“The ‘egg’ is not just this world, but all of creation, all of the stars, all of the worlds, even the worlds beyond the worlds. And all of creation is still new. Even now, it is only a soft egg inside the womb. But someday, slowly, slowly, the bad will be separated from the good and will harden out to the edges, becoming like the shell. And inside the egg new life will be born.”
“But what kind of life?” Denton asked again.
“Sahee,” Yule answered. God.
That night in the hut, Denton was wired. Eyanna stood in the doorway looking out at the night as he paced, talking eagerly.
“This is good. We’ll be safe here. The people are nice, and I believe them when they say they don’t sacrifice to the skalkits. They’re a little boring maybe, and it’ll be hard work, but it is better than getting tied to trees. Don’t you think so, Eyanna?”
He wanted her to admit it. In fact, it would be nice if she’d fall at his feet as her savior. More or less. Instead, she just gazed out into the night.
“Don’t you think so?”
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were bright with what he thought were happy tears. That was better.
“I could bring my children here,” she said in a full voice.
He hesitated, stopping in the middle of the floor. He was a little annoyed. They just got here, for god’s sake. What the heck did she want from him? And, anyway, her children were in Sapphia—nice, faraway, never-going-near-there-again Sapphia.
“Maybe. Someday.” He started pacing again. “For now, we have a place to live and I think we can be happy here. Especially if… if we’re nice to each other. Do you not think so, Eyanna?”
She gave him a look that reminded him, oddly, of Dave Banks.
“Eyanna? I mean… Come on!”
“Yes, Denton. This is a good place.”
He smiled at her, pleased.
The next morning, Eyanna was gone. Denton knew it as soon as he opened his eyes and saw that she was not in the hut. But still, he was not absolutely sure. He went outside and looked for her around the village, but it was not a big place and it was obvious that she was not there.
Some of the villagers, including Yule, were sitting at the fire in the center of the village and they watched him search without comment. He finally joined them.
“She has left,” Yule observed as Denton sat down.
“Yes. She left.”
Someone offered him a cup of water. He took it. His stomach growled.
“You will go after her?”
Denton thought about it. He had a hard time even knowing what he felt, much less expressing it. “Eyanna was not my woman. She can do what she likes.” He meant it more politely than it sounded, supportive in a women’s lib kind of way, but it came out wrong. “She will come back,” he amended.
And she might. He thought she intended to. But then, he knew where she was going, and he thought her chances of grabbing those children and getting out of Sapphia alive were only slightly greater than his chances of having a cheeseburger, fries, and milk shake for dinner.
But anyway, he wasn’t going after her. She didn’t ask him to and it was none of his business. In fact… it was a bit harsh maybe, but it was not a totally bad thing that she was gone. He could start with a clean slate now. He would not have to be reminded of… of things that had not gone so well between them. And without her here, the Khashtan females might warm up to him and he might not have to live in a perpetual state of frustration. Eyanna was beautiful, but she definitely had some codependency issues.
It was a warm morning, but he suddenly got a bad chill. Yule watched him cough, a wracking, chunky one, and lit up a smoke.
Denton was sick for three days. He felt guilty. He was taking up someone’s hut and not helping gather food at all. If he were in Sapphia, he’d be dino meat. But he couldn’t help it. His legs were watery and the thing that burned in his throat had expanded into his stomach and bowels. He had a terrible headache and he couldn’t catch his breath. It was some native bug, he knew, something horrible, like smallpox or malaria. He lay in his hut wanting to die.
On the third morning, Yule visited him. He felt Denton’s head and limbs, made him open his mouth, and looked in his eyes. Then he sat back on his heels.
“This is a sickness of the head,” he said.
So much for native medicine, Denton thought.
The old man lit up a weed. “Tonight I make a special drink. With this drink, you can see God. If you take some of this drink with me, you will maybe see what is wrong in your heart.”
“No thank you,” Denton said.
Yule smiled. “You can stay sick also. It is up to you.”
That night, Denton let himself into the old man’s hut. It was no different from any of the others in the village on the outside. Inside, the smoke was thick and it had a sharp, bitter taste. Over the fire pit, a pot was boiling. Yule squatted next to it, his long skinny legs folded like a crane’s. He wore an undyed tunic. The only other person present was a young male who attended the pot, throwing in dried herbs in pinches and stirring carefully.
It was about what Denton had expected, but he almost chickened out. He had nothing against hallucinogenics. They were all very well and good in the right place and time. But taking major drugs while he was already sick as a dog had little appeal.
Yule was looking at him.
Denton cleared his throat trying to disengage the lump. Damn, it hurt so freaking bad. “Do you truly think this will help?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Denton’s legs were shaky, strengthless. He took a seat on a blanket and propped his back up against the wall, panting.
Words were chanted over the potion; gestures were made in the air. It was all very Carlos Castaneda. Into the potion went the juice of several black spiky fruits. There was more stirring. Steam was coming from the pot now and, along with the smoke, created a miasma in the air. The potion was poured into a cup and it was thick like dirty oil and only slightly greener. Denton got a whiff of it on a breeze—yeasty and bad, like something that had lain in a mausoleum for several weeks.
But somehow it didn’t matter anymore. The smoke was settling his stomach, soothing his throat, and making him feel… drowsy. Cool. He relaxed into the wall more and more, his limbs heavy. It was the first relief he’d had in days.
The assistant had prepared a blanket for the old man on the opposite side of the fire. Yule lowered himself down and stretched out on his back. When he had arranged himself he raised his torso on one elbow and reached out his hand. The assistant placed the cup in it. Yule muttered a final prayer or incantation and then took a large gulp. He handed the cup back to the assistant and lay down, shutting his eyes. The assistant rose and came over to Denton. Denton watched him approach from the far, far, far side of the moon. And when the hand stretched out to him holding the cup, his own hand reached up and took it.
The stuff in the cup tasted bad—bad bad. It was a taste that said, You really shouldn’t drink me. It was a taste that said, This stuff is not intended for living things. With its hideousness it snapped him out of his warm and fuzzy state. He had to swallow repeatedly to keep it down. He scanned for water, anything, but there was nothing in sight.
Time got indistinct. How long had he been looking for water? He didn’t know. But the cup was gone and the assistant was on the other side of the fire. Denton looked at Yule’s face. The old man was changing. Denton saw a tremor go through Yule’s lean body. He looked shinier in the firelight. A veil of sweat had broken out all over his skin. He was absolutely still. Denton could not see him breathing. He appeared dead.