Ylith turned slowly, the fine chains of her headdress gently swaying and sparkling against her hair, and the light of the hearthfire of the fortress leaped flickering across her face. With a glance at the priest she settled into her chair and sat leaning back, looking down at Kurt.
“Priest,” she said at last, “you have reached some conclusion, surely, after holding them both so long a time.”
“Great Methi, the College is divided in its opinion.”
“Which is to say it has reached no conclusion, after three days of questioning and deliberation.”
“It has reached several conclusions, however—”
“Priest,” exclaimed the Methi in irritation, “yea or nay?”
The old priest bowed very low. “Methi, some think that the humans are what we once called the godkings, the children of the great earth-snake Yr and of the wrath of Phan when he was the enemy of mankind, begetting monsters to destroy the world.”
“This is an old, old theory, and the godkings were long ago, and capable of mixing blood with man. Has there ever been a mixing of human blood and nemet?”
“None proved, great Methi. But we do not know the origin of the Tamurlin, and he is most evidently of their kind; now you are asking us to resolve, as it were, the Tamurlin question immediately, and we do not have sufficient knowledge to do so, great Methi.”
“You have him.I sent him to you for you to examine. Does he tell you nothing?”
“What he tells us is unacceptable.”
“Does he lie? Surely if he lies, you can trap him.”
“We have tried, great Methi, and he will not be moved from what he says. He speaks of another world and another sun. I think he believes these things.”
“And do you believe them, priest?”
The old man bowed his head, clenching his aged hands. “Let the Methi be gracious: these matters are difficult or you would not have consulted the College. We wonder this: if he is not nemet, what could be his origin? Our ships have ranged far over all the seas, and never found his like. When humans will to do it, they come to us, bringing machines and forces our knowledge does not understand. If he is not from somewhere within our knowledge, then,—forgive my simplicity—he must still be from somewhere. He calls it another earth. Perhaps it is a failure of language, a misunderstanding,—but where in all the lands we know could have been his home?”
“What if there was another? How would our religion encompass it?”
The priest turned his watery eyes on Kurt, kneeling beside him. “I do not know,” he said.
“Give me an answer, priest. I will make you commit yourself. Give me an answer.”
“I—had rather believe him mortal than immortal, and I cannot quite accept that he is an animal. Forgive me, great Methi, what may be heresy to wonder,—but Phan was not the eldest born of Ib. There were other beings, whose nature is unclear. Perhaps there were others of Phan’s kind. And were there a thousand others, it makes the yhiano less true.”
“This is heresy, priest.”
“It is,” confessed the priest. “But I do not know an answer otherwise.”
“Priest, when I look at him, I see neither reason nor logic. I question what should not be questioned. If this is Phan’s world, and there is another,—then what does this foretell, this—intrusion—of humans into ours? There is power above Phan’s, yes; but what can have made it necessary that nature be so upset, so inside-out? Where are these events tending, priest?”
“I do not know. But if it is Fate against which we struggle, then our struggle will ruin us.”
“Does not the yhiabid us accept things only within the limits of our own natures?”
“It is impossible to do otherwise, Methi.”
“And therefore does not nature sometimes command us to resist?”
“It has been so reasoned, Methi, although not all the College is in agreement on that.”
“And if we resist fate, we must perish?”
“That is doubtless so, Methi.”
“And someday it might be our fate to perish?”
“That is possible, Methi.”
She slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair. “I refuse to bow to such a possibility. I refuse to perish, priest, or to lead men to perish. In sum, the College does not know the answer.”
“No, Methi, we must admit we do not.”
“I have a certain spiritual authority myself.”
“You are the viceroy of Phan on earth.”
“Will the priests respect that?”
“The priests,” said the old man, “are not anxious to have this matter cast back into their hands. They will welcome your intervention in the matter of the origin of humans, Methi.”
“It is,” she said, “dangerous to the people that such thoughts as these be heard outside this room. You will not repeat the reasoning we have made together. On your life, priest, and on your soul, you will not repeat what I have said to you.”
The old priest turned his head and gave Kurt a furtive, troubled look. “Let the Methi be gracious: this being is not deserving of punishment for any wrong.”
“He invaded the Rhmeiof Man.”
“He sought sanctuary.”
“Did you give it?”
“No,” the priest admitted.
“That is well,” said Ylith. “You are dismissed, priest.”
The old man made a deeper bow and withdrew, backing away. The heavy tread and metal clash of armed men accompanied the opening of the door: and the armed men remained after it was closed. Kurt heard and knew they were there, but he must not turn to look: time was short. He did not want to hasten it. The Methi still looked down on him, the tiny chains swaying, her dark face soberly thoughtful.
“You create difficulties wherever you go,” she said softly.
“Where is Kta, Methi? They would not tell me. Where is he?”
“They returned him to us a day ago.”
“Is he—?”
“I have not given sentence.” She said it with a shrug, then bent those dark eyes full upon him. “I do not really wish to kill him. He could be valuable to me. He knows it. I could hold him up to the other Indras-descended of Nephane and say: look, we are merciful, we are forgiving, we are your people. Do not fight against us.”
Kurt looked up at her, for a moment lost in that dark gaze, believing as many a hearer would believe Ylith t’Erinas: hope rose irrationally in him, on the tone of her gentle voice, her skill to reach for the greatest hopes. And good or evil, he did not know clearly which she was.
She was not like Djan, familiar and human and wielding power like a general. Ylith was a Methi as the office must have been: a goddess-on-earth, doing things for a goddess’ reasons and with amoral morality, creating truth.
Rewriting things as they should be.
He felt an awe of her that he had felt of nothing mortal, believed indeed that she could erase the both of them as if they had never been. He had been within the Rhmeiof Man, had been beside the fire: the skin on his arms was still painful. When Ylith spoke to him he felt the roaring silence of that fire drowning him.
He was fevered. He was fatigued. He saw the signs in himself, and feared instead his own weakness.
“Kta would be valuable to you,” he said, “even unwilling.” He felt guilty, knowing Kta’s stubborn pride. “Elas was the victim of one Methi; it would impress Nephane’s families if another Methi showed him mercy.”
“You have a certain logic on your side. And what of you? What shall I do with you?”
“I am willing to live,” he said.
She smiled that goddess-smile at him, her eyes alone alive. “You existence is a trouble; but if I am rid of you, it will not solve matters. You would still have existed. What should I write at your death? That this day we destroyed a creature which could not possibly exist, and so restored order to the universe?”
“Some,” he said, “are urging you to do that.”
She leaned back, curling her bejeweled fingers about the carved fishes of the chair arms. “If, on the other hand, we admit you exist, then where do you exist? We have always despised the Sufaki for accepting humans and nemet as one state: herein began the heresies with which they pervert pure religion, heresies which we will not tolerate.”