Return To The Whorl Part 44

"If you no longer want it, you should return it to Silk," he told her.

"I do want it. I want it very badly, but I have no need of it and you may. As for giving it back, I've tried to. Silk accepted it once but soon returned it. Cover it with your hand."

In the sacristy of the Grand Manteion, Oreb eyed the ranked sacrificial knives. "Good Silk. No cut!"

"I won't," he said, "but you must help me by remaining here. If you fly out there, the people will see you and think I've brought you to offer you to the G.o.ds, and may very well demand I do it. Will you stay here?"

"Good bird!"

He had brushed the augur's robe Olivine had given him (half shamed by the clumsy st.i.tches with which he had sewn his corn into its seam that morning), washed his hands, and smoothed his unruly hair. Now on impulse he shaved his beard, sc.r.a.ping it away with a well-tended razor inlaid with the Chapter's knife-and-chalice seal. "My father's was larger," he told Oreb, "but much plainer--an ordinary bone handle. This is ivory, unless I'm badly mistaken."

"No cut!"

"I'm trying not to. A little more lather, I believe."

He whisked the badger-hair brush against the scented soap in the Grand Manteion's porcelain mug, then applied the brush vigorously to his left cheek. "Here I confess I remind myself of Doctor Crane, shaving off his beard in our inn at Limna. He kept wanting to spare a little, and so do I. But no, it must all go, as his did. With it gone, my resemblance to Patera Silk will be much less marked, I imagine; besides, it--"

"Good Silk!"

"It may throw those outsiders--to use His Cognizance's suggestive term--off the track."

"Bad men?" Oreb flew from windowsill to washstand, from which he regarded his master through an eye like polished jet.

"I wish I knew. There are about a hundred things I wish I knew, Oreb. I'd like to know whether Pig and Hound are in the congregation, for example; and I'd like very much to know whether General Mint and Calde Bison are, to say nothing of these outsiders. I'd like to know where Silk is, why neither Bison nor His Cognizance will take me to him when it would appear to be so much to the advantage of both to have Silk out of the city." After giving his upper lip a final touch, he rinsed the razor under the tap.

"Good Silk!"

"He is, and for Calde Bison and His Cognizance that is just the problem. For His Cognizance, Silk is a second Prolocutor, able--even if unwilling--to countermand his direction of the Chapter. For Calde Bison, having Silk here is still worse."

Energetically applied, the washcloth dotted his black robe with dots darker still. He examined them and decided it could not be helped, and that they would dry in soon in any event. "He has General Mint, his lady wife, who's so careful not to call herself Calde Mint. She is a second calde, just the same."

"Good girl!"

"Of course. That's why so many people love and trust her. But behind her is yet another calde--Silk. I wouldn't want Bison's job on any terms, and most certainly not on the terms he has it."

An augur appeared in the doorway of the sacristy. "Ready for the procession, Patera? I'll show you where we're a.s.sembling."

By now it did not seem worthwhile to object to the honorific.

Whispers swept the throng that filled the Grand Manteion as a breeze sweeps a forest in leaf, soft as it left the narthex, gathering strength as it proceeded down the nave. He had no way of knowing (he told himself) that it was because he was walking with the Prolocutor, a step behind and a step to the right as he had been instructed to. Yet he knew it was, and was subtly, inexplicably embarra.s.sed.

There were seats for them some distance from the Great Altar, seats sufficiently removed that they would not be troubled by the conflagration a full score of sugurs and sibyls were preparing to kindle upon it--for the Prolocutor, a magnificent ebony throne austerely chased with gold, for him a chair beside and below it scarcely less imposing and likewise ebony.

A choir of . . . He tried to count the singers. Four hundred at least. On Blue they might have founded a little town of their own, called Song or Melody. Intermarried, and produced a sweet-voiced clean-faced race that would quickly become famous.

Their music rose, fell, then rose again, at once urgent and majestic. Glancing behind him at the gray s.h.i.+mmer of the Sacred Window, he wondered what G.o.ds listened, if in fact any did.

One did, surely, though not from the Sacred Window. Pig was in the audience. The memory of Silk and what Silk had told him in the ruined villa that had been Blood's returned, more vivid than ever.

Suns.h.i.+ne caught and concentrated in a wide reflector of bright gold did its work. A thread of smoke rose from the vast, ordered pile of cedar on the altar. (Wood enough to build a nice little house for some poor family, he thought rebelliously.) The white thread thickened. As the hymn reached crescendo, a tiny tongue of flame appeared.

"Rise," the Prolocutor whispered, "and the Prolocutor whispered, "and receive receive my my blessing. blessing."

He stood up, faced the throne, and bowed his head while the soft right hand of the Prolocutor traced and retraced the sign of addition over his head and the Prolocutor's plaintive voice recited the longest blessing in the Chrasmologic Writings, with extraordinary emphasis on every second or third word.

