CALDE OF THE LONG SUN botls-3

by Gene Wolfe

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 Calde. 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 Calde, 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

  Calde. 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 Calde. 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 Calde, 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 Calde? 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 Calde, 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 Calde, 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 Calde. When you're half my age, you'll know it. Now a god

  has, too."

  "But, Your Cognizance..."

  "Viron's isolated, Patera Calde. 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 calde 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

  Calde. 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 Calde?"

  "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 Calde? 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 Calde. 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."

  "I have two," Silk told him. "I hesitate to pose the first, which

  verges upon blasphemy."

  "Many necessary questions do." Quetzal cocked his head. "This

  isn't one, but do you hear horses?"

  "Horses, Your Cognizance? No."

  "I must be imagining it. What are your questions?"

  Silk walked on in silence for a few seconds to collect his thoughts.

  At length he said, "My original two questions have become three,

  Your Cognizance. The first, for which I apologize in advance, is,

  isn't it true that Echidna and the Seven love us just as Pas did? I've

  always felt, somehow, that Pas loved them, while they love us; and

  if that is so, will his death--terrible though it is--make a great deal

  of difference to us?"

  "You have a pet bird, Patera Calde. I've never seen it, but so I've

  been told."

  "I had one, Your Cognizance, a night chough. I've lost him, I'm

  afraid, although it may be that he's with a friend. I'm hoping he'll

  return to me eventually."

  "You should have caged him, Patera Calde. Then you'd still have him."

  "I liked him too much for that, Your Cognizance."

  Quetzal's small head bobbed upon its long neck. "Just so. There

  are people who love birds so much they free them. There are others

  who love them so much they cage them. Pas's love of us was of the

  first kind. Echidna's and the Seven's is of the other. Were you going

  to ask why they killed Pas?
Is that one of your questions?"

  Silk nodded, "My second, Your Cognizance."

  "I've answered it. What's the third?"

  "You indicated that you wished to discuss the Plan of Pas with me,

  Your Cognizance. If Pas is dead, what's the point of discussing his

  plan?"

  Hoofbeats sounded faintly behind them.

  "A god's plans do not die with him, Patera Calde. He is dead, as

  Serpentine Echidna told us. We are not. We were to carry Pas's plan

  out. You said he ruled us as a father. Do a father's plans benefit

  him? Or his children?"

  "Your Cognizance, I just remembered something? Another god,

  the Outsider--"

  "_Pateras!_" The horseman, a lieutenant of the Civil Guard in

  mottled green conflict armor, pushed up his visor. "Are you--you

  there, Patera. The young one. Aren't you Patera Silk?"

  "Yes, my son," Silk said. "I am."

  The lieutenant dropped the reins. His hand appeared slow as it

  jerked his needler from the holster, yet it was much too quick to

  permit Silk to draw Musk's needler. The flat crack of the shot

  sounded an instant after the needle's stinging blow.

  Chapter 5 -- Mail

  They had insisted she not look for herself, that she send one of them

  to do it, but she felt she had already sent too many others. This time

  she would see the enemy for herself, and she had forbidden them to

  attend her. She straightened her snowy coif as she walked, and held

  down the wind-tossed skirt of her habit--a sibyl smaller and younger

  than most, gowned (like all sibyls) in black to the tops of her worn

  black shoes, out upon some holy errand, and remarkable only for

  being alone.

  The azoth was in one capacious pocket, her beads in the other;

  she got them out as she went around the corner onto Cage Street,

  wooden beads twice the size of those Quetzal fingered, smoothed

  and oiled by her touch to glossy chestnut.

  First, Pas's gammadion: "_Great Pas, Designer and Creator of the

  Whorl, Lord Guardian of the Aureate Path, we_--"

  The pronoun should have been _I_, but she was used to saying them

  with Maytera Rose and Maytera Marble; and they, praying together

  in the sellaria of the cenoby, had quite properly said "we." She

  thought: But I'm praying for all of us. For all who may die this

  afternoon, for Bison and Patera Gulo and Bream and that man who