R.W. IV - The Magic Labyrinth

by Philip José Farmer

  "The visitor said that he could see that La Viro had many questions. He would answer a few, but they would be confined to the center of this subject. How did the Ethicals know that a few kas had gone on? How could every one of the billions of kas be numbered, be kept track of?

  "'You must have some awareness of the vast powers of our science and technology,' the visitor said. 'Even the forces that shaped this world and brought you back to life are beyond your imagination. But what you experience here is only a small part of what is available to us. I tell you that we have counted every ka that came into being on Earth. It took over a hundred years to do it, but it was done.

  "'You see, it is science that has brought about what was thought to be possible only to the supernatural. The mind of humankind has done what the Creator did not intend to do Itself. Because, I suppose, the Creator knew that sentient beings would do it. Indeed, it is possible that sentiency is the ka of God.

  '"Let me detour a little myself, though it is not really an irrelevancy. You seem to regard me as, if not a god, at least a cousin to one. I can hear you breathing hard, smell the fright in your sweat, see the awe in your face. Be not afraid. It is true that I am ethically advanced beyond you. But I am not proud because of that. You could catch up with me. Even, perhaps, overtake and pass me.'

  '"I have powers at my fingertips which make the science of your day look like an ape's. But I am no more intelligent than the most intelligent of Riverdwellers. I can make mistakes and errors.

  '"Also, keep this in mind. When – or if – you go out to preach, stress this always. He who climbs up may slip back. In other words, beware of regression. You do not know the word? Then, beware of backsliding. Not until the ka has winged its way outward forever is it safe from regression. Who lives in flesh lives in danger.

  '"That advice applies to me as well as to you.'

  "At this point, La Viro reached toward his visitor. He felt an urge to touch the man, to assure himself that he was indeed flesh and blood.

  "The visitor recoiled and cried, 'Do not do that!'

  "La Viro withdrew his hand, but his injured feelings showed. His visitor said, 'I am sorry, sorrier than you can imagine, but please do not touch me. I will say no more of this. But when you have gotten to the point where I may embrace you, then you will understand.'

  "And so, my brothers and sisters," Göring said, "the visitor proceeded to tell La Viro why he should found this new religion. The name of our organization was La Viro's idea, nor did the visitor compel La Viro to found it. He merely asked that he should do so. But he must have known his man, for La Viro said he would do as his visitor asked.

  "The principles of the Church of the Second Chance and the techniques for enfleshing them are not tonight's subject. It will take too long to propound and defend them. That is for tomorrow night's meeting.

  "At the end, La Viro asked the Ethical why he had chosen him, of all people, to become the founder of the Church.

  "'I am an ignorant half-breed,' La Viro said. 'I was raised in the deep Canadian forest. My father was a white trapper, and my mother was an Indian. Both were looked down upon by the British who ruled our land. My mother was almost an outcast in her own tribe because she married a white man. My father was scorned as a squawman, a dirty Frenchie, by the English he worked for.

  "'When I was fourteen, very large for my age, I became a lumberjack. At twenty an accident lamed me, and I spent the rest of my life cooking for the lumber camps. My wife was also half-Indian, and she brought in money by washing clothes. We had seven children, four of whom died young, and the others were ashamed of their parents. Yet we sacrificed for them and gave them love and a devout upbringing. My two sons went to Montreal to work and then were killed in France fighting for the English, who despised them. My daughter became a whore and died of a disease – or so I heard. My wife died of a broken heart.

  '"I don't tell you this because I ask for sympathy. I just want you to know who and what I am. How can you ask me to go out and preach when I could not convince my own children that my beliefs were right? And when my own wife died cursing God? How can I go out and talk to men who were scholars and statesmen and priests?'

  "The visitor smiled and said, 'Your wathan tells me that you can.'

  "The visitor stood up. He lifted the silver cord from around his neck and past his head, and he placed it around La Viro's neck. The golden helix now lay on La Viro's chest.

