They had torn out the tongue of the
Transgressor, so that they could speak no
longer. The Transgressor were young and tall.
They had hair of gold and eyes blue as morning.
They walked to the pyre, and their step did
not falter. And of all the faces
on that square, of all the faces which
shrieked and screamed and spat curses upon
them, theirs was the calmest and the happiest face.

As the chains were wound over their
body at the stake, and a flame set to the
pyre, the Transgressor looked upon the
City. There was a thin thread of blood
running from the corner of their mouth,
but their lips were smiling. And a monstrous
thought came to us then, which has
never left us. We had heard of Saints.
There are the Saints of Labor, and the
Saints of the Councils, and the Saints of the
Great Rebirth. But we had never seen a
Saint nor what the likeness of a Saint
should be. And we thought then, standing
in the square, that the likeness of a Saint
was the face we saw before us in the flames,
the face of the Transgressor of the
Unspeakable Word.

As the flames rose, a thing happened
which no eyes saw but ours, else we would