“And then?”
“And then — for good or for evil, it is not known. You fare as thirteen thousand have fared before you.”
Down from the plaza, down the leafy lanes of Saponce came Guyal, indignant and clamped of mouth, though the pit of his stomach felt tender and heavy with trepidation. The ritual carried distasteful overtones: execution or sacrifice. Guyal’s step faltered.
The Castellan seized his elbow with a hard hand. “Forward.”
Execution or sacrifice … The faces along the lane swam with morbid curiosity, inner excitement; gloating eyes searched him deep to relish his fear and horror, and the mouths half-drooped, half-smiled in the inner hugging for joy not to be the one walking down the foliage streets, and forth to the Museum of Man.
The eminence, with the tall trees and carved dark houses, was at his back; they walked out into the claret sunlight of the tundra. Here were eighty women in white chlamys with ceremonial buckets of woven straw over their heads; around a tall tent of yellow silk they stood.
The Castellan halted Guyal and beckoned to the Ritual Matron. She flung back the hangings at the door of the tent; the girl within, Shierl, came slowly forth, eyes wide and dark with fright.
She wore a stiff gown of yellow brocade, and the wand of her body seemed pent and constrained within. The gown came snug under her chin, left her arms bare and raised past the back of her head in a stiff spear-headed cowl. She was frightened as a small animal trapped is frightened; she stared at Guyal, at her father, as if she had never seen them before.
The Ritual Matron put a gentle hand on her waist, propelled her forward. Shierl stepped once, twice, irresolutely halted. The Castellan brought Guyal forward and placed him at the girl’s side; now two children, a boy and a girl, came hastening up with cups which they proffered to Guyal and Shierl. Dully she accepted the cup. Guyal took his and glanced suspiciously at the murky brew. He looked up to the Castellan. “What is the nature of this potion?”
“Drink,” said the Castellan. “So will your way seem the shorter; so will terror leave you behind, and you will march to the Museum with a steadier step.”
“No,” said Guyal. “I will not drink. My senses must be my own when I meet the Curator. I have come far for the privilege; I would not stultify the occasion stumbling and staggering.” And he handed the cup back to the boy.
Shierl stared dully at the cup she held. Said Guyal: “I advise you likewise to avoid the drug; so will we come to the Museum of Man with our dignity to us.”
Hesitantly she returned the cup. The Castellan’s brow clouded, but he made no protest.
An old man in a black costume brought forward a satin pillow on which rested a whip with a handle of carved steel. The Castellan now lifted this whip, and advancing, laid three light strokes across the shoulders of both Shierl and Guyal.
“Now, I charge thee, get hence and go from Saponce, outlawed forever; thou art waifs forlorn. Seek succor at the Museum of Man. I charge thee, never look back, leave all thoughts of past and future here at North Garden. Now and forever are you sundered from all bonds, claims, relations, and kinships, together with all pretenses to amity, love, fellowship and brotherhood with the Saponids of Saponce. Go, I exhort; go, I command; go, go, go!”
Shierl sunk her teeth into her lower lip; tears freely coursed her cheek though she made no sound. With hanging head she started across the lichen of the tundra, and Guyal, with a swift stride, joined her.
Now there was no looking back. For a space the murmurs, the nervous sounds followed their ears; then they were alone on the plain. The limitless north lay across the horizon; the tundra filled the foreground and background, an expanse dreary, dun and moribund. Alone marring the region, the white ruins — once the Museum of Man — rose a league before them, and along the faint trail they walked without words.
Guyal said in a tentative tone, “There is much I would understand.”
“Speak,” said Shierl. Her voice was low but composed.
“Why are we forced and exhorted to this mission?”
“It is thus because it has always been thus. Is not this reason enough?”
“Sufficient possibly for you,” said Guyal, “but for me the causality is unconvincing. I must acquaint you with the void in my mind, which lusts for knowledge as a lecher yearns for carnality; so pray be patient if my inquisition seems unnecessarily thorough.”
She glanced at him in astonishment. “Are all to the south so strong for knowing as you?”
“In no degree,” said Guyal. “Everywhere normality of the mind may be observed. The habitants adroitly perform the motions which fed them yesterday, last week, a year ago. I have been informed of my aberration well and full. ‘Why strive for a pedant’s accumulation?’ I have been told. ‘Why forego merriment, music, and revelry for the abstract and abstruse?’”
“Indeed,” said Shierl. “Well do they counsel; such is the consensus at Saponce.”
Guyal shrugged. “The rumor goes that I am demon-bereft of my senses. Such may be. In any event the effect remains and the obsession haunts me.”
Shierl indicated understanding and acquiescence. “Ask on then; I will endeavor to ease these yearnings.”
He glanced at her sidelong, studied the charming triangle of her face, the heavy black hair, the great lustrous eyes, dark as yu-sapphires. “In happier circumstances, there would be other yearnings I would beseech you likewise to ease.”
“Ask,” replied Shierl of Saponce. “The Museum of Man is close; there is occasion for naught but words.”
“Why are we thus dismissed and charged, with tacit acceptance of our doom?”
“The immediate cause is the ghost you saw on the hill. When the ghost appears, then we of Saponce know that the most beautiful maiden and the most handsome youth of the town must be despatched to the Museum. The prime behind the custom I do not know. So it is; so it has been; so it will be till the sun gutters like a coal in the rain and darkens Earth, and the winds blow snow over Saponce.”
“But what is our mission? Who greets us, what is our fate?”
“Such details are unknown.”
Guyal mused, “The likelihood of pleasure seems small … There are discordants in the episode. You are beyond doubt the loveliest creature of the Saponids, the loveliest creature of Earth — but I, I am a casual stranger, and hardly the most well-favored youth of the town.”
She smiled a trifle. “You are not uncomely.”
Guyal said somberly, “Over-riding the condition of my person is the fact that I am a stranger and so bring little loss to the town of Saponce.”
“That aspect has no doubt been considered,” the girl said.
Guyal searched the horizon. “Let us then avoid the Museum of Man, let us circumvent this unknown fate and take to the mountains, and so south to Ascolais. Lust for enlightenment will never fly me in the face of destruction so clearly implicit.”
She shook her head. “Do you suppose that we would gain by the ruse? The eyes of a hundred warriors follow us till we pass through the portals of the Museum; should we attempt to scamp our duty we should be bound to stakes, stripped of our skins by the inch, and at last be placed in bags with a thousand scorpions poured around our heads. Such is the traditional penalty; twelve times in history has it been invoked.”
