The Blood-Rage (33)
CHAPTER 35 Love can be tender or violent, depending on the needs of those so linked. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- Darkcian had snuck away from camp as soon as the last of the Kalts had entered their cupolas for their nightly sleep. Now he was running as he had never run before. He had been at it for over an hour, this run of terror. He knew that he had to last, to remain strong. He also knew that he had run almost as fast and even longer when Erendria had had a leather strap looped around his neck? How long ago was that? A lifetime? Forever? Ah, Sulamith, he cried over and over. He knew that the Kalts would have killed her if he had not tried to fake her execution. He had been able to look inside her with his mind, analyze the position of the vital organs, and find a safe path for the knife. It had taken all of his concentration to understand the incredible complexities of the atoms; their construction into molecules; and, in turn, the molecules' functions in building up the different organs, particularly the ones vital to keeping the body alive. Did I analyze correctly? Or has my ignorance killed her? He thought that he had found a safe path for the knife, but he wasn't absolutely certain. And that uncertainty was pure terror for him. In fact, no emotion in his short life had been more profound than this new terror. It was like a psychic black hole, sucking all the energy from him, making him weak and sick. Yet he wondered why her death should matter so much to him. To have concerns for someone else was strange, a new experience. No, wait, that's not entirely true, he thought. He had known a brief but similar feeling with Patra when her mu-lynx almost slipped into that raging river. But this concern for Sulamith was hours longer and stronger, infinitely stronger. It filled him with dread. Why? It was like something outside his body was draining him of hope, absorbing his will, and turning his heart to glacial ice. He hated this kind of fear; it was worse than pain, worse even than the black, bottomless pit of no memory. His brain felt like a cold hand was squeezing it. Is the warmth of her voice worth this? Does her companionship have such a great value to me? Somehow that question brought sudden shame, at least that was what he thought was the name of this new emotion. Yet as sudden as it came, the emotion left as he answered the question. Yes, a thousand times yes! That voice, that strange, soft voice was more beautiful than the most beautiful of Agon's suns-sets. And she apologized for not being more than she was. That must be what is meant by humility. Gods! There's something sweet in that. The thought suddenly choked his throat. The terrain was familiar, for he had passed over it on a mu- lynx not more than two hours earlier. He shouted into the black and silent night, "Sulamith! Hang on! Don't die!" Please don't die. RUN FOOL, RUN, chided Night Mist. I'm trying. NOW TAKE THE ENERGY FROM THE AIR. But . . . DON'T ARGUE. His legs pumped faster. And there was the bend in the creek. Not much further now, he knew. There! There was the infrared glow of her body. He ran up to her. She lay on her back. She had somehow managed to pull out the dagger, and it now lay loosely in her right hand. He knelt beside the prone shape and watched her breasts move as she breathed. The relief he felt was so great he got dizzy. He released his pent-up breath in a long sigh. He looked at her closely. Blood covered her stomach like another garment, white to his night-vision and hot and sticky to his touch. "Sulamith," he whispered. He watched her eyes flutter open and her lips widen in a painful smile. "Ah, my would-be-lover is back. Come to complete a job badly done the first time, I see." Her voice was weak but clear . . . and very, very sad. He put his hand over the wound, pressed downward, and mentally scanned the tissue surrounding the cut that cleaved all the way through her body. She was bleeding inside, too. That worried him, for he didn't know how dangerous that was to her life. Night Mist had already shown him how to do what he now tried. Sulamith gasped and tighten her grip on the dagger. That cold wind was passing through her body again. Ah, Gods, it hurts. His voice drifted down to her; it sounded different. "I planned the strike carefully. The path taken by the blade missed all vital organs. It's painful, I know, but you'll live." "That's not possible," she said through pain-taunt lips. Is this real? Am I alive? Is he really here beside me? Or is this a dream before I die? She watch him reached down with his other hand and put it under her neck, lifting her up until she rested against him. Ah, but his skin is warm, she thought. She raised her right hand, holding the dagger behind his back, pointing the tip toward his spine. Can I do it now? she wondered. "Call it luck, then," he said as he concentrated on the wound. It felt funny there now, as if the tissue was being fused back together. The pain was even decreasing. This has to be an illusion. I'm delirious. She said softly, "You're here to watch me die. I know it." Oh, Agon, you are so cruel to let me see him again, to have him touch me again. "I'm here to watch you live," he said in that voice that made her warm. "Why are you trying to disbelieve what I say?" It's amazing, she thought. I'm feeling strong again. Where's this energy coming from? She said aloud with a rush, "Because it isn't