“Nothing could be simpler,” said the Goddess. “Unfortunately, you are wrong in nearly every other point.”
“But then why did Jordde throw the jewel after us when he tore it from Argo’s…I mean the other Argo’s throat?”
“When he snatched the jewel from around my daughter’s neck,” explained Argo, “he threw it to the creatures of the sea because he knew they would take it back to Aptor. With it once again on the Island, the priestesses would have a better chance of getting it; my daughter, acting Argo Incarnate in the absence of her own daughter, does not know that what she is fighting is another face of Argo. As far as she is concerned, all her efforts are against the mischief Hama has caused, and truly caused in Leptar. But beyond these blind creatures is a greater enemy that she must vanquish.”
“Hama?” began Iimmi.
“Greater than Hama,” said old Argo. “It is herself. It is hard for me to watch her and not occasionally call a word of guidance. With the science here in Aptor, it would not be difficult. But I must refrain. Actually she has done well. But there is much more to do. She has directed you well and assigned your tasks properly. And until now you have carried them out well.”
“She said we were to steal the final jewel from Hama and return with you to the ship,” said Geo. “Can you help us with either of these things?”
Argo laughed. “The moment I compliment you, you completely confuse your mission. Once the jewel is stolen, whom are you supposed to take back to Leptar?”
“Argo Incarnate,” Urson said.
“You said that Argo back in the ship was your daughter,” said Geo, “but she said you were her daughter.”
Argo laughed. “When my granddaughter was…kidnapped here to Aptor, I was already waiting for her. Look.”
She turned a dial beneath the screen and lights flickered over the glass: the sleeping girl had short red hair, a splash of freckles over a blunt nose. Her hand curled in a loose fist near her mouth. A white sheet covered the gentle push of adolescent breasts. On the table beside her bed was a contraption made of a U-shaped piece of metal mounted on a board, an incomplete coil of wire, and a few more bits of metal, sitting near a crumpled paper bag.
“That is my granddaughter,” Argo said, switching off the picture. “She is the one you must take back to the ship.”
“How shall we steal the jewel?” asked Geo.
Argo turned to Snake. “I believe that was your task.” Then she looked around at the other three. “You will need rest. After that, you can see about the jewel and my granddaughter. Come with me now. Pallets have been set up for you in the far room, where you may sleep.” She rose and led them to another chamber. The blankets lay over soft boughs. Argo pointed to a trickle of water that ran from a basin carved in the rock wall. “This stream is pure. You may drink from it.” She pointed to a burlap sack in the corner. “There is fruit in there if you become hungry.”
“Sleep!” Urson jammed his fists into the air, yawned.
As they settled, Argo said, “Poet?”
“Yes?” Geo replied.
“I know you are the most tired, but I must talk to you alone for a moment or two.”
As Geo raised himself, Urson stood up too. “Look,” he said to Argo, “he needs the rest more than any of us. If you want to question him about rituals and spells, take Iimmi. He knows just as much as Geo.”
Argo smiled. “I need a poet, not a student. I need one who has suffered as he has. Come.”
“Wait,” Urson said. He picked the jewel from Geo’s chest, where Snake had returned it when they entered the chapel. “You better leave this with me.”
Geo frowned.
“It may still be a trap,” said Urson.
“Leave it with him,” suggested Argo, “if it eases him.”
Geo let the big hands lift the thong from his neck.
“Now come with me,” said Argo.
They left the room and walked back through the chapel to the door. Argo walked to the entrance and looked down at the molten rock. Light sifted through her robe, leaving the darker outline of her body. Without turning, she spoke: “The fire is a splendid symbol for life, don’t you think?”
“And for death. One of Aptor’s fires burned my arm away.”
She turned to him. “You and Snake have had the hardest time. Both of you have left flesh to rot in Aptor. I guess that involves you in this land.” She paused. “You know, he had a great deal more pain than you. Do you know how he lost his tongue? I watched it all from this same screen inside the chapel and could not help him. Jordde jammed his knuckles into his jaws and, when the mouth came open, caught the red flesh with pincers that closed all the way through, and stretched it as far as it would go. Then he looped the tongue with a thin wire and threw a switch. You don’t know what electricity is, do you?”
“I have heard the word.”
“When a great deal of it is passed through a thin wire, the wire becomes hot, white hot. And the white-hot loop was tightened until the rope of muscle seared from the roasted stump. But the child had fainted already. I wonder if the young can really bear more pain.”
“Jordde and the blind priestesses did this to him?”
“Jordde and some men on the boat that picked up the two of them from the raft on which they had left Aptor.”
“Who is Jordde?” Geo asked. “Urson knew him before this as a First Mate. But Urson’s story tells me nothing.”
“I know the story,” Argo said. “It tells you something, but something you would perhaps rather not hear.” She sighed. “Poet, how well do you know yourself?”
“What do you mean?” Geo asked.
“How well do you know the machinery of a man, how he manages to function? That is what you will sing of if your songs are to become great.”
“I still don’t — ”
“I have a question for you, a poetic riddle. Will you try to answer it?”
“If you will answer a question for me.”
“Will you do your best to answer mine?” Argo asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I will do my best to answer yours. What is your question?”
“Who is Jordde and why is he doing what he’s doing?”
“He was at one time,” Argo explained, “a very promising novice for the priesthood of Argo in Leptar, a scholar of myths and rituals like Iimmi and yourself. He also took to the sea to learn of the world. But his boat was wrecked; he and a few others were cast on Aptor’s shore. They strove with Aptor’s terrors as you did, and many fell. Two, however — a four-armed cabin boy, whom you call Snake, and Jordde — were each exposed to the forces of Argo and Hama as you have been. One, in his strangeness, could see into men’s minds. The other could not. Silently, one swore allegiance to one force while one swore allegiance to the other. The second part of your question was why. Perhaps if you can answer my riddle, you can answer that part yourself. I do know that they were the only two who escaped. I do know that Snake would not tell Jordde his choice, and that Jordde tried to convince the child to follow him. When they were rescued, I know that the argument continued, and that Snake held back with childish tenacity both his decision and his ability to read minds, even under the hot wire and the pincers. The hot wire, incidentally, was something Jordde took back with him from the blind Priestess, according to him, to help the people of Leptar. It could have been of great use. But recently all he has done with the electricity is construct a larger weapon with it. Jordde became a staunch First Mate in a year’s time. Snake became a waterfront thief. Both waited. Then, when the opportunity arose, both acted. Why? Perhaps you can tell me, Poet.”