“But, Vernoon, all this is not my fault; they were sacrifices to the gods, and if I did not sacrifice, I should be sacrificed by the priests and wizards who live to sacrifice. Yes, myself I should be made to drink the poison and be mocked at while I died like a snake with a broken back. Or even if I escaped the vengeance of the people, the gods themselves would kill me and raise up another in my place. Do they not sacrifice in your country, Vernoon?”
“No, Asika, they fight if necessary and kill those who commit murder. But they have no fetish that asks for blood, and the law they have from heaven is a law of mercy.”
She stared at him again.
“All this is strange to me,” she said. “I was taught otherwise. Gods are devils and must be appeased, lest they bring misfortune on us; men must be ruled by terror, or they would rebel and pull down the great House; doctors must learn magic, or how could they avert spells? wizards must be killed, or the people would perish in their net. May not we who live in a hell, strive to beat back its flame with the wisdom our forefathers have handed on to us? Tell me, Vernoon, for I would know.”
“You make your own hell,” answered Alan when with the help of Jeekie he understood her talk.
She pondered over his words for a while, then said:
“I must think. The thing is big. I wander in blackness; I will speak with you again. Say now, what else is wrong with me?”
Now Alan thought that he saw opportunity for a word in season and made a great mistake.
“I think that you treat your husband, that man whom you call Mungana, very badly. Why should you drive him to his death?”
At these words the Asika leapt up in a rage, and seeking something to vent her temper on, violently boxed Jeekie’s ears and kicked him with her sandalled foot.