immense 
cloud of dust and gas showed only as a region 
where stars were fewer and paler than elsewhere. 
Even nearby Rho Ophiuchi was blurred. Sol, of




9




THE NIGHT FACE




course, was hidden from telescopes as well as from 
eyes, an insignificant yellow dwarf two hundred 
parsecs beyond that veil, which its light would never 
pierce. 1 wonder what's happening there, thought 
Tolteca. It's long since we had any word from Old 
Earth.


He recollected what Raven had ordered, and 
cursed.




II




T pounds v^sxtm where the Quetzal had been asked to 
settle her giant cylinder was about five kilometers 
south of the town called Instar.


From the gangway Tolteca had looked widely 
across rolling fields. Hedges divided them into 
meadows of intense blossom-flecked green; plow-lands 
where the first delicate shoots of grain went 
like a breath across brown furrows; orchards 'and 
copses and scattered outbuildings made toylike by 
distance. The River Camlot gleamed between trees 
which might almost have been poplars. Instar bestrode 
it, red tile roofs above flower gardens around 
which the houses were built.


Most roads across that landscape were paved, but 
narrow and leisurely winding. Sometimes, Tolteca 
felt sure, a detour had been made to preserve an




11




THE NIGHT FACE




ancient tree or the lovely upswelling of a hill. Eastward 
the ground flattened, sloping down to a dike 
that cut off his view of the sea. Westward it climbed, 
until forested hills rose abruptly on the horizon. 
Beyond them could be seen mountain peaks, some of 
which looked volcanic. The sun hung just above 
their snows. You didn't notice how small it was in 
the sky, for it radiated too brightly to look at and the 
total illumination was almost exactly one standard 
sol. Cumulus clouds loomed in the southwest, and a 
low cool wind ruffled the puddles left by a recent 
shower.


Tolteca leaned back on the seat of the open car. 
"This is more beautiful than the finest places on my 
own world," he said to Dawyd. "And yet 
Neuvamerica is considered extremely Earthlike."


"Thank you," replied the Gwydiona. "Though 
we can take little credit. The planet was here, with its 
intrinsic conditions, its native biochemistry and 
ecology, all eminently suited to human life. I understand 
that God wears a different face in most of the 
known cosmos."


"Uh--" Tolteca hesitated. The local language, as 
recorded by the first expedition and learned by the 
second before starting out, was not altogether easy 
for him. Like Lochlanna, it derived from Anglic, 
whereas the Namericans had always spoken Is-panyo. 
Had he quite understood that business with 
"God"? Somehow, it didn't sound conventionally 
religious. But then, the secular orientation of his 
own culture made him liable to misinterpret theological 
references.




12




THE NIGHT FACE




"Yes," he said presently. "The variations in so-called 
terrestroid planets are not great from a percentage 
standpoint, but to human beings they make a 
tremendous difference. On one continent of my own 
world, for example, settlement was impossible until 
a certain common genus of plant had been eradicated. 
It was harmless most of the year, but the 
pollen it broadcast in spring happened to contain a 
substance akin to botulinus toxin."


Dawyd gave him a startled look. Tolteca wondered 
what he had said wrong. Had he misused some 
local word? Of course, he'd had to employ the Is-panyo 
name for the poison .... "Eradicate?" 
murmured Dawd. "Do you mean destroyed? Entirely?" 
Catching himself, slipping back into his 
serene manner with what looked like practiced ease, 
he said, "Well, let us not discuss technicalities right 
away. It was doubtless one of the Night Faces." He 
took his hand from the steering rod long enough to 
trace a sign in the air.


Tolteca felt a trifle puzzled. The first expedition 
had emphasized in its reports that the Gwydiona 
were not superstitious, though they had a vast 
amount of ceremony and symbolism. To be sure, the 
first expedition had landed on a different island; but 
it had found the same culture everywhere that it 
visited. (And it had failed to understand why men 
occupied only the region between latitudes 25 and 70 
degrees north, although many other spots looked 
equally pleasant. There had been so much else to 
learn.) When the Quetzal's advance boat arrived, 
Instar had been suggested as the best landing site




13




THE NGHT FACE




merely because it was one of the larger towns and 
possessed a college with an excellent reference library.


The ceremonies of welcome hadn't been overwhelming, 
either. The whole of Instar had turned 
out--men, women, and children with garlands, 
pipes, and lyres. There had been no few visitors from 
other areas; still the crowd wasn't as big as would 
have been the case on many planets. After the formal 
speeches, music was played in honor of the newcomers 
and a ballet was presented, a thing of masks 
and thin costumes whose meaning escaped Tolteca, 
but which made a stunning spectacle. And that was 
all. The assembly broke up in general cordiality--not 
the milling, backslapping, handshaking kind of 
reception that Namericans would have given, but 
neither the elaborate and guarded courtesy of 
Lochlann. Individuals had talked in a friendly way to 
individuals, given invitations to stay in private 
homes, asked eager questions about the outside universe. 
And at last most of them walked back to town. 
But each foreigner got a ride in a small, exquisite 
electric automobile.


Only a nominal guard of crewmen, and a larger 
detachment of Lochlanna, remained with the ship. 
No offense had been taken at Raven's wariness, but 
Tolteca still smoldered.


"Do you indeed wish to abide at my house?" 
asked Dawyd.


Tolteca inclined his head. "It would be an honor, 
Sir--" He stopped. "Forgive me, but ! do not know 
what your title is."




14




THE NIGHT FACE




"I belong to the Simnon family."


"No. I knew that. I mean your--not your name, 
but what you do."


"I am a physician, of that rite which heals by 
songs as well as medicines." (Tolteca wondered 
how much he was misunderstanding.) "I also have 
charge of a dike patrol and instruct youth at the 
college."


"Oh." T01teca was disappointed2 "I thought--You 
are not in the government then?"


"Why, yes. I said I am in the dike patrol. What 
else had you in mind? Instar employs no Year-King 
or-- No, that cannot be what you meant. Evidently 
the meaning of the word 'government' has diverged 
in our language from yours. Let me think, please." 
Dawyd knitted his brows.


Tolteca watched him, as if to read what could not 
be said. The Gwydiona all had that basic similarity 
which results from a very small original group of 
settlers and no later immigration. The first expedition 
had reported a legend that their ancestors were 
no more than a man and two women, one blonde and 
one dark, survivors of an atomic blast lobbed at the 
colony by one of those fleets which went 
a-murdering during the Breakup. But admittedly the 
extant written records did not go that far back, to 
confirm or deny the story. Be the facts as they may, 
the human genre pool here was certainly limited. 
And yet--an unusual case---there had been no degeneracy: 
rather, a refinement. Early generations




:
	had followed a careful program of outbreeding. Now 
mareage was on a voluntary basis, but the bearers of




15




THE NIGHT FACE




observable hereditary defects-including low intelligence 
and nervous instability--were sterilized. 
The first expedition had said that such people submitted 
cheerfully to the operation, for the community 
honored them ever after as heroes.


Dawyd was a pure caucasiod, which alone proved 
how old his nation must be. He was tall, slender, still 
supple in middle age. His yellow hair, worn shoulder 
length, was grizzled, but the blue eyes required no 
contact lenses and the sun-tanned skin was firm. The 
face, clean-shaven, high of brow and strong of chin, 
bore a straight nose and gentle mouth. His garments 
were a knee-length green tunic and white cloak, 
golden fillet, leather sandals, a locket about his neck 
which was gold on one side and black on the other. A 
triskele was tattooed on his forehead, but gave no 
effect of savagery.


His language had not changed much from Anglic; 
the Lochlanna had learned it without difficulty. 
Doubtless printed books and sound recordings had 
tended to stabilize it, as they generally did. But 
whereas Lochlann barked} grunted, and snarled, 
thought Tolteca, Gwydion trilled and sang. He had 
never heard such voices before.


"Ah, yes," said Dawyd. "I believe I grasp your 
concept. Yes, my advice is often asked, even on 
worldwide questions. That is my pride and my 
humility."


"Excellent. Well, Sir Councillor, I-"


"But councillor is no--no calling. I said I was a 
physician."




16




THE NIGHT FACE




"Wait a minute, please. You have not been formally 
chosen in any way to guide, advise, control?"


"No. Why should I be? A man's reputation, good 
or ill, spreads. Finally others may come from halfway 
around the world, to ask his opinion of some 
proposal. Bear in mind, far-friend," Dawd added 
shrewdly. "Our whole population numbers a mere 
ten million, and we have both radio and aircraft, 
and travel a great deal between our islands."


"'But then who is in charge of public affairs?"


"Oh, some communities employ a Year-King, or 
elect presidents to hold the chair at their local meetings, 
or appoint an engineer to handle routine. It 
depends on regional tradition. Here in Instar we lack 
such customs, save that we crown a Dancer each 
winter solstice, to bless the year."


"That isn't what I mean, SirPhysician. Suppose a 
---oh, a project, like building a new road, or a policy 
like, well, deciding whether to have regular relations 
with other planets--suppose this vague group of 
wise men you speak of, men who depend simply on a 
reputation for wisdom--suppose they decide a question, 
one way or another. What happens next?"


"Then, normally, it is done as they have decided. 
Of course, everyone hears about it beforehand. If the 
issue is important, there will be much public discussion. 
But naturally men lay more weight on the 
suggestions of those known to be wise than on what 
the foolish or the uninformed may say."


"So everyone agrees with the final decision?" 
"Why not? The matter has been threshed out and




17




THE NIGHT FACE




the most logical answer arrived at. Oh, of course a 
few are always unconvinced or dissatisfied. But 
being human, and therefore rational, they accommodate 
themselves to the general will."


"And--uh--funding such an enterprise?" 
"That depends on its nature. A strictly local project, 
like building a new road is carried out by the 
people of the community involved, with feasting and 
merriment each night. For larger and more 
specialized projects, money may be needed, and 
then its collection is a matter of local custom. We of 
Instar let the Dancer go about with a sack, and 
everyone contributes as much as is reasonable."


Tolteca gave up for the time being. He was further 
along than the anthropologists of the first expedition. 
Except, maybe, that he was mentally prepared for 
some such answer as he'd received, and could accept 
it immediately rather than wasting weeks trying to 
ferret out a secret that didn't exist. If you had a 
society with a simple economic structure (automation 
helped marvelously in that respect, provided 
that the material desires of the people remained 
modest) and if you had a homogeneous population of 
high average intelligence and low average nastiness, 
well, then perhaps the ideal anarchic state was possible.


And it must be remembered that anarchy, in this 
case, did not mean amorphousness. The total culture 
of GwycLion was as intricate as any that men had ever 
evolved. Which in turn was paradoxical, since advanced 
science and technology usually dissolved




18




THE NIGHT FACE




traditions and simplified interhuman relationships. 
However..


Tolteca asked cautiously, "What effect do you 
believe contact with other planets would have on 
your people? Planets where things are done in radically 
different ways?"


"I don't know," replied Dawyd, thoughtful. 
"We need more data, and a great deal more discussion, 
before even attempting to foresee the consequences. 
I do wonder if a gradual introduction of 
new modes may not prove better for you than any 
sudden change."


"For us?" Tolteca was startled.


"Remember, we have lived here a long time. We 
know the Apsects of God on Gwydion better than 
you. Just as we should be most careful about venturing 
to your home, so do I advise that you proceed 
circumspectly here."


Tolteca could not help saying, "It's strange that 
you never built spaceships. I gather that your people 
preserved, or reconstructed, all the basic scientific 
knowledge of their ancestors. As soon as you had a 
large enough population, enough economic surplus, 
you could have coupled a thermo-nuclear power-plant 
to a gravity beamer and a secondary-drive 
pulse generator, built a hull around the ensemble, 
and--' '


"No!"


It was almost a shout. Tolteca jerked his head 
around to look at Dawyd. The Gwydiona had gone 
quite pale.




19




	
	THE NIGHT FACE




Color flowed back after a moment. He relaxed his


grip on the steering rod. But his eyes were still stiffly 
focused ahead of him as he answered, "We do not 
use atomic power. Sun, water, wind, tides, and 
biological fuel cells, with electric accumulators for 
energy storage, are sufficient."


Then they were in the town. Dawyd guided the 
automobile through wide, straight avenues which 
seemed incongruous among the vine-covered houses 
and peaked red roofs, the parks and splashing fountains. 
There was only one large building to be seen, 
a massive structure of fused stone, rearing above 
chimneys with a jarring grimness. Just beyond a 
bridge which spanned the river in a graceful serpent 
shape, Dawyd halted. He had calmed down, and 
smiled at his guest. "My abode. Will you enter?"


As they stepped to the pavement, a tiny scarlet 
bird flew from the eaves, settled on Dawyd's forefinger, 
and warbled joy. He murmured to it, grinned 
half awkwardly at Tolteca, and led the way to his 
front door. It was screened from the street by a 
man-high bush with star-shaped leaves new for the 
spring season. The door had a lock which was massive 
but unused. Tolteca recalled again that Gwyd-ion 
was apparently without crime, that its people had 
been hard put to understand the concept when the 
outworlders interviewed them. Having opened the 
door, Dawyd turned about and bowed very low.


"O guest of the house, who may be God, most 
welcome and beloved, enter. In the name of joy, and 
health, and understanding; beneath Ynis and She and 
the stars; fire, flood, fleet, and light be yours." He




2O




THE NIGHT FACE




crossed himself, and reaching .drew a cross on Tol-teca's 
brow with his finger. The ritual was obviously 
ancient, and yet he did not gabble it, but spoke with 
vast seriousness.


As he entered, Tolteca noticed that the door was 
only faced with wood. Basically it was a slab of 
steel, set in walls that were---under the stuccostwo 
meters thick and of reinforced concrete. The windows 
were broad; sunlight streamed through them to 
glow on polished wood flooring, but every window 
had steel shutters. The first Namerican expedition 
had reported it was a universal mode of building, but 
had not been able to find out why. From somewhat 
evasive answers to their questions, the anthropologists 
concluded it was a tradition handed 
down from wild early days, immediately after the 
colony was hellbombed; and so gentle a race did not 
like to talk about that period.


Tolteca forgot the matter when Dawyd knelt to 
light a candle before a niche. The shrine held a metal 
disc, half gold and half black with a bridge between, 
the Yang and Yin of immemorial antiquity. Yet it 
was flanked by books, both full-size and micro, that 
bore titles like Diagnostic Application of Bioelectric 
Potentials.


Dawyd got up. "Please be seated, friend of the 
house. My wife went into the Night." He hesitated. 
"She died, several years ago, and only one of my 
daughters is now unwedded. She danced for you this 
day, and thus is late coming home. When she arrives, 
we will take food."


Tolteca glanced at the chair to which his host had




21




THE NIGHT FACE




gestured. It was designed as rationally as any 
Namerican lounger, but made of bronze and tooled 
leather. He touched a fylfot recurring in the design. 
' 'I understand that you have no ornamentation which 
is not symbolic. That's very interesting; almost 
diametrically opposed to my culture. Just as an 
example. would you mind explaining this to me?"


"Certainly," Dawyd answered. "That is the 
Burning Wheel, which is to say the sun, Ynis, and all 
suns in the universe. The Wheel also represents 
Time. Thermodynamic irreversibility, if you are a 
physicist," he added with a chuckle. "The interwoven 
vines are crisflowers, which bloom in the first 
haygathering season of our year and are therefore 
sacred to that Aspect of God called the Green Boy. 
Thus together they mean Time the Destroyer and 
Regenerator. The leather is from the wild arcas, 
which belongs to the autumnal Huntress Aspect, and 
when she is linked with the Boy it reminds us of the 
Night Faces and, simultaneously, that the Day Faces 
are their other side. Bronze, being an alloy, man-made, 
says by forming the framework that man 
embodies the meaning and structure of the world. 
However, since bronze turns green on corrosion, it 
also signifies that every structure vanishes at last, but 
into new life"


He stopped and laughed. "You don't want a sermon!" 
he exclaimed. "Look here, do sit down. Go 
ahead and smoke. We already know about that custom. 
We've found we can't do it ourselvesa bit of 
genetic drift; nicotine is too violent a poison for us,




22




THE NIGHT FACE




but it doesn't bother me in the least i pounds you do. 
grows weJl on this planet, would you Jjke a cuD, or 
would you rather try our beer or wine? Now that we 
are alone for a while, I have about ten to the fiftieth 
questions to ask!"




23




III




RAVEN SPENT much of the day prowling about Instar, 
observing and occasionally, querying. But in the 
evening he left the town and wandered along the road 
which followed the river toward the sea dikes. A pair 
of his men accompanied him, two paces behind, in 
the byrnies and conical helmets of battle gear. Rifles 
were slung on their shoulders. At their backs the 
western hills lifted black against a sky which blazed 
and smouldered with gold. The river was like running 
metal in that light, which saturated the air and 
soaked into each separate grass blade. Ahead, 
beyond a line of trees, the eastern sky had become 
imperially violet and the first stars trembled.


Raven moved unhurriedly. He had no fear of 
being caught in the dark, on a planet with an 83-hour




THE NIGHT FACE




rotation period. When he came to a wharf that jutted 
into the stream, he halted for a closer look. The 
wooden sheds on the bank were as solidly built as 
any residential house, and as handsome of outline. 
The double-ended fishing craft tied at the pier were 
graceful things, riotously decorated. They rocked a 
little as the water purled past them. A clean odor of 
their catches, and of tar and paint, drifted about.


"Ketch rigged," Raven observed. "They have 
small auxiliary engines, but I dare say those are used 
only when it is absolutely necessary."


"And otherwise they sail?" Kors, long and gaunt, 
spat between his front teeth. "Now why do such a 
fool thing, Commandant?"


"It's esthetically more pleasing," said Raveen. 
"More work, though, sir," offered young Wil-denvey. 
"I sailed a bit myself, during the Ans campaign. 
Just keeping those damn ropes untangled--"


Raven grinned. "Oh, I agree. Quite. But you see, 
.as far as I can gather, from the first expedition's 
reports and from talking to people today, the 
Gwydiona don't think that way."


He continued, ruminatively, more to himself than 
anyone else, "They don't think like either party of 
visitors. Their attitude toward life is different. A 
Namerican is concerned only with getting his work 
done, regardless of whether it's something that really 
ought to be accomplished, and then with getting 
his recreation done--both with maximum bustle. A 
Lochlanna tries to make his work and his games 
approach some abstract ideal; and when he fails, he's




25




THE NIGHT FACE




apt to give up completely and jump over into 
brutishness.


"But they don't seem to make such distinctions 
here. They say, 'Man goes where God is,' and it 
seems to mean that work and play and art and private 
life and everything else aren't divided up; no distinction 
is made between them, it's all one harmonious 
whole. So they fish from sailboats with elaborately 
carved figureheads and painted designs, each element 
in the pattern having a dozen different symbolic 
overtones. And they take musicians along. 
And they claim that the total effect, food gathering 
plus pleasure plus artistic accomplishment plus I 
don't know what, is more efficiently achieved than if 
those things were in neat little compartments."


He shrugged and resumed his walk. "They may 
be fight," he finished.


"I don't know why you're so worried about them, 
sir," said Kors. "They're as harmless a pack of 
loonies as I ever met. I swear they haven't any 
machine more powerful than a light tractor or a 
scoop shovel, and no weapon more dangerous than a 
bow and arrow."


"The first expedition said they don't even go 
hunting, except once in a while for food or to protect 
their crops," Raven nodded. He went on for a while, 
unspeaking. Only the scuff of boots, chuckling 
fiver, murmur in the leaves overhead and slowly 
rising thunders beyond the dike, stirred that silence. 
The young five-pointed leaves of a bush which grew 
everywhere around gave a faint green fragrance to




26




THE NIGHT FACE




the air. Then, far off and winding down the slopes, a 
bronze horn blew, calling antlered cattle home.


"That's what makes me afraid," said Raven. 
Thereafter the men did not venture to break his 
wordlessness. Once or twice they passed a 
Gwydiona, who hailed them gravely, but they didn't 
stop. When they reached the dike, Raven led the way 
up a staircase to the top. The wall stretched for 
kilometers, set at intervals with towers. It was high 
and massive, but the long curve of it and the facing of 
undressed stone made it pleasing to behold. The 
river poured through a gap, across a pebbled beach, 
into a dredged channel and so to the crescent-shaped 
bay, whose waters tumbled and roared, molten in the 
sunset light. Raven drew his surcoat close about him; 
up here, above the wall's protection, the wind blew 
chill and wet and smelling of salt. There were many 
gray sea birds in the sky.


