“That must be the full version of the poem I found the missing stanza to back in the library at Leptar.”
“As I was saying,” said Iimmi. “Question number two: what is the relation between the rituals of Hama and the old rituals of Argo? Apparently this particular branch of the religion of the Goddess underwent no purge.”
“If the librarian at Olcse Ohlwn could see these,” breathed Geo, “he’d probably pick them up with long tongs, put his hand over his eyes, and carry them to the nearest fire.”
Iimmi looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Don’t you remember? These are forbidden. One of the reasons they were destroyed was because nobody was supposed to know about them.”
“I wonder why?” Iimmi asked.
“That’s question number three. How did you get hold of them?”
“Well,” said Iimmi, “I sort of suspected they might be here. So I just asked for them.”
“And I think I’ve got some answers to those questions.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“We’ll start from three, go back to one, and then on to two. Nice and orderly. Why wasn’t anybody supposed to know about the rituals? Simply because they were so similar to the rituals of Hama. You remember some of the others we found in the abandoned temple? If you don’t, you can refresh your memory right here. The two sets of rituals run almost parallel, except for a name changed here, a color switched from black to white, a variation in the vegetative symbolism. I guess what happened was that when Hama’s forces invaded Leptar five hundred years ago, it didn’t take Leptar long to discover the similarity. From the looks of the City of New Hope, I think it’s safe to assume that at one time or another — say, five hundred years ago — Aptor’s civilization was far higher than Leptar’s, and probably wouldn’t have had too hard a time beating her in an invasion. So when Leptar captured the first jewel and somehow did manage to repel Aptor, the priests of Leptar assumed that the safest way to avoid infiltration by Hama and Aptor again would be to make the rituals of Argo as different as possible from the ones of their enemy, Hama. There may have been a small following of Hama in Leptar before the invasion, but all traces of it were destroyed with the rituals.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, there’s apparently a small peaceful following of Argo here in Aptor. There may have even been trade between the two, which is why the stories of Aptor survive among sailors. The ghouls, the flying things, they parallel the stories the sailors tell too closely to be accidents. How many men do you think have been shipwrecked on Aptor and gotten far enough into the place to see what we’ve seen, and then gotten off again to tell about it?”
“I can think of two,” said Iimmi.
“Huh?”
“Snake and Jordde,” answered Iimmi. “Remember that Argo said there had been spies from Aptor before. Jordde is definitely one, and I guess so is Snake.”
“That fits with rule number one.” He got up from the bed. “Come on. Let’s take a walk. I want to see some sunlight.” They went to the wall. Geo pressed it and the triangular panel slipped back.
When they had rounded four or five turns of hallway, Geo said, “I hope you can remember where we’ve been.”
“I’ve got a more or less eidetic memory for directions,” Iimmi said.
Suddenly the passage opened onto steps, and they were looking out upon a huge white concourse. Down a set of thirty marble steps priestesses filed below, their heads fixed blindly forward. Each woman’s hand rested on the shoulder of the one ahead of her. There were over a hundred, but the lines never collided. One row would merely pause for another to pass, and then begin to glide forward again. The silence and the whiteness were dreamlike.
At the far end was a raised dais with a mammoth statue of a kneeling woman, sculptured of the same effulgent, argic stone. “Where do these women come from?” whispered Iimmi. “And where do they keep the men?”
Geo shrugged.
A priestess came across the temple floor now, alone. She reached the bottom steps, and as she began to ascend, Geo recognized her as the one in charge. She climbed directly toward them, stopped in front of them, and said almost inaudibly, “Gentlemen, you are disturbing the hour of meditation. I asked you not to wander indiscriminately about the convent. Please return with me.”
As she glided past, Geo and Iimmi frowned at each other. After they had rounded a few corners, Geo said, “Excuse me, ma’am, we didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but we are used to natural day and night. We need fresh air, green things. This underground whiteness is oppressive and makes us restless. Could you show us a way into the open?”
“No,” returned the blind Priestess quietly. “Besides, night is coming on and you are not creatures who relish darkness.”
“The night air and the quiet of evening are refreshing to us,” countered Iimmi.
“What do you know of the night?” answered the Priestess with faint cynicism in her low voice. Now they reached the chapel where the friends had first met after their rescue.
“Perhaps,” suggested Geo, “you could talk to us awhile, then. There are many things we would like to know.”
The Priestess turned, sighed softly, and said, “Very well. What would you like to talk about?”
“For instance,” said Geo, “what can you tell us about the Dark God Hama?”
The blind Priestess shrugged, and sat on one of the benches. “There is little to say. Today he is a fiction; he does not exist. There is only Argo, the One White Goddess.”
“But we’ve heard — ”
“You were at his abandoned temple,” said the Priestess. “You saw yourselves. That is all that is left of Hama. Ghouls prey on the dust of his dead saints.”
Iimmi and Geo looked at each other again, puzzled. “Are you sure?” Geo asked.
“Perhaps,” mused the Priestess, “somewhere behind the burning mountain a few of his disciples are left. But Hama is dead in Aptor. You have seen the remains of his city, the City of New Hope. You have also been the first ones to enter it and return in nearly five hundred years.”
“Is that how long the city has been in ruin?” asked Geo.
“It is.”
“What can you tell us about the city?”
The Priestess sighed again. “There was a time,” she began, “generations ago, when Hama was a high god in Aptor. He had many temples, monasteries, and convents devoted to him. We had few. Except for these religious sanctuaries, the land was barbaric, wild, uninhabitable for the most part. There had once been cities in Aptor, but these had been destroyed even earlier by the Great Fire. All that we had was a fantastic record of an unbelievable time before the rain of flame, of tremendous power, vast science, and a towering, though degenerate, civilization. These records were extensive and almost entirely housed within the monasteries. Outside, there was only chaos; half the children were born dead and the other half deformed. Because of the monstrous races that sprang up over the Island now as a reminder to us, we decided the magic contained in these chronicles was evil, and must never be released to the world again. But the priests of Hama did not come to the same decision. They decided to use the information in these chronicles, spread it to the people; they were sure they would not commit the same mistakes that had brought the Great Fire. They opened the books, and a dream materialized from their pages, and that dream was the City of New Hope, which sits in ruin now on the far shore. They made giant machines that flew. They constructed immense boats that could sink into the sea and emerge hundreds of miles away in another harbor in another land. They even harnessed for beneficial use the fire metal, uranium, which had brought such terror to the world before, and had brought down the flames.”