Page 49 - Unlikely Stories 1

The Sage and the Conqueror

“Yes,” replied the other, a tiny figure swathed in ochre. “You may
as well sit down. I am no longer able to stand.”
The Macedonian found a crude wooden stool. He had faced men
like this one many times: some were finely-attired court astrologers
and theologians; others, naked hermits and half-mad stylites and self-
flagellators. His interviewing technique was always the same.
“The afterlife: what is it?”
The abbot’s eyes might have been open when he answered. “An
illusion.”
Alexander grunted. “And the heavens? The realm of the gods?”
“The same.”
Alexander drew his sword and placed it before him on the stone
floor, blade toward the abbot. “And fate: has man no hope of
knowing the outcome of his actions?”
“None.”
The battle-scarred young hero leaned forward. His lips were
compressed and his eyes narrow. “Then why do we live? What is the
point of our aspirations, our fears, our endless struggle for survival?”
A slight rustle of fabric indicated the abbot was scratching himself
beneath his robes. “Your words have the form of a question, but not
the content. They do not connect with an answer, either correct or
incorrect.”
Muscles bulged on Alexander’s jaw. “Now, abbot: I have one more
question: consider carefully your answer.”
He stood, picked up the sword and cocked his arm, ready to strike
a death-blow at the old man. “What is the authority for your
knowledge? Who taught you this?”
A brief glint of reflected light indicated that the abbot’s eyes were,
indeed, open. “I need no authority for what is self-evident.”
The conqueror’s arm and shoulder trembled as he fought the
impulse to hack the abbot into shattered slabs of flesh. “Old man,”
he growled through clenched teeth, “I have crossed the Oxus and I
will cross the Indus. I will not stop until I have found the source of
your doctrine and stamped it out forever. I will subdue the world and
be worshipped as its only true god. That is my destiny—I am certain

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