"Why did they build this?" wondered Kors.


"Close moon. Big tides. Storms make floods,"


said Wildenvey.


"They could have settled higher ground. They've 
room enough, for hellfire's sake. Ten million people 
on a whole planet!"


Raven gestured at the towers. "I inquired," he 
said. "Tidepower generators in those. Furnish most 
of the local electricity. Shut up."


He stood staring out to the eastern horizon, where 
night was growing. The waves ramped and the sea 
birds mewed. His eyes were bleak with thought. 
Finally he sat down,' took a wooden flute from his




27




THE NIGHT FACE




sleeve, and began to play, absentmindedly, as something 
to do with his hands. The minor key grieved 
beneath the wind.


Kors' bark recalled him to the world. "Halt!" 
"Be still, you oaf," said Raven. "It's her planet, 
not yours." But his palm rested casually on the butt 
of his pistol as he rose.


The girl came walking at an easy pace over the 
velvet-like pseudomoss which carpeted the diketop. 
She was some 23 or 24 standard years old, her slim 
shape dressed in a white tunic and wildly fluttering 
blue cloak. Her hair was looped in thick yellow 
braids, pulled back from her forehead to show a 
conventionalized bird tattoo. Beneath dark brows, 
her eyes were a blue that was almost indigo, set 
widely apart. The mouth and the heart-shaped face 
were solemn, but the nose tiptilted and faintly dusted 
with freckles. She led by the hand a boy of perhaps 
four, a little male version of herself, who had been 
skipping but who sobered when he saw the 
Lochlanna. Both were barefoot.


"At the crossroads of the elements, greeting," 
she said. Her husky voice sang the language, even 
more than most Gwydiona voices.


"Salute, peacemaker." Raven found it simpler to 
translate the formal phrases of his own world than 
hunt around in the local vocabulary.


"I came to dance for the sea," she told him, "but 
heard a music that called."


"Are you a shooting man?" asked the boy.


"Byord, hush!" The girl colored with embarrassment.




28




THE NIGHT FACE




"Yes," laughed Raven, "you might call me a 
shooting man."


"But what do you shoot.9" asked Byord. 
"Targets? Gol! Can I shoot a target?"


"Perhaps later," said Raven.' "We have no 
targets with us at the moment."


"Mother, he says I can shoot a target! Pow! Pow! 
Pow!" 
Raven lifted one brow. "I thought chemical 
weapons were unknown on Gwydion, milady," he 
said, as offhand as possible.


She answered with a hint of distress, "That other 
ship, which came in winter. The men aboard it also 
had--what did they name them--guns. They 
explained and demonstrated. Since then, probably 
every small boy on the planet has imagined Well. 
No harm done, I'm sure." She smiled and ruffled 
Byord's hair.


"Ah---I hight Raven, a Commandant of the


	Oakenshaw
	Ethnos, Windhome Mountains,


	Lochlann."


"And you other souls?" asked the girl.


Raven waved them back. "Followers. Sons of 
yeomen on my father's estate."


She was puzzled that he excluded them from the 
conversation, but accepted it as an alien custom. "I 
am Elfavy," she said, accenting the first syllable. 
She flashed a grin. "My son Byord you already 
know! His surname is Varstan, mine is 

Sim
moll. ' '


"What?Oh, yes, I remember. Gwydiona wives 
retain their family name, son's take the father's,




29




THE NIGHT FACE




daughters the mother's. Am I correct? Your 
husband--"


She looked outward. "He drowned there, during a 
storm last fall," she answered quietly.


Raven did not say he was sorry, for his culture had 
its own attitudes toward death. He couldn't help 
wondering aloud, tactless, "But you said you 
danced for the sea."


"He is of the sea now, is he not?" She continued 
regarding the waves, where they swirled and shook 
foam loose from their crests. "How beautiful it is 
tonight."


Then, swinging back to him, altogether at ease."I 
have just had a long talk with one of your party, a 
Miguel Tolteca. He is staying at my father' s house, 
where Byord and I now live."


"Not precisely one of mine," said Raven, suppressing 
offendedness.


"Oh'?. Wait... yes, he did mention having some 
men along from a different planet."


"Lochlann," said Raven. "Our sun lies near 
theirs, both about 50 light-years hence in that direction." 
He pointed past the evening star to the Hercules 
region.


"Is your home like his Nuevamerica?" 
"Hardly." For a moment Raven wanted to speak 
of Lochlann--of mountains which rose sheer into a 
red-sun sky, trees dwarfed and gnarled by incessant 
winds, moorlands, ice plains, oceans too dense and 
bitter with salt for a man to sink. He remembered a 
peasant's house, its roof held down by ropes lest a




3O




THE NIGHT FACE




gale blow it away, and he remembered his father's 
castle gaunt above a glacier, hoofs ringing in the 
courtyard, and he remembered bandits and burned 
villages and dead men gaping around a smashed 
cannon.


But she would not understand. Would she? 
"Why do you have so many shooting things?" 
exploded from Byord. "Are there bad animals 
around your farms?"


"No," said Raven. "Not many wild animals at 
all. The land is too poor for them."


"I have heard . . . that first expedition--" E1-favy 
grew troubled again. "They said something 
about men fighting other men."


"My profession," said Raven. She looked 
blankly at him. Wrong word then. "My calling," he


said, though that wasn't right either.


"But killing men!" she cried.


"Bad men?" asked Byord, round-eyed. 
"Hush," said his mother." 'Bad' means when 
something goes wrong, like the cynwyr swarming 
down and eating the grain. How can men go 
wrong?"


"They get sick," Byord said.


"Yes, and then your grandfather heals them."


"Imagine a situation where men often get so sick 
they want to hurt their own kind," said Raven.


"But horrible!" Elfavy traced a cross in the air. 
"What germ causes that?"


Raven sighed. If she couldn't even visualize 
homicidal mania, how explain to her that sane, 

hon


31




THE NIGHT FACE




orable men found sane, honorable reasons for hunting 
each other?


He heard Kors mutter to Wildenvey, "What I 
said. Guts of sugar candy."


If that were only so, thought Raven, he could 
forget his own unease. But they were no weaklings 
on Gwydion. Not when they took open sailboats 
onto oceans whose weakest tides rose fifteen meters. 
Not when this girl could visibly push away her own 
shock, face him, and ask with friendly curiosity--as 
if he, Raven, should address questions to the sudden 
apparition of a sabertoothed weaselcat.


"Is that the reason why your people and the 
Namericans seem to talk so little to each other? I 
thought I noticed it in the town, but didn't know then 
who came from which group."


"Oh, they've done their share of fighting on 
Nuevamerica," said Raven dryly. "As when they 
expelled us. We had invaded their planet and divided 
it into fiefs, over a century ago. Their revolution was 
aided by the fact that Lochlann was simultaneously 
fighting the Grand Alliancesbut still, it was well 
done of them."


"I cannot see why-- Well, no matter. We will 
have time enough to discuss things. You are going 
into the hills with us, are you not.9"


"Why, yes, if-- What did you say? You too?" 
Elfavy nodded. Her mouth quirked upward. 
"Don't be so aghast, far-friend. I will leave Byord 
with his aunt and uncle, even if they do spoil him 
terribly." She gave the boy a brief hug. "But the 
group does need a dancer, which is my calling."




32




THE NIGHT FACE




"Dancer?" choked Kors.


"Not the Dancer. He is always a man." 
"But--" Raven relaxed. He even smiled. "In 
what way does an expedition into the wilderness 
require a dancer?"


"To dance for it," said Elfavy. "What else?"


"Oh... nothing. Do you know precisely what 
this journey is for?"


"You have not heard? I listened while my father 
and Miguel talked it over."


"Yes, naturally I know. But possibly you have 
misunderstood something. That's easy to do, even 
for an intelligent person, when separate cultures 
meet. Why don't you explain it to me in your own 
words, so thatI can correct you if need be?" Raven's 
ulterior'motive was simply that he enjoyed her presence 
and wanted to keep her here a while longer.


"Thank you, that is a good idea," she said. 
"Well, then, planets where men can live without


ˇ special equipment are rare and far between. The 
Nuevamericans, who are exploring this galactic sector, 
would like a base on Gwydion, to refuel their 
ships, make any necessary repairs, and rest their 
crews in greenwoods." She gave Kors and Wilden-vey 
a surprised look, not knowing why they both 
laughed aloud. Raven himself would not have inter-rnpted 
her naive recital for money.


She brushed the blown fair hair off her brow and 
resumed, "Of course, our people must decide 
whether they wish this or not. But meanwhile it can 
do no harm to look at possible sites for such a base, 
can it? Father proposed an uninhabited valley some




33




THE NIGHT FACE




days' march inland, beyond Mount Granis. To journey 
there afoot will be more pleasant than by air; 
much can be shown you and discussed en route; and 
we would still return before Bale time."


She frowned the faintest bit. "I am not certain it is 
wise to have a foreign base so near the Holy City. 
But that can always be argued later." Her laughter 
trilled forth. "Oh dear, I do ramble, don't I?" She 
caught Raven's arm, impulsively, and tucked her 
own under it. "But you have seen so many worlds, 
you can't imagine how we here have been looking 
forward to meeting you. The wonder of it! The 
stories you can tell us, the songs you can sing us!"


She dropped her free hand to Byord's shoulder. 
"Wait till this little chatterbird gets over his shyness 
with you, far-friend. If we could only harness his 
questions to a generator, we could illuminate the 
whole of Instar!"


"Awww," said the boy, wriggling free.


They began to walk along the diketop, almost 
aimlessly. The two soldiers followed. The rifles on 
their backs stood black against a cloud like roses. 
Elfavy's fingers slipped down from Raven's awkwardly 
held arm--men and women did not go together 
thus on Lochlann--and closed on the flute in 
his sleeve. "What is this?" she asked.


He drew it forth.-It was a long piece of dar-vawood, 
carved and polished to bring out the grain. 
"I am not a very good player," he said. "A man of 
rank is expected to have some artistic skills. But I am 
only a younger son, which is why I wander about




34




THE NIGHT FACE




seeking work for my guns, and I have not had much 
musical instruction."


"The sounds I heard were--" Elfavy searched 
after a word. "They spoke to me," she said finally, 
"but not in a language I knew. Will you play that 
melody again?"


He set the flute to his lips and piped the notes, 
which were cold and sad. Elfavy shivered, catching 
her mantle to her and touching the gold-and-black 
locket at her throat. "There is more than music 
here," she said. "That song comes from the Night 
Faces. It is a song, is it not?"


"Yes. Very ancient. From Old Earth, they say, 
centuries before men had reached even their own


sun's planets. We still sing it on Lochlann." 
"Can you put it into Gwydiona for me?" 
"Perhaps. Let me think." He walked for a while 
more, turning phrases in his head. A military officer 
must also be adept in the use of words, and the two 
languages were close kin. Finally he sounded a few 
bars, lowered the flute, and began.




"The wind doth blow today my love, 
And a few small drops of rain.


I never had but one true love,


And she in her grave was lain.




"I'll do as much for my true love


As any young man may;


I'll sit and mourn all at her grave


For a twelvemonth and a day ....




35




THE NIGHT FACE




"The twelvemonth and a day being up,


The dead began to speak:


'Oh who sits weeping on my grave


And will not let me sleep?'"




He felt her grow stiff, and halted his voice. She 
said, through an unsteady mouth, so low he could 
scarce hear, "No. Please."


"Forgive me," he said in puzzlement, "if I 
have--" What?


"You couldn't know. I couldn't." She glanced 
after Byord. The boy had frisked back to the soldiers. 
"He was out of earshot. It doesn't matter, 
then, much."


"Can you tell me what is wrong?" he asked, 
hopeful of a clue to the source of his own doubts.


"No." She shook he3 head. "I don't know what. 
It just frightens me somehow. Horribly. How can 
you live with such a song?"


"On Lochlann we think it quite a beautiful little 
thing."


"But the dead don't speak. They are dead/"


"Of course. It was only a fantasy. Don't you have 
myths?"


"Not like that. The dead go into theNight, and the 
Night becomes the Day, is the Day. Like Ragan, 
who was caught in the Burning Wheel, and rose to 
heaven and was cast down again, and was wept over 
by the' Mother--those are Aspects of God, they 
mean the rainy season that brings dry earth to life and 
they also mean dreams and the waking from dreams,




36




THE NIGHT FACE




and loss-remembrance-recreation, and the transformations 
of physical energy, and Oh, don't you 
see, it's all one! It isn't two people separate, becoming 
nothing, desiring to be nothing, even. It mustn't 
be!"


Raven put away his flute. They walked on until 
Elfavy broke from him, danced a few steps, a sl0w 
and stately dance which suddenly became a leap. 
She ran back smiling and took his ann again.


"I'll forget it," she said. "Your home is very 
distant. This is Gwydion, and too near Bale time to 
be unhappy."




ˇ
	"What is this Bale time?"


"When we go to the Holy City," she said. "Once 
each year. Each Gwydiona year, that is, which I 
believe makes about fve of Old Earth's. Everybody, 
all over the planet, goes to the Holy City maintained 
by his own district. It may be a dull wait for you 
people, unless you can join us .... Perhaps you 
can!" she exclaimed, and eagerness washed out the 
last terror.


"What happens?" Raven asked.


"God comes to us."


"Oh." He thought of dionysiac rites among various 
backward peoples and asked with great care, 
"Do you see God, or feel Vwi?" The last word was 
a pronoun; Gwydiona employed an extra gender, the 
universal.


"Oh, no," said Elfavy. "We are God."




37




IV




Tm r)c ended in a final exultant jump, wings 
fluttering iridescent and the bird head turned skyward. 
The men who had been playing music for it put 
down their pipes and drams. The dancer's plumage 
swept the ground as she bowed. She vanished into a 
canebrake. The audience, seated and crosslegged, 
closed eyes for an unspeaking minute. Tolteca 
thought it a more gracious tribute than applause.


He looked around again as the ceremony broke up 
and men prepared for sleep. It didn't seem quite re,l 
to him, yet, that camp should be pitched, supper 
eaten, and the time come for rest, while the sun had 
not reached noon. That was because of the long day, 
of course. Gwydion was just past vernal equinox. 
But even at its mild and rainy midwinter, daylight 
lasted a couple of sleeps.




31t




THE NIGHT FACE




The effect hadn't been so noticeable at Instar. 
The town used an auroral generator to give soft 
outdoor illumination after dark, and went about its 
business. Thus it had only taken a couple of planetary 
rotations to organize this party. They marched 
for the hills at dawn. Already one leisurely day had 
passed on the trail, with two campings; and one 
night, where the moon needed little help from the 
travelers' glowbulbs; and now another forenoon. 
Sometime tomorrow6wydion tomorrow--they 
ought to reach the upland site which Dawyd had 
suggested for the spaceport.


Tolteca could feel the tiredness due rough 
kilometers in his muscles, but he wasn't sleepy yet. 
He stood up, glancing over the camp. Dawyd had 
selected a good spot, a meadow in the forest. The 
half-dozen Gwydiona men who accompanied him 
talked merrily as they banked the fire and spread out 
sleeping bags. One man, standing watch against 
possible camivores, carded a longbow. Tolteca had 
seen what that weapon could do, when a hunter 
brought in an arcas for meat. Nonetheless he wondered 
why everyone had courteously refused those 
' firearms the Quetzal brought as gifts.


The ten Namerican scientists and engineers who 
had come along were in more of a hurry to bed down. 
Tolteca chuckled, recalling their dismay when he 
announced that this trip would be on shank's mare. 
But Dawyd was right, there was no better way to 
learn an area. Raven had also joined the group, with 
two of his men. The Lochlanna seemed incapable of




THE NIGHT FACE




weariness, and their damned slithering politeness 
never failed them, but they were always a little apart 
from the rest.


Tolteca sauntered past the canebrake, following a 
side path. Though no one lived in these hills, the 
Gwydiona often went here for recreation, and small 
solar-powered robots maintained the trails. He had 
not quite dared hope he would meet Elfavy. But' 
when she came around a flowering tree, the heart 
leaped in him.


"Aren't you tired?" he asked, lame-tongued, 
after she stopped and gave greeting.


"Not much," she answered. "I wanted to stroll


for a while before sleep. Like you."


"Well, let's go into partnership."


She laughed. "An interesting concept. You have 
so many commercial enterprises on your planet, I 
hear. Is this another one? Hiring out to take walks for 
people who would rather sit at home?"


Tolteca bowed. "If you'll join me, I'll make a 
career of that."


She flushed and said quickly, "Come this way. If 
I remember this neighborhood from the last time I 
was here, it has a beautiful view not far off."


She had changed her costume for a plain tunic. 
Sunlight came through leaves to touch her lithe 
dancer's body; the hair, loosened, fell in waves 
down her back. Tolteca could not find the words he 
really wanted, nor could he share her easy silence.


"We don't do everything for money on 
Neuvamerica," he said, afraid of what she might




THE NIGHT FACE




think. "It's only, well, our particular way of organizing 
our economy."


"I know," she said. "To me it seems so . . . 
impersonal, lonely, each man fending for himself 
but that may just be because I am not used to the 
idea."


"Our feeling is that the state should do as little as 
possible," he said, earnest with the ideals of his 
nation. "Otherwise it will get too much power, and 
that's the end of freedom. But then private enterprise 
must take over; and it must be kept competitive, or it 
will in turn develop into a tyranny." Perforce he 
used several words which Gwydiona lacked, such as 
the last. He had introduced them to her before, 
during conversations at Dawyd's house, when they 
had tried to comprehend each other's viewpoints.


"But why should the society, or the state as you 
call it, be opposed to the individual?'I she asked. "I 
still don't grasp what the problem is, Miguel. We 
seem to do much as we please, all the time, here on 
Gwydion. Most of our enterprises are private, as you 
put it." No, he thought, not as I put it. Your folk are 
only interested in making a living. The proftt motive, 
in the economists' sense of the word, isn't there. He 
forebore to interrupt. "But this unregulated activity 
seems to work for everyone's mutual benefit," she 
continued. "Money is only a convenience. Its possession 
does not give a man power over his fellows."


"You are universally reasonable," Tolteca said. 
"That isn't true of any other planet I know about.




41




THE NIGHT FACE




Nor do you need to curb violence. You hardly know 
what anger is. And hate--another word which isn't 
in your language. Hate is to be always angry with 
someone else." He saw shock on her face, and 
hurried to add, "Then we must contend with the 
lazy, the greedy, the unscmpulous Do you know, 
I begin to wonder if we should carry out this project. 
It may be best that your planet have nothing to do 
with the others. You are too good; you could be too 
badly hurt."


She shook her head. "No, don't think that. Obviously 
we are different from you. Perhaps genetic 
drift has caused us to lose a trait or two otherwise 
common to mankind. But the difference isn't great, 
and it doesn't make us superior. Remember, you


came to us. We never managed to build spaceships." 
"Never chose to," he corrected her.


He recalled a remark of Raven's, one day in In-star. 
"It isn't natural for humans to b consistently 
gentle andational. They've done tremendous things 
here for so small a population. They don't lack 
energy. But where does their excess energy go?" At 
the time, Tolteca had bristled. Only a professional 
killer would be frightened by total sanity, he 
thought. Now he began, unwilling, to see that Raven 
had asked a legitimate scientif'c question.


"There is much that we never chose to do," said 
Elfavy with a hint of wistfulness.


"I admit wondering why you don't at least colonize 
the uninhabited parts of Gwydion."


"We stabilized the population by general 

agree


42




THE NIGHT FACE




ment, several centuries ago. More people would 
only destroy nature."


They emerged from the woods again. Another 
meadow sloped upward to a cliff edge. The grass 
was strewn with white flowers; the common bush of 
star-shaped leaves grew everywhere about, its buds 
swelling, the air heady from their odor. Beyond this 
spine of the hills lay a deep valley and then the 
mountains rose, clear and powerful against the sky.


Elfavy swept an ann in an arc. "Should we crowd 
out this?" she asked.


Tolteca thought of his own brawling unrestful 
folk, the forests they had already raped, and made no 
answer.


The girl stood a moment, frowning, on the 
clifftop. A west wind blew strongly, straining the 
tunic against her and tossing sunlit locks of hair. 
Tolteca caught himself staring so rudely that he 
forced his eyes away, across kilometers toward that 
gray volcanic cone named Mount Granis.


