greatest man in the _Whorl_."
Oreb cocked his head at Incus. "Where Auk?"
"Nowhere to be found in that shining city we name _Reason_, I
fear," Incus told him half humorously. "He hailed someone. _I_ saw
him do it, though there was no one to be seen. After saluting this
_unseen being_, he dashed away. Our good corporal pursued him, as
you saw, but lost him in the _darkness_."
"These green lights don't work the way people think, see,
Chenille. People think they just crawl around all the time and don't
care where they're at, only they're not really like that. If it's bright
one way and dark the other, they'll head for the dark, see? Real
slow, but that's how they go. It's what keeps them spread out."
Chenille nodded. "Urus said something about that."
"In a little place, they get everything worked out among themselves
after a while and don't hardly move except to get away from
the windows in the daytime, but in a big place like this they don't
ever settle down completely. Only they don't ever go down much,
'cause if they did, they'd get stepped on and broken real fast."
"Lots of these tunnels slope down besides the one Auk ran down,"
she objected, "and I've seen lights in them."
"Depends on how dark it is down there, and how steep the slope
is. If it's too steep, they won't go in there at all."
"It was pretty steep," Chenille conceded, "and we went down it
quite a ways, but later we took that one that went up, remember? It
didn't go up as steep as the dark one went down, and it had lights,
but it climbed like that for a long time."
"I _think_, my daughter--"
"So what I've been wondering is would Auk have gone back up
like we did? He was kind of out of it."
"He was _deranged_," Incus declared positively. "I would hope that
condition was only temporary, but temporary or _not_, he was not
_rational_."
"Yeah, and that's why we took the tunnel that angled back up that
I was talking about, Patera. We're not abram and we knew we
wanted to get back up to the surface, besides finding Auk. But if
Auk was abram... To let you have the lily word, all you bucks
seem pretty abram to me, mostly, so I didn't pay much attention.
Only if he was, maybe he'd just keep on going down, because that's
easier. He was running like you say, and it's pretty easy to run
downhill."
"There _may_ be something in what you suggest, my daughter. We
must keep it in mind, _if_ our discussion concludes that we should
continue our pursuit.
"Now, may _I_ sum up? The _question_ is whether we are to continue,
or to break off our search, _at least temporarily_, and attempt to return
to the sufface. Allow me, please, to state both cases. I shall strive
for _concision_. If any of you has an _additional point_, you are free to
advance it when I have _concluded_.
"It would seem to me that there is only one _cogent_ reason to
_protract_ our search, and I have touched upon that _already_.
It is that Auk is one of the _triune prophets_ commissioned by
_Scylla_. As a _prophet_ he is a _theodidact_ of _inestimable_ value, as
was Dace. It is for that reason, and for it alone, that I _instructed_
Hammerstone to pursue him following his precipitate departure. It is for that
reason _solely_ that I have prolonged the pursuit so far. For _I_, also, am
such a prophet. The only such prophet remaining, as I have said."
"He's one of us," Chenille declared. "I was with him at Limna
before Scylla possessed me, and I remember him a little on the boat.
We can't just go off and leave him."
"Nor do _I_ propose to do so, my daughter. Hear me out, I beg you.
We are _exhausted and famished_. When we return to the _surface_ with
Scylla's messages, in _fulfillment_ of her will, we can gain rest and
food. _Furthermore_, we can enlist others in the search. We will--"
Urus interrupted. "You said we could put in stuff of our own,
right? All right, how about me? Do I get to talk, or are you goin' to
have the big chem shoot me?"
Incus smiled gently. "You must understand, my son, that as your
spiritual guide, I _love_ you no less and no more than the others. I
have threatened your life only as the _law_ does, for your correction.
_Speak_."
"Well, I don't love Auk, only if you want to get him back it looks
to me like you're goin' about it wrong. He wanted us to go to the pit,
remember? So maybe now that he's gone off by himself that's
where. We could go 'n see, 'n there's lots of bucks there that know
these tunnels as well as me, so why not tell 'em what happened 'n
get 'em to look too?"
Incus nodded, his face thoughtful. "It is a suggestion worthy of
consideration."
"They'll eat us," Chenille declared.
"Fish head?" Oreb fluttered to her shoulder.
"Yeah, like you'd eat a fish head, Oreb. Only we'd have to have
fish heads to do it."
"They won't eat me," Hammerstone told her. "They won't eat
anybody I say not to eat, either, while I'm around."
"Now let us _pray_." Incus was on his knees, hands clasped behind
him. "Let us petition the _immortal gods_, and Scylla _particularly_, to
rescue both Auk and _ourselves_, and to guide us in the ways they
would have us go."
"I twigged you don't buy that any more."
