Individuality -- Fiction; Love stories; Men -- Psychology -- Fiction; Psychological fiction; Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction
May the Council have mercy upon us! We had no wish to write such
a question, and we knew [-no-] {+not+} what we were doing till we had
written it. We shall not ask this question and we shall not
think it. We shall not call death upon our head.
And [-yet . . .-] {+yet...+} And [-yet . . .-] {+yet...+}
There is some word, one single word which is not in the language
of men, but which [-had-] {+has+} been. And this is the Unspeakable Word,
which no men may speak nor hear. But sometimes, and it is rare,
sometimes, somewhere, one among men find that word. They find it
upon scraps of old manuscripts or cut into the fragments of
ancient stones. But when they speak it they are put to death.
There is no crime punished by death in this world, save this one
crime of speaking the Unspeakable Word.
We have seen one of such men burned alive in the square of the
City. And it was a sight which has stayed with us through the
years, and it haunts us, and follows us, and it gives us no rest.
We were a child then, ten years old. And we stood in the great
square with all the children and all the men of the City, sent to
behold the burning. They brought the Transgressor out into the
square and they led [-them-] {+him+} to the pyre. They had torn out the tongue
of the Transgressor, so that they could speak no longer. The
Transgressor were young and tall. They had hair of gold and eyes
blue as morning. They walked to the pyre, and their step did not
falter. And of all the faces on that square, of all the faces
which shrieked and screamed and spat curses upon them, [-their-] {+theirs+} was
the calmest and [-the-] happiest face.
As the chains were wound over their body at the stake, and a
flame set to the pyre, the Transgressor looked upon the City.
There was a thin thread of blood running from the corner of their
mouth, but their lips were smiling. And a monstrous thought came
to us then, which has never left us. We had heard of Saints.
There are the Saints of Labor, and the Saints of the Councils,
and the Saints of the Great Rebirth. But we had never seen a
Saint nor what the likeness of a Saint should be. And we thought
then, standing in the square, that the likeness of a Saint was
the face we saw before us in the flames, the face of the
Transgressor of the Unspeakable Word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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