Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3) 7

"What is he saying? He's saying, `No cut,' something the original Oreb, Patera Silk's pet, always used to say. Possibly this is the same bird."

"No cut!" Oreb repeated more distinctly.

"Do you know why he says it?" Hound inquired.

"He knows animals are sacrificed there and is afraid he may be sacrificed as well. If we understood what more animals are trying to tell us, no doubt we'd find they say the same."

Just then a flock of crows passed overhead, wheeling and cawing; hearing them, Pig asked, "What're they sayin', bucky? Yer h'always ken what H'oreb's says, sae what h'about those?"

He looked toward the skylands, and seemed for a moment to have forgotten his companions and himself. " `Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.' I think they mean I'll find Silk tomorrow, though I've found him already; but they may also mean you'll find new eyes tomorrow. I hope so."

Hound looked back curiously. "You've found Silk already? I'm surprised you didn't tell us."

"I found the god last night, after you had told me about him; and I should not have said even that much, Hound. Please forget I mentioned it."

Hound was silent as they passed more vacant houses. Then he said, "You can read the future in the flight of birds? I've heard of that, but I forget what it's called."

"If you want a word to impress your friends, auspicatory. If you're seeking knowledge for yourself, it is simply augury, the original form of augury, now much neglected."

"Silk know," Oreb assured them.

"He very well may," he said, "but I do not."

Soon they reached the manteion; its wide front entrance was firmly locked, but Pig's questing fingers easily pulled the hasp from the side door. "Prized h'out 'fore we come," he explained. "Screws pushed back h'in but nae wood ter hold 'em."

The interior seemed dark and cavernous after the sunshine of the street. Pig made his way to the back, the scabbard rapping pews, found the altar, and laid his sword aside to grope its edges and corners for a moment.

"No cut!" Oreb declared more adamantly than ever.

"You needn't worry," his master told him. "There's no Sacred Window here. It's what they were after, I'm afraid. Was that what you're searching for back there, Pig?"

"Aye, bucky."

Hound said, "There are several manteions that are still open. Horn could take you to one, since you're going with him. Or I will, if he's busy with other matters."

"Thank yer. Thank yer kin'ly."

"Would you like me to? We can stop someplace on our way to the inn."

Pig turned toward them, the brass tip of the leather-covered scabbard tapping the side of the altar again. "Gang ter yer Sun Street Quarter, yer said, bucky?"

"Yes. I'll stop at the manteion there, though I have no way of knowing whether it's still standing-or whether it's still open if it is. I must warn you that much of the quarter burned twenty years ago."

"Gae wi' yer," Pig decided. He was standing at the ambion, his thick black nails seeming to stab its carven sides.

"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you? You needn't, of course; I'll do whatever I can whether you confide in me or not, though I may be able to assist you more intelligently if you do."

"Wad nae swaller h'it."

"Poor Pig!" Oreb flew to his shoulder, and there was a silence in which it seemed that the ghosts of sacrifices past had returned. Almost, one could smell the incense, mingled with the odors of burning hair and cedar; almost, one could hear the augur's chant and the bleat of a lamb whose time had come.

Hound coughed. "Can't you help him, Horn?"

"You went to a manteion shortly before you lost your sight." He spoke gently, just loudly enough to be heard. "You knelt there in prayer-prayers, perhaps, of which you're now ashamed, though you shouldn't be. Your gaze was fixed upon the Sacred Window. No god came at the moment of sacrifice-or at least, no visible theophany took place, no Holy Hues, none of that. But you felt peace and a deep joy that you cannot explain. You would like to recapture those, if you could."

"Were lootin'," Pig said. "Me an' na braithrean."

"I understand."

"Yer dinna. H'ever loot yerself?"

"No, Pig."

"Been h'in a toon bein' looted?"

"No, never."

"Some goes fer ther women, some fer drink, some fer cards h'or what fetches 'em. Done ane an' t'other. Said yer ken, bucky. Ken that? H'or do yer need mair? What drunk an' what ther woman was?"

His right hand made the sign of addition in the air. "It's not necessary."

