The Blood-Rage (13) There were many paths of blood running down Darkcian's head where blows from the flat side of Gravestone's blade had struck. "Until the next day," the young one echoed. He didn't look at either Gravestone or Rasp as they walked away back uphill to the camp. Erendria and her mother were sitting on the ground; Darkcian's back was to them. Patra had come to watch the training two hours ago, and now they both waited for the stranger to follow his two instructors up the hill. Instead, Darkcian walked slowly the other direction, steps stumbling, sword still in hand but with the tip dragging on the ground. Erendria rose to go after him. "Stay," called her mother. "Can’t you see he wants to be alone?" "I want to watch him." "Why?" "I want to see his pain," she replied angrily. "Can you feel his pain in here?" asked Patra softly, while tapping the area over her own heart. "Yes," she said, suddenly shivering. Her eyes followed his silhouette against the swiftly fading light of the suns-set. She fought the urge to draw her dagger. "Strange you should feel that now, yet not this morning when you hurt him." Erendria whirled toward her mother and snarled, "And the pain that I gave him wasn't even with honor. Is that it?" Patra rose to her feet, "It was you who said it was without honor. I didn't see it. Either way, you should search your heart to find the reason why you get pleasure when you and others give him pain. Sadism is a healer's trait." Her mother then turned and walked toward the camp. "I was upset when I hurt him this morning," she whispered, but her mother was too far away to hear the faint words. And, too, Erendria didn't really want them heard. An hour later Darkcian stopped his wandering. The camp was not in sight, and the darkness was almost complete. His mind was slowly coming out of the fog of pain that seemed to come from every part of his body. "Pain . . . I hate pain!" he shouted out into the still darkness of the night. He didn't notice the night-leopard silently creeping toward him. With great effort, he sheathed his sword and then turned in a circle, wanting to see something, anything. Suddenly, the countryside blossomed into a dim form as his mind cleared further. Ah, that's better, he thought. I can see again. But I'm tired, so tired. And the pain . . . the pain. He moaned. He let his mind drift outward. He could feel the air, the grass, and the dirt beneath. He sensed their energy and wanted it. Without conscious thought, he gathered the energy into him, drinking it with his mind, sucking it out of the surrounding elements. The night-leopard snarled, jumped back as if stung, and circled around to the human's rear, trying to puzzle out the strange feeling in the air. It bared its sharp teeth and hissed again, hunching its back, its black fur standing out as if electrified. Suddenly Darkcian felt the fatigue leave him and the pain subside. He closed his eyes and drank and drank with his mind. Minutes later, he was aware that he was strong again and the pain only a dull ache. He opened his eyes and, knowing where the camp was even though he couldn't see it, started walking back. His bare feet crunched on the ice that clung to a thirty-foot circle of now dead grass. In a sphere of the same dimensions, the air was at sub-zero temperatures, making his exhaled breath form into a white mist. But this, also, didn't have any importance to him. He felt quite warm. The night-leopard mewed in pain, wrinkled its nose at the sharp smell of ozone in the air, and turned its tail to run away in terror. It favored its left front paw, still numb from frostbite. YOU HAVE CHEATED. How so? he thought-asked, feeling pleasant. DEPEND TOO MUCH ON YOUR MIND TO MAKE YOU COMFORTABLE, AND YOU WILL NEVER LEARN HOW OTHERS FEEL. YOU NEED TO DEVELOP YOUR EMOTIONS TO FIND EMPATHY WITH YOUR FELLOW WARRIORS. He thought about what he had just done and then asked himself: Can others do what I've just done? There was no answer inside. If I take the silence as a "no," does that make me superior? he wondered. LOOK CLOSELY AT WHAT OTHERS CAN DO, AND IF YOU CAN DO MORE, NEVER REVEAL IT. Hide my strengths? YES. He saw the hill now. Moments later he climbed upward. The cupolas looked to him like spheres of blackness against the soft glow of the surrounding ground. The warm ashes of the cooking fire appeared as bright as a cluster of stars. "Darkcian." He turned at the call of his name and saw Erendria. The warmth of her skin made her glow faintly to his night-sight. He noticed that she shined with a soft light of pure white, without color. He suspected that she could not see him in the same way, for he had noticed days ago that, unlike him, other rationals seemed almost blind at night. So, to her he must appear only as a tall, dark shape, features indiscernible. For some reason, he liked that; it was a form of privacy in a world of no privacy. "Yes, my-death," he acknowledged. A meteor streaked through the night sky, lighting up Darkcian's face for just a moment. His eyes flashed purple in that time, and Erendria thought the color matched that of the meteor's path-of-death through the atmosphere. What is he thinking? she wondered. She stepped up to him, trying to make out his face now that the meteor light was gone. Failing, she reached out and touched his mouth, for a moment tracing its