The Cancellation had closed the asking, and the Erasure would close the having asked. It would remove the question and everything it had ever produced from the past.
The branch of the Tree that the woman by the stream had founded would not have happened. The hundred and forty thousand years of compounding habit, the order, the faculty, the instrument, the word, the song, the signature, the propagation across one hundred and three branches, the slow, gentle decline in the Cancellation's effectiveness, all of it would unhappen.
Holding the Erasure in his hand, the Painter did not make a move; he just continued looking at the board.
The piece was a small thing in the Painter's shrouded hand, as most of the great pieces on the board were small; this was a thing Eos had learned during the first age.
