“It is only out of Terra’s shame

That men of Terra wear the name

Of Singer,

Prince of Planets,

Troubadour of Life …

Earthmaker, Singer and Invader be

The substance of infinity.”

From day to day they shared the Singer’s Meal and celebrated his death in the machine. The volume of their singing grew until the Festival of Life had come again.

The Festival of Life was the Singerian holiday that marked the hallowed day Earthmaker breathed into his executed Son the breath of life. The Troubadour was no longer Terra-bound. He had come in pain to break the old and obsolescent definitions of the dead. The word “dead” was now taboo, and those who were unchained considered it obscene.

In the dancing and the singing of the Festival of Life, a guardsman of the Poet King had heard the joy and entered the tunnels in disguise. Whatever his intentions were, he found himself compelled by great intrigue and the Invader drew him into life. He fell upon his knees and cried to be unchained.

In the weeks to come he sang discreetly in the taverns and the halls of upper Urbis and several in the very palace of the Poet King became unchained. Their atheism kept discretion and the Star-Song moved in subtle circles of their confidence.

Joy came to the upper city. Those who knew the Song worshiped in the labyrinthine covert ghettos of the lower world. And more and more they came, till the great Star-Song was sung by many in the upper streets.

XVIII

Unicorns are garish horses void of browns and grays.

We let them live because we fear the humdrum in our days.

Look beneath the bloody beams of history and find

There is but one alternative to unicorns. The mind

May search for more in vain.

“They are here,” said Sarkon to the Poet King of Urbis, “and they are singing their strange songs against the mountain gods. Yes, now they sing in the upper and the lower city and teach their strains of atheism in the shadows of the temples. Their teachings come encased in catchy melodies that leave their converts in a state of joy, and crying out to be unchained.”

“Unchained?” asked the King. “Unchained from what?”

“From fidelity to mountain gods. They left the East brief years ago, and now they grow in heavy numbers here in Urbis too. In the sunless tunnels underneath us now they multiply like rats in rotting earth.”

Then Sarkon stopped and paced the marbled flooring before he turned in venom: “Not only that, O King, but they insist their music is superior to all the other poetry of Terra … Yes … greater than your SONNETS ON THE CITY or your immortal EPIC OF THE GODS. They sing in Terra’s underground that no one but the Singer and his Father are to be adored and all the other mountain gods must be despised. And over all this blasphemy they teach … I can barely speak their skepticism … that you, O King, are but a man and not a god at all.”