  '"This is yours, Jacques Gillot. Do not dishonor it. Farewell. I may or may not see you again on this world.'

  "La Viro said, 'No! Wait! I have so many questions!'

  "'You know enough,' the visitor said, 'God bless you.'"

  "He was gone. The rain and thunder and lightning were still making a tumult. Gillot went out a moment later. He could see no sign of the visitor, and after searching the stormy skies he returned to his hut. There he sat until dawn came up with the thunder of the grailstones. Then he went down to the plains to tell his story. As he had expected, those to whom he told his story thought he was crazy. But in time there were those who came to believe him."

  SECTION 8

  The Fabulous Riverboats Arrive at Virolando

  21

  * * *

  Over thirty-three years ago, he had arrived in Virolando. It was his intention to stay only long enough to talk a few times to La Viro, if he were permitted to do so. Then he would go wherever the Church sent him. But La Viro had asked him to settle there, though he had not said why or how long he could remain. After a year there, Göring had adopted the Esperanto name of Fenikso (Phoenix).

  Those had been the happiest years of his lives. Nor was there any reason to think he would not spend many more here.

  This day would be much like the others, but its sameness was enjoyable and little varieties would garnish it.

  After breakfast, he climbed up to a large building built on top of a rock spire on the left bank. Here he lectured his seminary students until a half-hour before noon. He went down swiftly to the ground and joined Kren at a grailstone. Afterward, they went up to another spire and strapped themselves into hang-gliders and launched themselves from the edge of the spire, six hundred feet above the ground.

  The air above Virolando glittered with thousands of gliders which slanted up and down, turned, dipped, rose, swooped, danced. Hermann felt like a bird, no, a free spirit. It was an illusion of freedom, all freedom was illusion, but it was the best.

  His glider was bright-red, painted so in memory of the squadron he had led after Manfred von Richthofen had died.

  Scarlet was also the symbol for the blood of the martyrs of the Church. There were many such in the skies, mingling their color with white, black, yellow, orange, green, blue, and purple craft. This land was blessed in having hematite and other ores from which pigments could be made. It was blessed in many things.

  Hermann sped above and below the bridges holding houses, spanning the gap between the spires. He passed closely to the wooden and stone pylons, sometimes too closely. It was sinful to risk his life, but he could not resist it. The old thrill of flight on Earth had returned, doubling in ecstasy. There was no motor roaring in his ears, no fumes of oil in his nostrils, no sensation of being enclosed.

  Sometimes he sailed by a balloon and waved at the people in the wickerwork baskets beneath them. During his holidays, he and Kren would board a balloon, rise to a height of a thousand meters, and let the wind carry them down The Valley. On long holidays, they would float for a whole day, talking, eating, making love in the cramped quarters while they rode without a bump, without a touch of the wind, since the balloon rode at the same speed as it did.

  Venting the hydrogen at dusk, they would land on the bank, pack the collapsed envelope in the basket, and take a boat back upstream next day.

  After half an hour, Hermann swooped down along The River, veered, and came down running on the bank. With hundreds of others, he disassembled the glider, and then walked with a cumbersome bundle on his back to the
spire from which he had jumped.

  A messenger wearing a chaplet of red and yellow blooms stopped him. "Brother Fenikso, La Viro wishes to see you."

  "Thank you," Hermann said, but a small shock traveled through him. Had the chief bishop decided that the time had come to send him out?

  The Man waited for him in his private quarters in the red-and-black-stone temple. Hermann was ushered through the high-ceilinged rooms to a small chamber, and the oaken door was closed behind him. The room was simply furnished: a big flat-topped desk; several large chairs of fishskin leather; some small ones of bamboo; two cots; a table with pitchers of water and some flavored alcohol, cups, boxes of cigars, cigarettes, lighters, and matches; a chamberpot; two grails; pegs in the walls from which hung cloths; a table beside a mica mirror on the wall; another table holding the lipsticks, small scissors, and combs which the grails occasionally provided. There were several rugs of bamboo fiber and one star-shaped fishskin on the floor. Four torches burned, their ends thrust into wall-holders. The private door in the outside wall was open now, letting in the air and sunlight. Vents in the ceiling gave additional ventilation.

