Nightside the Long Sun (7 page)

Maytera Marble said, “No, Patera, never. May I speak with you when we're through here, on another topic? In my room in the palaestra, perhaps?”

Silk nodded. “I'll meet you there as soon as I've disposed of this, Maytera.” The temptation to berate himself proved too strong. “I ought to have known better. The Writings warned me; but they left me foolish enough to suppose that my sacrifice might yet be acceptable, even if our Sacred Window remained empty. This will be a salutary lesson for me, Maytera. At least I certainly hope it will be, and it had better be. Thank Phaea that the children weren't here to see it.”

By this time Maytera Mint had nerved herself to speak. “No one can ever know the mind of the Outsider, Patera. He isn't like the other gods, who take counsel with one another in Mainframe.”

“But when the gods have spoken so clearly—” Realizing that what he was saying was not to the point, Silk left the thought incomplete. “You're right, of course, Maytera. His desires have been made plain to me, and this sacrifice was not included among them. In the future I'll try to confine myself to doing what he's told me to do. I know I can rely upon all of you to assist me in that, as in everything.”

Maytera Rose did not sniff a third time, mercifully contenting herself with scratching her nose instead. Her nose, her mouth, and her right eye were the most presentable parts of her face; and though they had been molded of some tough polymer, they appeared almost normal. Her left eye, with which she had been born, seemed at once mad and blind, bleared and festering.

While trying to avoid that eye, and wishing (as he so often had since coming to the manteion) that replacements were still available, Silk shifted the night chough from his left hand to his right. “Thank you, Maytera Rose, Maytera Marble, Maytera Mint. Thank you. We'll do much better next time, I feel certain.” He had slipped off his sacrificial gauntlets; the hated bird felt warm and somehow dusty in his perspiring hands. “In the palaestra, in five minutes or so, Maytera Marble.”

Chapter 3

T
WILIGHT

“In here, Patera!”

Silk halted abruptly, nearly slipping as the wet gravel rolled beneath his shoes.

“In the arbor,” Maytera Marble added. She waved, her black-clad arm and gleaming hand just visible through the screening grape leaves.

The first fury of the storm had passed off quickly, but it was still raining, a gentle pattering that settled like a benediction upon her struggling beds of kitchen herbs.

We meet like lovers, Silk thought as he regained his balance and pushed aside the dripping foliage, and wondered for an instant whether she did not think the same.

No. As lovers, he admitted to himself. For he loved her as he had loved his mother, as he might have loved the older sister he had never had, striving to draw forth the shy smile she achieved by an inclination of her head—to win her approval, the approbation of an old sibyl, of a worn-out chem at whom nobody, when he had been small and there had been a lot more chems around, would ever have troubled to glance twice, whom no one but the youngest children ever thought interesting. How lonely he would have been in the midst of the brawling congestion of this quarter, if it had not been for her!

She rose as he entered the arbor and sat again as he sat. He said, “You really don't have to do that when we're alone, sib. I've told you.”

Maytera Marble tilted her head in such a way that her rigid, metal face appeared contrite. “Sometimes I forget. I apologize, Patera.”

“And I forget that I should never correct you, because I always find out, as soon as it's too late, that you were right after all. What is it you want to talk to me about, Maytera?”

“You don't mind the rain?” Maytera Marble looked up at the overarching thatch of vines.

“Of course not. But you must. If you don't feel like walking all the way to the palaestra, we could go into the manteion. I want to see if the roof still leaks, anyway.”

She shook her head. “Maytera Rose would be upset. She knows that it's perfectly innocent, but she doesn't want us meeting in the palaestra, with no one else present. People might talk, you know—the kind of people who never attend sacrifices anyway, and are looking for an excuse. And she didn't want to come herself, and Maytera Mint's watching the fire. So I thought out here. It's not quite so private—Maytera can see us through the windows of the cenoby—and we still have a bit of shelter from the rain.”

Silk nodded. “I understand.”

