Cold fingers closed over his wrist. The woman’s touch startled him. He nearly leapt out of his shoes, his feet slid in opposite directions, stirred up a cloud of choking dust. Alfred tottered and blinked, sneezed, and wished himself anywhere else, including the Labyrinth. Did she think he was in league with the enemy? He cringed and waited fearfully for her to speak.
“How nervous you are! Please, calm yourself.” Orla regarded him thoughtfully.
“I suppose, though, that this must have been as great a shock to you as to us. You must be hungry and thirsty. I know I am. Will you walk with me?” There was nothing terrifying—even for Alfred—in being invited to dine. He was hungry. He’d had little time and less inclination for food on Abarrach. The thought of dining once more in peace and quiet, with his brothers and sisters, was blessed. For these were truly his people, truly like those he knew before he had himself taken his long sleep. Perhaps that’s why Samah’s doubts disturbed him so. Perhaps that’s why his own doubts disturbed him.
“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you,” Alfred said, glancing at Orla almost shyly. She smiled at him. Her smile was tremulous, hesitant, as if not often used. But it was a beautiful smile, and brought light to her eyes. Alfred stared at her in dumb admiration.
His spirits rose, flying so high that the walls and all thought of walls fell far down below him, out of sight, out of mind. He walked beside her, leaving the dusty chamber. Neither spoke, but moved together companionably, emerging onto a scene of quiet, efficient bustle. Alfred was thinking, and not being very careful with his thoughts, apparently.
“I am flattered at your regard for me, Brother,” Orla said to him softly, a faint blush on her cheek. “But it would be more proper for you to keep such thoughts private.”
“I ... beg your pardon!” Alfred gasped, his face burning. “It’s just . . . I’m not used to being around . . .”
He made a fluttering gesture with his hand, encompassing the Sartan, who were busily employed in restoring life to what had been dead for centuries. Alfred darted a swift and guilty glance around, fearing to see Samah glowering at him. But the Councillor was deeply engrossed in discussion with a younger man in perhaps his midtwenties, who, by his resemblance, must be the son Samah had mentioned.
“You fear he’s jealous.” Orla tried to laugh lightly, but her attempt failed, ended in a sigh. “Truly, Brother, you haven’t been around many Sartan, if you are mindful of such a mensch weakness.”
“I’m doing everything wrong.” Alfred shook his head. “I’m a clumsy fool. And I can’t blame it on living among mensch. It’s just me.”
“But matters would have been different had our people survived. You would not have been alone. And you have been very much alone, haven’t you, Alfred?” Her voice was tender, pitying, compassionate.
Alfred was very near to tears. He tried to respond cheerfully. “It hasn’t been as bad as you suppose. I’ve had the mensch . . .”
Orla’s look of pity increased.
Alfred, seeing it, protested. “No, it isn’t the way you imagine. You underestimate the mensch. We all did, I believe.
“I remember what it was like before I slept. We hardly ever walked among the mensch, and when we did, it was only to come to them as parents, visiting the nursery. But I have lived long among them. I’ve shared their joys and sorrows, I’ve known their fears and ambitions. I’ve come to understand how helpless and powerless they feel. And, though they’ve done much that was wrong, I can’t help but admire them for what they have accomplished.”
“And yet,” said Orla, frowning, “the mensch have, as I see in your mind, fallen to warring among themselves, slaughtering each other, elf battling human, human fighting dwarf.”
“And who was it,” asked Alfred, “who inflicted the most terrifying catastrophe ever known upon them? Who was it who killed millions in the name of good, who sundered a universe, who brought the living to strange worlds, then left them to fend for themselves?”
Two bright red spots blazed in Orla’s cheeks. The dark line deepened in her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” Alfred hastened to apologize. “I have no right ... I wasn’t there . . .”
“You weren’t there, on that world that seems so near to me in my heart, and yet which my head tells me is long lost. You don’t know our fear of the growing might of the Patryns. They meant to wipe us out completely, genocide. And then what would have been left for your mensch? A life of slavery beneath the iron-heeled boot of totalitarian rule. You don’t know the agony the Council underwent, trying to determine how best to fight this dire threat. The sleepless nights, the days of bitter arguing. You don’t know our own, our personal agony. Samah himself—” She broke off abruptly, biting her lip. She was adept at concealing her thoughts, revealing only those she wanted. Alfred wondered what she would have said had she continued. They had walked a long distance, far from the Hall of Sleep. Blue sigla ran along the bottom of the walls, guiding their way through a dusty corridor. Dark rooms branched off it, rooms that would soon become temporary Sartan living quarters. For now, however, the two stood alone in the rune-lit darkness.
“We should be turning back. I had not meant to come this far. We’ve passed the dining area.” Orla started to retrace her steps.
“No, wait.” Alfred put a hand on her arm, startled at his own temerity in detaining her. “We may never have another chance to talk alone like this. And ... I must understand! You didn’t agree, did you? You and some of the other Council members.”
“No. No, we didn’t.”
“What did you want to do?”
Orla drew a deep breath. She wasn’t looking at him; she remained turned away. For a moment, Alfred thought she wasn’t going to answer, and she apparently thought so, too, but then, with a shrug, she changed her mind.
“You will find out soon enough. The decision to make the Sundering was talked of, debated. It caused bitter disputes, split families.” She sighed, shook her head. “What action did I counsel? None. I counseled that we do nothing, except take a defensive stand against the Patryns, should we be attacked. It was never certain they would, mind you. It was only what we feared . . .”
“And fear was victorious.”
“No!” Orla snapped angrily. “Fear wasn’t the reason we made the decision, at last. It was the longing to have the chance to create a perfect world. Four perfect worlds! Where all would live in peace and harmony. No more evil, no more war . . . That was Samah’s dream. That was why I agreed to cast my vote with his over all other objections. That was why I didn’t protest when Samah made the decision to send ...”
Again, she stopped herself.
“Send?” Alfred prompted.
Orla’s expression grew chill. She changed the subject. “Samah’s plan should have worked. Why didn’t it? What caused it to fail?” She glared at him, almost accusingly.
Not me! was Alfred’s immediate protest. It wasn’t my fault. But, then again, maybe it was, he reflected uncomfortably. Certainly I’ve done nothing to make things better.
Orla walked back down the corridor, her steps brisk. “We’ve been away too long. The others will be worried about us.”
The runelight began to fade.
“He is lying.”
“But, Father, that’s not possible. He’s a Sartan—”
“A weak-minded Sartan, who has been traveling in the company of a Patryn, Ramu. J-te’s obviously been corrupted, his mind taken over. We cannot blame him. He has had no Councillor to turn to, no one to help him in his time of trial.”
“Is he lying about everything?”
“No, I don’t believe so,” Samah said, after a moment’s profound thought. “The images of our people lying dead in their sleeping chambers on Arianus, the images of the Sartan practicing the forbidden art of necromancy on Abarrach, were too real, far too real. But those images were brief, fleeting. I’m not certain I understand. We must question him further to learn exactly what has happened. Mostly, though, I must know more about this Patryn.”