That was why he had shrunk from pressing the dispute at his first meeting with the settler. As long as he could postpone this settlement, so could he continue to live. After it, his life would no longer have any purpose.
Na-Ta-Hay had stood in his memory as a symbol for all that was lost. To cling to the task the other had set him had, in a strange way, kept Terra alive. They had been right at the Centre in their distrust of him, he had not escaped the madness of the worldless men, only his had taken another and stranger turn.
Now he was empty, empty and waiting for the fear that lurked just beyond the broken barrier to crawl in and possess him utterly. Na-Ta-Hay had left him no anchor, only delusion. Now he stood on the same narrow edge of sanity where Bister had walked. For his kind, like Bister, had to have roots. Roots of a land – of kin –
Storm did not know he was shivering, huddling down into his pillows, seeking oblivion, which would not come. His hands dropped from his face to lie limp on the lightning patterned slashes of the blanket, but he did not open his eyes. For he felt he dared not see that mural now, nor look at the man who had told the truth and made him face his own complete loss.
Warmth ringed his wrists, fingers tightened there as if to drag him out of the encroaching darkness.
“Here, too, is the family –”
At first the words were only sounds – then the meaning came, the words repeated themselves in his empty mind. Storm opened his eyes.
“How did you know?” He begged assurance that true understanding of what he needed had prompted the choice of just those words, not chance.
“How did I know?” Brad Quade was smiling. “Are the Dineh the only wise ones, son? Is there only one tribe who seek roots in their own earth? This was your home – always waiting. Your mother helped to make it. You have merely been a little late in arriving – about – let me see now – some eighteen Terran years!”
Storm did not try to answer that. His eyes went once more to the mural. But now it was only a painted wall, nostalgic, beautiful, not meant to hold a man in spell. He heard a quiet laugh from the doorway and glanced up. Logan must have gone – now he was back. He stood there with Baku riding his shoulder as she had so often ridden Storm’s, with Surra flowing about his legs. The big cat came and put her forepaws on the bed and surveyed Storm round-eyed, while King chittered from the crook of Logan’s arm.
“Rain is in the corral. He’ll have to wait a few more days for your reunion –” Brad did not yet loose his hold on Storm’s wrists. “Here is your family – this is also the truth!”
Storm drew a single, long, shaky breath that was very close to something else. His hands lay quiet, drawing strength from that warm clasp.
“Yat-ta-hay,” he said. He was tired, so very tired, but the emptiness was filled with a vast and abiding content he was sure would never ebb again. “Very, very good!”
The End