Incarceron

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man You think you know. -Songs of Sapphique

Only the man who has known freedom Can define his prison.

I have walked a stair of swords, I have worn a coat of scars. I have vowed with hollow words, I have lied my way to the stars -Songs of Sapphique

All my years to this moment All my roads to this wall. All my words to this silence All my pride to this fall. -Songs of Sapphique

The world is a chessboard, Madam, on which we play out our ploys and follies. You are the Queen, of course. Your moves are the strongest. For myself, I claim only to be a knight, advancing in a crooked progress. Do we move ourselves, do you think, or does a great gloved hand place on our squares

Despair is deep. An abyss that swallows dreams. A wall at the world's end. Behind it I await death. Because all our work has come to this.

I remember a story of a girl in Paradise who ate an apple once. Some wise Sapient gave it to her. Because of it she saw things differently. What had seemed gold coins were dead leaves. Rich clothes were rags of cobweb. And she saw there was a wall around the world, with a locked gate.

Where are the leaders?' Sapphique asked. 'In the fortresses,' the swan replied. 'And the poets?' 'Lost in dreams of other worlds.' 'And the craftsmen?' 'Forging machines to challenge the darkness.' 'And the Wise, who made the world?' The swan lowered its black neck sadly. 'Dwindled to crones and sorcerers in towers.

Because I have dreams and in those dreams I see the stars

We are chained hand and foot by protocol, enslaved to a static, empty world where men and women can’t read, where the scientific advances of the ages are the preserve of the rich, where artists and poets are doomed to endless repetitions and sterile reworking of past masterpieces. Nothing is new. New does not exist. Nothing changes, nothing grows, evolves, develops. Time has stopped. Progress is forbidden

Freedom is a small price to pay for survival.

Nothing has changed, or will change. So we must change it.

Despair is deep. An abyss that swallows dreams.

Master, I'm afraid. I am, truly. This place scares me. At home, I know who I am, what to do. I'm the Warden's daughter, I know where I stand. But this is a dangerous place, full of pitfalls. All my life, I've known it was waiting for me, but now I'm not sure I can face it. They'll want to absorb me, make me one of them, and I won't change. I won't! I want to stay me." Jared sighed and she saw his dark gaze was fixed on the veiled window. "Claudia, you're the bravest person I know. And no one will change you. You will rule here, though it won't be easy...

None of us have much idea where we are. Perhaps all our lives are too concerned with where, and not enough with who.

We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped relection of the other.

And the poets?' 'Lost in dreams of other worlds.'... 'And the wise, who made this world?' The swan lowered its black neck sadly. 'Dwindled to crones and sorcerers in towers.

Shut up!" Finn turned, furious. "Look at you both! The only friends I have in this hell and all you can do is fight over me. Do either of you care about me? Not the seer, the fighter, the fool who takes all the risks, but me, Finn?

In great ceremony they entered the prison. They were never to be seen again.

They came out. They were children. They wore rags and their skin was livid with sores. Their veins were tubes, their hair wire. Sapphique reached out and touched them. 'You are the ones who will save us,' he said.

. . . or is it that man contains within himself the seeds of evil? That even if he is placed in a paradise perfectly formed for him he will poison it, slowly, with his own jealousies and desires?

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man You think you know.

She wanted to lift it. But first she ran Jared’s disc cautiously over its surface. Nothing. She glanced around once. Everything was quiet. So she picked up the key. The room crashed. Alarms howled; rays of laserfire shot up from the floor, ringing her in a cage of red light. A metal grille slammed over the door; hidden lights burst on and she stood frozen in the uproar in terror, her heart slamming in her chest, and in that instant the disc jabbed a pepperpoint of red pain urgently into her thumb. She glanced down at it. Jared’s message was breathless with terror.

Who can chart the vastness of Incarceron? Its halls viaducts, its chasms? Only the man who has known freedom Can define his prison.

No one has entered since. We know about the Wombs too, though not where they are. Incarceron is efficient; it was designed to be. It doesn’t waste dead matter, but recycles everything. In those cells it grows new inmates. Perhaps animals too.

You are my father, Incarceron. I was born from your pain. Bone of steel; circuits for veins. My heart a vault of iron.

Down the endless halls of quilt My silver thread of tears is split. My fingerbone the key that broke My blood the oil that smooth the lock.

There is a door we know, a tiny, secret door... - legends of sapphique