“Tomorrow,” I said. “It will be dark soon, and I would like to get through that jungle in a day.”

His eyes widened at the word jungle. “Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t really know. From what I heard in Thrax, the insects shouldn’t be nearly as bad as they are in lower places, and we’re not likely to be troubled by blood bats there — a friend of mine was bitten by a blood bat once, and it’s not very pleasant. But that’s where the big apes are, and there will be hunting cats and so on.”

“And wolfs.”

“And wolves, of course. Only there are wolves high up too. As high as your house was, and much higher.”

The moment I mentioned his old home I regretted it, for something of the joy in living that had been returning to his face went out of it with the word. For a moment he seemed lost in thought. Then he said, “When those men—”

“Zoanthrops.”

He nodded. “When the zoanthrops came and hurt Mama, did you come to help as quick as you could?”

“Yes,” I said. “I came as quickly as I could make myself come.” It was true, at least in some sense, but nevertheless it was painful to say.

“Good,” he said. I had spread a blanket for him, and he lay down on it now. I folded it over him. “The stars got brighter, didn’t they? They get brighter when the sun goes away.”

I lay beside him looking up. “It doesn’t go away, really. Urth just swings her face away, so that we think it does. If you don’t look at me, I don’t go away, even though you don’t see me.”

“If the sun is still there, why do the stars shine harder?”

His voice told me he was pleased with his own cleverness in argument, and I was pleased with it too; I suddenly understood why Master Palaemon had enjoyed talking with me when! was a child. I said, “A candle flame is almost invisible in bright sunshine, and the stars, which are really suns themselves, seem to fade in the same way. Pictures painted in the ancient days, when our sun was brighter, appear to show that the stars could not be seen at all until twilight. The old legends — I have a brown book in my sabretache that tells many of them — are full of magic beings who vanish slowly and reappear in the same way. No doubt those stories are based on the look of the stars then.”

He pointed. “There’s the hydra.”

“I think you’re right,” I said. “Do you know any others?”

He showed me the cross and the great bull, and I pointed out my amphisbaena, and several others.

“And there’s the wolf, over by the unicorn. There’s a little wolf too, but I can’t find him.”

We discovered it together, near the horizon.

“They’re like us, aren’t they? The big wolf and the little wolf. We’re big Severian and little Severian.”

I agreed that was so, and he stared up at the stars for a long time, chewing the piece of dried meat I had given him. Then he said, “Where is the book with stories in it?”

I showed it to him.

“We had a book too, and sometimes Mama would read to Severa and me.”

“She was your sister, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. “We were twins. Big Severian, did you ever have a sister?”

“I don’t know. My family is all dead. They’ve been dead since I was a baby. What kind of story would you like?”

He asked to see the book, and I gave it to him. After he had turned a few pages he returned it to me. “It’s not like ours.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“See if you can find a story with a boy in it who has a big friend, and a twin. There should be wolfs in it.”

I did the best I could, reading rapidly to outrace the fading light.

ON A MOUNTAINTOP beyond the shores of Urth there once lived a lovely woman named Early Summer. She was the queen of that land, but her king was a strong, unforgiving man, and because she was jealous of him he was jealous of her in turn, and killed any man he believed to be her lover.

One day Early Summer was walking in her garden when she saw a most beautiful blossom of a kind wholly new to her. It was redder than any rose and more sweetly perfumed, but its strong stalk was thornless and smooth as ivory. She plucked it and carried it to a secluded spot, and as she reclined there contemplating it, it grew to seem to her no blossom at all but such a lover as she had longed for, powerful and yet as tender as a kiss. Certain of the juices of the plant entered her and she conceived. She told the king, however, that the child was his, and since she was well guarded, he believed her.

It was a boy, and by his mother’s wish he was called Spring Wind. At his birth all those who study the stars were gathered to cast his horoscope, not only those who lived upon the mountaintop, but many of the greatest of Urth’s magi. Long they labored over their charts, and nine times met in solemn conclave; and at last they announced that in battle Spring Wind would be irresistible, and that no child of his would die before it had reached full growth. These prophecies pleased the king much.

As Spring Wind grew, his mother saw with secret pleasure that he delighted most in field and flower and fruit. Every green thing thrived under his hand, and it was the pruning knife he desired to hold, and not the sword. But when he was grown a young man, war came, and he took up his spear and his shield. Because he was quiet in demeanor and obedient to the king (whom he believed to be his father, and who believed himself to be the father), many supposed the prophecy would prove false. It was not so. In the heat of battle he fought coolly, his daring well judged and his caution sober; no general was more fertile of stratagems and sleights than he was, and no officer more attentive to every duty. The soldiers he led against the king’s enemies were drilled until they seemed men of bronze quickened with fire, and their loyalty to him was such that they would have followed him to the World of Shadows, the realm farthest from the sun. Then men said it was the spring wind that threw down towers, and the spring wind that capsized ships, though that was not what Early Summer had intended.

Now it happened that the chances of war often brought Spring Wind to Urth, and there he came to know of two brothers who were kings. Of these, the elder had several sons, but the younger only a single daughter, a girl named Bird of the Wood. When this girl became a woman, her father was slain; and her uncle, in order that she might never breed sons who would claim their grandfather’s kingdom, entered her name on the roll of the virgin priestesses. This displeased Spring Wind, because the princess was beautiful and her father had been his friend. One day it happened that he had gone alone into the world of Urth, and there he saw Bird of the Wood sleeping beside a stream, and woke her with his kisses.

Of their coupling were engendered twin sons, but though the priestesses of her order had aided Bird of the Wood in concealing their growth in her womb from the king, her uncle, they could not hide the babes. Before Bird of the Wood ever saw them, the priestesses placed them in a winnowing basket lined with blankets of featherwork and carried them to the bank of that same stream where Spring Wind had surprised her, and launching the basket in the water went away.