Requiem Of Homo Sapiens - The Wild Part 7

'There was something in his voice. In his eyes I trusted him immediately.'

Danlo thought that Tamara, beneath her surface worldliness and charm, was one of the most trusting people he had ever known. In a way she still had much of the inno- cence and open-eyed joy of a little girl. He loved this quality about her. Despite the mischances and sorrows of her life, she still deeply trusted people, and this made people want to trust her in return. Danlo, too, was glad to trust most women and men for the fundamental goodness of their hearts, though he often doubted much of what they might say or believe. And so he might have doubted what Tamara told him because there was something about her story that struck him as almost unreal. But he could not doubt Tamara herself. She sat in front of the fire with her dark brown eyes open to his, and there was something deep and soulful about her. He decided that as an act of affirmation of the one woman whom he could ever truly love, he would wilfully say yes to her judgement to trust the renegade pilot called Sivan wi Mawi Sarkissian. He would say yes to the logic of her heart, though he still might doubt the logic of her story.

'Then Sivan must have somehow known that you had journeyed to Solsken,' Danlo finally said. The Ent.i.ty must have known this to tell him.'

Tamara nodded her head and took a sip of tea. 'Well, during my stay with the exemplars, I attracted a good deal of attention. As a harpist, if not a courtesan. And that's part of the miracle, you know. It's a miracle that I should have become slightly famous at a time when the Ent.i.ty was searching for me. I believe the Ent.i.ty watches all human beings on all the Civilized Worlds, but most especially, She watches for famous men, famous women.'

'She watches,' he agreed. 'She waits and watches that is what the G.o.ds do.'

'Of course, but it seems that this G.o.ddess does much more.'

'Yes, She heals human beings of their wounds. But I ... thought that you wanted to heal yourself.'

'Oh, at first I did,' she said. 'But the truth is, I was never really happy on Solsken.'

'Then you journeyed here as a pa.s.senger on Sivan's s.h.i.+p?'

'Of course how could I not?'

'Then Sivan found you on Solsken and you journeyed together and all this in less than fifty days?'

'I wasn't counting the days, Danlo. Who counts time in the manifold?'

'Solsken must lie ... at least twenty thousand light-years from the stars of the Ent.i.ty.'

'So far?'

'Twenty-thousand light-years inward, coreward,' Danlo repeated. 'And as far in return. An entire journey of forty-thousand light-years all in less than fifty days of out-time.'

'Well, it's possible to fall between any two stars in the galaxy in a single fall, isn't it? In almost no time? Isn't this the result of the Continuum Hypothesis that your father proved?'

Tamara's knowledge of mathematics (and many other disciplines) had always pleased Danlo, and so he bowed his head in appreciation of her erudition and then smiled. He watched as the light from the fireplace illuminated the right half of her face, and said, 'It is true, my father proved the Great Theorem. It is possible to fall point-to-point between any two stars but only if a mapping can be found. Only if the fixed-points of both stars are known and the pilot is genius enough to construct a one- to-one mapping.'

'It's very hard to make these mappings, isn't it?'

'Hard? I ... cannot tell you. My father, it is said, was always able to construct a mapping. And sometimes, the Sonderval. But for me, for almost all other pilots, the correspondences, always s.h.i.+mmering point-to-point, the lights, the stars truly, for any two stars, there is an almost infinite number of possible mappings.'

'I believe Sivan is a very great pilot,' Tamara said.

'I ... know that he is,' Danlo said. He glanced over at the ghostly flames flickering in the fireplace, and he remembered how Sivan in his lights.h.i.+p had followed him from Farfara into the Vild. 'If he has mastered the Great Theorem, then he is the greatest of all pilots, renegade or not.'

Tamara smiled at him as if she could look through the dark blue windows of his eyes into his mind. 'You don't want him to have such knowledge, do you? Such skill even genius?'

'No,' Danlo said. He thought of Malaclypse Redring, the warrior-poet of the two red rings who journeyed with Sivan, and he softly said, 'No, not a renegade pilot.'

'Perhaps the Ent.i.ty found the mapping for him. From the star of this Earth to Solsken. Mightn't a G.o.ddess know the fixed-points of every star in the galaxy?'

'It is possible,' Danlo said. 'It is ... just possible.'

Tamara set down her tea cup then reached out to take his hand. She stroked his long fingers with hers, and said, 'You've always doubted so much, but you can't doubt that I'm here, now, can you?'

