Part 9 (2/2)
”Two minutes,” said Volodya.
Dumarest ignored him as he considered the implications. The caskets decorated with their symbols; the signs of the zodiac which signposted Earth. Caskets used by the Terridae? Guarded by others of the same conviction?
Would Volodya willingly destroy his own?
”One minute,” he said and Dumarest heard the sharp intake of Kusche's breath. The mutter of his barely vocalized prayer.
”Fifty-five seconds.” An eternity, and then, ”I must insist on your answer.”
Dumarest had to be correct or die. Killing as he died but tasting the bitter irony of losing what he had searched for so long to find in the final moment of success.
He said, ”I do not beg for life-I demand you give it. Demand, too, your hospitality and protection-things it is your duty to provide. For I am of Earth.” A pause then, in a tone which held the rolling pulses of drums, Dumarest continued, ”From terror they fled to find new places on which to expiate their sins. Only when cleansed will the race of Man be again united.”
The creed of the Original People-and his hope of life!
At his side Marya Seipolda said, ”Earl, I'm the most fortunate girl here to have won you in the draw. I hope you don't mind.”A compliment which Dumarest returned, to be rewarded with a smile.
”Do you mind if I hold your arm? You're so tall, so hard and strong!” Her fingers rested like delicate petals on his sleeve.
”Once, when I was very young, I knew a man like you. I forget his name but he was a technician. He died, I think. He must have died.”
As she had lived, to walk now at his side, looking young and fragile, seeming almost to float as they walked down a corridor carpeted with soft green, the walls adorned with the depiction of shrubs and flowers and brightly winged b.u.t.terflies. A scene in which she belonged; her face held the planes and lines of an elfin beauty, the lips small yet full, the jaw barely defined, the eyes too large beneath brows too high. Her hair was a skein of fine gold which rested like a delicate mist on her neatly rounded skull. An unformed face, as she had an unformed body. One looking as if fresh-made and waiting for the stamp of experience. It was hard to realize that she was three times his age.
”I hate the times of Waking,” she said. ”It's such a waste but the Elders insist on it. They say we have to exercise at times and renew our contact with reality. Such nonsense! Who wants reality when it is so much more fun to lie and dream? When the Event happens, of course, things will be different.” A shadow marred the soft beauty of her face. ”Will it happen soon, Earl?
I've waited so long! Will it happen soon?”
The Event. The time when Earth would be discovered. The moment the Terridae waited for locked in the safe comfort of their caskets. A thing Volodya had explained as he had issued a warning.
”I must accept your claim but the final decision must rest with the Council. A keen mind, a lucky guess, a sc.r.a.p of accidentally acquired knowledge-these things could mean little.
But, in the meantime, you are free to enjoy Zabul.”
A freedom curtailed by invisible bars; watchers who blocked pa.s.sages, who steered him from one point to another with casual deftness. Jailers who, while always polite, were always at hand.Others had not been so reticent and Marya had been among them. Now, happy with her prize, she guided him to the great hall.
It held an a.s.sembly of ghosts.
They sat in a pale, blue light at long tables heaped with a variety of delicacies placed on salvers between flasks of scented wine. Their clothing was simple, lacking hard, strong colors: loose robes which masked their bodies and gave them a common appearance, enhanced by the impression of fragility, of age arrested, of life spent in small and measured doses. A blend of men and women covering a wide span of apparent age: dotards sitting with nymphs, striplings with crones. Their conversation rustled as if the words were brittle leaves stirred by the wind.
Among them the Guardians looked like creatures of steel, men and women filled with the pulse of life, their eyes lacking the general vagueness, set on the present and not on some far distant future.
As Dumarest entered the hall one came toward him. She was tall, with a mane of burnished hair, the bright copper in strong contrast to the gossamer gray and silver white, the pale gold and amber, the delicate strands of black and brown borne by the Terridae.
”Earl Dumarest!” She held out her right hand, palm upward, smiling her pleasure as he touched it with his own. ”The old greeting, I'm glad you know it. I'm Althea Hesford. What do you think of our world?”
He said dryly, ”From the little I've seen of it, it seems an interesting place.”
”A diplomat. You know how to be tactful. Urich said as much.” She glanced at Marya. ”Fydor has been looking for you, my dear. Why don't you join him?”
”I'm with Earl.”
”You can see him later.””But I won him!”
”He knows that. Do you want Fydor to be unhappy?” She smiled as the girl hurried away, losing the smile as she looked at Dumarest. ”What do you think of our charges?”
”Entrancing.”
”Unusual would be a better word.” Her eyes hardened a little.
”Why don't you say it?”
”Say it for me.”
”They are too ignorant, too childish, too d.a.m.ned stupid and too d.a.m.ned weak. Right?”
Dumarest said mildly, ”I would have called them innocent. Is that such a bad thing?”
”No, I guess not.” Her eyes softened as again she smiled. ”I think I like you, Earl Dumarest.”
”And I you, Althea Hesford. Are you my new jailer?”
”Let's just say that I'm your companion. Have you eaten?
Taken wine? Is there anything you would like to know that I can tell you? Above all I'd like for you to be comfortable and at ease.”
”The condemned man was given a hearty breakfast,” he said and explained as he saw the puzzlement in her eyes. ”A custom on many worlds. A man due to be executed is given a final meal.”
She thought about it for a moment then said, ”A stupid custom. Why waste food on a man when it can do him no good?”
”Why be polite to someone you intend to kill?”
This time she needed no time for thought. ”Earl, is that what you think? That we are going to destroy you? Surely Urich explained. You are to be tested, that is all. A formality to ensure you are what you claim to be. You can appreciate the reason. No Outsider can be tolerated here. Zabul is for the Terridae.””And those who look after them?”
”Naturally. How could they survive without our protection?”
She reached for a flask of wine, lifting it, setting it down as he shook his head. A salver of cakes followed as he again rejected the offering. ”It's a question of finance,” she continued. ”Of maintenance and supply. Of increase, too, that it's impossible to breed while lying locked in boxes. We serve and we guard.”
”From choice?” Dumarest saw the faint pucker between her brows. ”Could you lie in a casket if you wanted?”
”Oh, I see what you mean.” Her laughter held the amused innocence of a child. ”Of course I could. In fact I have my own box and use it at times when in danger of getting bored. It's pleasant to lie and sleep and dream and wake feeling young and refreshed. One day I'll be like the others and stay longer in the casket. When I'm getting old and frightened of death. And it would be nice to witness the Event.”
Nice?
To witness her millennium-nice?
A word she could have used because there was none to describe what the Terridae yearned to happen-or had the understatement been deliberate? Dumarest reached for a spiced morsel and turned to catch the emerald glint of her eyes beneath the arched copper of her brows, a shrewdness which dissolved into casual interest as he bit into the fragment.
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