Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome by Stephen Lawhead Read Free Book Online Page B

vessel for its contents?”
    “I don't know. It just seems that one ought to show some appreciation for the dancers, for their art, for the joy they bring in the dance.”
    “The joy of the dance was theirs.”
    “They shared it with us, then.”
    “And we paid them the highest tribute—we honored the beauty of the moment, and respected the serenity of the performance.”
    Yarden thought about this. “By leaving like that? Without a word, without a sound—just leaving? That was your tribute?”
    Ianni, a tall, dark-haired woman, slender with long graceful limbs, folder her hands in front of her and stopped walking, turned to Yarden, and said, “We shared the moment together, and we took it to ourselves. We have hidden it in our hearts to treasure it always. What more can one do who has not created? It was not our place to judge, only to accept.”
    They walked again, feeling the warmth of the day and the pure rays of the sun on their faces. After a time Yarden nodded, saying, “I think I understand what you are saying: the artist practices her art for herself alone, but she performs as an expression of praise to the Infinite Father for the gift of her art—a gift she shares with her audience.”
    “Or with no audience at all.”
    “Yes, I see. The audience does not matter.”
    “Not to the performance, no. But if the audience is moved to praise the Infinite too, so much the better. Let praise increase! Of course, an artist is pleased when the audience is pleased. That is only natural. But, since she performs her art for herself and for the pleasure of the Infinite, the audience's response or lack of it is of no concern.”
    “The only concern is how well she has performed.”
    “Yes, whether she has used her gift to her best abilities. If she has, what does it matter whether she had an audience or not, or what the audience thought about the performance?”
    Yarden understood, though she still thought anyone who could create such beauty as she had just witnessed ought to have more for their trouble than mute enjoyment, no matter how appreciative the crowd.
    They continued on in silence until they reached the nearest of the outflung wings of the Arts Center. “Do you wish to return to the paintings?” asked Ianni. They had been viewing Fieri commemorative artwork in the gallery before their stroll of the grounds and their encounter with the dancers. Yarden looked up at the imposing entrance to the gallery and hesitated. “Or we could come back another time.”
    “You wouldn't mind?”
    “Not at all.” Ianni smiled. “One can only absorb so much.”
    “And I've absorbed all I can. Now I need time to think about what I've seen.” She took Ianni's hand and squeezed it. “Wasn't it beautiful though? I never imagined anything could be so perfect, so right, so expressive.”
    Ianni eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you have an artist's heart, Yarden. Would you like to learn?”
    Yarden shook her head sadly. “I could never dance like that.”
    “How do you know? Have you ever tried?”
    “No, but—” Yarden's eyes grew wide with the possibility. “Do you think I should try?”
    “Only if it appeals to you.”
    “Oh, it does. You have no idea how much!”
    The place where they brought Treet was an underground complex carved into Empyrion's bedrock, a cave with square-cut walls and passageways—the Cavern-level bastion of the Nilokerus. It was here that Hladik maintained the infamous reorientation cells: row upon row of stone cubicles, barely big enough for a person to stand upright or stretch out full-length. Each cell had independent heat and light controls so that one cell could be floodlit and heated to a swelter, while the one next to it was plunged into total darkness and bone-chilling cold, depending on the whim of the reorientation engineer.
    Treet was dragged roughly from the Archives vestibule, through an endless succession of corridors and galleries until he was handed over to the keepers of