shape. She spoke to him softly, "This morning my father-teacher said that I started my turn with you badly, and that I should correct the error before nightfall. You were there and heard?" "Yes, my-death." "It's time," she said. He did not seem to understand, so she waited. "Hit me," she ordered, finally impatient. He waited a moment, apparently thinking, and then said, "I cannot do that, my-death." "You can and will. Remember Rasp's warning that we must be obeyed? Now again, I order you, hit me. Hard! Make my lip bleed as I did yours." I need your pain. Suddenly he seemed to understand her in this. He said, "My- death, you seek pain from me thinking it will cancel out the pain I received from you. But wasn't the concept that Gravestone spoke of this morning really about justice and honor, not about obeying you?" "You'll have your revenge in obeying." Hurry, damn it. I feel strange. "Perhaps, but not justice and honor." "You confuse me," she said, still trying to make out his face in the gloom but seeing only an unclear shape, the stars framing him. Do I see an inner glow from within his eyes or is it my imagination? she wondered. He spoke softly, "For there to be true justice, shouldn't I choose the method of revenge? And, conversely, only by your enduring it can you regain your honor. Is this not so?" She saw at once the truth in his words and was glad. His choice will surely hurt me more, she thought. And the more I endure, the more I will save face and redeem myself. I need to cleanse myself of this guilt. "Yes, it is so," she replied. "Hurt me in your own way. Your choice will be accepted and endured." I'll show this animal the heart of a warrior. "So be it," he said and reached out for her. She was close so he did not have to step forward. His arms slid slowly around her waist and moved to her back until she could feel the smooth, hot curve of his hand on her spine. He pulled her against him tightly, and her body went rigid in alarm. What? she thought. Then, with his left hand still holding her tight against him, he laced the fingers of his right hand into the thick mass of her hair and slowly pulled her head back until his cheek was against hers. She began to tremble. No. NO! Not this! Give me pain! She felt the muscles in her thighs and stomach tightened further. He tightened his grip more. She moaned and raised her hands to grip his shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh. What are you doing? she tried to shout, but no words came out of her tight throat. Her tongue felt suddenly thick and numb. He let go of her hair and, sliding that hand up behind her neck, forced her against him even harder . . . and harder still until she had trouble breathing. She then felt something enter her mind. Suddenly, her entire body convulsed, and her mind-lock dropped as she let loose a mental scream, a protest not of pain but of pleasure so intense it was like pain. And it had come upon her quickly, like an explosion. She bit down on her lip, hard. He straightened up as if startled, released her, and dropped his hands to his sides. She knew her lower lip was bleeding. She moaned again and went limp. She would have fallen to her knees if she had not again grasped his shoulders. She pressed her forehead against his chest and turned her face slowly until her right cheek touched him. His skin felt hot. She dimly realized she was not a thinking being anymore, only a blank vessel of sensation, of fear . . . of wonder. It was minutes before her strength returned and she found her voice. "What have you done to me?" she whispered. She was mystified by what had happened to her mind. And her body? She didn't want to think about that. He did not answer. She stepped away from him unsteadily. "What have you done to me?" she cried. As was his way, he seemed to be in a deep analysis of what was going on. Does he have the data to correlate this to anything in his memory? she wondered. The powerful feeling had been sexual in nature. And it came to me so quickly! She wondered how intense it could become, and her frustration and anger grew. His reaction is puzzling, too. Does he know what he caused? She sank to her knees and put her forehead to the ground, her hands between her legs. I cannot endure this, she cried silently. She felt the after-ache in her breasts and loins. She had climaxed, she suddenly realized, thinking: I cannot believe it. How was it possible? She felt him kneel before her and weave his fingers through her hair until they came to rest on the back of her neck. Does he understand the source of my mental pain? she wondered. Did he cause it? How? "My-death," he whispered, massaging her neck gently, "I don't understand this. My ignorance is too great. Help me." He stopped rubbing, and she looked up at him slowly and spoke, "You shouldn't have done that. No revenge should be that great." "How can pleasure be pain?" "That kind of pleasure without control is pain, here," she put her hand over her heart. "The control of ourselves is the only dignity we have. I've lost mine. You've ripped it from my mind. I don't understand it. How could I have been so weak?" "I only sought to understand, to look and . . . thus understand. But I'm lost in the complexities of what I saw. What was it?" She made her face twist in scorn and said, "You understand nothing, not even shame. You have no