rational. A warrior kills his enemies. And you have a right to call me an enemy, to be angry." She felt her strength grow some more. "You weren't my enemy then nor are you now. You never could be." "I tried to kill you." He toys with me, surly. "You were angry and had a right to be. I acted stupidly. Desire is a powerful thing. It took control of me like a disease, and I was weak in mastering it. All of you are right. I'm too weak to live in this world. I deserved your hate." Her right hand dropped back to the ground, and the dagger rolled out of her open fingers. Then she no longer tried to stop the hot tears from spilling. She said with a tight throat, "If desire is a weakness, then I far out exceed you in the crime of having it. Even now, through this pain, my body wants you. The anger I felt at not controlling it was directed wrongly. It's myself I should hate. Forgive me." Somehow, then, she knew the bleeding had stopped. He gently repositioned his right hand behind her back and hugged her to him, burying his face in her thick hair, crushing her bare breasts against his chest. At that moment, she suddenly felt that he truly didn't care if she was ugly. And the sweet feeling in her stomach intensified. "No, no," she moaned, recognizing the danger of that feeling as it flowed lower. "You mustn't do this to me again. I cannot control it!" He raised his head. "What? Control what?" Suddenly her hips jerked, a spasmodic movement that brought a cry from her throat. Tremendous desire raced through her blood like molten metal. "Let me go . . . NOW! Run from me. Oh, please . . . p-l-e-a-s-e." She struggled to break away. He held her tighter. "Not again! What's wrong? Are you dying?" His voice was full of concern, sweet concern; it was like strange music to her psychic, and it further fed the destruction of her will. As if beyond her control, even while she tried to stop it, her thrashing movements slowly changed from ones of escape to ones of passion. Her fingernails, on their own volition, dug into his flesh. Her body, though ordered to turn away, tried instead to turn toward him. The new strength pouring into her body was frightening. The sounds issuing from her throat had a pleading tone that shamed her. "I want you!" she screamed. The words seemed to be ripped out of her without thought. Her ego was being smothered by the weight of the desire that exploded throughout her mind. The sexual desire flooding her body was sharp and electric. Union, fusion, oneness, love . . . give me love, her mind screamed. When she locked her legs around him, he acted. Rolling onto his back, with her on top clinging to him, he whipped his elbow into her temple. What . . . wh . . . She let out a long sign and collapsed against him, dazed. She was dimly aware that he had disentangled himself from her limp arms and legs. She opened her eyes and saw a black shadow rise and run away into the greater blackness of the night. Stopping after a few strides, Darkcian turned around and sought out her dim shadow-form. She was still lying on the ground but moving slowly. He could hear her soft moans clearly. Suddenly she cried, "Darkcian! Where are you? I cannot see! Don't leave me!" "I'm still here," he called. He drew his hand to his mouth and bit down hard on his knuckle. "D-d-don't come back." She was crawling now in a small circle. "P-p-promise me." Agon! Agon! What should I do? She screamed, long and drawn out, a high pitched sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She became quiescent then, still as the night. He approached cautiously toward her limp form, thinking: What did I do? What have I done? The dread made him tremble. He knelt beside her, rolled her onto her back and mind- scanned her body, finding an internal hemorrhage again in the area of the knife wound. With some concentration, he was able to cut off the bleeding. He was sure she was in no physical danger then, at least not from the knife wound. This other thing was beyond his knowledge. He bowed his head and wondered: Why do they suffer when I'm near them? Why? First Erendria, now Sulamith. Twice! The "lok" doesn't speak of why am I poisonous to females. Why this cruel silence? He gently picked her up--her skin was hot and sweaty--and walked the short distance to the creek where he lay her carefully down on its bank. He scooped up cold water in his cupped hands and washed the blood from her stomach. Her silent eyes watched his every move; it made him very nervous. Hating his own ignorance, he spoke to her, his voice a whisper. "How can I be your friend if I cause you so much pain?" She reached out and stroked his arm. "But it wasn't pain. It was something beyond, something . . . something primal, something that filled every cell of my body with a pleasure that could not be endured. I felt death brush me then. Yet, even with that warning, a part of me wanted to go on to feel that ultimate experience, that peak, that wonderful peak . . . just before oblivion." "I don't understand it." He shook his head. And yet, in part, he did understand. He, himself, had experienced the same kind of ecstasy that night he had tried to force her to let him touch. So, what was truly mystifying was what caused the desire to peak into something deadly. Am I really some kind of alien, a creature who is incompatible with humans? How can that be? "Nor do I fully understand it either," she admitted. "But it's dangerous to me; you must believe that. The