E. Tubb - Child of Earth

“Dwell on what I have told you until we meet again.”

Then, to Dumarest, “Please wait. I have a matter to discuss which you may find of interest.”

Dumarest obeyed, remaining silent as a flask was produced and glasses set on a small table together with a tray of small cakes. Incense smoldered to fill the air with a sweet and pleasing odor. The wine held a trace of astringency. Dumarest sipped then gulped the contents of the goblet. Reaching for a cake he devoured it with avid hunger.

The thin lips of Hsi Wei pursed with annoyance.

“You disappoint me. Have I taught you so little?”

“Master?”

“You drank without hesitation and ate without thought. The wine and cakes could have been drugged. Now you could be unconscious or dead. To say you trust me is no excuse for your carelessness. To survive you must trust nothing and no one. Appearances can be deceptive. Tell me what you should have done?” Hsi Wei listened as Dumarest obeyed. “To sip, better still just to lift the wine to your lips and pretend to swallow. Not to drink until your companion has done so before you. Even that entails a risk-the drug could have been placed in your goblet so change it for another if you can. Do not eat until your host has eaten. Caution that can be manipulated to appear as deference. Understand?”

The sharp voice softening a little as Dumarest nodded.

“Good. Now give me your hand.” Hsi Wei brooded over the proffered palm. “Much travelled,” he murmured. “The product of hardship. No stranger to blood.” His thin fingers tightened.

“No stranger at all.” Then, without change of tone, “You know why the others come to be taught by me. What they hope to gain. What the majority of them never will. You are not as they, which is why you have aroused my interest. But is your motivation the same? Are you willing to place yourself in my hands and allow me to guide your fate? How much are you prepared to sacrifice in order to survive? How much? How much? How much…”

The old face swirled, the almond eyes turning into fading stars, the thin figure vanishing as did the chamber. But memories remained; the tuition paid for by arduous labor, the lessons, the anguish, the advice.

Then the time of parting. The moving on. The beginning of a life based on violence, blood, pain and death.

“Earl!” Beside him Nada stirred, the touch of her fingers warm against his flesh. The scent of her perfume banishing the memory of fuming incense, of oil and sweat, blood and fear. “Come back to me, darling.”

“Sorry.” He turned to face her. “I was drifting, remembering a time long ago when I had to learn a new trade.”

“I thought so.” She traced the scars. “Earl! How-”

“The past wasn’t gentle.”

“But these scars are from wounds. Why don’t you heal yourself?”

“Kiss them and make them go away?” He gently shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Do you think I am foolish?”

“For suggesting I cure myself? No. Why should I? It worked on you. I don’t know why but it did.” Dumarest moved from her embrace and raised himself in order to look down at her. Some memories still lingered. Some advice remained strong. Never to trust. Never to be weakened by the temptation of beauty. Had the time of memory been a subconscious warning?

His hand lifted to caress her hair.

“Do you remember when I told you that, when I looked at you, I saw something other than an ordinary woman.”

“You said I was a beautiful one.”

“You are, but you are not an ordinary woman. You are a mystery. I tried an experiment. I was lost in a realm of mists and shadows where nothing made sense. I remembered a room I had known. This room.” He gestured at the chamber. “You entered it as if you belonged, yet it must be strange to you. Any ordinary woman would have been curious. Asked questions. Demanded an explanation. You merely accepted things as you found them. Why?”

“I came for you, darling.”

“And found me. But there has to be more. Who and what are you? Where do you live? Where is your family? How did I manage to create this chamber?” Frustration hardened his tone.

“Damn it, girl, help me! I need answers!”

“Shandaha-”

“Forget Shandaha! I’m asking you! Where did you come from before you opened that door? How did you know what I had done? Did I really hurt you with the knife or did you just pretend?”

“Earl! Never that!”

“Then be honest with me! We have made love. We are lovers. We should be close. If we are to stay together we need to trust each other. As things are I can’t trust anything. Not this chamber, the window, Shandaha, you!”

“Why are you hurting me?” She reached towards him.

“Things were so wonderful until you spoiled them. Hold me. Touch me. Kiss me. Earl!”

Her voice rose in empty command as Dumarest slipped from the bed and stepped towards the washbasin. He needed a shower or bath but the faucet would have to do. He operated it, filling the basin and laving his face and torso, careless of the droplets he cast on the wall and floor. More followed as he washed away the residue of passion. Ignoring her as again Nada called his name.

“Earl!”

The choice would be hers. She would either help him or ignore his request but she would have made the decision and have no cause for grievance. He heard the soft pad of her feet, the slight rustle as she donned her robe and waited, expecting to feel her touch, the impact of her body.

“Earl,” she whispered, “I don’t know what is wrong. Help me to understand. Why are you so disturbed? So restless? So reluctant to accept things as they are? Here you have all any man could want. You are safe, snug, secure. You have comfort and time in which to indulge your pleasures. If you want you could have me. What more could you hope to gain.”

“A home.”

“Here you have that.”

“No.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “Here I have a gilded cage. A prison. A world which is nothing more than a trap. You say I could have you if I want. What as? A pleasing companion? As the mother of my children? A friend? As something more than a toy?”

“Is that how you see me?”

“You are what you are. As we are all what we are. You seem to be happy here. I am not. I want more than you offer. More than Shandaha seems willing to provide.”

He paused, waiting for her reply, and when none came turned and found he was alone.

Nada had vanished like a puff of wind, as she had when first they had met, gone as if she had never existed. The door had made no sound. He had heard no footsteps. But memories remained together with the hint of perfume in the air.

Sweet memories of warm and yielding flesh, of a mutual melding, a union that had made two people one. Of passion mounting to climax in gushing release. Of the calmness that had followed, the satisfaction, the joy of pleasure shared and consummated. Ghosts that need never return.

A sheet from the bed served as a towel and he dressed, slipping the knife from beneath the pillow and sheathing the sharp steel in his boot, remembering the wound the point had made, how that same wound had vanished.

A memory that was a weakness. Nada a woman to be forgotten. Outside Chagal could be found and plans made. If the doctor refused to cooperate Dumarest would go his own way. Demanding the release Shandaha had promised, and if his freedom threatened his life then it would be in a world he understood and from an enemy he could recognize.

Three paces and he was at the door. It opened at a touch and he stared at the swirling bank of mist outside. He stepped into it-and abruptly was young again.

The captain was dying. He had been dying all during their recent voyage growing skeletal thin, coughing clots of stained mucus and gobbets of ravaged tissue from decaying lungs. Spending the last of his strength to land safely then to slump in the big chair in the control cabin to stare with glassy eyes at the screens, dials, glowing signals from the assembled panels. Standing beside him Dumarest heard the liquid rasping, the soft rustle of clothing against plastic, saw the twist of the lips, the movements of the hands and eyes, the ghastly sagging of a face now more than old.