“How can you do that?” Rillibee asked scornfully. “It’s dishonest.”
Brother Mainoa seated himself at the controls once more, scanning the dials and buttons with a skeptical eye. “Well, now, young Brother Lourai, I’ll tell you. I’ll deny having said it if you quote me, so don’t try. The first thing you’ve got to do is tell yourself that the shitheads are wrong. Especially Jhamlees and Fuasoi. Not just a little bit wrong, but irremediably, absolutely, and endemically wrong. Nothing you can say or do will stop their being wrong. They’re damned to eternal wrongness, and that’s God’s will. You follow me?”
Rillibee nodded, doubtfully. Whatever he might have expected, it had not been this.
“Then, you acknowledge that these wrongheaded fart-asses have been placed in authority over you through some cosmic miscalculation, and you reach the only possible conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“Which is you bow your head and say ‘Yes, Elder Brother,’ in a nice humble tone, and you go right on believing what you have to believe. Anything else is like walking out into the grass when the grazers are coming by. You may be right, but you’ll be flat right and there won’t be enough left of you to scrape up.”
“And that’s what you do?”
“Umm. And you do it, too. Don’t tell Elder Brother Jhamlees Zoe that your family wasn’t Sanctified. You tell him that, he’ll start working on your head, getting you to convert, get saved, get enrolled. Just nod politely and say, ‘Yes, Elder Brother.’ That way, likely, he’ll leave you alone.”
There was a long silence. Rillibee—Brother Lourai—rose from the padded floor and settled himself into the other seat. When Brother Mainoa showed no signs of breaking the quiet, he asked, “What’s Arbai?”
“An Arbai, Brother, was the inhabitant of an Arbai city, dead some long while, now. An Arbai city is the only kind of ruins mankind’s found on any world we’ve settled yet. The only intelligent race we’ve ever found.”
“What were they like? Arbai?”
“Taller than us. About seven feet tall. Two-legged and two-armed, like us, but with a skin all covered over with little plates or scales. We’ve found bodies pretty well mummified, so we know what they looked like. They were fascinating people. Like us, some ways. Spread all over a lot of worlds, like us. Had writing, like us, not that we can read it yet. Not like us at all, other ways. Didn’t seem to have males and females like we do, at least there’s no differences we’ve found yet.”
“All gone, are they?”
“All gone. All died, everywhere, all sort of at once, like time had just up and ended for them. Except here on Grass. Here they all died from something tearing them apart.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s how we find ’em, Brother. An arm here, a leg there. A bone raggedy from teeth.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Something to tell us why they died, mostly.” Brother Mainoa looked at him curiously. “From what you say, you’ve seen plague, haven’t you, Brother. You know it exists.”
The other nodded. “They never told me so, but that’s what killed my family. And the Hierarch died of it. Lots of the people at Sanctity have it. I may have it, without knowing it.”
“Well, there’s some of us think that’s what killed the Arbai. Better tell you now, it’s not Acceptable Doctrine; so don’t go talking about it.”
“Killed them,” breathed Rillibee. “Going to kill us.”
“Ah. Well, there is that. Maybe not, though. If we could find out something….”
“Do you think we can find out anything about the plague?”
The other turned, the wrinkles around his eyes made deeper by the speculative squint with which the Brother was evaluating his new family member. “What I think,” he purred, “is something you and I may talk about someday after you’ve been out in the grass.” He pointed downward. There, spread across the short turf of the north, were the uncovered walls of the Arbai city and the complex network of ditches dug by the Brothers, some of them roofed with arched bundles of tall grasses. Mainoa pointed again, in the direction of their flight. Almost on the horizon, the ramified mass of the Friary bulked darkly against the pale sky. As they drew nearer, Rillibee/Lourai sucked in an astonished breath. Above the Friary floated a city of cobwebs, netted arches, and skeletal towers that moved in the light wind as though they were living things rooted in the soil far below. From some few of the lofty pinnacles flew the banners of Sanctity, complete with golden angels. On seeing these, Rillibee Chime gave one last, dwindling snarl.
“Home,” said Brother Mainoa. “Not a bad place, really. Though the sky climbers will probably make paste of you for a few weeks. Heights frighten you, boy?”
“Falling frightens me. Heights don’t.”
“Well then, I’d say you’ll survive it.”
“What are sky crawlers?” Rillibee’s stomach knotted at the picture this brought to mind.
“Boys no older than you, most of ’em. Most likely they won’t harm you much. You’ll get by; that is, you will if you can apply a few sensible restraints to your conduct.”
“Yes, Brother,” said Brother Lourai, his eyes cast humbly down. “I will try to restrain myself.”
Before Rigo had a chance to meet the Green Brothers, a morning came when the tell-me shrilled news of the lapse. The bon Damfels had assembled for the Hunt, but no hounds or mounts had appeared. Salla, one of Roald Few’s informants, had sent word to Commons and Roald had messaged Opal Hill.
Long-set plans moved into action. The embassy swarmed with cleaners and cooks, readying for the evening three days distant when the awaited reception would occur.
In the
