Fall; or, Dodge in Hell - Neal Stephenson Page 0,310

again and stay away for a good deal longer and come back with a plan.”

“Or better yet, find some other family to pester,” put in Felora.

“I have pestered several. Yours is best,” said Corvus. “Look, the nature of the Quest far transcends ordinary concerns of day-to-day existence, such as eating, drinking, staying warm, and not getting maimed or whatever. It has to do with the fundamental nature of reality—the Land of whose existence your mind convinces you from one moment to the next whenever you are awake. People who actually bother to think about this—which is, as far as I can tell, not very many of them—come up with various overarching stories about it that seem more or less convincing depending on what strikes one’s fancy, story-wise. Just ask anyone you meet what they believe about El, Egdod, and all that. For my own part, I know it to be the case that I came into this world under unusual circumstances and with certain powers, instincts, and predispositions already built in. That cannot be denied even if I lack clear memories as to how it came about. I think it reasonable to assume that I was sent hither on a one-way trip from another plane of existence whose exact nature will forever remain mysterious to us. But the powers of that world know about us and care about us and have plans, or at least hopes, for us, and it is their desire and their intention that we should come into possession of certain knowledge that will give us power to affect the Land for the better. The nature of that knowledge is mysterious, but it awaits us at the end of the Quest. Even if going there and getting it were within the powers of a solitary giant talking raven—which I do not believe to be the case—doing so would be beside the point since the Quest’s purpose, as preordained by the mysterious powers in the world from which I was sent, is not just to make everything perfect for one raven but rather to effect a transformation in your souls. We leave at first light.”

Rather a lot of arguing and discussion ensued, very little of which seemed to require the presence or participation of Corvus—who, in any case, had already told these people everything he knew. People came and went between this outdoor table and the Hall in greater or lesser states of furor. As they did, Corvus hopped sideways from chair-back to chair-back until he was almost down to the far end. Then he flew off into the night and soon found a comfortable perch on a tree branch near the Hall. From it, he was able to see through open windows to the interior, which was lit up by burning things. He reviewed the tapestries and paintings that he had seen a year ago. These made more sense now that he had actually been to some of the places depicted (albeit not very realistically) and laid eyes on some of the categories of souls shown.

One item had made no sense at all to him when he had first seen it, but now he understood what it was. This was ostensibly a painting of a very large tree, but curiously bedizened with little pictures of people who appeared to be attached to its branches like apples. The pictures were labeled with words. He now knew how to read these, because he had visited the Tower of the Ink Grinders in the fair city of Toravithranax and perched in the window of the high atelier where Pestle herself taught her students the Three Runic and the Eleven Scribal Alphabets as well as two completely different and incompatible systems of writing said to be used by strange people in the Teemings of the far east. Two different alphabets from three discernible epochs were represented among the names on this tree.

Reclining naked against the tree’s trunk were a man and a woman labeled in very old script as ADAM and EVE. Below them, shown underground, were roots labeled EGDOD and SPRING. Other queer old names such as “Ward” and “Longregard” were scattered about on other rootlets; Thingor and Knotweave toiled in little subterranean cavelets, making things. Above them, standing on the ground to one side of the tree and bathing everything in white light, was El. Scattered about was an assortment of souls: to El’s side of the tree, winged angels and mounted Autochthons and hunched scuttling Beedles. To the