The Blood-Rage (43)
CHAPTER 44 Fools seldom know when they have made a mistake; wise people always do. -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- The day was almost too hot to ride in without wearing a diode-cloth. Sweat rolled down their backs; and the mu-lynxes moved slowly, as if under a greater burden than the weight of the humans on their backs. Darkcian knew that the beasts hibernated during The-Long-Day, and that time was almost here. Soon they would be afoot. Yet, for now, they pushed their mounts on, riding consciously at least twenty feet from each other. That seemed to be about right. Any further distance would have produced a sense of loss; any closer would have been dangerous to them both. He hadn't talked to Sulamith more than two times since leaving the plain below the plateau. Since then, they had used all of their energies just in eluding their pursuers. Moreover, Sulamith had asked him not to speak to her. She had said something about how conversation between them made her restless. But he knew it was more than that. He twisted around, looking backward for the hundredth time. There was still no visible pursuit. They had successfully shaken the trackers off their trail about two days ago. He returned forward, smiling. They crested the next hill and stopped. In front of him, Sulamith said, "Dark, is it possible that you're a Wist?" "No. I don't think so." "Then what?" "I don't know. I wish I did." She still had her back to him; it was shinny with sweat, like wet gold. "You matched my anger-induced power with ease. No untrained Wist could have done that. And your control over the mu-lynxes, no one could control that many, not even a Wist prime. You also healed my stomach wound and the cuts to my leg and hand. How? At the council meeting and at my imprisonment by the tree, you spoke to me with your mind. Telepathy. Gods, the shock of that! What are you?" "You're asking questions I cannot answer. I don't know myself." Then he added silently: And what is Night Mist? She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. "We can't go on like this. Let's give the mu-lynxes a rest while you and I talk further." Without waiting for his answer, she dismounted and stood next to her cat, one hand absently scratching one of its ears, the other hand on her hip. As she turned to gaze at him, she seemed to be struggling with some internal conflict, for her beautiful face showed a strange expression. He slid off his mount and said, "Ah, but you are breath-taking." He had purposely been trying not to think about her or to look at her except when absolutely necessary. Her alien beauty was extraordinary and, for them both, deadly. She could feel his desire through the mental link that love had formed between them. And, in turn, he could feel her's. The strange expression vanished and she smiled. "No one has ever said that to me before." He nodded his understanding, thinking to himself: That's because no one has seen you uncovered before--except for those three you spoke of during your childhood, and they didn't live long enough to express their amazement. She said, "I'm not going to hide from the light anymore." "I understand. But when the heat-death comes, you will still have to return to the use of the diode-cloth." "Yes, of course. But until then--" "Until then, you're going to drive me crazy with your hypnotic looks." He smiled at her to show he had his desire under control. She lost her smile, growing suddenly more serious. "You have no idea, no conception of how much joy I feel at you being alive." She choked back some kind of deep emotion. "For a while, I had thought us both dead." "It was close, wasn't it? But my hope that our lives would not end and your escape saved us all. We needed your dagger and your mind that became a weapon." She shook her head. "You contributed as much or more than I in that regard. And it was you that freed me. "In fact, when I was tied to that tree, there is where our escape really began, where you started to save us all. I mentally heard your cry of warning as you threw the knife backwards. It hit the tree as I twisted sideways. I twisted back to hide the weapon and then waited until you and your guards were out of sight before using the knife to free myself and kill the two who guarded me. "Minutes later I followed your steps to the Black Hill. But there were so many warriors there, I knew I had no chance of saving you. Never have I known depression that great. That was when I decided to fight and die by your side." She seemed to struggle in order to add, "I did die a little inside, here," she touched her left breast, "as I walked up that bloody hill." She shivered. "There was such an atmosphere of death about that place. It was as if the heart of Agon was buried beneath the ground, cold and uncaring, thirsting for more human blood, more of our pain." Darkcian said, "And you then found your innate powers, your Wist heritage." "I still don't understand that aspect. Somehow the horrible anger . . ." She shook her head, obviously unable to go on. She breathed deeply for a while and then added, "Yet you saw that I didn't have good control. So many died." "Patra once told me not to grieve about mistakes of the past." Ah, Patra. Do you still live? She dropped both hands to her sides and said sadly, "I cannot cut off the memories . . . memories of pain and of Erendria." She looked up quickly. "She killed herself. In the end, I was hoping she wouldn't." "Did you suspect that action?" "Yes, because there was an ambiance about her that spoke of a depression beyond surviving. I think that knowing she was half Wist was too much. She couldn't accept an alien heritage. Somehow that terrible knowledge took her over the brink." That and ego, he thought. But he nodded to her and said, "She's at peace with her anger finally. Are you?" "Yes, I'm at peace also. In addition, I only think of Erendria as a sister now. And you?" "The same." "I'm glad. It feels clean to be able to forgive." She frowned at him as she switched her thoughts. "We're both outcasts now, more