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

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 passage we read; but if we had read another-one I have read often-we would have been told that the gods 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 gods. 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 godling 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 gods, 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 brass 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 knobbed 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 tittled 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 passed, 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, darkcomplexioned 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. "Rajan Silk!" 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."

"My proper name is Horn. This is my friend Pig."

The tall man bowed again. "Your servant is called Hari Mau, Rajan." The others bowed too, and there was a flurry of names and shining smiles. "You must come with us," Hari Mau said, still smiling.

"I will not."

"Tentie," Pig rumbled again, and stood.

"You must. Hear me, Rajan. Echidna herself demands it."

He raised his eyebrows. "You have a Sacred Window on Blue?"

"No, Rajan. Yet we still serve the gods, and they speak to us in dreams. I swore-"

There was a murmur of objections behind him.

"We swore, we brothers, that we would not return to our homes and wives without you. We will do you no hurt." Hari Mau's smile had faded; his eyes were serious. "You will live in the palace we are building you, and judge us with justice."

He sighed. "Did you read about me in a book, Hari Mau? Before your dream?"

"Yes, Rajan. Afterward, too. Many, many others had the same dream, even the priests in the temple of the goddess."

"You cannot compel me." His right hand gripped the knobbed staff; his left touched the hilt of the azoth under his tunic.

"We do not seek to compel you, Rajan. Far better that you come willingly."

"I am going to tell you now, for the final time-"

"Good man?" Oreb spoke from the windowsill.

"That I am not the one you seek-the one whom I sought too. That I am Horn, not Silk."

"Good Silk!"

"Knowing that, do you still want me to come with you?"

Hari Mau said, "We do, Rajan," and the men around him murmured their agreement.

"You have a lander-that's what Calde Bison told me. It's below this city now, guarded by your followers?"

"It is. As soon as you are on board, Rajan, we will fly back to Gaon."

He shook his head. "That's not what I want. I will go with yougo willingly and do as you ask-if you will fly my friend Pig-"

Pig grunted with surprise.

"To the West Pole first. Will you do that, Hari Mau?"

When the operation was over and the last bandage in place, and the tiny hands that had mimicked the surgeon's every motion had withdrawn, the white-haired man who had watched it all let himself breath again. "May I see him now?"

"You are." The surgeon pointed to the glass. "There he is." The surgeon was as tall as Hari Mau, and darker.

"I don't mean that."

The bandaged figure in the glass stirred, and the man who had spoken wondered whether he had been overheard. "I'd like to sit beside him for a minute or two, and pray at his beside. May I do that?"

"It's some distance." The surgeon spoke slowly, and his voice was rich and deep. "I'll give you directions for the tunnels, but I can't go with you. I can't take the time."

"Bird find!" Oreb declared. "Find Pig!"

"I'm going to Blue, and that's a great deal farther. I don't believe I'll ever get back."

The surgeon shook his head, his eyes on Oreb. "We'll leave this system once the Whorl has been repaired, but that won't be for years. A lifetime, likely as not."

"And I can't take the tunnels. My-my friends are anxious to go home. If they see me now, they'll put me on the lander and leave at once, I feel sure. Can't I travel on the surface?"

"I must myself," the surgeon said; from his tone, he had not been listening. "Your name is Horn? Is that correct?"

"Good Silk!"

"Yes," he said.

"I'll tell them to expect you, Horn. And I'll guide you, at least for the first chain or so. It's not going to be easy. I hope you understand."

He said, "I want to just the same."

"All right." The surgeon touched his belt, and a hatch at the top of the room lifted silently and almost smoothly, admitting hot wind and a pinch of wind-blown sand.

"If you could only lend me a propulsion module..."

The surgeon shook his head. "You have been to the East."

He nodded. "They had propulsion modules there, and they even loaned us some to use until we left."

"They need them." The surgeon kicked off, drifting upward until he caught the edge. "They require them for the fliers, so they have spares. We don't need them here, and don't have them. We've learned to do without them. Aren't you coming up?"

He did, rising too slowly because he had been afraid of rising too fast. "Silk come," Oreb announced before Oreb was snatched away by the wind.

"I don't understand all this. I don't understand how you can live like this."

"In the dark?" The surgeon caught his hand; the surgeon's own was twice as long, pink at the palm and the undersides of the fingers. "It's not usually this dark." Scarlet flashes failed to illuminate a pandemonium.

"The wind, and the sand. Is it always like this?"

"Yes," the surgeon said. "Turn on your light."

"I've been trying to." His fingers, fumbling for the tiny switch on his headband, moved it by accident; at once a glow from his forehead lit up the surgeon's dark, severe features. "I didn't realize-I should have, of course-that there would be darkdays here, too. Or that you'd have so few lights."