Storymania - The Blood-Rage by L Clayton Bennett

The Blood-Rage (40)
L Clayton Bennett

CHAPTER 41

How do you determine the length of joy when you don't

have the measure of sadness?

-From the Thoughts of Night Mist-

It was midnight, yet Darkcian saw that there was still light in the sky as the two suns, Ardent and Friosan, slowly made their way around almost opposite ends of the horizon.

He had gained Shara's permission to speak to Sulamith one last time, although talking that old woman into that had been no easy thing. Yet his persistence had prevailed.

The old bitch wasn't all entrusting, however, for on her orders, five female guards had been following him to whatever place he went since the council meeting ended some four hours ago. They had let him keep his weapon, sure that the guards and his Agonian training would prevent him from using it. It was almost unthinkable to them that he would be dishonorable enough to use it. They seemed sure that even an alien had honor and pride. And he was Agonian trained.

The walk to the other side of the city had been long, and many warriors had challenged his progress. But his escorts had confirmed Shara’s permission each time, and that had gotten him through. And each time, to be sure, his assigned guards had followed.

Now his friend for most of his remembered life was ahead of him, sitting on her knees, her hands tied behind to a tree.

He approached gingerly, not knowing what her frame of mind might be, for he would rather die than add to her pain. Somehow, her coming execution seemed viler to him than his. Even though she was a Wist, she was one of them, an Agonian in mind and soul. Justice? Was the word just an abstract term? Did it really exist somewhere?

She was looking at him steadily as he approached, her deep blue eyes set in a face of awesome beauty. Her long black hair was like a shadow behind her. Everything about her was sexually alluring and bewitching. But words like lovely, exquisite, or beautiful were totally inadequate. She was beyond beautiful; she was fantastically, ravishingly beautiful. But she was also alien and strange; sometime, he thought, frighteningly strange.

"Don't come any closer, please," she warned. "Somehow, distance has always managed to attenuate my desire for you."

He stopped and sank to his knees before her, adjusting the sword as he positioned his weight over his legs. "Ah, Sulamith," he sighed. "Please forgive me for restraining you at the council meeting. But as you charged toward your father, I saw Shara draw her dagger. And the others . . . the odds were too great. I was only thinking of your life, not wanting it to end." He passed a hand over his eyes, as if to hide his shame of impotence.

"It's all right, Dark. I understand."

"It tears out my heart to see you bound this way. Are you in pain?"

"It's nothing. My arms have long since ceased to feel anything." She smiled at him and spoke again, "Are you well?"

"Yes. But my heart's sick for you."

"Ah, it's so strange to have someone care for me that I don't know what to say. Not since my mother has that happened. And I remember well the comfort of my mother's touch."

"Your adopted mother-teacher, your stepmother?"

"Yes. It was she who found me lying in the sand. If she hadn't been a healer and half crazy, I'd probably not be alive today. I think she may have saved me out of defiance to the social structure of Agon." She closed her eyes. "Be that as it may, she grew to love me as only a mother can."

"Maybe that was best. Your real mother sounded very hard. It was she who ordered your death if you looked like her . . . and you did." He shook his head. "What a cruel past you have."

She opened her eyes. "Ah, my warrior-of-no-memory, my past isn't as cruel as yours must be. At least my father and mother are now known but yours--"

"Perhaps some things are best not being known."

"No. I don't believe that. Information, however painful, helps us to center our world, helps us to find our place in it. If I could give you back your past, I would. No one can be whole without it."

She gave him an intense look, her blue eyes steady. "You must believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with the loss of your memory. Not only am I not that cruel, but also I don't have that kind of power. I'm a Wist, but I'm not prime-trained. And even if I were, I wouldn't have taken that which was you. I'm not that cruel even though I'm Agonian trained."

He looked down at his hands that were clenching and unclenching. "I know. I never entertained such thoughts. You were never cruel like Erendria."

She moaned, as if that name was painful to hear. "Ah, Darkcian, she's my sister, my sister. Never in my most twisted fantasies did I ever contemplate that. She's all that I hate in a person."

He jerked in his shoulders at the sadness in her voice and forced his head up so as to see her terrible beauty. "In that," he murmured, "my surprise was probably as great as yours. However, the revelation that you were a Wist was no surprise. I'd figured that out the day before."

Her sensuous mouth opened in surprise, and she had to fight to bring out the gasp, "How?"

"I'd been told that your body was covered with scar tissue from burns. I didn't know what scar tissue felt like until I touched that warrior's damaged arm. What was his name? Morn? No matter, his skin felt hard, tough, with small ridges or lines. Although I'd never seen you without your diode-cloth, I had touched you. And your skin, on the other hand, was smooth and soft.