"I have _encountered_ Scylla," Incus told Urus solemnly. "I have seen
for myself the _majesty_ and _power_ of that very great goddess. How
could I lack belief now?" He contemplated the voided cross suspended
from his prayer beads as if he had never seen it before. "I
have suffered, too, on that wretched boat and in these _detestable_
tunnels. I have been in terror of my life. It is hunger and fear that
direct us toward the gods, my son. I have learned that, and I wonder
that _you_, suffering as you clearly have, have not turned to them long
ago.
"How do you know I haven't, huh? You don't know a shaggy
thing about me. Maybe I'm holier than all of you."
Tired as she was, Chenille giggled.
Incus shook his head. "No, my son. It won't do. I am a _fool_,
perhaps. Beyond dispute I have not infrequently been a fool. But
not such a fool as that." More loudly he added, "On your _knees_. Bow
your heads."
"Bird pray! Pray Silk!"
Incus ignored Oreb's hoarse interruption, his right hand making
the sign of addition with the voided cross. "Behold us, lovely Scylla,
_wonderful of waters_. Behold our love and our need for thee. Cleanse
us, O Scylla!" He took a deep breath, the inhalation loud in the
whispering silence. "Your prophet is bewildered and dismayed,
Scylla. Wash clear my _eyes_ as I implore you to cleanse my _spirit_.
Guide me in this confusion of darkling passages and obscure
responsibilities." He looked up, mouthing: "_Cleanse us, O Scylla_."
Chenille, Hammerstone, and even Urus dutifully repeated, "Cleanse us, O
Scylla."
Bored, Oreb had flown up to grip a rough stone protrusion in his
red claws. He could see farther even
than Hammerstone through
the yellow-green twilight that filled the tunnel, and clinging thus to
the ceiling, his vantage point was higher; but look as he might, he
saw neither Auk or Silk. Abandoning the search, he peered hungrily
at Dace's corpse; its half-open eyes tempted him, though he felt sure
he would be chased away.
Below, the black human droned on: "Behold us, fair Phaea, _lady
of the larder_. Behold our love and our need for thee. _Feed_ us, O
Phaea! Famished we wander in need of your nurture." All the
humans squawked, "Feed us, O Phaea!"
"Talk talk," Oreb muttered to himself; he could talk as well as
they, but it seemed to him that talking was of small benefit in such
situations.
"Behold us, fierce Sphigx, _woman of war_. Behold our love and
our need for thee. _Lead_ us, O Sphigx! We are lost and dismayed, O
Sphigx, hemmed _all about_ by danger. Lead us in the ways we should
go." And all the humans, "Lead us, O Sphigx!"
The black one said, "Let us now, with heads bowed, put ourselves
in _personal communion_ with the Nine." He and the green one and
the red one looked down, and the dirty one got up, stepped over the
dead one, and trotted softly away.
"Man go," Oreb muttered, congratulating himself on having hit on
the right words; and because he liked announcing things, he
repeated more loudly, "Man go!"
The result was gratifying. The green one sprang to his feet and
dashed after the dirty one. The black one shrieked and fluttered
after the green one, and the red one jiggled after them both, faster
than the black one but not as fast as the first two. For as long as it
might have taken one of his feathers to float to the tunnel floor,
Oreb preened, weighing the significance of these events.
He had liked Auk and had felt that if he remained with Auk, Auk
would lead him to Silk. But Auk was gone, and the others were not
looking for him any more.
Oreb glided down to a convenient perch on Dace's face and
dined, keeping a wary eye out. One never knew. Good came of bad,
and bad of good. Humans were both, and changeable in the
extreme, sleeping by day yet catching fish whose best parts they
generously shared.
And--so on. His crop filled, Oreb meditated on these points
while cleaning his newly-bright bill with his feet.
The dead one had been good. There could be no doubt about
that. Friendly in the reserved fashion Oreb preferred alive, and
delicious, dead. There was another one back there, but he was no
longer hungry. It was time to find Silk in earnest. Not just look.
Really find him. To leave this green hole and its living and dead humans.
Vaguely, he recalled the night sky, the gleaming upside-down
country over his head, and the proper country below.
The wind in trees. Drifting along with it looking for things of
interest. It was where Silk would be, and where he could be found.
Where a bird could fly high, see everything, and find Silk.
Flying was not as easy as riding the red one's launcher, but flying
downwind through the tunnel permitted rests in which he had only
to keep his wings wide and sail along. There were twinges at times,
reminding him of the blue thing that had been there. He had never
understood what it was or why it had stuck to him.
Downwind along this hole and that, through a little hole (he
landed and peered into it cautiously before venturing in himself)
and into a big one where dirty humans stretched on the ground or
prowled like cats, a hole lidded like a pot with the remembered sky
of night.
Sword in hand, Master Xiphias stood at the window looking at the
dark and empty street. Go home. That was what they'd told him.
