Epiphany of the Long Sun (18 page)

"Then I'll have no right to office if it's forced on me."

"Hardly. In the first place, that was a generation ago. It's likely the adopted son's dead if he ever existed. In the second, the Charter was written by the gods. It's a document expressing their will regarding our governance nothing more. It's clear they're displeased with the present state of things, and you're the only alternative, as Maytera told you."

Quetzal handed the sacrificial knife to Maytera Marble. "I think we can go now, Maytera. You must stay. Watch the fire until it goes out. When it does, carry the ashes into your manteion and dispose of them as usual. You may notice bones or teeth among them. Don't touch them, or treat them differently from the rest of the ashes in any way."

Maytera Marble bowed.

"Purify the altar as usual. If you can get people to help you, take it back into the manteion. Your Sacred Window, too."

She bowed again. "Patera has already instructed me to do so, Your Cognizance."

"Fine. You're a good sensible woman, Maytera, as I said. I was glad to see that you had resumed your coif when you went back to your cenoby. You've my permission to enter the manse. There's an old woman there. I think you'll find she's well enough to go home. There's a boy on one of the beds upstairs. You can leave him there or carry him into your cenoby to nurse, if that will be more convenient. See to it that he doesn't exert himself, and that he drinks a lot of water. Get him to eat, if you can. You might cook some of this meat for him."

Quetzal turned to Silk. "I want to look in on him again, Patera, while Maytera's busy with the fire. I'm also going to borrow a spare robe I saw up there, your acolyte's, I suppose. It looked too short for you, but it should fit me, and when we meet the rebels-perhaps we should call them servants of the Queen of the Whorl, some such. When we meet them, it may help if they know who I am as well as who you are."

Silk said, "I feel certain Patera Gulo would want you to have anything that can be of any assistance whatsoever to you, Your Cognizance."

As Quetzal tottered away, Maytera Marble asked, "Are you going to help Maytera Mint, Patera? You'll be in frightful danger, both of you. I'll pray for you."

"I'm much more worried about you than about myself," Silk told her. "More, even, than I am about her-she must be under Echidna's protection, in spite of what His Cognizance said."

Maytera Marble lifted her head in a slight, tantalizing smile. "Don't fret about me. Maytera Marble's taking good care of me." Unexpectedly, she brushed his cheek with warm metal lips. "If you should see my boy Bloody, tell him not to worry either. I'll be all right."

"I certainly will, Maytera." Silk took a hasty step back. "Good-bye, Maytera Rose. About those tomatoes-I'm sorry, truly sorry about everything. I hope you've forgiven me."

"She passed away yesterday, Patera. Didn't I tell you?"

"Yes," Silk mumbled. "Yes, of course."

Auk lay on the floor of the tunnel. He was tired-tired and weak and dizzy, he admitted to himself. When had he slept last? Dayside on Molpsday, after he'd left Jugs and Patera, before he went to the lake, but he'd slept on the boat a dog's right before the storm. Her and the butcher had been tired, too, tireder than him though they hadn't been knocked on the head. They'd helped in the storm, and Dace was dead. Urus hadn't done anything, would kill him if he got the chance. He pictured Urus standing over him with a bludgeon like the one he had seen, and sat up and stared around him.

Urus and the soldier were talking quietly. The soldier called, "I'm keeping an eye out. Go back to sleep, trooper."

Auk lay down again, though no soldier could be a friend to somebody like him, though he'd sooner trust Urus though he didn't trust Urus at all.

What day was it? Thelxday. Phaesday, most likely. Grim Phaea, for food and healing. Grim because eating means killing stuff to eat, and it's no good pretending it don't. Stuff like Gelada'd killed Dace with his bad arm and the string around his neck. That's why you ought to go to manteion once in a while. Sacrifice showed you, showed the gray ram dying and its blood thrown in the fire, and poor people thanking Phaea or whatever god it was for "this good food." Grim because healing hurts more than dying, the doctor cuts you to make you well, sets the bone and it hurts. Dace said a bone in his head was broken, was cracked or something, he was cracked for sure and it was probably true because he got awful dizzy sometimes, couldn't see good sometimes, even stuff right in front of him. A white ram, Phaea, if I get over this.