"Recall that night I almost killed you--and myself--with your reflected passion? You were without your diode-cloth, and I was holding you tight against me with our skins touching from lip to thigh. It was smooth skin. Recall again when I stabbed you with the dagger and later explored your wound area with my hands and, even later, held you against me tightly, your naked breasts against my chest? And later yet, remember when I washed the blood from your stomach? Your muscles beneath the skin were firm; the skin itself was smooth. Then, finally, when you severed the bonds that the healer had used to tie me to that tree. I put my arms inside your diode-cloth, to around your waist and to your back. I still remember the smoothness of your back, the gentle curves of the muscles beneath, and the symmetry of your spine." He shook his head to clear it. "None of those touches were distorted by scar tissue.

"So . . . I asked myself, why were you hiding yourself from the eyes of others? Why did sexual arousal cause you to go into premature climaxes of intensities hundreds of times more than normal?

"That alone should have clued me in, but Erendria had similar problems, although not nearly as great. That threw me off the obvious solution. Now we both understand Erendria's sexual intensity, although it was still orders of magnitudes less than yours because she contained more of Gravestone's genes than your Wist mother's. In other words, the Wist blood in her was weak. Genetic makeup is the telling factor, I guess."

"She must have been so confused by that," Sulamith whispered.

"I'm sure she thought it was my doing. At least she voiced that suspicion."

"In a way she was right. You were the one who could amplify and reflect the mind-resonances she and I radiated."

He smiled at her.

She said, "No one else figured it out."

"No one else touched you."

"Ah, that's true."

"And Gravestone . . . do you forgive him?"

"Of course, of course. He couldn't help what he did. I'm told the orders of a Wist prime cannot be resisted."

She shook her head from side-to-side. "For years I've wondered who killed my real mother. I knew the Wist in question had to be the one hunted some twenty-one orbits ago because she was the only alien to come to Agon in that time frame. And, of course, the puzzle of who my father was has also haunted my dreams since childhood. The shock of finding the answers to those unknowns so suddenly was too much for me. I became like a child with no discipline. All the years of training from my adopted mother, not to mention life's own experiences, was to no avail when the emotional impact of Gravestone's statement hit me. Ah, such a fool I was, such a fool. That life's balance can hang on one single moment of stupidity is a testimony to its fragility. The shock of his words is bringing my own end because I had no control to stop my angry outburst. Some of his genes must also run strong in me, for the blood-rage ruled too much of my mind this day."

She stopped the movement of her head, gazing up at the sky. "He's my father. That knowledge is so strange."

"It must answer many questions."

"Oh, you cannot imagine."

They both became silent then, staring into each other's eyes.

"What are you thinking?" she finally asked.

He smiled and answered, "I was wondering how it was possible for anything to be as beautiful as you. Your allure seems to go beyond the visual impact. It seems to vibrate the very air itself. Yet when you are covered with the diode-cloth, that ceases. So it must be visual magic of some kind."

"It is, in part. But it's mostly caused by a mental feedback between us. I don't fully understand it either. I only know my appearance drives males of the human species insane. I foolishly experimented with it when I was sixteen, and the results were disastrous. I had to kill three warriors who went crazy."

She closed her eyes again, relaxing back against the tree. "I'm not a Wist prime, because I've had no training in the mind- resonance. I am, mentally, an Agonian. Physically, I'm a monster."

"Not to me." He had dropped his eyes to her breasts; they were full and firm, and what skin the halter did not cover was almost golden in color.

She opened her eyes slowly. "There's a strangeness about things which are too much. Too much pain can become pleasure; too much pleasure can become pain; too much ugliness can become beauty; and too much beauty can become ugliness. They're all circles that at their peak bend over into the opposite definitions. And that's the way it is with Wists. We're too beautiful. It's not natural, at least not natural here on Agon."

"It's not your fault. You never used it as a weapon, never used it unfairly."

"That's irrelevant," she said. Then, "Please raise your eyes from my breasts. I can feel your desire for them, and you have no idea how that inflames me."

He did as she asked and replied, "An exotic flower shouldn't be destroyed just because it's too beautiful."

"You're being emotional. Right or wrong has nothing to do with it. I'm an alien, and there's the Second Law. Period."

"There should be justice in the world, some kind of fairness."

"No. There's only arbitrary life and death. It's a game of chance and power."

"No. It shouldn't be that uncaring."

"Ah, Darkcian, you're such a romantic."

"And a fool."

"Yes, that too."

He blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head.