  La Viro rose as Hermann entered. He was huge, about six feet six inches high, and very dark. His nose was the beak of a giant eagle.

  "Welcome, Fenikso," he said in a deep voice. "Sit down. Would you like a drink, a cigar?"

  "No, thank you, Jacques," Hermann said. He sat down in the easy chair indicated.

  The chief bishop resumed his seat. "You've heard about this giant metal boat coming up-River, of course? The drums say it's about eight hundred kilometers from the southern border. That means it will reach our border in about two days.

  "You have told me all you know about this man Clemens and his partner, John Lackland. You did not know what happened after you were killed, of course. But apparently those two succeeded in repelling their enemies and in building their boat. They are going to pass through our territory soon. From what I hear, they are not warlike, and so we need fear no trouble. After all, they are dependent upon cooperation from those who own the grailstones along The River. They have the power to take what they want, but they don't use it unless they have to. However, I have heard some disturbing reports about the behavior of some of the crew when the boat has stopped for – what is it called? – shore leave. There have been some ugly incidents, mostly to do with drunkenness and women."

  "Pardon me, Jacques. That does not sound like the type of people Clemens would have on board. He was obsessed, and he did some things which he should not have done to get that boat built. But he isn't, or at least wasn't, one to condone such behavior."

  "In all these years, who knows how he's changed? For one thing, the name of this boat is not what you told me it would be. Instead of the Not For Hire it is Rex Grandissimus."

  "That is strange. That sounds more like a name which King John would pick."

  "From what you tell me of this John, he may have killed Clemens and taken over the boat. Whatever the truth, I want you to meet the boat at the border."

  "Me?"

  "You knew the men who built the boat. I want you to get aboard it at the border. You will find out what the situation is, what kind of people live on it. Also, you will estimate its military potential."

  Hermann looked surprised.

  "Now, Fenikso, you have told me of the story which this giant long-nosed man – Joe Miller? – told Clemens and which Clemens told others. If it be true, there is a great tower in the middle of the sea at the north pole. These men mean to enter it if they can. I think their intent is evil."

  "Evil?"

  "Because that tower is obviously the work of the Ethicals. These boat people wish to penetrate that tower, to discover its secrets, perhaps to take captive or even kill the Ethicals."

  "You do not know that," Hermann said.

  "No, but it is reasonable to suppose that."

  "I never heard Clemens say that he wanted power. He just wanted to get to the headwaters."

  "What he says publicly and what privately may be two different things."

  "Really, Jacques," Hermann said. "What do we care what they do even if they should manage to get to the tower? Surely you do not think that their puny machines and weapons can do anything to harm the Ethicals? Humans would be as worms to them. Anyway, what can we do about them? We may not use force to stop them."

  The bishop leaned forward, his huge brown hands gripping the edge of the desk. He stared at Hermann as if to peel him, layer by layer, and see what formed the center.

  "There is something wrong in this world, grievously wrong! First, the little resurrections have stopped. This seems to have happened shortly after your last resurrection. You remember the consternation that this news caused?"

  Hermann nodded and said, "I suffered much from anxiety myself. I was in a panic of doubt and despair."

  "So was I. But, as archbishop, I had to reassure my flock. However, I had no facts to use as a basis for hope. It was possible that we had been given the time we needed. All who were going to achieve Going On had done so. The rest would also die, and their kas would roam the universe, forever beyond redemption.

  "But I did not think so. For one thing, I knew that I was not ready to Go On. I have a way to go, perhaps a long one, before I have done that.

  "Yet, would the Ethical have picked me to found the Church if I were not a strong candidate for Going On?

