The Blood-Rage (24)
CHAPTER 25 Desire is one of the most powerful passions there is. Sometimes it even surpasses the will to live. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- That night it was Sulamith who found Darkcian. She watched the young warrior emerge from his cupola late, at midnight. He had spent the four previous hours behind its black surface. Doing what? she wondered. Studying with the "lok"? What happened to his desire for the night? But no matter, there he is, standing tall and silent, a shadow among shadows. He seemed to notice her at once and walked her way while strapping on his sword. "I keep forgetting that you can see in the dark," she whispered as he stopped in front of her. "It makes me feel naked." He looked her up and down. "Are you?" he whispered back. "No. I wear the brief and halter. Can't you determine that?" "No. I can only see the glow of the heat that your body produces. The lok calls it infrared. The material you wear is too thin to block it." Even though she didn't understand that explanation fully, some of the tension left her. "That's best," she whispered. She then reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling. Immediately she released it; the touch seemed to burn. Careful, she warned herself. "Come," she said aloud. "Let's put more distance between ourselves and the cupolas of your teachers. I'm too tired to chance a fight this night." He followed her away from the camp. She led him to a thick grouping of trees where she walked carefully, both hands feeling the way, for the area was very dark. What's wrong with me? she asked herself, I turn my back to him as if I had known and trusted him all my life. Madness! My love for him is making me careless. And he will never love me back . . . never. My appearance will detour that. "Mark your sense of direction," she warned quietly. "One could easily get lost here where the starlight is blocked." He mustn't be able to see me, even slightly. They were well out of sight of the cupolas when she finally stopped and turned toward him. "I'm elated you survived the ambush." He said softly, "Your warning saved our lives. Is the blood-debt between you and the Kalts now satisfied?" "Yes, we're even." "But you and I are not even. The Kalts aided you in the encounter with the band of nine. I didn't. I didn't know how." She sensed a tone of regret in his voice and smiled. "That's true. You owe me a blood-debt." I wonder if the obligation is strong enough to tie him to me? He could be my answer to the perfect death should that ever be necessary. She shivered involuntarily. "Do you have an enemy I could fight?" he said. "I would if you asked, you know." She stiffened in quick anger and bit out, "How dare you. That's an insult. I kill my own. I'm not a weakling in need of fighting help." She detected a reflecting pause on his part and thought: He thinks deeply on every thing I say, as if it all were very important to him. Is it? "Is that also true with the ice-tigers of Friosan's-Time?" he asked politely. Sulamith hesitated over that question, thinking: What strange channels his mind jumps to. Why this direction? Aloud, she answered, "Ah, my friend, I see what you imply. Yes, killing to protect another is honorable if the two are mates. But, of course, we aren't, so that was the source of my anger. And even if--" she hesitated over trying to get the words out "--if we were mates, you would never live long enough to aid me against those beasts. That time is almost seven seasons away. Besides, I don't need or want a mate for I, alone, have already killed two ice-tigers in my short twenty-one years. Not many daggers can boast that." "You once said to me that only a sword could kill the animals. With all its reach, the dagger doesn't have the power of penetration needed to do them in. Which is the truth?" "There's truth in both statements. It depends on who wields the dagger. Among us females, only the masters have the edge to win over those beasts. It takes excellent accuracy with the throw. We go for the eyes. Once blinded, we can bring them down with a hundred cuts, and they bleed to death. It's not something to try for sport, only when cornered and there's no other choice. As I said, I've only done it twice, and it was a close thing both times. In all truth, I suppose some luck was involved." "Still, you have said that the rationals of Agon mate in order to form a fighting pair strong enough to defeat these tigers and other such beasts." Damn, she thought. Is he suggesting that I mate with him? Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She bit down hard, welcoming the pain. He reached out and took her hand. She jerked it away. "No! Don't touch me!" She took a step backwards while grasping her dagger's handle. I'll kill him if he shows one sign of repugnance. Oh, please, Agon, don't let him do that. "What--?" he stammered. She took three deep breaths to get a grip on herself before answering, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted like that. I don't like to be touched." I'll never mate with you, never, never . . . unless . . . He peered at her closely. "Why don't you like to be touched? Do you think of me as being unclean?" "No, no. It's not that. It is . . . hard to explain. Think of me as being unclean, if you wish." "Are you?" "In a way." In the way I look, damn you Agon. "You're being evasive." "Let's change the subject." "See what I mean? All right, all right. Why do you still follow us?" She tried to stifle a sigh of relief but couldn't. She said, "I find you fascinating. You're something new and different, a mystery. It's all very