“Indeed,” said I with a nod, recalling that even children of the wild will not attack if fire roars through the forests. “Those who consider themselves above the good of the clan are quickly ended, so that they shall not give the clan more daughters like themselves.”
“We made the mistake of feeling sorry for those children,” said S’Heernoh, a weariness now touching him. “They had been given about half the education which they normally would have had, and it was decided not to let them have any more, but also to let them keep what they’d already been given. They were all put in a very large shelter, a place of great beauty where all their needs were taken care of, but where they weren’t permitted to come in contact with the rest of society. They stayed in the shelter for many years, so many that most of us forget about them, and then one morning they were gone, they and all their belongings. They had somehow gotten access to a fleet of small ships gathered for a yearly race, had killed the owners and crew of the ships, and then had taken off in different directions. We knew then that we should have killed them before allowing them to run loose among innocent, unsuspecting people, but the realization had come too late.”
“And so you now pursue them?” asked Mehrayn, clearly having followed the male’s narration. “For what reason do you not ask the aid of others, others such as the stranger folk who have recently come to us? Would their wonders not make your task more easily accomplished?”
“No,” returned S’Heernoh, yet gently, for he clearly had no intentions of giving insult. “The last thing we want to do is get involved with the people you come from, and I don’t know if I can explain why. First let me say that the biggest problem we face is that you and we seem to share a common beginning; we don’t know how that can be or even what that common beginning was, but the fact can’t be denied. We all come from the same stock—but our race is many hundreds of years—kalod—older than yours.”
We all looked upon the male with lack of comprehension, and this he seemed to expect. Vexation touched him briefly, causing him to run a hand through his hair.
“Picture—picture a full-grown warrior and a child just beginning to learn the skill of a warrior,” said he at last, again groping for the proper phrases. “As a full-grown warrior yourself, you know that the child will reach your level of skill, but first it has to grow and learn and practice. But picture that child as one who thinks it’s already fully grown, and already has all the skill there is to be had. If it sees you, so much larger and so much more skilled, its first thought might be that it will never grow to match you, no matter how long it tries, so it might as well give up even before trying. Even if the child doesn’t think that, it might decide that there’s no need for it to work hard acquiring what you already have, and might march up to you and demand to be given your skill without working for it. If you agree, you destroy that child as a warrior; something given is never as precious and meaningful as something gotten by one’s own hard work. If you refuse, the child sees nothing but the refusal, nothing but a selfishness trying to keep a skill from others, and grows sullen with resentment. That child is now your enemy, and will never forget its hatred.
“The last thing that might happen is that as soon as the child sees you, it attacks. It knows you’re larger and more skilled, and is therefore afraid of you, afraid that you’ll attack first and kill it. It doesn’t stop to find out how honorable you are, it doesn’t ask you whether you would do something that terrible, it merely assumes you would and attacks to save itself. When it finds it can’t hurt you no matter how hard it tries, it curls up in shame and total defeat, and eventually dies. ”
“So the warrior may not show itself at all to the child,” said Ceralt, his gaze unmoving from S’Heernoh, his head nodding slowly in understanding. “To protect the child, and allow it to grow to warrior size, it must be kept from knowing of the warrior.”
“Or, should it somehow learn of the warrior, it must be allowed to believe that the warrior is evil,” said I, also gaining understanding. “To believe that the warrior is evil allows the child to look down upon her, and to strive for her downfall without generating fear or envy.”
“Exactly,” said S’Heernoh with a smile of approval, looking at each of us in turn. “We can’t ask the help of your people without hurting them terribly, and can’t even use our wonders ourselves, for fear the child will see the warrior. If we were totally alien to each other we’d have less of a problem; people who don’t look like you are different, so if they have more than you do, it’s just an accident that you’ll either ignore or work hard to match, because people different from you can’t possibly be as good. It’s a prejudice that helps a race survive.”
Both Ceralt and Mehrayn now nodded with understanding, following the concepts S’Heernoh presented, yet was I aware of distraction. An inner tugging fought for my attention, as though my body sought to draw my spirit back to it from the Snows, and I knew a great desire to obey that tugging. So easily might I just slide from that place, allowing it to blur and fade about me, returning to the thing I had sought so long and eagerly . . . .
“Jalav!” came S’Heernoh’s voice with a snap. returning me to the place of gray mist, in some manner blocking me from the destination I had nearly attained. The anger rose in me at such presumption, an anger which nevertheless brought little strength, and the dark eyes of the male grew soft with pain.
“I know you don’t want to be here,” said he, compassion and hurt clear in the words. “But if you go back to your body now, still feeling the way you do, you’ll die no matter what anyone does to try to save you. I can force anyone else on this world to live whether they want to or not, but not you. Your mind is too strong to be forced, and nothing but your wholehearted cooperation will let me save you.”
“You must listen and allow it, satya,” said Ceralt, his eyes and Mehrayn’s again upon me, both echoing the pain S’Heernoh showed. “We—are now aware of the reason for your doing such a thing, and have together vowed to cause you no further grief. We will both of us go our separate ways from you, never to burden you again with our presence.”
“We would not have you seek death by cause of our love,” said Mehrayn, the green of his eyes glistening somewhat even in that all gray place. “We will not face one another but will instead ride away, so that the woman of our heart may live.”
“Won’t you two ever learn?” asked S’Heernoh with a sigh as I looked down from Belsayah and Sigurri, feeling yet further of my strength slip away. “You’ve told her you love her, you’ve each told her how terrible the other one is, you’ve demanded that she choose between you, and you’ve each sworn to fight to the death for her. Now you’re telling her that you’ve both decided to walk out of her life, but you’ve never once asked her how she feels about any of it. Don’t either of you care?”
“Most certainly am I concerned over the feelings of my beloved,” said Mehrayn, the calm of his voice now tinged faintly with insult. “What man would not be concerned so?”
“Indeed,” said Ceralt, a certain stiffness to the agreement. “How is a man to bring his wench happiness, save that he makes himself aware of her feelings?”
“Well, I’m pleased to see that she’s so much in your thoughts,” said S’Heernoh, a familiar smoothness to his words above the pleasance. “Since you seem to know how important it is for a man to thoroughly understand his woman, I’m sure you both can explain her feelings to me so that I’ll understand them as well as you do.”