Her head slumped, chin touching her chest, space-black hair tumbling forward to almost hide her expression. Her hair was so black it seemed to soak up the suns-light, as if the dark of night was enfolding her. He could see her fighting against some inner conflict. Her shoulders tightened, and he wondered if she was in pain or crying.

She said quietly, "Now that I've found you, it's too late. My lifetime search for love is over, and I've lost what I found. Ah, the pain of that. For I dreamed of you, dreamed, night after night, like a foolish girl. And when we can no longer dream, we are no more; we cease to be."

She laughed a laugh that hurt him, and then said, "Their knives will cut an empty shell come the morrow, for I'm already dead. I've lost my dream of all dreams." She looked up at him through tears. "I've lost you."

He tried to swallow, failed, and then shook his head. "No. I'm still here; we're both still alive. The dreams won't end until the knives cut them out. Damn these Agonians who would end a dream so good."

"And so beautiful."

"Yes." Oh, Gods, Night Mist. It's not only her face and body that are exquisite, but her mind.

YOU KNEW THAT LONG BEFORE YOU SAW WHAT SHE LOOKED LIKE. YES?

Yes. Long before.

YOUR FEELINGS FOR HER ARE TRUER BECAUSE OF THAT. AND, IN THE END, MORE PAINFUL. I'M CONCERNED HER DEATH WILL BE TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO BEAR. EVEN NOW, I CAN SEE IN YOUR MIND A BLACK WALL OF GRIEF RISING UP TO CRUSH YOU. YOU MUST FIGHT AGAINST THAT.

I don't know how.

FIND A WAY.

I won't let her die!

BETTER. MUCH BETTER.

Her voice interrupted. "Where do you get your hope? I've none left. None. I only long for the silent void to still the dreams that are but will never be. Can you kill me now? Can you find the strength to end this despair?" Her head slumped.

He reeled from the pain of those words.

After a time, he said slowly, "I don't understand the wanting of life to end. Patra, too, and that other dagger at the council meeting--." He shook his head again. "No. I won't kill you while there's hope."

With an obvious effort, she lifted her head. "I understand your reluctance but not your optimism. If I could have a last dream or a wish it would be this: that we could make love, even knowing that I, a Wist, couldn't survive such a coupling with a human. Remember how close that dream almost came true in the past? A number of times with you, I could have experienced that perfect death. I regret now that it didn't happen. But I had optimism then, and I fought against it. If only I had known. If only . . . you . . . you could have given me an ecstasy beyond all my dreams, an ecstasy that would have ended all this, this wanting without hope."

"Nature is a cruel force to have made us so similar, so able to want and to love each other but unable to unite."

She blinked back more tears. "Yes. It's . . . it's unfair. Oh, Gods, but it is unfair. And I can't get the thought of it out of my mind, this deadly lust that can destroy us."

"Your mother traveled the path to its end."

He watched a sad smile widen her marvelous lips. "Yes, she had the wisdom to see into the future and get her revenge against Agon, did she not? I must have killed twenty-five warriors during my lifetime. She would have been proud of me. I helped her get her revenge." There was a ketch in her voice.

"You can't compare yourself to your mother. Her circumstances were very different. And she had little time in which to decide her course of action."

He hung his head, saddened to silence. Now time is running out for us, he thought. He was suddenly afraid to look at her, knowing her eyes were on him. Yet there was so much he wanted to say to her, secret things, things he had never said before, things that, even now, he wasn't sure he could put into words, things that can only be spoken and understood by the heart.

I'm willing to die for this woman, he thought and then wondered: Why? Why, when I want to live instead, to hear the songs of the night-larks, to smell the morning mist, to feel the cool wind on my skin, to learn, to understand. Why?

MAYBE IT'S PARTLY BECAUSE YOU WANT HER APPROVAL AND LOVE. YOUR EGO CRAVES HER ACCEPTANCE, HER KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU ARE DEVOTED TO HER. AND YOUR DEATH IN HER STEAD WOULD CONFIRM THAT DEVOTION, WOULD IT NOT? SECONDLY, PERHAPS YOU PRIZE HER LIFE MORE THAN THE SONGS, SMELLS, AND TOUCHES OF AGON. YOU BELONG TO HER MORE THAN TO AGON, MORE THAN TO YOURSELF.

That feeling of belonging will be short if I die to obtain it.

TRUE. BUT FOR HUMANS, THE INTENSITY OF A FEELING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN ITS DURATION.

That sounds insane.

FOR MOST LIFE, IT IS. THE LENGTH OF SURVIVAL IS THE PRIMARY MOTIVATION. BUT IN HUMANS, IT'S PUT SECONDARY TO QUALITY.

