Nightside the Long Sun

No. As lovers, he admitted to himself. For he loved her as he had loved his mother, as he might have loved the older sister he had never had, striving to draw forth the shy smile she achieved by an inclination of her head—to win her approval, the approbation of an old sibyl, of a worn-out chem at whom nobody, when he had been small and there had been a lot more chems around, would ever have troubled to glance twice, whom no one but the youngest children ever thought interesting. How lonely he would have been in the midst of the brawling congestion of this quarter, if it had not been for her!

She rose as he entered the arbor and sat again as he sat. He said, “You really don’t have to do that when we’re alone, sib. I’ve told you.”

Maytera Marble tilted her head in such a way that her rigid, metal face appeared contrite. “Sometimes I forget. I apologize, Patera.”

“And I forget that I should never correct you, because I always find out, as soon as it’s too late, that you were right after all. What is it you want to talk to me about, Maytera?”

“You don’t mind the rain?” Maytera Marble looked up at the overarching thatch of vines.

“Of course not. But you must. If you don’t feel like walking all the way to the palaestra, we could go into the manteion. I want to see if the roof still leaks, anyway.”

She shook her head. “Maytera Rose would be upset. She knows that it’s perfectly innocent, but she doesn’t want us meeting in the palaestra, with no one else present. People might talk, you know—the kind of people who never attend sacrifices anyway, and are looking for an excuse. And she didn’t want to come herself, and Maytera Mint’s watching the fire. So I thought out here. It’s not quite so private—Maytera can see us through the windows of the cenoby—and we still have a bit of shelter from the rain.”

Silk nodded. “I understand.”

“You said the rain must make me uncomfortable. That was very kind of you, but I don’t feel it and my clothes will dry. I’ve had no trouble drying the wash lately, but it takes a great deal of pumping to get enough water to do it in. Is the manse’s well still good?”

“Yes, of course.” Seeing her expression, Silk shook his head. “No, not of course. It’s comforting to believe as children do that Pas won’t resist his daughter’s pleas in our behalf much longer, and that he’ll always provide for us. But one never knows, really; we can only hope. If we must have new wells dug, the Church will have to lend us the money, that’s all. If we can’t keep this manteion going without new wells, it will have to.”

Maytera Marble said nothing, but sat with head bowed as though unable to meet his eyes.

“Does it worry you so much, Maytera? Listen, and I’ll tell you a secret. The Outsider has enlightened me.”

Motionless, she might have been a time-smoothed statue, decked for some eccentric commemorative purpose in a sibyl’s black robe.

“It’s true, Maytera! Don’t you believe me?”

Looking up she said, “I believe that you believe you’ve been enlightened, Patera. I know you well, or at least I think I do, and you wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.”

“And he told me why—to save our manteion. That’s my task.” Silk stumbled after words. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to be given a task by a god, Maytera. It’s wonderful! You know it’s what you were made for, and your whole heart points toward that one thing.”

He rose, unable to sit still any longer. “If I’m to save our manteion, doesn’t that tell us something? I ask you.”

“I don’t know, Patera. Does it?”

“Yes! Yes, it does. We can apply logic even to the instructions of the gods, can’t we? To their acts and to their words, and we can certainly apply logic to this. It tells us two things, both of major importance. First, that the manteion’s in danger. He wouldn’t have ordered me to save it if it weren’t, would he? So there’s a threat of some sort, and that’s vital for us to know.” Silk strode out into the warm rain to stare east toward Mainframe, the home of the gods.

“The second is even more important, Maytera. It’s that our manteion can be saved. It’s endangered, not doomed, in other words. He wouldn’t have ordered me to save it if that couldn’t be done, would he?”

“Please come in and sit down, Patera,” Maytera Marble pleaded. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

Silk re-entered the arbor, and she stood.

“You don’t have—” he began, then grinned sheepishly. “Forgive me, Maytera. Forgive me, please. I grow older, learning nothing at all.”

She swung her head from side to side, her silent laugh. “You’re not old, Patera. I watched you play a while today, and none of the boys are as quick as you are.”

“That’s only because I’ve been playing longer,” he said, and they sat down together.

Smiling she clasped his hand in hers, surprising him. The soft skin had worn from the tips of her fingers long ago, leaving bare steel darkened like her thoughts by time, and polished by unending toil. “You and the children are the only things at this manteion that aren’t old. You don’t belong here, neither of you.”

“Maytera Mint’s not old. Not really, Maytera, though I know she’s a good deal older than I am.”

Maytera Marble sighed, a soft hish like the weary sweep of a mop across a terrazzo floor. “Poor Maytera Mint was born old, I fear. Or taught to be old before she could talk, perhaps. However that may be, she has always belonged here. As you never have, Patera.”

“You believe it’s going to be torn down, too, don’t you? No matter what the Outsider may have told me.”

Reluctantly, Maytera Marble nodded. “Yes, I do. Or as I ought to say, the buildings themselves may remain, although even that appears to be in doubt. But your manteion will no longer bring the gods to the people of this quarter, and our palaestra will no longer teach their children.”

Silk snapped, “What chance would these sprats have—without your palaestra?”