"No," said Elfavy with some reluctance, "I must 
not be smug. People did live here once. Just a few 
farmers and woodcutters, but they did maintain isolated 
homes. However, that is long past. Nowadays 
everyone lives in a town. And I don't believe we 
would reoccupy regions like this even if it were safe. 
It would be wrong. All life has a right to existence, 
does it not? Men shouldn't wear more of a Night 
Face than they must."


Tolteca found some difficulty in concentrating on 
her meaning, the sound was so pleasant. Night




THE NIGHT FACE




Faceoh, yes, part of the Gwydiona religion. (If 
"religion" was the right word."Philosophy" might 
be better. "Way of life" might be still more accurate.) 
Since they believed everything to be a facet of 
'that eternal and infinite Oneness which they called 
God, it followed that God was also death, rain, 
sorrow. But they didn't say much, or seem to think 
much, about that side of reality. He remembered that 
their arts and literature, like their daily lines, were 
mostly sunny, cheerful, completely logical once you 
had mastered the complex symbolisms. Pain was 
gallantly endured. The suffering or death of someone 
beloved was mourned in a controlled manner 
which Raven admired, but Tolteca had trouble understanding.


"I don't believe your people could harm nature," 
he said. "You work with it, make yourselves part of 
it."


"That's the ideal." Elfavy snickered. "But I'm 
afraid practice has no more statistical correlation 
with preaching on Gwydion than anywhere else in 
the universe." She knelt and began to pluck the 
small white flowers. "I shall make a garland ofjule 
for you," she said. "A sign of friendship, since the 
jule blooms when the growth season is being reborn. 
Now that's a nice harmonious thing for me to do, 
isn't it? And yet if you asked the plant, it might not 
agree!"


"Thank you," he said, overwhelmed.


"The Bird Maiden had a chaplet of jule," she 
said. By now he realized that the retelling of 

sym


THE NIGHT FACE




bolic myths wa a standard conversational gambit 
here, like a Lochlanna's inquiry after the health of 
your father. "That is why I wore bird costume this 
time. It is her time of year, and today is the Day of 
the River Child. When the Bird Maiden met the 
River Child, he was lost and crying. She carried him 
home and gave him her crown." She glanced up. "It 
is a seasonal myth," she explained, "the end of the 
rains, lowland floods, then sunlight and the blossoming 
jule. Plus those moral lessons the elders are 
always quacking about, plus a hundred other possible 
interpretations. The entire tale is too complicated 
to tell on a warm day, even if the episode of the 
Riddling Tree is one of our best poems. But I always 
like to dance the story."


She fell silent, her hands busy in the grass. For 
lack of anything else, he pointed to one of the large 
budding bushes. "What's this called?" he asked.


"With the five-pointed leaves? Oh, baleflower. It 
grows everywhere. You must have noticed the one in 
front of my father's house."


"Yes. It must have quite a lot of mythology." 
Elfavy stopped. She glanced at him and away. For 
an instant the evening-blue eyes seemed almost 
blind. "No," she said.


"What? But I thought... I thought everything 
means something on Gwydion, as well as being 
something. Usually it has many different 
meanings--"


"This is only baleflower." Her voice grew thin. 
"Nothing else."




45




THE NIGHT FACE




Tolteca pulled himself up short. Some taboono, 
surely not that, the Gwydiona were even freer from 
arbitrary prohibitions than his own people. But if she 
was sensitive about it, best not to pursue the subject.


The girl finished her work, jumped to her feet, and 
flung a wreath about his neck. "There!" she 
laughed. "Wait, hold still, it's caught on one ear. 
Ah, good."


He gestured at the second one she had made. 
"Aren't you going to put that on yourself?."


"Oh, no. A jule garland is always for someone 
else. This is for Raven."


"What?" Tolteca stiffened.


Again she flushed and looked past him toward the 
mountains. "I got to know him a little in Instar. I 
drove him around, showing him the sights. Or we 
walked."


Tolteca thought of the many times in those long 
moonlit nights when she had not been at home. He 
said, "I don't believe Raven is your sort," and heard 
his voice go ragged.


"I don't understand him,"-she whispered. "And 
yet in a way I do. Maybe. As I might understand a 
storm."


She started back toward camp. Tolteca must needs 
follow. He said bitterly, "I should think you, of 
everyone alive, would be immune to such cheap 
glamour. Soldier! Hereditary aristocrat!"


"Those things I don't comprehend," she said, her 
eyes still averted. "To kill people, or make them do 
your bidding, as if they were machines-- But it isn't 
that way with him. Not really."




46




THE NIGHT FACE




They went down the trail in stillness, boots thudding 
next to sandals. At last she murmured, "He 
lives with the Night Faces. All the time. I can't even 
bear to think of that, but he endures it."


Enjoys it, Tolteca wanted to growl. But he saw he 
had been backbiting, and held his peace.




47




v




TiĽ gET to find most of the party asleep, 
eyelids padded against the daylight. The sentry saluted 
them with a raised arrow. Elfavy continued to 
the edge of camp, where the three Lochlanna had 
spread their bedrolls. Kors snored, a gun in his hand; 
Wildenvey looked too young and helpless for his 
gory shipboard brags. Raven was still awake. He 
squatted on his heels and scowled at a sheaf of 
photographs.


As Elfavy approached, his grin sprang forth; even 
to Tolteca, he seemed quite honestly pleased. 
"Well, this is a happy chance," he called. "Will 
you join me? I have a pot of tea on the grill over the 
coals .' '


"No, thank you. I like that tea stuff of yours, but 
it would keep me from sleeping." Elfavy stood




THE NIGHT FACE




before him, looking down at the ground. The wreath 
dangled in her hand. "I only--"


"Never come between on Oakenshaw and his 
tea," said Raven. "Ah, there, Sir Engineer."


Elfavy's face burned. "I only wanted to see you 
for a moment," she faltered.


"And I you. Someone mentioned former habitation 
in this area, and I noticed traces on a ridge near 
here. So I went there with a camera." Raven flowed 
erect and fanned out his self-developing films. "It 
was a thorp once, several houses and outbuildings. 
Not much left now."


"No. Long abandoned." The girl lifted her 
wreath and lowered it again.


Raven gave her a steady look. "Destroyed," he 
said.


"Oh? Oh, yes. I have heard this region was 
dangerous. The volcano--"


"No natural disaster," said Raven. "I know the 
signs. My men and I cleared away the brush with a 
flash pistol and dug in the ground. Those buildings 
had wooden roofs and rafters, which burned. We 
found two human skeletons, more or less complete. 
One had a skull split open, the other a corroded iron 
object between the ribs." He raised the pictures 
toward her eyes. "Do you see?"


"Oh." She stepped back. One hand crept to her 
mouth. "What--"


"Everyone tells me there is no record of men 
killing men on Gwydion," said Raven in a metallic 
voice. "It's not merely rare, it's unknown. And yet 
that thorp was attacked and burned once."




49




THE NIGHT FACE




Elfavy gulped. Anger rushed into Tolteca, thick 
and hot. "Look here, Raven," he snapped, "you 
may be free to bully some poor Lochlanna peasant, 
but--"


"No," said Elfavy. "Please."


"Did every home up here suffer a like fate?" 
Raven flung the questions at her, not loudly but 
nonetheless like bullets. "Were the hills deserted 
because it was too hazardous to live in isolation?"


"I don't know." Elfavy's tone lifted with an 
unevenness it had not borne until now. "I... have 
seen ruins once in a while... nobody knows what 
happened." A sudden yell: "Everything isn't written 
in the histories, you know! Do you know every 
answer to every question about your own planet?''


"Of course not," said Raven. "But if this were 
my world, I'd at least know why all the buildings are


constructed like fortresses."


"Like what?"


"You know what I mean."


"Why, you asked me that once before .... I 
told you," she stammered. "The strength of the 
house, the family--a symbol--"


"I heard the myth,' said Raven. "I was also 
assured that no one has ever believed those myths to 
be literal truths, only poetic expressions. Your 
charming tale about Anren who made the stars has 
not prevented you from having an excellent grasp of 
astrophysics. So what are you guarding against? 
What ar you afraid of?."


Elfavy crouched back. "Nothing." The words 
rattled from her. "If, if, if there were anything...




THE NIGHT FACE




wouldn't we have better weapons against it . . . 
than bows and spears? People get hurt--by accidents, 
by sickness and old age. They die, the Night


has them-But nothing else! There can't be!" 
She whirled about and fled.


Tolteca stepped toward Raven, who stood squinting 
after the girl. "Turn around," he said. "I'm 
going to beat the guts. out of you."


Raven laughed, a vulpine bark. "How much 
combat karate do you know, trader's clerk?"


Tolteca dropped a hand to his gun. "We're in 
another culture," he said between his teeth. "A 
generation of scientific study won't be enough to 
map its thought processes. If you think you can go 
trampling freely on these people's feelings, no more 
aware of what you're doing than a bulldozer with a 
broken autopilot--"


They both felt the ground shiver. An instant afterward 
the sound reached them, booming down the 
sky.


The three Lochlanna were on their feet in a ring, 
weapons aimed outward, without seeming to have 
moved. Elsewhere the camp stumbled awake, men 
calling to each other through thunders.


Tolteca ran after Elfavy. The sun seemed remote 
and heatless, the explosions rattled his teeth together, 
he felt the earth vibrations in his boots.


The noise died away, but echoes flew about for 
seconds longer. Dawyd joined Elfavy and threw his 
arms around her. A flock of birds soared up, screaming.


The physician's gaze turned westward. Black




51




THE NIGHT FACE




smoke boiled above the treetops. As Tolteca reached 
the Simnons, he saw Dawyd trace the sign against 
misfortune.


"What is it?" shouted the Namerican. "What 
happened?"


Dawyd looked his way. For a moment the old eyes 
were without recognition. Then he answered curtly, 
"Mount Granis."


"Oh." Tolteca slapped his forehead. The relief 
was such that he wanted to howl his laughter. Of 
course! A volcano cleared its throat, after a century 
or two of quiet. Why in the galaxy were the 
Gwydiona breaking camp?


"I never expected this," said Dawyd. "Though 
probably our seismology is less well developed than 
yours."


"Our man made some checks, and didn't think we 
would have any serious trouble if we built a 
spaceport here," said Tolteca. "That wasn't a real 
eruption, you know. Just a bit of lava and a good deal 
of smoke."


"And a west wind," said Dawyd. "Straight from 
Oranis to us."


He paused before adding, almost absent-mindedly, 
"The site I had in mind for your base is 
protected from this sort of thing. I checked the 
airflow patterns with the central meteorological 
computer at Bettwis, and the fumes never will get 
there. It is a mere unlucky happenstance that we 
should be at this exact spot, this very moment. 
Now we must run, and may fear give speed to


US."




52




'THE NIGHT FACE




"From a little smoke?" asked Tolteca incredulously.


Dawyd held his daughter close. "This is a young 
planetary system," he said. "Rich in heavy metals. 
That smoke and dust, when it arrives, will include 
enough such material to kill us."


By the time they got in motion, jogging south 
along a sparsely wooded ridge, the cloud had overshadowed 
them. Kors looked past a dim red ball of 
sun, estimating with an artilleryman's eye. His lantern 
jaw worked a moment, as if chewing sour cud, 
before he spoke.


"We can't go back the way we came, Commandant. 
That muck'1I fall out all over these parts. We've 
got to keep headed this way and hope we can get out 
from under. Ask one of those yokels if he knows a 
decent trail."


"Must we have a trail?" puffed Wildenvey. 
"Let's cut right through the woods."


"Listen to the for-Harry's-sake heathdweller 
talk!" jeered Kors. "Porkface, I grew up in the 
Ernshaw. Have you ever tried to run through 
brush?"


"Save your breath, you two," advised Raven. He 
loped a little faster until he joined Dawyd and Elfavy 
at the head of the line. G{ass whispered under his 
boots, now and then a hobnail rang on a stone and 
sparks showered. The sky was dull brown, streaked 
with black, the light from it like tarnished brass and 
casting no shadows. The only bright things in the 
world were an occasional fire-spit from Mount 
Granis, and Elfavy's flying hair.




THE NIGHT FACE




Raven put the question to her. He spaced his 
words with his breathing, which he kept in rhythm 
with his feet. The girl replied in the same experienced 
manner. "In this direction, all paths converge 
on the Holy City. We ought to be safe there, if we 
can reach it soon enough."


"Before Bale time?" exclaimed Dawyd.


"Is it forbidden?" asked Raven, and wondered if 
he would use his guns to enter a refuge tabooed.


"No... no rule of conduct .... But nobody 
goes there outside Bale time!" Dawyd shook his 
head, bewildered. "It would be a meaningless act."


"Meaningless--to save our lives?" protested Raven.


"Unsymbolic," said Elfavy. "It would fit into no 
pattern." She lifted her face to the spreading darkness 
and cried, "But what sense would it make to 
breathe that dust? I want to see Byord again!"


"Yes. So. So be it." Dawyd shut his mouth and 
concentrated on making speed.


Raven's eyes, watching the uneven ground, 
touched the girl's quick feet and stayed there. Not 
until he tripped on a vine did he remember exactly 
where he was. Then he swore and forced himself to 
think of the situation. Without apalytical apparatus, 
he had no way to confirm that volcanic ash was as 
dangerous as Dawyd claimed; but it seemed reasonable, 
on a planet like this. The frst expedition had 
been warned about many vegetable species that were 
poisonous to man simply because they grew in soil 
loaded with heavy elements. It wouldn't take a lot of




THE NIGHT FACE




inhaled metallic material to destroy you: radioac-tives, 
arsenates, perhaps mercury liberated from its 
oxide by heat. A few gulps and you were done. 
Dying might take a while, prolonged by the medics' 
attempts to get ff hopelessly big dose out of your 
body. Not that Raven intended to watch his own 
lungs and brain go rotten. His pistol could do him a 
final service. But 

Elfavy-
They stopped to rest at the head of a downward 
trail. One of the Gwydiona objected through a 
dried-out throat: "Not the Holy City! We'd destroy 
the entire meaning of Bale!"


"No, we wouldn't." Dawyd, who had been 
thinking as he trotted, answered with an authority 
that pulled their reddened eyes to him. "The eruption 
at the moment when we happened to be 
downwind was an accident so improbable it was 
senseless. Right? The Night Face called Chaos." 
Several men crossed themselves, but they nodded 
agreement. "If we redress the matter--restore the 
balance of events, of logical sequence--by entering 
the Focus of God (in our purely human persona at 
that, which makes our act a parable of man's conscious 
reasoning powers, his science)what cOUld 
be more significant?"


They mulled it over while the gloom thickened 
and Mount Granis boomed at their backs. One by 
one, they murmured assent. Tolteca whispered to 
Raven, in Ispanyo, "Oa, I do believe I see a new 
myth being born."


' 'Yes. They'll doubtless bring one of their 

quasi


55




THE NIGHT FACE




gods into it, a few generations hence, while preserving 
an accurate historical account of what really 
happened!"


"But by all creation! Here they are, running from 
an unnecessarily horrible death, and they argue 
whether it would be artistic to shelter in this temple 
spot!"


"It makes more sense than you think," said 
Raven somberly. "I remember once when I was a 
boy, my very first campaign in fact. A civil' war, the 
Bitter Water clan against my own Ethnos. We boxed 
a regiment of them in the Stawr Hills, expecting 
them to dig in. They wouldn't, because there were 
brave men's graves everywhere around, the Danoora 
who fell three hundred years ago. They came out 
prepared to be mowed down. When we grasped the 
situation, we let them go, gave them a day's head 
start. They reached their main body, which perhaps 
turned the course of the war. But that victory would 
have cost us too much."


Tolteca shook his head. "I don't understand 
you."


"You wouldn't."


"Any more than you would understand why men


died to pull down the foreign castles on our planet." 
"Well, maybe so."


Raven wondered how much lethal dust he was 
already breathing. Not enough to matter, yet, he 
decided. The air was still clean in his nostrils, he 
could still see far across hills and down forested 
slopes. The heavy particles and stones were not




56




THE NIGHT FACE




dangerous. It was the finely divided material, slowly 
settling over many hectares, which could kill men.


Like a mind-reader, Dawyd said to him, "The 
Holy City will be almost ideal for us. Aidlow patterns 
protect it too from the ash, where it lies right 
under the Steeps of Kolumkill. The site was chosen 
with that in mind, even though our local volcanoes 
very rarely erupt. We shall have to wait there till the 
next rain, which may take a few days at this season. 
That will carry down the last airborne dust, leach 
from the soil what has fallen, wash the poison into 
the rivers and so into the sea, safely diluted. The City 
has ample food supplies, and I see no reason why we 
should not avail ourselves of them."


He rose. "But first we must get there," he 
finished. "Does everyone have his breath back?"




57




VI




TiqE ms'r of the journey was little remembered. They 
went at a dogtrot, along well-kept trails, under cool 
leaves; they halted a few minutes at a time when it 
seemed indicated; but toward the end men lurched 
along in each other's arms. Three Namericans collapsed. 
Dawyd had poles chopped and raincoats 
spread to make litters for them. No one complained 
at the burden. Perhaps that was only because no 
energy was left to complain.


When he entered the Holy City, Raven himself 
scarcely saw it. He retained enough strength to 
spread a bedroll for Elfavy, who sprawled quietly 
down and passed out. He brought a cup of water for 
Dawyd, who lay on his back and stared with eyes 
emptied of awareness. He even washed the grime




58




THE NIGHT FACE




and sweat from himself before crawling into his own 
bag. But then darkness clubbed him.


When he awoke, it took a few seconds before he 
knew his own name, and a bit longer to fix his 
location. He rallied those drilled reflexes by which 
he could deny to himself that he was stiff and aching. 
Shadow from a wall covered him, but he looked 
straight up to the stars. Had he slept so long?The sky 
was utterly clear; men were indeed safe in this place. 
The constellations glittered in unfamiliar patterns. 
He could barely recognize the one they called The 
Plowman on Lochlann: its distortion made him feel 
cold and alone. The Nebula, dimming some parts of 
the sky and blotting out others, was somehow less 
alien.


He left his bag, hunkered in the dark and opened 
the packsack that had been his pillow with fingers 
too schooled to need light. Quickly he dressed. Dagger 
and pistol made a comforting drag on his flanks. 
He threw a wide-sleeved tunic over the drab route 
clothes, for it flaunted the crests of his family and 
nation, and he glided between men still unconscious, 
into the open.


The night was very quiet. He stood in a forum, if it 
could be so named. There was no paving in the Holy 
City, but thick pseudomoss lay cool and full of dew 
under his feet. On every side rose white marble 
buildings, long and low, fluted delicate columns 
upholding portico roofs where figures danced on 
friezes. Their doorless main entrances gaped wide 
atop mossy ramps, but the windows were mere slits.




59




THE NIGHT FACE




Colonnades and wings knitted them together in a 
labyrinthine unity. Behind the square that they defined 
stood a ring of towers, airily slender, with 
bronze cupolas that must show a soft green by daylight. 
The entire place was surrounded by an amphitheater, 
or whatever you wanted to call it: low 
moss-carpeted tiers enclosing the city like the sides 
of a chalice. Trees grew thickly on its top.


Down here on the bottom there were no trees; but 
many formal gardens--rather, a single, reticulated 
one, interwoven with the houses and the towers--held 
beds of Terran violets and thornless roses, native 
jule and sunbloom and baleflower and much else 
which Raven didn't recognize. Southward, above 
the rim of the chalice, those cliffs called the Steeps of 
Kolumkill shouldered against the stars.


He was able to see much detail, for the moon She 
was rising in the west. Its retrograde path would take 
it over the sky and through half a cycle of phases 
during half a night period. Already it was a white 
semicircle, a degree in angular diameter, filling the 
hollow with unreal light.


A fountain tinkled in the' middle of the forum. 
Raven had cleaned himself there before he slept. He 
crossed to its little moss-grown bowl and drank until 
his mummy gullet felt alive again. The water gurgled 
back down a whimsical drainpipe, a grotesque fish 
face. Well, why shouldn't there be humor in the 
geometric center of sacredness? thought Raven. The 
people of Gwydion laughed more than most, not 
raucously like a Namerican or wolfshily like a




60




THE NIGHT FACE




Lochlanna, but a gentle mirth which found something 
comical in the grandest things. The water must 
come from some woodland spring, it had a wild 
taste.


He heard a noise and whirled about, one hand on 
his gun. Elfavy entered the moonlight. "Oh," he 
said stupidly. "Are you awake, milady?"


She chuckled. "No. I am sound asleep in my bed 
in Instar." Treading close:"I woke an hour or more 
ago, but didn't want to move. Not for a day, at least! 
Then I saw you here and---" Her voice trailed off.


