In the Deadlands (26 page)

“Breakfast!” I demanded, and once more given purpose, the servants disappeared into the hallways and corridors of the castle. Their footsteps faded into silence.

When I turned back to the other, he was standing—a bit unsteady, but able to move without difficulty. I offered him a hand (for the first time I noticed how thin and wrinkled it was), but he waved it off. Together we moved down the stairs, and he watched in curiosity as I threw back the bolts and opened the great bronze doors. I had to explain to him about the night and the forest—he did not remember—and that led to an explanation of how we rescued him. He did not ask why.

Outside, he stared up at the castle. He bent to examine the crystal surface of the walk, ticked at it with a fingernail, then smiled in embarrassment at being so curious.

The table was set with the morning meal, but there was only one chair.

The servant came when I called. He stared at me uncomprehendingly; his eyes were blank lenses. “Breakfast,” I demanded and indicated the table. Only one set of steaming covered dishes sat there.

The servant stepped forward, he hesitated confusedly, looked at me, then started to remove the plates already there.

“No,” I cut him off. “Leave those.”

He replaced them, straightened, hesitated again, wheeled on one foot—

“No. Don't leave. Bring another serving.”

The servant looked at me—blank eyes, blank lenses. He shifted his feet unsteadily.
I delight in their confusion, do I?
I crossed to the flyer and led him over to the chair, forced him to sit. “Eat.”

“But, I can't. This is your meal—”

“You need it more than me.” To the servant, “Bring me breakfast. I have no meal, I have no chair.” To the flyer, “Eat.” He took a tentative bite of food.

Abruptly the servant moved. He made one last try to clear the table. If this is not food, then it must be waste; he reached for the plates. “No,” I stopped him again. “That is to be left there. Now bring me a chair and a meal.”

The golden figure hesitated again, its naked body gleaming. It was silent and its eyes were empty. Had I gotten through to it? Did it understand? What thoughts whirred through that crystal mind? Was it deciding that the other man, the other meal, were not to be considered at all, that they were beyond the scope of its existence? Was it remembering its primary function that I must be served?

Abruptly it turned and disappeared into the castle. I would soon find out.

With the servant gone, the flyer laid down his fork. “I'll wait. If he doesn't bring you a meal, we can share this.”

I shook my head in annoyance. “No.” Then, realizing my curtness, I softened my tone. “I'm sorry, but this must be established now. Please eat.”

“Are you sure? I—”

“I'm sure.” I smiled at him reassuringly. He was so young. He took another tentative bite.

He need not have worried. The servant was returning, and he was carrying a (Where had he found that?) second chair, a mate to the one already at the table. Another servant appeared with a table setting, followed by a third who bore a steaming covered tray.

I had won a small victory in my world; I had forced a change in the daily routine! Or had the flyer forced the change? No matter. Things
could
be changed. Not without effort, but they could be
changed.

The day was bright, the sky was high and blue. We sat in a garden of death beside a crystal castle and shared a meal. The meat was red and spicy, the nectar clear and sweet. I ate, but it was difficult to do more than just sit and stare at this other, this beautiful other.

My thoughts must have shown in my face, for he asked, “Why are you smiling like that?”

It was a hard question to answer. How can you share loneliness? How can you tell someone that you are thankful simply for his existence? I would reach out and touch him, but would he understand? It would be only to reassure myself that this is not, after all, a dream. Finally, I just said, “I'm happy. That's all. Just happy.”

He looked back at me; his eyes were deep. A hint of a smile appeared on his face. It was uncertain, and he covered it by bending again to his meal.

Later, we walked in the garden and I showed him the grounds of the castle. He still did not understand yet what it was; thought instead that it was a luxurious palace; thought that I was
its
keeper.

We walked down to the edge of the forest and I showed him the night creepers and the poisonous flowers and told him how we had had to save him from all that. He kept wanting to touch the delicate pastel blossoms; it was as if he had never known fear or pain; several times I had to stop him. The danger of the night cannot be understated. When we turned away, his face was troubled.

