Finally, there were those who argued that the relationships between Sapas Humana and the dream-sea were all in the mind, and any attempt to measure distance was doomed to failure. Surely, they opined, the space between one thought and another was beyond the wit of any man to measure. they were accused of defeatism by some of their enemies; of shoddy metaphysics by others. Men and women only entered the dream-sea three times, they were reminded. For the rest of their lives Quiddity was a lot further than a thought away. Not so, the leader of this faction-a mystic from Joom called Carasophia-argued. The wall between the Cosm and the Metacosm was getting steadily thinner, and would-he predicted-soon disappear altogether, at which point the minds of Sapas Humana, which seemed so pathetically literal, would be revealed to be purveyors of the miraculous, even in their present, primal state.
Carasophia had died for his theories, assassinated in a field of sunflowers outside Eliphas, but he would have found comforting evidence for his beliefs had he wandered through the minds of the people gathered along the parade route in Everville. People were dreaming today, even though their eyes were wide open.
Parents dreaming of being free as their children; children dreaming of having their parents' power.
Lovers seeing the coming night in each other's eyes; old folks, staring at their hands, or at the sky, seeing the same.
Dreams of sex, dreams of oblivion; dreams of circus and bacchanalia.
And further down the parade route, sitting by the window from which he'd so recently fallen, a man dreaming of how it would be when he had the Art for himself, and time and distance disappeared forever.
"Owen?" Buddenbaum had not expected to see the boy again; at least not this side of midnight. But here he was, looking as invitingly languorous as ever.
"Well, well-"
"How are you?" Seth said.
"Mending."
"Good. I brought some cold beers."
"That was thoughtful."
"I guess it's a peace offering."
"Consider it accepted," Buddenbaum said. "Come here and sit down." He patted the boards beside him. "You look weary."
"I didn't sleep well."
"Hammefings in heaven?"
"No. I was thinking about you."
"Oh dear."
"Good thoughts," Seth said, settling himself down beside Buddenbaum.
"Really?"
"Really. I want to come with you, Owen."
"Come with me where?"
"Wherever you're going after this." "I'm not going anywhere," Owen said.
"You're going to live in Everville?"
"I'm not going to live anywhere."
"Is that just some way of saying you don't want me around," Seth said,
"'cause if it is, why don't you just come right out and say it and I'll go?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying at all," Owen replied.
"Then I don't understand."
Owen peered out of the window, chewing something over. "I know so little about you," he said. "And yet I feel-"
"What?"
"I've never really trusted anybody," Owen said. "That's the truth of it. I've wanted to many times, but I was always afraid of being disappointed." He looked at Seth. "I know I've cheated myself of a lot of feelings," he went on, his turmoil plain, "maybe even love. But it was what I chose, and it kept me from being hurt."
"You've never loved anybody?"
"Infatuations, yes. Daily. In Italy, hourly. All ridiculous, all of them. Humiliating and ridiculous. But love? No. I could never trust anyone enough to love them." He sighed heavily. "And now it's almost too late."
"Why?"
"Because sentimental love is a human affliction, and I won't be susceptible for very much longer. There. I've said it."
"You mean-you won't be human?" "That's what I mean."
"This is because of the avatars?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Explain it, will you?"
"Stand up," Owen said, coaxing Seth to his feet. "Now look out of the window." Seth did so. Owen stood behind him and laid his hands on Seth's shoulders. "Look down at the intersection."
There was no traffic below; the streets had been turned over to pedestrians until the parade was finished.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Seth wanted to know.
"You'll see," Owen said, his hands moving up to Seth's neck.
"Am I getting a massage?"
"Hush for a moment," Owen said. "Just-let the vision come.
Seth felt a tingling at the nape of his neck, which quickly spread up into the base of his skull. He let out a little sigh of pleasure. "That feels good."
"Keep your eyes on the road."
"I wish you'd just... " The remark fell away. He gasped, and grabbed hold of the windowsill. "Oh. My. God." The intersection was melting; the streets turning into laval rivers, decorated with flickering bands of scarlet and gold. they were moving-all four of them-towards the center of the crossroads, their brilliance increasing and their breadth diminishing, so that by the time they met they were narrowed to blazing ribbons, so bright Seth could only bear to look at the place for a heartbeat.
"What is this?" he breathed.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Oh God, yes. Did you make it?"
"A thing like this isn't made, Seth. It doesn't come out of the air, like a poem. All I can do is set it in motion."
"All right. Did you set it in motion?"
"Yes I did. A very long time ago."
:'You still haven't told me what it is.
'It's an invitation to a dance," Owen said softly, his mouth close to Seth's ear.
"What kind of dance?"
"The dance of being and becoming," he said. "Look at it, and forget your angels, hammering in the sky from heaven's side. This is where the miracles come."
"Where things meet."
"Precisely."
"Myjoumey ends at the crossroads. That's what you said."
"Remember that, later on," Owen said, his voice hardening. "Remember I never lied to you. I never told you I was here forever."
"No you didn't. I wish you had, but you didn't." "As long as we understand each other, we can have some fun today."
Seth turned his gaze from the street now. "I don't think I can look at it any longer," he said. "It makes me feel sick."
Owen ran his hand lightly over Seth's skull. "There," he said. "It's gone."
Seth looked back at the intersection. The vision had indeed disappeared. "What's going to happen?" he said to Owen. "You just stand in the middle of the crossroads and something comes to take you away?"
"Nothing so simple," Owen replied.
"What then?"
:'I'm not even sure myself."
'But you know what's going to happen to you, at the end of all this?"
"I know I'll be free from time. The past, the future and the dreaming moment between will be one immortal day - - - " His voice grew softer as he quoted the words, until by the end it was barely audible.
"What's the dreaming moment?" Seth said. Owen drew the youth closer to him, and laid a kiss on his lips. "You don't need me to work that one out," he said.
"But I do," Seth said, "I don't want you to go, Owen." "I have to," Buddenbaum said. "I'm afraid I have no choice in the matter."