Cenotaph Road

Lan waited nervously while the Resident thought alien thoughts. He started nervously when the voice again boomed.

" I have studied all aspects of this phenomenon known to you as ' reduction.' It is simple application of disruptive vibrations to your molecules. The answer to your question is therefore: yes, you will no longer be alive if the sheriff captures you."

" If? I can avoid the sheriff?"

" Yes."

Lan waited for a more comprehensive explanation. When none came, he decided to press on. He had no idea how long this spell would hold, how much vitality the animal' s blood had given the Resident. It wouldn' t do to lose the only source of accurate information of the future he possessed.

" Is: who killed Zarella?" His voice choked with emotion.

" The one called Kyn- alLyk- Surepta. It was done with your knife, stolen earlier in the evening from you after a fight. He also stole your tunic and boots to cloud the trail and lend credence to the magics pointing to you as the killer."

Lan realized what the Resident was doing. Giving an answer was one thing, but giving a complete answer totally eliminated any chance of rephrasing the question later. Not that it mattered.

The sheriff wouldn' t accept the word of a disembodied spirit as the truth. Ghosts were notoriously deceitful, often intent on gaining vengeance on still- living people who had wronged them.

There seemed no way to convince the sheriff that the Resident of the Pit was an ancient god now physically powerless. Still, the cu

" Why did the murder occur?"

" Two reasons. First, Kyn- alLyk- Surepta desired the woman and she refused him his carnal pleasures. He saw a way of having his will and incriminating you at the same time. The second reason is theft. He stole a most valuable bauble given to Zarella."

" Then this bauble, whatever it is, could prove Kyn- alLykSurepta is the one responsible for the murder!"

" No. There are any number of ways he can lie about its possession. At the worst, he would be found guilty of theft. The murder would still rest on your head."

Lan thought how hopeless the situation was. Also, how ludicrous it became. With the sheriff hunting him at this very instant, he sat talking with a million- year- old deposed god, hanging on its every word, believing its pontifications because they matched his own thoughts.

As if reading his mind, the Resident said, " I speak truly. I ca

" Did Zarella love me? Really love me in a way she didn' t the others who came to the Dancing Serpent?" Lan was frightened of the answer. He hoped against hope for a positive answer, feared a negative one.

A pause lengthened into a full minute of silence. Only the wind blowing through the dried, glass- brittle leaves in the chamber came to his ears. Once, Lan thought he heard the chittering of a rat, but he wasn' t certain. He didn' t dare move. He felt his very sanity hanging in the balance on this answer. Had Zarella been worth all the heartache? Or had she merely been playing him for the fool? Dead, it hardly mattered in a physical sense, but Lan had to know.

" I have thought on this nonthing you call love," answered the Resident. " It is complex and has many manifestations. In the way you mean, she loved you."

Lan felt as if a huge burden had been lifted. He breathed more easily. Yet his love was dead, murdered by a man who escaped justice by sending an i

That man' s viciousness and cruelty had caused the deaths of Zarella, her guards, and Suzarra. Lan swallowed hard and fought back moisture at the corners of his eyes. His half- sister had lost her life and honor trying to aid him. He could never forget that it was Kyn- alLyk- Surepta and his grey- clad soldiers who were responsible.

" Can I get revenge on Kyn- alLyk- Surepta?"

" No."

The answer was short, abrupt. It startled Lan, for he had become used to the Resident' s hesitating before answering. His future appeared blighted once again. Zarella was dead. Suzarra was dead. And he couldn' t avenge those deaths. A man of honor was stripped of all courses of action.

All except one. The idea came to Lan slowly, painfully. It had always seemed the coward' s way out to him. Now he saw it as something else, something more adventuresome. He was a lost soul in this world. The Resident assured him of death if he stayed. If he couldn' t survive in this overcrowded, too- many- lawed world, he could flee to another, perhaps better, world.

" Resident, is the: the Cenotaph Road open to me?"

" Yes."

" Will I avoid death following the Road this night?"

" No one avoids death. Not even a god. You will, however, not die in this world you currently inhabit. Death will come in another place at another time."

Lan started to ask the time and place of his demise, then bit back the question. If he knew, he would live only for his death. Better to experience all of life and ignore the scrawl of fate slowly inking his name on the Death Rota.

" If I take the Road, will the sheriff pursue?"

" No."

He thought of his friends, his family. Suzarra had been the closest, more a friend than relation. And staying would not aid his friends in the least. To leave behind an entire world frightened him; this was the world of his birth. It held comfort and familiarity. Taking the Cenotaph Road offered only doubt and danger.

" Will I ever return to this world if I follow the Road?"

" No. But you will escape forever the injustice of this world."

" And find injustice in other worlds."

" That was a statement, not a question. Do you wish to rephrase it so that I may properly answer?"

" No. Injustice is everywhere. It' s the nature of the universe."

Lan was startled when the Resident chuckled. It was the first show of emotion the nebulous being had displayed.

" That is a paranoid viewpoint. It is also true, in your terms. The only justice is that which you make yourself."

" I only wish I could bring Kyn- alLyk- Surepta to justice."

" You will."

" But you said I will never return to this world, that I' d never get revenge on him. What do you mean? What do you mean?" Lan shouted. But the Resident had begun to fade. The colors dissolved into a jet black indistinguishable from the void of space. Lan knew the being slipped back into the limbo from which it had come.

The Resident of the Pit faded into ebon blackness, patiently awaiting the next questioner. It might be a month or a century or a mille

Lan sighed. It was a long hike to the cemetery and the properly consecrated cenotaph. He hoped he could reach the awaiting crypt before midnight- and the persistent sheriff.