'Maybe I would,' said Jon Arabin, first with a smile and then with a laugh. 'Maybe I would.'
The logic was inescapable.'Some people may come,' said Drake. 'But a lot won't,
I bet. Bluewater Draven would never shift. He loves it, lording the Teeth.'
'Then let him stay on his stupid rocks and rot,' said Zanya. 'Come on, my hero! How about hunting up something fresh for me?''What do you want, my darling?' said Drake.'A butterfly would do to start with,' she said.
And Drake thought she was joking. But, in truth, people from the Ebrells did eat butterflies on occasion. These two young lovers still had many surprises in store for each other.
Elsewhere, in the caves of Ling itself, a very old woman lay dying. Now, for the first time in seven days, she spoke: 'They…''They what?' said one of the elders who waited on her.'They are coming,' said the Great One.
Weakly.
Her red-veined eyes – blind now for a year – staring at nothing as her mouth writhed, struggling with prophecy.
'Coming . . . they . . . an island … a ship . . . yes . . . He is coming . . . Jon . . . Jon Arabin . . .'
The watchers by her death-bed looked at each other. So the Great One was cracking up after all.
'You think,' she said, startling them by the sudden strength in her voice, 'you think you see a foolish old woman dying. Speaking nonsense as she dies. But you will learn. He comes. Jon Arabin. His son with him, the pure one. He who ventured to the Forbidden Tower.'She sank back on the sands of her bed.Fading.Muttering.
The watchers listened, and heard: '. . . sickness . . . from the Plague Lands . . . a woman … a man . . . prepared . . . initiate . . .' Her mouth fluttered. Shaping sibilants. And said: 'He will rule amongst you . . .' Then said no more.'She is gone,' said one of the elders. 'She is dead.'
With the Great One dead, the elders of Ling ignored her prophecy, and made no plans for the reception of Jon Arabin, his son, and the sick people travelling with them. Truly it has been Written (in Kalob V, quilt 7, section 2a, line xviii): 'A prophet has no honour in her own country.'
But, before long, a boat appeared in Ling Bay. Canoes ventured forth to see if those aboard were dangerous. Then the canoes escorted the boat into the caves, where it grounded at last on the Sacred Sands.
There were half a dozen men aboard, and there was one woman.
One of the men was Jon Arabin. And the elders knew him well, and realized that the Great One had indeed spoken truth in prophecy. And they fell down in awe, and lamented. They had doubted! They had sinned!
But Jon Arabin said (or is reported to have said, which is not necessarily the same thing):
'Fear not, for I bring not death but justice. Aye. And we have sick people who need to be seen to. So move your arses!'
It is usually impossible to deduce anything so elusive as a moral from the workings of history. But-the diligent student will, no doubt, make an exception in this case, and will fortify the arsenal of wisdom with the following observation:
While Great Ones do have their off-days, it is always less than wise for the unwise to write them off completely. The End