Disappointment was plain on Geste's face, and Bredon was suddenly much more certain of his decision.
“All right,” Geste said. “You want to speak with her. Is that all?"
“Yes,” Bredon said, relieved. “That's all."
“You're sure?"
“Well, I…” Bredon began, amid a swarm of second thoughts-and urges that, while they did not qualify as thoughts, still had a strong influence. He drove them away with the memory of how Lady Sunlight guarded her home. If she could call on such defenses against a simple trespasser, what might she do to her seducer?
No, he dared not ask for more in regard to Lady Sunlight, but a twinge in his belly reminded him of another concern.
“Well,” he said, “if you have anything to eat, I'm awfully hungry."
Geste smiled. Oh, he thought to himself, he did love these poor people they had found on Denner's Wreck! They were so full of surprises. He supposed it had something to do with the brevity and simplicity of their lives; they didn't have the time to fall into firmly-fixed patterns, or the need to close out most of their environment in order to be able to handle its complexities. They could come up with the most astonishing non sequiturs. And their lack of material resources kept the basic survival urges always near the surface.
“Of course,” he said, “I'm sure that I can give you something that will help.” He made the sign for acquiescence to another's wishes with one hand, and the sign for descent with the other.
His command floater, still invisible, produced a foil-wrapped packet of concentrate from somewhere. It fell into Geste's waiting palm as the platform sank gently to a few centimeters above the ground.
Bredon stepped back warily as the platform brought Geste down nearly to his own level, but forced himself to stop after that single step.
“Here,” Geste said, offering a gleaming blue-silver packet.
Bredon accepted it gingerly, then stared at it, puzzled.
“It's food. You peel the wrapper off,” Geste explained. “It tears easily and comes off, like the skin of an orange."
“A what?” Bredon looked up.
“A fruit. Here, climb up on the platform and I'll show you."
“On the platform?” Bredon eyed the floating surface doubtfully.
“Yes, on the platform.” Geste tapped it with the toe of one slipper. “Lady Sunlight isn't home just now, and if I know her, if I call ahead she'll arrange not to be anywhere I call. It's much harder to not be there if we go in person, however, so we'll have to go find her, and the easiest way to do that is for you to climb up on the platform and save me the trouble of finding you any more elaborate transportation. Besides, I don't want to stoop, or step down and get my shoes all dirty, so if you want me to show you how to eat that thing, you'll have to get up on the platform."
Still reluctant, but unwilling to admit it, Bredon stepped forward. The platform's top hung at roughly the height of his knees. He hesitated, then put one foot up, expecting it to give beneath his weight.
It did not yield at all. It was as solid as a stone ledge, firmer than the floor of his parents’ house.
Startled, he picked up his other foot and nearly lost his balance when the platform still remained absolutely motionless. He knew it was floating unsupported on air, despite what his first step had told him, and he had unconsciously adjusted for a sinking, like that of a small boat or a well-sprung wagon, that never came.
He recovered quickly, and found himself standing on the platform beside the Trickster. His breath caught as he found himself looking down at a Power, mere centimeters away. The top of Geste's head was even with his own jaw.
From this angle it was easier than ever to think of Geste as a man, not an invulnerable, supernatural being.
But that was wrong, he reminded himself. Geste was not a mortal man, but one of the Powers that ruled the world. He could be anything he chose; that he chose to look harmless simply meant he was not to be trusted.
“Here, let me show you,” Geste said, reaching for something.
Startled, Bredon looked down and discovered that the mysterious packet was still clutched tightly in his right hand. He had completely forgotten it, absorbed as he was in boarding the flying platform and seeing Geste close up.
He held it out. Geste took it and neatly tore open one end.
Steam swirled out, though the packet had felt cool in his hand, and a rich, savory odor filled Bredon's nostrils. Geste handed the packet back to him; he stared at it in wonder, then cautiously lifted it to his face.
The smell was irresistable. He took a bite of the brown gel inside the foil.
He had never tasted anything even remotely like it. He had no words to describe the taste, nothing he could compare it to. It was warm, spicy, meaty, with an oily texture that seemed to vanish into dry crumbliness in his mouth.
It was absolutely delicious, and only after he had devoured every last trace did he pause to ask, “What did I just eat?"
Geste glanced at the empty wrapper before tossing it up into the air, where it vanished with a brief flicker of white light.
“Michaud's Delectation #3, Burgundy style,” he said.
“What's Mish… Misho's Delegation #3?"
“What you just ate."
Bredon was not satisfied by this answer, but before he could ask anything more, Geste said, “I'll take care of those injuries, if you like."
“Injuries?” Bredon was sincerely startled; he had already forgotten the various scrapes and bruises, which were far less serious than he could expect to receive any time he went after big game.
“Yes, the bruises on your nose, and those cuts, and that shoulder looks stiff, the way you're holding it. Here, take my hand."
Cautiously, Bredon reached out and took Geste's right hand in his own.
A strange tingling sensation brushed lightly across his palm, and then vanished.
“There,” Geste said, smiling. “That should take care of it; I've put a whole microscopic repair crew in your bloodstream."
Bredon had no idea what he was talking about, but thought better of inquiring.
For one thing, he had just noticed that the platform had not remained still while he ate, and while Geste did whatever it was he had done to Bredon's hand.
He had felt no motion, no acceleration, but when Bredon looked down he saw that they were flying over the grasslands, a dozen meters above the ground, so fast that the land beneath was a blur.
They were streaking westward, toward the mountains, and moving so swiftly that the mountains were growing perceptibly larger with each passing instant.
Not only that, but the soreness in his shoulder was dissolving, and his nose had suddenly stopped hurting; he had no longer been consciously aware of any pain, but its abrupt cessation certainly registered. A tentative touch found no tenderness at all, in either his nose or his shoulder. He glanced at his left arm where he had scraped it on a root and saw the red marks fading away, as were all his other injuries, major or minor.
He blinked, blinked again, and then turned away and simply watched the scenery flying by; he was too frightened to ask any more questions.
Besides, he knew that if he did ask, his voice would tremble, and he refused to give Geste the satisfaction of knowing how frightened he was.
Chapter Six
“The Lady of the Seasons spends every year in search of her lover-though who that lover might be differs depending on who tells the tale, I fear, for the facts are not known to those of us condemned to someday die. Some say that it's Geste the Trickster, whose wandering soul cannot be held even by the love of a Power greater than himself. Others maintain that it's Rawl the Adjuster, and that his sense of justice drives him forth for three seasons each year, to correct the wrongs of mankind and to return only during those bright wakes of spring when all's right with the world. Still others say that it's not one lover she wants, but many, and mortal-that each year she picks anew, but that those she chooses cannot survive her attentions for long.