Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

When Kelsey was admitted to the hogan, he learned why this was so. Dressed in worn blue jeans, a Western shirt with silver buttons, his hair (still the same grey as always) bound with a wide fabric tie, Kwinan pushed aside the blanket that covered the door revealing a roughly round room with a fire in the center. It was decorated simply, with practical articles hanging on the wall and elaborately patterned rugs heaped on the floor.

“Thanks for coming by, Randall.”

“Pleasure. Interesting place.”

“Navajo hogan. I’ve had a lot of fun working on it. I guess it’s my compensation for not being able to be on-site in California.”

“This looks like a lot more fun,” Kelsey assured him, following him into the hogan.

“Walk to the left of the fire,” Kwinan said, steering Kelsey slightly so that he did as directed. “Traditionally, the hogan is aligned with its door facing the east. The south side of the fire was reserved for the men, the north for the women.”

“And the west?” Kelsey asked, noting that this was where Kwinan was placing him.

“Was for honored guests,” Kwinan said with a beaming smile. “Take a seat on the rugs—I think you’ll find them comfortable. The patterns and textures are from the Wheelwright databank. Can I offer you a drink?”

“It’s not going to be anything peculiar like goat’s milk, is it?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be. I have a completely stocked bar.”

“Coffee, then. It’s been a long day.”

“Coffee it is. I have some pinon cookies, too.”

“Wonderful.”

When they were settled with coffee and cookies, Kwinan fell silent for so long that Kelsey wondered if his host had directed a portion of his attention to another activity. When they had first started working together, Kelsey had not been certain if Kwinan was a complex proge or an actual aion. The longer they had associated, the more certain he had become that Kwinan was an aion. But, as Kwinan never mentioned the matter, and Kelsey felt that an inquiry would be rude, he had never pursued the matter.

“We are completely private here,” Kwinan said after a time. “I mention this because I want you to be assured that whatever we discuss here will go no further than between the two of us.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Kwinan picked up a ball of yarn, unwound a bit, wove it into something like a cat’s cradle around his fingers, picked up and dropped strands, apparently giving his entire attention to creating the elaborate design.

“I hardly know how to begin. I’ve brought this… consideration to you for several reasons. First of all, we’ve worked together a long time. You are probably the Veritean I feel most comfortable with—I know you’ve made an effort to understand the Virtuan point of view. You’ve also demonstrated the ability to think for yourself time and again.”

“However, I’ve also made some rather serious errors,” Kelsey said dryly, “as in not detecting that Arthur Eden’s interest in the Church was other than spiritual.”

“How could you be expected to know that? Eden didn’t fool just you—you simply took the fall for the rest of our slowness. There are many members of the Church for whom involvement is less than spiritual.”

“I’m shocked, simply shocked.”

“Right. How are you enjoying the revenues from that tee-shirt you’re marketing?”

“You know that my name is just being used to front that project for the Church.”

“Shocked… Randall, you think for yourself, work harder than any two members, and maintain a sense of humor about the entire mess.”

“Thank you—I think.”

Ben Kwinan let his loop of yarn fall limp between his fingers. He raised his gaze to meet Kelsey’s.

“Randall, there was a day you expressed some doubt about the wisdom of letting the gods of old cross over into the Verite. You expressed concern about how their values, their power, would interact with those of modern Verite.”

“I remember.”

“At the time, I gave you the party line, but now that I’ve been working with the great ones myself, I find myself wondering if you were right. What do you know of the gods of Virtu?”

Kelsey wrinkled his brow, momentarily disoriented by the apparent change of subject.

“I know that they exist, that many of the aions worship them rather than gods generated out of the Verite. Once or twice, I have heard it whispered that the ‘gods’ who manifest in our Virtuan temples during the services are not the reawakened deities of ancient Babylon and Sumer, but are some of the lesser deities of Virtu playing a role and reaping some intangible benefit from being at the center of so much attention.”

“You listen carefully, but I am not surprised by this. I’ve always known you were aware of more than you ever mentioned.”

“And?”

“And? What if I was to tell you that you were right on many counts?

Right as far as you go—although there is more to the picture than what you know.”

“If you told me that, I suppose I would ask you to tell me what is missing from my picture.”

“Again, what I would expect. Very well, Randall, consider yourself told. When the Church of Elish worships the gods of Sumer and Babylonia, they also worship with the gods of Virtu.”

“Is it all a game, an elaborate bit of theater?”

“No, not at all, because the Church of Elish is completely right about one of its most basic teachings. Virtu is the gateway into the collective unconscious of the human race—the anima mundi , the place of archetypal myths. When the gods of Virtu assume their roles, they also take on some aspects of the creatures whose form and habits they have adopted. In some cases, as with the greater gods of the pantheon, Virtu preserved the gods when their worshipers crumbled to dust.”

“So, in a sense, it was Bel Marduk who manifested in Central Park that day.”

“Correct. And the more I work with those deities, the more I am aware that the arrogance and indifference to individual human rights and privileges possessed by the ancient ones is seeping into the psyches of the Virtuan deities. Don’t misunderstand me—the gods appreciate humanity as a whole, as a source of worship and adoration, but the individual is as nothing to them.”

“The legends of Sumer and Babylon contain the first telling of a flood that nearly wiped out everything living on the earth.”

“That is correct.”

“Then what you are saying is that attitude is being given form and power once again.”

“Yes, although in a slightly less destructive form, perhaps. Remember, in the story of the Flood, the gods did come to regret wiping out humanity and let the race grow again from the few survivors.”

“But the individual life…”

“Or that of a city or nation even…”

“Would be as less than nothing to these gods.”

“That is so.”

“And we are working our asses off to help them have free access to Verite.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Jesus H. Christ!”

“Jesus was a much gentler god than those whom the Church of Elish wishes to set free in the Verite.”

“Bel Marduk, jealous Ishtar, raging Enlil…”

“You seem horrified, Randall, even surprised. Why? Have I brought up anything more terrible than what you have already feared?”

“I wasn’t afraid anymore, Ben. First, you gave me assurances. Then, after things went to hell in Central Park, the Hierophant was so confident, so certain we could turn apparent disaster into a major coup.”

“The Hierophant. Yes, the Hierophant. Tell me, Randall, have you ever considered why the Hierophant began spreading the teachings of the Church of Elish?”

“I assumed that he wanted greater respect for Virtu and its potential. I mean, it is stupid that the most magnificent artifact of the human race is used for little more than a convenient place to work and play. The Church of Elish has preached appreciation for Virtu’s vast potential and vast power.”