Read Lords of the Seventh Swarm Online
Authors: David Farland
Chapter 30
As the doors to his stateroom closed, Orick felt pensive. He had to decide about Tallea. He’d taken her into danger before, but never into anything as foolhardy as this. He owed her a decision.
So he wondered: do I continue teaching her as a missionary, as if she were some young cub first learning its catechism, or do I tell her of the love that’s in my heart?
Tallea had clambered into the room before him, her lumbering form oddly mesmerizing. For a black bear, she was rather small. Attractive, but not a classic beauty. His feelings for her ran deeper than they should. Orick had been drawn to her all along, even when she was still human. And it wasn’t right. No one who wanted to devote himself to God should feel this deeply in love with a she-bear.
Tallea hopped on the bed and closed her eyes, resting. When Orick didn’t move to join her, she said, “Gallen is right, we should get a moment’s rest while we can.”
Orick considered climbing next to her, but didn’t. He just stood, forlorn, trying to make up his mind about her.
Tallea opened her eyes to slits. “Did you want to tell me more of your stories about God?”
The idea hadn’t occurred to him. “They’re more than stories. At least they feel like that to me.”
“Tallea didn’t speak for a moment. “You can if you want. I don’t mind.”
But Orick felt uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” Orick said. “I shouldn’t have been making you listen to them all this time—”
“Oh no, you’re not making me,” Tallea said. “I like hearing them. They make me feel—”
Orick didn’t believe her apology. “Really, I didn’t mean to cram it down your throat. I should be …”
“What?”
Orick made a little noise, half growl and half bark, a sound of consternation among bears. “I just wanted to say, thank you for listening. I didn’t mean to preach at you like this. I keep doing all the talking, and you do all the listening. It’s good of you, but your problems are so much … bigger, or more important, or something “
“What do you mean?” Tallea asked, all innocence. Orick suspected she knew what he wanted to say. “Well, I keep babbling on about things; and for the last couple of days, I haven’t talked to you at all about—you know, other things. I talk about only what I want to talk about, not what’s important to you.”
“I see,” Tallea said, all coyness. She wriggled on the bed, putting her muzzle under her paws, staring at him. By giving him her complete attention, she begged him to go on.
“I mean,” Orick said, “well, what about you? I know you aren’t happy as a she-bear, but I don’t dare so much as ask you how you’re feeling?”
“I feel fine,” Tallea said.
“But, you told me you missed your hands. Don’t you miss having human hands?”
“You can do a lot without hands,” Tallea said. “I have a nose that works better than my old one ever did. I never get cold. I don’t miss my hands.”
Orick’s mind did a little flip. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Tallea seemed suddenly—well, changed. She seemed so at peace. Orick argued, “Yes, but you’ve got all kinds of other problems!”
“Nothing larger than the giant David slew,” Tallea said. “The angel of death has passed me by. What should I fear? My friends have not betrayed me or sold me for silver. I see no crosses on my horizon.”
Orick considered her words. She wasn’t just telling him she felt peaceful, she was speaking in symbols, the symbols he’d taught her over the past two days, and the sincerity in her eyes told him that not only had she been listening, but his stories were important to her. He wondered if the spirit had touched her. “I … I don’t get it.”
“I was in a bad mood when I complained,” Tallea said. “l see that now. You let me think about other things. My problems aren’t as big as David’s Goliath. It might be true I was human once, and I’ve lost that. But you must also remember that I was a Caldurian—restless, protective, never able to sleep. So I’ve been thinking, what did I really lose? I lost my hands and my appearance, but as a bear I feel so much more … at peace than I ever could as a Caldurian. I think maybe I should quit thinking about what I lost, and consider what I’ve gained.”
“And the angel of death?”
“That’s easy,” Tallea said. “If nothing else, I still have life. The angel of death passed over me, and I’m reborn. If I don’t like this life as a bear, then when I die, I can always hope to be something else. All I have to do is live worthily, so the Lords of Tremonthin will resurrect me. How could I be sad?”
“Yes.” Orick could feel a hollowness in his chest, a deep sense of guilt. True, at this moment she made light of her problems, but he’d wronged her. “But, you came back to be with me, and I—”
“—You aren’t responsible for my decisions. I made them without consulting you. You’re as much a victim of my shortsightedness as I am.”
Orick felt astonished. “I don’t understand. A few days ago, you were so mad at me.”
“You took my mind off my own problems,” Tallea said. “Seen in a different light, they aren’t so bad.”
“But …” Orick had more to say. Indeed, he had something tremendously important to say but didn’t quite know how to put it. “Tallea, I have something to confess to you. Something I should have said: when you decided to be reborn—I-when you died, I’d never felt hurt like that before. I’d never felt so desolate.”
Tallea’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” Orick admitted. “I was afraid it might sound like a commitment, a commitment I’m not ready to make. But even when you were human with hairless skin and those gangly legs, I still … uh, cared for you.”
“What are you trying to say?” Tallea asked. Orick felt that she knew what he wanted to say, but she was going to make, him confess.
“Uh, Tallea, I think I have strong feelings for you.”
Tallea perked up her ears, just as some dogs do, and stared at him. “I know,” she said. “You love me. Why don’t you admit it? You want to marry me.”