Raven directed his heartbeat to slow down. It 
obeyed poorly. "Someone should keep watch," he 
said. "May as well be me."


"No need, far-friend. There are no dangers 
here."


"Wild animals?"


"Robots keep them off. Other robots maintain the 
grounds." She pointed to a little wheeled machine 
weeding a rosebed with delicate tendrils.


Raven grinned. "Ah, but who maintains the 
robots?"


"Silly! An automatic unit, of course. Every five 
years--local years, I mean, so it's about once in a 
generationsour engineers hold a midwinter ceremony 
where they inspect the facilities and bring in 
fresh supplies."


"I see. And otherwise no one ever comes here 
except at, uh, Bale time?"


She nodded. "No reason to. 'Shall we look 
around? Walking might get the cramp out of my




61




THE NIGHT FACE




legs." She made the suggestion with no trace of 
awe, as if offering to show him any local curiosum.


Their feet fell noiseless on the moss, and its 
springiness seemed to remove much of their exhaustion. 
The buildings looked like faerie work, there 
under the brutal mass of Kolumkill; but as he reached 
a doorway, Raven saw that their walls were heavy 
and strong as the rest of Gwydiona architecture. 
Within, light came from fluoros, recessed in the high 
ceiling; probably solar battery powered, Raven 
thought. The illumination was dim, but there was 
little to s anyhow: a gracious anteroom, archways 
opening on corridors.


"We mustn't go very deeply in," said the girl, 
"or we could get lost and blunder around for quite 
some time before finding our way out. Look." She 
pointed down a hall, toward an intersection whence 
five other passages radiated. "That is only the edge 
of the maze."


Raven touched a wall. It yielded to his fingers, the 
same rubbery gray substance that covered the floor. 
"What's this?" he asked. "A synthetic elastomer? 
Does it line the whole interior?"


"Yes," said Elfavy. Her tone grew indifferent. 
"There's nothing in here, really. Let's go up in one 
of the towers, then you can see the total pattern."


"A moment, if you grant." Raven opened one of 
the doors which marched along the nearest corridor. 
It was steel, as usual, though coated with the soft 
plastic, and had an inside bolt. The room beyond was 
ventilated through a slit-window. A toilet and water




62




THE NIGHT FACE




tap were the only furnishings, but a heap of stuffed 
bags filled one comer. "What's in those?" he inquired.


"Food, sealed in plastiskins," Elfavy answered. 
"An artificial food, which keeps indefinitely. I'm 
afraid you won't find it very exciting when we must 
live off it, but everything necessary for nutrition is 
included."


- "You seem to live rather austerely at Bale time," 
said Raven. He watched her from the edge of an eye.


"It is no time to worry about material needs. 
Instead, you grab a sack of food and slit it open with 
your thumbnail when hungry, drink from a tap or 
fountain when thirsty, flop down anywhere when 
sleepy."


"I see. But what is the important thing you do, to 
which keeping alive is just incidental?"


"I told you." She left the room with a quick 
nervous stride. "We are God."


"But when I asked you what you meant by that, 
you said you couldn't explain."


"I can't." She evaded his glance. Her voice was 
not perfectly level. "Don't you see, it goes beyond 
language. Any language. Mankind employs several, 
you realize, besides speech. Mathematics is one, 
music another, painting another, choreography 
another, and so on. According to what you have told 
me, Gwydion seems to be the only planet where 
myth was also developed, deliberately and systematically, 
as still a different language--not by primitives 
who confused it with the concepts of science or




THE NIGHT FACE




common sense, but by people trained in semantics, 
who knew that each language describes one single 
facet of reality, and wanted myth to help them talk 
about something for which the others are inadequate. 
You can't believe, for instance, that mathematics


and poetry are interchangeable!"


"No," said Raven.


She brushed back her tousled hair and went on, 
eager now. "Well, what happens at Bale time could 
only be described by a fusion of every language, 
including those no human being has yet imagined. 
And such super-language is impossible, because it 
would be self-contradictory."


"Do you mean that during Bale you perceive, or 
commune with, total reality?"


They came out into the open again. She hastened 
across the forum, through the barred shadow of a 
colonnade to the spires beyond. He had never seen 
anything so beautiful as the sight of her running in 
the moonlight. She stopped at a tower doorway, it 
cast a darkness over her and she said from the darkness, 
"That's merely another set of words, liatha. 
Not even a label. I wish you could be here yourself 
and know!"


They entered and started. upward. A padded ramp 
wound around small rooms. The passage was wanly 
lit and stuffy. After a silence, Raven asked, "What 
was it you called me?"


"What?" He couldn't be sure in the gloom, but he 
thought her face was stained with quick color.


"Liatha. I don't know that word."




THE NIGHT FACE




Her lashes fluttered down. "Nothing," she mumbled. 
"An expression."


"Ah, let me guess." He wanted to make a joke, to 
suggest that it meant oaf, barbarian, villain, 
swinedog, but remembered that Gwydiona had no 
such terms. Since she looked at him with enormous


expectant eyes he must blunder, "Darling, 
ˇ beloved--"


She stopped, shrinking back against the wall in 
dismay. "You said you didn't know!"


The discipline of a lifetime kept him walking. 
When she rejoined him he made himself say, lightly, 
through a clamor, "You are most kind, peacemaker, 
but I don't need any further flattery than the fact that 
you have time to spare for me."


"There will be time enough for everything else," 
she whispered, "after you are gone."


The highest room, immediately under the cupola, 
was the only one which possessed a true window, 
rather than a slit. Moonlight cataracted past its 
bronze grille. The air was warm, but that light made 
Elfavy's hair seem to crackle with frost. She pointed 
out at the intricate interlocking of labyrinth, towers, 
and flowerbeds. "The hexagons inscribed in circles 
mean the laws of nature," she began in a subdued 
voice, "their regularity enclosed in some greater 
scheme. It is the sign of Owan the Sunsmith, 
who---" She stopped. Neither of them had been 
listening. They searched each other's faces under the 
fenced-off moon.


"Must you go?" she asked finally.




THE NIGHT FACE




"I have made promises at home," he said. 
"But after they are fulfilled?"


"I don't know." He considered the stranger sky. 
In the southern hemisphere, which was oriented 
more nearly toward the direction whence he had 
come, the constellations would be less changed. But 
no one lived in the southern hemisphere. "I've 
known people from one place, one culture, who tried 
to settle into another," he said. "It rarely works."


"It might. If there were willingness. A Gwydio-na, 
for example, could be happy even on, well, on 
Lochlann."


"I wonder."


"Will you do something for me? Now?"


His pulses jumped. "If I can, milady."


"Sing me the rest of that song. The one you sang 
when we first met."


"What? Oh, yes, The Unquiet Grave. But you 
couldn't--"


"I would like to try again. Since you are fond of it. 
Please."


He hadn't brought his flute, but he sang low in the 
chilly light:




.... Tis I, my love, sits on your grave


And will not let you sleep;


For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips 
And that is all I seek.'




"'You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips; 
But my breath smells earthy strong.


If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips 
Your time will not be long.'"




THE NIGHT FACE




"No," said Elfavy. She gulped and hugged herself, 
seeking warmth. "I'm sorry."


He recalled again that there was no tragic art on 
Gwydion. None whatsoever. He wondered what a 
LeZtr or an Agamemnon or an Old Men At Centauri 
might do to her. Or the real thing, even: Vard of 
Helldale, rebelling for a family honor he didn't believe 
in, defeated and. slain by his own comrades; 
young Brand who broke his regimental oath, gave up 
friends and wealth and the mistress he loved more 
than the sun, to go live in a peasant's hut and tend his 
insane wife.


He wondered if he, himself, was healthy enough 
within the skull to live on Gwydion.


The girl rubbed her eyes. "Best we go down 
again," she said dully. "Others will soon be awake. 
They won't know what has become of us."


"We'll talk later," saidRaven. "When we aren't 
so tired."


"Of course," she said.




67




VII




Re4 CXM the following afternoon; first thun-derheads 
banked over Kolumkill like blue-black 
granite, lightning livid in their caverns, then 
cataracts borne on a whooping east wind, finally a 
long slacking off when the Gwydiona romped nude 
on turf that glittered where sunbeams struck through 
the pillars of slowly falling water. Tolteca joined the 
ball game, as vigorous a one as he had ever played. 
Afterward they lounged about indoors, around a fire 
built on a hearth inprovised from stones, and yarned. 
The men probed his recollections with an insatiable 
wish to learn more about the galaxy. Theyhad tales 
to give in exchange, nothing of interhuman con-flict--they 
seemed puzzled and troubled by that 
idea-but lusty enough, happenings of sea and forest 
and mountain.




68




THE
	NIGHT FACE




"So we sat in that diving bell waiting to see if their 
grapple would find us before we ran out of air," 
Llyrdin said, "and I never played better chess in my 
life. It got right thick in there, too, before they 
snatched us up. They could have had the decency to 
be a few minutes longer about it, though. I had such a 
lovely end game planned out! But of course the 
board was upset as they hauled on the bell."'


"And what might that symbolize.'?" Tolteca 
teased him.


Llyrdin shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not much 
of a thinker, myself. Maybe God likes a joke now 
and then. But if so, Vwi has a pawky sense of 
humor."


After the storm had passed, the party went on to 
the spaceport site. Tolteca put in a busy day and 
night investigating the area. It would serve admirably, 
he decided.


Though Bale time was drawing near and the 
Gwydiona were anxious to get home, Dawyd ordered 
a roundabout route. The rain had laid the 
volcanic dust, but more precipitation would be 
needed to purify the ground entirely. It would be 
foolish to retrace their path across that tainted soil. 
He aimed for a shoulder of the mountains which 
jutted out of the massif on the north, between the 
expedition and the coast. The pass across it rose 
above timberline, and travel was rugged. They 
stopped for some hours in the uppermost woods to 
rest before the final ascent. That was in the middle 
morning.


After he had eaten, Tolteca left camp to wash in a




69




THE NIGHT FACE




pool further down the stream which flowed nearby. 
Glacier-fed, the water numbed him, but after he had 
toweled himself he felt like a. minor sun. He donned 
his clothes and wandered restlessly in search of a fall 
he could hear in the distance. A game trail led 
through the brush toward its foot.-He was about to 
emerge there when he heard voices. Raven and EI-favy!


"Please," the girl said. Her tone trembled. "I beg 
you, be reasonable."


The distress in her shocked Tolteca. For a moment 
of rage he wanted to burst forth and have it out with 
Raven. He checked himself. Eavesdropping was un-gentlemanly. 
Even if--or perhaps especially 
because--those two had been so much in each 
other's company since the first night in the Holy 
City. But if she was in some difficulty, he wanted to 
know about it so he could try to help her, and he 
didn't think she would tell him what the matter was if 
he put a direct question. There were cultural barriers, 
taboo or embarrassment, which only Raven was 
callous enough to hammer down.


Tolteca wet his lips. His palms grew sweaty and 
the pulse thuttered in his ears, nearly as loud as the 
stream that jumped over the bluff before him. To 
Chaos with being a gentleman, he decided violently, 
slipped behind a natural hedge and peered through 
the leaves.


The water foamed down into a dell filled with 
young trees. Their foliage made a shifting pattern of 
light and shadow under the deep upland sky. 

Rain


THE NIGHT FACE




bows danced in the water smoke, currents swirled 
about rocks covered with soft green growth, the 
stones on the fiverbed seemed to tipple. Cool and 
damp, the air rang with the noise of the fall. High 
overhead wheeled a single bird of prey.


Raven si6od on the bank, a statue in a black 
traveling cloak. The harsh face might have been cast 
in metal as he regarded the girl. She kept twisting her 
own gaze away from his, and her fingers wrestled 
with each other. Tiny droplets caught in her hair 
broke the sunlight into flaming shards, but that unbound 
mane was itself the brightest thing before 
Tolteca's eyes.


"I am being reasonable," Raven snapped. 
"When my nose is robbed in something for the third 
time running, I don't ignore the smell."


"Third time? What do you mean? Why are you so 
angry today?"


Raven gave an elaborate sigh and ticked the points 
off on his fingers. "We've been over this ground 
before. First: your houses are built like fortresses. 
Yes, you tell me that's a symbol, but I have trouble 
believing that rational people like you would go to so 
much trouble and expense for something that was 
nothing but a symbol. Second: nobody lives alone 
any more, especially not in the wilderuess. I can't 
forget that place where it was tried once. Those 
people were killed with weapons. Third: while we 
were looking over the port site, your father made a 
remark about caves in the cliff being easily made into 
Bale time shelters. When I asked him what he had in




71




THE NIGHT FACE




mind, he suddenly discovered he had an urgent matter 
to attend to elsewhere. When I asked a couple of 
the others, they grew almost as unhappy as you and 
mumbled something about taking insurance against 
unforseeable accidents.


"What tore it for me was when I pressed Cardwyr 
for a real explanation, a few hours ago on the march. 
He'd been so frank with me in every other respect 
that I felt he'd continue that way. But instead, he 
came as near losing his temper as I've ever seen a 
Gwydiona do. I thought for a minute he was going to 
hit me. But he just stalked off telling me to improve 
my manners.


"Something is wrong here. Why don't you give 
us fair warning?"


Elfavy turned as if to depart. She blinked very 
fast, and a wetness glinted on her cheek. "I thought 
you... you invited me to go for a walk," she said. 
"But--"


He caught her by the arm. ' 'Listen," he said more 
gently. "Please listen, I'm picking on you because, 
well, you've honored me with reason to think you 
won't lie or evade when something is really important 
to me. And this is. You've never seen violence, 
but I have. Much too often. I know what comes of it, 
andI have to do what I can to keep it from you. Do 
you follow me? I have to."


She ceased pulling against him and stood shivering, 
her head bent so that the locks fell past her face 
and hid it. Raven studied her for a while. His mouth 
lost its, hardness. "Sit down, my dear," he said at 
last.




72




THE NIGHT FACE




Elfavy lowered herself to the ground as if strength 
had deserted her. He joined her and took one small 
hand in his. There went a stabbing through Tolt-eca.


"Are you forbidden to talk about this?" Raven 
asked, so low that the brawling of the fall nearly 
drowned the question.


She shook her head.


"Why won't you, then?"


"I--" Her fingers tightened around his palm, and 
she laid her other hand over it. He sat cat-passive 
while she gulped for breath. "I don't know. We 
don't--" Some seconds passed before she could get 
the words out. "We hardly ever talk about it. Or 
think about it. It's too dreadful,"


There is such a thing as an unconscious taboo, 
Tolteca remembered through the tides in his brain, 
laid by the self upon the self.


"And it's not as if the bad things happen very 
often, now that... that we've learned how to take 
ˇ . . precautions. Long ago it was worse--" She 
braced herself and looked squarely at him. "You 
live with greater hazards and horrors than ours, all 
the time, do you not?"


Raven smiled very slightly. "Ah-ah, there. I decline 
your counter-challenge. Let's stick to the main 
issueˇ Something occurs, or can occur, during Bale. 
That's plain to see. Your people must have wondered 
what, if they don't actually know."


"Yes. There have been ideas." Elfavy seemed to 
have recovered her nerve. She frowned at the earth 
for a space and then said almost coolly, "We are not




THE NIGHT FACE




much given on Gwydion to examining our own 
souls, as you from the stars seem to be. I suppose that 
is because we're simpler. Miguel said to me once 
that he would not have believed there could be an 
entire race so free of internal conflicts as us, until he 
came here." She spoke my name/ "I don't know 
about that, but I dO know that I've little skill in 
reading my own inmost thoughts. So I can't tell you 
with certainty why we so loathe to think about the 
danger at Bale time. However, might it not be that 
one hates to associate the most joyous moments of 
one's life with . . . with that other thing?"


"Might be," said Raven noncommittally.


She raised her head, tossing the tresses down her 
back, and went on. "Still Bale is when God comes, 
and God has Vwi Night Faces too. Not everyone 
returns from the tdoly City."


"What happens to them?"


"There is a theory that the mountain ape is driven 
mad by the nearness of God and comes down into the 
lowlands, killing and destroying. That would account 
for the facts. Actually, I suppose if you forced 
every person on Gwydion to give you an opinion, as 
you forced me, most would say this idea must be the 
right one."


"Haven't you tried to check up on it? Why not 
leave somebody behind in the towns, waiting in 
ambush, to see?"


"No. Who would forego his trip to the Holy City, 
for any reason?"


"Hm. One might at least leave automatic




THE NIGHT FACE




cameras. But I can find out about that later. What's 
this mountain ape like?"


"An omnivore, which often catches game to eat. 
They travel in flocks."


"I should think a closed door and a barred window 
would serve against animals. And don't you keep 
guard robots at your sanctuaries?"


"Well, the idea is that the beast may be half 
intelligent. How could it be found on so many islands, 
if it did not sometimes cross the water on a 
log?"


"That could happen accidentally. Or the islands 
may be the remnants of an original continent. There 
must at least have been land bridges now and then, 
here and there, in the geological past."


"Well, perhaps," she said reluctantly. "But suppose 
the mountain ape is cunning enough to get by a 
guard robot. That needn't happen very often, you 
see, to cause trouble. Suppose it has gotten to the 
point of using tools that can break and pry. I don't 
believe that anyone has ever really investigated its 
habits. It usually stays far out in the wilderness. Only 
communities which lie near the edge of a great 
forest, like lnstar, ever glimpse a wandering flock. 
Remember, we are only ten million people, scattered 
over a planet. It's too big for us to know everything."


She seemed entirely calm now. Her gaze went 
around the dell, up the tumbling river to the sky and 
the hunting bird. She smiled. "And it is right that the 
world be so," she said. "Would you want to live




75




THE NIGHT FACE




where there is no mystery and nothing unconquered?"


"No," Raven agreed. "I suppose that's why men 
went to the stars in the first place."


"And must keep looking ever further, as they 
suck the planets dry," Elfavy said with compassion 
tinged by the least hint of scorn. "We keep the 
frontiers that we already have."


"I like that attitude," Raven said. "But I don't 
see any sense in letting an active menace run loose. 
We'll look into this mountain ape business, and if 
that turns out to be the trouble, we'll soon find ways 
to deal with the brutes."


Elfavy's mouth fell open. She stared at him in a 
blind fashion. "No," she gasped, "you wouldn't 
exterminate them!"


"Um-m . . . that's right, you'd consider that 
immoral, wouldn't you? Very well, let the species 
live. But it can be eradicated in inhabited 
areas."


"What?" She yanked her hands from his. 
"Now, wait a bit," Raven protested. "I know 
you don't have any nonsense here about the sacredness 
of life. You fish and hunt and butcher domestic 
animals, not for sport but quite cheerfully for 
economic reasons. What's the difference in this 
case?"


"The apes may be intelligent!"


"On a very low plane, maybe. I wouldn't let that 
bother me. But if you're so squeamish, I suppose 
they could simply be stunned and airlifted en masse




76




THE NIGHT FACE




to a distant plateau or some place. I'm sure they 
wouldn't much mind."


"Stop." She raised herself to a crouch. Through 
the close-fitting tunic, on the bare sun-gold arms and 
legs, Tolteca could see the tension that shook her. 
"Can you not understand? The Night Faces must 
be!"


"Brake back, there," Raven said. He reached for 
her. "I only suggested---"


"Let me alone!" She sprang to her feet and fled 
up the trail, almost brushing Tolteca but unaware of 
him in her weeping.


Raven swore, the word was less angry than hurt 
and bitter, and started to follow. That's plenty, 
Tolteca thought in a gust of temper, and stepped 
forth. "What's going on here?" he demanded.


Raven glided to a halt. "How long have you been 
listening?" he murmured in a tiger's voice.


"Long enough. I heard her ask you to let her be. 
So do it."


They confronted each other a little while. Shadow 
and sunlight speckled Raven's black shape. A breeze 
blew spray from the fall into Tolteca's face. He 
tasted it frigid on his. lips, but a smell akin to blood 
was in his nostrils. If he jumps me, I' ll shoot. I will.


Raven let out a deep breath. The heavy shoulders 
slumped noticeably. "I suppose that is best," he 
said, and turned around to stare at the river.


The swift end of the scene was like having a wall 
collapse on which Tolteca had been leaning. He 
knew with horror that his hand had been on his pistol




THE NIGHT FACE




butt, and snatched it away. Ylem.t What's happened 
to me?


What would have happened, if-- He needed his 
whole courage not to bolt.