pleasure was so intense that I couldn't distinguish it from pain, paradoxical as that may sound. Death was close and real. I had a perverted eagerness for the fulfillment of the ecstasy. And this is the core of the hazard that you pose to me." He crawled backwards, away from her. "I mustn't touch you again; that, at least, I do understand." Damn you, Agon. You deny me even this small intimacy. "I don't know if I have the strength to help you in that endeavor," she said, her voice steady. "I want your touch more than I can say." "I'm confused. You pull me toward you then push me away. I want to touch you also; but when I do, you start to die. I can't risk anymore doing that which I don't understand. Better that I give you the pain of denial than that of bereavement, although I would choose neither if able. So I'll still be your friend, but . . . but we'll touch no more." She turned her head away from him and said softly, "My mind agrees, but my heart and body does not. I want you so strongly that there aren't words to describe it." He stood and looked down at her, not knowing how to answer. In the next instant, a change in the light near the horizon caught his attention; and he looked up to see a very faint glow of Agon's suns starting to rise. Switching his gaze back--her head was turned toward him again--he said, "I must go, or the Kalts will awaken soon and find me gone. Meanwhile you must rest and heal. Tomorrow you should rethink the motives that have driven you to follow me. One should not pursue that which can kill them. In fact, even our continued friendship should be reevaluated. It isn't worth your death." Is that moisture on her cheeks tears? She said, "Death isn't a concern of a true Agonian. Only how one dies is important. If I must die in order to have your friendship, I wish for the perfect death that only you can give me." "I don't understand; I do not. There's so much to live for. One should search for the perfect life instead." "Haven't the Kalts taught you that death is part of life? If one doesn't prepare for the ending, the fear of it would make life too horrible. To search for the perfect death is to live the perfect life. Besides, I've found that life has no worth without friendship. And what I feel for you goes beyond friendship. So, I'm willing to meet an early end if I can enjoy the time before." He frowned and tilted his head. "I can see part of that. But it seems to me there should be a more rational balance between the two forces of joy and oblivion, and there isn't with most of the rationals here on this cursed planet." And with us. "Dark, don't go to the city at the pole. They will kill you there." The sudden change of subject gave him pause. "I have to go. It's an order." "Disobey." His mouth opened in surprise. "Is that possible?" "Of course." She said that so casually. Aloud, he replied, "I have thought on that before. It is a new path. But I'm still so ignorant of Agon's dangers." "The-Long-Day-Before-Summer is coming. Go to the equator, to the desert that will form there during The-Long-Day. Most rationals flee that band of the planet come the next season. No one would look for you there." "Why's that?" "The heat-death makes survival too difficult." "Interesting," he mused. "Have you been there during The- Long-day?" "I go there every Long-Day and to the poles during Friosan's-Time. These are the two temperature extremes of Agon's cycle and this affords me virtual privacy from the kill-happy psychopaths of this planet." "I must think on what you've said. It's not yet clear to me if I could survive on my own." Knowledge is life; ignorance is death. "You haven't been listening to me. It isn't important that you survive. The only thing that is important is how you live until you die." CHAPTER 36 It's not a sin to see evil, only to ignore it is. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- A week had passed since Sulamith had tried to kill the strange one. Her stomach still hurt where the blade had gone, although she could no longer see the wound. The cut was completely healed. So, too, the ones on her leg and right hand. This was most puzzling to her, and she had thought long on it while following miles behind the Kalts and their student. As she rode her mu-lynx along this poleward passage, she saw huge areas of glacial ice lying in the valleys. She knew these mile-long blocks were melting fast; but so large were their sizes, it would be weeks before they would be no more. Now and then a gust of wind that had passed over the ice would fan her body. Each time it made her shiver. The flowers were now almost as numerous as the blades of grass and reflected every color of the visible spectrum, although red and yellow were by far the most prevalent. Agon was in full bloom and so beautiful it made her heart ache. And that kind of thirst for beauty made her think of Darkcian. That brought a longing so powerful it made her gasp. The shriek from behind of an attacking day-bat brought her out of her reverie and instinct took over. Her dagger shot through the creature's belly like a small spear, and the splattering of its bright red blood was lost among the redder flowers. That sudden cry of the predator had startled her more than she would have liked. It had sounded like a small child screaming, and that had sent cold fingers crawling down her back. Beauty does not stop pain; it only hides it.
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