Gene Wolfe - Return to the Whorl

It was customary to observe a few seconds of silence when a pas sage from the Writings had been read; it seemed a blessing now, although it could hardly be called silent, so beset was it with swirling thoughts.

"What does that mean, Patera…?"

"I can't possibly tell you everything it means. The meanings of every passage in the Writings are infinite." (It was a stock reply.) "As for what it means to us here tonight-well, I'll try. It begins by telling us plainly that it concerns our immediate situation. `Where a fountain's waters play,' must refer to my bath, for which I thank you again. `There' presumably designates this palace, since I bathed here. `They rush to land' refers to your impatience, when you wished me to end my bath and come up here with you."

"The gods are mad at… The gods are mad at me?"

"At you?" He shook his head. "I doubt it very much. I would say that they are offering a gentle and somewhat humorous correction, as a parent corrects a beloved child." He paused to collect his thoughts, glancing down at the book. "Next is, `And end in feast the day.' You want me to sacrifice this bread and wine, and the day has indeed ended, which assures us that our sacrifice is what is meant. `Feast' is probably ironic. We have no animal to offer-no real meat. We should eat a little of the bread, of course, so that it will be a shared meal. Or at least I should. And-"

"Drink some wine… Drink some wine, too," she suggested. "You always do… You always do that."

"Silk does? I'm not Silk, as I've explained several times. My name is Patera Horn-or rather just Horn, though I feel like an augur in these clothes. Now, where were we?"

"About you drinking the wine… About you drinking the wine, Patera."

He was tempted to insist she call him Horn, but this was not the moment for it. He nodded instead. "You say Silk does, and that accounts for the word quaff in the next section, `They feed; then quaff; and now (their hunger fled) sigh for their friends and mourn the dead.' With this it would appear that the god who speaks to us has moved from our present situation to prophesy. I will sacrifice for you, the god says, and satisfy my hunger with your bread and wine. After that, we will mourn dead friends. At present I have no idea who these friends are, but no doubt it will be made clear to us when the time comes. Have you friends who are no longer with us, Olivine?"

"I don't think… I don't think so."

"My adopted son, Krait, is dead. He may be meant. Or someone like my late friend Scleroderma. We'll see."

He looked at the book again. " `Nor cease their tears till each in slumber shares a sweet forgetfulness of human cares.' We will sleep then-so it appears. I know that you chems sleep at times, Olivine. Are you going to sleep tonight?"

"If you say… If you say to."

"Not I, but the gods. You should at least consider it. I will sleep, surely, if I can."

"My father told me to sleep while he was… My father told me to sleep while he was gone."

"But you didn't?"

"Over… Over there." She pointed to the window. "Where I could see… Where I could see out?"

"I didn't know you could sleep standing up."

"If I can… If I can lean. But I saw… But I saw you."

"In the street below. You have good eyes."

"I can't shut… I can't shut them." There were tears in the thick voice. "The… The rest?"

"You're right. It's my duty to explain it, not to gossip about sleeping habits." He looked down at the Writings once more, re-read the passage and closed the book. "This is by no means easy. Presumably it reflects the gods' concern for us. `Now far the night advances her gloomy reign, and setting stars roll down the azure plain: At the voice of Pas wild whirlwinds rise, and clouds and double darkness veil the skies.' "

"Stars… Stars, Patera?"

"Tiny lights in the night sky," he explained absently. "We have them on Blue. You have them here, too, in a sense; but you cannot see them because they're outside the whorl. This is a difficult passage, Olivine. Why this mention of stars, when our sacrifice is taking place in the Long Sun Whorl?"

She stared at him, and although he could not discern her expression he could feel her expectancy.

"I believe it is what is called a signature; that is, a sign by which the god who has favored us identifies himself. Most frequently, signatures take the form of an animal-a vulture for Hierax, for example, or a deer for Thelxiepeia."

"There weren't… There weren't any…"

"No, there weren't. No animal of any sort was mentioned."

He fell silent for almost half a minute, struggling with his conscience. "In honesty I must tell you that a real augur would say this passage was inspired by Pas. We have his image, to begin with; and when a god is mentioned by name, he or she is assumed to have inspired the passage. That's not invariably correct, however, and I don't believe it is in this case. The stars, which at first seem so out of place, are outside this whorl as I told you. As objects found outside it-and only outside it-they may well be signatures of the Outsider, as I feel quite sure they were in a dream I had long ago." He waited for her to protest, but she did not.

"There were horses in my dream, and horses are said to be signatures of Scylla's; but I've never felt the dream came from her. So let us look at the stars, as my wife and I used to do so often when we were younger." He tried to smile.

" `Setting stars roll down the azure plain.' The azure plain is the sky-the sky by day, as we see it on Blue. Notice that azure itself is a shade of blue."

Olivine nodded.

"Since the stars are setting on Blue, we are warned that the influence of the Outsider will diminish there, though Blue, also, lies outside this whorl."

"Is that… Is that bad?"

"For the people there it is beyond doubt, and I believe I can guess why it's happening. Last night I was told by a godling that no more colonists are to leave for Blue or Green-that enough have gone, and everyone who is still here is to remain."

"I didn't know… I didn't know that."

"Very few people can. I was told to proclaim it, but I have not done so. At least, not yet."

He was silent again, recalling New Viron and Pajarocu. "We have very little respect for any god on Blue, Olivine. Little piety, hence little decency. Wealth is our god-land and cards and gold. What little reverence for the gods we have is found only in the newest colonists, who bring it with them. On Blue they tend to lose it. The Outsider, who is little regarded here, is virtually forgotten there."

"Don't cry… Don't cry, Patera…"

"I used to upbraid myself, Olivine, because I paid him no proper honor. Once a year, perhaps, I tried to make some gesture of regard. Nobody else, not even my own sons-well, never mind." He wiped his face on the wide sleeve of his robe. "Your mother still honors the gods. I must mention that."

"Do you know… Do you know her?"

"Yes, I do. I saw her and spoke with her before I went to Green. I've hesitated to tell you so because-because-"

Olivine reached across the cloth; small, hard fingers sheathed in something that appeared to be flesh closed on his.

"She has gone blind."

The fingers relaxed; the thin metal arm fell to her side.

"She is well otherwise, and I-I feel absolutely certain she would send her love to you, if she knew of your existence. But she is blind now, like my friend Pig. To tell you the truth, I sometimes think that Pig may have been sent to me so that I wouldn't forget your mother."

He waited for some word, some comment.

"You'll say it was the judgment of the gods, I'm sure." He cleared his throat. "The judgment of the gods, for abandoning you, as she did in obedience to the gods. But I love her and can't help pitying her. She gave me one of her eyes-a blind eye, of course. They are both blind. But she gave me one in the hope that I might find working eyes for her when I got here. I've lost it. At least, it isn't in my pocket anymore."