The servant, as always, was waiting with water. Only one goblet, of course; they do not learn easily. We shared it. First I drank, then he, then I again. He finished it. Its frosty clarity still lingers in the mouth.

“You still haven't told me who you are,” he said.

“Someday, I will. Someday. Or perhaps you will find out for yourself.”

“Why not now?”

Hesitation. Then, “Because, first you must learn to trust me.”

“You say that as if there's some reason I shouldn't.” A smile.

“How do you know there isn't?”

He cocked his head thoughtfully, a beautiful gesture. Beautiful. “I don't, do I?” A pause. “So, who are you?”

“You're not listening.”

“Uh-uh,” he grinned. “Who are you?”

His good nature was infectious, but...“You'll have to trust me.”

“I do trust you. I don't know you well enough yet to have reason not to. But the more you refuse, the more I think that maybe I shouldn't.”

That hurt, but maybe it was meant to. Do
I
trust
him? Do I trust him enough?
“I am a human being,” I answered. “I have a human soul and a human body, and most of all, human feelings.”

It was the wrong answer; I could see that he wasn't satisfied with it. But he smiled, forced himself to smile, and said, “That sounds very mysterious.”

“I know. But trust me. Trust me.” And that too was the wrong thing to say, the wrong thing.
Trust me until I learn how to trust myself.
It was a wall between us, growing ever thicker.

Oh, how I long to break it down, but I can't.

Can't? Or won't?

And there the matter rested.

We were in the tower, listening to the blue wind tinkling the crystal chimes, little slivers of light frozen and dancing in the afternoon sun. The breeze played through them, a song without melody or rhythm.

“Is this all there is to your life?” he asked.

“Isn't it enough? I have no worries, no cares. All my wants are provided for.”

“Except companionship,” he said.

“Except companionship,” I had to agree. “But now that you are here...” His eyes grew troubled at that; I left the thought unfinished. Instead, I gestured to indicate the castle and the forest. “It
is
a paradise, you know.”

He was standing at the window then, gazing out at the deep valley. When I said it, he looked back at me. “Oh?”

“Yes. There are no other human beings around to spoil it.”

“And that makes it a paradise?”

“Shouldn't it? Other people are the source of all misery. Men are always trying to control other men. Nobody is ever content with his own piece of life; a man is always trying to impress himself onto others. Here, there are no others. I can be myself, freely, without the fear that anyone else will...force himself on me. I am protected.”

“And of course,” he said with that soft whimsy of his, “by the same token, they are protected from you.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “That's part of the reason for the castle.”

He turned back to the window, murmuring something. The wind, white colored now, ran airy fingers through his hair, and for a moment his words were lost to it. I asked him to repeat what he had said. Still looking out the window, he raised his voice. “I said, ‘it's no longer a paradise now.' Not by your definition.”

A pause. “Why is that?”

He paused too. “Because I'm here.”

“No,” I corrected him. “I'm glad you're here.”

He shook his head. “No. You said that people are always trying to force themselves upon other people. That applies to us too.”

“But there are only two of us.”

“It's enough. What's to keep me from trying to force my will upon you? Or vice versa?”

There was no answer to that. Instead, “Perhaps it isn't a paradise then. Or perhaps, perhaps we need to rethink our concepts of paradise. Perhaps paradise can't be paradise until you have someone to share it with.” And perhaps my voice quavered as I said it.

He didn't answer. He just stared out the window at that deep black valley.

Dinner was the same problem as breakfast, a subtle reminder that, whether I want it or not, I do have power over him. It is I who control whether or not he eats. But this time, the servant was quicker to realize the solution. Perhaps they can be taught to accommodate two people instead of one.

“But if they can,” he asked. “Will you? Would you willingly relinquish your power over me?”

“I don't
want
any power over you,” I snapped back. “I've already had my fill of power over other human beings. It was enough. It was
more
than enough. I don't want it ever again.”

