Part 43 (1/2)

The touch of a human hand, the sound of a voice, had awakened Simon to his terrible pain once more. The pa.s.sing hours or days or weeks-he had long since given up trying to mark time-had begun to smear into a gradually increasing nothingness; he had been floating in fog, drifting slowly away from the lights of home. Now he was back again, and suffering.

The wheel turned. Sometimes, when all the forge chamber's torches were lit, he saw masked, soot-blackened men hustling past him, but none ever spoke to him. Inch's helpers brought him water with excruciating infrequency, and did not waste words on him when they did. On a few occasions he even saw the huge overseer standing silently, watching as the wheel bore Simon around. Strangely, Inch did not seem interested in gloating: he came only to inspect Simon's misery, as a householder might pause to mark the progress of his vegetable garden while on the way to some other duty.

The pain in Simon's limbs and belly was so constant that he could not remember what it was like to feel any other way. It rolled through him as though his body were only a sack to contain it-a sack being tossed from hand to hand by careless laborers. With each rotation of the wheel, the pain rushed to Simon's head until it seemed his skull would burst, then pushed through his empty, aching guts to lodge in his feet once more, so that'it seemed he stood on blazing coals.

Neither did the hunger go away. It was a gentler companion than the agony of his limbs, but still a dull and unceasing hurt. He could feel himself becoming less with every revolution-less human, less alive, less interested into holding onto whatever made him Simon. Only a dim flame of vengefulness, and an even dimmer spark of hope that someday he might come home to his friends, kept him clinging to the remains of his life.

I am Simon, he told himself until it was hard to remember what that meant. he told himself until it was hard to remember what that meant. I won't let them take that. I am Simon. I won't let them take that. I am Simon.

The wheel turned. He turned with it.

Guthwulf did not return to speak to him. Once, as he floated in a haze of misery, Simon felt the person who gave him water touch his face, but he could not move his lips to make a sound of inquiry. If it was the blind man, he did not stay.

Even as Simon felt himself shrinking away to nothingness, the forge chamber 'seemed to grow larger. Like the vision the glowing speck had shown him, it seemed opened to the entire world-or rather, it seemed that the world had collapsed in upon the foundry, so that often Simon felt himself to be in many different places at the same moment.

He felt himself trapped upon the empty, snow-chilled heights, burning with the dragon's blood. The scar upon his face was a searing agony. Something had touched him there, and changed him. He would never be the same.

Below the forge, but also inside Simon, Asu'a stirred. The crumbled stone s.h.i.+vered and bloomed anew, gleaming like the walls of Heaven. Whispering shadows became golden-eyed, laughing ghosts. Ghosts become Sithi, hot with life. Music as delicately beautiful as dew-spotted spiderwebs stretched through the resurrected halls.

A great red streak climbed into the sky above Green Angel Tower. The heavens surrounded it, but the other stars seemed only timid witnesses.

And a great storm rolled down out of the north, a whirling blackness that vomited wind and lightning and turned everything beneath it to ice, leaving only dead, silent whiteness in its wake.

Like a man floundering in a whirlpool, Simon felt himself at the center of powerful currents with no strength to alter them. He was a prisoner of the wheel. The world was turning toward some mighty, calamitous change, but Simon could not even lift his hand to his burning face.

”Simon.”

The fog was so thick he could not see. Gray blankness surrounded him. Who called him? Couldn't they see he needed to sleep? If he waited, the voice would go away. Everyone went away if he waited long enough.

”Simon. ” The voice was insistent. ” The voice was insistent.

He did not want voices any more. He wanted nothing except to go back to sleep, a dreamless, endless sleep....

”Simon. Look at me. ” ”

Something was moving in the grayness. He did not care. Why couldn't the voice leave him be? ”Go away. ”Go away. ” ”

”Look at me, Simon. See me, Simon. You must reach out. ” ”

He tried to shut out the troubling presence, but something inside him had been awakened by its voice. He looked into the emptiness.

”Can you see me?”

”No. I want to sleep.”