"Thank yer. Fetch noo, ther Winders do. Yer right. Auld Pig dinna know h'it then, but they do. Thinkin' a' gowd cups was h'all. Ter big fer doors, bucky. Yer seen h'it. Had ter gae h'on me knees ter get h'in ter yer house, Hound. Have ter, ter get h'in ter most. Dinna like ter, but there 'tis. Dinna fash, but see ane ter stand h'in, an' 'tis h'in every time."

"We could enlarge ours," Hound told him. "I could do the work myself."

"Good a' yer. Saunt, ain't yer, bucky?"

"No," he said gently. "No, I'm not, Pig. I've told you I'm not."

"He were, ter."

"Did you kill him, Pig?"

"Ho, aye. Stood by his Winder, he did."

Pig's drew his sword as he spoke, and Oreb squawked with fear and flew back to his master.

"Had a yeller cup ter gae me. Threw it down an' broke. 'Twas chiner."

"Poor Pig."

"Did fer him. Cut doon wi' me whin." Pig held up his long blade, which gleamed faintly in the dusty sunlight.

"And then?"

"Ain't yer goin' ter say nae thing h'about h'it, bucky? Figured yer would."

He shook his head, although Pig could not have seen the gesture. "Later, perhaps."

"Suit yerself. That's ther bad a' h'it."

"It is the good of it I wish to hear, Pig."

"None ter tell."

"After you had killed him, the Sacred Window behind him caught your attention. Am I correct?"

"Nae. Told yer h'about ther doors, reck h'it? Big h'enough ter gae h'in wi'hout kneelin'. Sae did he? He did."

"Yes."

"Wasn't nae where he lay, but on me knees just ther same. Fou' ter. Most fou'. Could nae hardly, wi'hout fallin'."

"Did you speak then, Pig? Did you pray, or try to pray?"

"Nae. Tried ter. Couldn't. Could he? He could nae! Blubbed like ter a big girl. Blubbin' noo."

"Weeping, you mean. So you are, but Hound and I are not laughing."

"Guid a' yer." Pig sighed deeply and wiped his nose on a sleeve already phenomenally dirty. "'Tis h'all, bucky. Ther lot a' h'it."

"No, it isn't. Not quite, and it will always be unfinished-incomplete-unless you tell the rest. Unless you do it now. It cannot be postponed any longer."

"Horn..." Hound gripped his arm.

"I'll address your concerns in a few minutes," he said. "They can wait, believe me. Go on, Pig."

"Somethin' tetched me." Pig sounded as though he had forgotten anyone was listening. "Had me een."

"Yes. Of course."

"Touched me shoulders an' me head, like h'it were standin' behind. Looked h'around. Wasn't nae thing there."

"And then...?"

"Felt h'it, bucky. What yer said. Wanted ter feel h'it h'allways, but nae felt h'it nae mair."

"And you were changed, somewhat, after that. You found yourself doing things that surprised you."

"Aye."

From his shoulder, Oreb muttered, "Good Silk."

"This has been a shriving, Pig. I didn't announce it but it has been. I'm a layman, as I said; but a layman may shrive when there is need. I'd like you to kneel now. I know you don't like to, but you shouldn't withhold from the Outsider-it was he who touched you from behind, I'm sure-the obeisance you pay so many doors. Will you kneel?"

"Think he might gi'e back me een?"

"I have no idea. Will you kneel?"

Pig did.

"Good. That was the worst hurdle, the one I feared we could not get over." A swift gesture sent Hound to the front of the manteion. "Now say what I say. Cleanse me, friend."

Dutifully, Pig repeated it.

"You don't like to say I, do you, Pig? I mean the pronoun, not the aye that signifies assent. Is it a superstition?"

"Dinna sound weel h'in ther light lands," Pig muttered.

"Impolite? Then you may say, `for the Outsider and other gods have been offended by me.' After that you must recount to me everything you have done that was seriously wrong, other than the looting and murder you have already described. Oreb, you must stay with Hound until I call you both."

At the rear of the manteion, Hound had watched the kneeling Pig (so huge that even on his knees he was nearly as tall as the erect man in the worn brown tunic) until embarrassment rendered it impossible.

"Man talk," Oreb explained, lighting on the back of the pew in front of Hound's. "Talk Silk." He whistled to emphasize the importance of that talk, and added, "Bird go. Go Hound."

