"Honest? Akma, the simplest explanation of most of these stories is that the Keeper sends true dreams. The Keeper intervenes sometimes in people's lives. To avoid believing that you have to come up with the most convoluted, twisted, insulting speculations. You dare to tell me that my dream was only significant because it reminded people of the Zenifi, not because I was actually able to tell the difference between a true dream and a normal one. In order to disbelieve in the Keeper, you had to believe that I was and continue to be a self-deceptive fool."
"Not a fool," he said, with real pain in his expression.-"You were a child. It seemed real to you then. So of course you remember it as being real."
"You see? What you call intellectual honesty I call self-deception. You won't believe me, when I stand before you in flesh and blood and declare to you what I saw-"
"What you hallucinated among the dreams of the night."
"Nor will you even believe the simple truth of what the ancient records say-that the Rasulum, just like the Nafari, were brought back to Earth after millions of years of exile on another world. No, you can't stick with the simple explanation that the people who wrote these things actually knew what they were talking about. You have to decide that the books were created by later writers who simply wrote down old legends that accounted for the divinity of the Heroes by claiming that they came from the heavens. Nothing can be read straight. Everything has to be twisted to fit your one, basic article of faith that there is no Keeper. You can't know it! You have no proof of it! And yet faith in that one premise-against which you have a thousand written witnesses and at least a dozen living ones, including me-faith in that one premise leads you to set in motion the chain of events that leads to children being mutilated in the streets of the cities and villages of Darakemba."
"Is this why you came?" asked Akma. "To tell me that my disbelief in your true dream really hurts your feelings? I'm sorry. I had hoped you would be mature enough to understand that reason has to triumph over superstition."
She hadn't touched him. Hadn't reached that spark of decency hidden deep inside. Because there was no such spark, she knew that now. He rejected the Keeper, not because he was hurt so badly as a child, but because he truly hated the world the Keeper wanted to create. He loved evil; that's why he no longer loved her.
Without another word, she turned to go.
"Wait," he said.
She stopped; foolishly, she allowed another spark of hope to brighten.
"It's not in my power to stop these persecutions, but your father can."
"You think he hasn't tried?"
"He's going about it all wrong," said Akma. "The civil guard won't enforce the law. So many of them are actually involved in the Un-kept."
"Why don't you name names?" said Edhadeya. "If you truly meant what you said about wanting to stop the cruelty-"
"The men I know are all old and none of them are going out beating up children. Are you going to listen to me?"
"If you have a plan, I'll take it to Father."
"It's simple enough. The reason the Unkept feel such rage is because they only have two choices, either to join in with a state religion that forces them to associate with lower creatures-don't argue with me, I'm telling you what they think-"
"You think the same-"
"You've never listened to me long enough to know what I think, and it doesn't matter anyway. Listen now. They are rebelling out of a sense of helpless rage. They can't strike at the king, but they can strike at the priests and the diggers. But what if the king decreed that there no longer was a state religion?"
"Abolish the Houses of the Keeper!"
"Not at all. Let the Kept continue to assemble and share their beliefs and rituals-but on a completely voluntary basis. And let others who believe differently form their own assemblies, and without anyone's interference have their rituals and teachings. As many assemblies, as many beliefs as people want. And the government will simply look on and interfere with none of them."
"A nation should be of one heart and mind," said Edhadeya. "My father destroyed all hope of that thirteen years ago," said Akma. "Let the king declare religious belief and assembly a private matter, with no public interest at all, and there will be peace."
"In other words, in order to save the Kept from attack, we should remove the last protections we have?"
"They have no protections, Edhadeya. You know it. The king knows it. He has found the limits of his authority. But once he has abolished all government sponsorship of a religion, he can make a law that no one can be persecuted because of their religious beliefs. That one will have teeth, because it will protect everyone equally. If the Unkept want to form an assembly of fellow believers, they will have protection. It will be in their interest to uphold that law. No more secret meetings. No more hidden societies. Everything out in the open. Suggest it to your father. Even if you don't think my idea has merit, he will. He'll see that it's the only way."
"He won't be fooled any more than I am," said Edhadeya. "This decree you propose is exactly what you've wanted all along."
"I didn't even think of it till yesterday," said Akma. "Oh, pardon, I forgot that it took Bego a certain amount of time to get you to think up his ideas as if they were your own."
"Edhadeya, if my father's religion can't hold its own by the sheer power of its truthfulness, without any help from the government except to protect its members from violence, then it doesn't deserve to survive."
"I'll tell Father what you said."
"Good."
"But I'll also wager you right now, any stakes you say, that within a year you yourself will be the direct cause of more persecution of the Kept."
"You never knew me, if you think that's even possible."
"Oh, you'll have a lot of high-sounding reasons why people's suffering isn't your doing, because you've already proven your ability to deceive yourself without limit. But within a year, Akma, families will be weeping because of you."
"My family, probably, since they mourn for me as if I were dead," said Akma. He laughed, as if this were a joke.
"They aren't the only ones," said Edhadeya.
"I'm not dead," said Akma. "I have compassion, regardless of what you choose to believe about me. I remember my own suffering, I remember the suffering of others. I also remember that I loved you."
"I wish you'd forget it," said Edhadeya. "If it was ever true, you spoiled it long ago."
"I still do," he said. "I love you as much as I can love anyone. I think of you all the time, of the joy it would bring me if just once I could have you stand by my side the way Mother stands beside Father in all he does."
"She can do that, because what he does is good."
Akma nodded. "I know. Just don't pretend it's because of my beliefs that we aren't together. You're as stubborn as I am."
"No, Akma," she said. "I'm not stubborn. I'm just honest. I can't deny what I know."
"But you can hide what you know," said Akma, with a bitter smile.
"What does that mean?"
"In this whole conversation, you never bothered to mention to me that my sister is going to marry the most loathsome human being I ever knew."
"I assumed that your family had told you."
"I had to hear about it from Khimin."
"I'm sorry. That was Luet's choice. I'm sure. Perhaps she wanted not to cause you pain."
"She's dead to me now," said Akma. "She has given herself to the torturers and rejected me. As far as I'm concerned, you're doing the same."
"It's you that have given yourself to the torturers, Akma, and rejected me. Didul is no torturer. He is the man you should have been. What Luet loves in him is what she used to love in you. But it isn't there anymore."