”Not yet, Simon. There are things you must do. You will have your rest someday-but not today. Please, Simon, look!”

The moving something took on a more definite form. A face, sad and beautiful, yet lifeless, hovered before him. Something like wings or flowing garments moved around it, barely distinct from the gray.

”Do you see me?”

”Yes.”

”Who am I?”

”You're the angel. From the tower.”

”No. But that doesn't matter. ” The angel moved closer. Simon could see the discolorations on her weathered The angel moved closer. Simon could see the discolorations on her weathered bronze skin. ”I suppose it is good you can see me at all. I have been waiting for you to come close enough. I hope you can still get back. ” bronze skin. ”I suppose it is good you can see me at all. I have been waiting for you to come close enough. I hope you can still get back. ”

”I don't understand.” The words were too difficult. He wanted only to let go, to float back into uncaring, to sleep.... The words were too difficult. He wanted only to let go, to float back into uncaring, to sleep....

”You must understand, Simon. You must. There are many things I must show you, and I have only a little time left. ”

”Show me?”

”Things are different here. I cannot simply tell you. This place is not like the world. ”

”This place?” He labored to make sense. ”What place is this?”

”It is ... beyond. There is no other word.”

A faint memory came to him. ”The Dream Road?”

”Not exactly: that road travels along the edge of these fields, and even to the borders of the place where I will soon go. But enough of this. We have little time. ” The angel seemed to float away from him. The angel seemed to float away from him. ”Follow me. ”Follow me.”

”I . . . . . . I can't.” I can't.”

”You did before. Follow me.”

The angel receded. Simon did not want her to go. He was so lonely. Suddenly, he was with her.

”You see, ” she she said. ”Ah, Simon, I waited so long for this place said. ”Ah, Simon, I waited so long for this place-to be here all the time! It is wonderful! I am free!”

He wondered what the angel meant, but he had no strength for more riddles. ”Where are we going?” ”Where are we going?”

”Not where, but when. You know that.” The angel seemed to give off a sort of joy; if she had been a flower, Simon thought, she would have been standing in a patch of sunlight, surrounded by bees. The angel seemed to give off a sort of joy; if she had been a flower, Simon thought, she would have been standing in a patch of sunlight, surrounded by bees. ”It was so terrible those other times when I had to go back. I was only happy here. I tried to tell you that once, but you could not hear me. ” ”It was so terrible those other times when I had to go back. I was only happy here. I tried to tell you that once, but you could not hear me. ”

”I don't understand. ”

”Of course. You have never heard my voice until now. Never my own voice, that is. You heard hers. ”

There were no words, Simon realized suddenly. He and the angel were not speaking as people spoke; rather, she seemed to give him her ideas and they found a home in his head. When she talked of ”her,” of the other whose voice he had heard, he did not perceive it as a word, but as a feeling of a protecting, holding, loving, but still somehow dangerous, female.

”Who is 'her'?”

”She has gone on ahead, ” the angel said, as though he had asked a completely different question. ” the angel said, as though he had asked a completely different question. ”Soon I will join her. But I had to wait for you. Simon. It doesn't bother me, though. I am happy here. I'm just glad I didn't have to go back. ”Soon I will join her. But I had to wait for you. Simon. It doesn't bother me, though. I am happy here. I'm just glad I didn't have to go back. ” Simon felt ”back” as a trapped, hurting ” Simon felt ”back” as a trapped, hurting place. ”Even before, when I first came here, I never wanted to go back ... but she always made me.” place. ”Even before, when I first came here, I never wanted to go back ... but she always made me.”

Before he could question further-before he could even decide whether, in this strange dream, he wanted wanted to question further-Simon found himself in the tunnels of Asu'a. A familiar scene spread before him-the fair-haired man, the torch, the spear, the great glittering to question further-Simon found himself in the tunnels of Asu'a. A familiar scene spread before him-the fair-haired man, the torch, the spear, the great glittering something something that lay just beyond the archway. that lay just beyond the archway.