"Good to see you, Thinker!" he said. I fell into his arms. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't want it to go away.
"Warhound! Ironman! My God!" I pulled away from Coolhand and embraced the others. Warhound, his rugged face split with a big grin. Ironman, all youth and innocence, his long hair hanging over one eye. They were Gods, clad in sunlight. "Deadman! I love you guys! I never told you that!" The rest of the squad gathered around, ecstatic.
"All right, gang, we've got a mission!" Coolhand said. "Listen up. Snow Leopard has run into a delay, so I'm in charge. We're going to take the Ship. This is how we're doing it." He opened a tacmap print and we gathered around. But blood spilled on the map, splattering all over it.
"Thinker…do you mind?" My blood—it was mine.
"I'm sorry, Coolhand. Sorry." I backed away. I was bleeding from the throat. "Can somebody stop the bleeding?"
"That's a twelve," Dragon said. "Priestess's still on the other side. Just let it bleed, you'll be all right."
And they were gone in a flash. I was in the Tomb of the Kings on Andrion 2. It was dark but there were torches, spitting eerie flames from the walls. A boy stood in a field of broken bones. He was naked to the waist and his hair fell to his shoulders. Skin of gold and dark liquid eyes. Lord, what a perfect child. The Delegate from the Past moved, a shadow, behind him. The hood fell from her head and it was Moontouch, the Keeper of the Dead, my lost dream. She was a fallen angel with satin skin and long black silken hair. She blinked and I was hers, again and forever.
She raised a crown, a dark iron crown, over the boy's head.
"In the name of the Book," she said, "May the Dead bless you." She set the crown gently over the head of that lovely boy. He stared straight ahead, bravely. I knew he would grow into a courageous warrior; I knew he would carve his name into history with his sword.
Movement, all around. It was the Dead, all the dead Kings and Queens of Southmark. Mouldy skeletons walking stiffly, still clad in ancient armor, clutching their weapons, black swords and rusty axes and broken spears and dusty shields. They clashed their weapons against their shields, a chilling rhythm, all together, deafening, in the Tomb of the Kings. An army of dead, an army of ghosts, banging out their war song. And they were chanting, above the clashing of the weapons.
"The King has risen!
The Golden March resumes!
Southmark, that was no more,
Will rise again!"
Moontouch reached out to me with one hand, looking right at me from a far, far distance.
"Your son will rule, Slayer. I will die if you do not rejoin me. I await you, weeping in the dark. Do not betray me, my only love!"
And she faded away into the dark. The light came back—bright green light, blinding me. Pain crawled over my body until it was all burning, a fire on my skin. I tried to open my mouth. I was choking. I blinked and opened my eyes. That white ceiling again, aflame with greenish lights. I was lying on my back. Hurting, but alive. Sweat and blood, trickling over my skin—I could feel it but I could not move. I was tremendously weak.
I wanted to move my head, to see. I was conscious now. Someone was beside me, close beside me to my left. I was naked, I realized, covered with bloody wounds, lying on a hard surface. My eyes—I could move my eyes. I saw a slim female body, also naked, pale brown skin, cut and bruised and burnt, completely still. Tara! I would know her anywhere! It was Tara, lying close beside me on this cold slab, as if the two of us were dead. I struggled to control my limbs. My fingers were twitching. I concentrated on the right hand, and dug my fingers into my palm, as hard as I could. Pressure—I could feel it. This was not a dream—it was real! Tara and I were lying together, somewhere, under these evil lights. I strained to take charge of my body, but I could not. I was as weak as a newborn mumpup.
Movement. Something approached. It was an Omni. It loomed above us looking down, a gaunt, dark, skeletal figure. It carried no weapons and it was not in armor. There was no mag field. It was horribly there, horribly close. A bolt of terror shot through my body. It was such concentrated fear that I could do nothing but gasp. Tara and I lay on a slab about waist-high to the O. I tried to avoid looking at it but it paused by my side. I was aware of its awful split head and dead dry eyes, blinking at me.
I raised my right arm suddenly, easily, involuntarily.
The O grasped my arm with one awful wet hand and pressed something up against the flesh of my biceps with the other hand. Then it released me, leaving a bloody mark. My arm fell down to my side.
The O moved, slithering and scratching, to the other side of the slab. Tara raised one arm. Alive! She's alive!
The creature pressed an instrument against her arm, then pulled it away. Tara's arm fell. The O stood there, a massive presence. I could feel only helplessness and terror. Long, spotted fingers wrapped around Tara's hair and the O yanked her to a sitting position. Tara whimpered. The creature looked into her face for one horrible instant, seemingly curious. Then he slammed her back onto the slab. Her body twitched. Now the O slithered around to my side. It snatched me by my hair and I was suddenly looking right into its awful face, alien eyes full of hatred, a black maw opening full of needle teeth, a snakelike hissing. I was struck with despair, shot through with terror. I was helpless in its mighty grip.
The O slammed me back to the slab and moved off, then turned calmly, watching us. My muscles trembled. I could move! I twitched my arms. I struggled to get up, freezing and terrified. Tara lay helpless beside me. I was suddenly overcome with revulsion for her. Faithless bitch! She got us into this! I straddled her, and seized her tender throat in my scarred hands. Terror showed in her eyes. I'll strangle the bitch, I decided, I'll throttle her to death.
I squeezed her throat with all my might. She convulsed, her arms suddenly scratching at me helplessly. I laughed at her hopeless struggles. I'll kill her and then rape her, that's what I'll do. A perfect end for our hopeless relationship!
The O laughed. It was a croaking hiss, but I knew it was a laugh. It disappeared. I realized that a door had snapped close, and Tara and I were alone.
I released my grasp from her neck, horrified. She coughed and gasped, thrashing her arms around blindly. I embraced her, in shock.
"I'm sorry, Tara—the bastards made me do it! I couldn't resist! I couldn't!" We collapsed in tears, lying there side by side in each other's arms on that hopeless slab, under those awful lights.
"Are you all right, Tara? Can you move?"
She could only nod her head, her lovely face streaked with tears. I pulled her tighter and we lay there, naked and freezing, terrified and helpless, seeking solace in ourselves.
"We're dead," she finally choked. "I can't even begin to counter them. They're too powerful."
"I'm sorry, Tara." I knew it was impossible to resist. We were doomed.
"I'm sorry, too, Wester. We tried."
"We tried! We did that! We did our best."
"Our very best!"
"No matter what happens, remember I love you. Even if they make me kill you."
"Yes, Wester—I love you too. Let's close our eyes now, and imagine it's many long years ago, and I'm Tara and you're Wester, and we're just a girl and a boy, together, in a warm night."
And we did that, under those alien lights, side by side, holding hands like children. It almost worked. But then the door opened again.
Light, from the doorway. A tall figure against the light. It stepped forward. Gildron. It was Gildron, Tara's man-ape, dressed in elektra violet, the Maiden's litesuit, the material scorched and melted. Another vision, surely, from the O's nasty bag of mind-tricks. I turned away and squeezed Tara tighter. It was an O, I knew, come to tear us to shreds.