“What if there was another? How would our religion encompass it?”
The priest turned his watery eyes on Kurt, kneeling beside him. “I do not know,” he said.
“Give me an answer, priest. I will make you commit yourself. Give me an answer.”
“I…would rather believe him mortal than immortal, and I cannot quite accept that he is an animal. Forgive me, great Methi, what may be heresy to wonder, but Phan was not the eldest born of Ib. There were other beings, whose nature is unclear. Perhaps there were others of Phan’s kind. And were there a thousand others, it makes the yhia no less true.”
“This is heresy, priest.”
“It is,” confessed the priest. “But I do not know an answer otherwise.”
“Priest, when I look at him, I see neither reason nor logic. I question what should not be questioned. If this is Phan’s world, and there is another, then what does this foretell, this… intrusion… of humans into ours? There is power above Phan’s, yes; but what can have made it necessary that nature be so upset, so inside out? Where are these events tending, priest?”
“I do not know. But if it is Fate against which we struggle, then our struggle will ruin us.”
“Does not the yhia bid us accept things only within the limits of our own natures?”
“It is impossible to do otherwise, Methi.”
“And therefore does not nature sometimes command us to resist?”
“It has been so reasoned, Methi, although not all the College is in agreement on that.”
“And if we resist Fate, we must perish?”
“That is doubtless so, Methi.”
“And someday it might be our fate to perish?”
“That is possible, Methi.”
She slammed her hand down on the arm of her chair. “I refuse to bow to such a possibility. I refuse to perish, priest, or to lead men to perish. In sum, the College does not know the answer.”
“No, Methi, we must admit we do not.”
“I have a certain spiritual authority myself.”
“You are the viceroy of Phan on earth.”
“Will the priests respect that?”
“The priests,” said the old man, “are not anxious to have this matter cast back into then: hands. They will welcome your intervention in the matter of the origin of humans, Methi.”
“It is,” she said, “dangerous to the people that such thoughts as these be heard outside this room. You will not repeat the reasoning we have made together. On your life, priest, and on your soul, you will not repeat what I have said to you.”
The old priest turned his head and gave Kurt a furtive, troubled look. “Let the Methi be gracious, this being is not deserving of punishment for any wrong.”
“He invaded the Rhmei of Man.”
“He sought sanctuary.”
“Did you give it?”
“No,” the priest admitted.
“That is well,” said Ylith. “You are dismissed, priest.”
The old man made a deeper bow and withdrew, backing away. The heavy tread and metal clash of armed men accompanied the opening of the door. The armed men remained after it was closed. Kurt heard and knew they were there, but he must not turn to look; he knew his time was short. He did not want to hasten it. The Methi still looked down on him, the tiny chains swaying, her dark face soberly thoughtful.
“You create difficulties wherever you go,” she said softly.
“Where is Kta, Methi? They would not tell me. Where is he?”
“They returned him to us a day ago.”
“Is he… ?”
“I have not given sentence.” She said it with a shrug, then bent those dark eyes full upon him. “I do not really wish to kill him. He could be valuable to me. He knows ‘it. I could hold him up to the other Indras-descended of Nephane and say, look, we are merciful, we are forgiving, we are your people. Do not fight against us.”
Kurt looked up at her, for a moment lost in that dark gaze, believing as many a hearer would believe Ylith t’Erinas. Hope rose irrationally in him, on the tone of her gentle voice, her skill to reach for the greatest hopes. And good or evil, he did not know clearly which she was.