The Blood-Rage (30)
CHAPTER 31 If love is really true, one will gain no pleasure from it unless he or she receives a return of love from another so inflicted. Otherwise, that one will only be compelled to give and the gift will, eventually, be like drinking poison. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The black of night was now Sulamith's cover. She had removed her diode-cloth an hour ago after the last trace of Friosan's glow had vanished. They had sighted no further game, so she was sharing some dried jerky with Darkcian. They both were sitting and eating. He looked up from taking a bite. "A fire would be nice. It grows chilly." "You know better than to ask for light when I'm uncovered," she bit back. "Sorry. I forgot." "Did you, now?" "No," he admitted, guilt edging his voice. Although he liked to look at the faint infrared glow of her body, the need for the true sight of her was almost like an ache. Curiosity out weighed caution. She stood quickly and charged, "You should respect my privacy. I don't want your chagrin, your looks of horror. And certainly not your pity." He could see with his night-vision that her hands were clenched. He said, "You never believed me when I said that your deformities were not important to me." "Why should I? Once I saw a man faint after he saw me. And he was a harden warrior. What gives you a greater constitution? After all, you're just a child with about a month's worth of memories." "I'm not a child any longer, and I want to see you. It's becoming an obsession." "No! I'll kill anyone who even tries." She backed up a step. "Let me suggest a compromise then. I don't need to see you with my eyes. Instead let me see with a touch of my hands. That way you can keep your surface anonymity, and I can satisfy my curiosity as to your structure." "Never! Your touch sickens me." He rose to his feet. "You can't make me believe that when you have admitted to desiring me. Remember that night so long ago? You moaned while touching me." "You assume too much. Don't make me kill you." He took a step toward her. "A different compromise then. Just let me hold you. Nothing else. I'll not search your face with my hands. I won't scan your entire body. I’ll just hold you for a short moment. This need for closeness is strong. Haven't you wished for the same . . . that night I ran from you?" "No. NO! We cannot explore beyond friendship, damn you." She turned and ran. "Don't go," he shouted after her. "I won't hurt you." He charged in pursuit, cursing himself for his inability to convey to her in words how he felt. She ran an erratic course through the trees and around scattered boulders. But Darkcian's night-eyes never lost the white glow of her fleeing form. I'm closing, he thought, as he put on more speed. The closure, he knew, was in part because he didn't need to exercise her caution; he could see the land and its pitfalls through the blackness. He reached out to grab her shoulder. Her leg hit a rock, and she tripped. The suddenness of it also took him by surprise, and he tripped over her body, falling to the ground and rolling. When he scampered back toward her on his hands and knees, a snarl and her drawn dagger met him; the tip pricked the skin of his stomach. They ended up kneeling, facing each other. "You won't kill me," he whispered. "You'll die anyway in about thirty turns. What does it matter if I take you now?" "You won't kill me," he repeated. She jabbed him further with the tip. He pulled in his stomach involuntarily. "You're a fool to test me this way," she whispered, her voice shaking. He grasped her arms and pulled her to him slowly. "Oh, Gods! Don't," she moaned. When the length of her was against him, he sought her lips with his. He didn't know why; it seemed to be an urge without reason. Ah, so soft, he thought. She dropped the dagger and threw her arms around him. She displayed the strength of a wild creature then, and there was a frenzy within her that he could detect building with incredible rapidity. Her whole body trembled with it, like she was about to explode. He let his mind flow outward in a mental caress, an expansion of his will and desire. She melted against him even further, as if calmed in one respect and inflamed in another. Her lips were hungry, moving against his . . . hot, seeking. Then a spiraled whirling of desire burst from her mental matrix with such intensity that he stopped breathing, and all senses suddenly became subservient to one: that strange yet familiar desire. DANGER! the thought within screamed, the warning so strong that it felt like an electrical shock had passed though his body. He tried to push her away, but she grasped him even tighter, and the tendrils of desire wove deeper into his mind, triggering like desires within. Worry, longing, need, love, fear . . . more fear. DANGER! the thought repeated. He ripped himself from her tight embrace with a strength now born of panic. Even so, he felt trapped in a thick, molasses- like force of a sexual nature so powerful he was climaxing even as he moved away. He watched her try to scream, but the force gripping her was too powerful to let a sound escape from her open lips. She was in the grip of something he didn't understand, amid an experience beyond enduring. She tried to scream again, her body jerking with the need of it. RUN! came the internal warning. He did. Ten bounds later he stopped, spinning backwards toward the withering form on the ground. The molasses-like force was now sucking at him even stronger, invisible and relentless, drawing him back toward her against his will. Even as he ordered himself to back up, he took another stumbling step in her direction; he had lost control over his own body. The only thing he wanted now--could even think of now--was to hold her, to be inside her. So intense was that vision, he climaxed again; the force of it doubled him over, and a moan was ripped from his throat. His fingers dug violently into the ground, tearing the nails; and he then pulled himself forward with a spasmodic jerk of his arms, dragging himself closer and closer to the focus of his desire now less than eight feet away. CLOSE YOUR MIND. NOW! The power of the thought made him jerk upright and ridge, his muscles and tendons straining. "Ah-h-h-h," he yelled and closed his mind. It was the most difficult thing he had ever