Enka Ne smiled. ‘Who can know? No one save Oruri. Was it not Oruri in me that bade the warrior be at one with the guyanis?’
‘Who can know?’ said the man of Earth. ‘It is certain that I do not.’
The god-king’s councillors, crouching together, had heard the exchange in silence. But they were plainly unhappy that a stranger should question the act of Enka Ne. Now one of them spoke.
‘Lord,’ he said diffidently, ‘may it not be that Poul Mer Lo, whose life is yours, has a careless voice? The affliction may easily be remedied.’
Enka Ne shook his feathers and stretched. Then he gazed solemnly at the councillor. ‘There is no affliction. Know only that the stranger has been touched by Oruri. Whoever would challenge the purpose of Oruri, let him now command the death of Poul Mer Lo.’
The councillors subsided, muttering. Poul Mer Lo was sweating with the heat; but somewhere in a dark dimension Paul Marlowe was shivering.
‘See,’ said Enka Ne, ‘there is the first stone of Baya Sur.’ He pointed to an obelisk rising from the smooth water of the canal. ‘Soon there will be a sharp glory. Let no man come to this place without tranquillity and love.’
Baya Sur was, unlike Baya Nor, no more than a single stone temple set in the forest and protected from its advance by a high stone wall. At the landing place about forty men—the entire population of Baya Sur, waited to greet the barges. The one containing the oracle was the first to pull in. The palanquin was lifted ashore carefully by the priestesses and carried into the temple. Then Enka Ne gave a signal and his own barge was poled in. He stepped ashore with a great rustling of feathers and with all the arrogance and brightness and mystery of a god. After him came the councillors, and after them came the stranger, Poul Mer Lo. No one stayed to meet the three girl children. Looking over his shoulder as he walked along the paved avenue that led to the temple steps, Poul Mer Lo saw them step ashore and walk gravely after him like tiny clockwork dolls.
Before the sacrifice there was a ritual meal to be undertaken. It was in the great hall of the phallus where the only source of natural light came from the orifice of a symbolic vagina built into the roof. In the bare walls, however, there were niches; and in the niches were smoky oil lamps.
The palanquin had been set near to the stone phallus. Immediately before the phallus there was a large bowl of kappa and several empty small bowls. The three girl children, silent and immobile, sat cross-legged facing the phallus. Behind them sat three priests, each armed with a short knife. Behind the priests sat the councillors, and behind the councillors sat Poul Mer Lo.
Suddenly, there was a wild, desolate bird cry. Enka Ne strutted into the chamber in such a manner that, for a moment, Poul Mer Lo again found it necessary to remind himself that beneath the plumage and under the bright, darting bird’s head, there was only a boy. The god-king pecked and scratched. Then he gave his desolate bird cry once more and strutted to the bowl of kappa.
He urinated on it and gave another piercing cry. Then he crouched motionless opposite the palanquin. An answering bird cry came from behind the dark curtains.
One of the priests began to put small handfuls of kappa into the little bowls. The two other priests began to hand the bowls round—first to the girl children, who immediately ate their portions with great relish, then to the councillors, and finally to Poul Mer Lo.
Paul Marlowe wanted to be sick, but Poul Mer Lo forced him to eat. The frugal meal was over in a few moments. Then daylight died, and the room was filled with the flickering shadows cast by the oil lamps.
The god-king rose, strutted to the phallus of Oruri and enfolded it with his wings. Then he whirled and pointed to one of the girl children.
‘Come!’
She rose obediently and stepped forward. She turned and leaned back on the phallus, clasping her hands behind it and around it. The god-king suddenly lay at her feet. There was an expression of intense happiness on her face.
One of the priests pressed his arm under her chin, forcing her head back. Another knelt, pressing her stomach so that she was hard against the phallus. The third advanced with knife arm extended and with the other arm ready as if to grasp something.
Enka Ne uttered another bird cry. From the closed palanquin there came an answering bird cry. The knife struck once, then rose and struck again. There was no sound.
The hand plunged into the open chest of the girl and snatched out the still beating heart.
Blood poured from the gaping wound on to the prostrate body of the god-king.
There were two more bird cries—piercing, desolate, triumphant.
Poul Mer Lo fainted.
TWELVE
The expedition, the religious progress, was almost over. So far it had taken eight days and would be completed on the ninth, when the oracle and god-king returned to Baya Nor. The three girl children were now safely in the arms of Oruri. The second had been sacrificed in a manner identical with that of the first at the temple of Baya Ver and the third at the temple of Baya Lys.
Poul Mer Lo had learned not to faint at the spectacle of a living heart being tom from the body of a child. It was, he had been told, at the best rather impolite. At the worst it could be construed as an unfavourable omen.
Now, on the eighth night shortly after the ceremonial death-in-life feast that followed the sacrifice, he lay resdessly on his bed in one of the guest cells of Baya Lys. He was wondering why Enka Ne had invited/commanded his presence on the journey. To accompany the oracle and the god-king on a religious progress was a privilege normally reserved only for those who had distinguished themselves gready in war or worship.
Suddenly he became aware that someone else was in the cell. He sat up quickly and saw by the light of the small oil lamp a half-starved youth in a tattered samu squatting patiently on the floor. There was a covered bundle by his side.
‘Oruri greets you,’ said Shah Shan, rising.
‘The greeting is a blessing,’ answered Poul Mer Lo mechanically.
‘I sorrow if I have disturbed your meditations.’
Poul Mer Lo smiled. ‘My meditations were such that I welcome one who interrupts them.’
Shah Shan indicated the bundle at his feet. ‘My friend, of whom I think you know, bade me bring you some things that
were found in the forest. He was of the opinion that they would have some meaning for you.’ He untied the piece of cloth and displayed the contents of the bundle.
There was one plastic visor, two atomic grenades and a battered transceiver.
Poul Mer Lo was instantly transformed into Paul Marlowe who, gazing at the odd collection, felt a stinging mistiness in his eyes.
‘Who found these things?’ he managed to say at last.
‘The priests of Baya Lys.’
‘They have found nothing else?’
‘Nothing … Except…’ Shah Shan hesitated. ‘My friend told me that it has been reported that a great blackened hole exists in the forest where formerly there was nothing but trees and grass. These objects are certainly very curious. Do they have any significance?’
‘They belonged to those who travelled with me in the silver bird.’ Paul Marlowe picked up one of the atomic grenades. ‘This, for example, is a terrible weapon of destruction. If I were to move these studs in a certain way,’ he indicated two tiny recessed levers, ‘the whole of Baya Lys would be consumed by fire.’
Shah Shan was unperturbed. ‘It is to be hoped,’ he remarked, ‘that, receiving the guidance of Oruri, you will not cause this thing to happen.’
Paul smiled. ‘Be assured that I will not cause it to happen, Shah Shan, for it would encompass my own death also.’