Rahm grinned. Then he said: “Friend Kire…” but nothing else.
So finally Kire said: “I must go and look about among the other men, to see whom I can recognize …”
“Certainly.”
As the two men turned again toward the common, a young man with his hair tied back hurried up toward them. “Art thou the one they call Lieutenant Kire. ?” He was a lean flanked youth, with big ears and big hands. (Rahm grinned at Qualt.) “I was just back at Hara’s and Jallet told me — thy prince, he wishes to see thee. Then Hara asked me if I would…” While Kire looked uncomfortable, Qualt glanced at Rahm.
“Yes, of course — ”
“Thou knowest the house — it’s the one they kept thee in, earlier…?”
“Of course,” the lieutenant repeated in his unnaturally rough voice, then started back along the street.
When the lieutenant was gone, Qualt resumed his quiet smile: “Hey, Rahm — I heard about him and thee, what thou didst together at the common this morning!”
“And what are we supposed to have done that anyone wouldn’t do who had to save himself and a friend?”
“Oh, I heard!” Qualt nodded. “It was a terrifying battle — so says everyone who saw it; and so do a good many more who’ve only heard of it. Thou gavest the Myetrans a show and a fight, ’ey?”
And Rahm, who had heard nothing at all of what Qualt had done (for even the Winged Ones he’d talked to had not mentioned Qualt by name), put his tree trunk of an arm about Qualt’s lean shoulders and, leaning toward the garbage collector, said: “Well, if thou wouldst talk about it to gossipy old men and women from the back of thy cart when thou makest thy next dawn rounds, let me tell thee a little of what it was really like. Here’s how it was, for mayhap thou dost not know; but I have even been to Hi-Vator. !” and the two youths, Rahm leaning his head down to Qualt’s, with Qualt listening and Rahm explicating and gesturing, walked back toward the common.
Minutes later on the same side street, Rimgia and Naä passed Mantice’s wagon. Rimgia stood on tip toes, looked in, then turned away with a sour face. “Guess who’s in that one — ” But there was a quick grin, impossible to squelch at the sourness’s end. After all, it was not another villager.
“Who — ?” Naä asked. She looked too. “Oh… him! Well, good riddance, I suppose.”
“Naä?” Rimgia walked again as again Naä fell in beside her. “Isn’t it odd? Yesterday, the idea of what happens when we die seemed just the most fascinating thing in the world to think about. And now, with so many dead about us — our people, theirs — it just seems silly. What, today, dost thou think?”
Naä shrugged. “Well, I’ve always thought thinking about how to live was more important than thinking about after we die. One likes to assume death will take care of itself. It’s just a bit disconcerting to see so many other people putting so much energy into taking care of it for you. Life has always been such a surprise, death, I expect — even if it’s nothing — will be one too.”
Which, to Rimgia, sounded very wise. The two women walked on through the late afternoon, looking up in the air again and again.
The shack was dark and hot. At one side of the room, blinking about sullenly, a young soldier lay, his leg in a wad of bloody bandage. At the fire, the old weaver glanced up, then went back to stirring her pot over crackling flames. The smell of wintergreen and something vinegary escaped in the steam whipping from the rim.
Some rural remedy, that — however bitter on the tongue, however turgid in the belly — would return the moribund to life?
Or perhaps a country potion, that — if one was lucky, did nothing or, if one was not — hastened the end?
The pallet on the near side was much bloodier; and when, from where he lay, the prince began to speak, the young soldier turned away, in disinterest or exhaustion.