interesting. Will Agon kill you, or will it be the fools who roam upon its surface?" You and I are both doomed, my handsome friend, she thought. What a pity that someone as beautiful as you must perish. If all the "daggers" of Agon saw you, most of those who wish for children would fight each other to have the privilege of using your genes to create their babies, assuming they knew nothing of your memory-loss weakness. "Or maybe it will be you who kills me?" he said. She took her hand from the knife. "That's possible, of course. But I can't see it happening unless you offend me in some great manner. We're friends. Remember?" "I was hoping that was still so. How about another dagger lesson?" His mind leaps about like someone possessed, she thought. She said aloud, "I'm very tired, Darkcian, and it's late." Doesn't he ever sleep? she wondered, then continued, "I only sought you out tonight to express my joy at your victory." "But I saw Erendria do this with her dagger," he gestured with his hands. "And I would like you to show me how it's done." "What did you do?" "Ah, yes, I forgot. It's too dim for you to see. We need more starlight. Is this forest very wide?" "No. I scouted around it during my approach to your camp. This patch is only about two hundred feet in diameter. What are you suggesting?" "Let's go to the other side where there's starlight. Follow me." "Wait. I can't see you anymore; you've disappeared." She reached out with her hands but withdrew them immediately when she vaguely saw a dim shadow reappear in front of her. He had obviously turned back. Damn, he's like the night itself, black and invisible. "I'm here," he said. "May I take your hand? I'll not think it unclean." The thought of touching him made her dizzy. And to be his mate, impossible, utterly beyond thought. She reached out, groping, and found a tree. She wrapped her arms around it, her face pressed to its rough bark. No, no, she thought. Stop thinking about mating. Stop! "Sulamith, what's wrong," he said and put his hands on her shoulders. She violently hugged the tree to her, trying to squeeze herself inside it. "Don't touch me!" she screamed. She felt his hands leap from her, and his voice became full of puzzlement and pain, "Somehow I have offended you once more. Forgive me. I'll not touch you again." She felt him step away. Sulamith whirled around, her mind suddenly clear. But her body felt very strange, and her breathing was labored. The feeling was similar to an adrenalin rush. And it was building. She said hastily, "Wait! Don't go." He stopped. "Come here," she ordered. "Yes. Now, please don't move, don't touch me. Let me do the touching." Don't be a fool. Run from him! Don't pursue this any longer, she thought, torn by two needs. The strange yet familiar feeling increased. He stood rigid, hands at his sides, seemingly afraid to move. She could barely see him, yet enough to touch. Walking behind him, her fingers moved softly across his skin, slowly and carefully exploring. She felt him shiver, and it made her stop breathing. This is insane, she thought wildly. I'm killing myself. Ah, but the touch of him is so good. A trembling started low in her stomach. "Sulamith, what are you doing?" he asked in a tense tone. "Destroying myself," she answered in a voice sounding so foreign that, at first, she didn't recognize it as her own. She snaked her arms around his waist and pressed her body full against his back. She gasped suddenly, thinking that her swollen breasts were going to burst. She hugged him against her even tighter, fingernails digging into his stomach. Oh, Gods, she thought, I'm going to explode! Without warning, he broke from her with a violent twist of his body. She cried out in loss, searching out for him, her arms passing through empty air. Yet another part of her mind still fought for survival. Save me, save me. RUN! she screamed silently, even while she sought him with a frantic swinging of her arms. Then, although she couldn't see, she suddenly felt alone; that invisible presence of him, like a spiritual scent, was gone. She turned quickly in circles, arms outstretched, and probing. "Darkcian," she moaned and dropped to her knees. Yes, he was gone; she was sure if it now. She bowed her head and murmured, "Thank you, my dear friend, thank you. It's my fault. I'm so weak." If I were a real warrior, I'd kill myself. He ran through the forest, dodging trees as they appeared to him out of the darkness. He ran as though a demon was behind him. Yet he didn't fear her as a danger. He feared, instead, the loss of her friendship, because, somehow, he did strange things to her body or mind or both. So he ran from the dread of this unknown and the unknown within himself. He knew it was a race he couldn't win. Still he tried. RUN, FOOL. BUT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOURSELF. I run to escape that which I cannot control, for I had a feeling that she would have died if I had stayed; and I don't want that . . . Gods above, not that. Besides the suns-sets and the land, she's my only pleasure. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOURSELF, the thought repeated. Will she hate me now like Erendria does? Am I really just a disgusting fool she tolerates because she's lonely? When we reach the pole region and they have squeezed dry my brain, will she help kill me like the worthless dog that I am? If she does, will she, afterwards, be sad . . . just a little sad maybe? I could die without struggling, if she could be sad afterwards, if she could have some small regret. But I mustn't wish that, for then I would start to hope. And I must not do that either. The despair would be too great when they found out that I could and then took the hope away. They always take it away. Always. Why do they hate to hope? Why have they made me that way, too? THEY--AND YOU--FEAR THE CONTRASTS. Contrasts? HOPE BRINGS JOY. AND THIS CLARIFIES THE DEEP CONTRAST BETWEEN JOY AND DESPAIR. THIS MAKES THE INEVITABLE FALL INTO DESPAIR SEEM INFINITELY FURTHER AND MORE PAINFUL. TO HATE HOPE IS TO LESSEN THE FALL INTO PAIN. But isn't the reverse also true? Doesn't the climb out of pain make joy infinitely more wonderful? When experienced? I AM GLAD YOU HAVE SEEN BOTH SIDES OF THIS MATTER. He burst through the edge of the forest and out into the open. Ah, he thought, thank you, Agon. The stars are here, the only light in the night. If only they could illuminate my ignorance. He didn't notice the black shape that followed him out of the trees, a hundred feet behind. And this shape was very hungry. He ran for another thirty minutes, having learned days ago that violent exercise seems to help depression, that dark mood that had been taking over his mind more and more lately. He finally stopped and stood panting to regaining his breath. When his heart rate slowed, he lay down on the grass and looked up at his silent friends, the stars. The night is my true domain, he thought sadly. But I've noticed that with the approach of The-Long-day, the nights are growing shorter and shorter. Soon I'll know no peace. For the days hide no one, and during that time the predators hunt to kill the living without rest. But at night, on the ground at least, there seems to exist a truce between most that kill. Do I prefer the truce to the hunt because I'm weak, because I'm not a true warrior and probably never will be in the time I have left to live? He laced his hands under his head and, while slowly relaxing, lost himself in the beauty of the stars. Then, if not happy, he at least became content. But soon he suddenly sat up with the new thought: No, I must not be content, mustn't even wish for it. That kind of thinking is the easy way out, the way of the truly weak--or so Rasp said in one of his tirades on weakness. I remember him stressing that war is a natural state for rationals. Without it, humans would lapse into languid, lazy, spiritless, and no-thinking existence. For only by thinking about how to defeat death can one be truly motivated at all into any kind of serious thinking about living. Thus, seeking out danger enhances life. What was it he also said that day? "Danger makes one really appreciate life, for without danger life is just accepted . . . but accepted without worth." Could it be that a thing is not valued until it's threatened with loss? Or, if you have something that no one else wants, is that something a treasure? Obviously not. And so it must be with my own life. If no one wants to take it, what worth does it have? Do they want to kill me more not because I'm weak but because I'm worthy?" YOUR LIFE IS WORTH NO MORE THAN THE VALUE YOU, YOURSELF, PUT ON IT. IF YOU PUT NO WORTH ON IT, THEN, INDEED, IT WILL HAVE NONE. I think Agonians determine the worth of their lives by what others think of them rather than what they, themselves, think of themselves? THAT WOULD APPEAR TO BE RASP'S CASE, AT LEAST. Is that a good or bad way to think of one's self? YOU MUST MAKE THAT DETERMINATION YOURSELF. No, you just answered me. The night-leopard chose that moment to make its kill. Within three powerful strides, it was up to full speed. The fastest ground beast on Agon was within eighty feet of its prey when Darkcian perceived something in the sky diving toward him at an incredible speed. He stood up quickly, drew his sword, and forced his night vision to its maximum sensitivity. It looked like a missile dropping straight down. Just before it would have hit the ground, he noticed two huge wings attached to its streamlined body, and this revealed its identity. A glide-bird! He exclaimed mentally. The creature's transition from vertical drop to horizontal flight was so sudden that the bird was by him too fast for his eyes to follow. The wind from its passage was cold. A fraction of a second later, something crashed into him with tremendous force. He realized later, that if it had hit him dead center, his chest would probably have been crushed. But the collision grazed his left shoulder, causing his sword to go flying as he spun around and dropped to the ground, there to be stunned rather than seriously hurt. Even so, he felt numb from collarbone to wrist. Recovering quickly, he rose and ran after the beast as it tumbled head over heels on the ground. His only thought was that he must kill this thing before it also recovered. He leaped on the beast, his hands going for its throat. And then he froze, puzzled. The thing was already dead; the back of its neck cut to the bone; and its hot blood drenching his clutching hands. He knew, then, the beast had been dead before colliding with him. He looked back over his shoulder and up. The glide-bird was now high above, seen only as a tiny white dot, like a star but a thousand times dimmer. Thank you, winged friend, he mind-called to the bird. I understand what you have done. We are even now. The blood-debt is canceled. The glide-bird mind-called back to him, not in words but in a concept-feeling: Never even. Live because you lived. Now you live because I lived. Linked we. Forever. "Another friend," Darkcian said aloud. "Now I have two, or is it only one?" He walked toward his sword, wondering. And the wondering was laced with apprehension.
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