'No,' Danlo said. He smiled, then kissed her fingers. 'I do not doubt that.'

In truth, he did not want to doubt anything about her. It was only with difficulty that he forced himself to play the inquisitor, to ask her troublesome questions and prompt her to fill in the details of her story. She told of how she had said farewell to the exemplars of Solsken, who, in appreciation of her services, had presented her with a golden robe woven from the impossibly fine goss strings of one of the harps that she had played. She had then sealed herself in the pa.s.senger cell of Sivan's lights.h.i.+p.

While Sivan found a mapping between the stars, she was alone with the silent roar of deep s.p.a.ce and her memory of music. She could not say how long the journey lasted.

But finally they had fallen out of the manifold above the Earth that the Ent.i.ty had made. Tamara looked out at the blue and white world spinning through s.p.a.ce and she was stunned by its beauty. They fell down through the Earth's atmosphere to a beach of powdery white sands on a tropical island somewhere in the great western ocean.

There Sivan had left her. There, on the beach between the jungle and a lovely blue lagoon, was a house. It was her house, she said, the little chalet of stone and shatterwood which she had left behind on Neverness. Only now it had mysteriously been moved across twenty-thousand light years of reals.p.a.ce either that or somehow exactly replicated. However the house had come to be there, she regarded its very existence as a miracle. And inside was the true miracle, the greatest miracle of all.

Inside the house, in the tearoom on top of the low table, she found a golden urn and simple cup made of blue quartz gla.s.s. Then, as she was rejoicing in finally returning home, a voice had spoken to her. She heard this voice as a whisper in her ears, or perhaps only as a murmur of memory inside her mind. The voice was cool and sweet, and it bade her to take up the urn and pour a clear liquid into the blue cup. This she did immediately. The voice told her to drink, and so she did, deeply and with great purpose until the cup was empty. The liquid tasted cool and bittersweet, not unlike the kalla that she had once partaken of in Bardo's music room on Neverness. But it was not kalla, not quite. It was a medicine for her mind, she thought, some kind of elixir as clear and pure as water. The drinking of it sent her into a deep reverie, and then into sleep. She could not say how long she slept. But she had dreams, strange and beautiful dreams of lying naked with Danlo by a blazing fire. In her long and endless dreams, she felt the heat of this fire wrapped around her skin like a flaming golden robe, or sometimes, entering her belly like a long, golden snake which ate its way in sinuous waves up her spine. And then she dreamed of Danlo's deep blue eyes and his golden voice and his long, scarred hands; she had dreamed that Danlo was holding her, and playing his flute for her, and talking softly to her, always speaking to her most fundamental desire, which was to come truly alive and awaken all things into a deeper life. When she herself had finally awoken after untold hours or days she found herself lying naked on the furs of her fireroom. She was cold and s.h.i.+vering on the outside, in the hardness of her white skin, but inside all was fire and memory, a haunting memory of all the moments she had ever spent with Danlo, and more, much more, a secret knowledge of who she really was and why she had come to be. She leapt to her feet to dance, then, to rejoice at this miracle of herself and give thanks for the long awaited healing of her soul.

Soon after this, a lights.h.i.+p landed outside her house on the beach. She was bidden to take pa.s.sage on this s.h.i.+p. She couldn't say for truth if it was Sivan's s.h.i.+p for she was not allowed to see its pilot. After entering the guest cell, unmet and alone, there was a quick journey across the blue, peaceful ocean. The s.h.i.+p then fell to earth on the beach just north of Danlo's house. While Danlo was taking his walk some five miles to the south, Tamara had left this mysterious s.h.i.+p and walked across the beach. She had found Danlo's lights.h.i.+p, the Snowy Owl, half-buried in the dune sands. She had found the house. There, in the cold meditation room, she had waited for Danlo to return. She had stood by the dark window all during twilight, watching and waiting and remembering the lightning flash of recognition in Danlo's eyes the night that they had first seen each other so long ago.

All this she recounted for Danlo as he sat before a different fire and drank three cups of peppermint tea. Although he waited quietly with all the concentration of a kittakeesha bird listening for a worm deep beneath the snow, many things about her story disturbed him. For every question that she answered concerning her miraculous appearance in the house, two more questions arose to twist their way into his mind.