Go home, though it had not been quite so bluntly worded. That
dunce Bison, a fool who couldn't hold a sword correctly! That dunce
Bison, who seemed in charge of everything, had come by while he
was arguing with that imbecile Scale. Had smiled like friend and
admired his sword, and had only pretended--pretended!--to
believe him when he had stated (not boasting, just supplying a plain,
straightforward answer in response to direct, uninvited questions)
that he had killed five troopers in armor in Cage Street.
Then Bison had--the old fencing master grinned gleefully--had
gaped like a carp when he, Xiphias, had parted a thumbthick rope
dangling from his, Bison's, hand. Had admired his sword and waved
it around like the ignorant boy he was, and had the gall to say in
many sweet words, go home like Scale says, old man. We don't need
you tonight, old man. Go home and eat, old man. Go home and
sleep. Get some rest, old man, you've had a big day.
Bison's sweet words had faded and blown away, lighter and more
fragile than the leaves that whirled up the empty street. Their
import, bitter as gall, remained. He had been fighting--had been a
famous fighting man--when Bison was in diapers. Had been fighting
before Scale's mother had escaped her kennel to bump tails with
some filthy garbage-eating cur.
Xiphias turned his back to the window and sat on the sill, his head
in his hands, his sword at his feet. He was no longer what he had
been thirty years ago, perhaps. No longer what he had been before
he lost his leg. But there wasn't a man in the city--not one!--who
dared cross blades with him.
A knock at the front door, floating up the narrow stair from the
floor below.
There would be no students tonight; his students would be
Possibly Bison had realized the gravity of his error and come to
implore him to undertake some almost suicidal mission. He'd go,
but by High Hierax they'd have to beg first!
He picked up his sword to return it to its place on the wall, then
changed his mind. In times like these--
Another knock.
There had been somebody. A new student down for tonight,
came with Auk, tall, left-handed. Had studied with somebody else
but wouldn't admit it. Good though. Talented! Gifted, in fact.
Couldn't be here for his lesson, could he? With the city like this?
A third knock, almost cursory. Xiphias returned to the window
and peered out.
Silk sighed. The house was dark; when he had been here before, the
second floor had blazed with light. He had been foolish to think that
the old man might be home after all.
He knocked for the last time and turned away, only to hear a
window thrown open above him. "It's you! Good! Good!" The
window banged down. With speed that was almost comic, the door
flew wide. "Inside! Inside! Bolt it, will you? Is that a bird? A pet
bird? Upstairs!" Xiphias gestured largely with a saber, his shadow
leaping beside him; whipped by the night wind, his wild white hair
seemed to possess a life of its own.
"Master Xiphias, I need your help."
"Good man?" Oreb croaked.
"A very good man," Silk assured him, hoping he was right; he
caught the goo
d man's arm as he turned away. "I know I was
supposed to come tonight for another lesson, Master Xiphias. I
haven't. I can't, but I need your advice."
"Been called out? Have to fight? What did I tell you? What
weapons?"
"I'm very tired. Is there a place where we can sit down?"
"Upstairs!" The old man bounded up them himself just as he had
on Sphixday night. Wearily, Silk followed.
"Lesson first!" Lights kindled at the sound of the old man's voice,
brightened as he beat the wall with a foil.
The traveling bag now held only the yellow tunic, yet it seemed as
heavy as a full one; Silk dropped it into a corner. "Master Xiphia--"
He snatched down another foil and beat the wall with that as well.
"Been fighting?"
"Not really. In a manner of speaking I have, I suppose."
"Me too!" Xiphias tossed Silk the second foil. "Killed five. Ruins
you, fighting! Ruins your technique!"
Oreb squawked, "Look out!" and flew as Silk ducked.
"Don't cringe!" Another whistling cut, this one rattling on the
bamboo blade of Silk's foil. "What do you need, lad?"
"A place to sit." He was tired, deadly tired; his chest throbbed and
his ankle ached. He parried and parried again, sickened by the
realization that the only way to get this mad old man to listen was to
defeat him or lose to him; and to lose (it was as if a god had
whispered it) tonight was death: the thing in him that had kept him
alive and functioning since he had been shot would die at his defeat,
and he soon after.
Feinting and lunging, Silk fought for his life with the bamboo sword.
Its hilt was just long enough for him to grip it with both hands,
and he did. Cut right and left and right again, beating down the old
man's guard. He was still stronger than any old man, however
strong, however active, and he drove him back and again back,
slashing and stabbing with frenzied speed.
"Where'd you learn that two-handed thrust, lad? Aren't you
left-handed?"
Dislodged from his waistband, Musk's needler fell to the mat. Silk
kicked it aside and snatched a second foil from the wall, parrying
with one, then the other, attacking with the free foil, right, left, and
right again. A vertical cut, and suddenly Xiphias's foot was on his
right-hand foil. The blunt tip of Xiphias's foil thumped his wound,
bringing excruciating pain.