The Ships of Aleph Read Online Free

recollections of my old life, and occasionally infected by the nightly passions normal in any young man of solitary habits.
    I decided, as my second winter approached, that I was going to attempt a small act of rebellion. Remembering childhood tales of heroes and magic I chose to make my stand when I had been in my comfortable prison for five hundred days – the magic period of time for spells and enchantments.
    I spent some of that day asleep. When I retired for the night I attempted to stay awake, with the help of a tracklebur I had picked earlier; whenever I felt my eyelids getting heavy I ran it along the tender skin on the inside of my wrist.
    At the same time, I listened. I may have fallen towards sleep, but I jerked awake at a tiny sound from below. Heart hammering, I slid out of bed. I crept across the bedroom floor, taking care to avoid the creaky board. On the landing I crouched low, then lay flat in order to peer down the stairs.
    In the minimal starlight that came through the open shutters it was hard to make out much detail, but I could see a figure, paler than its surroundings, walking across the room. It gave no sign of knowing I was there and simply carried on to the door, opened it, then left, closing the door gently behind itself.
    I counted to fifty then went downstairs. In the pantry I found the usual provisions. Perhaps my sustenance did not manifest through God’s bounty after all but was brought to me by a physical messenger, who appeared unaware of being watched.
    The next night I repeated my experiment. This time however I did not attempt to hide myself. Instead I rushed downstairs as soon as I heard the door open. The angel carried a shallow box under its arm, and was heading for the pantry as I stumbled into the kitchen. Before fear could get the better of me, I blurted, ‘Are you the same one?’
    ‘I do not understand the question,’ it said, in the calm, even tone I knew so well.
    ‘Are you the same one, the same angel who comes to talk to me?’
    It said, ‘We are all the same one.’ Then it opened the pantry door.
    Its words made me feel cold inside; I had begun to think of the angel who visited me as a particular friend but that was no more than a comforting self-deception.
    The angel did not mention the night-time encounter on its next visit, and nor did I. I resolved to remember that my visitor was a manifestation of God and as such it should not matter whether the same individual came to me each time. It was not as though I could tell them apart anyway.
    As time passed I became convinced that the angel – or angels – did indeed have an interest in my musings. This motivated me in my research. Yet the angel’s restrictions and refusals continued to chafe.
    In my third spring I decided to directly disobey the angel. I resolved to walk a thousand steps from my cottage. To prepare, I fortified myself using a technique of purifying and focusing the mind I had found in an obscure text on the less well-known teachings of Saint Aperion of the Lake. It involved fasting for three days, which also meant hiding the food brought each night. I half expected the angel to question this. It did not, which was illuminating in itself. On the third morning I carried out the exercises of the mind and breath that the Saint recommended. Then I headed out of the village, towards where the sea should be.
    I forced myself to employ a casual saunter. As my steps approached nine hundred, I felt increasingly light-headed, disconnected from the task I was undertaking. At the same time my guts felt heavy, as though my gross mortality was slowing me down. I observed these reactions, categorising them as being due to a mixture of spiritual unease and the physical after-effects of my fast. However, as the Saint had instructed, I did not let such transient feelings affect my actions.
    Nine hundred and fifty steps. In truth it was probably less: I had lost sight of my own feet in the mist and was reduced to sliding