“Ah, you’ve come — it is you, isn’t it? I can’t see very well. How odd…excuse me; this terrible lack of breath, panting — it’s all I can do. How odd it is that we have come so near to changing places, you and I. What a very little time ago it was, when, here in this shack in which we were keeping you, you knew that you’d be dead in hours… then in minutes… then, when you were led across the grass, in moments — and I looked down on it all. Now I’m the one who knows I have only hours left — perhaps not even that. And there you stand, watching, with not much to say. Come here…come closer. We share a mission, you and I — Ah, when that boy’s blade went into my chest, I could actually feel — beyond the pain, as I fell, not quite unconscious — I could feel the metal inside, against my heart, feel my heart beating against the blade, pushing against the edge that actually touched it, with each pulse, doubtless cutting itself to ribbons, even as he wrested it free of my ribs — if I could only get in a real breath! This panting, like a woman in labor, just to bring forth my death! But I wonder if you’ll ever know how cursedly annoying it is to feel the inside of your body. It’s quite the strangest thing there is. That poor, mad Çironian, with his ax — I liked him, you know? Is it so strange to say? He rather reminded me of myself — myself a long, long time ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if, years from now, he doesn’t begin to remind a few people of me! Give me your hand there — no, take mine. Take it…did you take it? By Kirke, I can’t even feel it! Really, it’s probably him I should be talking to, not you. Though in all likelihood he can make the transition — I trust he can make the transition, without my help. I can’t see him staying on here in this town much longer — any more than I can see it for you! They will be happy to have him, certainly — for a day, a week, a month even. But he will not be able to stay here long. Soon he will have to go — of his own accord, if the town is lucky. Else they will have to drive him out — or kill him: an outlaw in this grotty village with no laws to speak of. For soon they will realize they are harboring that most dangerous creature, a young man who has defied the highest, most rigorous, most rigid law, defied it with mayhem and destruction and most wanton murders — ten, eleven, twelve murders I have heard; thirteen, when I die — and gotten away scot free! No, he must go — even if it takes him a month, a year, five years to be on his way. Really, I would like to be around to observe what happens… Come closer, closer. We must be closer, you and I. I can’t even see the color of your eyes. Please, you must come closer… excuse me for whispering. But I have to conserve my strength — though, for what, I cannot guess. But still — I still feel something separates us, like…like what? Like a blood drop run down a…Oh, I cannot tell you how the notion of eternity bores me — not to mention all the silly stories we’re always making up to render the idea palatable! A universe where one has to die is so uninteresting — you can understand how we’re always flirting with the idea of letting in a bit more evil, then just a bit more — to liven things up. No, come closer. Closer — no… this place, in its stinking particularity, doesn’t have much of the eternal about it. We’re probably in one of those benighted little cultures where every three, five, or seven years, the locals go off on a journey in the wilds, in hopes of becoming a little less local after all. Well, I think that’s what you probably need, just about now. You were not a good officer. But you might still make a good man. I think you would like to be a certain sort of man — even, yes, I dare to say it, a good one. But, no, you aren’t now. At least not yet. Just ask that boy staring at the thatch, across the room. Or any one of them down in the council-house cellar. Still, to be the man you want to be, you have merely to pursue yourself — passionately, brutally, blindly, looking for no thanks! It means, yes, doing what you feel is right — I have always tried to do what was right. But long ago I learned that being right was a brutal, cruel, and thankless position. Ah — I wish I could see you more clearly! If you pursue yourself in that manner, your friends will criticize you for it, call you a fool — as I have called you. But then, with only a few unhappy moments, I’ve always considered myself your friend. The things that made you hate me, I only did to shock you, to wake you up, to make you become yourself… and you are chuckling bitterly now, saying: Yes, that’s why he condemned me to death! Well, what we criticize in you, cultivate. That’s you. And promise me — promise me, that you will, indeed. you will go on to pursue the person you are so close to becoming yet are so far away from. It isn’t a very big promise; but I want that promise to fall, like a severing blade, between you and your ever taking the notion for granted that, finally, you have achieved it. For then, my friend, you will be in my position — I promise you. So, we have promises to exchange, you and I. Oh, I would love to be able to promise you more than that — more than what is simply inevitable. Come closer, please… hold my hand tighter. Don’t let anything hold us apart — not now. Let me do this. Let me…I can’t feel you at all. Tighter! A little tighter? Oh…!” The prince made a sudden attempt to pull air into his ruined ribs that would not respond. And another. Then, he whispered: “It’s going to happen! It’s going to — ” For choking moments behind the beard, his face took on a look of pained surprise, that, slowly, subsided — till the head dropped to the side. Bubbles in the red froth at his mouth’s corner burst against beard hair. Breath was gone.