“You said the rain must make me uncomfortable. That was very kind of you, but I don't feel it and my clothes will dry. I've had no trouble drying the wash lately, but it takes a great deal of pumping to get enough water to do it in. Is the manse's well still good?”

“Yes, of course.” Seeing her expression, Silk shook his head. “No, not of course. It's comforting to believe as children do that Pas won't resist his daughter's pleas in our behalf much longer, and that he'll always provide for us. But one never knows, really; we can only hope. If we must have new wells dug, the Church will have to lend us the money, that's all. If we can't keep this manteion going without new wells, it will have to.”

Maytera Marble said nothing, but sat with head bowed as though unable to meet his eyes.

“Does it worry you so much, Maytera? Listen, and I'll tell you a secret. The Outsider has enlightened me.”

Motionless, she might have been a time-smoothed statue, decked for some eccentric commemorative purpose in a sibyl's black robe.

“It's true, Maytera! Don't you believe me?”

Looking up she said, “I believe that you believe you've been enlightened, Patera. I know you well, or at least I think I do, and you wouldn't lie about a thing like that.”

“And he told me why—to save our manteion. That's my task.” Silk stumbled after words. “You can't imagine how good it feels to be given a task by a god, Maytera. It's wonderful! You know it's what you were made for, and your whole heart points toward that one thing.”

He rose, unable to sit still any longer. “If I'm to save our manteion, doesn't that tell us something? I ask you.”

“I don't know, Patera. Does it?”

“Yes! Yes, it does. We can apply logic even to the instructions of the gods, can't we? To their acts and to their words, and we can certainly apply logic to this. It tells us two things, both of major importance. First, that the manteion's in danger. He wouldn't have ordered me to save it if it weren't, would he? So there's a threat of some sort, and that's vital for us to know.” Silk strode out into the warm rain to stare east toward Mainframe, the home of the gods.

“The second is even more important, Maytera. It's that our manteion can be saved. It's endangered, not doomed, in other words. He wouldn't have ordered me to save it if that couldn't be done, would he?”

“Please come in and sit down, Patera,” Maytera Marble pleaded. “I don't want you to catch cold.”

Silk re-entered the arbor, and she stood.

“You don't have—” he began, then grinned sheepishly. “Forgive me, Maytera. Forgive me, please. I grow older, learning nothing at all.”

She swung her head from side to side, her silent laugh. “You're not old, Patera. I watched you play a while today, and none of the boys are as quick as you are.”

“That's only because I've been playing longer,” he said, and they sat down together.

Smiling she clasped his hand in hers, surprising him. The soft skin had worn from the tips of her fingers long ago, leaving bare steel darkened like her thoughts by time, and polished by unending toil. “You and the children are the only things at this manteion that aren't old. You don't belong here, neither of you.”

“Maytera Mint's not old. Not really, Maytera, though I know she's a good deal older than I am.”

Maytera Marble sighed, a soft
hish
like the weary sweep of a mop across a terrazzo floor. “Poor Maytera Mint was born old, I fear. Or taught to be old before she could talk, perhaps. However that may be, she has always belonged here. As you never have, Patera.”

“You believe it's going to be torn down, too, don't you? No matter what the Outsider may have told me.”

Reluctantly, Maytera Marble nodded. “Yes, I do. Or as I ought to say, the buildings themselves may remain, although even that appears to be in doubt. But your manteion will no longer bring the gods to the people of this quarter, and our palaestra will no longer teach their children.”

Silk snapped, “What chance would these sprats have—without your palaestra?”

“What chance do children of their class have now?”

He shook his head angrily, and would have liked to paw the ground.

“Such things have happened before, Patera. The Chapter will find new manteions for us. Better manteions, I think, because it would be difficult to find worse ones. I'll go on teaching and assisting, and you'll go on sacrificing and shriving. It will be all right.”

“I received enlightenment today,” Silk said. “I've told no one except a man I met in the street on my way to the market and you, and neither of you have believed me.”

“Patera—”

“So it's clear that I'm not telling it very well, isn't it? Let me see if I can't do better.” He was silent for a moment, rubbing his cheek.

