Gene Wolfe - CALDE OF THE LONG SUN

presenter has first claim. If he wishes a share in this meal, let him

come forward."

Already the poor were struggling to get nearer the altar. Maytera

Marble whispered, "Burn the entrails and lungs, sib!"

It was wise and good and customary to cut small pieces when the

congregation was large, and there were two thousand in this one at

least; but there were scores of victims, too, and Maytera Mint had

little confidence in her own skill. She distributed haunches and

quarters, receiving delighted smiles in return.

Next a pair of white doves. Did you share out doves or burn them

whole? They were edible, but she remembered that Silk had burned

a black cock whole at Orpine's last sacrifice. Birds could be read,

although they seldom were. Wouldn't the giver be offended,

however, if she didn't read these?

"One shall be read and burned," she told him firmly. "The other

we will share with the goddess. Remain here if you would like it for

yourself."

He shook his head.

The doves fluttered desperately as their throats were cut.

A deep breath. "Accept, O Kind Kypris, the sacrifice of these fine

doves. And speak to us, we beg, of the times that are to come. What

are we to do? Your lightest word will be treasured." Had she really

killed those doves? She risked a peek at their lifeless bodies. "Should

you, however, choose otherwise..."

She let her arms fall, conscious that she was getting more blood

on her habit. "We consent. Speak to us, we beg, through this

sacrifice."

Scraping feathers, skin, and flesh from the first dove's right

shoulder blade, she scanned the fine lines that covered it. A bird

with outspread wings; no doubt the giver's name was Swan or

something of the sort, though she had forgotten it already. Here was

a fork on a platter. Would the goddess tell a man he was going to eat

dinner? Impossible! A minute drop of blood seemed to have seeped

out of the bone. "Plate gained by violence," she announced to the

presenter, "but if the goddess has a second message for me, I am too

ignorant to read it."

Maytera Marble whispered, "The next presenter will be my son,

Bloody."

Who was Bloody? Maytera Mint felt certain that she should

recognize the name. "The plate will be gained in conjunction with

the next presenter," she told the giver of the doves. "I hope the

goddess isn't saying you'll take from him."

Maytera Marble hissed, "He's bought this manteion, sib."

She nodded without comprehension. She felt hot and sick,

crushed by the scorching sunlight and the heat from the blaze on the

altar, and poisoned by the fumes of so much blood, as she bent to

consider the dove's left shoulder blade.

Linked rings, frequently interrupted.

"Many who are chained in our city shall be set free," she

announced, and threw the dove into the sacred fire, startling a little

girl bringing more cedar. An old woman was overjoyed to receive

the second dove.

The next presenter was a fleshy man nearing sixty; with him was a

handsome younger one who hardly came to his shoulder; the

younger man carried a cage containing two white rabbits. "For

Maytera Rose," the older man said. "This Kypris is for love, right?"

He wiped his sweating head with his handkerchief as he spoke,

releasing a heavy fragrance.

"She is the goddess of love, yes."

The younger man smirked, pushing the cage at Maytera Mint.

"Well, roses stand for love," the older man said, "I think these

should be all right.

Maytera Marble sniffed. "Victims in confinement cannot be

accepted. Bloody, have him open that and hand one to me."

The older man appeared startled.

Maytera Marble held up the rabbit, pulling its head back to bare

its throat. If there were a rule for rabbits, Maytera Mint had

forgotten it; "We'll treat these as we did the doves," she said as

firmly as she could.

The older man nodded.

Why, they do everything I tell them, she reflected. They accept

anything I say! She struck off the first rabbit's head, cast it into the

fire, and opened its belly.

Its entrails seemed to melt in the hot sunshine, becoming a

surging line of ragged men with slug guns, swords, and crude pikes.

The buzz gun rattled once more, somewhere at the edge of

audibility, as one stepped over a burning rabbit.

She mounted the steps again, groping for a way to begin. "The

message is very clear. Extraordinarily clear. Unusual."

A murmur from the crowd.

"We--mostly we find separate messages for the giver and the

augur. For the congregation and our city, too, though often those

are together. In this victim, it's all together."

The presenter shouted. "Does it say what my reward will be from

the Ayuntamiento?"

"Death." She stared at his flushed face, feeling no pity and

surprised that she did not. "You are to die quite soon, or at least the

presenter will. Perhaps your son is meant."

She raised her voice, listening to the buzz gun; it seemed strange

that no one else heard it. "The presenter of this pair of rabbits has

reminded me that the rose, our departed sib's nameflower, signifies

love in what is called the language of flowers. He is right, and

Comely Kypris, who has been so kind to us here on Sun Street, is

the author of that language, by which lovers may converse with

bouquets. My own nameflower, mint, signifies virtue. I have always

chosen to think of it as directing me toward the virtues proper to a

holy sibyl. I mean charity, humility, and--and all the rest. But

_virtue_ is an old word, and the Chrasmologic Writings tell us

that it first meant strength and courage in the cause of right."

They stood in awed silence listening to her; she herself listened

for the buzz gun, but it had ceased to sound if it had ever really

sounded at all.

"I haven't much of either, but I will do the best I can in the fight to

come." She looked for the presenter, intending to say something

about courage in the face of death, but he had vanished into the

crowd, and his son with him. The empty cage lay abandoned in the

street.

"For all of us," she told them, "victory!" What silver voice was this,

ringing above the crowd? "We must fight for the goddess! We will

win with her help!"

How many remained. Sixty or more? Maytera Mint felt she had

not strength enough for even one. "But I have sacrificed too long.

I'm junior to my dear sib, and have presided only by her favor." She

handed the sacrificial knife to Maytera Marble and took the second

rabbit from her before she could object.

A black lamb for Hierax after the rabbit; and it was an indescribable

relief to Maytera Mint to watch Maytera Marble receive it and

offer it to the untenanted gray radiance of the Sacred Window; to

wail and dance as she had so many times for Patera Pike and Patera

Silk, to catch the lamb's blood and splash it on the altar--to watch

Maytera cast the head into the fire, knowing that everyone was

watching Maytera too, and that no one was watching her.

One by one, the lamb's delicate hoofs fed the gods. A swift stroke

of the sacrificial knife laid open its belly, and Maytera Marble

whispered, "Sib, come here."

Startled, Maytera Mint took a hesitant step toward her; Maytera

Marble, seeing her confusion, crooked one of her new fingers.

"Please!"

Maytera Mint joined her over the carcass, and Maytera Marble

murmured, "You'll have to read it for me, sib."