When it was over, he strode past the altar to the ambion. There was a great deal to say, and little time in which to say it; but it would be far less difficult if he could link it in some fas.h.i.+on to the Writings. Breathing, "Help me, O Obscure Outsider," he opened them at random.

" 'A simple way would be to admit that myth is neither irresponsible fantasy, nor the object of weighty psychology, nor any other such thing. It is wholly other, and requires to be looked at with open eyes.' "

Sighing his thanks, he closed the magnificent gem-studded volume and laid it aside. "In a moment," he said, surveying the congregation, "we will offer our gifts to the immortal G.o.ds. We will implore them to speak to us through their Sacred Window--"

There was an audible buzz of talk. He stood silent and frowning until it ceased.

"And we shall ask them to speak through the entrails of the animals we give them as well. It is easy--far too easy--for us to forget that they have spoken to us already, long before the oldest person who hears me was born.

"What the G.o.ds are saying, I believe, is that there are various forms of knowledge, of which myth is one, and that we must not confound them. It is always a temptation to throw aside knowledge--it makes life so much easier. It may well be that the kind we are most tempted to cast away is exactly that which the G.o.ds warn us to preserve today: I mean the knowledge that a thing is itself, and not some other thing. A man says women are all alike, and a woman that men are all alike. One who fancies himself wise says that one can know only what one sees, or that no one can know anything at all, and thus saves himself much labor of thought, at the cost of being wrong."

He glanced at the altar fire, gauging how much time remained. "Let us look at the myth that Pas wants everyone to leave this whorl and go to one of the whorls outside. There can be no one among you who has not heard it in one form or another, perhaps even from the lips of Patera Silk. I would certainly imagine that it has been said, with greater or less elaboration, by augurs standing at this very ambion."

There was another buzz of talk. Fingers tapping at the sides of the sculptured wave of onyx that was the ambion of the Grand Manteion, he waited for it to subside.

"Is it a mere falsehood? No, it is a myth. Is it merely an entertaining fantasy? No, again. It is a myth. Is it an exact and accurate statement of fact, as though I should say that His Cognizance, who permits me to speak to you today in his place, is a wise and good man? No, it is a myth."

He paused to wipe his perspiring forehead. "When Patera Silk went down to the first lander in the tunnels below our city, he saw the following words on the last stair: 'He who descends serves Pas best.' Those words were graven on those stone steps at the order of Great Pas himself. Plainly then, those who have thus descended stand highest in the eyes of Pas, and I believe highest in those of his father as well. From that we easily see the origin of the myth. But you to whom I speak, the citizens of this sacred city who do not descend, serve him also."

Flames snapped upon the altar now, the voice of the fire nearly as loud as his own. A whiff of fragrant smoke reached his nostrils.

"The Writings did not say it in the pa.s.sage we read; but if we had read another--one I have read often--we would have been told that the G.o.ds require us to serve in one way at one time, and in a different way at another."

He had hoped to see General Mint's chair in one of the aisles, and had failed to find it. As he spoke, he discovered her at the end of the fourth row, having presumably been lifted into her seat by an attendant who had rolled her chair away. Bison sat beside her, watching through narrowed eyes and watched himself by Oreb, perched upon a cornice.

"So it is with us. Not long ago, it was our duty to leave, to board landers and cross the abyss to Blue or Green. Many of us did, and so pleased the G.o.ds. Now they wish those of you who have not gone to remain--to remain indefinitely, in fact, presumably for the rest of your lives."

Bison was nodding and smiling, his teeth gleaming in his black beard.

"Two nights ago, I conversed with a G.o.dling who informed me of this, and told me to tell you, as I now have. I would be neglecting my duty if I did not do so, given this opportunity. I have fulfilled it instead, and I pray the blessing of the G.o.ds, of the Outsider and Silk particularly, in the days ahead."

He had watched Pig as he spoke; but if Pig's expression had altered in the slightest, the distance between them had been too great. Now a venerable augur approached the ambion carrying a gleaming sacrificial knife upon a black velvet pillow. The heat of the altar fire was palpable.

"We are ready, Patera," the augur whispered.

"No." As his hand closed on the jeweled hilt, two more augurs led a great, gray stallion into the central aisle.

"This's what we call the sacristy? It's where we all vest, even His Cognizance, sometimes." The voice of the eager young augur who had gone to get Pig and Hound floated through the open doorway. "His Cognizance isn't in there now, or I don't think so. But Patera Horn is."

He sighed as he dabbed at the bloodstains that spattered his robe, telling himself that it was at least an improvement on "Silk."

The bra.s.s tip of Pig's long sword tapped the stone floor and rattled against the sides of the doorway. "Man come," Oreb announced superfluously.

"Come in, Pig. Most of us have finished cleaning up. I'm almost finished myself."

