Deep in the valley north of the city, Cave yawned. For thousands of years its narrow mouth had been open to the Healers and the participants in the ceremonial ritual. The age of Cave was unknown, some said as old as the planet itself. Great rocks formed the inner walls, which ascended to a low domed ceiling, and occasionally a handful of gravel trickled down the walls to the bottom where a small stream still worked at hollowing out the stone.
At the back of Cave was the hearth, and across the floor were ancient stone benches waiting for the friends and family of the patient, for by tradition, only patient and Healer approached the hearth itself. The others, whose wills and hearts were to unite, for one brief night, to heal the sickness, sat apart in a broad circle, where they could see the ceremony, and the chant of their voices could float back to the ears of the sufferer.
As the sun set, Pehn was carried into Cave on a litter.
His father and mother, his sister, his father's collaborators in the government, and representatives of the whole community filed down the valley to the entrance where Bidagha stood, and each person, clad for this occasion only in a robe of animal fur, as he approached the opening extended his hands to show that he had removed his wrist band, and lifted his arms to show that no material product of modern technology was being taken inside to profane Cave. They all respected the ancient proverb, "What Immortals want new, they make new." Each one lit his candle at Bidagha's flame, and silently took his place in the circle.
Pehn had not been inside Cave since his early childhood, but it seemed a familiar place, since its description formed a part of many of Zenob's myths, and was part of all her history.
The age-old figures scratched on the walk and filled in with colored earths, had been made by his remote ancestors at a time when their only weapons were the bows and arrows pictured there, and the stone-tipped spears with which they hunted their game. In the flickering light of the fire he could recognize the lithe toda, and the great-tusked khalmat, animals which had been extinct for many ages. How vividly Old Ones had portrayed these animals, and the ritual of their hunts! The wood fire, which Bidagha had kindled with a primitive wooden drill, burned on the hearth, and above his head through a rift in the ceiling, Pehn could see a narrow band of sky and a sprinkling of stars.
"Keep your head pointed towards fire," said Bidagha, "and lie quiet. Ritual has no value unless we observe it strictly." He gave Pehn a warm potion from an earthenware cup, which made him feel sleepy.
Bidagha began to chant, his bass voice reverberating from wall to wall, each syllable a sonorous musical note which was answered at intervals by the watching group of well-wishers.
A wooden bowl filled with coarsely ground grain was passed from one person to another, and each one placed a few grains on his tongue, some on his forehead, and threw a token pinch of the flour over his left shoulder.
An hour passed, two; the stars above shifted their position, and still Bidagha chanted, never hesitating, never stumbling over the archaic words. Midnight passed and the stars grew pale.