It should've been a black ram. He'd promised Tartaros a black ram, but the only one in the market had cost more than he had, so he'd bought the gray one. That was before last time, before Kypris had promised them it'd be candy, before the ring for Jugs, the anklet for Patera. It had been why his troubles started, maybe, because his ram had been the wrong color. They dyed those black rains anyhow…

Up the tree and onto the roof, then in through the attic window, but he was dizzy, dizzy and the tree already so high its top touched the shade, brushed the shaggy shade with dead leaves rustling, rustling, and the roof higher, Urus whistling, whistling from the corner because the Hoppies were practically underneath this shaggy tree now.

He stood on a limb, walked out on it watching the roof sail away with all the black peaked roofs of Limna as the old man's old boat put out with Snarling Scylla at the helm, Scylla up in Jugs's head not taking up room but pulling her strings, jerking her on reins, digging spurred heels in, Spurred Scylla a gamecock spurring Jugs to make her trot. A little step and another and the roof farther than ever, higher than the top of the whole shaggy tree and his foot slipped where Gelada's blood wet the slick silvery bark and he fell.

He woke with a start, shaking. Something warm lay beside him, dose but not quite touching. He rolled over, bringing his legs up under her big soft thighs, his chest against her back, an arm around her to warm her and it, cupping her breast. "By Kypris, I love you, Jugs I'm too sick to shag you, but I love you. You're all the woman I'll ever want."

She didn't talk, but there'd been a little change in her breathing, so he knew she wasn't asleep even if she wanted him to think so. That was dimber by him, she wanted to look at it and he didn't blame her, wouldn't want a woman who wouldn't look because a woman like that got you nabbed sooner or later even if she didn't mean to.

Only he'd looked at it already, had looked all that he'd ever need to while he was rolling over. And he slept beside her quite content.

"I shocked you, Patera Caldé. I know I did. I could see it in your face. My eyes aren't what they were, I'm afraid. I'm no longer good at reading expressions. But I read yours."

"Somewhat, Your Cognizance." Together, they were walking up a deserted Sun Street, a tall young augur and a stooped old one side-by-side, Silk taking a slow step for two of Quetzal's lame and unsteady ones.

"Since you left the schola, Patera Caldé, since you came to this quarter, you've prayed that a god would come to your Window, haven't you? I feel sure you have. All of you do, or nearly all. Who did you hope for? Pas or Scylla?"

"Scylla chiefly, Your Cognizance. To tell the truth, I scarcely thought about the minor gods then. I mean the gods outside the Nine-no god is truly minor, I suppose. Scylla seemed the most probable. It was only on Scylsdays that we had a victim, for one thing; and she's the patroness of the city, after all."

"She'd tell you what to do, which was what you wanted." Quetzal squinted up at Silk with a toothless smile he found disconcerting. "She'd fill your cash box, too. You could fix up those old buildings, buy books for your palaestra, and sacrifice in the grand style every day."

Reluctantly, Silk nodded.

"I understand. Oh, I understand. It's perfectly normal, Patera Caldé. Even commendable. But what about me? What about me, not wanting gods to come at all? That isn't, is it? It isn't, and it's bothering you."

Silk shook his head. "It's not my place to judge your acts or your words, Your Cognizance."

"Yet you will." Quetzal paused to peer along Lamp Street, and seemed to listen. "You will, Patera Caldé. You can't help it. That's why I've got to tell you. After that, we're going to talk about something you probably think that you learned all about when you were a baby. I mean the Plan of Pas. Then you can go off to Maytera what'shername."

"Mint, Your Cognizance.

"You can go off to help her overthrow the Ayuntamiento for Echidna, and I'll be going off to find you more people to do it with, and better weapons. To begin-"

"Your Cognizance?" Silk ran nervous fingers through his haystack hair, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Your Cognizance, did you know Great Pas was dead? Did you know it already, before she told us today?"

"Certainly. We can start there, Patera Caldé, if that's troubling you. Would you have talked about it from the ambion of the Grand Manteion if you'd been in my place? Made a public announcement? Conducted ceremonies of mourning and so forth?"

"Yes," Silk said firmly. "Yes, I would."

"I see. What do you suppose killed him, Patera Caldé? You're an intelligent young fellow. You studied hard at the schola, I know. Your instructors' reports are very favorable. How could the Father of the Gods die?"

Faintly, Silk could hear the booming of slug guns, then a long, concerted roar that might almost have been thunder.

"Building falling," Quetzal told him. "Don't worry about that now. Answer my question."

