Where it would be closed off so that none of its kindred would have to look upon the terrifying reality of age and death, Ware thought in disgust. And where it would be drugged and starved so that it would die more quickly, so that someone else could have a child.
The masks and costumes would disguise the fact that the population of these little communities changed so quickly; no one who did not know the secret would guess. But Ware had centuries of observing humans and their nature, and changed as these people were, they still were human, and there was very little they could do that would surprise him. Disgust him, yes. Surprise him, hardly. "You have answered all my queries most gracefully, Sharras," he said, putting aside his stew and standing up. "And I thank you for your time and trouble. Now I must go, before my companions miss me."
He turned and walked quickly away, slipping into the shadows at the entrance to the clearing, and keeping to them as only a demon could, becoming the next thing to invisible. Sometimes he was tempted to enter Xylina's sleeping chamber this way, just to gaze on her as she slept. But he did not; he was not looking for illicit temptation, but for a relationship meaningful beyond the comprehension of most human beings. So he had to be patient. He did believe that he was making progress; Xylina no longer looked on him with disgust, and indeed seemed to be coming to respect him. In time she could come to him of her own accord.
Then, of course, he would have to tell her the rest of the truth. That well might destroy the relationship. So, much as he desired her now, he was not eager to rush the matter. This tacit relationship might be the best they were to have. When he passed through the stone walls that Xylina had erected around the camp, he found the Mazonite in her tent, discussing the Sylvans with her slave. They both looked up at his slight cough, and Xylina waved him inside. "I assume you've been out of the camp," she said, "since no one could find you in it. Did you learn anything, skulking about?"
Was there an edge to that query? Or was she genuinely concerned for him? Perhaps both. She was so lovely even in her incidental ways! "Some," he replied, and described his conversation with Sharras in detail-then added his own guesses.
Xylina made a face. "And these people callus barbarous!" she said with contempt. "Well, I will give orders to the men to take no notice of them, and to answer no provocations. I think the best way to deal with Sylvans who choose to harass us is to ignore them."
"That is probably a good idea," Ware said thoughtfully. "They may have sanctions against the taking of lives, but I would not care to find myself being drugged and 'educated' so as to see the error of my barbarous ways."
"My thought precisely," Xylina replied. "They are slippery, these Sylvans; they say one thing and mean twenty others. I think they have very little idea of honor, and I would put nothing past them. We have provisions enough to carry us across their land; I think we should eat nothing of theirs, and drink nothing but water, and have as little to do with them as may be. I do not trust them." She looked directly into Ware's eyes for the first time since the journey began. "In fact, compared to them, you are a model of honor and humanity, demon. I had far rather trust my safety with you and your word. If you can slip off every night and learn more, I would appreciate the effort."
Ware's heart exulted, although he kept his face as impassive as any Sylvan's. "I will do my best to help you, Xylina," he replied gravely. "You know this is true: I will give you every effort I can."
"Yes," she said, suddenly and unexpectedly, with a shy smile that lit her eyes. "Yes, I do. Thank you, Ware. You are proving a better and truer friend than I had given you credit for."
He bowed a little in recognition of the praise, and his heart leapt again.
She had called him "friend."
Soon, perhaps, she would be ready to call him more than that.
• Chapter 12
At last it was over: they had passed through the land of the Sylvans without any mishap. The guardian of this "door" dilated the orifice to let them out across the border, making no attempt to conceal his contempt of them. The men marched through quickly, making no effort to conceal their relief at being on their way out of Sylva. Xylina rode her mule into the Thorn-Wall tunnel with a feeling that she and her men had narrowly escaped. It had been very difficult for the men to hold their tongues in the face of ridicule and harassment on the part of the Sylvans. She suspected that only the fact that the Sylvans tended to concentrate their harassment on her, as the mistress, ignoring the slaves for the most part, had kept serious incidents from occurring. She had been able to keep her temper only by following Faro's example, playing to the Sylvans' expectations and exceeding them, ridiculing them in turn. She had not known she was capable of that. But then, there were a great many things she had not known she was capable of.
The past week of crossing Sylva had taught her many things about herself and about the men, but the most profound was something that simply could not be put into words. It was a feeling, and she experienced it once again as she looked at her guards and servants.
Kinship. That was the closest she could come to it. These men, slaves though they were, and utter strangers a few short weeks ago, felt as close to her as if they had all been born of the same mother and raised together. They were, together, a tiny enclave of "home" among strangers, speaking the same language, following the same customs. Even the three paw-footed women; they had been some time in Mazonite service, and identified with the group. So far, unified, the members of this mission had survived encounters with the surprisingly friendly barbarians, and with these arrogant creatures so completely unlike anything she had ever seen that they might as well have been created from the plants they were so fond of. She and her men and servants were far more alike than any of them were like the Sylvans.
In fact, although she hated to admit it, the Sylvans frightened her, and she was very glad to be out of their reach. She didn't understand them, and doubted that anyone not born among them could. Ware had spoken with them and spied upon them every night that they were within the Thorn-enclosure, and nothing he told her brought her any closer to understanding them. In fact, at this point she wasn't even certain that she wanted to understand them; if she began to do that, she might start to act like them. No, she would far rather turn barbarian and go to live with the Pacha than even think of turning Sylvan.
On the other hand, Ware didn't seem to understand a great deal about them, either, other than simple things, like the obsession with absolute equality. "It can be an admirable goal, Xylina, so long as people realize that an absolute goal can never be reached," he told her, trying to explain why the Sylvans changed their very bodies so that there were neither males nor females among them. There were stories of shape-changers, were-creatures, that were told to Mazonite children-even that she could understand. She could see why someone would want to have the power of a bear, the grace of a panther, but not this.
Ware continued, trying to find words that would make it clear to her. He seemed to want her understanding, in an almost flattering way. And-she found herself being flattered, though she resisted it. "There are no absolutes; there never can be," he said. "When people like the Sylvans refuse to accept that, though-"
"That is when they begin to twist things," she had finished, finally getting a glimmering of what he was trying to tell her. He nodded.
Still, she could not understand what really drove these people, and she doubted that even Ware could explain them. "These people frighten me," he continued. "I think I know why the demons have never tried to make any kind of contacts among them. They are so sure of their superiority; people like that can resort to force to 'convert' you, if persuasion does not work. They are so passionate about what they believe in, that there is no room for anyone else's beliefs." His eyes had swirled with a confusion of colors that mirrored an internal distress. "I tell you, Xylina, there is no creature more dangerous than a fanatic. You must either join them or escape them, for they will bury you. Reason does not enter into their thinking."