The Blood-Rage (27) He got up from his seat, positioned himself in front of her, and knelt. He then bowed his head to the earth and put his hands beside his face, palms upward. "Teacher," he said, "I've found out what shame is; it's a horrible feeling. And pride, too, and ego. I now know so much more of those nebulous emotions you and others have spoken of in the past: strength, weakness, depression, doubt, frustration." He grew quiet then, and the silence lasted until Patra was on the verge of asking why. He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes for a long time. "But still, questions linger. For example, there's sensitivity in you the others don't have, for you seem to try to understand me . . . and help me to understand. Why is that?" She let her eyes take on a faraway look. "A mother has a special perspective on life. After all, it's she that brings it to term. So, perhaps, that's where my caring originates? I'm not sure." She paused before continuing with, "Do you have another question?" "What is life," he asked, and there was a kind of hunger in his voice. "What's its meaning?" She continued to look afar. "Life is love. It has no other real meaning of consequence. If you have never known love, you have never really lived. In other words, you are somehow alive but emotionally dead. However, in that definition lays a number of interesting paradoxes: the love of what? As you have no doubt noticed, some love death. But that form of love is not of which I speak. It seems to me that real love has to be for those things that are the antithesis of death, such as the birth of suns-rises or your mates eyes or the first cry of a newborn or--" and she hesitated for a long time here, "--or the body racking climax of having sex with your second-love. These things are what life is all about and what gives it meaning." She slowly brought her gaze back to focus on him. "Yet, love makes one soft, and softness can bring an early death on this planet." And now, she thought, for the warning. "But one cannot help but love a child. Unfortunately, childless daggers can exist without love, and they can be very, very cruel." "Erendria?" "Yes." "Sulamith?" "The diode-clothed one? Yes, of course. Perhaps her more than any other. Ostracism can breed a monster." She watched him frown and wondered: What does he know of the strange-eyed dagger? "Why did you ask the last?" "She also seemed different to me." Different in what way? Aloud she said, "The only difference I detected was that she had no rage in her." Is this what he saw? "There was more. She had your sensitivity." Surprise widen her gaze, and she thought in sudden revelation: His eyes, they're like hers, calm, confident. Why haven't I seen this before? "How could you have found that out in the short moments she spent with us?" He looked away, as if caught in a secret. "Why do you explore these soft feelings?" she asked. "Sentimentality in others, as well as myself, is a weakness." "You can berate yourself?" "Of course. I seek perfection but I'm nowhere near it. The ver helps one see that. But you still haven't answered my question. Why these soft thoughts now? Why do you regret killing? Why do you seek sensitivity?" "I'm not exactly sure. But as near as I can detect a change, it began when I experienced my first feeling of joy. Then, for the first time, I had a contrast between the values of life against death. Then I realized that life was worth living. And I can juxtapose that worth to others. If my life has value, so do others. Death ends that value. It's like subtracting worth from the world." She frowned at him and asked, "When have you known joy?" Then her own attention sharpened as he turned his gaze even further away from her. He answered, "From the suns-sets and the smell of the wind." She was sure his voice and manner held lies or secrets. Which? She voiced her skepticism. "That's a large change for so little input." Still not turning toward her, he murmured, "And what of the other end of the spectrum away from softness, rage?" She was plainly aware of his desire to change the direction of their conversation; he was so easy to read. But she decided to go along. "Yes, equally bad but more common." "Then control is the ideal, a mind without emotion?" "Look at me," she ordered sharply. He did. "Beware of too much control, for in that can lie the machine, a program which travels down a known path that cannot be diverted for any reason, particularly a human reason." "Diversions and change are desirable and should be analyzed?" "Always. Reality is too deadly to present a static threat to your life. All sensory input is important all of the time. And most important of all is the ability to use that input to adapt to change. Never continue down the same road too long." She raised her arms and gestured around her. "All of this world, all of the universe even, is hostile to life. We only live because we've adapted to it by billions of years of evolution. And there are--and have been--more failures in this endless struggle than successes. So, we must balance our behavior between the machine and the beast. And in that balance lies the definition of 'human'." "But where, exactly, lies the balance?" "Ah, my new son, there's one of the great mysteries of life. Indeed! Where? Of those I know Gravestone comes closest in achieving it. That's why I chose him." She peered closely at him and thought: And now you, my clever one, must search for the center. And you've so little time left in which to do it. Ah, but that's a sad thought. If allowed to, what could he become? Rasp returned then, hopping around a large boulder and swearing at the world in general and in particular about a certain lucky blow some now-dead warrior had given him. He spied Patra and her student and motioned to them. "Come on. Three more hours until suns-set. We can ride out of these mountains in that time." Patra asked, as she stood, "Have the mu-lynxes come back from their hunt?" "Yes. Their whiskers are wet with blood. Come." He jerked his head. They followed him to the mu-lynxes. Soon they were all leaping down the crooked mountain path again. Patra felt like they were trying to flee from something: Rasp from his pain, Erendria from her desire, Darkcian from his depression, and she and Gravestone from their growing love of this strange memory-lost one. CHAPTER 28 Desire opens many doors. However, beware of entering some of the rooms beyond. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The brilliant suns-set was painting the left sides of their faces again, yellow this time. Ardent had gone first about two hours ago, its fiery globe infusing the sky with a blood-like hue. After the red giant had sunk out of sight, Friosan had taken over the domination of the sky and changed it to golden yellow near the horizon, light blue overhead. Day-bats now screamed their anger at the fading light they needed for hunting. Rasp had just led them out of the mountain heights and into the foothills again. Before them was a huge lake, hundreds of miles long that wove around the rock mounds and mountains, making islands out of some. Darkcian watched Rasp raise his arm and order their halt. "We'll spend the night here," the old warrior announced. Rasp then pointed out over the lake. "Beyond lies the area of the hunt. There will be many warriors camped between here and the far shore. If we meet any of them, best it be in the light of day." "Best that we meet none at all," Patra said. "We've killed too much." "Ah, dagger," Rasp growled. "You're beginning to talk like a weakling." "Careful, old friend," warned Gravestone. The old man glared at his companion, then suddenly smiled. "You're right, warrior. The pain makes me forget my manners." He turned towards Patra. "Forgive my rude tongue." "You need rest," she returned. "It's been a long ride. I would be honored to energize your cupola for you, although I know you need no help in that." He snapped back, "You're right, I need no help in that." Immediately his tone softened. "But I give you the honor anyway." Patra winked at Gravestone and dismounted for the task. Darkcian dismounted also and walked to the lake's shore. His eyes were wide in wonder. "So much water," he murmured, "so much." Erendria walked up beside him and said, "It will all be gone in about sixty turns. The heat of The-Long-Day will finish the melting the mountain ice by then." She gestured outward. "Afterwards, this will evaporate into the air, fueling the violent storms that will follow. The rain that falls during the heat-death will feel hot on one's skin." "But welcome, I'd guess." She turned a blank face to him. "Oh, yes, very welcome. It'll be our only source of water then." She looked back, out over the lake. "But you won't be with us for The-Long-day. You'll be dead." Jolted with that, he fought to recover, saying, "And Agon will be pure again." "Yes, pure. And I, too." "You?" "Yes. The foul weakness of you has contaminated me. You've dulled my heart-of-sharp-steel. You've made me softer, kinder. I'm starting to think about those I have defeated. I never did that before." "What's wrong with kindness?" "Kindness is for the doe and her fawn, creatures that never hunt others for their existence. They can be kind and soft; they don't need the predator's training. Humans, on the other hand, are master predators. There's no room in our hearts for the soft things. This is a fundamental law of survival. I merely obey it, or try to." "No. I think you merely interpret the law to its extreme. For besides being master predators, we're also master thinkers, at least the potential is there. I think that we can understand that while in hunting we need to be hard; but when not hunting that attitude is no longer needed. We can then be like the doe and her fawn when that's appropriate. Why? Because there's something inside of us that wants life, joy, and love. These things seem to renew us and bring a richness to our lives." "Suddenly the philosopher, huh? Renew us from what?" The look on her face was a mixture of puzzlement and anger. "From the emptiness of death, the exhaustion of hate, and the suffering of pain." "It's not our death, our hate, or our pain but those of the prey or the enemy. How do we feel the effect of those emotions in others?" "We feel because we can think; we can imagine those things being done to us. We can exchange the hunter and the hunted and thus know--see into--the minds of the prey. This gives us an identity with the vanquished we wouldn't otherwise have. I think it's called compassion. And it puts us one level above the animals." "No, you're wrong. We're also animals, just smarter is all." "Perhaps you're right. You know more of this planet and life than I." She smiled as she reached out and stroked his arm. "You should listen to me more and to mother-teacher less." "What would you teach me?" A strange look had come to her face as she moved her hand up and down . . . up and down. "Never mind." She took her hand away quickly and beckoned with it. "Come. We must take advantage of this opportunity to bathe." "Friosan will set in another thirty minutes." "We'll be able to find our way back. The afterglow will last for about an hour. Come." She walked briskly away, following the shoreline. Fifteen minutes later, they were around a grouping of twelve-foot high rocks and out of sight of the others. The sandy shore sloped gently into the water at this point; and about a hundred feet out, a rock mound jutted out of the lake to form a small island. Without preamble, Erendria