“What’s the matter with them?” a new voice asked.
“You damaged them,” Fringe replied. “They need time to recover. If they recover.”
Silence. Then the new voice, possibly a male voice, said, “They would work better if they were apart.”
“True,” said Fringe. This voice was worse than either of the others. The others had been … malicious, perhaps. Childish in a nasty way. But this voice had real hatred in it, real malice, real evil.
“Maybe we’ll take them apart.”
Fringe swallowed bile. “It would have to be very cleverly done,” she said in as quiet a voice as she could manage. “Otherwise it would kill them. Of course, god could do it without killing them. If they died, we would know it was not god who had done it.”
“Oh, I could do it,” said the voice with a chuckle. “I’ve been learning how. Very interesting too. Very … educational. If I took your friends apart, they’d work better at the duty we’re assigning you, and since only god could do it, you would then know who god is. Correct?”
Fringe moistened dry lips and whispered, “What duty is that?”
“You must answer a question before we let you go,” the voice gulped.
“If we can.”
“No matter if you can or not. You must.”
Anger bested her. “That’s not logical. That’s completely arbitrary. To demand that someone do something he may not be able to do.”
“We have consulted Files.” The voice bubbled with hideous laughter. “Gods often demand that people do things they cannot do or things that are dangerous or onerous or hateful. And when the people fail, gods punish them. Should I be less a god than they?”
Fringe swallowed. “Are you a god?”
“Oh, indeed. I am Chimi-ahm the proud, whom you offended mightily. I am Chimi-ahm the hunter, whom you robbed of his prey. I am Chimi-ahm, monstrous and mighty, all knowing, all seeing.” The voice was swallowed in a great shout of malicious laughter.
Fringe tried twice before she could get the words out. “What’s the question?”
The voice sucked and snickered, “You must say, ‘Oh, High Lord Chimi-ahm …’”
She bit down her rage and hatred, letting only submission show. “Oh, High Lord Chimi-ahm, what is the question we must answer.”
“No, no. You must say, ‘High Lord Chimi-ahm, I am sorry for having offended you by taking away your sacrifice.’”
The words stuck in her throat, and a vise closed about her heart.
“High Lord Chimi-ahm,” she gasped. “I am sorry for having offended you by taking away your sacrifice.””
‘Please accept my unworthy self in retribution …’”
“Please accept my unworthy self in retribution.”
“Ah. Nicely done. Now, the question you must answer is this: ‘What is the ultimate destiny of man?’”
Fringe’s mouth fell open. Whatever she might have expected, it had not been this.
“But that’s the Great Question,” she gasped. “The historic one. The diversity of Elsewhere was expected to answer that question in the fullness of time….” So she had been taught. So she had heard every year on Great Question Day.
“Yes. How clever of you to notice it’s the Great Question.”
“But, we’re only three people.”
“A hundred, a dozen, or only three. You must answer it, nonetheless.”
“Indeed you must,” said the Magna Mater voice sternly.
“You must,” said the other female voice, almost with indifference. “Man must answer the question, and you are man.”
Now Fringe’s nervous glances detected at least four separate groups, each centered upon a spokesface.
“You’re not all Chimi-ahm, are you?” she asked.
“Lord Breaze!” trumpeted a hard and handsome face, heretofore silent.
“Gracious Lady Therabas Bland,” whispered another, a sly voice.
“Magna Mater, Mintier Thob,” another simpered.
They were separate yet united, speaking the same words from a hundred throats.
The one calling himself Lord Breaze said in a kindly voice, “Though I am a newcomer to these councils, my fellow deities tell me god must receive the answer to the question. Reason tells me this is so. Man was made by god to love him. Man does god’s will because he loves him. You are man, we are god. Therefore, you will answer the question.”
Chimi-ahm gurgled menacingly. “And if you will not do it for love, you will do it because otherwise we’ll hurt you and your friends. Then, if you do not answer, we will kill you.” The voice was mechanical and yet lubricious. “Of course, we may kill you anyway.”
“Gods do this,” said Gracious Lady Therabas Bland, golden faces nodding from the high altar piece. “We have read the words of heroes and prophets and priests. Even in ancient times, this was how gods behaved.”
• • •
As soon as Zasper and Danivon had departed in the flier, the Dove left the tumult of Thrasis and sailed upriver once more, past the great wall that stretched away to the north as far as they could see.
“Who built the wall?” asked Curvis.
“It was here when Elsewhere was colonized by the Brannigans,” said Jory.
“I thought the world was empty when men arrived.”
“Not totally, no. Certainly not behind the wall.”
“How far does the wall go?”
“All the way around Panubi,” said Asner. “A great circle. Separating what is inside from what is outside.”
More than that they would not or could not tell him, and though Curvis fumed with annoyance and impatience, it did him no good.
They went past the plains where the women of Thrasis had walked, and into a land of rolling hills. The swamps along the shore became rocky banks, the banks became cliffs, and the river narrowed into a foaming torrent between the looming walls of a gorge. Below the gorge, the tiny boats from Derbeck lay empty all along the shore. Unable to make way against the torrent, their occupants had gone on afoot.
At the entrance to the gorge, the crew fished a float out of the torrent, heaved it onto the deck, and hauled in a great hawser, dripping with weed and small mollusks. This was clamped to the towing bitts on the bow, while most of the crew went ashore
