There was nothing at all left of the farm and very little of the garden, but Etowan Elacca maintained his morning rounds all the same, pausing by each dead and blackened plant just as if it still thrived and grew and was making ready to burst into bloom. He knew that it was an absurd and pathetic thing to do, that anyone who discovered him at it would surely say, “Ah, there is a poor crazed old man, whose grief has driven him mad.” Let them say it, Etowan Elacca thought. It had never mattered much to him what other people said about him, and it mattered even less now. Perhaps he had gone mad, though he did not think so. He meant to continue his morning strolls all the same; for what else was there to do?
During the first weeks after the lethal rain his gardeners had wanted to clear each plant away as it died, but he had ordered them to let everything be, because he hoped that many of them were merely injured, not dead, and would spring back after a time, as they threw off the effects of whatever poisonous substance the purple rain had brought. After a while it became apparent even to Etowan Elacca that most of them had perished, that there would be no new life arising from the roots. But by that time the gardeners had begun to disappear, and soon only a handful remained, barely enough to carry out the necessary maintenance in the sectors of the garden that survived, let alone to cut down and haul away the dead plants. He thought at first that he would handle that melancholy task himself, little by little as time permitted; but the scope of the project so overwhelmed him that he decided shortly to leave everything as it was, letting the ruined garden remain as a kind of funereal monument to its former beauty.
As he moved slowly through his garden at dawn one morning many months after the time of the purple rain, Etowan Elacca found a curious object jutting from the soil in the pinnina bed: the polished tooth of some large animal. It was five or six inches long and sharp as a dagger. He plucked it out, stared at it puzzledly, and pocketed it. Farther on, among the muornas, he found two more teeth, of the same size, thrust into the ground at a distance of about ten feet from one another; and he looked up the slope toward the fields of dead stajja plants and saw three more, still farther apart. Beyond were another two, and then a single one, so that the whole group of teeth marked out a diamond-shaped pattern covering a large area of his land.
He returned quickly to the house, where Xhama was preparing the morning meal.
“Where is Simoost?” he asked.
The Ghayrog woman replied, without looking up, “He is in the niyk orchard, sir.”
“The niyks are long dead, Xhama.”
“Yes, sir. But he is in the niyk orchard. He has been there all night, sir.”
“Go to him. Tell him I want to see him.”
“He will not come, sir. And the food will burn if I leave.”
Etowan Elacca, astounded by her refusal, could not for the moment find words. Then, realizing that in this time of changes some new and bewildering further change must be in the process of occurring, he nodded curtly and turned without a word and went outside once more.
As quickly as he could he ascended the sloping terrain, past the dismal fields of stajja, a sea of yellowed shriveled shoots, and up through the stark leafless glein bushes and the dried pasty stuff that was all that was left of the hingamorts, until in time he entered the niyk orchard. The dead trees were so light that they were easily uprooted by strong winds, and most had fallen, with the others standing at precarious angles as though a giant had slapped them playfully with the back of his hand. At first Etowan Elacca did not see Simoost; and then he caught sight of the foreman wandering in a peculiarly haphazard way along the outer edge of the grove, threading a path between the leaning trees, pausing now and then to push one over. Was this the way he had spent the night? Since Ghayrogs did all their year’s sleeping in a few months of hibernation, it had never surprised Etowan Elacca to learn that Simoost had been at work during the night, but this sort of aimlessness was not at all like him.
“Simoost?”
“Ah, sir. Good morning, sir.”
“Xhama said you were up here. Are you all right, Simoost?”
“Yes, sir. I am very well, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very well, sir. Very well indeed.” But Simoost’s tone lacked conviction.
Etowan Elacca said, “Will you come down? I have something to show you.”
The Ghayrog appeared to be considering the request with care. Then he slowly descended until he reached the level where Etowan Elacca waited. The snaky coils of his hair, which were never entirely still, moved now in nervous jerky writhings, and from his powerful scaly body came a scent which Etowan Elacca, long familiar with the varying odors of Ghayrogs, knew to signify great distress and apprehension. Simoost had been with him for twenty years: Etowan Elacca had never before detected that scent coming from him.
“Sir?” Simoost said.
“What’s troubling you, Simoost?”
“Nothing, sir. I am very well, sir. You wished to show me something?”
“This,” said Etowan Elacca, taking from his pocket the long tapering tooth he had found in the pinnina bed. He held it forth and said, “I came upon this while I was making the garden tour half an hour ago. I wondered if you had any idea what it was.”
Simoost’s lidless green eyes flickered uneasily. “The tooth of a young sea dragon, sir. So I believe.”
“Is that what it is?”
“I am quite sure, sir. Were there others?”
“Quite a few. Eight more, I think.”
Simoost traced a diamond shape in the air. “Arranged in a pattern like this?”
“Yes,” said Etowan Elacca, frowning. “How did you know that?”
“It is the usual pattern. Ah, there is danger, sir, great danger!”
In exasperation Etowan Elacca said, “You’re being deliberately mysterious, aren’t you? What usual pattern? Danger from whom? By the Lady, Simoost, tell me in plain words what you know about all this!”
The Ghayrog’s odor grew more pungent: it spoke of intense dismay, fear, embarrassment. Simoost appeared to struggle for words. At length he said, “Sir, do you know where everyone who used to work for you has gone?”
“To Falkynkip, I assume, to look for work on the ranches. But what does that—”
“No, not to Falkynkip, sir. Farther west. Pidruid is where they have gone. To wait for the coming of the dragons.”
“What?”
“As in the revelation, sir.”
“Simoost—!”
“You know nothing about the revelation, then?”
Etowan Elacca felt a surge of anger such as he had rarely known in his tranquil and well-fulfilled life. “I know nothing whatever about the revelation, no,” he said with barely controllable fury.
“I will tell you, sir. I will tell you everything.”
The Ghayrog was silent an instant, as though arranging his thoughts with some precision.
Then he took a deep breath and said, “There is an old belief, sir, that at a certain time great trouble will come upon the world, and all Majipoor will be thrust into confusion. And at that time, so it is said, the sea dragons will leave the sea, they will go forth onto the land and proclaim a new kingdom, and they will work an immense transformation in our world. And that time will be known as the time of the revelation.”
“Whose fantasy is this?”