Caldwell read that Hunt had assessed everything accurately, and gave a satisfied nod. “How did you leave things with her?” he asked.
“I said I’d get back. She’s still at the Maddox. I wanted to bring it up with you first.”
“You talk to her, then, and tell her we want to send her to Jevlen. We’ll work out some cover angle for public consumption.” Caldwell waved in the direction of his outer office. “Mitzi has a line to the Vishnu. She’ll fix the details. Then, that’s it, unless you’ve got any other points for now.”
Hunt started to rise, then looked up. “What are you expecting me to come back with this time, Gregg?” he asked.
“How do I know?” Caldwell spread his hands and made a face. “Lost planet, starship, interstellar civilization. What does that leave? The next thing can only be a universe.”
“That’s all? You know, you may have me there, Gregg,” Hunt said, smiling. “There aren’t too many of those left. Where am I supposed to find another universe?”
Caldwell stared at him expressionlessly. “I don’t think anything you did could surprise me anymore,” he replied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The gods had turned away from the world of Waroth, and their stars had gone out. With the emptiness in the sky came changelessness upon the land. The currents of life, which brought storms and stirred the landscapes, died to a flicker, and sameness hung like a stupor everywhere from day to day and from place to place. Crops failed; orchards wilted. Sea monsters that devoured ships moved in close to the shores, and the fishermen were afraid to leave their harbors. Marauding bands roamed at large, plundering and burning. Sickness and pestilences came.
In the city of Orenash, the king and the council of rulers summoned the high tribunal of priests, who read from the signs that the reason the gods were abandoning the people was that the people were turning away from the gods by permitting sorcerers to meddle in knowledge that was not intended for this world. The currents and the stars would return when the people atoned and cleansed themselves by renouncing such arts and sacrificing to the gods those guilty of practicing them. Accordingly, the sorcerers were rounded up and brought in chains before the Grand Assembly. Thrax’s uncle, Dalgren, was among them.
“They are not Seers. They have not seen Hyperia,” the Holy Prosecutor thundered at the trial. “But they seek knowledge, here, now, of mysteries that the gods have seen fit not to unfold until the life that comes after Waroth. Thus they would exalt themselves and set themselves above the gods.”
The Prosecutor glowered. “They speak of laws! Of processes constrained to predictability by strange powers of lawfulness beyond our comprehension. They are not Seers, mind you; but they feel able to tell us of the rules that govern Hyperia, which the Seers who have seen Hyperia have never seen. Is it they, then, are we to conclude-these sorcerers-who are to say what will be in Hyperia, rather then the gods?
“Their ambition spurred them to be as the gods. But, unable to expand their own powers to embrace the complexities of chaos that support the world, the sorcerers had to make the world simple enough to fit with what they could comprehend. They sought consistency across space and predictability over time-laws that would remain unchanged, making all objects stay the same no matter where or when they were observed.
“The gods granted them what they sought… and now they are letting us see the results of it. The currents that fed chaos are dying. Lawfulness is taking over the land, and the land, too, dies, stifled and crushed by sameness. For it is chaos that brings change, and change is life. Change is vigor. Change is the uncertainty that allows Good to vie with Evil, action to take meaning, and for the judgments of the gods to prevail.”
He stabbed a finger in the direction of the accused, detaching a bolt of light that dispersed and vanished in a puff of expanding radiance. “The gods have shown us our folly. Now they must be paid the atonement that they demand..
To determine the judgment, a year-old uskiloy was tethered inside a consecrated circle before the Assembly and thrice blessed. Then, seven Masters in unison prayed for a lightning stroke to appear and smite within the circle. A swirl of night and light gathered above the court before the temple, and when the flash came, the uskiloy was consumed. Thus, the verdict delivered was: Guilty.
Keyalo, the stepson of Dalgren, saw the verdict as vindication of the uncompromising position that he himself had taken from the outset. Seeing an opportunity to win favor with the authorities and at the same time take care of the source of his resentment and jealousy, he went to the Holy Prosecutor’s secretary-scribe and said, “The household of Dalgren is not cleansed yet of its stain. There is another there who also blasphemed against the teachings, an apprentice of the accursed arts.”
“Who is this of whom you speak?” the Prosecutor’s officer asked him.
“The nephew, whose name is Thrax. Many times have I seen him assisting in the fabrication of strange devices and performing unholy rites. And he, too, speaks of stealing the laws of Hyperia and bringing them to Waroth.”
“Then he, too, shall stand accused” was the reply.
But Thrax had gone to consult a Seer outside the city, who touched the mind of Dalgren even while Dalgren sat chained in the Holy Prosecutor’s dungeons. “He has a message for you, Thrax,” the Seer announced. “He has seen the signs across the land and repented of his ways. Indeed, the ways that are of Hyperia are meet for Hyperia, and the ways that are of Waroth are meet for Waroth. The sorcerers have defied the teachings, and in their impudence and pride brought woe upon the world.”
“Has he renounced the quest of lawfulness?” Thrax asked, seized with bewilderment as he listened.
“Aye,” the Seer answered. “And he accepts his fate with fortitude and humility. The will of the gods and the way of life does indeed work through the whims of chaos. You have the ability, Thrax. Use it to learn the true wisdom.”
“What would he have me do?”
“Begin again. Take thyself hence from the city and the plain. Find thee a Master who teaches, and learn from him the true way. Seek beyond for Hyperia; it can never be built in Waroth.”
Thrax gasped. “He would have me become a Master?”
“Thus speaks the mind of Dalgren.”
Seized by remorse and a new resolve, Thrax turned his back upon the city, and there and then, taking only the clothes that he stood in, he set off toward the wilderness. And it was as well for him that he did. For even as he fixed his gaze upon the distant mountains, the sheriff of the city was arriving at Dalgren’s house with a troop of guards and a warrant from the Assembly to arrest him.