Frennelech, Presiding Eminence of the High Council of Priests at Pergassos, the principal city in the land of the Kroaxians, stared down from his raised, central seat behind the Council bench and waited for the accused to begin his explanation. His tall headdress of fine-grown, reflective organic scales and his imposing robes of woven wire, heavily embroidered with carbon fibers and plastic thread, enhanced his stature and made all the more intimidating the stern expression formed by the setting of the coolant outlet vanes above his chin and the thermal patterns radiating from his metal facial surfaces. An acolyte standing behind the chair held the organic-grown rod of yellow and red spiral stripes, topped by an ornamented ball, that was Frennelech's emblem of office, while to the left and right, the lesser priests sat in solemn dignity, holding their own, lesser emblems in their steel fingers.
Heavy chains rattled as the accused, Lofbayel, Maker-of-Maps, rose nervously to his feet in the center of the Council Chamber. The guards standing on either side of him remained impassive while for a few seconds he stared, cowed and bewildered. Then Horazzorgio, the sadistic looking captain of the Royal Guard who had been in command at the time of Lofbayel's arrest, jabbed him roughly in the back with the handle of a carbide-tipped lance. "Speak when the Illustrious One commands!" he ordered.
Lofbayel staggered, and caught the bar before him to steady himself. "My words were not spoken with any intent to contradict the Holy Scribings," he stammered hastily. "Indeed, they were not spoken with thought of the Scribings at all. For—"
"Aha!" Rekashoba, Prosecuter for the High Council, wheeled round abruptly and pointed an accusing finger. "Already he confesses. Is it not written: `In all thy words and deeds, be thou mindful of the Holy Scribings'? He stands condemned by his own words."
"The impiety has been noted," Frennelech said coldly from the bench. And to Lofbayel, "Continue."
The mapmaker's imaging matrixes flickered despondently. "It has long been my practice to collect writings and drawings of travelers, navigators, explorers, soldiers, and scholars from both this and other lands," he explained, and added, ". . . for the purpose of further improving the quality of the services that I render to His Supreme Majesty, the King."
"May the Lifemaker protect the King!" Horazzorgio shouted from behind.
"Let it be so," the bench of priests chanted in response, with the exception of Frennelech, whose rank excused him from the obligation.
Lofbayel continued, "In amassing many such records originated over a time of many twelves of twelve-brights, I found impressing itself upon me a strange but persistent recurrence: that beyond any place that lies as far to the east as one may choose to name, there are always reported more places that lie yet farther to the east . . . until they become places that other travelers have encountered to the west. And the same is found to be true of north and south, for either becomes the other. I have evidence which suggests the same is true for all directions, and for a journey commenced at any place." Lofbayel looked along the line of stony-faced priests. "Consideration of these facts—if they are facts, of course—led me to the supposition that any journey, if protracted long enough without hindrance or deviation, must eventually close a path back to its beginning."
"And therefore you conclude the entire world to be round in form?" Frennelech sounded incredulous and at the same time appalled. "Through idle daydreaming, you believe that you can acquire knowledge . . . spurning the Scribings, which are the sole source of all true knowledge?
What arrogance is this?"
"I . . . It was intended merely as a conundrum concocted for the amusement of students who seek my instruction in the methods of calculation and the graphic arts," Lofbayel replied. "We asked: `What form has no center, yet has centers everywhere, and is limited in size but unlimited in extent?' Further contemplation and experiment revealed that the sphere alone possesses properties consistent with the conditions which the riddle specified, and this prompted the further question: `Given that the world shares properties in common with the sphere, must it not follow that it shares the sphere's form also?' "
Rekashoba, the Prosecutor, snorted and turned away contemptuously, indicating that he had heard as much as his patience would withstand. He straightened and raised his head to address the bench. "First, to dispose of the possibility of there being any factual basis to this allegation, I will present three independent proofs that the world cannot be round. And second, I will show that this is no mere innocent exercise in riddles as has been claimed, but a pernicious attempt to challenge the authority of the Lifemaker's worldly representatives by poisoning the minds of the young and casting doubts upon the teachings of the divinely inspired Scribings. Therefore the strictest of penalties is not only in order, but mandatory."
Rekashoba paused, appealed to the chamber with a flourish, and then picked up a cellulose ball and a goblet of methane. "My first proof is based on no more than the sense that is common to all robeings, and will delay us for but a short while." He poured a small quantity of liquid onto the top of the ball and watched as it trickled down to the underside and finally fell away in a thin stream to the floor. "A body of liquid cannot sustain itself upon the surface of a sphere," he observed. "It follows that the surface of a world formed as a sphere could not contain oceans of methane. But the oceans exist, do they not? Or am I misinformed? Or do thousands of navigators and voyagers delude themselves?" He looked penetratingly at Lofbayel. "What reply do you have, Denier-of-Oceans?"
"I have none," Lofbayel murmured unhappily.
