"There were horses in my dream, and horses are said to be signatures of Scylla's; but I've never felt the dream came from her. So let us look at the stars, as my wife and I used to do so often when we were younger." He tried to smile.

" `Setting stars roll down the azure plain.' The azure plain is the sky-the sky by day, as we see it on Blue. Notice that azure itself is a shade of blue."

Olivine nodded.

"Since the stars are setting on Blue, we are warned that the influence of the Outsider will diminish there, though Blue, also, lies outside this whorl."

"Is that… Is that bad?"

"For the people there it is beyond doubt, and I believe I can guess why it's happening. Last night I was told by a godling that no more colonists are to leave for Blue or Green-that enough have gone, and everyone who is still here is to remain."

"I didn't know… I didn't know that."

"Very few people can. I was told to proclaim it, but I have not done so. At least, not yet."

He was silent again, recalling New Viron and Pajarocu. "We have very little respect for any god on Blue, Olivine. Little piety, hence little decency. Wealth is our god-land and cards and gold. What little reverence for the gods we have is found only in the newest colonists, who bring it with them. On Blue they tend to lose it. The Outsider, who is little regarded here, is virtually forgotten there."

"Don't cry… Don't cry, Patera…"

"I used to upbraid myself, Olivine, because I paid him no proper honor. Once a year, perhaps, I tried to make some gesture of regard. Nobody else, not even my own sons-well, never mind." He wiped his face on the wide sleeve of his robe. "Your mother still honors the gods. I must mention that."

"Do you know… Do you know her?"

"Yes, I do. I saw her and spoke with her before I went to Green. I've hesitated to tell you so because-because-"

Olivine reached across the cloth; small, hard fingers sheathed in something that appeared to be flesh closed on his.

"She has gone blind."

The fingers relaxed; the thin metal arm fell to her side.

"She is well otherwise, and I-I feel absolutely certain she would send her love to you, if she knew of your existence. But she is blind now, like my friend Pig. To tell you the truth, I sometimes think that Pig may have been sent to me so that I wouldn't forget your mother."

He waited for some word, some comment.

"You'll say it was the judgment of the gods, I'm sure." He cleared his throat. "The judgment of the gods, for abandoning you, as she did in obedience to the gods. But I love her and can't help pitying her. She gave me one of her eyes-a blind eye, of course. They are both blind. But she gave me one in the hope that I might find working eyes for her when I got here. I've lost it. At least, it isn't in my pocket anymore."

He ceased to speak, and the silence of the Calde's Palace closed around them. There had been someone-a cook-in the kitchen, he told himself. There had been a gardener in the garden outside. Bison was calde now, so he and Maytera Mint, who must have renounced her vows to become his wife, lived in this high and secretive building. Yet it seemed that no one did, that not even the shrouded figure across the cloth from him was truly alive, and that the emptiness that had grasped all Viron had its center here.

"Lost… Lost it?" The thick, soft voice might almost have been that of the wind in a chimney.

He told himself he had to speak, and did. "Yes, I have. It's back on Green, I suppose." He wanted to say, "With my bones," but substituted, "With my ring, and other things."

The shrouded figure might not have heard.

"It wasn't any good, you understand. Not to her or to anyone else. She wanted me to have it so that I would know what one looked like."

"I'm… I'm lucky."

He was not certain he had heard her correctly, and said, "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't work very well… I don't work very well, Patera."

"We all have failings. It's far better to-to have a bad leg or something of the sort than a propensity for evil."

"But my eyes are… But my eyes are fine. I can… I can see. You said… You said so. That's lucky… That's lucky, isn't it?"

"Yes, it certainly is. But, Olivine, you've let me get away from the subject again-from the passage that the god-that the Outsider, as I believe-chose for us. There's a colon in it. Do you know what a colon is? Not a semicolon, but a full colon? Two little dots, one above the other?"

She did not answer, and he floundered forward. "A colon is a very strong divider, Olivine, and colons are rarely found in the Writings. I believe-I'm guessing, to be sure, but this is what I believethat it's intended to separate that passage about the stars rolling down the azure sky from the next so that we will understand that they concern two whorls. Blue and this Long Sun Whorl are actually like two little dots themselves, you see, if you think of them from the Outsider's perspective. The higher dot is this whorl, which is farther from the Short Sun; and the lower dot is Blue."

He cleared his throat and searched his memory. "I've shut the book, but I believe I can still quote the passage accurately. It was, `At the voice of Pas wild whirlwinds rise, and clouds and double darkness veil the skies.' Pas himself is a wild whirlwind. That is to say, he's shown that way in art. The oldest representations of him show a swirling storm."

"I didn't know… I didn't know that. Is the other one… Is the other one-? You don't want me to say his… You-"

"Is he depicted as a whirlwind too? Is that what you're asking me?"

She nodded.

"No. But it's quite an intelligent question, now that I come to think about it. Pas is shown as a man with two heads, or a wind; so it's not unreasonable to think that he, who is shown as a man with four faces, might be depicted as a wind as well. He isn't, though. When a writer hesitates to set down his name-which isn't often, since so little has been written about him-he generally draws the sign of addition, a little straight mark with another little mark across it. I suppose that the idea now is that the god blesses us, though it may originally have been a diagram. Crossroads are associated with the god, as I believe I told you."

"I… I see."

"There's an interesting story about another god as a wind, however, and it may have some bearing on the passage in question. A certain man was hoping to have experience of the Outsider. He prayed and prayed, and a violent storm rose. At first he thought that this storm was the god, and rejoiced and shouted praise; but the storm only became more violent. Rain beat him like hail, and hail like stones. Water poured from the rocks all around, and trees were uprooted. Lightning struck the mountain on which he stood. Soon he grew terrified, and finding a little cave he hid himself and waited for the storm to pass.

"At last it did, and after it came the sun and a faint wind, a gentle breeze. And that faint wind, that gentle breeze, was the god whom he had sought."

Olivine did not speak.

"The point of the story, you see, is that Great Pas is not the Outsider. Gods often have several names and more than one personalityI was talking about this with friends not long ago-and it appears that at some time in the past people believed that the Outsider was merely another aspect of Pas. The story I just told you was probably written to show it was not the case.

"Now back to that passage. As I said, happenings in this whorl are intended-or so I would guess. Pas will manifest himself more than once, and angrily. `Wild whirlwinds' are to rise. Notice the plural."

"Will he hurt… Will he hurt us?"

"That I cannot say. We have been warned by the Outsider, however, and the Outsider is a god-indeed, he may be the best and wisest of all the gods-and thus is certainly a great deal wiser than we. If he didn't believe we needed a warning, I doubt that he would have provided it.