Nightside the Long Sun by Gene Wolfe Page B

gauntleted right hand to Maytera Rose, the senior among the sibyls. Into it she laid the bone-hilted knife of sacrifice that Patera Pike had inherited from his own predecessor. Its long, oddly crooked blade was dull with years and the ineradicable stains of blood, but both edges were bright and keen.
    The night chough’s beak gaped. It struggled furiously. A last strangled half-human cry echoed from the distempered walls of the manteion, and the wretched night chough went limp in Silk’s grasp. Interrupting the ritual, he held the flaccid body to his ear, then brushed open one blood-red eye with his thumb.
    â€œIt’s dead,” he told the wailing women. For a moment he was at a loss for words. Helplessly he muttered, “I’ve never had this happen before. Dead already, before I could sacrifice it.”
    They halted their shuffling dance. Maytera Marble said diplomatically, “No doubt it has already carried your thanks to the gods, Patera.”
    Maytera Rose sniffed loudly and reclaimed the sacrificial knife.
    Little Maytera Mint inquired timidly, “Aren’t you going to burn it, Patera?”
    Silk shook his head. “Mishaps of this kind are covered in the rubrics, Maytera, although I admit I never thought I’d have to apply those particular strictures. They state unequivocally that unless another victim can be produced without delay, the sacrifice must not proceed. In other words, we can’t just throw this dead bird into the sacred fire. This could just as well be something that one of the children picked up in the street.”
    He wanted to rid himself of it as he spoke—to fling it among the benches or drop it down the chute into which Maytera Marble and Maytera Mint would eventually shovel the still-sacred ashes of the altar fire. Controlling himself with an effort, he added, “All of you have seen more of life than I. Haven’t you ever assisted at a profaned sacrifice before?”
    Maytera Rose sniffed again. Like her earlier sniff, it reeked of condemnation; what had happened was unquestionably Patera Silk’s fault, and his alone. It had been he and none other (as the sniff made exquisitely plain), who had chosen this contemptible bird. If only he had been a little more careful, a little more knowledgeable, and above all a great deal more pious—in short, much, much more like poor dear Patera Pike—nothing of this shameful kind could possibly have occurred.
    Maytera Marble said, “No, Patera, never. May I speak with you when we’re through here, on another topic? In my room in the palaestra, perhaps?”
    Silk nodded. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I’ve disposed of this, Maytera.” The temptation to berate himself proved too strong. “I ought to have known better. The Writings warned me; but they left me foolish enough to suppose that my sacrifice might yet be acceptable, even if our Sacred Window remained empty. This will be a salutary lesson for me, Maytera. At least I certainly hope it will be, and it had better be. Thank Phaea that the children weren’t here to see it.”
    By this time Maytera Mint had nerved herself to speak. “No one can ever know the mind of the Outsider, Patera. He isn’t like the other gods, who take counsel with one another in Mainframe.”
    â€œBut when the gods have spoken so clearly—” Realizing that what he was saying was not to the point, Silk left the thought incomplete. “You’re right, of course, Maytera. His desires have been made plain to me, and this sacrifice was not included among them. In the future I’ll try to confine myself to doing what he’s told me to do. I know I can rely upon all of you to assist me in that, as in everything.”
    Maytera Rose did not sniff a third time, mercifully contenting herself with scratching her nose instead. Her nose, her mouth, and her right eye were the most presentable parts of her face; and