For instance, not once did Tamara mention the warrior-poet who journeyed with Sivan. What had happened to Malaclypse of Qallar, he of the two red rings? Had the Ent.i.ty separated the two men to test them, each according to his own strength and purpose? Had the Ent.i.ty recited poems to Malaclypse or perhaps trapped him on a different beach to face a ravening tiger with nothing more than his killing knife? It worried Danlo to think of the warrior-poet loose somewhere upon the planet. And even more he worried that Sivan might survive the Ent.i.ty's tests and ask a question that he himself wanted answered. For surely Sivan would ask where he might find Mallory Ringess. Tamara had hinted that Sivan had his own reasons for seeking Mallory Ringess, perhaps no more than the simple hope of learning how to apply the Great Theorem and thus to fall through the galaxy at will. Or perhaps he had other reasons, deeper reasons. Sometimes, when Danlo descried the future and beheld the terrible beauty behind the pattern of their lives, he feared for his father. Sometimes this was his greatest concern, although it struck him as absurd that he should worry over the fate of a G.o.d. Because if Mallory Ringess were truly a G.o.d, then would he not keep his distance from pilots and warrior-poets and other human beings? Why else had he left Neverness at a time when his fame and glory outshone the very sun?

No, Danlo thought, surely his father would never allow himself to be touched especially not by a warrior-poet who had come to kill him. The G.o.ds could not countenance any violation of their G.o.dly selves. They might laugh at the conceits of women and men, or they might love them or slay them, or sometimes, as with Tamara, they might even lay their invisible hands on human flesh and heal them of their hurts. The G.o.ddess known as the Solid State Ent.i.ty, it seemed, liked to test people with knives or poems or promises of a happier life. As Tamara squeezed her empty teacup between her hands, she hinted that the Ent.i.ty tested people in order to discover the possibilities of humankind. But who could really know? How could Danlo know why he was being tested, if he was being tested, here, now, while he enjoyed a cup of sweet mint tea with this blessed woman whom the Ent.i.ty had restored to him?

'I ... am glad that the Ent.i.ty has brought you here,'

Danlo finally said. He put down his cup and smiled. 'You seem so alive again. So happy.'

'I am happy. Aren't you?'

'Yes, of course but I am puzzled, too.'

'Why?'

'On the beach,' Danlo said, 'on the rocks when the Ent.i.ty wanted me to kill the lamb, She promised to tell me how I could find you. To restore your memories. But I did not kill the lamb. I ... could not.'

Tamara put down her cup then slid the tea service a few feet across the floor out of the way. With all the poise and grace of a master courtesan, she knelt on the wooden floor tiles so that she could push her cus.h.i.+on up next to Danlo's. When she sat back down again with her spine straight and her feet tucked politely beneath her long robe her face was very close to his. She looked at him and took up his hands. Across a short s.p.a.ce of the firelit room, they looked at each other eye to eye, and Danlo remembered that this touching of the eyes was one of the oldest of the merging yogas.

He felt her breath on his face, all warm and soft and sweet with mint and honey. He remembered then how they had once breathed together for hours, synchronizing the movements of their bellies in and out as they drew in streams of cool, sweet air.

Sometimes, they had breathed each other's souls all night in front of the fire, merging eye to eye, and at last, when they could stand it no longer, coming together lip to lip and belly to belly as they fell into the deepest merging of all.

'Perhaps the Ent.i.ty did what She did out of compa.s.sion,' Tamara said.

'Perhaps.'

'Is that so hard to believe?'

'Compa.s.sion,' Danlo said. 'There is an Alaloi word for compa.s.sion. Anaslia this means suffering with. But why would a G.o.d wish to share anyone's pain?'

'I believe that the G.o.ddess healed me for you.'

'For me? Truly? But why?'

'I don't know.'

'But if this Ent.i.ty were really a compa.s.sionate being, then wouldn't She have healed you purely out of compa.s.sion for you?'

'Well, I believe She did. But how can either of us guess at Her deeper purposes?'

'But I have to guess,' Danlo said quietly. 'I must know ... how I am being tested.'

Tamara squeezed his hands together and said, 'If there's really a test, perhaps it's nothing more than your willingness to accept a gift freely, without doubts. Without doubting what you really know.'

'But I know ... so little.'

'You know that I'm here, don't you?'

'Yes,' he said. He looked at her strangely, then almost smiled. 'It is you, isn't it?'

In answer, she ran her long fingernail over his scarred knuckles in the way she had often done before losing her memories. She laughed softly and said, 'I think I'm almost the same as when we met in Bardo's sunroom. I'm the same woman you gave the pearl to, in this house do you remember?'

