"Yes, I would. Although his views on world affairs are perverse and
dangerous he is good Healer, and he has your best interests at heart."
"Your son is very ill, Lord Karn. If I am able to help him, would you
be willing to consider possibility, at least, that wisdom of Healer is
not confined to human body alone?"
Premier Karn brushed his hand across his eyes. In the last few days he
had suddenly become an old man, and his mouth was drawn and tense. "I
cannot tell, Bidagha. I am tired, and confused. I no longer seem to be
sure what is true, and what is right."
Pehn opened his eyes to speak to Bidagha. "Do you think you can cure
me, by Ceremony alone?"
"I have cured people who were much more ill than you are, but your case
is serious because you have delayed so long. It may be that we should
not rely on ritual alone, and that it would be wiser to use knife."
Lord Karn gasped with horror. "Never! Have you lost faith in your own
art?"
"Of course none of us like to use knife, since very few minds are
skilled enough to control infection likely to follow. No, first we
shall hold Ceremony just as our traditions counsel us. Tonight."
The muted chime of the visiphone interrupted them. The Premier touched
his wrist and the gaunt face of Nautunal appeared in the dial.
"Signals have entered new stage, sir. Message coming at present states
that Topaz planet wishes to visit any planet inhabited by intelligent
race. They say they have phase space drive for spaceships, but in all
their searching have not found even one inhabited world. They say they
want to know that they are not alone in universe."
The Premier's face worked. "I cannot say what is right. Later. I will
decide after Ceremony. Are you ready, Pehn?"
Pehn covered his face with his folded arms.
"All right," he whispered. "Sooner, better."
* * * * *
Deep in the valley north of the city, Cave yawned. For thousands
of years its narrow mouth had been open to the Healers and the
participants in the ceremonial ritual. The age of Cave was unknown,
some said as old as the planet itself. Great rocks formed the inner
walls, which ascended to a low domed ceiling, and occasionally a
handful of gravel trickled down the walls to the bottom where a small
stream still worked at hollowing out the stone.
At the back of Cave was the hearth, and across the floor were ancient
stone benches waiting for the friends and family of the patient, for by
tradition, only patient and Healer approached the hearth itself. The
others, whose wills and hearts were to unite, for one brief night, to
heal the sickness, sat apart in a broad circle, where they could see
the ceremony, and the chant of their voices could float back to the
ears of the sufferer.
As the sun set, Pehn was carried into Cave on a litter.
His father and mother, his sister, his father's collaborators in the
government, and representatives of the whole community filed down the
valley to the entrance where Bidagha stood, and each person, clad
for this occasion only in a robe of animal fur, as he approached the
opening extended his hands to show that he had removed his wrist
band, and lifted his arms to show that no material product of modern
technology was being taken inside to profane Cave. They all respected
the ancient proverb, "What Immortals want new, they make new." Each one
lit his candle at Bidagha's flame, and silently took his place in the
circle.
Pehn had not been inside Cave since his early childhood, but it seemed
a familiar place, since its description formed a part of many of
Zenob's myths, and was part of all her history.
The age-old figures scratched on the walk and filled in with colored
earths, had been made by his remote ancestors at a time when their only
weapons were the bows and arrows pictured there, and the stone-tipped
spears with which they hunted their game. In the flickering light of
the fire he could recognize the lithe _toda_, and the great-tusked
_khalmat_, animals which had been extinct for many ages. How vividly
Old Ones had portrayed these animals, and the ritual of their hunts!
The wood fire, which Bidagha had kindled with a primitive wooden drill,
burned on the hearth, and above his head through a rift in the ceiling,
Pehn could see a narrow band of sky and a sprinkling of stars.
"Keep your head pointed towards fire," said Bidagha, "and lie quiet.
Ritual has no value unless we observe it strictly." He gave Pehn a warm
potion from an earthenware cup, which made him feel sleepy.
Bidagha began to chant, his bass voice reverberating from wall to wall,
each syllable a sonorous musical note which was answered at intervals
by the watching group of well-wishers.
A wooden bowl filled with coarsely ground grain was passed from one
person to another, and each one placed a few grains on his tongue, some
on his forehead, and threw a token pinch of the flour over his left
shoulder.
An hour passed, two; the stars above shifted their position, and still
Bidagha chanted, never hesitating, never stumbling over the archaic
words. Midnight passed and the stars grew pale.
Through the roaring in his ears, Pehn heard the Healer kneel on the
rock floor beside him; then he felt Bidagha's strong fingers on his
shoulder.
"How is it with you, my son?"
Pehn groaned, unable to speak. The pain was not alleviated--it was
greater then ever.
The soles of Bidagha's sandals scraped as he stood up again.
"Bring knife!" he called.
In his roaring darkness, Pehn stirred. Vaguely he sensed the murmuring
of the watchers. Then someone else came near, and Bidagha's voice rose
again. "Immortals, bless knife!"
Fingers pried open his jaw, probed at the misshapen gum, sending fiery
flashes of agony into his brain. Then a hard edge of pain struck,
cutting, releasing a flood of warm wetness in his mouth. Yet it all
seemed to be happening far away.
He sensed Bidagha bending near once more. "Boy is going fast. Infection
is deep."