Raven straightened. "Your chivalrous indignation 
does you credit," he said sarcastically, around 
the back of his head. "But I assure you I was only 
trying to keep her from getting murdered one fine 
festival night."


Still shaken, Tolteca grasped at the chance to 
smooth things over. "I know," he said. "But you 
have to respect the sensitivities of people. Different


cultures have the damnedest geases." 
"Uh~huh."


"Did you ever hear why trade with Orillion was 
abandoned, why nobody goes there any more? It 
seemed one of the most promising of the isolated 
worlds that we'd come upon. Honest, warmhearted 
people. So warmhearted that we couldn't possibly 
deal with them if we kept on refusing their offers of 
individual friendship . . which involved 
homosexual relations. We couldn't even explain to 
them why it wouldn't do."


"Yes, I've heard of that case."


"You can't go bursting into the most important 
parts of people's lives like an artillery shell. Such 
compulsions have their roots in the very bottom of 
the unconscious mind. The people themselves can't 
think logically about them. Suppose I cast doubts on 
your father's honor. You'd probably kill me. But if 
you said something like that to me, I wouldn't get 
resentful to the point of homicide."




78




THE NIGHT FACE




Raven faced him again, cocking one brow upward. 
"What are your touchy points, then.'?" he 
asked dryly.


"Eh? Why, well--family, I guess, even if that 
relationship isn't as strong as for a Lochlanna. My 
planet. Democratic government. Not that I mind 
discussing any of those things, arguing about them. I 
don't believe in fighting till there's a direct physical 
threat. And I can entertain the possibility that my 
notions are completely mistaken. Certainly there's 
nothing that can't be improved.."


"The autonomous individual," Raven said. "I 
feel sorry for you."


He went on rapidly: "But there is something 
dangerous on Gwydion, especially at that so-called 
Bale season. I've learned that a certain animal, the 
mountain ape, is generally believed to be responsible. 
Do you have any information about the creature?' 
'


"N-no. In most languages, 'ape' means a more or 
less anthropoid animal, fairly bright though without 
tools or a true speech. The type is common on 
terrestroid planets--parallel evolution."


"I know." Raven reached a decision. "Look 
here, you'll agree that action must be taken, for the 
safety of base personnel if nothing else. Later on we 
can worry about how to do it without offending local 
prejudices. But first we have to know what the 
practical problem is. Could the apes really be the 
destroyers? Elfavy was so irrational on the subject 
that I can't just take her word, or any Gwydiona's. 
I'll have to investigate for myself. You mentioned to




79




THE NIGHT FACE




me once that you've been on long hunting trips in the 
forests of several planets. And I suppose you are 
better than I at worming things out of people, especially 
when it involves their sore spots. So could you 
quietly find out what the spoor of the apes looks like, 
and so on? Then if we get a chance we can go off and 
have a look for ourselves. Agreed?"




80




viii




THERE WERE NO signs until the party was over the pass 
and down in the woods on the opposite slope. But 
then young Beodag, who was a forester by trade, 
spotted the traces and pointed them out to Tolteca 
and Raven. The trail was fairly clear, trampled grass 
and broken twigs, caerdu trees stripped of their succulent 
buds, holes where tubers or rodentoids had 
been snatched out of the ground. "Be careful," he 
warned. "They have been known to attack men. 
You really ought to take a larger party."


Raven slapped the holster of his pistol. "This will 
handle more than one flock of anything," he said. 
"Especially with a clip of explosive bullets in it."


"And, uh, more people might only alarm them," 
Tolteca said. "Besides, you couldn't help us. We've




THE NIGHT FACE




both had encounters before now with animals on the 
verge of intelligence, not to mention fully developed 
nonhuman races. We know what signs to watch for. 
I'm afraid you Gwydiona don't, as yet."


Beodag looked a trifle skeptical but didn't press 
the point. It was assumed here that any adult knew 
what he was doing. Dawyd and his men had only 
been told that it was desirable to investigate the 
mountain apes, since protection against their raids 
might be needed at the spaceport. Elfavy, retreated 
into an unhappy silence, had not given Tolteca the 
lie.


"Well," Beodag said, "luck attend you. But I 
doubt you will discover much. At least, I have never 
seen them carrying anything like tools. I've merely 
heard third- and fourth-hand stories, and you know 
how they can grow in the telling."


Raven nodded, turned on his heel, nd headed into 
the forest. Tolteca hurried to catch up. The sound of 
the others was soon left behind, and the outwodders 
walked through a stillness broken only by rustlings 
and chirpings. The trees here grew tall, with sheer 
reddish trunks that broke into a dense roof of leaves 
high overhead. In that shade there was little underbrush, 
only a thick soft mould speckled with fungi. 
The air was warmer than usual at this altitude. It 
carded a pungent smell, reminding of thyme, sage, 
or savory.


"I wonder what makes that odor?" Tolteca said. 
He had his answer a few minutes later, when they 
crossed a meadow where lesser plants could grow. A




82




THE NIGHT FACE




thick stand of bushes had exploded into bloom, scarlet 
flowers surrounded by bee-like insects, filling the 
area with their scent. He stopped for a close inspection.


"You know," he said, "I think this must be a 
rather near relative of baleflower. Observe the leaf 
structure. Evidently this species blooms a little earlier 
in the year, though."


"M-m, yes." Raven stopped and rubbed his chin. 
The cold green eyes grew thoughtful. "It occurs to 
me that the true baleflower should be opening its 
buds very soon after we get back to Instar--which is 
to say, just about in time for the Bale festival, whatever 
that is. In a culture like this, bearing in mind the 
like names, that's no coincidence. And yet they 
never seem to tell stories about the plant, the way 
they do about everything else in sight."


"I've noticed that," said Tolteca. "But we'd 
better not ask them bluntly why, not at least till we 
know more. When we return. I'm going to send our 
linguists into the ship's library to do an etymological 
and semantic study of that word bale."


"Good idea. While you're at it, dig up a bush 
'sometime when nobody's looking and have it chemically 
analyzed."


"Very well," said Tolteca, though he winced at 
the implications.


"Meanwhile," said Raven, "we've another project. 
Let's go."


They re-entered the cathedral stillness of the 
forest. Their footfalls were muffled until their




83




THE NIGHT FACE




breathing seemed unnaturally loud. The trail of the 
ape band remained plain to see, prints in the ground, 
mutilated vegetation, excrement. "Pretty formidable 
animals, if they plow their way as openly as 
this," Raven remarked. "They're as sloppy as humans. 
I daresay they can move quietly when they 
hunt, however."


"Think we can get close enough to spy on them?" 
Tolteca asked.


"We can try. By all accounts, they have little 
shyness toward men. Certainly we can fnd some 
spot where they've stayed a few days and check the 
rubbish. You can tell if a bone was split with a rock, 
for instance, or if somebody has been chipping stone 
to shape."


"Suppose they do turn out to be what we're looking 
for? What then?"


"That depends. We can try to talk the Gwydiona 
out of their nonsensical attitude--"


"It isn't nonsense!" Tolteca protested indignantly. 
"Not in their own terms."


"It's 'always ridiculous to submit meekly to a 
threat," Raven said. "Stop being so tender with 
foolishness."


The memory rose in Tolteca of Elfavy's troubled 
face. "That's about enough out of you," he rapped. 
"This isn't your planet. It isn't even your expedition. 
Keep your place, sir."


They halted. A flush darkened Raven's high 
cheekbones. "Keep a leash on that tongue of 
yours," he retorted.




THE NIGHT FACE




"We're not here to exploit them. You'll damned 
well respect their ethos or I'll see you in irons!"


"What the chaos do you know about an ethos, you 
cultureless moneysniffer.'?"


"I know better than to--to drive a woman to tears. 
You'll stop that too, hear me?"


"Ah, so," said Raven most softly. "That's the 
layout, eh?"


Tolteca braced himself for a fight. It came from an 
unawaited quarter. Suddenly the air was full of 
shapes.


They dropped from the trees, onto the ground, and 
threw themselves at the men. Raven sprang aside 
and pulled his gun loose. His first shot missed. There 
was no second. A hairy body climbed onto his back 
and another seized his arm. He went down in a welter 
of them.


Tolteca yelled and ran. An ape laid hold of his 
trouser leg. He smashed the other boot into the 
animal's muzzle. The hands let go. Two more leaped 
at him. He dodged their charge and pelted over the 
grOund. Get his back against yonder bole, spray 
them with automatic fire--He whirled and raised his 
pistol.


An ape cast a stone it had been carrying. The 
missile smacked Tolteca's temple. Pain blinded 
him. He lurched, and then they were on him. Thick 
arms dragged him to earth. His nose was full of their 
hair and rank smell. Fangs snapped yellow, a centimeter 
before his face. He struck out wildly. His fist 
rebounded from ridged muscle. The drubbing and




85




THE NIGHT FACE




clawing became his whole universe. He whirled into 
a redness that rang.


When he came to himself, a minute or two afterward, 
he was pinioned by two of them. A third 
approached, unwinding a thin vine from its waist. 
His arms were lashed behind his back.


He 'shook his head, which throbbed and stabbed 
him and dripped blood down on his tunic, and looked 
around. Raven had been secured in the same manner. 
The apes squatted to stare, or bounced about 
chattering. They numbered a dozen or so, all males, 
somewhat over a meter tall, tailed, heavybodied, 
covered with greenish fur and tawny manes. The 
faces were blunt, and they had four-fingered hands 
with fairly well-developed thumbs. Several carried 
bones of leg or jaw from large herbivores.


"Oa," Tolteca groaned. "Are you--are--" 
"Not too much damaged yet," Raven said tightly, 
through bruised lips. Somehow he found a harsh 
chuckle. "But my pride! They were tracking us.t"


An ape picked up one of the dropped pistols, 
fingered it, and tossed it aside. Others removed the 
men's daggers from the sheaths, but soon discarded 
them likewise. Hard hands plucked and prodded at 
Tolteca, ripped his garments with their curious 
pluckings. It came to him with a gulp of horror that 
he might well die here.


He fought down panic and tested his bonds. Wrist 
was lashed to wrist by a strand too tough to break. 
Raven lay in a more relaxed position on his back, 
squirming a little as the apes played with him.




THE NIGHT FACE




The largest howled a syllable. The gang stopped 
their noise and got briskly to their feet. Though short 
of leg and long of toe, they were true bipeds. The 
humans were hauled up with casual brutality and the 
procession started off deeper into the woods.


Only then, as the daze cleared fully from him, did 
Tolteca realize that the bones his captors carried 
were 'weapons, club and sharp-toothed knife. 
"Proto-intelligent--" he began. The ape beside him 
cuffed him in the mouth. Evidently silence was the 
rule on the trail.


He didn't stumble long through his nightmare. 
They came out into another meadow, where an insolently 
brilliant sun spilled light across grasses and 
blossoms. The males broke into a yell, which was 
answered by a similar number of females and young. 
Those came swarming from their camping place 
under a great boulder. For a moment the mob seethed 
with hands and fangs. Tolteca thought he would be 
pulled apart alive. A couple of the biggest males 
knocked their dependents aside and dragged the 
prisoners to the rock.


There they were hurled ;clown. Tolteca saw that he 
had landed near a pile of gnawed bones and other 
offal. Carrion insects made a black cloud above it.


"Raven," he choked, "they're going to eat us." 
"What else?" said the Lochlanna. 
"Oa, can't we make a break?"


"Yes, I think so. I've been very clumsily tied. So 
have you, butI can reach my knot. If you can distract 
'em another minute or two--"




87




THE NIGHT FACE




Two males approached with clubs raised. The rest 
of the flock squatted down, instantly quiet again, 
watching from bright sunken eyes. The silence 
hammered at Tolteca.


He rolled over, jumped to his feet, and ran. The 
nearest male uttered a noise that might have been a 
laugh and pounced to intercept. Tolteca zigzagged 
from him. Another shaggy form rose in his path. The 
whole gang began to scream. A club whistled toward 
Tolteca's pate. He threw himself forward, down 
across the wielder's knees. The blow missed and the 
ape fell on top of him. He buried his head under the 
body, shield against other weapons. But his feet 
were seized and he was dragged forth. He saw two 
clubbers tower across the sky above him.


Suddenly Raven was there. The Lochlanna chopped 
with the edge of his hand, straight across the 
throat of one ape. The creature moaned and crumpled; 
blood ran from the mouth, bluish red. Raven 
had already turned on the other. His arms shot forth, 
he drove his thumbs under the brows and hooked out 
the eyeballs in a single motion. A third male rushed 
him, to meet a hideously disabling kick. Even at that 
instant, Tolteca was a little sickened.


Raven stooped and tugged at his bonds. The apes 
milled about several meters off, enraged but 
daunted. "All right, you're free" Raven panted. 
"You have a pocket knife, don't you? Let me have 
it."


Several rocks thudded within centimeters as he 
got moving. He unclasped the blade on the run and




88




THE NIGHT FACE




charged the nearest stone-throwing ape, a female. 
She struck awkwardly at him. He sidestepped. His 
slash was a calculated piece of savagery. She lurched 
back yammering. Raven returned to Tolteca, gave 
him the knife again, and picked up a thighbone. 
"They're out of rocks," he said. "Now we back 
away very slowly. We want to persuade them we 
aren't worth chasing."


For the first few minutes it went well. He knocked 
aside a couple of flung clubs. The males snarled, 
barked, and circled about, but did not venture to 
'rush. When the humans reached the edge of the 
meadow, though, fury overcame fear. The leader 
whirled his weapon over his head and scuttled toward 
them. The rest followed.


"Back against this tree!" Raven commanded. He 
hefted his thighbone like a sword. When the leader's 
club came down, he partied the blow and riposted 
with a bang across the knuckles. The ape wailed and 
dropped the club. Raven drove the end of his own 
into.the opened mouth. There was a crunch of splintering 
palate.


Tolteca also had his hands full. The knife was only 
good for close-in work, and two of the beasts had 
assailed him at once. A sharp jawbone ripped across 
his shoulder. He ignored it, clinched, and stabbed 
deep. Blood spurted over him. He pushed the 
wounded creature against the other, which went 
down under the impact, then rose and fled.


The surviving males retreated, growling and chattering. 
Raven stooped, seized their dying leader, and




89




THE NIGHT FACE




threw him at them. The body landed in the grass with 
a heavy thump. They edged back from it. "Let's 
go," Raven said.


They went, not too swiftly, stopping often to turn 
about in a threatening way. But there was no pursuit. 
Raven gusted an enormous sigh. "We're clear," he 
husked. "Animals don't fight to a fnish like men. 
And . . . we've provided them food."


Tolteca's throat tightened. When they came back 
to the guns, which meant final safety, a cramp gripped 
him. He knelt down and vomited.


Raven seated himself to rest. "That's no shame on 
you," he said. "Reaction. You did pretty well for an 
amateur.' '


"It's not fear," Tolteca said. He shuddered with 
the coldness that ran through him. "It's what happened 
back there. What you did."


	"Eh? I got us loose. That's bad?"


	"Your... tactics 	Did 
you have to be so
vicious?"


"I 
was simply being efficient, Miguel. Please don't 
think I enjoyed it."
"Oa, 
no. I'll give you that much. But--'Oh, I don't 
know. What sort of a race do we belong to, anyway?" 
Tolteca covered his face.
After 
a while he recovered enough to say emptily, "This 
wouldn't have happened but for us. The Gwydiona 
give the apes a wide berth. There's room for all 
life on this planet. But we, we had to come blundering in."


	Raven considered 
him for some time before 

ask
THE NIGHT FACE




ing, "Why do you think pain and death are so gruesome?"


"I'm not scared of them," Tolteca answered with 
a feeble flicker of resentment.


"I didn't say that. I was just thinking that down 
underneath, you don't feel they belong in life. I do. 
So do the Gwydiona." Raven climbed erect. "We'd 
better get back."


They limped Coward the main trail. They had not 
quite reached it when Elfavy appeared with three 
bowmen and Kors.


She gasped and ran to meet them. Tolteca thought 
she might have been some wood nymph fleeing 
through the green arches. But though he looked 
much the gorier, it was Raven whom her hands 
seized. "What happened? Oh, I grew so worried--"


"We had trouble with the apes," Raven said. He 
urged her away from him, gently, with a rather sour 
smile. "Easy, there, milady. No great harm was 
done, but I'm a mess, 'and a bit too sore for embraces."


I wouldn' t have done that, thought Tolteca desolately. 
Harsh-voiced, he related the incident.


Beodag whistled. "So they are on the verge of 
toolmaking! But I swear I've never observed that. 
I've never been attacked, either."


"And yet the bands you've met live a good deal 
closer to human settlement, don't they?" Raven 
asked.


Beodag nodded.


"That settles the matter," Raven declared.




91




THE NIGHT FACE




"Whatever the source of your trouble at Bale time, 
the mountain apes are not it."


"What'? But if they have weapons--"


"This flock does. It must be far ahead of the 
others. Probably inbreeding of a mutation has made 
the local apes more intelligent than average. The 
others haven't even gotten to their stage, in spite of 
observing humans using implements, which I don't 
imagine these have ever done. And our friends here 
couldn't break into a house. A shinbone is no good as 
a crowbar. Besides, they lack the persistence. They 
could have overcome us, and should have after the 
harm we did, but gave up. Anyhow. why would they 
want to plunder a building? Human artifacts mean 
nothing to them. They threw aside not only our guns 
but our daggers. We can forget about them."


The Gwydiona men looked uneasy. Elfavy's eyes 
blurred. "Can't you forget that obsession for one 
day?" she pleaded. "It could have been such a 
beautiful day for you."


"All fight," Raven said wearily. "I'll think about 
medicine and bandages and a pot of tea instead. 
Satisfied?"


"Yes," she said. Her smile was shaky. "For now 
I am satisfied."




FESTIVAL DWELT IN Instar. Tolteca was reminded of 
Carnival Week on Nuevamericanot the com-mericalized 
feverishness of the cities, but masquerade 
and street dancing in the hinterlands, where 
folk still made their own pleasure. Oddly enough, 
for a people otherwise so ceremonious, the 
Gwydiona celebrated the time just before Bale by 
scrapping formality. Courtesy, honesty, nonvio-lence 
seemed too ingrained to lose. But men shouted 
and made horseplay, women dressed with a lavish-ness 
that would have been snickered at anytime else 
in the planet's long year, schools became playgrounds, 
each formerly simple meal was a banquet, 
and quite a few families broke out the wine and got 
humanly drunk. A wreath ofjule, roses, and pungent




THE NIGHT FACE




margwy herb hung on every door; no hour of day or 
night lacked music.


And so it was over this whole world, thought 
Tolteca: in every town on every inhabited island, the 
year had turned green and the people were soon 
bound for their shrines.


He came striding down a gravel path. The sun 
stood at late morning and the boy Byord walked with 
a hand in his. Far and holy above western forests, the 
mountain peaks dreamed.


"What did you do then?" asked Byord, breathless.


"We stayed in the City and had fun till it rained," 
said Tolteca. "Then when it was safe, we proceeded 
to our goal, looked it over--a fine site indeed--and 
at last came back here."


He didn't want to relate, or remember, the ugly 
episode in the forest. "Exactly when did we get 
back?"


"Day before yesterday."


"Uh, yes, now I place it. Hard to keep track of 
time here, when nobody pays much attention to


clocks and everything is so pleasant." 
"The City--gol! What's it like?" 
"Don't you know?"


"'Course not, 'cept they told my cousin a little 
about it in school. I wasn't born, last Bale. But I'm 
big enough already to go with my mother."


"The City is very beautiful," said Tolteca. He 
wondered how children as young as this fitted into a 
prolonged religious meditation, if that was what it




THE NIGHT FACE




was, and how they kept so well afterward the secret 
of what had happened.


Byord's mind sprang to another marvel. "Tell me 
'bout planets, please. When I get big, I want to be a 
spaceman. Like you."


"Why not?" said Tolteca. Byord could get as 
good a scientific education here as anywhere in the 
known galaxy. By the time he was of an age to 
enroll, the astro academies on worlds like 
Nuevamerica would doubtless be eager to accept 
Gwydiona cadets. Gwydion itself would be more 
than a refueling stop, a decade hence. A people this 
gifted couldn't help themselves; they were certain 
to become curious about the universe (as if they 
weren't already so interested that only the intelligence 
of their questions made the number 
endurable)--and, yes, to influence it. The Empire 
had fallen, human society was once more in flux. 
What better ideal for the next civilization than 
Gwydion?