feelings; you don't love; you don't hate; you aren't real. Machine. MACHINE!" Darkcian frowned. "You accuse me of faults of which you, yourself, have. Where were your feelings when you hit me this morning? Where was love when you bit my neck one turn ago? Regret? Shame? Did you experience them then?" "Yes!" she shouted. "And guilt and self-hate and anguish and . . . and more. You wouldn't understand." Oh, God of death! she thought, He remembered what I did to him one turn ago. And then . . . and then he must also have remembered what I did as I lay beside him. Oh, no! He held her face still and said, "I cannot argue that which I don't understand. However, I do understand that Gravestone ordered that I wasn't to let anyone inflict physical pain upon me again without resisting. And, as you so recently reminded me, I must obey orders." "You cannot resist the dagger," she warned. She realized then that she was going to kill him. She had to kill him. "Revenge begets revenge, it seems," he said; his voice sounded sad. "Is this normal?" "Yes. And when I have mine, you shall . . .endure it!" The last word was a shout. "Yes, my-death," he said in a voice that now seemed tight with emotion. She rose then and ran from him. But she couldn't outrun her fear. CHAPTER 13 Frustration is the result of a subconscious admission that you could not control a factor that had importance to you. Yet things that you cannot control should have no importance. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- Rasp came suddenly awake; he had heard something. He turned his head to look outside his cupola and, there, through the dark, saw his young student come marching toward him. The other soon knelt before the dome's black exterior. "Teacher," the memory-lost one called softly, as if wondering if he was asleep. Rasp walked through the force field, materializing suddenly and said, "There was no need for you to call out. I first heard your approach when you were twenty feet away. Your feet whisper against the grass, shouting your approach to any living thing. You must learn to be more quiet." He stood looking down on his student, letting his own silence became a question. "Teacher," Darkcian repeated, "I need more information. My need is like an ache here." He put his hand against his stomach. "The emotion of frustration is new to me. What happened to her? Why did she react that way? Why?" He shook his head and smashed one fist into the other. "Not enough data. I need more information, particularly about physiology." "You're not making sense. Have we beaten you senseless? Go away. Your questions can wait until next-light. I need sleep and so do you." "Three questions, just three?" The old warrior sighed and thought with regret: Like a child and yet . . . not. "All right," he agreed. "Three." The young one asked at once, "What's the meaning of sexual contact between rationals?" Surprised, Rasp bent forward slightly to make out more clearly the expression on his kneeling student's face--the starlight was very dim. Where did this question come from? he asked himself. Aloud he demanded, "What has this to do with sword fighting?" "Nothing," Darkcian answered. Taken aback, Rasp was suddenly amused and said, "It's not something that needs to concern you, for you will never know its pleasures. No female would ever mate with weakness." "Pleasures? Mate?" What has this young fool been thinking about? he wondered. "All right," he conceded. "Sexual contact between rationals occurs for two reasons, procreation and pleasure. By procreation we maintain the race. By pleasure we enjoy the process. The two can, however, be mutually exclusive. Since females can voluntarily control their ovulation, pregnancy never occurs accidentally; they must want it. Therefore, most sexual contact is for pleasure." He closed his eyes and chuckled. "The pleasure of sex cannot be described. It's both physical and emotional. It occurs quite often between the sexes." He opened his eyes, and the humor he was feeling vanished. "Next question." "What's the meaning of life? Why do we live?" He looked about, as if searching the sky and the darkness. "What's this all about?" Rasp snarled, "We live to suffer . . . and to make others suffer. Life is pain, battle, and blood. We are warriors." He watched with a critical eye as the young one appeared to frown, and then he could almost feel the other's thoughts, as if he could look though the gloom of darkness and see a face that didn't yet know how to hide emotion. The feeling spoke of sadness and bewilderment. Child, he thought with contempt. Fool. "You have one more question," he snapped, while noticing that his student's expression seemed to say that the explanation just given had not been enough. But that was all that he would give on the subject. You had better ask your last question with care, he thought. I'm growing tired of this. Darkcian spoke cautiously, "Can you teach me how to tune the lok so that I may learn anything that's broadcasted?" Rasp put his hands on his hips and pondered those words for a long time. When he finally answered, he tried not to appear uneasy. He said, "To tune the lok is simple. To know where to tune it to get the information you wish is the real challenge. Have you ever noticed the knob on the right side of the band?"
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