Hound nodded absently. Statues of the Nine still stood in niches along the walls. Who was that with the owl, he wondered? Some were only minor gods, he felt certain. Since there were more than nine statues, they had to be. He had always dismissed the minor gods as unimportant; for the first time it occurred to him that he was unimportant as well, and the important gods like Echidna (over there, holding up a viper in each hand) might concern themselves with important men and things. "Echidna, and Molpe with the thrush. But who's that with the doves?"

"Man talk," Oreb repeated in a different context.

"To myself," Hound said. "I was trying to name these gods, that's all."

One of the murmuring voices at the front of the manteion rose to intelligibility. "Then I bring to you, Pig, the pardon of the gods. In the name of the Outsider, you are forgiven. In the names of Great Pas and Silver Silk, you are forgiven. And in the name of all lesser gods you are forgiven, by the power entrusted to me." A quick gesture described the sign of addition over Pig's bowed head.

Hound went to rejoin them, watching the huge Pig rise and straighten his shoulders. When Pig's blind face turned toward the noise of his shoes on the cracked stone floor, he said, "I didn't hear any of that. I think I ought to tell you so, Pig. I tried not to hear, and I didn't. I was way at the back, and you both spoke softly."

"H'all right h'ifyer did," Pig said. "'Struth, bucky?"

"Why, no." He shook his head. "Neither of you are correct. Hound, you heard a part of what Pig said about looting the town in the Mountains That Look at Mountains. You also heard me say that what Pig had told me was part of a shriving, although it had not been so announced at the time."

Hound nodded.

"You may be concerned about your duty as a citizen and a member of the Chapter. Nevertheless, you must understand where your duty lies. Whenever anyone, whether an augur, a sibyl, or a layperson, overhears part of a shriving by accident, that person is honor bound to reveal nothing that he-or she-has heard. He is not to hint at it or allude to it in any way. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes." Hound nodded again. "You certainly are."

"Then let me say this. I've said it already to Pig, but I want to say it to you. You know, just as Pig and I do, what was said earlier; and we're none of us children. For an augur to die before his Sacred Window, and particularly for him to die by a steel blade as sacrifices die, is a great honor. It is the death every augur yearns for. I don't intend to imply that it isn't wrong to kill an augur under those circumstances; but when an augur dies in such a manner, other augurs and many pious laymen must wonder whether that death was not arranged by Hierax, as a reward."

Pig said, "Hierax is dead."

Hound stared at him.

"I see. I didn't know that, though I surmised that it might be the case. No doubt it's for the best."

"Horn?"

He nodded. "Yes. What is it?"

"Before we leave-" Hound began. "Are you worried about getting into the city late? You said you wouldn't go to the Juzgado till tomorrow."

"I would like to revisit the quarter in which I used to live this afternoon. But no, I'm not. Not unless whatever you're about to propose will take hours."

"Fifteen minutes or half an hour, I hope. While..."

Thick with muscle and armed with thick black nails, Pig's hand engulfed Hound's shoulder. "H'out wi' h'it, mon. H'all pals."

Hound nodded gratefully. "While I was back there in the back, I was trying to name the gods. The... These images." He indicated them by a gesture. "You know a lot about them. I've seen that already. Tansy saw it, too. Anyway, I couldn't, or only a few. I was hoping you'd take me around and talk a little about each of them? It would give me something to tell Tansy. And Mother. I'd like it myself, too, if it would be all right with Pig."

"Silk talk?" Oreb fixed him with a bright black eye.

"Ho, aye. Do h'it, bucky. Like ter hear yer meself."

"Very well." He glanced around at the images set into the walls. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"Well, that one." Hound pointed to the nearest. "It's Phaea, isn't it?"

"Yes, you're quite correct. Phaea's one of the Seven, Pas's fourth daughter. Now that think of it, we couldn't have begun at a more appropriate place, since we hope to find new eyes for a man called Pig, and I'm carrying seed corn to Blue. Feasting Phaea's the goddess of healing, and of foodstuffs generally. She presides over banquets and infirmaries alike. You can generally recognize her images by the boar at her side."

"Yes," Hound said eagerly. "That's how I got it."

"Then I ought to add that when the boar is absent Phaea is customarily shown holding a young pig, that when the piglet is omitted as well you may know her by her thick waist, and that she is the generous patroness of cooks and physicians. Is that sufficient?"