From: kjc@aramis.rutgers.edu (Kelly J. Cooper) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [MG] He walks in beauty, like the night... Keywords: a girl, a bird, a vampire, a warrior Message-ID: Date: 13 Aug 93 23:08:11 GMT [Admin: This was written with Andrea Evans. It occurs at approximately the same time as Bernie's "Coda: Nireen"] "When blood sees blood Of its own It sings to see itself again It sings to hear the voice it's known It sings to recognize the face" Suzanne Vega, "Blood Sings" "Butterflies live for exactly the right amount of time." -Amanda * * * >Finally the tears came, a slow ragged release. Kadrys knelt on the coverlet and folded her into his arms, his embrace light on her scarred back. That same delicate touch stroking her hair. Rocking with her, just slightly. Feeling the knotted tension in her muscles, the uncontrollable nervous quivering. The racking breathing. Holding her. Letting her cry it out. Finally, he murmured to her, so quietly she felt his voice as a rumble in his chest, as much as she heard it. "Jameson. Shhh now. Listen to me." He leaned back, stared earnestly at her. "Jameson. Please. Listen." Sniffing, she nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "These beings, this ReaversChild, this Servant of Hope, were equal in might. In dissolution, their minds, their memories opened themselves in you, like vast, opposing chasms. You are suspended between them. You walk a tightrope, the line of your life. The pain of your wounds, the shock of these beings' memories, both are making you lean too far toward Despair. If you lean too far, you will fall. You _must_ remember Hope." Suddenly, he reached out, scooped up the bird, and in one rapid movement backed away from the bed. He faced her across the width of the room, standing as straight and stern as a statue, holding out the bird to her. Her eyes widened, staring at him in disbelief as she fumbled unsuccessfully to stop him. His voice rang like drawn steel. "The line of your life still stretches on before you. So _walk_ it! Remember who you are. Jameson - Who is - Walker! You are who you are, and you cannot fail to walk the path before your feet!" And she stood, unaware of her protesting muscles, and stumbled slowly toward him, eyes never leaving the bird. Her face was haggard and pale except for her eyes. They burned, large and dark, focused entirely on the tiny body in the vampire's outstretched palms. Reaching Kadrys, she gently lifted the bird from his hands and cradled it to herself, making small noises of comfort. Then she looked up, and her angry eyes fastened on his. He met her stare with a smile. "Did you feel any pain? Did you remember your wounds? Did you have any confusion, any trouble controlling their memories, their voices?" His smile widened. "No! You did what you had to. You remembered how to walk that line, unswayed by anything they could do to you!" The ring of pride in his voice softened. "Do you see it now? You've been so focused on your inner world, on your shock, on wondering how you'll deal with it, that you forgot you already knew the answer." He took a step toward her and she flinched, but stood still. "How do you live your life? In the end, there are no profound answers to that question, none at all. You just live it. You do what you were born to do. You walk that line, one step at a time." He reached out a hand, traced a fading scar on her cheek with the faintest stroke of a fingertip. "You forgot what your body knew all along. Wounds heal, with time. Even wounds of the mind. They always will, for as long as there is life." "And hope." The pinched frown of her forehead and lips unfolded, gradually, and the taut look faded from her eyes. A small smile dawned on Jameson's face, as slowly as if she were inventing the expression anew. It lit her, seeming to shine through her skin as brightly as the flame of a paper lantern. Kadrys basked in the warmth of that smile. "Yes," he murmured, "for as long as there is hope." Jameson lightly touched the bird cradled in her hands, lowering her head to brush her lips against its feathers, then turned away. One halting step and one steady brought her to the bed where she settled it on the coverlet, touching its head before straightening up and facing Kadrys again. Across the room, she held out her slender arms to him, as if silently underlining the point that she was now strong enough not to need the bird's constant contact. The extended arms were not an invitation to an embrace: she held both hands out toward him, their edges pressed together, palm upmost. He found himself staring at