Page 50 - 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

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