His lips moved, and she had the idea that he was trying to reassure her of something; but she couldn’t hear his words, no matter how hard she strained her ears. He was beginning to fade, becoming opaque, proving himself to be no more than a phantom; yet as she blacked out, experiencing a final moment of panic, Catherine could have sworn that she felt him take her hand.
She awoke in a golden glow that dimmed and brightened, and found herself staring into a face; after a moment, a long moment, because the face was much different than she had imagined it during these past few years, she recognized that it was hers. She lay still, trying to accommodate to this state of affairs, wondering why she wasn’t dead, puzzling over the face and uncertain why she wasn’t afraid; she felt strong and alert and at peace. She sat up and discovered that she was naked, that she was sitting in a small chamber lit by veins of golden blood branching across the ceiling, its walls obscured by vines with glossy dark green leaves. The body – her body – was lying on its back, and one side of the shirt it wore was soaked with blood. Folded beside the body was a fresh shirt, trousers, and resting atop these was a pair of sandals.
She checked her side – there was no sign of a wound. Her emotions were a mix of relief and self-loathing. She understood that somehow she had been conveyed to this cavity, to the ghostvine, and her essences had been transferred to a likeness, and yet she had trouble accepting the fact, because she felt no different than she had before . . . except for the feelings of peace and strength, and the fact that she had no craving for the drug. She tried to deny what had happened, to deny that she was now a thing, the bizarre contrivance of a plant, and it seemed that her thoughts, familiar in their ordinary process, were proofs that she must be wrong in her assumption. However, the body was an even more powerful evidence to the contrary. She would have liked to take refuge in panic, but her overall feeling of well-being prevented this. She began to grow cold, her skin pebbling, and reluctantly she dressed in the clothing folded beside the body. Something hard in the breast pocket of the shirt. She opened the pocket, took out a small leather sack; she loosed the tie of the sack and from it poured a fortune of cut gems into her hand: diamonds, emeralds, and sunstones. She put the sack back into the pocket, not knowing what to make of the stones, and sat looking at the body. It was much changed from its youth, leaner, less voluptuous, and in the repose of death, the face had lost its gloss and perfection, and was merely the face of an attractive woman . . . a disheartened woman. She thought she should feel something, that she should be oppressed by the sight, but she had no reaction to it; it might have been a skin she had shed, something of no more consequence than that.
She had no idea where to go, but realizing that she couldn’t stay there forever, she stood and with a last glance at the body, she made her way down the narrow channel leading away from the cavity. When she emerged into the passage, she hesitated, unsure of which direction to choose, unsure, too, of which direction was open to her. At length, deciding not to tempt Griaule’s judgment, she headed back toward the colony, thinking that she would take part in helping them rebuild; but before she had gone ten feet she heard Mauldry’s voice calling her name.
He was standing by the entrance to the cavity, dressed as he had been that first night – in a satin frock coat, carrying his gold-knobbed cane – and as she approached him, a smile broke across his wrinkled face, and he nodded as if in approval of her resurrection. ‘Surprised to see me?’ he asked.
‘I . . . I don’t know,’ she said, a little afraid of him. ‘Was that you . . . in the mouth?’
He favored her with a polite bow. ‘None other. After things settled down, I had some of the Feelys bear you to the cavity. Or rather I was the one who effected Griaule’s will in the matter. Did you look in the pocket of your shirt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you found the gems. Good, good.’
She was at a loss for words at first. ‘I thought I saw you once before,’ she said finally. ‘A few years back.’
‘I’m sure you did. After my rebirth,’ – he gestured toward the cavity – ‘I was no longer of any use to you. You were forging your own path and my presence would have hampered your process. So I hid among the Feelys, waiting for the time when you would need me.’ He squinted at her. ‘You look troubled.’
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ she said. ‘How can I feel like my old self, when I’m obviously so different?’
‘Are you?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t sameness or difference mostly a matter of feeling?’ He took her arm, steered her along the passage away from the colony. ‘You’ll adjust to it, Catherine. I have, and I had the same reaction as you when I first awoke.’ He spread his arms, inviting her to examine him. ‘Do I look different to you? Aren’t I the same old fool as ever?’
‘So it seems,’ she said drily. She walked a few paces in silence, then something occurred to her. ‘The Feelys . . . do they . . .’
‘Rebirth is only for the chosen, the select. The Feelys receive another sort of reward, one not given me to understand.’
‘You call this a reward? To be subject to more of Griaule’s whims? And what’s next for me? Am I to discover when his bowels are due to move?’
He stopped walking, frowning at her.
‘Next? Why, whatever pleases you, Catherine. I’ve been assuming that you’d want to leave, but you’re free to do as you wish. Those gems I gave you will buy you any kind of life you desire.’
‘I can leave?’
‘Most assuredly. You’ve accomplished your purpose here, and you’re your own agent now. Do you want to leave?’
Catherine looked at him, unable to speak, and nodded.
‘Well, then.’ He took her arm again. ‘Let’s be off.’
As they walked down to the chamber behind the throat and then into the throat itself, Catherine felt as one is supposed to feel at the moment of death, all the memories of her life within the dragon passing before her eyes with their attendant emotions – her flight, her labors and studies, John, the long hours spent beside the heart – and she thought that this was most appropriate, because she was not re-entering life but rather passing through into a kind of afterlife, a place beyond death that would be as unfamiliar and new a place as Griaule himself had once seemed. And she was astounded to realize that she was frightened of these new possibilities, that the thing she had wanted for so long could pose a menace and that it was the dragon who now offered the prospect of security. On several occasions she considered turning back, but each time she did, she rebuked herself for her timidity and continued on. However, on reaching the mouth and wending her way through the thickets, her fear grew more pronounced. The sunlight, that same light that not so many months before had been alluring, now hurt her eyes and made her want to draw back into the dim golden murk of Griaule’s blood; and as they neared the lip, as she stepped into the shadow of a fang, she began to tremble with cold and stopped, hugging herself to keep warm.
Mauldry took up a position facing her, jogged her arm. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You seem frightened.’
‘I am,’ she said; she glanced up at him. ‘Maybe . . .’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine once you’re away from here. And,’ – he cocked his eye toward the declining sun – ‘you should be pushing along. You don’t want to be hanging about the mouth when it’s dark. I doubt anything would harm you, but since you’re no longer part of Griaule’s plan . . . well, better safe than sorry.’ He gave her a push. ‘Get along with you, now.’