And why count myself out? thought Tolteca. When 
we build our spaceports here--there' II soon be more 
than one---they'll require Namerican administrators, 
engineers, factors, liaison officers. Why 
shouldn't I become one, and live my life under Ynis 
and She?


He glanced down at the tangled head beside him. 
He'd always shrunk from the idea of acquiring a 
ready-made family. But why not? Byord was a polite 
and talented boy who still remained very much a 
boy. It would be a pleasure to raise him. Even




THE NIGHT FACE




today's outing--undertaken frankly to ingratiate one 
Miguel Tolteca with Elfavy Simnon--had been a lot 
of fun.


When earlier, one of the Namerican spacemen had 
expressed a desire to settle here, Raven had warned 
him he'd go berserk in one standard year. But what 
did Raven know about it? The prediction was doubtless 
true for him. Lochlanna society, caste-ridden, 
haughty, ritualistic, and murderous, had nothing in 
common with Gwydion. But Nuevamerica, 
now--Oh, I don' t pretend I wouldn' t miss the lights 
and tall buildings, theaters, bars, parties, excitement, 
once in a while. But what's to prevent me and 
my family from taking vacation trips there? 4s for 
our everyday lives, here are a calm, rational, but 
merry people with a really meaningful, implemented 
ideal of beauty, uncrowded in a nature which has 
never been trampled on. ,4rot not static, either. They 
have their scientific research, innovations in the 
arts, engineering projects. Look how they welcome 
the chance to have regular interstellar contact. How 
could I fail to fall in love with Gwydion?


Specifically, with---Tolteca shut that thought off. 
He came from a civilization where all problems were 
practical problems. So let's not moon about, but 
rather take the indicated steps to get what we want. 
Raven had an inside track at the moment, but that 
needn't be too great a handicap, especially since 
Raven showed no signs of wanting to remain here. 
Since Byord was pestering him for yarns of other 
planets, Tolteca reminisced aloud, with some editing, 
and the rest of their walk passed quickly.




THE NIGHT FACE




They entered the town. It seemed to have become 
queerly deserted in their absence. Where the dwellers 
had swarmed in the streets a few hours ago, they 
now were indoors. Here and there a man hurried 
from one place to another, carrying some burden, 
but that only emphasized the emptiness. However, 
though the air was quiet beneath the sun, one could 
hear an underlying murmur, voices behind walls.


Byord broke free ofTolteca's hand and skipped on 
the pavement. "We're going soon, we're going 
soon," he caroled.


"How do you know?" asked Tolteca. He had 
been told some while ago that there was no fixed date 
for Bale time.


Every freckle grinned. "I know, Adult Miguel! 
Aren't you comin' too?"


"I think I'd better stay and take care of your 
pets," said Tolteca. Byord maintained the usual 
small-boy zoo of bugs and amphibia.


"There's Granther! Hey, Granther!" Byord 
broke into a run. Dawyd, emerging from his house, 
braced himself. When the cyclone had struck him 
and been duly hugged, he pushed it toward the door.


"Go on inside, now," he said. "Your mother's 
making ready. She has to wash at least a few kilos of 
dirt off you, and pack your lunch, before we start."


"Thanks, Adult Miguel!" Byord whizzed 
through the entrance.


Dawyd chuckled. "I hope you aren't too 
exhausted," he said.


"Not at all," Tolteca answered. "I enjoyed it. 
We followed the river upstream to the House of the




97




THE NIGHT FACE




Philosophers. I never imagined a place devoted to 
abstract thinking would include picnic grounds and a 
carousel.' '


"Why not?Philosophers are human too, I'm told. 
It is refreshing for them to watch the children, romp 
with them . . . and perhaps a little respect for 
knowledge rubs off on the youngsters." Dawyd 
started down the street. "I have a job to do. Would 
you like to accompany me? You being a technical 
man, this may interest you."


Tolteca fell into step. "Are you leaving very 
soon, then?" he inquired.


"Yes. The signs have become clear, even to me. 
Older people are not so sensitive; the young adults 
have been wild this whole morning." Dawyd's eyes 
glittered. His lined brown face held less than its 
normal serenity.


"It is about ten hours on foot by the direct path to 
the Holy City," he added after a moment. "Less, of 
course, for a man unencumbered by children and the 
aged. If you should, yourself, feel the time upon 
you, I do hope you will follow and join us there."


Tolteca drew a long breath, as if to smell the 
tokens. The air was alive with the blooming of a 
hundred flowers, trees, bushes, vines; nectar-gathering 
insects droned in the sunlight. "What are 
the signs?" he asked. "No one has told me."


On other occasions, Dawyd, like the rest of his 
people, had grown a little uneasy at questions about 
Bale, and changed the subject--which was a simple 
task with so much to discuss, twelve hundred years




98




THE NIGHT FACE




of separate history. Now the physician laughed 
aloud. "I can't tell you," he said. "I know, that is 
all. How do buds know when to unfold?"


"But haven't you ever, in the rest of the year, 
made any scientific study of--"


"Here we are." Dawyd halted at the fused stone 
building in the center of town. It looked square and 
bleak above them. The portal stood open and they 
entered, walking down cool shadowy halls. Another 
man passed, holding a wrench. Dawyd waved at 
him. "A technician," he explained, "making a final 
check on the central power controls. Everything 
vital, or potentially dangerous, is stored here during 
Bale. Motor vehicles in a garage at the end of yonder 
corridor, for instance. My duty--Here we are."


He swung aside a door which gave on a huge and 
sunny room, gaily painted walls lined with cribs and 
playpens. A mobile robot stood by each, and a bright 
large machine murmured to itself in the center of the 
floor. Dawyd walked around, observing. "This is a 
routine and rather nominal inspection," he said. 
"The engineers have already overhauled everything. 
As a physician, I have to certify that the 
environment is sanitary and pleasant, but that has 
never been a problem."


"What is it for?" Tolteca queried.


"Do you not know? Why, to care for infants, 
those too young to accompany us to the Holy City. 
Byord is about as young as we ever dare take them, 
The hospital wing of this building has robots to nurse 
the sick and the very old during Baletime, but that's




THE NIGHT FACE




not under my supervision." Dawyd snapped his 
fingers. "What in the name of chaos was I going to 
tell you? Oh, yes. In case you have not already been 
warned. This entire building is locked up during 
Bale. Automatic shock beams are fired at 
anything--or anyone--that approaches within ten 
meters. Any moving object that gets through to the 
outside wall is destroyed by flame blasts. Stay away 
from here!"


Tolteca stood quiet, for the last words had been 
alarmingly rough.


Finally, he ventured, ' 'Isn't that rather extreme?" 
"Bale lasts about three Gwydiona days and 
nights," said Dawyd. He had fixed his stare on a pen 
and tossed the sentences over his shoulder. "That's 
more than ten standard days. Plus the time needed to 
walk to the Holy City and back. We don't take 
chances."


"But what is it you fear? What can happen?" 
Dawyd said, not entirely steadily, but so far upborne 
by his own euphoria that he could at last speak 
plainly, "It is not uncommon that some of those who 
go to the Holy City do not come back. On returning, 
the others sometimes find that in spite of locks and 
shutters, there has been destruction wrought in town. 
So we put our important machines and our helpless 
members here, with mechanical attendants, in a 
place which nothing can enter till the time locks open 
automatically."


"I've gathered something like that," Tolteca 
breathed. "But have you any idea what causes the 
trouble?"




lOO




THE NIGHT FACE




"We are not certain. The mountain apes are often 
blamed, but the experience you related to me does 
seem to absolve them. Conceivably, I don't know; 
conceivably we are not the only intelligent race on 
Gwydion. There could be true aborigines, so alien 
that we failed to recognize any trace of their culture. 
Various legends about creatures that live underground 
or skulk in the deep forests may have some 
basis in fact. I don't know. And it is never a good 
idea to theorize in advance of the data."


"Didn't you, or your ancestors, ever attempt to 
get data?"


"Yes, many times. Cameras and other recording 
devices were planted again and again. But they were 
always evaded, or discovered and smashed." 
Dawyd broke off short and continued his inspection 
in silence. He moved a little jerkily.


They were leaving the fortress before Tolteca 
suggested diffidently, "Perhaps we, from the ship, 
can observe what happens while you are gone."


Dawyd had calmed down again. "You are welcome 
to try," he said, ' 'but I doubt you will have any 
success. You see, I don't expect the town will be 
entered. No such thing has happened for many years. 
Even in my own boyhood, a raid on a deserted 
community was a rare event. You must not believe 
this is a major problem for us. It was worse in the 
distant past, but nowadays it has so dwindled that 
there isn't even much incentive to study the problem."


Tolteca didn't think he would be unmotivated to 
look into the possibility of a native race on Gwydion.




lol




THE NIGHT FACE




But he didn't wish to disturb his host further. He 
struck a cigarette as they walked on. The streets were 
now entirely bare save for Dawyd and himself. And 
yet the sun drenched them in light. It sharpened his 
feeling of eeriness.


"Actually, I'm afraid you will have a dull wait," 
said the older man. He was becoming more and more 
himself as the Namerican's questions receded in 
time. "Everybody gone, everything locked up, over 
the whole inhabited planet. Maybe you would like to 
fly down to the southern hemisphere and explore a 
little."


"I think we'll just stay put and correlate our findings," 
said Tolteca. "We have a lot. When you 
return--"


"We won't be worth much for a few days afterward," 
Dawyd warned him. ' 'It isn't easy for mortal 
flesh, being God."


They reached his house. He stopped at the door, 
looking embarrassed. "I should invite you in, 
but--"


"I understand. Family rites." Tolteca smiled. 
"I'll stroll down to the park at town's end. You'll 
pass by there on your way, and I'll wave farewell."


"Thank you, far-friend."


ˇ The door closed. Tolteca stood a moment, inhaling 
deeply, before he ground the cigarette butt under 
his heel and walked off between shuttered walls.




102




x




THE PARK WAS gay with flowers. A few of the expedition 
lounged under shade trees, also waiting to observe 
the departure. Tolteca saw Raven, and 
clamped lips together. I will not lose my temper. He 
approached and gave greeting.


Raven answered with Lochlanna formality. The 
mercenary had put on full dress for the occasion, 
blouse, trousers, tooled leather boots, embroidered 
surcoat. He stood square, next to a baleflower bush 
as tall as himself. Its buds were opening in a riot of 
scarlet flowers. They smelled almost but not quite 
like the cousin species in the mountains, herbs, 
summer meadows, a phosphorous overtone, and 
something else that flitted half sensed below the 
surface of memory. The Siamese cat Zio nestled in




103




THE NIGHT FACE




Raven's arms; he stroked the beast with one hand 
and got a purr for answer.


Tolteca repeated Dawyd's warning about the fortress. 
Raven's dark head nodded. "I knew that. I'd 
do the same in their place."


"Yes, you would," said Tolteca. He remembered 
his resolution and added impersonally, "Such 
over-destructiveness doesn't seem characteristic of 
the Gwydiona, though."


"This isn't a characteristic season. Every five 
standard years, for about ten standard days, something 
happens to them. I'd feel easier if I knew 
what.' '


"My guess---" Tolteca paused. He hated to say it 
aloud. But finally: "A dionysiac religion."


"I can:t swallow that," said Raven. "These 
people know about photosynthesis. They don't believe 
magical demonstrations make the earth fer-file."


''They might employ such ceremonies anyhow, 
for some historical or psychological reason." 
Tolteca winced, thinking of Elfavy gasping drunken 
in the arms of man after man. But if he didn't say it 
himself, someone else would; and he was mature 
enough, he insisted, to accept a person on her own 
cultural terms. "Orgiastic."


"No," said Raven. "This is no more a dionysiac 
culture than yours or mine. Not at any time of year. 
Just put yourself in their place, and you'll see. That 
cool, reasonable, humorous mentality couldn't take 
a free-for-all seriously enough. Someone would be 
bound to start laughing and spoil the whole effect."




THE NIGHT FACE




Tolteca looked at Raven with a sudden warmth for 
the man. "I believe you're right. I certainly want to 
believe it. But what do they do, then?" After a 
moment: "We have been more or less invited to join 
them, you realize. We could simply go watch."


"No. Best not. If you'll recall the terms in which 
that semi-invitation was couched, it was implicitly 
conditional on our feeling the same way as them--joining 
into the spirit of the festival, whatever that 
may mean. I don't think we could fake it. And by 
distracting them at such a time--more and more, I'm 
coming to think it's the focus of their whole 
culture--by doing that, we might lose their good 
will."


"M-m, yes, perhaps.. . Wait! Perhaps we can 
join in. I mean, if it involves taking some drag. 
Probably a .hallucinogen like mescaline, though 
something on the order of lysergic acid is possible 
too. Anyhow, couldn't Bale be founded on that? A 
lot of societies, you know, some of them fairly 
scientific, believe that their sacred drug reveals 
otherwise inaccessible truths."


Raven shook his head. "If that were so in this 
case," he answered, "they'd use the stuff oftener 
than once in five years. Nor would they be so vague 
about their religion. They'd either tell us plainly 
about the drug, or explain politely that we aren't 
initiates and it's none of our business what happens 
at the Holy City. Another argument against your idea 
is that they shun drugs so completely in their everyday 
life. They don't like the thought of anything 
antagonistic to the normal functioning of body and




105




THE NIGHT FACE




mind. Do you know, this past day is the first instance 
I've seen or heard or read of any Gwydiona even 
getting high on alcohol?"


"Well," barked Tolteca in exasperation, "suppose 
you tell me what they do!"


"I wish I could." Raven's disquieted gaze went to 
the baleflower. "Has the chemical analysis of this 
been finished?"


"Yes, just a few hours ago. Nothing special was 
found,"


"Nothing whatsoever?"


"Oa, well, its perfume does contain an indole, 
among other compounds, probably to attract pollinating 
insects. But it's a quite harmless indole. If 
you breathed it at an extremely high 
concentration--several thousand times what you 
could possibly encounter in the open air--I suppose 
you might get a little dizzy. But you couldn't get a 
real jag on."


Raven scowled. "And yet this bush is named for 
the festival. And alone on the whole inhabited 
planet, has no mythology."


"Xinguez and I threshed that out, after he'd 
checked his linguistic references. Bear in mind that 
Gwydiona stems from a rather archaic dialect of 
Anglic, closely related to the ancestral English. That 
word bale can mean several things, depending on 
ultimate derivation. It can signify a bundle; a fire, 
especially a funeral pyre; an evil or sorrow; and, 
more remotely and with a different spelling, Baal is 
an ancient word for a god."




106




THE NIGHT FACE




Tolteca tapped a fresh cigarette on his thumbnail 
and struck it with an uneven motion across the heel 
of his shoe. "You can imagine how the Gwydiona 
could intertwine such multiple meanings," he continued. 
"What elaborate symbolisms are potentially 
here. Those flowers have long petals, aimed upward; 
a bush in full bloom looks rather like a fire, I imagine. 
The Burning Bush of primitive religion. 
Hence, maybe, the name bale. But that could also 
mean 'God' and 'evil.' And it blooms just at Bale 
time. So because of all these coincidences, the bale-flower 
symbolizes the Night Faces, the destructive 
aspect of reality . . . probably the most cruel and 
violent phase thereof. Hence nobody talks about it. 
They shy away from creating the myths that are so 
obviously suggested. The Gwydiona don't deny that 
evil and sorrow exist, but neither do they go out of 
their way to contemplate the fact."


"I know," said Raven. "In that respect they're 
like Namericans." He failed to hide entirely the 
shade of contempt in the last word.


Tolteca heard, and flared. "In every other respect, 
too!" he snapped. "Including the fact that 
your bloody warlords are not going to carve up this 
planet!"


Raven looked directly at the engineer. So didZio. 
It was disconcerting, for the cat's eyes were as cold 
and steady as the man's. "Are you quite certain," 
said Raven, "that these people are the same species 
as us?"


"Oa! If you think--your damned racism--just




107




THE NIGHT FACE




because they're too civilized to brew war like you ." 
Tolteca advanced with fists cocked. lfElfavy could 
only see/it begged through the boiling within him. If 
she could hear what this animal really thinks of her.t


"Oh, quite possibly interbreeding is still feasible," 
said Raven. "We'll find that out soon 
enough."


Tolteca's control broke. His fist leaped forward of 
itself.


Raven threw up an arm--Zio scampered to his 
shoulder--and blocked the blow. His hand slid 
down to seize Tolteca's own forearm, his other hand 
got the Namerican's biceps, his foot scythed behind 
the ankles. Tolteca went on his back, pinned. The cat 
squalled and clawed at him.


"That isn't necessary, Zio." Raven let go. Several 
of his men hurried up. He waved them away. "It 
was nothing," he called. "I was only demonstrating 
a hold."


Kors looked dubious, but at that moment someone 
exclaimed, "Here they come!" and attention went 
to the road. Tolteca climbed back erect, too caught in 
a tide of anger, shame, and confusion to notice the 
parade much.


Not that there was a great deal to notice. The Instar 
folk walked with an easy, distance-devouring stride, 
in no particular order. They were lightly clad. Each 
carded the one lunch he would need on the way, 
some spare garments, and nothing else. But their 
chatter and laughter and singing were like a bird-flock, 
like sunlight on a wind-ruffled lake, and now




108




THE NIGHT FACE




and then one of the adults danced among the hurtling 
children. So they we.n,.tpast, a flurry of bright tunics, 
sunbrowned limbs, garlanded fair hair, into the hills 
and the Holy City.


But Elfavy broke from them. She ran to Raven, 
caught both the soldier's hands in her own, and 
cried, "Come with us! Can't you feel it, liatha?"


He watched her a long while, his features wooden, 
before he shook his head. "No. I'm sorry."


Tears blurred her eyes, and that wasn't the way of 
Gwydion either. "You can never be God, then?" 
Her head drooped, the yellow mane hid her face. 
Tolteca stood stating. What else could he do?


' 'If I might give you the power," said Elfavy. "I 
would give up my own." She sprang free, raised 
hands to the sun and shouted, "But it's impossible 
that you can't feel it! God is here already, 
everywhere, I see Vwi shining from you, Raven! 
You must come!"


He folded his hand together within the surcoat


sleeves. "Will you stay here with me?" he asked. 
"Always, always."


"Now, I mean. During Bale time."


"What? Oh--no, yesyou are joking?"


He said slowly, "I'm told the Night Faces are also 
revealed, sometimes, under the Steeps of Kolumkill. 
That not everyone comes home every year."


Elfavy took a backward step from him. "God is


more than good," she pleaded. "God is real." 
"Yes. As real as death."


"Great ylem!" exploded Tolteca. "what do you




109




THE NIGHT FACE




expect, man? Everybody who can walk goes there. 
Some must have incipient disease, or weak hearts, or 
old arteries. The strain--"


Raven ignored him. "Is it a secret what happens, 
Elfavy?" he asked.


Her muscles untensed. Her merriment trilled 
forth. "No. It's only that words are such poor lame 
things. As I told you that night in the sanctuary."


In him, the grimness waxed. "Well, words can 
describe a few items, at least. Tell me what you can. 
What do you do there, with your physical body? 
What would a camera record?"


The blood drained from her face. She stood un-moving. 
Eventually, out of silence that grew and 
grew around her: "No. I can't."


"Or you mustn't?" Raven grabbed her bare 
shoulders so hard that his fingers sank in. She didn't 
seem to feel it. "You mustn't talk about Bale, or you 
won't, or you can't?" he roared. "Which is it? 
Quick, now!"


Tolteca tried to stir, but his bones seemed locked 
together. The Instar people danced by, too lost in 
their joy to pay attention. The other Namericans 
looked indignant, but Wildenvey had casually drawn 
his gun and grinned in their eyes. Elfavy shuddered. 
"I can't tell!" she gasped.


Raven's expression congealed. "You don't


know," he said. "Is that why?."


"Let me go!"


He released her. She stumbled against the bush. A 
moment she crouched, the breath sobbing in and out




11o




THE NIGHT FACE




of her. Then instantly, like a curtain descending, she 
fell back into her happiness. Tears still caught sunlight 
on her cheeks, but she looked at the bruises on 
her skin, laughed at them, sprang forward and kissed 
Raven on his unmoving lips. "Then wait for me, 
liatha!" She whirled, skipped off, and was lost in 
the throng.


Raven stood without stirring, gazing after them 
as they dwindled up the road. Tolteca would not 
have believed human flesh could stay immobile so 
long.


At last the Namerican said, through an acrid taste 
in his mouth, "Well, are you satisfied.*"


"In a way." Raven remained motionless. His 
words fell flat.


