Work Text:
Sounds of Silence
At first, Lyra didn’t know what woke her up.
But somehow, it was familiar.
Like a whiff, an odour from your childhood that suddenly brings back that one specific memory you had completely forgotten all about until the very moment that the smell hit you.
Or maybe more like that moment you feel is unbearably familiar, like you’ve dreamed that exact situation at some point but didn’t remember – couldn’t remember – until it actually happened.
She sat down in her bed, looking around in the dim grey light coming through the window. The fire had died down to slow burning embers; still alive enough to give some heat but only just. It was snowing outside, and the window was tightly shut, and visibly undisturbed. The alethiometer was in its ambaric box, as it was supposed to be.
Almost automatically, Lyra reached for Pantalaimon, but he wasn’t there. It was not unusual, for he usually preferred sleeping in the early evening, when Lyra was most likely working, reading or preparing her course curriculum. Lately, he preferred wandering alone in the night. It was less conspicuous that way anyway, not that either Lyra or Pantalaimon cared that much about what people thought. Nevertheless, over the years, they had learned the hard way that no matter how much time would pass, it would still scare most people that Lyra could walk about without him.
It had been common knowledge for a long time now who exactly Lyra Belacqua was and what she had done for the world as it is known. She had become quite the legend over the years, her astonishing proficiency with the alethiometer being only a part of it. Students were now coming from all over the world to attend her classes and have a glimpse of her. Rare were those who dared to speak to her directly, though. She had inherited from both her parents that magnificent presence that seamlessly commanded respect and authority, though in a more subtle way than them. After all, she had deceived the king of the panserbjørne when she was only 11 years old, a feat neither Mrs. Coulter or Lord Asriel could have achieved. They had always been too ferocious, too impatient. Where they had been all fire and arrogance Lyra was more water and composure.
After a while, Lyra got up, not quite able to shake the feeling that something was not quite right. Everything was exactly as she had left it the night before, and yet, there was something wholly different about the room, about the air, about everything.
She walked up to the window, trying to peer through the veil of snow and ice that was covering it. Everything was eerily calm.
From the corner of her eye, she saw something move on her desk. She knew it was the alethiometer even before she actually saw it.
As she followed the sequence the alethiometer was drawing, Lyra suddenly realised it was the same sequence the instrument had been showing her for some time. It didn’t always appear when she was reading it, but it had appeared more than once already.
It was always the same sequence. What was odd about it was that it kept becoming more and more frantic. The last time she had seen it, she could barely follow the alethiometer’s needle because it was going so fast, so unsteadily. It was quite unlike the normal behaviour of the beautiful object, and she could not make any sense of it. The alethiometer’s urgency was not unheard of, but it had never been that intense before. It had become extrememly frustrating for Lyra, who was well learned in reading the instrument now. It made her think back of the days, shortly after she had come back to Oxford, when she hadn't been able anymore to decipher the alethiometer’s meaning with the grace she had been blessed with when she'd first had it.
The sequence was separated in three parts that went like this: at first, the Dolphin, the Chameleon, the Hourglass, the Madonna, the Angel, and the Serpent. Then, the Dolphin again, the Thunderbolt, the Anchor, the Owl, and the Baby. Finally, the Dolphin, the Bird, the Wild Man, and the Candle.
The Dolphin was often a symbol the alethiometer used to refer to Lyra herself. She knew it had to be about her, because the instrument kept coming back to it, as though putting emphasis on it, to make sure she understood. It was extremely peculiar, because Lyra knew the alethiometer understood her, and that it didn’t need to act that way.
The first part was clearly about a messenger, a woman, coming to offer wisdom. The Serpent was a tricky symbol and most readers interpreted (wrongly) as an omen of evil and treachery. But the symbol was far more powerful than that, and Lyra had known, over the years, that the pairings of the symbols coming before and after it were as important as the symbol itself. Obviously the symbols were never standing alone; they always intertwined. This was why many readers failed to interpret correctly what the complex instrument was revealing: one needed to be aware of all the connections, all the ramifications of a sequence of symbols to only begin to work through its meaning. It was hard work, often impossible, though rarely for Lyra. She had been learning the art of the alethiometer for twenty years now. Though she would never regain the effortlessness with which she first came to understand the instrument, she certainly was the best Reader in the world – or at least, in this one.