'Do I remember? Do ... you?'

'I remember everything, Danlo.'

'Truly?'

'I remember that we promised to marry each other.'

'I remember that, too.'

At this, she pulled his hand closer and pressed it to her chest, over her heart. Beneath the softness of her robe he felt something round and hard, almost like a nut.

He remembered very well what this thing must be.

'Look,' she said. 'I still wear it, do you see?'

She stood up and slowly undid the b.u.t.tons of her robe and let it fall to the floor.

Between her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s there dangled a single black pearl shaped like a teardrop.

The pearl of a soft sable colour cut with streaks of purple and pink made a fine contrast with the whiteness of her skin.

'I ... see,' he said.

Tamara sat back down on her cus.h.i.+on. At the sight of her sudden nakedness, Danlo drew in a quick breath of air and felt a tightening in his belly. Because she liked to be naked beneath her clothing, she wore no undergarments. The skin enfolding her body from her toes to her forehead was wholly bare, a marvellous covering of flesh whose smooth, ecstatic touch his fingers remembered so well. She was sitting back on her heels, a difficult posture for many but one that she held rather easily due to the strength of her long, naked thighs, her full hips, the long flowing muscles that stood out along her spine. Her hands were folded neatly over the thick golden hair below her belly, not out of any sort of modesty but simply because this was the most natural way for her to sit. In truth, she was completely at ease with her nakedness. He remembered very well how she loved going naked about her house at all times of day or night. He had always thought that her instinct to bare herself to the world was one of her most beautiful qualities. With her head held high and her long hair falling like a curtain over her lovely shoulders, he was struck for the thousandth time by her unbelievable beauty. She seemed mysteriously unsullied by the evils of her life, just as he remembered her. He gazed at her for a long time to hold in his eyes the fullness of her lips, the loveliness of her face. He remembered, then, how he had always loved looking at her. He had thought that he always would. Only now, with the fire hot on her skin, with the distance of light-years between them, he was beginning to see her in a somewhat different light. She was still beautiful, of course, but her imperious nose suddenly seemed too perfectly sculpted, her eyes a shade too dark, her dazzling smile too full of pa.s.sion and pride. There was something strange about her, he thought.

There was some terrible strangeness in her soul that he could see but could not quite touch.

'It's beautiful,' she said, putting her finger to the pearl. 'I remember when you made this for me.'

'In truth, it was the oyster who made the pearl, not I.'

She smiled almost to herself, then ran her finger over the cord of the necklace, which was braided of many long black and red hairs twisted tightly together. 'But it was you who found the pearl and made the necklace?'

'Yes.'

'And gave it to me as a marriage troth?'

'We ... promised that we would marry each other. Someday, perhaps farwhen whenever we could.'

'When you had completed your quest, and I had completed mine,' she said. 'Do you remember?'

'I think it is impossible ... that I could ever forget.'

'And I can't forget how I almost gave the pearl back to you,' she said. 'I'm sorry, Danlo. That was so wrong. Because in a way, we've been married since the instant we first saw each other.'

'I know,' Danlo said. 'Since that moment and perhaps even before.'

Tamara laughed softly at his strange ideas and his romanticism, which seemed to please her greatly. And Danlo laughed, too, as they locked eyes and drank in each other's delight. Then Tamara rose off her cus.h.i.+on and came over to him. It took her almost forever to unzip his kamelaika, to slip her skilled hands between the fabric and his skin and peel the clothing away from him. At the touch of her skin, there was a rising heat in Danlo's belly, and he remembered how long it had been since he last lay with a woman. There was a deep pressure in his loins, a surge of blood running up the root of his membrum to the inflamed tip. In truth, he was too full of seed, much too full of himself. Even if he hadn't been dying to die inside Tamara, it had never been his way to refuse the gift of s.e.xual ecstasy when offered by such a beautiful woman, and so he pulled her gently down onto the cus.h.i.+ons and kissed her mouth, her neck, the soft golden hair falling down across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. In the way she returned his kisses fiercely and almost desperately in the fervour of her lips there was a hunger that had never been there before. There was something new in their love play, almost an awkwardness as if they had never entwined legs or felt the sweat of each other's body before. Of course s.e.x was always new, always a plunge into mystery and danger, but not quite in this way. The newness he sensed in Tamara was not so much of touch or technique or even emotion, but rather of being, of the way that she dwelt inside herself. It almost seemed that she was trying to hold on to herself, in the moment, as a child might grasp a beloved doll. She pressed up close to him, and she grasped his long, swollen membrum. She touched the scars there, the tiny blue and red scars that had been cut into the skin during his pa.s.sage into manhood. The play of her fingers over him was exquisite and almost exactly as he remembered on their first night together. And Tamara, in the heat of her hands and sweet panting breath, was almost the same, too, as if she had never suffered the loss of her memories. And this was strange because she had once forgotten him and everything about him; this wounding of her soul should have been as much a part of her as her joy in being restored to herself. But although she had spoken to him in heartfelt words of great loss in the fire of her blood and flowing muscles, in the voluptuousness of her body, she seemed to have no memory of suffering at all. He sensed that this wilful return to innocence was somehow a betrayal of herself. Even as he kissed her lips and touched her between her legs, he sensed that he was betraying her, too much as if he were a pilot journeying back in time to a younger and more innocent incarnation of herself.