Pig did, forced to duck only slightly to get through the doorway and looking pleased about it.

The eager young augur followed him. "I'm sorry, Patera, but I couldn't bring the other gentleman. He had to go. A man spoke to him, and he said he had leave."

" 'Twas candles, bucky," Pig rumbled. "Couple a' hundred fer a card, an' Hound h'off like a h'arrow."

"He did appear to me to be a merchant," the eager young augur added. "I endeavored to get his name, but he was engaged with the other gentleman and did not reply. If you're concerned I could make inquiries."

"I doubt that it matters." He dried his hands on a spotless white towel, watching the blood-tinged water in the washbowl drain away, then used the towel again to mop his sweating face. "He'll rejoin us this evening, I feel sure. Pig, would you like a chair? I'll fetch you one."

"I'll do it, Patera," the eager young augur said, and did.

"Thank yer," Pig rumbled.

"Wouldn't you like a chair too, Patera Horn?"

He shook his head, trying to indicate by his expression that the eager young augur had better go.

"This is a very, very great honor for me, Patera. Was, I mean. I, uh . . . I mean you. And His Cognizance, naturally."

"One that you have more than earned, I feel certain." He motioned toward the door.

When the eager young augur had gone, Pig said, "Win't, hain't yer, bucky? Nae wonner, h'all yer done."

"Tired? Actually, I'm not. His Cognizance had me toiling like a whole slaughterhouse and more than half sick at the thought of so many valuable animals dying. But I'm not tired now. Far from it." He got his k.n.o.bbed staff from a corner and twirled it, although he knew that Pig could not see the gesture. "If it were up to me, I'd be out on the streets looking for Silk this very minute."

"Good Silk!"

"Time tint be time toom, bucky."

"Wasted time cannot be recovered? Is that what it means?"

"Stray't."

"Near enough, then. But we can't go, or at least not yet. There's a crowd waiting for us. For me. Several of these augurs told me about it, and that was when I sent that one for you and Hound. I thought that since we had to wait, we might as well wait together." He paused, smiling. "They'll forget about us in half an hour or so, I imagine. Or at least they'll think we went out some other way, and go on about their business. Were you able to follow the ceremony?"

"Ho, aye. Hound t.i.ttled ter me. Bucky . . . ?"

"Yes, Pig." He grounded his staff. "What is it?"

" 'Tis nae me fash, bucky. But yer were ter h'ask h'about yer frien' Silk, were yer nae? Yer dinna."

"No. No, you're quite right. I did not."

He carried over a second chair for himself and sat down. "I didn't ask them--ask you, I should say, you of the congregation--about Silk for one simple reason."

"Good Pig," Oreb muttered.

"You're right," Oreb's master told him. "Pig is a good man, and he knows the reason as well as I. So does Hound for that matter."

"Know h'it? He does nae."

"I believe he does. I did not ask the congregation, Pig, because I knew that everyone in it thought that I myself was Silk. As you do."

Pig did not speak. The blind face was tilted upward and to the left; as the silent seconds pa.s.sed, two dots of moisture darkened the dirty gray rag that covered his empty sockets.

"They left you tears. I'm glad. But if they're for me--"

"Men come," Oreb announced distinctly.

"There's no need. I know who I am, and what I am to do."

A very tall man in an immaculate white head-cloth, dark-complexioned and strikingly handsome, strode into the sacristy, followed by similar men less richly dressed. "Patera Silk."

He shook his head.

The tall man knelt, one hand holding up the gilded scabbard of a long, sharply curved sword. "We come to proclaim you Rajan of Gaon, Patera Silk. Hail the Rajan!"

"Hail!" shouted the six with him. Their swords were out almost before the first cheer. They waved them above their heads, and one fired a needler into the ceiling. shouted the six with him. Their swords were out almost before the first cheer. They waved them above their heads, and one fired a needler into the ceiling. "Rajan Silk!" "Rajan Silk!" Oreb fled through an open window. Oreb fled through an open window.

"No." He rose. "I am not Silk. I appreciate the honor you seek to do him. Believe me, I do. But you are addressing the wrong man."

"Tentie noo, bucky. Tentie be."

"I don't believe they have come to harm us, Pig. They want me to go to their town, or so I imagine."

The tall man stood, and was half a head the taller. "To judge our town, Rajan. That is why we have come."

He nodded to himself. "I thought it was something like that. You created a disturbance at Ermine's. Beat the clerk."

"Yes, Rajan." The tall man's smile was as bright as the sapphire over his forehead. "We knew you were there. Someone had seen you go in. The clerk would not tell us, so with our belts we chastised him. Our belts and the flats of our swords. A donkey beaten is well next day."

"I see." He paused. "And you would like to have Patera Silk judge you."

"You." The tall man bowed profoundly, his hands together. "You, Rajan, are he."