The Shadow and Night by Chris Walley

Ynysmant—we have become here a place on the edge of maturity, perhaps, you might even say, of stability. The weather’s not as predictable as it could be, and there’s always the odd earthquake and ice storm, but it’s as safe and cozy a place as anywhere in the Made Worlds now. Why, I was hearing only today that the engineers say the Gulder Swamps are now stable enough that they can begin the new monorail route to Halmacent City next year. No more twenty-hour bus trips on bad roads. Anyway. . . . Oh yes, this, ” he waved his arms around, “is Isabella’s world. But we are not convinced it is yours. You see—oh, how can I express it?”
    He put his cup down, got to his feet in agitation, and paced over to the end of the room. There he swung round to face them and leaned stiffly back against the wall, his face a picture of concentration. Merral saw his mother’s eyes following him with understanding.
    â€œI’ve never said this to you before, Merral, for fear I was misreading the signs. Son, you’re a rare breed. At times I wonder if you really are my offspring. Of course you are, and if I search hard within me I can see bits of you in me. Or the other way about. Something like that. But in you everything has come right. You have the vision, the energy, the drive. You can lead men and women too. The youngest forestry team leader ever in Menaya, I gather. I have no idea where you will end up. But I doubt, very much, you will stay a forester here for long.”
    There was an expectant silence. Merral bowed his head to signify acceptance. I am surprised and yet unsurprised.
    â€œFather and Mother,” he replied, choosing his words carefully, “I thank you for the care and consideration that has gone into your decision. I am both honored and humbled by the confidence you have in my abilities. I trust that I will not disappoint you. With regard to Isabella, while a part of me might wish otherwise, I appreciate both your judgment and your motives.”
    His mother grasped his hand with great warmth. That gesture seemed to close the matter, and after some minutes of general conversation, Merral, feeling suddenly tired, decided to go to bed. After kissing his father and mother good night, he went upstairs to his bedroom.
    His head was reeling with a hundred thoughts, most of them contradictory, centering on Isabella and on his future. But he felt that, in some strange way, things had worked out. The message from Ingrida about his pending appointment had prepared his mind for his father’s views on his career. Equally, being with Vero had aroused within him a renewed desire to see beyond the horizons of this one infant world. No, he could indeed see the wisdom in what they had said. He would have to talk more with Isabella; there was time, and you didn’t rush into any of the stages that lead to marriage. From those thoughts he drifted into thinking about what it would be like to work in the tropical ecosystems and whether they were as hot as everyone said.
    However, as he was undressing for bed, a strange, unsettling notion came to him about something else. It was so unnerving that he stopped still, his shirt half on and half off, trying to deal with it. Two things had come together. First, Vero had said that the only task of the sentinels was to search for a return of evil and had implied that he had been hastily summoned. Second, according to his father, Brenito had called for someone, saying there was something that needed looking at on Farholme. Now, if you put the two ideas together you got—the fear that evil was breaking out on Farholme.
    His mind rebelled at the thought. It was too staggering for words. After eleven thousand years the sentinels were still looking for evil. And surely now and here wasn’t likely to be the time or place. No, the obvious answer was simple but sad. Brenito was old and failing in his wisdom, and Vero had been