stripped off her dagger, brief, and halter and waded out into the lake--her naked body was magnificent. Darkcian watched as she disappeared into the water until only her head shown above it. Her hair fanned out around her face, turning the water there red. She then started to swim toward the island. He watched closely, trying to analyze how she was doing that. After a while, he thought he understood. He took off his sword and shorts and plunged into the water. The shock of the cold felt like a blow to his body, and he gasped aloud. He looked up to find Erendria. She was at the island now, just climbing out of the water and onto a rock ledge, her wet hair plastered to her back. He struck out toward her, flailing his arms as he thought he saw her do it. He made a great deal of splashing but little forward progress. Shortly, his feet could no longer touch the sand flooring. Now apprehensive, he started to beat the water in a faster tempo. Yet that drove his head under the surface where he breathed in water. In reaction, he coughed and then felt a surge of panic, for no more air was left in his lungs. He fought the water then, as if it was some beast. Soon, his lungs burned for air. Continuing to fight the water, his head, somehow, bobbed above the surface. He gasped in some air. But almost immediately his wild struggles again drove him under. Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong arms around his chest. They pulled him up to where he could spit out the water and breathe. He forced the panic down, relaxed, and let her take him back to where his feet once again touched the sand. "Fool," she said, as he stood up to relieve his weight from her arms--his shoulders were above the surface now. He turned around to face her, asking, "Why didn't I move through the water like you?" "You have to pull the water to you and not push it away in the next stroke. Did you think you could master it by just watching me?" He was standing just inches from her. Her bare nipples brushed his chest. "It was a mistake," he said quickly. "Once again Rasp is correct. All lessons are painful." What's that crazy look in her eyes? Now she started to sway sideways, back and forth, dragging her breast across his chest. "Yes, all lessons," she snarled. She then reached behind him to grab his buttocks, her fingernails digging painfully into his flesh. As his body was jerked fully against hers, her teeth bit into his neck; and he heard an animal growl from her throat. "What are you doing!" he yelled. "That hurts! Is this punishment for my failure to swim?" "Shut up and put your arms around me." She relaxed her grip on his rear and shifted her hands further up, to around his back. She barked, "No! Stop pushing me away. Put your arms around me, I said. Now! Yes, that's it. Now tighter!" Her breasts flattened against his chest. He watched as she arced back her head, eyes squeezed tightly closed, and lips pulled back from her teeth in a snarl. What's happening to her? he wondered. And to me also. I feel strange. A terror akin to his almost drowning flooded his mind. He tried to push her away again, but she increased the pressure of her grip. Her hips started to move against him, a circular, grinding movement. Fear escalated into cold panic! Feelings he had never experienced before awoke like unknown animals rushing into his mind. In desperation, he tore her arms loose and, with his greater strength, flung her away. Green eyes popped open, and he saw a rage greater than any he had ever seen in Rasp. She screamed, then, a horrible sound, and turned toward the shore, swimming for dry sand, literally beating at the water. Oh, Agon, help me! he thought, as he watched her emerge out of the water on her knees. I've insulted her, somehow. Suddenly a new thought hit: She mustn't get to her dagger! He surged forward. She scrambled frantically, toes clawing at the sand for quicker progress toward the knife that lay with her garments a mere six feet ahead. He clawed his way ashore, powerful feet thrusting him forward just feet behind her. But there was no time left; she was there. With mammoth serge of strength, he dove at her. But it wasn't enough, for he landed short on his stomach. Quickly, he reached forward and grabbed her ankle just as she reached out for the weapon. A quick jerk spilled her on the sand, and he pulled her back from the dagger. Her fingernails left deep groves in the sand as he regained his feet and dragged her back to the water's edge. She flipped herself over and kicked him in the stomach, propelling him backwards into the lake. Snarling, she flung herself after him, found his head, and tried to hold it under the water. He was shocked by the ferocity she displayed. Yet, it gave him a new strength, the strength of more alarm. He rose upward, carrying her with him. With a mighty effort, he threw her back onto the sand and leaped on her naked and squirming form. She let out a grunt and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him tight against her. At the same time, she laced her fingers in his hair and held back his head so she could look into his eyes. Her eyes were crazy and wild. Suddenly he became conscious of the feel of her. Her body was wet and slippery and hot. In fact, in spite of the icy water, her skin actually felt on fire. And her green eyes, so close, looked huge, and seemed to demand something. He experienced that strange feeling in his body again and, this time, gave in to it. Almost at once, without knowing exactly how, he found himself deep inside her, thrusting, thrusting until he burst. She cried out in pleasure or pain . . . then again . . . and again, her body jerking violently against him as if infused with repeated electric shocks.
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