Rekashoba put down the goblet and tossed the ball aside as unworthy of consuming more of the Council's time. "But were the sphere vast enough, the oceans might be constrained just to its upper regions, one might suppose," he said airily. "However, that brings us to my second proof—that what has been claimed contradicts itself logically." Rekashoba half turned to point to one of Lofbayel's charts, which was being displayed on one side of the chamber as evidence. "This chart, we are told, represents the entire world in extent, although much of it remains blank and devoid of any detail," he said. "Now observe—do not the oceans compose the major portion of it? But were this indeed the entire world, and were that world indeed a sphere, the oceans, being constrained by necessity as shown in my first proof to occupying only its upper regions, would compose the minor portion. Therefore either the world cannot be a sphere, or the chart does not depict the entire world. If the world is not a sphere, then the proof rests. If the chart is not of the entire world, then the accused's own words stand in contradiction to the fact, and since his conclusion follows from an assertion thereby shown to be erroneous, the conclusion is disproved. Hence, by the second alternative also, the world is not a sphere. Since there was no third alternative, the proposition is proved by rigorous logic."
Rekashoba surveyed the faces of the Council members solemnly. "My third proof follows from sacred doctrine." His voice had taken on an ominous note, and he paused for a moment to allow the more serious mood to take effect. "If this matter had no further implications, I could dismiss it as a consequence of nothing more than foolishness and ignorance. But it transcends far beyond such limits by denying one of the fundamental teachings given to us in the Holy Scribings: the Doctrine of Temporal Representation and Succession." He paused again, turned to address the whole chamber, and raised a hand in front of him.
"The world was created in a form designed by the Lifemaker to provide a constant reminder that the Church and State function as the divinely ordained instruments of His authority, and that their organizational hierarchies constitute visible embodiments of His will. Thus the solid canopy of the sky, beyond which the mortal world is not permitted ever to look, symbolizes the Supreme Archprelate"—the Prosecutor turned and inclined his head deferentially in Frennelech's direction—"who sits at the highest position attainable by mere robeings. The sky is supported by the unscalable mountains of the Peripheral Barrier that bounds world, just as the Supreme Archprelate is supported by the spiritual and secular leaders of the civilized world, who are chosen to command heights unclimbable by ordinary robeings, one of whom, of course, is His Supreme Majesty."
"May the Lifemaker protect the King!" Horazzorgio shouted.
"Let it be so," the bench responded.
Rekashoba continued, "The lesser mountains support the higher, and the foothills support the lesser, just as the lower clerics and officials of the State support higher edifices above them. And below, the plains and deserts must reconcile themselves to their rightful place in the scheme, as must the masses." he extended a warning finger. "But the masses must not make the mistake of imagining from these considerations that their lot is a harsh or an unjust one. Indeed, quite the opposite! For, just as the lowlands are sheltered from the storms that rage in the mountains and nourished by the streams flowing down to them from above, so the common masses are protected and receive spiritual nourishment from the Lifemaker through the succession of higher agencies that He has appointed."
Rekashoba's voice took on a harder note as he looked back at Lofbayel. "But a round world would be incompatible with the sacred translations of the Scribings. Since the Scribings cannot be questioned, a round world cannot exist." He waited a second for his argument to register, and then continued in a louder voice, "But, more than that, any claim to the contrary must therefore constitute a denial of the Scribings. And such a denial amounts, in a word, to . . . heresy!" A murmur ran round the chamber. Lofbayel clutched weakly at the bar and for a moment looked as if he was about to collapse. The full penalty in the event of a charge of heresy being upheld was the burning out of both eyes, followed by slow dissolution in an acid vat. Horazzorgio's eyes glinted in gloating anticipation; the arresting officer had first option to command the execution in the event of a death sentence. The Council members leaned forward to confer among themselves in low voices.
Seated behind the officials and scribes, to one side of the chamber, was a rustic-looking figure, simply attired in a brown tunic of coarse-woven copper, secured by a heavy, black, braided belt, and a dull red cloak assembled from interlocking ceramic platelets. Thirg, Asker-of-Forbidden Questions, drew in a long stream of nitrogen to cool his overworked emotive circuits and took a moment to prepare himself. As a longtime friend of Lofbayel, a fellow inquirer after truth, and one who had enjoyed the hospitality of Lofbayel's house on many occasions during visits from his solitary abode in the forest below the mountains, Thirg had promised Lofbayel's wife that he would plead her husband's case if the trial went badly. Thirg was far from optimistic about his ability to achieve anything useful, and what he had seen of Rekashoba's zealousness led him to fear that the mere act of speaking out in his friend's defense might well be enough to make him a marked person in future, subject to constant scrutiny, questioning, and harassment. But a promise was a promise. Besides, the very idea of not trying was unthinkable. Thirg braced himself and gripped the edges of his seat.
