E. Tubb - Child of Earth

“Do you really think I am beautiful?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Tell me!”

He ignored the demand. “Why did you come here? I’d like the truth this time.”

“I don’t know. I was drawn in some way. I sensed your discomfort. You were ill at ease, tense, strange, somehow lost. I wanted to help.” She moved to sit on the mattress at his side, to lean towards him, her breasts moving with fluid attraction. Her hair framed her face with a skein of beauty.

“I still want to help. To give you comfort.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Of course, Earl. But later.”

“Why not now?”

“Are words all you want between us? Is there nothing else? And what is there for me to tell? You have lived such an interesting life, Earl, that you would only be bored. I am just an ordinary woman. One whom, apparently, you do not find attractive. I wish it was otherwise. But I will remove my presence if you wish.”

She rose and stood, lifting her arms, inflating her lungs and turning on her toes in a manner women had used since the beginning of time. One that enhanced her feminine attributes and clothed her with an exotic allure. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Where would you go? To report to Shandaha?”

“Why would I do that?”

“You are his creature. He gives you his orders and you obey. You claim to be an ordinary woman but, as you stand there, I see something far different than that.”

Dumarest threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood before her. Looking down into her upturned face he was acutely aware of her femininity, his response to it, his need and desire. Aware, too, of the dilemma he faced.

He could be the subject of a test. Ifhe ignored the allure of the woman would it prove the strength of his detachment? To accept what she offered his lack of resolve? Or the very reverse? What did Shandaha hope to learn? What would be the wisest thing for him to do?

The room itself hinted at the answer. In any such place how would he have treated a woman who had come to him as Nada had done? If not to accept her then to make the rejection one which would cause no anger. To act with gentle courtesy. Above all to salvage her pride.

To gain time he turned and retrieved the robe Nada had discarded from where it lay in a sprawl of vibrant color. Rising he saw her face, her eyes, the subtle hardening of her lips and recognized the added dimension to his predicament. A woman fully aware of her attributes. A creature of passion and pride who had come to him and offered herself as a willing diversion. An invitation it would be dangerous to reject. He was in no position to invite the fury of a woman scorned.

“Your robe.” He handed it to her. As she took it he added, “Beauty to add to beauty. That is what I see when I look at you. A beauty that is beyond description. One no painter could possibly chain to a canvas. Loveliness that is all too rare.”

Softly she said, “Do you mean that?”

“Any man would tell you the same. Any mirror will give you the truth of what you are.”

“I’m not interested in any man, Earl. Nor any mirror.”

She came closer, the scent of her perfume strong in his nostrils, the radiated heat of her flesh signaling her passion. “Prove you mean what you say. Show me how you really feel. How genuine you are. Do you honestly care for me? Want me? Need me?”

“Yes, Nada, I do.” His hands rose to caress her hair.

“I need you more than I can say.”

“Earl!”

The robe fell as she reached towards him, her arms closing about him, her lips seeking his own, finding them, pressing with an avid hunger as the heat of her naked flesh burned against his own.

“Earl! I want you! I need you! Take me! Earl! Earl!”

The room was the same but a subtle magic had touched the moldering plaster and stained woodwork so they seemed gifted with a new brightness; a shimmering patina as of things remade and reborn. As the bed was softer than he remembered, seeming larger, as the light was even more enticing as it streamed through the window. At his side Nada moved a little, her hand caressing his torso, the fingers tracing the scars of old wounds.

“I love you, my darling,” she whispered. “I shall always love you.”

Her voice was a sleepy murmur, her face lax with satiated passion, her hair a sprawl on the pillow, her skin a softly yielding velvet delight. On her throat the wound he had made rested like the badge of another kind of passion. One that had given him the cicatrices he bore. The fruit of emotions she should never have known.

On impulse he stooped and kissed it.

“Darling.” Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Kiss me again. Heal me. Please, Earl.”

He obeyed and looked down at the unbroken skin of her throat. The wound he had made had vanished without trace.

“You have the power, darling.” Her hands moved, questing, her smile widening as she felt his response. “You will always have power over me. I am yours when you need me. Just need me. Never stop needing me. Earl! Please! Earl!”

Again they lost themselves in an ancient rite, Nada clinging to him with a desperate intensity as if afraid of losing a newly found pleasure. Only when they lay exhausted did she run her hands over his torso again her fingers following the pattern of his scars.

Fingers with the delicate impact of insect wings, touching, tracing, covering more than flesh. Creating a pattern that transcended space and time to waken ancient memories of things learned and events almost forgotten on the backward world of Deratai.

“Relax, my darling,” she murmured. “You are safe in my arms. Relax.”

Dumarest sighed and obeyed and inhaled the vapor of her perfume which changed in a subtle manner so that he smelt again the oddly pungent odor of a shabby chamber, saw again the tall, shrouded figure of the man to whom it belonged. The bland face with the shrewd almond eyes, the lipless mouth, the high-arched brows. Hsi Wei-master of the subtle art of survival.

His voice was the thin keening of wind through reeds as he addressed his attentive pupils. A small circle patiently listening to hours of instruction and advice. All young, each hoping they would learn how to enhance their status and prosper and escape the poverty that held them in its grasp.

“You have been taught the five basic laws of survival. The first is self preservation. The second is to be aware at all times. The third is always to expect the unexpected. The fourth is never to underestimate anyone. The fifth is to respect all that exists in life.” Hsi Wei showed no signs of fatigue. “To simplify; always avoid trouble, always be alert, take nothing for granted, never trust another, always anticipate the worst.”

Words to add to those already spoken their cadences inducing a somnolence which Dumarest remembered too well. An aggravation to add to the rest. To nod would be to signal a lack of interest, to be inattentive the same.

“Every world, every city, every village is a jungle thick with predators who have no mercy for the weak. In order to survive you must learn many skills. Adopt many habits. Watch where you walk. Note those who stand near or follow too close. Never arouse antagonism. Above all always mistrust beauty. A pleasing exterior can shield a venomous nature. Think of a snake, a lethal fungi, the shimmering loveliness of exotic creatures whose sting can fill your blood with a host of eggs to travel through your system each to grow and eat and bring an agonizing death. And, as with those creatures, so it is with those of your own kind. Treat all with caution. Never trust a beautiful visage or an appealing figure. Remember that you are the victim of your own heritage. Your own needs make you vulnerable.”

The sharp slap of his palms ended the session.