Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

She couldn’t move away. “What?”

“You can do it, Dem. If not for me, for Quinn.”

“Don’t call me that,” Demial snapped automatically. She forgot all the careful schooling she’d given her face. Smile. Smile softly. Smile brightly, and no one will ever know. “Nobody calls me that. I hate it when people call me that.”

“Your father called you that,” Taya said softly, with pity and understanding in her face. As well there was a hard-edged something that Demial had tried so hard to school out of her own: determination and malice.

Fire and nausea rose up in Demial’s stomach. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. If Taya said it again, if she looked at her like that again, Demial could do it. She would do it and gladly. Except. . except. . Abruptly all the fire went out of her, all the anger and the hatred. She couldn’t do it. No matter what, she couldn’t do it. It was as much a shock to her, a revelation, as it would be to Taya. She really couldn’t do it. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

Taya laughed, an ugly, disbelieving sound that turned into a hacking cough. Her shoulders shook. Her lungs sounded as if they were old, brittle paper being ripped in half. She turned her head on the pillow, wiping her own mouth, leaving the linen cover stained with phlegm and blood. “Yes, you can. You’re the only one who can.”

Demial righted the chair and set the cup gently in its place. It gave a soft tap of metal on wood.

Taya reached for her arm again.

The other woman’s flesh burned, but she didn’t know if it was because Taya’s skin was so hot or because hers was so cold. Before she could shake her head again, Taya said, “You can do it, Demial. Kill me.”

“I can’t.”

“Help me die.”

“I can’t.”

Taya caressed the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist softly, like a lover. “It’ll make you safe. After I’m gone, there won’t be anyone, will there? There won’t be anyone who’ll know about you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t. I can’t.”

Taya turned her brittle nails inward and dug them into Demial’s wrist. “You have to. Why does it matter? I’m dying anyway. You’ll only be helping me. It’s not like it’s murder. You’ve never minded murder anyway, have you?”

Demial shook her head, aware that the movement might be interpreted to mean “No, I’ve never minded murder.” Something inside her was breaking, tearing, with a sound like Taya’s coughing. “You don’t. . I can’t. . I don’t. . You don’t understand. Things are different now.” She stared at Taya with mute appeal, wanting to beg.

Taya gave up. Her fingers went limp on Demial’s skin. Tears welled up in her eyes. They seemed tinged blue, like a high mountain lake reflecting the sky, until they escaped her pale lashes. Then they looked like big drops of silver, sliding down the pale cheeks. “Oh, Demial, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all the things I said in the past. You must know. I don’t think the others realize it, but you do. You know I’m never going to be better. You can’t think I want to lie here like this. I see you watching Quinn. I see you watching him wasting away, day after day. I saw him on the path, too, that day I came back. The man who comes in here every morning. . that’s not the Quinn I saw. Neither one of us wants him to waste away.”

Demial was tired-so tired. It was too much, too difficult to make her brain work. If she could just lie down for a while, just a little while. “I can’t.”

“You have to do it, if not for me, then for Quinn. I know there’s no room in your heart for me, but surely you’ll save Quinn.”

That was the end of it. Taya fell back onto the pillow, and her eyes drifted shut. She was limp and waxy. Her chest barely moved with her breathing. She looked like a corpse already-except for the tears. Big, silvery, raindrop tears oozed from beneath her lids and ran down into her hair.

Demial didn’t move for a very long time. Her legs and arms felt as dead as Taya looked.

How odd, she thought. How odd to realize how much she’d changed, to finally understand how much the mine and the village and Quinn and all of it meant to her. How odd to learn how much she hated herself for what she had been. .

She laughed softly to herself. If she hadn’t felt the Vision fade, hadn’t felt her goddess slipping away, the magic slipping away, she’d believe the gods were still present. She’d believe they were trickster gods, working a mean-spirited joke.

She stood as Taya stirred. The sick woman’s eyes opened. They were tired now, and bloodshot, but still they had the power to stop Demial. “I’ll be back,” she told Taya. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be back.”

Taya nodded, believing her. Trusting her.

The air was cool and refreshing after the closeness of the hut. There was a light breeze blowing, wafting the scent of someone’s fire and meadow flowers and coming rain. The night was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. The only indication that there was even anyone in the village was the flicker and glow of candlelight and firelight through the windows. It shone even from her own windows.

She stood in her doorway and looked about in surprise at the spotless room. A merry fire was blazing in the fireplace. The table was cleaned of her leftover meal. Her blankets were spread smooth over the mattress. The floor was swept.

With a sudden twinge of panic, her gaze flew to the fireplace, to the staff that was leaning there, exactly as she had left it. She felt ashamed for her momentary, uncharitable fear. Someone had come and looked after her home, looked after her, the way she was looking after Taya. That was all.

She wondered if it had been Quinn, but she knew it wasn’t. She wished it could have been, but it was probably one of the people who worked with her at the mine.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she snatched up the staff and hurried back to Taya’s hut. As she approached the door, she saw that it was open. She rifled through her mind for an excuse to give to Quinn, for some reason that would explain why she’d left Taya unattended to go and get her walking staff, but there was no one inside except for the slight figure on the bed, and she realized she must have left the door open when she left.

The cool air had whisked into the room, setting the fire and the candles to dancing. It had also set Taya to shivering.

Demial closed the door quickly. “I’m sorry. I left the door open.”

Taya smiled. “Yes. It was nice. The smell. . so much nicer than the air in here. I love the smell just before the rain.”

Demial swallowed. For how long had she hated this woman? How many times had she looked at Taya’s pale, blonde beauty and longed to kill her? Now. .

“You have to, Demial,” Taya husked, staring up at her. The woman was reading her mind. Her hands moved under the light sheet that covered her. “For Quinn. You have to let me give him this.”

Demial nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wasn’t sure what she’d say, whether she would cry or scream or just mumble nonsense of the sort she’d heard out of Taya’s own mouth.

“How will you. .?” Taya let her gaze wander to the ceiling, to the wall, back to Demial. “How will you do it?”

Demial brought the staff into Taya’s range of vision, holding it to her breast, wrapping both hands around it.

Taya looked at it, looked back at her, eyes wide. “Your leader’s staff? The one I saw at the battle.”

Demial nodded again. “It has. . it still has some magical powers. I don’t know how. I don’t. .” She stopped, realizing that the staff did not have much power left, that this might be its last spell. She wondered if she could go through with it.