“I'd been praying and praying for help. Praying mostly to the Nine, of course, but praying to every god and goddess in the Writings at one time or another; and about noon today my prayers were answered by the Outsider, as I've told you. Maytera, do you…” His voice quavered, and he found that he could not control it. “Do you know what he said to me, Maytera? What he told me?”

Her hands closed upon his until their grip was actually painful. “Only that he has instructed you to preserve our manteion. Please tell me the rest, if you can.”

“You're right, Maytera. It isn't easy. I had always thought enlightenment would be a voice out of the sun, or in my own head, a voice that spoke in words. But it's not like that at all. He whispers to you in so many voices, and the words are living things that show you. Not just seeing, the way you might see another person in a glass, but hearing and smelling—and touch and pain, too, but all of them wrapped together so they become the same, parts of that one thing.

“And you understand. When I say he showed me, or that he told me something, that's what I mean.”

Maytera Marble nodded encouragingly.

“He showed me all the prayers that have ever been said to any god for this manteion. I saw all the children at prayer from the time it was first built, their mothers and fathers too, and people who just came in to pray, or came to one of our sacrifices because they hoped to get a piece of meat, and prayed while they were here.

“And I saw the prayers of all you sibyls, from the very beginning. I don't ask you to believe this, Maytera, but I've seen every prayer you've ever said for our manteion, or for Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint, or for Patera Pike and me, and—well, for everyone in this whole quarter, thousands and thousands of prayers. Prayers on your knees and prayers standing up, and prayers you said while you were cooking and scrubbing floors. There used to be a Maytera Milkwort here, and I saw her praying, and a Maytera Betel, a big dark woman with sleepy eyes.” Silk paused for breath. “Most of all, I saw Patera Pike.”

“This is wonderful!” Maytera Marble exclaimed. “It must have been marvelous, Patera.” Silk knew it was impossible, that it was only their crystalline lenses catching the light, but it seemed to him that her eyes shone.

“And the Outsider decided to grant all those prayers. He told Patera Pike, and Patera Pike was so happy! Do you remember the day I came here from the schola, Maytera?”

Maytera Marble nodded again.

“That was the day. The Outsider granted Patera Pike enlightenment that day, and he said—he said, here's the help that I'm—that I'm…”

Silk had begun to weep, and was suddenly ashamed. It was raining harder now, as if encouraged by the tears that streaked his cheeks and chin. Maytera Marble pulled a big, clean, white handkerchief out of her sleeve and gave it to him.

She's always so practical, he thought, wiping his eyes and nose. A handkerchief for the little ones; she must have a child sobbing in her class every day. The record of her days is written in tears, and today I'm that sobbing child. He managed to say, “Your children can't often be as old as I am, Maytera.”

“In class, you mean, Patera? They're never as old. Oh, you must mean the grown men and women who were mine when they were boys and girls. Many of them are older than you are. The oldest must be sixty, or about that. I was—didn't teach until then.” She called her memorandum file, chiding herself as she always did for not calling it more often. “Which reminds me. Do you know Auk, Patera?”

Silk shook his head. “Does he live in this quarter?”

“Yes, and comes on Scylsday, sometimes. You must have seen him. The large, rough-looking man who sits in back?”

“With the big jaw? His clothes are clean, but he looks as if he hasn't shaved. He wears a hanger—or perhaps it's a hunting sword—and he's always alone. Was he one of your boys?”

Maytera Marble nodded sadly. “He's a criminal now, Patera. He breaks into houses.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Silk said. For an instant he had a mental picture of the hulking man from the back of the manteion surprised by a householder and whirling clumsily but very quickly to confront him, like a baited bear.

“I'm sorry, too, Patera, and I've been wanting to talk to you about him. Patera Pike shrove him last year. You were here, but I don't think you knew about it.”

“If I did, I've forgotten.” To quiet the hiss of the wide blade as it cleared the scabbard, Silk shook his head. “But you're right, Maytera. I doubt that I knew.”