"I can't conceive of such a thing, Your Cognizance. The gods are immortal, ageless. It's their immortality that makes them gods, really, more than anything else."

"A fever," Quetzal suggested. "We mortals die of fevers every day. Perhaps he caught a fever?"

"The gods are spiritual beings, Your Cognizance. They're not subject to disease."

"Kicked in the head by a horse. Don't you think that could have been it?"

Silk did not reply.

"I'm mocking you, Patera Caldé, of course I am. But not idly. My question's perfectly serious. Echidna told you Pas is dead, and you can't help believing her. I've known it for thirty years, since shortly after his death, in fact. How did he die? How could he?"

Silk combed his disorderly yellow hair with his fingers again.

"When I was made Prolocutor, Patera Caldé, we had a vase at the Palace that had been thrown on the Short Sun Whorl, a beautiful thing. They told me it was five hundred years old. Almost inconceivable. Do you agree?"

"And priceless, I would say, Your Cognizance."

"Lemur wanted to frighten me, to show me how ruthless he could be. I already knew, but he didn't know I did. I think he thought that if I did I'd never dare oppose him. He took that vase from its stand and smashed it at my feet."

Silk stared down at Quetzal. "You-you're serious, Your Cognizance? He actually did that?"

"He did. Look, now. That vase was immortal. It didn't age. It was proof against disease. But it could be destroyed, as it was. So could Pas. He couldn't age, or even fall sick. But he could be destroyed, and he was. He was murdered by his family. Many men die like that, Patera Caldé. When you're half my age, you'll know it. Now a god has, too."

"But, Your Cognizance…"

"Viron's isolated, Patera Caldé. All the cities are. He gave us floaters and animals. No big machines that could carry heavy loads. He thought that would be best for us, and I dare say he was right. But the Ayuntamiento's not isolated. The Caldé wasn't either, when we had one. Did you think he was?"

Silk said, "I realize we have diplomats, Your Cognizance, and there are traveling traders and so forth-boats on the rivers, and even spies."

"That's right. As Prolocutor, I'm no more isolated than he was. Less, but I won't try to prove that. I'm in contact with religious leaders in Urbs, Wick, and other cities, cities where his children have boasted of killing Pas."

"It was the Seven, then, Your Cognizance? Not Echidna? Was Scylla involved?"

Quetzal had found prayer beads in a pocket of Gulo's robe; he ran them through his fingers. "Echidna was at the center. You've seen her, can you doubt it? Scylla, Molpe, and Hierax were in it. They've said so at various times."

"But not Tartaros, Thelxiepeia, Phaea, or Sphigx, Your Cognizance?" Silk felt an irrational surge of hope.

"I don't know about Tartaros and the younger gods, Patera Caldé. But do you see why I didn't announce it? There would have been panic. There will be, if it becomes widely known. The Chapter will be destroyed and the basis of morality gone. Imagine Viron with neither. As for public observances, how do you think Pas's murderers would react to our mourning him?"

"We-" Something tightened in Silk's throat. "We, you and I, Your Cognizance. Villus and Maytera Marble, all of us are-were his children too. That is to say, he built the whorl for us. Ruled us like a father. I…"

"What is it, Patera Caldé?"

"I just remembered something, Your Cognizance. Kypris-you must know there was a theophany of Kypris at our manteion on Scylsday."

"I've had a dozen reports. It's the talk of the city."

"She said she was hunted, and I didn't understand. Now I believe I may."

Quetzal nodded. "I imagine she is. The wonder is that they haven't been able to corner her in thirty years. She can't be a tenth as strong as Pas was. But it can't be easy to kill even a minor goddess who knows you're trying to. Not like killing a husband and father who trusts you. Now you see why I've tried to prevent theophanies, don't you, Patera Caldé? If you don't, I'll never be able to make it clear."

"Yes, Your Cognizance. Of course. It's-horrible. Unspeakable. But you were right. You are right."

"I'm glad you realize it. You understand why we go on sacrificing to Pas? We must. I've tried to downgrade him somewhat. Make him seem more remote than he used to. I've emphasized Scylla at his expense, but you're too young to have realized that. Older people complain, sometimes."

Silk said nothing, but stroked his cheek as he walked.

"You have questions, Patera Caldé. Or you will have when you've digested all this. Don't fear you may offend me. I'm at your disposal whenever you want to question me."