THE SWORD “I preach the one true God, the God of Israël, whose name is Deu. The Sacred Writing declares he is the Creator of all things. He’s loving and good. He alone is God. The gods of Chiveis are evil.” The High Priestess felt a nameless fear claw at her soul. How had the old sage found the scriptures of Christianism, that dead religion of the Ancients? It had been excised from all the records. Had something been missed? She covered her alarm with a melodious laugh. “Tell me more, preacher,” she said. “Perhaps I shall convert to your Deu.” “I’m certain Deu does not suffer mockers lightly.” The High Priestess scowled and motioned with her fingers toward the Vulkainian guard beside her. He cocked his meaty arm and smashed Maurice in the ribs, the sound of fist on flesh making a delicious smack in her ears. The old man’s chair tumbled backward with a crash, and he writhed in the ropes, groaning and rasping. The High Priestess spat on the floor. “That’s what I think of Deu,” she said. The Vulkainian set the chair upright again. Maurice’s head hung low, and he breathed with difficulty through gritted teeth. The High Priestess stood across from him, her hands on her hips. “It’s time to make a decision, Professor. Deny your beliefs or face the consequences.” Maurice raised his eyes. “I will not . . . deny.” He had to take several shallow breaths before he could continue. “It’s not . . . too late. You can still . . . turn to him!” His words told the High Priestess everything she needed to know. So the old man is fully committed to Christianism? Fine. If he won’t recant, then he will die. Sneering, she asked, “Why should I turn to the impotent god of the cross?” “Deu . . . is strong.” The High Priestess threw back her head and laughed. “Fool! You think he’s powerful? I’ve read his book. I know all about this weak deity of yours. He’s called Dieu in the Fluid Tongue, or Deus in the Old Words. He’s the Father of the Son, who was killed on a cross in shameful defeat.” She paused, narrowing her eyes as she noticed Maurice’s uncertain expression. “You don’t know about that, do you?” “I know his symbol.” Maurice winced. “Not its meaning.” “And how did you come upon this knowledge?” 320
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