"Don't make too many assumptions," said 
Tolteca. "She's in an abnormal state. Wait till she 
comes back and is herself again, before you get your 
hopes up."


"What?" Raven turned his head, blinking wearily. 
He seemed to recognize Tolteca only after a few 
seconds. "Oh. But you're wrong. That's not an


abnormal state."


"Huh?"


"Your planet has seasons too. Do you consider 
spring fever a disease? Is it unnatural to feel brisk on 
a clear fall day?"


"What are you hinting at?"


"Never mind." Raven lifted his shoulders and let 
them fall, an old man's gesture. "Come, Sir Engineer, 
we may as well go back to the ship."




111




THE NIGHT FACE




"But-Oa!" Tolteca's finger stabbed at the 
Lochlanna. "Do you mean you've guessed--"


"Yes. I may be wrong, of course. Come." Raven 
picked up Zio and became very busy making the cat


comfortable in his sleeve.


"What?"


Raven started to go.


Tolteca caught him by the ann. Raven spun about. 
Briefly, the Lochlanna's face was drawn into such a 
fury that the Namerican fell back. Raven clapped a 
hand to his dagger and whispered, "Don't ever do 
that again."


Tolteca braced his sinews. "What's your idea?" 
he demanded. "If Bale really is dangerous--"


Raven leashed himself. "I see your thought," he 
said in a calmer tone. "You want to go up there and 
stand by to protect her, don't you?"


"Yes. Suppose they do lie around in a comatose 
state. Some animal might sneak part the guard robots 
and---' '


"No. You will stay down here. Everybody will. 
That's a direct order under my authority as military 
commander." Raven's severity ebbed. He wet his 
lips, as if trying to summon courage. "Don't you 
see," he added, "this has been going on for more 
than a thousand years. By now they have evolved 
not developed, but blindly evolveda system which 
minimizes the hazard. Most of them survive. The 
ancestors alone know what delicate balance you may 
upset by blundering in there."


After another pause: "I've been through this sort




112




THE NIGHT FACE




of thing before. Sent out men according to the best 
possible plan, and then sat and waited, knowing that 
if I made any further attempt to help them I'd only 
throw askew the statistics of their survival. It's even 
harder to deal with God, Who can wear any face." 
He started trudging. "You'll stay here and sweat it 
out, like the rest of us."


Tolteca stared after him. Thought trickled into his 
consciousness. The chaos I will.




113




xI




RAVEN AWOKE more slowly than usual. He glanced at 
the clock. Death and plunder, had he been eleven 
hours asleep? Like a dragged man, too. He still felt 
tired. Perhaps that was because there had been evil 
dreams; he couldn't remember exactly what but they 
had left a scum Of sadness in him. He swung his legs 
around and sat on the edge of the bunk, rested head in 
hands and tried to think. All he seemed able to do, 
though, was recall his father's castle, hawks nesting 
in the bell tower, himself about to ride forth on one of 
the horses they still used at home but pausing to look 
down the mountainside, fells and woods and the 
peasants' niggard fields, then everything hazed into 
blue hugeness. The wind had tasted of glaciers.


He pushed the orderly buzzer. Kors' big ugly nose 
came through the cabin door. "Tea," said Raven.




114




THE NIGHT FACE




He scalded his mouth on it, but enough sluggishness 
departed him that he could will relaxation. His 
brain creaked into gear. It wasn't wise, after all, 
simply to wait close-mouthed till the Instar people 
came home. He'd been too abrupt with Tolteca; but 
the man annoyed him, and besides, his revelation 
had been too shattering. Now he felt able to discuss 
it. Not that he wanted to. What right had a storeful of 
greasy Namerican merchants to such a truth? But it 
was certain to be discovered sometime, by some 
later expedition. Maybe a decent secrecy could be 
maintained, if an aristocrat made the first explanation.


Tolteca isn't a bad sort, he made himself admit. 
Half the trouble between us was simply due to his 
being somewhat in love with Elfavy. That's not likely 
to last, once he's been told. So he' II be able to look at 
things objectively and, I hope, find an honorable 
course of action.


Elfavy. Her image blotted out the recollection of 
gaunt Lochlanna. There hadn't much been said or 
done, overtly, between him and her. Both had been 
too shy Qf theconsequences. But now---/ don't 
know. I just don't know.


He got up and dressed in plain workaday clothes. 
Zio pattered after him as he left his cabin and went 
down a short passageway to Tolteca's. He punched 
the doorchime, but got no answer. Well, try the 
saloon .... Captain Utiel sat there with a cigar and 
an old letter; he became aware of Raven by stages. 
"No, Commandant," he replied to the question, "I




115




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haven't seen Sir Engineer Tolteca for, oh, two or 
three hours. He was going out to observe high tide 
from the diketop, he said, and wouldn't be back for 
some time. Is it urgent?"


The news was like a hammerblow. Raven held 
himself motionless before saying, "Possibly. Did he 
have anyone with him? Or any instruments that you 
noticed?"


"No. Just a lunch and his sidearm."


Bitterness uncoiled in Raven. "Did you seriously 
believe he was making a technical survey?"


"Why--well, I didn't really think about it. 
ˇ . . Well, he may simply have gone to admire the 
view. High tide is impressive you know."


Raven glanced at his watch. "Won't be high tide 
for hours."


Utiel sat up straight. "What's the matter?" 
Decision crystallized. "Listen carefully," said 
Raven. "I am going out too. Stand by to lift ship. 
Keep someone on the radio. If I don't return, or 
haven't sent instructions to the contrary, within--ohthirty 
hours, go into orbit. In that event, and 
only in that event, one of my men will hand over to 
you a tape I've left in his care, with an explanation. 
Do you understand?"


Utiel rose. "I will not be treated in this fashion!" 
he protested.


"I didn't ask you that, Captain," said Raven. "I 
asked if you understood my orders."


Utiel grew rigid. "Yes, Commandant," he got 
out.




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Raven went swiftly from the saloon. Once in the 
corridor, he ran. Kors, on guard outside his cabin, 
gaped at him. "Fetch Wildenvey," said Raven, 
passed inside and shut the door. He clipped a tape to 
his personal recorder, dictated, released it, and 
sealed the container with wax and his family signet 
ring. Only then did he stop to snatch some bites from 
a food concentrate bar.


Wildenvey entered as he was slipping a midget 
transceiver into his pocket. Raven gave him the tape, 
with instructions, and added, "See if you can find 
Migue', Tolteca anywhere about. Roust the whole 
company to help. If you do, call me on the radio and 
I'll head back."


"Where you going, sir?" asked Kors.


"Into the hills. I am not to be followed."


Kors curled his lip and spat between two long 
yellowteeth. The gob clanged on the disposer chute. 
"Very good, sir. Let's go."


"You stay here and take care of my effects."


"Any obscene child of impropriety can do that, 
sir," said Kors, looking hurt.


Raven felt his own mouth drawn faintly upward. 
"As you will, then. But if ever you speak a word 
about this, I'll yank out your tongue with my bare 
finers.


"Aye, sir." Kors opened a drawer and took out a 
couple of field belts, with supplies and extra ammunition 
in the pouches. Both men donned them.


Raven set Zio carefully on the bunk and stroked 
him under the chin. Zio purred. He tried to follow




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when they left. Raven pushed him back and closed 
the door in his face. Zio scolded him in absentia for 
several minutes.


Emerging from the spaceship, Raven saw that 
dusk was upon the land. The sky was deeply blue-black, 
early stars in the east, a last sunset cloud 
above the western mountains like a streak of clotting 
blood. He thought he could hear the sea bellow 
beyond the dike.


"We going far, Commandant?" asked Kors. 
"Maybe as far as the Holy City." 
"I'11 break out a flitter, then."


"No, a vehicle would make matters worse than 
they already are. This'11 be afoot. On the double."


"Holy muckballs!" Kors clipped a flashbeam to 
his belt and began jogging.


During the first hour they went through open 
fields. Here and there stood a barn or a shed, black 
under blackening heaven. They heard livestock low, 
and the whir of machinery tending empty farms. If 
no one ever came back, wondered Raven, how long 
would the robots continue their routines? How long 
would the cattle stay tame, the infants alive?


The road ended, the ground rose in waves, only a 
trail pierced the way among boles and brush. The 
Lochlanna halted for a breather. "You're chasing 
Tolteca, aren't you, Commandant?" asked Kors. 
"Shall I kill the son of abitch when we catch him, or 
do you want to?"


"If we catch him," corrected Raven. "He has a 
long head start, even though we can travel a lot




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faster. No, don't shoot unless he resists arrest." He 
stopped a second, to underline what followed. 
"Don't shoot any Gwydiona. Under any circumstances 
whatsoever."


He fell silent, slumping against a. tree in total 
muscular repose, trying to blank his mind. After ten 
minutes they resumed the march.


Trees and bushes walled either side of the trail, 
leaves made a low roof overhead. It was very dark; 
only the bobbing light of Kors' flash picked stones 
and dust into relief. Beyond the soft thud of their 
feet, they could hear rustlings, creakings, distant 
chirps and hoots and croaks, the cold tinkle of a 
brook. Once an animal screamed. The air cooled as 
they climbed, but it always remained mild, and it 
overflowed with odors. Raven thought he could dis'finguish 
the smells of earth and green growth, the 
damp smell of water when a rivulet crossed the trail, 
certain individual flower scents; but the rest was 
unfamiliar. Smell is the most evocative of the 
senses, and forgotten things seemed to move below 
Raven's awareness, but he couldn't identify them. 
Overriding all else was the clear brilliant odor of 
baleflower. In the past few hours, every bush had 
come to full bloom.


Seen by daylight, tomorrow, the land would look 
as if it burned.


Time faded. That was a trick you learned early, 
from the regimental bonzes who instructed noblemen's 
sons. You needed it, to survive the waiting 
and the waiting of war without your sanity cracking




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open. You turned off your conscious mind. Part of it 
might revive during pauses in the march. Surely it 
was hard to stop at the halfway point for a drink of 
water, a bit of field ration, and a rest, and not think 
about Elfavy. But the body had its own demands. 
The thing could be done, since it must.


The moon rose over Mount Granis. Passing an 
open patch of ground and looking downslope, Raven 
saw the whole world turned to silver treetops. Then 
the forest gulped him again.


Some eight or nine hours after departure, Kors 
halted with an oath. His flashbeam picked out a thing 
that scuttled on spiderlike legs, a steel carapace and 
arms ending in sword blades.


"'S guts!" Raven heard a gun clank from a 
holster. The machine met the light with impersonal 
lens eyes, then slipped into the brash.


"Guard robot," said Raven. "Against carni-vores. 
It won't attack humans. We're close now, so 
douse that flash and shut up."


He led the way, cat-cautious in darkness, thinking 
that Tolteca must indeed have beaten him here. 
Though probably not by very long. Maybe the situation 
could still be rescued. He topped the final steep 
climb and poised on the upper edge of the great 
amphitheater.


For a moment'the moonlight blinded him. She 
hung gibbous over the Steeps, turning them bone 
color and drowning the stars. Then piece by piece 
Raven made out detail: mossy tiers curving downward 
to the floor, the ring of towers enclosing the




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square of the labyrinth, even the central fountain and 
its thin mercury-like jet. Even the gardens full of 
baleflower, though they looked black against all that 
slender white. He heard a mumble down in the 
forum, but couldn't see what went on. With great 
care he padded forward into the open.


"Hee-ee," said a man who sat on an upper terrace. 
"That's hollow, Bale-friend."


Raven stopped dead. Kors said something raw at 
his back. Slowly, Raven turned to face the man. It 
was Llyrdin, who had played chess in a diving bell 
and gone exploring for a spaceport in the mountains. 
Now he sat hugging his knees and grinning. There 
was blood on his mouth.


"It is, you know," he said. "Hollow. Hollow is 
God. I hail hollow, hollow hallow hullo."


Raven looked into the man's eyes, but the moonlight 
was so reflected from them that they stared 
blank. "Where did the blood come from?" he asked 
most quietly.


"She was empty," said Llyrdin. "Empty and so 
small. It wasn't good for her to grow up and be 
hollow. Was it? That much more nothing?" He 
rubbed his chin, regarded the wet fingers, and said 
plaintively, "The machines took her away. That 
wasn't fair. She was only a year and a half hollow."


Raven started down into the chalice.


"She came up about to my waist," said the voice 
behind him. "I think once, very long ago, before the 
hollow, I taught her to laugh. I even gave her a name




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once, and the name was Wormwood." Raven heard 
him begin to weep.


Kors took out his pistol, unsnapped the holster 
from his belt and clamped it on as a rifle stock. 
"Easy there," said Raven, not looking back bur


recognizing the noise. "You won't need that." 
"The muck I won't," said Kors.


"We aren't going to fire on any Gwydiona. And I 
doubt if Tolteca will give trouble . . . now."




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XlI




THEY REACHED level sward and passed beneath a 
tower. Raven remembered it was the one he had 
climbed before. A child stood in the uppermost window, 
battering herself against the grille and uttering 
no sound.


Raven went through a colonnade. Just beyond, at 
the edge of the forum, some fifty Instar people were 
gathered, mostly men. Their clothes were torn, and 
even in the moonlight, across meters of distance, 
Raven could see unshaven chins.


Miguel Tolteca confronted them. "But Llyrdin 
killed that little girl!" the Namerican shouted. "He 
killed her with his hands and ran away wiping his 
mouth. And the robots took the body away. And you 
do nothing but stare!"




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Beodag the forester trod forth. Awe blazed on his 
face. "Under She," he called, his voice rising and 
falling, with something of the remote quality of a 
voice heard through fever. "And She is the cold 
reflector ofYnis, and Ynis Burning Bush, though we 
taste the river. If the river gives light, O look how my 
shadow dances!"


"As Gonban danced for his mother," said the one 
next to him. "Which is joy, since man comes from 
darkness when he is 

born."
"Night Faces are Day Faces are God!" 
"Dance, God!"


"Howl for God, Ľwi bums!"


An old man turned to a young girl, knelt before her 
and said, "Give me your blessing, Mother." She 
touched his head with an infinite tenderness.


"But have you gone crazy?" wailed Tolteca. 
It snarled in the crowd of them. Those who had 
begun to dance stopped. A man with tangled graying 
hair advanced on Tolteca, who made a whimpering 
sound and retreated. Raven recognized Dawyd.


"What do you mean?" asked Dawyd. His tone 
was metal.


"I mean . . . I want to say . . . I don't 
understands"


"No," said Dawyd. "What do you mean? What


is your significance? Why are you here?" 
"T-t-to help--"


They began circling about, closing off Tolteca's 
retreat. He fumbled after his sidearm, but blindly, as 
if knowing how few he could shoot before they 
dragged him down.




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"You wear the worst of the Night Faces," Dawyd 
groaned. "For it is no face at all. It is Chaos. Emptiness. 
Meaninglessness."


"Hollow," whispered the crowd. "Hollow, hollow, 
hollow."


Raven squared his shoulders. "Stick close and 
keep your mouth shut," he ordered Kors. He stepped 
from the colonnade shadows, into open moonlight, 
and approached the mob.


Someone on its fringe was frst to see him: a big 
man, who turned with a bear's growl and shambled 
to meet the newcomers. Raven halted and let the 
Gwydiona walk into him. A crook-fngered hand 
swiped at his eyes. He evaded it, gave a judo twist, 
and sent the man spinning across the forum.


"He dances!." cried Raven from full lungs. 
"Dance with him!" He snatched a woman and 
whirled her away. She spun top fashion, trying to 
keep her balance. "Dance on the bridge from Yin to 
Yang!"


They didn't--quite. They stood quieter than it 
seemed possible men could stand. Tolteca's mouth 
fell open. His face was a moonlit lake of sweat. 
"Raven," he choked, "oa, ylem, Raven---"


"Shut up," muttered the Lochlanna. He edged 
next to the Namerican. "Stick by me. No sudden 
movements, and not a word."


Dawyd cringed. "I know you," he said. "You 
are my soul. And eaten with forever darkness and 
ever an no, no, no."


Raven raked his memory. He had heard so many 
myths, there must be one he could use . . . Yes,




125 , :jjjjj




THE NIGHT FACE




maybe .... His tones rolled out to fill the space 
within the labyrinth.


"Hearken to me. There was a time when the 
Sunsmith ran in the shape of a harbuck with silver 
horns. A hunter saw him and pursued him. They fled 
up a mountainside which was all begrown with 
crisflower, and wherever the harbuck's hoofs 
touched earth the crisflower bloomed, but wherever 
the hunter ran it withered. And at last they came to 
the top of the mountain, whence a river of fire flowed 
down a sheer cliff. The chasm beyond was cold, and 
so misty that the hunter could not see if it had another 
side. But the harbuck sprang out over the abyss, and 
sparks showered where his hoofs struck--"


He held himself as still as they, but his eyes 
flickered back and forth, and he saw in the moonlight 
how they began to ease. The tiniest thawing stirred 
within him. He was not sure he had grasped the 
complex symbolism of the myth he retold in any 
degree. Certainly he understood its meaning only. 
vaguely. But it was the right story. It could be 
interpreted to fit this situation, and thus turn his 
escape into a dance, which would lead men back into 
those rites that had evolved out of uncounted man-slayings.


Still talking, he backed off, step by infini.tesimal 
step, as if survival possessed its own calculus. Kors 
drifted beside him, screening Tolteca's shivers from 
their eyes.


But they followed. And others began to come 
from the buildings, and from the towers after they




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had passed through the colonnade again. When 
Raven put his feet on the first upward tier, a thousand 
faces must have been turned to him. None said a 
word, but he could hear them breathing, a sound like 
the sea beyond Instar's dike.


And now the myth was ended. He climbed another 
step, and another, always meeting their upturned 
eyes. It seemed to him that She had grown more full 
since he descended into this vale. But it couldn't 
have taken that long. Could it?


Tolteca grasped his hand. The Namerican's fingers 
were like ice. Kors' voice would have been 
inaudible a meter away: "Can we keep on retreating, 
sir, or d'you think those geeks will rush us?"


"I wish I knew," Raven answered. Even then, he 
was angered at the word Kors used.


Dawyd spread his arms. "Dance the Sunsmith 
home!" he shouted.


The knowledge of victory went through Raven 
like a knife. Nothing but discipline kept him erect in 
his relief. He saw the crowd swirl outward, forming 
a series of interlocked rings, and he hissed to Kors, 
"We've made it, if we're careful. But we mustn't do 
anything to break their mood. We have to continue 
backing up, slowly, waiting a while between every 
step, as they dance. If we disappear into the woods 
during the last measure, I think they'll be satisfied."


"What's happening?" The words grated in Tolte-ca's 
throat.


"Quiet, I told you!" Raven felt the man stagger 
against him. Well, he thought, it had been a vicious




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shock, especially for someone with no real training 
in death. Talk might keep Tolteca from collapse, and 
the dancers below--absorbed as children in the 
stately figure they were treading--wouldn't be 
aware that the symbols above them whispered together.


"All right." Raven felt the rhythm of the dance 
indicate a backward step for him. He guided Tolteca 
with ahand to the elbow. "You came here with some 
idiotic notion of protecting Elfavy. What then.'?"


"I, I, I went down to... the plaza... They 
were---mumbling. It didn't make sense, it was 
ghastly--"


"Not so loud!"


"I saw Dawyd. Tried to talk to him. They all, all 
got more and more excited. Llyrdin's little daughter 
yelled and ran from me. He chased her and killed 
her. The cleaning robots s-s-simply cahed off the 
body. They began . . . closing in on me--"


"I see. Now, steady. Another backward step. 
Halt." Raven froze in his tracks, for many heads 
turned his way. A this distance under the moon, they 
lacked faces. When their attention had drifted back 
to the dance, Raven breathed.


"It must be a mutation," he said. "Mutation and 
genetic drift, acting on a small initial population. 
Maybe, even if it sounds like a myth, that story of 
theirs is true, that they're descended from one man 
and two women. Anyhow, their metabolism 
changed. They're violently allergic to tobacco, for 
instance. This other change probably isn't much




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greater than that, in glandular terms. They may well 
still be interfertile with us, biologically speaking. 
Though culturally... no, I don't believe they are 
the same species. Not any more."


"Baleflower?" asked Tolteca. His tone was thin 
and shaky, like a hurt child's.


"Yes. You told me it emits an indole when jt 
blooms. Not one that particularly affects the normal 
human biochemistry; but theirs isn't normal, and the 
stuff is chemically related to the substances associated 
with schizophrenia. They are susceptible. 
Every Gwydiona springtime, they go insane."


