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Spart said.
"And what will happen to you three?"
Nare and Coom were gone already. He seemed to remember their leaving, but not
clearly. Spart held her hand in front of his eyes. "In-speaking," she said.
"Out-seeing. When you are ready, they are yours. The only outright gifts,
man-child. Be grateful. We are never generous."
Then she was gone, too. He turned to see if they were running from the mound,
but there was no sign of them in any direction. The mound was now empty.
Only dust and old sticks, a few stones, a broken mortar and some pieces of
glass showed that their hut had ever existed.
Michael was on his own.
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Bear, Greg - Songs of Earth and Power Vol. 1 - The Infinity Concerto
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Contents - Prev / Next
The border between the Pact Lands and the Blasted Plain was less well-defined
now. Michael suspected the circle of corruption was closing, and that soon the
Pact Lands would not exist.
He stood on a ridge not far from the river, looking down at the indistinct
smudge of red and gray and brown creeping across the frosted grass. Where the
border crossed the half-frozen river, whirlpools of mud and bloody-looking
water left pinkish foam on the ice and shore.
With no sani
, with no weapon but his stick, he was indeed empty empty-souled and
empty-handed.
For a moment, after leaving the Crane Women's mound, he had hated himself, but
even that was gone now. He was a pair of eyes suspended over a vast mental
desolation, swept clear of youthful obstructions
but swept clear of youthful ideals as well; of all things beautiful and
inhibiting.
He slid down the ridge and across the ambiguous border.
What impressed him most, the deeper into the Blasted Plain he walked, was the
silence. There was only the gentle thump of his feet in the dust, raising
little puffs. The dust fell back into place, undrifted by the slightest
breeze.
Winter had not touched here. The morning light was patchy and orange and
vibrated occasionally as if all the air were a plucked string.
Michael walked quickly at first, then broke into a run. He passed brown pools
and smoking crevices, skirted a lava pillar and picked up his pace. The pillar
crawled with tiny elongated shadows.
After an hour, his way was blocked by a chasm. It was about ninety yards
across, the rim separated like book-pages into razor-thin slices of
translucent rock. Sand lay flat across the bottom. At regular intervals,
conical depressions blemished the sand like the marks of giant bootspikes.
He walked along the edge for a while, hoping to find a way across. It was a
drop of about twenty-five feet to the bottom and he didn't fancy a trek across
the sand, but finally impatience and the chasm's seemingly endless length
changed his mind. He experimentally kicked at the rock slices. With moderate
impact, they crumpled into shards, and he was able to dig and kick an angled
descent to the bottom.
The sand was gritty and hard-packed. He walked quickly and carefully, avoiding
the depressions.
Thus far, he had seen none of the Blasted Plain's inhabitants unless the
worm-shadows of the lava pillar qualified. He was hoping his passage might be
easy when a hole directly in front of him enlarged suddenly. He had to
scramble to keep from slipping over the edge.
A bulbous protrusion was visible in the center of the pit. Michael backed
away, but not far enough to avoid being sprayed with sand as the protrusion
burst like a bubble. He wiped his eyes and heard a deep pleasant voice say,
"You don't know what a relief it is to be free of Euterpe."
Ishmael, the Child who had prophesied in the Yard, climbed out of the pit. He
stood before Michael, lank and naked. His long, pale dour face was free of
wrinkles but still seemed ancient. He lifted one hand on its thickened wrist.
"I've been away from my friends much too long." His thick-jointed finger
flicked, and from depressions all around leaped more figures, not all of them
as pleasantly shaped as Ishmael. "How may we help you, human?"
"Let me pass," Michael said. The emptiness inside helped keep his voice
steady.
"All pass who will. Would you like guides? These areas can be hazardous, you
know."
"No, thank you."
Ishmael sucked in his breath and coughed up a laugh, his eyes jerking wide.
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"We're the only kin you have
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Bear, Greg - Songs of Earth and Power Vol. 1 - The Infinity Concerto here.
Don't take all that propaganda they fed you seriously. We're not nearly as bad
as our parents make us out to be."
"Perhaps not," Michael said. "But I'll manage on my own." He glanced at the
others. There were seven or eight, all with some resemblance to humans, but
for at least three the resemblance was passing at best.
Their hairless arms hung to the ground or grew into their thighs; their faces
were bad parodies. Ishmael approached Michael slowly, arms held out as if to
show his good intentions.
"After all that time, we're in the mood to help," he said. His tone became
more like a radio announcer's
slick, cultured, less and less believable.
So which part don't you like? Make ready
.
"For so long, our talents have gone unappreciated," Ishmael said, full of
self-pity. "Our emotions have been neglected."
"Stay back," Michael said.
"Back, back it is," Ishmael said, stopping. He knelt down and peered up at
Michael from large yellow-
green eyes. "Brother. Born of man and woman. Just like us."
"Quiet," Michael said.
Ishmael took a deep breath. "Where is your powder, traveler? Only a fool would
cross the Blasted Plain without powder or a horse."
/
believe
, Michael thought, that I would willingly cast off most of what I once was.
Like my foolishness and blindness. Can I cast off those things
?
No answer. It was his own decision, his own risk.
Or my reckless defiance. If I had looked at things more closely, and opened my
mind to how they might turn out, perhaps Eleuth would still be alive, and
Helena
No, there had been little or no fault in his behavior toward Helena. He
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