Piers Anthony - Chthon

“The animals cannot stand the light of day,” the half-woman’s voice came from ahead. “We must stop—”

The light of day!

“On foot. Another turn,” she said. Aton could hear her dismounting, along with the zombies. He joined them. The animals, released, decamped, eager to get away from this area. “We shall not go beyond this point,” she said. “You must go alone.”

Alone! To the fate Chthon planned for him.

The loose boulders banged his bare feet. Aton maneuvered around them painfully, groped his way along the ragged wall, found the dread corner. He turned.

Light came down, not green but white. It was bright and beautiful, the bleak cave ugly. Freedom!

As he stared upward, he saw a silhouette. It was an animal of some sort passing between him and the light—an odd birdlike creature with a very long, cutting bill, hooked slightly at the tip. It had terrible talons on the wings, as they spread momentarily, and solid, pincer-like feet.

The chimera.

Was this the freedom Chthon had promised?

He could turn back, rejoin the zombies, give up his dream. Give up the minionette. Worship Chthon.

Or he could advance upon the chimera, a creature he could not hope to overcome, and die the death it offered. Eyeless and gutless, he would live for a few moments in freedom, on the surface of Chthon-planet: lovely Idyllia.

“I forgot LOE !” Aton exclaimed. “I left my book in the caverns, where the sieges of Myxo began.” Yes, he would have to go back for it…

Some other time. Behind the chimera he saw the minionette, beckoning. He went to her.

The great wings fluttered silently. The creature disappeared, and with it the other image, and the way was clear. Chthon had let him go.

Yes—we let him go.

We allow Aton to revisit life.

He was dead when he came to us,

His culture says.

But he was unfinished.

And we require him—complete.

We give him to our half-sane minion, Bedside,

And wait for his return.

Aton, Aton—did you search for evil?

Did you desert your father in his hour of need, to pursue a fond illusion?

Did you forsake honest love for incestuous passion?

Did you betray your fellows into decimation?

Did you finally bargain with hell itself, which you symbolized as Chthon?

You have been condemned:

Not by your father

Not by your first or second love

Not by your fellows

Not by Chthon.

Where is the evil for which you search?

How can you tell it from yourself?

How can you condemn yourself

For being what you are?

We had thought to salvage the good of your culture’s philosophy

And destroy the evil of its being;

But we find them near of kin.

We had thought to recruit an envoy of extermination

To cleanse our galaxy of life.

But that envoy brings us LOE

And mocks our intellect with ethical conception.

(All we had seen before was your unsane element.)

How can we know life’s destiny from ours?

Are we not near of kin in our quest for completion?

How can we condemn you

For sharing our ideal

In your inverted terms?

And thus we must accept you with your woman;

We must banish the chill from the shell,

And learn that in our mercy

Is our own nova.

For as we study the chill we discover a thing of wonder:

Not natural

Not inimical

Not accidental

But an agitation planted within our galaxy,

Whose side-effects on life are unintentional:

A signal.

A message to every intellect with strength to comprehend:

We are not alone in the universe.

The god-intellects are waiting for our reply.