Edmund Cooper: A Far Sunset

‘Yurui Sa,’ said the god-king, ‘it seems that you are asking me a question.’

‘Forgive me, lord,’ answered Yurui Sa humbly, ‘I am indeed asking you a question—although the god-king is beyond the judgement of men.’

The god-king sighed. Yurui Sa was asking Enka Ne what, until now, Paul Marlowe had dared not ask himself.

He stood up and walked through the archway, out on to the little balcony. The sun was low and large and red in the sky. It did not look much different from the sun that rose and set on an English landscape sixteen light-years away … And yet… And yet… It was different. Still beautiful. But different.

He thought of many things. He thought of a blue sky and puffy white clouds and cornfields. He thought of a small farmhouse and voices that he could still hear and faces that he could no longer visualize. He thought of a birthday cake and a toy star ship that you could launch by cranking a little handle and pressing the Go button.

And then he thought of Ann Marlowe, dying on a small wooden barge. He thought of Mylai Tui, proud because she was swollen with child. He thought of Bai Lut, who made a kite and brought about his own death, the destruction of a school, and a journey that led to the ironically amazing discovery that all men were truly brothers. And he thought of Shah Shan, with the brightness in his eyes—tranquil in the knowledge that his life belonged to his people…

The sun began to sink over the horizon. He stayed on the balcony and watched it disappear. Then he came back into the small room.

The god-king looked at Yurui Sa and smiled. ‘Once,’ he said softly, ‘I knew a stranger, Poul Mer Lo, who had ridden on a silver bird. Doubtless, he would have desired greatly to return to his land far beyond the sky … But—but I no longer know this man, being too concerned with the affairs of my people.’

‘Lord,’ said Yurui Sa, and his eyes were oddly bright, ‘I already knew the answer.’

‘Go, now,’ said Enka Ne, ‘for I must presently greet my guests.’

A slight breeze came into the room, whispermg softly through the folds of a garment that hung loosely on a wooden frame. The iridescent feathers shivered for a moment or two, and then became still.