Read The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels for Free Online Page B

unclean and must be cleaned. Take him to the pit.”
    The Liar stayed tense only until he felt the soldiers turn away. Then he fell and would have collapsed in the sand if his arms had not held him to the soldiers like ropes. The soldiers walked away, dragging the Liar with them and his head lolled and his mouth stayed open. The crowd watched, saying nothing. The soldiers dragged the Liar back along the causeway and out of sight.
    Then the people, as if united more than ever by this extravagant event, turned back to the passage. Those who waited in the passage with their instruments and bowls of drink, began to sing, and move forward; and those who disappeared at the farther end, when they could no longer be seen, could no longer be heard either, so that the singing diminished as the visible numbers decreased. When there were only two left, the song was hardly loud enough to be heard outside the passage. Then there was one, then none, and only the faintest suggestion of sound that lingered round the passage end. The crowd listened, straining, leaning forward, heads on one side—not knowing whether there was indeed a faint sound or only the memory of it. At last there was undoubted silence; and sorrow rose among those who were left with their private Nows to cope with. This sorrow was gradual as the diminution of the singing but undoubted as the silence. It came up out of the earth. The women began to wail and beat their breasts and tear their hair; and the men moaned like trapped animals. Only the clean men were untouched by this sorrow. They took food and drink and fire. They closed the entrance with powerful words, offered food and drink at the slot and spoke to the unwinking eyes that stared back at them out of the darkness. They came up out of the passage and walked with the Head Man back along the causeway. The crowd walked, drifted, waded away. Only the soldiers were left. They began to work, filling the passage with stones and sand.
    *
    The Prince was being made to practise the godpose. The Head Man had taken him away from his nurses and sat him in a suitable chair. There he was, in the gloomy banqueting hall, knees and feet together, chest out, chin lifted, eyes open and staring at nothing. He wore a childsize ceremonial outfit, complete with tail; he held the crook and flail crossed before his chest. They had taken away his lovely side-lock and he was bald as a pebble beneath the close-fitting wig. The tall, linen crown was fastened to his wig, and a beard was strapped to his chin. He sat, trying to breathe imperceptibly and not blink, while the gloom wavered and the tears of effort formed in his eyes.
    The Head Man strolled round and round him. The only noise came from the faint swish of his skirt.
    “Good,” said the Head Man. “Very good.” 
    Round and round. One of the tears rolled from the Prince’s clouded eye down his cheek. He gave up, and blinked furiously.
    “There,” said the Head Man. “You were doing so well but you spoilt it. Keep them open and the tears will come for the people. Don’t blink!”
    “I must blink! People blink!”
    “You will not be ‘People’,” said the Head Man crossly. “You will be the God, Great House, throned in state, holding power in one hand and care in the other.”
    “They’ll see me cry!”
    “They are meant to see you cry. It is a profound religious truth. Do you suppose any God who keeps his eyes open can do other than weep for what he sees?”
    “Anyone would weep,” said the Prince sullenly, “if he kept his eyes open and didn’t blink or rub them.”
    “‘Anyone’,” said the Head Man, “would blink or rub them. That’s the difference.”
    The Prince straightened himself and stared again into the gloom. He saw the wide rectangle of the entrance at the other end of the hall lighten, and knew that the sunlight was creeping along the corridor towards it. He gave up, shut his eyes and bowed his head. The crook and flail clattered in his lap. The