Philip Farmer - The Gates of Creation

“I doubt that you’ve changed,” he said.

She smiled and said, “How would you know? Let me prove that I am different now.”

She put her arms around him and placed her head on his chest.

“Different in everything but one. I loved you once, and now that I see you again, I realize I’ve never really stopped loving you.”

“Even when you tried to murder me in my bed?” he said.

“Oh, that! Darling, I thought you were with that loathsome and conniving Alagraada. I thought you were betraying me. Can you blame me because I was crazed with jealousy? You know how terribly possessive I am.”

“I know only too well.” He pushed her away and said, “Even as a child, you were selfish. All Lords are selfish, but few to the degree to which you were. I cannot see now why I ever loved you.”

“You toad!” she cried. “You loved me because I am Vala. That’s all, just that I am Vala.”

He shook his head and said, “That may have been true once. But it is not true any longer. Nor will it ever be true again.”

“You love another! Do I know her? It’s not Anana, not my stupid murderous sister.”

“No,” he said. “Anana is murderous, but she’s not stupid. She didn’t fall into Urizen’s trap. I don’t see her here. Or has something happened to her? Is she dead?”

Vala shrugged, turned away, and said, “I haven’t heard of her for three hundred years. But your concern shows that you do care for her. Anana! Who would have thought it?”

Wolff did not try to change her mind. He did not think that it was wise to mention Chryseis, even though Vala might never have contact with her. There was no use taking a chance.

Vala spun around and said, “What happened to that Earth girl?”

“What Earth girl?” he said, taken aback at her viciousness.

“What Earth girl?” she mimicked. “I mean that Chryseis, the mortal you abducted from Earth some two and a half millennia ago. From a region the Earthlings call Troy or something like that. You made her immortal, and she became your mistress.”

“Along with quite a few thousand others,” he said. “Why pick on her?”

“Oh, I know, I know. You have really become degenerate, my brother Wolff-Jadawin.”

“So you know my Earth name, the name by which I prefer to be called? And how much else do you know about me? And why?”

“I’ve always made it my business to have as much information about the Lords as it is possible to get,” she said. “That is why I have stayed alive so long.”

“And why so many others have died.”

Her voice became soft again, and she smiled at him. “There’s no reason for you to pick a quarrel with me. Why can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

“Who picked a quarrel? No, there’s no reason why bygones can’t be just that, provided they are bygones. But the Lords never remember a good turn or forget an injury. And until you’ve convinced me otherwise, I will regard you as the same old Vala. As beautiful, maybe even more beautiful, but still with a black and rotten soul.”

She tried to smile. “You always were too blunt. Maybe that was one reason why I loved you so much. And you were more of a man than the others. You were the greatest of all my lovers.”

She waited for him to return the compliment. Instead, he said, “Love is what makes a lover. I did love you. Did.”

He walked away from her along the edge of the shore. He looked back from time to time. She was following him at a distance of twenty feet. Now and then, the earth sank beneath his feet. He stopped for her to catch up with him and said, “There must be many caves on the bottom. How can Theotormon be called out?”

“He can’t. There are many caves, yes. Sometimes a whole group of bladders die, either from disease, old age, or from being eaten by a fish which finds them tasty. Then caverns exist for a while, although they’re eventually filled up by new growths.”

Wolff filed this information away for possible use. If things went too badly, a man could always take refuge under the island. Vala must have guessed what he was thinking—a gift he had found irritating when they had been mates—and she said, “I wouldn’t go under there. The water swarms with man-eaters.”

“How does Theotormon survive?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s too fast and strong for the fish. After all, he’s adapted for that kind of life—if you want to call it a life.”

Wolff decided that he would have to give up on Theotormon. He walked back into the jungle with Vala close behind. By now he permitted her to be at his back. She needed him too much to kill him.

He had gone only a few yards when he was knocked down from behind. At first, he thought that she had leaped upon him. He rolled away from her, trying to draw his beamer from its holster at the same time. He saw then that she had been propelled into him by another. The huge glistening wet body of Theotormon was flying at him. The bulk came flat down on him, and his breath was knocked out by the impact of 400 pounds. Then Theotormon was sitting on top of him and striking savagely at his face with the flippers. The first blow knocked him half-unconscious; the second drove him into darkness.

Although he had no recollection of the few seconds after his senses had dissolved, he must not have been entirely unconscious. He had gotten his two arms out from under the pinning mass and seized the flippers. Slippery as they were, he managed to keep a grip on them. He regained full consciousness just as he yanked savagely on them, so strongly that Theotormon shrieked with pain and half-rose. That was enough for Wolff. He shoved against the bulging paunch and thrust himself partly free. He bent his free right leg and kicked. Now it was Theotormon’s turn to gasp for breath.

Wolff rose to his feet and kicked hard again, his shoe driving into the weakest part of the monster, his head. Theotormon, caught on the forehead, slumped back. Wolff kicked him in the jaw and then half-buried another kick in the paunch. Theotormon, the moss-green eyes glazed, fell back, his legs doubled under him.

Yet he was not out, and when Wolff advanced on him to finish his work, Theotormon kicked with a huge foot. Wolff caught the foot and so denied its full impact, but he was shoved backwards. Theotormon arose, crouched, and leaped again. Wolff also leaped forward, his right knee driving upward. It caught Theotormon on his chin, and both fell to the ground again. Wolff scrambled up, felt for his beamer, and found it was not in his holster. His brother also rose. They faced each other at a distance of six feet, both breathing heavily and just becoming aware of the pain of the blows they had taken.

Wolff’s natural strength had been increased twofold by artificial means, and his bones had been toughened, without being made brittle, to match the muscular strength. However, all Lords had undergone the same treatment, so that when they engaged in physical combat among themselves, the original strength was, relatively, the same. Theotormon’s body had been reshaped by Urizen, and he outweighed his brother by at least one hundred and sixty pounds. Apparently, Urizen had not increased Theotormon’s power by much, since Wolff had been able to match him so far. Weight meant much in a fight, though, and it was this that Wolff had to watch for. He must not give Theotormon another chance to use it.

Theotormon, his wind having returned, growled, “I will batter you into unconsciousness again, Jadawin. And then I will carry you into the sea, dive into a cavern, and hold you while my pets eat you alive.”

Wolff looked around. Vala was standing to one side and smiling very curiously. He did not waste his breath or time asking for her aid. He charged Theotormon, leaped high into the air, and kicked out with both feet. His brother had frozen for a second at the unexpected attack, then he ducked. Wolff had hoped that he would. He kicked low, but Theotormon was very fast. Wolff’s shoes came down hard on his back, the shoes slipped on the wet back, and Wolff skidded down the back. He whirled even as he shot off Theotormon. The monster turned and leaped, expecting, or hoping to find Wolff flat on his back. Instead, he was caught by another kick in the jaw.