‘I was going to Enka Ne in the sacred city. I was taking him the cart I had caused to be built.’
‘Enka Ne had called you?’
‘No,’ answered Poul Mer Lo.
‘Help him,’ said the Bayani in the hood.
From out of the gloom another dark shape advanced.
Poul Mer Lo felt the sudden touch of cold metal on his stomach. Then he screamed.
He gazed, horrified, at the pincers gripping a large fold of his flesh.
‘I grieve for you,’ said Indrui Sa. ‘The god-king receives only those who are called … Help him! ’
The pincers were tightened and twisted. Poul Mer Lo screamed again.
‘Thus, perhaps, Oruri hears your sorrow,’ said Indrui Sa. ‘It may be that your ignorance and presumption will inspire some mercy … Stranger, you rode not upon an animal but upon that which had been built by the hand of man. How call you this thing?’
‘It is a cart.’
‘Help him!’
Again the pincers were tightened and twisted. Again Poul Mer Lo screamed.
‘The kayrt is no more. Oruri saw fit to destroy it. What did you hope to encompass with this kayrt?’
‘It was a gift,’ sobbed Poul Mer Lo. ‘It was a gift to Enka Ne. I thought—I thought that if the god-king saw the use to which the cart could be put, he would cause many of them to be built. Thus would the toil of men be greatly eased.’
‘Stranger,’ said Indrui Sa, ‘human toil is the gift of Oruri. Let no man diminish that gift… Help him.’
Once more the pincers tightened and twisted. Poul Mer Lo screamed and fainted. When he became conscious once more, Indrui Sa was still speaking. He sounded as if he had been speaking a long time.
‘And therefore,’ said Indrui Sa, ‘it is clear, is it not, that you were the uncomprehending instrument of chaos. Two men have been destroyed, the kayrt has been destroyed and the foot of the priest will require much rest. Repent, Poul Mer Lo, of ignorance. Repent also of presumption. Give thanks to Oruri for the blessing of a speedy death which, bearing in mind the degree of chaos you have already inspired is more than ’
Suddenly there was a wild desolate bird cry.
Instantly Indrui Sa stopped speaking and fell upon his face.
Poul Mer Lo heard a rustling and saw a bright, darting bird’s head and brilliant plumage that glistened even in the lamplight.
‘Who speaks of death?’ asked a high, reedy voice.
There was silence.
The god-king gave his piercing cry once more. ‘Who speaks of death?’
Indrui Sa picked himself up. ‘Lord, the stranger brings chaos.’
‘But who speaks of death?’
‘Lord, chaos is the product of unbeing, therefore unbeing is the reward of chaos.’
‘Oruri hears you, Indrui Sa, most worthy of men and upholder of the law. Oruri hears you and is desirous of your company.’
Indrui Sa stiffened and remained motionless.
Poul Mer Lo was vaguely aware of others coming into the chamber.
Enka Ne uttered his bird cry once more. ‘Strike! ’ he said.
A warrior stepped forward and thrust a short trident into the throat of Indrui Sa. There was a brief whistling noise, then he fell suddenly.
‘Release the instrument of chaos,’ commanded Enka Ne. Then, without waiting to see if his command was carried out, he turned and left the chamber.
Presendy, Poul Mer Lo found himself stumbling up a narrow spiral staircase, stumbling out into the brilliant and painful sunlight.
SIXTEEN
‘It is very strange,’ said Shah Shan, speaking excellent English, ‘this friendship that exists between us. We are men of two worlds, Paul. It is strange that Oruri should guide you across the great darkness of space to shed some light in the darkness of my mind.’ He laughed. ‘One is tempted to look for a pattern.’
‘Shah Shan, you have a great talent for learning,’ said Paul Marlowe. ‘In two hundred days—four Bayani months—you have learned to speak my language better than many people in my own world who have studied it for years.’
‘That is because I wish to see into your thoughts.’
‘On Earth, we should undoubtedly call you a genius.’
Shah Shan laughed. ‘I do not think so. From what you have told me, your planet has many who are more gifted than I.’
‘By our reckoning,’ said Paul, ‘you are nineteen years old— still a boy. Yet you rule a kingdom wisely, and you have assimilated more information in a few months than our most talented young men can assimilate in as many years.’
Shah Shan shrugged. ‘Please, Paul, humour me a little. For me the old ways of thinking die hard. Enka Ne rules Baya Nor. Shah Shan is merely his shadow, a simple waterman.’
Paul laughed. ‘Ritual schizophrenia.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sorry. I meant that in a sense you have two excellent minds, both able to perfectly control the same body.’
‘Oruri speaks for Enka Ne,’ retorted Shah Shan. Then he grinned. ‘But Shah Shan is insignificant enough to speak for himself.’
‘Paul,’ said Mylai Tui in English with an atrocious accent, ‘will you dronk some mare kappa spreet?’
‘Ask our guest first, love.’
‘I am sorry. Shah Shan, police you will dronk?’
Shah Shan held out his calabash. ‘Police I will dronk,’ he said gravely.
The three of them were taking their ease on the verandah of Poul’s little house. It had been a hot day, but though the evening was still warm, the clouded skies had rolled away to reveal a fine, far dusting of stars. Overhead the nine small moons of Altair Five flew raggedly westward like bright migrating birds.
Paul Marlowe looked at the moons and the stars without seeing either. He was thinking of the last few months, of the time since Shah Shan had begun to come to him regularly to learn English. He knew that it was difficult for Enka Ne to make time for Shah Shan, and he had been puzzled as to why the boy should devote so much precious energy and concentration to learning a language that he could only ever hope to speak with one person.
learning a language as upon learning all he could of the world that existed on the other side of the sky. Instinctively, the boy knew that the Bayani language was inadequate, that its simple collection of nouns and verbs and qualifying words could only provide a horribly distorted picture of the world that had once belonged to Paul Marlowe.
So Shah Shan, with the typical fanaticism of genius, had applied himself not only to a new language but to the attitudes and philosophy of the one man who spoke that language. He had used Paul like an encyclopaedia; and in four Bayani months he had mastered not only the language but much of the knowledge of the man who spoke it.
‘You know, of course,’ said Shah Shan, ‘that in twenty-three days Enka Ne will return to the bosom of Oruri?’
Paul sighed. ‘Yes, I know. But—is it necessary?’
‘So it has always been. The god-king reigns for a year. Then Oruri sees fit to renew the form.’
‘But is it necessary?’
Shah Shan regarded him calmly. And in the eyes of the boy there seemed to Paul Marlowe to be a wisdom that passed beyond the realm of understanding.
‘It is necessary,’ said Shah Shan sofdy. ‘The face of a civilization cannot be changed in a single lifetime, Paul. You should know that. If Enka Ne did not offer himself gladly and with great joy, Baya Nor would disintegrate. Factions would arise. Most probably the end would be civil war … No. Enlightenment must come closely, peacefully. You, the instrument of chaos, are also the instrument of progress. You must plant the seed and hope that others will reap the harvest.’