He might have broken away from her, then. He might have caught his breath and stood up into the cool night air, away from the sweat-soaked cus.h.i.+ons where they lay.

But now, near the heat of the fire, Tamara was moaning and opening her legs and pulling at him. And now he was moaning too, or rather, breathing so quickly that the wind escaped his chest in a deep-throated rush of pleasure and pain. He could no more keep himself from sinking down into her than could a stone cast into the sea. He felt her pulling at him, with her hands and her eyes and the fullness of her hips; he felt himself impossibly full with the heaviness of this blessed gravity. And then he was falling, kissing her mouth and gripping her hand and reaching down with his loins toward the centre of her body. As always in joining with a woman, there was a moment of triumph. The thrill of entering her was intense and lasted almost forever.

The antic.i.p.ation of sliding deeply into her was almost more than he could bear. There was always the promise of new realms of ecstasy, of joining in a cosmic copulation that would leave him empty in the eyes and loins and mind, so utterly empty that only then could he become infinitely full of some deeper part of himself. So beautiful was the pain of this possibility that his whole being concentrated on a single moment of flesh pressing into flesh. As always, the hot wet shock of her v.u.l.v.a around him electrified his muscles and caused him to gasp for breath and move deeper into her.

Such pleasure seemed too perfect to be real, and yet in a way it was almost too real, for he felt the clutch and shudder of it in his hands and his throat and deep in his belly. In rippling waves the rising tide of pleasure spread through his whole body. He couldn't have stopped it if he had wanted to. In his joining with Tamara this way there was wildness and joy, yes, but also a terrible inevitability. It was as if a secret force had fired his nerve cells and seized his muscles. In truth, he was almost helpless before forces that he could not control. Outside, there was wind and ocean, the far-off roar of a tiger. And inside, inside the house, he felt the fire's heat licking at his skin, while beneath him the fierce power and purpose of Tamara's body pulled him ever deeper into s.e.xual frenzy. He felt himself moving to ancient rhythms, rocking with her and pressing up against her belly, rocking and moving and always moving to the inward roaring of his blood. If he had been able to think, he might have seen that there was something very strange in two people coming together this way to make such pleasure. For a man to lie with a woman in the naked clasp of her body was truly an exquisite madness. With her legs wide open Tamara rocked back and forth beneath him, always rocking and panting and pulling at his hips, wrapping her hands around him and pulling him into her. Danlo felt her fingers lock on to the tight bunching muscles behind his hips, and he felt a deep sense of wonder that any human being would so open herself to another. It was astonis.h.i.+ng, too, that his deepest will would drive him in toward the opening of her womb, to enter that blessed place of all danger and desire. He gasped at the incredible audacity of penetrating her, of disappearing into the soft, clutching darkness inside her. He was ravis.h.i.+ng her, yes, and yet as he moved to the convulsive rocking of her hips and felt her fingernails tearing lightly at his back, it was really she who ravished him. She enraptured him; she captured and engulfed him. In a perfect merging between man and woman, these senses and fears should dissolve into an ecstatic liquid oneness, into rapture, into love. Indeed, much of the joy in swiving each other was in overcoming the ancient opposition and discord between the s.e.xes, and thus allowing two separate selves to become as one. It was the deepest of paradoxes that the self could find itself only in the other. Danlo, in his plunge into the salty rocking ocean inside Tamara, should have found himself in her, and so found the way to quench the terrible fire tearing him apart. In the sweat streaming down her face, in the sweet liquor of her loins, in her pulsing blood, he should have found the elixir to heal him of the wound that will not be healed.