the white butterfly etched on each palm. Lacework of scars. Beauty formed of pain and healing. And then, before his eyes, the drops sprang up along those white lines, swelled and ran together in thin bright streams. His heart thudded like a fist as the realization hit him, and he raised his eyes to hers, in a long dark gaze more eloquent than words. Slowly, he sank to his knees before her. In her simple white shirt she looked like some frail goddess, offering the sacramental wine. He stared down into her cupped hands, now filled with her blood. He lowered his head, touched his lips to that warm surface, drew it slowly into his mouth, let it flow into the depths of his body. She stared at him, a strange expression in her eyes as she looked down at him, at his thick black hair, the angular lines of his shoulders as they bowed before her. She saw the shudder of ecstasy rippling through his body, the muscles tightening in his back as he gradually buried his face in her hands, his throat working, drinking deeply of her gift. And most of all, blended with the physical sound, his muffled husky moan of pleasure, an altogether different sensation... The song of his bloodmusic. Bathing her senses in his bliss, spiralling upwards around her, rising to a glorious crescendo. She was enfolded in it and lifted, to soar with it. The chills raced through her body, tingling in her nerves, reawakening them to experiences far removed from her earlier pain. Eventually her body's wisdom acted for her, slowly closing the wounds she had willed to open. She could feel his tongue licking at her palms, tickling the sensitive scar tissue. He laid his hands, warm, over the backs of hers, drew them apart, pressed them to his face, her palms cupping the stark cheekbones. As her scars finally closed, he opened her hands, lifting them away. His cheeks bore the outlines of her scars, delicate patterns painted in the last of her gift, like red tattoos. Then the images faded without trace, as her blood sank into his skin and was absorbed. For a long, long moment he simply stared up at her, before slowly rising to his feet. Wonder shone in the depths of his eyes. Then, the intense moment faded, as he drew a long, shivering breath, and slowly found his voice. "I - I've never... You... It was like... a starlit sky." He shook his head slowly, struggling against the inability of words to match the sensations he had known. "Countless sparks of life, borne along in that rich river. Touching me. Trying to enter my body. But, at the touch, flickering. Going out one by one, only to be replaced by others, and others again. Like... like standing in a snowfall. Every moment, thousands of tiny crystals, an instant's tingling touch from each, before they melt. What _were_ they, these myriad lives? Jameson, what manner of being _are_ you?" His voice was soft with awe. Again, she smiled. Only slightly easier this time. "Nothing special, singer. No one significant. What you felt are my little machines, my 'nanites.' They're a bit like the tiny disease-creatures that live everywhere, but my... Mother... made them. Biological machines. To repair my body." A quick frown, "Like artificial white cells?" She nodded slowly and sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Yes and no. They are more flexible. I can tell them to do particular tasks white cells can't, like changing my body structure." She gently lifted the bird and set him in her lap. Then she looked at Kadrys, her head to one side, "They wouldn't have changed you. They were tailored for my body. They died as soon as they tried to enter yours." He nodded, smiling slowly. "Whatever the cause, the effect was ... wonderful. But I can't agree with you on _one_ point!" The smile sharpened to a grin as she raised an eyebrow, "You most certainly _are_ something special." He chuckled at her expression of disbelief and she joined him almost shyly. It was a warm, companionable sound, and it filled the little room. The next moment the sound was gently interrupted by the creak of the door hinges. A woman in a simple white dress stood in the doorway framed by the light spilling into the room. Her eyes were fixed on the bird, which had struggled to its feet in Jameson's lap and stood, both wings spread out toward her in a heraldic, formal gesture, a shining arc of plumes. She smiled sadly at the bird. Then, the woman looked upward to Jameson's face, and raised a quiet, melodious voice into the silence. "My name is Nireen. You would be Dariel's friend. I have come to take him home..." --- Feedback appreciated. Kelly J. Cooper kjc@cs.rutgers.edu