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into
fruit which has a sweet skin, but is sour inside. There can be
little hope of success in love when one spends weeks writing a
poem, only to find that a new moon has come and one's beloved and
rivals alike disdain reading and live only for the outdoors. Conwy
felt as if courtship was a dance, the steps of which were known to
all but he. His waking dream was interrupted as a new fragrance
wafted by. It was burnt flesh, perhaps from a funeral, perhaps the
sacrifice of an animal.
    Centuries ago, the worshipers of the goddess
of travelers built a huge bird-house on the roof of their temple.
The house was styled to resemble the mansion of a wealthy family,
shrunk to bird-size. Migratory birds, sacred to the goddess,
sheltered there during the monsoon. Talking birds also visited,
especially when they wished to hide among their mute fellows. And,
on this particular night, the Owls of Yib would be there to hear
the various factions of the roofs.
    Without warning Conwy found himself
face-to-face with a gargoyle. The gargoyle wore a splendid cloak of
marble, decorated with stripes of rust. It bowed, and spoke.
    "O dweller upon the ground, you are far from
your natural home. Do you not feel that the wingless things of
earth should be bound to earth? Would this not maintain both the
dignity of the air, and the safety of the ground? For all matter
has a desire to be reunited with the earth, even though the reunion
be fatal, and only wings"--and here the gargoyle gestured towards
its own wings--"may dictate otherwise."
    "O gargoyle," Conwy replied with a bow, "I do
not. Caution would dictate that things should be as you suggest.
Yet even the most cautious die, and are buried no shallower than
the reckless. Therefore Caution, though a wise sister to be
consulted, is not a queen to be obeyed. It is written that moths
were created by the moon, in imitation of the butterflies created
by the sun. They fly into open flames because, with their dim
sight, they believe it to be the moon to whom they long to return.
From this we may draw the following moral: it is not always safe or
wise to seek one's natural element."
    "Yet I could push you off this roof," the
gargoyle snapped, "and you would fall just as quickly as one whose
arguments were less elegant."
    "There speaks Power," Conwy said, outwardly
calm, "who knows the language of reason, but whose mother-tongue is
force. I say to you that this fog around us is neither a wall nor a
window. These things, if they conceal, will always conceal, and if
they reveal will always reveal. The haze around us, by contrast, is
like the clothing of a courtesan: it may reveal when we have no
expectation of such, yet conceal at the moment of our greatest
desire for revelation. Therefore, if you have seen me, can you be
sure that no one else has seen me, and that no one sees us now? I
deduce from your finery that you are on your way to see the Owls of
Yib. You, no doubt, have concluded that I take the same journey.
Therefore we are bound not to offer violence to one another, lest
we be exiled from this realm forever; a realm which, as you have
pointed out, is your natural home and not mine." The gargoyle gave
a wordless cry of disgust, as of one who has spit some foulness
from their mouth, but still has the taste thereof. It opened its
wings, and flew into the mist.
     
    ---
     
    Religious toleration was the law of Mayajat.
Two temples might each profess that the other was full of ignorance
and wickedness, and their so-called god a demon. Behind temple
walls the priests could preach as they liked. Yet harsh punishment
would fall on any worshiper who offered so much as an insulting
remark in the open street.
    Above the streets and the laws, even the laws
of nature, the gods were free to do as they would. Two temples
might be a few feet away on the ground, yet the temple roofs might
be miles apart, or in different regions of the universe altogether,
one entirely unreachable from the other. Such twisting of space