This urge toward unity was very strong in him. He felt his heart's strong contractions in his chest urging him to move; he felt himself urging in his belly and his hips, urging him into her powerfully and deeply, always urging him toward life, on and on. It did not matter that out of this urge and ecstatic union would come more life, more suffering, and inevitably, more wounding in separation when their child was born nine months hence and torn away from his mother in blood and pain. The great wheel of life would spin on and on there was no help for a child's cry, no way to deny life's terrible urgency. And Danlo did not want to deny anything. In the heat of his pa.s.sion, with his breath coming in hard, quick gasps and his loins trembling to be released of the terrible pressure inside, he was ready to accept all the sorrow and suffering in the universe if only he could die with Tamara into a single moment of screaming, shuddering ecstasy. Many times before, on Neverness, lying before a blazing wood fire, they had found this blessed place together. Many times since then he had dreamed of kissing her neck as he moved in perfect rhythm with her. Only now, in the light of a different fire, even as she tore at his back and cried out in joy, he knew that on this night there would be no true merging. He knew there would be no oneness, no mystical union of their souls. He was not, at first, aware of where this knowledge came from. But he had a deep sense of being engulfed against his will, utterly consumed by Tamara's fierce inner fire. He felt this burning all through himself. He felt it in her. He sensed that the temperature of her body was slightly too high, not as in the normal heating up of the flesh in the s.e.xual yogas, but as in a fever.

His body was the measure of hers, of her memory, of the true memory that lay deeper than her mind. Once a time they had joked that their l.u.s.t for one another was so great that the very cells of his body loved the cells of hers. In his moment of o.r.g.a.s.mic release there had always been a sense that his s.e.x cells were returning home to a place of intimacy and utter love. All the cells of his body and hers: in the burning press of skin against skin, in the moisture of her lips, in her v.u.l.v.a's hot silky clasp, he touched her deeply, cell to cell. He licked her neck and tasted the sweat glistening there; it was as salty as blood, and strangely, almost bittersweet like the remembrancer's drug. He smelled the lovely musky scent of her body, which was redolent with strange hormones and some other bewildering essence of her metabolism that he could not quite identify. In this way, he sensed something about her. Perhaps it was a matter of tender tissues pulling at each other, touching, the life inside their cells sending out signals across thin walls of flesh. Perhaps the nuclei of his cells were somehow open to secret messages encoded in hers. Somehow he sensed this deep cellular consciousness of streaming plasma, energy pulsing through mitochondria, and vibrating DNA. She moved beneath him quickly, too quickly, and her whole body streamed with an intense consciousness of being. There was something wrong with her consciousness, he thought, something wrong with her soul. In the way she grasped at him with her burning hands, as if she were trying desperately to hold and keep her pleasure all to herself, she seemed intensely self-conscious as she had never been before. She seemed strangely alone with herself, watching herself. And watching him.

Although her eyes were tightly closed, Danlo sensed that she was somehow watching him, even as he might study a b.u.t.terfly delirious with a fireflower's sweet nectar. For a moment, as she screamed in ecstasy and tore at him with her fingers, he stared down at her lovely face. Even as he moved and moved to the quickening rhythm of her hips, he stared at her and something strange, vast, and terrible stared back at him. It looked deeply inside him, drinking in the light of his eyes, devouring the tissues of his soul.

And then he screamed, too, and they entered their moment together. Only there was no true togetherness, just two frantically rocking and thrusting human beings tearing a moment of feverish pleasure from each other's bodies. They cried out simultaneously, not as one voice but as two separate selves alone with each other. They rocked and they rocked through an endless howling moment, and they writhed and they shuddered, and at last they collapsed in each other's arms, exhausted and completely spent.

Later, as they lay in silence before the dying fire, as Danlo watched the light of the flames reflecting from her sweat-streaked face, he remembered a saying that he had once been taught: The surfaces outside glitter with intelligible lies; the depths inside blaze with the unintelligible truths. He touched the scar on his pounding forehead, then. He rubbed the salt water from his burning eyes, and he marvelled that the search for the truth could leave him so empty and saddened and utterly alone.

CHAPTER SIX.

Recurrence.

Simulations cannot become realizations.