Frennelech looked back out over the chamber. "Does the accused have anything to say before the Council's verdict is announced?"
Lofbayel attempted to speak, but fear made him incoherent. Frennelech shifted his gaze to the Court Warden. "One is present who is willing to speak for the accused," the Warden said. Thirg took off his cap of aluminum mail, and clutching it before him, rose slowly.
"Who speaks for the accused?" Frennelech demanded.
"Thirg, a recluse dweller of the forest, who describes himself as a friend of the accused," the Warden replied.
"Speak, Thirg," Frennelech ordered.
The court and the priests of the Council waited. After a slight hesitation, to find his words, Thirg began speaking cautiously. "Illustrious members of the High Council and officers of the Court, it cannot be denied that words have been uttered rashly, which a moment of prudence and wisdom would have left unsaid. Since truth and justice are the business of the Court, whatever consequences must lawfully follow, it is not my desire to dispute. But the suggestion of heresy, I would respectfully submit, warrants further examination if the possibility of a hasty decision unbecoming of the elders and wisest of Kroaxia is to be avoided." He paused to look along the line of faces, and found a modicum of reassurance that he was being heeded.
"For by its very definition, a heresy, we are told, is a denial of the truths set forth in the Holy Scribings. But does not a denial require a statement of that which is denied? We have heard no such statement uttered, and neither has anyone attributed any such statement to the accused. Instead we are assured, by accused and accuser alike, merely of a question's being asked. Since a question cannot of itself presume its own answer, nothing that may rightfully be judged as heresy, can have been stated."
Some of the Council priests were looking at each other questioningly while others were muttering among themselves. It sounded as if at least some of them were seeing the issue in a new perspective. Encouraged and feeling a spark of genuine hope for the first time, Thirg set down
his cap, made a brief gesture of appeal, and went on, "Further, I would, with the Court's approval, offer not a third alternative to the two presented in the learned Prosceutor's proof by logic—for he has assured us that no third possibility exists—but rather the suggestion that the second alternative may be seen, upon closer inspection, to divide itself into two subtler variations, namely: Either the world is round, or the anecdotes of travelers cannot be relied upon. Thus, by offering a manifest absurdity as one of the possible answers for his students to choose, the teacher's question is revealed as a cryptic lesson on the reliability of faith as a guide to truth as opposed to the evidence of the senses, when the two are found to be in conflict."
Some of the priests were looking impressed, and even Frennelech's expression seemed to have softened a fraction. Thirg concluded, "My final observation is that in his capacity as an assistant to the Royal Surveyor, the accused renders valuable service to His Sup—" Thirg caught a pained look from Frennelech and emended, "to the nation of Kroaxia, which is of especial importance at a time such as this, when we are threatened by foreign enemies. If the Lifemaker in His wisdom has seen fit to send us a competent maker of maps and charts, we would be well advised, in my humble submission, to think carefully before dispatching His gift back to Him unused."
With that, Thirg sat down and found that he was shaking. The Council went into further deliberation, and after much murmuring and head-wagging, Frennelech quieted the chamber and announced, "The verdict of the Council is that the accused stands guilty of irresponsibility, irreverence, and impiety to a degree inexcusable of a common citizen, and criminally indictable for a teacher." He paused. "The charge of heresy, however, is not substantiated." Lofbayel swayed on his feet and cried out aloud with relief. Excited murmurs rippled round the chamber, while Rekashoba turned angrily away and Horazzorgio looked at Thirg venomously. Frennelech continued, "The Council has accepted a motion for leniency, and the sentence of this Court is that the accused be fined to the amount of one-quarter of his possessions; that the accused shall serve two brights of penance and recantation in a public place; and that the accused be banned permanently from all practice of teaching, writing of materials for public distribution, all other means of disseminating ideas, thoughts, or opinions in public, and all forms of activity associated therewith. The session is now ended."
"The Court will rise," the Warden ordered. Everyone stood while Frennelech rose from his seat, turned, and swept from the chamber, followed by two attendants and the acolyte. After a respectful pause the other Council members filed out in silent dignity. Lofbayel nodded numbly but managed to send the ghost of a grateful smile in Thirg's direction as he was led away. Voices and murmurs broke out all around, and the remaining attendees broke up and began to drift toward the doors individually or in small groups.
On one side of the chamber Horazzorgio moved closer to Rekashoba, who was gathering up his documents while he watched Thirg disappear among the figures crowded outside the doorway. "Who is he?" Rekashoba asked in a low, menacing voice. "What do you know of him?"
"But little, I fear," Horazzorgio answered. "He lives well away from the city, at the upper edge of the forest below the mountains. But I have heard talk of his proclivity for dabbling in Black Arts and sorcery. I will make inquiries."
"Do so," Rekashoba growled. "And have him watched. Get every shred of evidence you can find against him. We must make certain that all the eloquence in the world will not save him from the vats when he stands accused before the Council."