And you're implying that for me quality equates into the amount of ego satisfaction I'm able to get?

YES, FOR YOU AND MOST OTHER LIFEFORMS THAT ARE SENTIENT.

Ah, that doesn't sound insane so much as irrational.

NOW YOU ARE THINKING. INSANITY USUALLY MEANS ADOPTING NON-REALITY FOR REALITY TO THE EXTENT THAT IT GET DANGEROUS TO ONES EXISTENCE. THE TERM "EGO", ON THE OTHER HAND, IS ALWAYS REAL, FOR IT ALWAYS EXISTS AS LONG AS THE HUMAN IN QUESTION DOES. THEREFORE, OUR DISCUSSION ABOUT QUALITY OF LIFE IS NEITHER SANE NOR INSANE BUT, RATHER, RATIONAL OR IRRATIONAL.

Then it's irrational of me to die for my ego?

PERHAPS.

What if I want to die for her simply because I value her life over my own?

Night Mist remained silent for a long time. Then: ALTRUISM OF THAT MAGNITUDE WOULD NEED THE ASSUMPTION OF GREAT WORTH PLACED ON THE PERSON THE SACRIFICE WAS FOR. OR, PERHAPS, GREAT FEELINGS OF INFERIORITY FROM THE ONE WILLING TO DIE. LOVE BLURS THESE BOUNDARIES?

Stop saying "perhaps". Can't you give a definitive answer to anything?

I'M NOT HERE TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS EXPLICITLY BUT RATHER, TO GUIDE YOU IN WAYS SO THAT YOU CAN FIND THEM FOR YOURSELF.

Sulamith again interrupted his silent mental conversation with Night Mist, as a sob suddenly escaped from her throat; and she whispered with more pain than he would have thought possible, "I cannot endure the thought that you'll die tomorrow. Now, finally, when the last piece in the puzzle of love has been placed, I have no more time to savor it. It's as if having found you, I've blinked, and you've disappeared like smoke or the turn of a bird's wing, never to be seen again in quite the same way, never to be seen again in any way. Lost, lost to me. And I needed your love so much."

"I cannot bear your death either," he whispered back, his throat so tight he almost didn't get the words out. My throat is contracting; I can't breathe. Does feeling her coming death cause this tightness? He screamed at her with his mind: I will not accept your death! I will not give up this love! I will not trade it for grief.

She gasped; her eyes wide. "What? You . . . you spoke to me with your mind! I felt it! Again. How--?"

He forced himself to be calm and reached out to her once more. Sh-u-s-h. Quietly, Sulamith. I speak to you this way so others won't hear. Be assured that I'm not reading your mind. I wouldn't violate your privacy in that way without your permission. Do you understand? Do you believe?

"Yes," she whispered. "But I don't care if you see into my mind. I have no secrets there from you. Although I think you would be surprised to know the intensity of my love for you. Look at that."

No, no. I'm afraid. I must keep my objectivity so that I can think clearly. To know of love in that way would surely drive me to do insane things. I might not be able to stop looking, to let go. I'm too hungry. We could then be trapped in an exchanged of our feeling, for I'm too new at this, this incredible mode of communication.

"I understand. But maybe just before we die, we . . . we could?"

I won't accept your death or mine yet. No!

The guards came for him then, five hard-eyed females who pointed out that it was two hours until a new day would be defined. Two hours to his execution and hers. He was ordered to leave.

He turned to look back at them and nodded. Then, using his body to shield from their eyes what he was going, he wiggled out from under his shorts Sulamith's dagger. Look, he mentally ordered to Sulamith. Be alert, beautiful one. You trained me for this. And it's for your life, not your death.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, palming the dagger in his left hand and spinning to face the guards. Quickly raising both hands toward his sword, he performed one of his fast draws. Both hands came up, the sword in his right, the dagger in his left, his movements a blur to their eyes. Without stopping, his hands flashed down. The right hand stopped when the sword pointed toward the ground, but the left hand continued further down and then behind, flinging the dagger backward toward Sulamith. The "thunk" of the dagger in something was almost lost to his sensitive ears as two of the guards shouted their warnings.

"I honor your duty to Agon," he said calmly to the tense guards in front of him. "I'm ready to return." He sheathed his weapon.

The women relaxed, sheathing their daggers also. To his satisfaction, their eyes had been on his right hand.

He walked stiffly away from the incredible Wist, giving no goodbyes; that had already been done in more ways than one. He didn't look back, not even with his mind. The fear that she hadn't dodged the dagger was too great. The coldness of that emotion made him sick, and he called himself coward, wondering if he alone could have killed all seven females. He suddenly hated himself for not trying.

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