  "Or, and you can imagine my agony at this thought, had I failed? Had I been appointed to show others the way to salvation and yet I had to remain behind? Like Moses who led the Hebrews to the promised land but was forbidden to go down into it himself?"

  "Oh, no!" Hermann murmured. "That could not be!"

  "It could be," Viro said. "I am only a man, not a god. For a while, I even thought about resigning. Perhaps I had allowed myself to ignore my own ethical progress because I was too busy running the affairs of the Church. I had become arrogant; my power had corrupted me in a subtle way. I would let the bishops elect a new chief. I would change my name and go down The River as a missionary.

  "No, do not protest. I was seriously considering that. But then I told myself that I would be betraying the trust given by the Ethicals. And perhaps there was another explanation for this terrible event.

  "Meanwhile, I had to make some sort of public explanation. You know what it was; you were among the first to hear it."

  Hermann nodded. He had been entrusted to carry the message for two thousand miles below Virolando. That had meant being absent from his beloved country for over a year. But he had been glad to do it for La Viro and the Church. The message was: Be not afraid. Have faith. The last days are not here. The trial is not over. We are in an interim which will not last forever. Someday, the dead will arise again. That is promised. Those who made this world and gave you the chance to be immortal cannot fail you. The interim is a test. Be not afraid. Believe.

  Many had asked Hermann what the "test" was. He could only reply that he did not know. Perhaps La Viro had learned what it was from the Ethicals. Perhaps to reveal the purpose of the test would be to defeat its end.

  Some had not accepted this. Bitterly denouncing the Church, they had left it. The majority, however, had remained. Surprisingly, many new converts had been made. These had come in through fear, fear that perhaps there really was a second chance to attain immortality and now their time to do it was short. This was not a rational attitude, since La Viro had said that the resurrections would come again. But they were taking no chances of losing their chance.

  Though fear did not make a long-term believer, it caused a step toward the right direction. Perhaps true faith would follow.

  "The only statement in my message which was not strictly true," La Viro said, "was that about the interim being a test. I had no direct authority, that is, no direct message from the visitor, that such was the case. But, in a sense, my statement was not a pious lie. The stopping of the resurrections is a test. A test of courage and belief. It doe
s indeed try all of us.

  "At that time, I thought that it was being done for some good purpose by the Ethicals. And it may well be that that is so. But the visitor did tell me that he and his fellows were no more than human despite the superpowers available to them. They could make mistakes and errors. Which means that they are not invulnerable. Accidents can happen to them. And enemies could do harm to them."

  Hermann sat straight up. "What enemies?"

  "I cannot know their identity – if indeed there are any. Consider this. This subhuman, no, I will not call him that, since he is human, despite his strange appearance. This giant, Joe Miller, and the Egyptians got to the polar sea despite great odds. Also, others had preceded them. For all we know, others may have followed the Egyptians. How do we know that some of these may not have gotten into the tower? And there did something terrible, perhaps without meaning to do so?"

  "I find it hard to believe that the Ethicals would not have invulnerable defenses," Göring said.

  "Ah!" La Viro said, holding up a finger. "You forget the ominous significance of the tunnel and the rope which Miller's party found. Somebody bored the hole in the mountains and set the rope there. The question is, who and why?"

  "Perhaps it was one of the second-order Ethicals, a renegade agent," Hermann said. "After all, the visitor told you that regression was possible even to him. If it is possible to his kind, think how much more likely it is for an agent."

  La Viro was horrified. "I . . . I should have thought of that! But it is so . . . unthinkable . . . so perilous!"

  "Perilous?"

  "Yes. The agents have to be more advanced than we, yet even they . . . wait."

  La Viro closed his eyes, holding up his right hand with the thumb and index finger forming an O. Hermann said nothing. La Viro was mentally reciting the acceptance formula, a technique used by the Church, invented by La Viro himself. At the end of two minutes, La Viro opened his eyes and smiled.