She knew it was something about her, something she had to do or to decide. The first part was quite clear about Patience and Time. The second part spoke of a change, of an event that would ultimately result in a choice – a choice that would alter her future, and maybe more. The last part was the less clear. Lyra had never seen that combination of symbols before. The Bird, combined with the Wild Man and the Candle.
She could read a meaning to it, but she was afraid to formulate it clearly. It spoke of something too terrible, too incredible to be true. She didn’t dare hope.
And yet, the alethiometer never lied.
She knew the Wild Man couldn’t mean any man she knew or had known in this Oxford. Really, there could only be one man it could refer to, especially combined with the Bird.
The Bird was the soul, but not just the daemon. It was followed by the Candle: the understanding, the learning, the revelation.
The catharsis.
No, Lyra didn’t dare hope, but the seeds of hope had already been firmly planted in her head.
And Lyra now knew exactly what she had to do.
She went to her wardrobe, and pulled from a long black box an old – yet strong as new – branch of Cloud-Pine.
*
Serafina Pekkala was perched on the highest tower of Oxford, admiring the snow gently falling upon the quiet city. She loved the feeling of snow upon her bare arms. It felt so comforting, so peaceful. She closed her eyes in delight, completely attuned to the nature all around her, deeply aware of the movement of the stars above.
A soft flutter of wings made her opens her eyes. She smiled as she saw Kaisa flying towards her.
“Kaisa. Beautiful Kaisa. You are right on time, as usual.”
The magnificent grey goose flew down in circles around the witch, before graciously landing on her shoulder.
“I have been talking to Pantalaimon.”
Serafina nodded, delicately ruffling the feathers of her daemon. “I know. I saw him too. Is it true, then?”
The goose looked at the witch with its piercing gaze. “It seems so.”
“So the frontiers between the worlds are really thinning. It is quite unexpected.”
The goose jumped on Serafina’s legs. “And worrying.”
“Yes. Indeed. But also quite extraordinary.”
Both of them remained silent for a while, slowly digesting all the implications of this new truth they had uncovered.
“Does Lyra know yet, Serafina?”
Pensively, Serafina caressed Kaisa’s plumage. “Not quite. But she will. Lyra always was particularly gifted in the arts of foreshadowing and prediction. The alethiometer must have warned her by now.”
“What will her role in all this be?”
“Even I do not know that. Lyra has a choice to make, though I sense that she might not be the one at the center of this new development, this time.”
“She will not?”
“Only time shall tell.”
In one elegant movement, Serafina straddled her Cloud-Pine branch as Kaisa rose from her legs. A soft wind embraced them as they got higher in the sky, and they flew on it as one graceful being.
“Come now, Kaisa. Lyra calls us.”
*
Lyra put on her cloak as she quickly went down the stairs with the branch of Cloud-Pine firmly held in her hand. She knew Sarafina would be able to find her without it, but somehow, she felt like taking it with her. The alethiometer was still tirelessly repeating its charade as she secured it in the small pouch in which she still always carried it in.
She went out in the largest inner courtyard, which she knew had a small door that led directly outside.
She didn’t know exactly where she was going. She knew she couldn’t stay on the grounds of the College. It had too many ears, and she didn’t want anybody to see Serafina Pekkala, if she even would be able to come at all. Maybe she was miles and miles away, after all. Maybe it would take the witch days to get there.
Without realising, Lyra saw that she was standing in front of the gates of the Botanical Gardens. They were closed, and it would be quite hard to go over them with all the snow and her cloak. She wished now she had a more practical coat – or that she was younger. Though she was in great shape, climbing freezing iron gates was still quite more difficult than it looked like.
She heard something soft land around the corner of wall encircling the gardens. Her heart beating fast, she ran towards the sound.
“Serafina, is that you?”
But when she arrived there was nobody there. She kept on walking, trying to quench the disappointment that was building up in her chest. As she turned to look behind her, she saw a creature disappear from where she had been standing only seconds ago.
“Pan! Is that you?”
Half buried in snow, the creature peered from the corner of the wall. Lyra walked towards it. This time, it didn’t escape.
As Lyra approached, she knew it could not be Pantalaimon, because she would have known it was him as she approached.
But the eerie feeling that had woken her up came back in full force as she slowly made her way towards the animal, which was now standing right in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat as for the first time in over twenty-two years she traced with her eyes the beautiful patterns of grey, black, misty lavender and almost blue shades of the lustrous and rich fur of the wild cat looking up at her.
“Kirjava?”