“Oh, but you do,” he said.
“You do.”

I lowered my fork. “Explain that.”

“Your name. You won't tell me what your name is.”

“So?”

“That's an attempt to control my actions. By limiting my knowledge.”

I looked at him for a long moment. He was right, of course; his eyes were grim. At last, I broke away from that glance, concentrated instead on my meat.

Crystal tinkled against crystal. Except for that we ate in silence. The wall between us was perceptibly thicker. The silence was deafening. And it would continue until it became unbearable.

He broke it first. “You have a transmitter here, don't you?”

I shook my head, but he didn't notice.

He said, “I'd like to use it. I should try to get in touch with—”

“I'm sorry. There is no transmitter here.”

He still didn't get it. “But, you must—”

“I'm sorry,” I repeated. “There is no transmitter here. I thought you understood. There is no contact between this castle and anywhere else. Nothing.
Nothing at all.
We are cut off.”

“But, how—? There must be—”

Again. “I'm sorry. There isn't.”

“That can't be! How can I let them know that I'm still alive?”

“You can't,” I whispered, but he didn't hear me. “I must get back!” he insisted. “I can't stay here.”

“I'm afraid you have no choice. Like it or not, you have joined me in exile.”

“The servants! They must have some contact!” There was a growing desperation in his voice.

“No,” I said. “They're even greater prisoners than I. Oh, for a while I suspected that they were watching me and secretly reporting my actions to someone far away, but that was only a self-indulgent bit of fantasy on my part. The servants are nowhere near that sophisticated. No...
they
don't care about me anymore, not a bit. They've sealed me off and forgotten me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“If I still had any doubts about it, the servants' actions this morning would have been enough to dispel them. The servants were confronted with a new situation, one they were not programmed to cope with. They can't figure things out too well by themselves. It's obvious that they had no higher authority to check with, else there would have been no problem obtaining the second meal. In fact, it would have already been there. And you probably would have been rescued by now, I'm quite sure of that. They wouldn't have wanted you to be—contaminated.”

“But—when I don't return—”

“They have probably written you off already. The whole purpose of
this
—” and I indicated the castle, the mountain; the forest, the world, “— is that there should be
no contact.
”

And this time, it sank in.

His eyes were wide. “But—but, how could you let them—? How could you let yourself be so totally cut off from everything?” His face was a study in confusion.

“Think about it,” I said. “Do you think I had any choice in the matter?”

Night came, and the castle began to glow—pale pink, violet and shimmering blue, sparks of gold and black. Together we sealed the great bronze doors, hiding ourselves in the bright light of our chambers, hiding from the angry dark that wheels and hawks outside. With the windows closed, the cries of the flying things are muted, almost but not quite silenced.

He followed me as I made my rounds, checking every great door and each black window. Even the balconies and terraces must be sealed. Although the servants had preceded me in this
task, I would be unable to sleep until I also had checked. Even so, I still never feel safe in the night.

“The plants, are they really that deadly?”

I paused, I'd been running my hand up and down along a crystal seam. “Do you know that we are the only two warm-blooded creatures on this planet? If there are others, I've never seen them. Those things out there—the plants and the others—those things are hungry. Had they found a hole in your suit, we would have found only a rotting piece of meat.”

“You braved the night, though.”

“The servants did. I—I—couldn't. They wouldn't let me.” I dropped my hand from the sill and the seam I had been inspecting. Once more we moved down the hall. “There are
things
out there.
Things.
I've never gotten a clear glimpse of them, but I know they're there.”—He glanced nervously toward the window—“Oh, you can't see them from here. You have to go out into the forest. Way out. There's something about the castle they don't like; maybe it's the crystals. Anyway, they don't come near. They stay deep down in the valley; you can sense them. Great things they are, lumbering around in the dark. And silent. Silent. Never a sound. Never. If anything, they are the absence of sound. Great silences in the night.” I found myself repeating the words in morbid fascination and muttered to a stop.