The soundless dance below jarred into a quicker 
staccato beat. Raven used the chance to climb several 
tiers in a hurry.


"It's a wonder they survived the first few generations," 
he said when he must stop again. "Somehow, 
they did, and began the slow painful adaptation. 
Naturally, they don't remember the insane 
episodes. They don't dare. Would you? That's the 
underlying reason why they've never made a scientific 
investigation of Bale, or taken the preventive 
measures that look so obGous to us. Instead, they 
built a religion and a way of life around it. But only 
in the first flush of the season, when they still have 
rationality but feel the exuberance of madness in 
their blood--only then are they even able to admit to 
themselves that they don't consciously know what 
happens. The rest of the time, they cover the truth 
with meaningless words about an ultimate reality. 
"So their culture wasn't planned. It was worked




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out blindly, by trial and error, through centuries. 
And at last it reached a point where they do little 
damage to themselves in their lunacy.


"Remember, their psychology isn't truly human. 
You and I are mixtures, good, bad, and indifferent 
qualities; our conflicts we always have with us. But 
the Gwydiona seem to concentrate all their personal 
troubles into these few days. That's why there used 
to be so much destruction, before they stumbled into 
a routine that can cope with this phenomenon. That, 
I think, is why they're so utterly sane, so good, for 
most of the year. That's why they've never colonized 
the rest of the planet. They don't know the 
reasonspopulation control is a transparent 
rationalization--but I know why: no baleflower. 
They're so well adapted that they can't do without it. 
I wonder what .would happen to a Gwydiona deprived 
of his periodic dementia. I suspect it would be 
rather horrible.


"Their material organization protects them: 
strong buildings, no isolated homes, no firearms, no 
atomic energy, everything that might be harmed or 
harmful locked away for the duration of hell. This 
Holy City, and I suppose every one on the planet, is 
built like a warren, full of places to run and dodge 
and hide and lock yourself away when someone runs 
amok. The walls are padded, the ground is soft, it's 
hard to hurt yourself.


"But of course, the main bulwark is psychological. 
Myths, symbols, rites, so much a part of their 
lives that even in their madness they remember.




THE NIGHT FACE




Probably they remember more than in their sanity: 
things they dare not recall when conscious, the wild 
and tragic symbols, the Night Faces that aren't 
talked about. Slowly, over the generations and centuries, 
they've groped their way to a system which 
keeps their world somewhat orderly, somewhat 
meaningful, while the baleflower blooms. Which 
actually channels the mania, so that very few people 
get hurt any more; so they act out their hates 
and fears, dance them out, living their own myths 
ˇ . . instead of clawing each other in the physical 
flesh."


The dance was losing pattern. It wouldn't end 
after all, Raven thought, but merely dissolve into 
aimlessness; Well, that would serve, if he could 
vanish and be forgotten.


He said to Tolteca, "You had to come bursting 
into their dream universe and unbalance it. You 
killed that little girl."


"Oa, name of mercy." The engineer covered his 
faceˇ


Raven sighed. "Forget it. Partly my fault. I 
should have told you at once what I surmised."


They were halfway up the terraces when someone 
broke through the dancers and came bounding toward 
them. Two, Raven saw, his heart gone hollow. 
The moonlight cascaded over their blonde hair, turning 
it to frost.


"Stop," called Elfavy, low and with laughter. 
"Stop, Ragan." 
He wondered what sort of destiny the accidental




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likeness of his name to that of a myth would prove to 
be.


She paused a few steps below him. Byord 
clutched her hand, looking about from bright soulless 
eyes. Elfavy brushed a lock off her forehead, a 
gesture Raven remembered. "Here is the River 
Child, Ragan," she called. "And you are the rain. 
And I am the Mother, and darkness is in me."


Beyond her shoulder, he saw that others had 
heard. They were ceasing to dance, one by one, and 
stating up.


"Welcome, then," said Raven. "Go back to your 
home in the meadows, River Child. Take him home, 
Bird Maiden."


Byord's small face opened. He screamed. 
"Don't eat me, mother?'


Elfavy bent down and embraced him. "No," she 
crooned, "oh, no, no, no. You shall come to me. 
Don't you recall it? I was in the ground, and rain fell 
on me and it was dark where I was. Come with me, 
River Child."


Byord shrieked and tried to break free. She dragged 
him on toward Raven. From the crowd below, a 
deep voice lifted, "And the earth drank the rain, and 
the rain was the earth, and the Mother was the Child 
and carried Ynis in her arms."


"Jingleballs!" muttered Kors. His scarecrow 
form slouched forward, to stand between his 

Com
mandant and those below. "That tears it." 
"I'm afraid so," said Raven.


Dawyd sprang onto the lowest tier. His tone rang




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like a trumpet: "They came from the sky and violated 
the Mother! Can you hear the leaves weep?"


"Now what?" Tolteca glared at them, where they 
surged shadowed on the moon-gray turf. "What do 
they mean? It's a nightmare, it doesn't make sense!"


"Every nightmare makes sense," Raven 
answered. "The homicidal urge is awake and looking 
for something to destroy. And it has just figured 
out what, too."


"The ship, huh?" Kors hefted his gun. 
"Yes," said Raven. "Rainfall is a fertilization 
symbol. So what kind of symbol do you think a 
spaceship landing on your home soil and discharging 
its crew is? What would you do to a man who 
attacked your mother?"


"I hate tc[ shoot those poor unarmed bastards," 
said Kors, "but--"


Raven snarled like an animal: "If you do, I'll kill 
you myself!"


He regained control and drew out his miniradio. 
"I told Utiel to lift ship thirty hours after I'd gone, 
but that won't be soon enough. I'll warn him now. 
There mustn't be any vessel there for them to assault. 
Then we'll see if we can save our own hides."


Elfavy reached him. She flung Byord at his feet, 
where the boy sobbed in his terror, not having sufficient 
mythic training to give pattern to that which 
stirred within him. Elfavy fixed her gaze wide upon 
Raven. "I know you," she gasped. "You sat on my 
grave once, and I couldn't sleep."


He thumbed the radio switch and put the box to his




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lips. Her fingernails gashed his hand, which opened 
in sheer reflex. She snatched the box and flung it 
from her, further than he would have believed a 
woman could throw. "No!" she shrilled. "Don't 
leave the darkness in me, Ragan! You woke me 
once!"


Kors started forward. "I'll get it," he said. Elfavy 
pulled his knife from its sheath as he passed and 
thrust it between his ribs. He sank on all fours, 
astonished in the moonlight.


Down below, a berserk howl broke loose as they 
saw what had happened. Dawyd shuffled to the 
radio, picked it up, gaped at it, tossed it back into the 
mob. They swallowed it as a whirlpool might.


Raven stooped down by Kors, cradling the hel-meted 
head in his arms. The soldier bubbled blood. 
"Get started, Commandant. I'll hold 'era." He 
reached for his gun and took an unsteady aim.


"No." Raven snatched it from him. "We came to 
them."


"Horse apples," said Kors, and died.


Raven straightened. He handed Tolteca the gun 
and the dagger withdrawn from the body. A moment 
he hesitated, then added his own weapons. "On your 
ways" he said. "You have to reach the ship before 
they do."


"You go!" Tolteca screamed. "I'11 stay--" 
"I'm trained in unarmed combat," said Raven. 
"I can hold them a good deal longer than you, 
clerk."


He stood thinking. Elfavy knelt beside him. She 
clasped his hand. Byord trembled at her feet.




134




THE NIGHT FACE




"You might bear in mind next time," said Raven, 
"that a Lochlanna has obligations."


He gave Tolteca a shove. The Namerican drew a 
breath and ran.


"O the hatbuck at the cliff's edge!" called Dawyd 
joyously. "The arrows of the sun are in him!" He 
went after Tolteca like a streak. Raven pulled loose 
from Elfavy, intercepted her father, and stiff-armed 
him. Dawyd rolled down the green steps, into the 
band of men that yelped. They tore him apart.


Raven went back to Elfavy. She still knelt, holding 
her son. He had never seen anything so gentle as 
her smile. "We're next," he said. "But you've time 
to get away. Run. Lock yourself in a tower room."


Her hair swirled about her shoulders with the


gesture of negation. "Sing me the rest." ˇ
"You can save Byord too," he begged. 
"It's such a beautiful song," said Elfavy.


Raven watched the people of Instar feasting. He 
hadn't much voice left, but he did his lame best.




"--' 'Tis down in yonder garden green, 
Love, where we used to walk,


The fairest flower that e'er was seen


Is withered to a stalk.




"'The stalk is withered dry, my love; 
So will our hearts decay.


So make yourself content, my love,


Till God calls you away.'"




"Thank you, Ragan," said Elfavy.


"Will you go now?" he asked.




135




THE NIGHT FACE




"I?" she said. "How could I? We are the Three."


He sat down beside her, and she leaned against 
him. His free hand stroked the boy's damp hair.


Presently the crowd uncoiled itself and lumbered 
up the steps. Raven arose. He moved away from 
Elfavy, who remained where she was. If he could 
hold their attention for half an hour or so---and with 
luck, he should be able to last that long--they might 
well forget about her. Then she would survive the 
night.


And not remember.




136 




AFTERWORD




by




Sandra Miesel




The Night Face is not just a sad story; it is a 
genuine, dagger-sharp, heart-stabbing tragedy. How 
was it wrought and of what metal?


Poul Anderson mines his rich stores of knowledge 
in writing this novel. His scientific training equips 
him to set up the biochemical problem and design a 
world to contain it. His outdoors experience lends a 
wonderful freshness to his nature descriptions. 
Familiarity with real human cultures past and present 
gives his imaginary ones their vitality. Furthermore, 
studying history has inspired Anderson to invent his 
own, the most successful being his long-running 
Technic Civilization series to which The Night Face 
belongs. (This story takes place late in the third




137




THE NIGHT FACE




millenium A.D., during the reconstruction phase 
that follows the fall of the Terran Empire.)


But above all, his principal background source is 
mythology. Myth provides both the substance from 
which the work is cast and the mold in which it is 
formed. The most prominent component in this fictional 
alloy is Celtic tradition. Consider some of the 
names. The Night Face's setting is Gwydion, a 
newly contacted planet named for a figure out of 
Welsh romance. In the Fourth Branch of the 
Mabinogion, Gwydion is a cryptically divine storyteller, 
loremaster; magician, and shape-changer. He 
is the unhappy lover of his moon-goddesslike sister 
Aranrhod, "The Lady of the Silver Wheel." The 
planet Gwydion's moon is simply called She, 
perhaps because the proper name was felt to be too 
sacred for daily use. Its sun is Ynis ("Island"), an 
oblique reference to islands as locations of the Celtic 
Happy Otherworld. The Night Face's hero--the 
man with a Night Face--is Raven, a soldier from the 
grim world Lochlann. Lochlann (Llychlyn) was a 
medieval Welsh name for Norway, ironically known 
as the home of the White Strangers.


Bale time at the start of Gwydion's spring when 
the fiery red Baleflowers bloom recalls the Irish May 
festival Beltain, a day when sacred fires were lit to 
insure luck in the coming season. Bale time is a 
season of giddy madness. Beltain was an exhilarating 
yet dangerous feast because it was the turning 
point between the coldness, darkness, and death of 
winter and the warmth, light, and life of summer. All




138




THE NIGHT FACE




Celtic peoples shared this fascination with interfaces, 
whether of time or space or condition. They 
pondered the eternal clash and interchange between 
opposites. The Gwydiona do likewise, celebrating 
the alternation between Day Faces and Night Faces 
around the Burning Wheel of Time." 'The dead go 
into the Night and the Night becomes the Day, is the 
Day,' "remarks the heroine.


Of course, not every Gwydiona concept is Celtic. 
Their absorption in cycles of death and rebirth resembles 
the teachings of ancient Near Eastern mystery 
religions or the recurring patterns of destruction 
and re-creation in Hinduism. Like esoteric Western 
mystics they believe that God is the summation of all 
qualities, Good as well as Evil. The prime Gwydiona 
religious symbol, a gold and black Yang/Yin 
emblem derived from Taoism, reminds them that the 
Day and Night forever co-exist.


These are only a few of the components Anderson 
uses in The Night Face. But components are only 
lifeless materials until the hand of an artist arranges 
them and infuses them with meaning. Here the author 
uses myth motifs and dramatic language to tell 
us that myth is a language--one that can be tragically 
misunderstood.


The novel's plot is a-whirl with misinterpretations 
as the three central characters and the cultures they 
represent go spinning along in fruitless, uncom-prehending 
pursuit of each other. They are like the 
three spokes of the triskelion Fire Wheel, tips curling 
in separate directions, destined never to link." 'We




139




THE NIGHT FACE




have been making unconscious assumptions about 
each other,' "says Raven to his rival Tolteca at the 
novel's opening. This comment sets the scene for all 
that follows.


Raven, the younger son of a noble household on 
feudal Lochlann, has become a mercenary in the hire 
of his planet's former subject, democratic 
Nuevamerica. On Lochlann, a world as bleak and 
honor-bound as medieval Scandanavia, men still 
pledge brotherhood by drinking each other's blood 
and back their vows with their lives. Namericans 
unfairly characterize them as "caste-ridden, 
haughty, ritualistic, and murderous."


The grimness of his environment and society have 
made Raven one who" 'lives with the Night Faces 
all the time.' "Despite this, he remains attuned to 
all fundamental realities, to flowers as well as 
knives. Yet, paradoxically, it is the shadow ascendant 
in his people that relates him to the bright-seeming 
Gwydiona: "Fair and Foul aro near of kin." 
The Lochlanna may appear dark and the Gwydiona 
light, but both races experience both Aspects of 
existence. (And notice that Lochlann and Gwydion 
speak allied languages which are quite distinct from 
that of Namefica.)


Tolteca, Raven's antagonist, is the head of the 
Namerrican expedition to Gwydion. His intelligence 
is unspectacular, but he is a member of a hereditary 
intellectual class who calmly enjoys its privileges 
while proclaiming his anti-aristocratic principles. 
His appreciation of the arts is a rote response. He




140




THE NIGHT FACE




listens to recognized classics of Terran music on tape 
whereas Raven sings and plays folk songs that are 
still part of a living tradition on his home world. 
(Raven calls Tolteca a "'cultureless money-sniffer.' 
") Although inordinately proud of his supposedly 
tolerant, enlightened attitudes, Tolteca 
routinely judges others according to his own scale 
and becomes upset over differences. He cannot feel 
the ties of social obligation that bind the Lochlanna 
or even the gentler pressure of custom among the 
Gwydiona because Namefica is a society of discrete 
individuals.


Nuevamerica may possibly be a daughter colony 
ofNuevo Mtxico in the old Terran Empire, but if so, 
it has lost the martial rigor of its founders. Namefica 
is only superficially Hispanic. Its society is libertarian, 
mercantile, utilitarian, and thoroughly secular.




'A Namerican is concerned only with getting 
his work done, regardless of whether 
it's something that really ought to be accomplished, 
and then with getting his rec- -reation 
done--both with maximum bustle.'




But the chief flaw in Tolteca---and by extension, 
of his people--is their naive ideal of sane and 
sanitized living. They imagine that every problem 
can be solved by an appeal to reason. They cannot 
accept pain and death as inevitable parts of reality. In 
effect, they try to cling to the DayFaces exclusively. 
Tolteca foolishly assumes that the Gwydiona have




141




THE NIGHT FACE




attained his culture's ideal and can see nothing but 
brightness in them.


Legend says the Gwydiona are descended from a 
man with two wives, one dark, one fair. But now the 
cycle has turned and a Man of the Night and a Man of 
the Day pursue the same woman. Elfavy, their 
quarry, is the beauty and serenity of her world incarnate. 
Nature on Gwydion has a loveliness undreamed 
of on dreary Lochlann nor was it ever 
ravaged as parts of Namefica were. (As Elfavy's 
father says," 'God wears a different Face in most of 
the known cosmos .' ") Peaceful, anarchistic Gwyd-ion 
is a paradise where modest technology serves the 
arts of good living.


But Elfavy's very name warns that Gwydion's 
perfection is not of this world. (Elfavy herself has 
echoes of the Elf-Queen whose love is doom to 
mortals and of Rhiannon, an unlucky supernatural 
queen-mother in the Mabinogion. ) Gwydion is only 
a beguiling illusion like the Celtic Happy Other-world 
it resembles. An Irish description of an enchanted 
Otherworld island applies equally well to 
Gwydion:




Unknown is wailing or treachery


in the happy familiar land;


no sound there rough or harsh


only sweet music striking on the ear.




Yet if it seems the antechamber of heaven in its Day 
phase, during Bale time its Holy Cities are circles of 
hell. Gwydion oscillates between too careful a 

har


142




THE NIGHT FACE




mony and utter discord. Its schizophrenic people are 
not truly virtuous--they are not sane enough to sin.


These are the persons, races, and principles which 
collide so disasterously in The Night Face. Their 
failures to understand each other are symptomatic of 
interstellar conditions in the post-imperial era when 
time has driven men apart in language and blood. 
(See "A Tragedy of Errors," "The Sharing of 
Flesh," and "Starfog.") Their story is further 
evidence--as if more were needed--that the universe 
is under absolutely no obligation to be fair.


When Tolteca, Raven, and Elfavy meet at the 
bloody climax, they do so cast as Gwydiona myth-figures. 
Their dooms are sealed by these accidental 
role assignments: it is safer to live with archetypes 
rather than in them. When Raven tries to rescue 
Tolteca from the Gwydiona'by proclaiming him the 
Sunsmith fleeing an enemy in the form of a stag, this 
identification only makes the mob eager to capture 
him. Ironically, in the larger context of the story, the 
Namerican engineer resembles the hunter who pursues 
the Sun-stag, withering flowers with every step, 
unable to see past the abyss which the stag leaps. He 
represents the impotence of reason in the embrace of 
mystery.


Although the meaning of Raven's name suggests 
blackness, woe, and battle-death, the sound of it 
coincidentally links him to Ragan, the Gwydiona 
dying savior god entangled in the Sun Wheel. He 
accepts the fatal part and dies to save others. Only his 
darkness makes dawn possible. Elfavy rejects her




143




THE NIGHT FACE




earlier role as the ethereal, comforting Bird Maiden. 
Instead, she becomes the Mother, hollow with longing 
for Ragan, impatient to begin mourning his 
death. But it is a real, not a poetic, death she causes.


Parenthetically, it should be noted that Elfavy is 
also a Eurydice who loses her Orpheus but is incapable 
of grieving over him afterwards. The Night Face 
is an odd variation on the Lost Beloved motif Anderson 
has so poignantly developed in World Without 
Stars, "Kyrie," "Goat Song," and other works.


For readers, the tragedy of the tale lies in Raven's 
sacrificing his life for a man who cannot understand 
the deed and a woman who cannot remember it. But 
to Raven, the circumstances of his death make it a 
kind of triumph. He compensates for wronging 
Tolteca and at the same time puts his rival under an 
obligation of honor he can never repay. Nor would 
he want Elfavy's life blighted by his memory. His 
only wish is for her survival and happiness. Raven's 
feelings are those of the dead lover in The Unquiet 
Grave, the song that is the novel's leitmotiv and the 
source of its original title, "A Twelvemonth and a 
Day."


Finally, from the author's viewpoint, the soul-piercing 
tragedy of The Night Face is not a matter of 
lost love or needless death. Rather, it arises from the 
very fact of our existence as fallible beings in a 
mortal universe. The characters' tragic flaw is simply 
that they are human.


Raven bears witness to this steely vision. He exposes 
the Gwydiona dream of godlike perception




144




THE NIGHT FACE




through ecstasy as false. Man should be content with 
his human lot, to appreciate life's joys happily, to 
meet lite's hardships bravely, to confront the Day 
and Night Faces in turn, ere he perishes.


Raven confirms that pain is real and separation in 
death final. Flowers wither; hearts decay. Sorrow 
cannot be denied (as the Namericans attempt) or 
explained away (as the Gwydiona do). Them is no 
remedy or rebirth for parted lovers. Life is neither an 
upward-striving progress as Tolteca thinks nor a 
renewing cycle of transformations as Elfavy believes. 
Inexorably, moment by moment, the universe 
is running down. Time may be called a relativistic 
dimension or a mythic Burning Wheel but it 
is also the Bridge aflame behind us all.




Editor's note.' Sandra Miesel is a noted critic of 
science fiction. The author considers her the 
foremost authority on his writings.




145




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