tried. Like an invisible cable had been snapped between them, both fell backwards from each other. Suddenly he was drained of all energy. His body went lax and weak, his mind numb. With a defensive application as primitive as instinct, he retreated deeply within himself, trying to narrow his outward perception down to only a pinpoint. Withdrawn, isolated, hiding, hiding . . . lonely. Later, feeling like hours had passed, Darkcian returned to the real world and slowly crawled over to Sulamith. She lay on her back with her arms flung outward. Her body was covered with sweat. He straddled her silent form and peered down into her open eyes. These orbs stared back and upwards but not moving. To his night-vision, her eyes were red but lifeless. He reached down and cupped her cheeks in his hands, pulling her limp head up to where it almost touched his. He gazed deep into her eyes; the red dots still did not move. "Sulamith," he whispered. "What happened? What was that mental link that developed between us?" Her eyes blinked, but she didn't answer. "Sulamith, speak to me." He shook her gently. A single tear slowly coursed its way out of her left eye; it looked to his night vision like a bright and falling star. She shook her head then--a movement so slight he almost missed it--and still refused to answer. With a sigh, he released her and stood. Witch or demon? he wondered and shook his head. Whatever just happened, it was dangerous to us both. Gods! Such energy! And the complexity of the link . . . beyond my dreams and beautiful in a way that cannot be defined. It was Sexual and undeniable. I want to feel it again! NO, came the thought of Night Mist. YOUR SURVIVAL IS MORE IMPORTANT. But is it? he wondered. How can anything be more important than that feeling, that ecstasy beyond thought? It was a fundamentally primal need surpassing even my will to live. WHEN THE WILL TO LIVE IS SURPASSED BY ANOTHER DESIRE, DEATH IS THE PATH. I think that even pain would be worth the consummation of this mental link. I want to take the feeling to its end, for I'm sure that is where love begins. "I'm going to kill you," came a voice that was foreign and cold. He looked down at her. She still lay on her back, unmoving as before. She said softly, her voice drifting upward like a scent, "You violated the trust of a friend and put both of our lives in danger. You don't know what you play with." "That's true. But do you?" he asked. "Yes. And it's a game you and I cannot play." She jerked her right hand, and the dagger leaped into it. He jumped backwards. A sob suddenly tore its way out of her. "Fool, fool," she cried. "I hate you, and I'm going to kill you. I would do it now but I have no strength left." She closed her eyes. "You should have been satisfied with just friendship. Love can never exist between us. Now I'll never be safe until your blood feeds Agon." He shook his head. "I don't understand. The lok says love is suppose to create life not destroy it." She said sadly, "There are many things the lok does not know and many other things it has wrong. After all, it only contains information put there by humans." She turned her head away from him and added, "Damn all humans." She rolled over onto her stomach and cradled her head on her arms. Finally she whispered, "Leave me. We're enemies now." CHAPTER 32 Killing aids the destroyer, Entropy. Only by creating can one thwart this basic rule of the universe. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- As their journey preceded poleward, turn after turn, the two suns of Agon pulled further apart and kept to a lower arc in the anti-poleward sky. The days became longer, hotter, the nights shorter without much cooling. Trees were everywhere, growing fruit now. Some of these ripe bulbs had even dropped to the ground, there to be devoured by swarms of hungry insects. Darkcian felt more in tune with the world this particular day. His senses were heightened and sharp. It was as if the experience of a few nights ago had cleaned the mental cobwebs out of his head and filled in some of the blank spots in his knowledge. A big puzzle was coming together. He was excited and saddened at the same time. Ah, Sulamith, Sulamith, he called silently. He was still trying to analyze what happened between himself and his friend. Some kind of mental link occurred, forged by an incredibly intense desire that was sexual and mutual. He could feel, even now, the remnant of that link. It was a kind of invisible bond that was independent of distance. It created new emotions and strange feelings that brought concern, joy, and an intense longing that made moisture come to his eyes. He didn't understand this last physical change either. As to the mental force, he wondered if that was what telepathy was like? It conveyed so much sexual information and, as a result, was seductive. It wanted a like desire from him, demanded it even! It was the ingredient that could cause enslavement. If he had given in to it, anything could have killed him while he was in its grip, for he would have been oblivious to all things outside the ecstasy. Yet total surrender, he knew, would be foolish without total trust in the person you were surrendering to. And, of course, a safe environment in which the experience could take place. Is there such a place on Agon? He shook his head, sure there was not. The anguish of not knowing what he had encountered with Sulamith was still overridden by the even greater anguish of knowing that he had hurt his friend. It was he who had started the thing that had finally happened to them. He and he alone. She had given him her warning, a warning he had ignored in his search for a gratification of his own needs. Selfish! Ego driven! What pleasure is worth the suffering of another in order to gain it? He closed his eyes, seeing again the soft infrared glow of her lips. Ah, they were so good to touch, so electric, so alive, and so mysterious. His eyes popped open, and he suddenly wanted to be punished, as if he had just stolen something. He felt an overwhelming softness enter his heart, and he fought to regain his heart-of-sharp-steel. "Are you dreaming again, student?" Patra called from his right. He nodded. "Bad habit. Agon doesn't forgive a rejection of reality. What do you dream about?" "Beauty."
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