House of Asterion "And the queen gave birth to a son named Asterion."

 - Apollodorus, "Library," Ill:i

I know that I am accused of arrogance and perhaps of mysanthropy, and perhaps even of madness. These accusations (which I shall punish in due time) are ludicrous. It is true that I never leave my house, but it is also true that its doors (whose number is infinite) stand open night and day to men and also animals.

Anyone who wishes to enter may do so.

Here, no womanly splendors, no palatial ostentation shall be found, but only calm and solitude. Here shall be found a house like none other on the face of Toril. (Those who say there is a similar house in Abeir speak lies.) Even my detractors admit that there is not a single piece of furniture in this house.

Another absurd tale is that I, Asterion, am a prisoner. Need I repeat that the door stands open? Need I add that there is no lock?

Furthermore, one afternoon did I go out into the streets; if I returned before nightfall, I did so because of the terrible dread inspired in me by the faces of the people - colorless faces, as flat as the palm of one's hand. The sun had already gone down, but the helpless cry of a babe and the crude supplications of the masses were signs that I had been recognized. The people prayed, fled, fell prostate before me; some climbed up onto the stylobate of the Temple of Anhur, others gathered stones. One, I believe, hid in the sea.

Not for nothing was my mother a queen; I cannot mix with commoners, even if my modesty should wish it.

The fact is, I am unique. I am not interested in what a man can publish abroad to other men; like the philosopher, I think nothing can be communicated b the art of writing. Vexatious and trivial minutiæ find no refuge in my spirit.

I have never grasped for long the difference between one letter and another. A certain generous impatience has prevented me from learning to read. Sometimes I regret that, because the nights and the days are long.

Of course, I do not lack for distractions. Sometimes I run like a charging ram through the halls of stone until I tumble dizzily to the ground; sometimes I crouch in the shadow of a wellhead or at the corner of one of the corridors and pretend I am being hunted.

There are rooftops from which I can hurl myself until I am bloody. I can pretend anytime I like that I am asleep, and lie with my eyes closed and my breathing heavy. (Sometimes I actually fall asleep; when I open my eyes, the color of the day has changed.)

But of all the games, the one I like best is pretending there is another Asterion. I pretend he has come to visit me, and I show him around the house. Bowing magestically, I say to him: "Now let us return to our previous intersection" or "Let us go this way, now, out into another courtyard" or "I knew that you would like this rain gutter" or "Now you will see a cistern that has filled with sand" or "Now you will see how the cellar forks."

Sometimes I make a mistake and the two of us have a good laugh over it.

I have thought a great deal about the house. Each part of it occurs many times; any particular place is another place. There is not one wellhead, one courtyard, one drinking trough, one manger; there are fourteen [an infinite number of] mangers, drinking troughs, courtyards, wellheads.

The house is as big as the world, or rather it -is- the world.

Nevertheless, by making through every single courtyard with its wellhead and every single dusty gallery of gray stone, I have come out onto the street and seen the temple of Anhur and the sea. That sight, I did not understand until a night vision revealed to me that there are also fourteen [an infinite number of] seas and temples.

Everything exists many times, fourteen times, but there are two things in the world that exist but once - on high, the intricate sun, and below, Asterion. Perhaps I have created the stars and the sun and this huge house and no longer remember it.

Every nine years, nine people come into the house so that I can free them from all evil. I hear their footsteps or their voices far away in the galleries of stone, and I run joyously to find them. The ceremony lasts but a few minutes.

One after another, they fall, without my ever having to bloody my hands. Where they fall, they remain, and their bodies help distinguish one gallery from others. I do not know how many there have been, but I do know that one of them predicted as he died that someday my redeemer would come.

Since then, there has been no pain for me in solitude, because I know that my redeemer lives, and in the end he will rise and stand above the dust. If my ear could hear every sound in the world, I would hear his footsteps.

I hope he takes me to a place with fewer galleries and fewer doors. What will my redeemer be like, I wonder. Will he be bull or man? Could he possibly be a bull with the face of a man?

Or will he be like me?

___

* - The word Asterion spoke was "fourteen," but there is more than enough cause to conclude that when spoken by Asterion that number stands for "infinite."

Author's Note: Thus I have recorded the words of Asterion, for I undertook to interview the famed Prince of Cimbar. Three days later, the Chessentan hero Theseus descended into the labyrinth and emerged, bronze sword bloody. He declared that the minotaur had scarce put up a fight. ~Shäalira, the younger, the 25th day of Alturiak, 76 AR.