even than before. Every warrior on Agon will try to kill us. The future holds our deaths." "The future has always held our deaths; there's nothing new in that. What's important now is that we can die fighting; there's a great freedom in that. We are free, free not to live forever but free to choose the manner in which we live and the way to our own ends. Battle. That's our choice, to pit our skill and strength and courage against those who would try to control our path. To be able to choose is the ultimate freedom. And the pursuit of combat forces others to let us choose. Only the weak let defeat come without a battle. I feel that if we must die, then let it not be done passively and with despair, but with the satisfaction that at least we resisted. Defiance is such a good feeling, I'm finding out." "I agree even though you are sounding like an Agonian. Perhaps we can even die together?" She laughed suddenly, a crystal-pure sound of joy. "What a novel thought that is. I had always conceived of going into the void alone." She gave him a hard look. "You could yet kill me by forcing us to make love. No . . . you wouldn't have to force, only suggest." "Never. I won't kill you that way or any other. And you must help me be wary of the temptation." "All right. Again I agree. But you must realize that it'll be painful, because we must do more than just be aware of the temptation; we must remove it from ourselves. We cannot travel to the great Desert-of-Grief together with this dangerous desire growing. It would mean my death eventually, for I can't be near you any longer without the desire becoming unbearable. And knowing that you desire me also . . . these last two days, Dark, have been so difficult!" "I know but don't send me away. I need you to help me survive The-Long-Day. Now, as in the past, my ignorance has been my greatest weakness. Please don't be angry that I admit to such weakness." Her quick smile told him she didn't. He went on with a rush, "We could always maintain a twenty- foot distance between us. We could both wear our diode-cloths and thus hide from the eyes of each other. With discipline, we could do it. We have been doing it." She looked at him sadly and shook her head. "No, we couldn't, not much longer. Be honest with yourself. Don't you feel this lust building between us?" He gazed into her eyes for a long time. Gods! They're so blue! Finally, he said, "You're right. It's taking all of my will now just to stay this distance. I want you so much. You are so, so beautiful." "I feel the same about you. And every minute it increases. Because of that, sooner or later, we'd make the trade; and I would perish." "The perfect death." Ah, but the path to it! "Yes, the perfect death, the secret dream of all Agonians and . . . and perhaps that of Wists, too. Who knows?" He averted his eyes. He could feel desire building anew within himself for, in addition to her striking beauty, there was now a powerful sexual force emanating from her, almost serpentine in the way it coiled into his mind from hers. Shaken, he said, "Could we meet now and then for short periods, like we're doing now?" He watched as a drop of sweat fell from her chin and onto her chest, there to slide down the valley between her breasts. She was breathing quickly as she studied him. "Yes," she said. "But we must be very careful. Desire is such a powerful force, and we're fools to even play with it . . . like we're doing now." Suddenly she clasped her hands to her breasts and moaned--it was a deep guttural sound of pure sexual origin, and it fanned his lust into a flame. "Oh! Dark," she cried, "run from me, now. NOW!" He turned and ran for his waiting mu-lynx. He ran for her life . . . and his, for he knew he couldn't live with the guilt that would come if he coupled with her to satisfy his own desire and, by doing so, cause her death. NOW YOU ARE STARTING TO EMPATHIZE, said the voice within, Night Mist. NOW YOU ARE MORE HUMAN. As he rode away from the woman of extraordinary beauty, he analyzed that thought. Then he shouted back mentally: Just what in Agon's hell do you really want with me anyway? There was no answer from his voice within. EPILOGUE He had been walking alone for many turns, searching the desert with his mind in order to locate Sulamith--she was ahead of him somewhere, he was sure. He could just barely feel her mind, like it was a faint scent. The thirst in his throat was like his desire for the Wist demon, consuming and painful in its unfulfilled need. He felt light-headed, his thoughts jumbled. His mu-lynx had started its hibernation days ago. The cat just stopped, burrowed into the sand, and went to sleep. He had thought of commanding it with his mind, but the cruelty of the act detoured him. The heat would have eventually killed the animal in another turn--now he always thought of one revolution of the planet as a turn, for there were no longer any nights, that cool, sweet time of the past, only days, days of endless light, days of awful heat . . . and no Sulamith, only those behind him who hunted with a relentless single-mindedness. Where is she? he wondered. He also wondered at the feeling that had been dogging him for the last two hours, a feeling of impending doom, of unreasonable fear. Something is going to happen, I can sense it. Where? He looked behind him again. Nothing. Yet the fear of something persisted--What? And where was Night Mist? The inner voice hadn't talked to him for many turns. The silence within was unnerving. He had grown used to the advice of that strange intelligence that came to him in totally unpredictable times. Suddenly the hair rose on the back of his neck. He rather perceived the coming of something massive. The sense of this was in his mind. It was an approach of . . . what? Something! Something swift, something powerful . . . an expansion, a growing. He could feel it inside him and around him, and it was not definable. Night Mist, what's happening? he screamed mentally, greatly alarmed now.
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Copyright © 1992 L Clayton Bennett |