“I’m not saying that!” Orick stammered. “Just because I like you, doesn’t mean we have to do anything rash.”
Tallea laughed. “Still, I know you love me. You show it in everything you do—in the way you look at me when you think I don’t see. I felt it as a human, when you licked my ankles or warmed me at nights with your fur. You love me. You’ve always loved me. That’s part of your nature.”
“Yes, but I’m not making a commitment,” Orick blurted.
“You’re committed to the things you love,” Tallea said. “It’s a part of you. You can’t separate commitment from love. Right now, Gallen might well be walking to his death, and you’re going to tag along. Why? Because you love him. You say you want to be a priest and serve God. Why? Because you love Him. You can’t just walk away from God, any more than you can walk away from Gallen O’Day. And you can’t walk away from me. Why?”
“Because I love you,” Orick said.
Tallea grinned, a gesture that looked foolish on humans and more so on bears. “Yes,” she said. “You want to marry me. You want to commit, but you can’t. Not until you figure out how to serve all of us at once.”
“Yes,” Orick said, “but I’ve already made a commitment to God. I made promises to Him.”
“To serve Him?” Tallea said. “But how do we serve Him? You told me just this morning. `When ye are in the service of your fellow beings, ye are only in the service of God.’ So I ask you, Orick, isn’t marrying me the same as marrying God?”
Orick stood there, flabbergasted. “That’s a pretty loose interpretation of that Scripture.”
“Is it?” Tallea said. “You take the Scriptures literally most of the time. Why not this one? Is it just inconvenient?”
“Well,” Orick said, “you’re stretching it. Besides, that’s just a line from the Tome. Not everyone accepts it as Scripture.”
“You told me if I prayed, God would answer my prayers,” Tallea said. “So here is my prayer: ‘God, you know I love Orick and Orick loves me. If you think his devotion to You is more important than his devotion to me, I pray that You will strike me dead by sundown. I’d rather die than live without him.’”
Orick gulped, fearing Tallea had blasphemed. It wasn’t right to say an insincere prayer. The problem was, he feared just as much that it was sincere. He looked about the room, wondering if God would strike her with a lightning bolt or if He would choose some other weapon. To tell the truth, if she was going to follow Gallen O’Day into the tangle, God might not need anything more than a cold-hearted sfuz.
“Don’t talk like that,” Orick said, taking a sudden chill. “I wouldn’t want God to answer that prayer.”
“It’s too late,” Tallea said. “The prayer has been said. But I’m not afraid. You said God loves me, and I know you love me. God won’t deny me your companionship.”
“We seldom appreciate what God has in store for us,” Orick said. “We all seek comfort in our lives, but God just gives us problems, to make us grow.”
“You forget how many difficulties I’ve already had to contend with,” Tallea said. “God can only stretch a person so far before He begins ripping them apart.” She sounded angry.
“Don’t go getting all riled at God,” Orick said. “He’ll never let you be tempted beyond that which you are able to bear.”
“Of course not, you and I both can bear more than the next man.”
Orick. wrinkled his nose at the pun. “Back on Tihrglas, there always seemed to be a few folks who’d make such puns at a bear’s expense. I grew tired of hearing such jokes as a cub—everything from tales of bear-breasted women to those old stories of a bear named Repeating who always repeats everything you say. I get so mad when I hear those jokes, I can bearly stand it.”
“I’ll try to remembear that,” Tallea said, “next time I bear my soul to you.”
“If you’re going to bear your sole to me, at least put a little fish sauce on it, please,” Orick said.
Tallea said, “Ah, no fish jokes. I had a pet sole, once. His name was Full.”
“Soulful?” Orick said. “Was he your sole possession?”
Tallea winced. “Okay, I won’t play that game with you anymore. I’m beat.”
“Bear me no malice,” Orick said.
With a growl, Tallea leapt from the bed and landed on Orick’s back. She nipped his ear, and Orick backed away, put one paw on her chest to hold her down. He planned to chew her for a minute, but suddenly she had her paws around his head, and Tallea began licking his eyes and muzzle, kissing him passionately, and Orick’s heart pounded with excitement.
He kissed her in return, more lustily than he first intended, and in moments she held his face and began alternately nipping his lips and licking him. Tallea was on her back, and Orick straddled her, his nostrils filled with the scent of her. Knowing how much she wanted him, Orick found himself enticed beyond measure.
But to give in to her, to give her control of his passion would lead to only one conclusion.
Am I a beast, that I must be so controlled?
Orick wondered. It seemed so base, so corrupt. How could Orick aspire to godliness, if God gave him such lusts.
God help me
, Orick prayed.
God save me from her.
It was not until hours later, when they were marching through the tangle, that Orick considered the prayers that he and Tallea had both uttered, and realized that God could only answer both their prayers by taking Tallea’s life.
Chapter 31
Zeus could not sleep. Though he had a couch in the common room of the ship, and though the lights were turned down to simulate darkness, his eyes stayed wide open as he wondered if he should kill Gallen and the others.
Zeus did not count himself brave. He couldn’t make light of danger. Some people could ignore danger, just as they ignored pain. Not Zeus. His sense of self-preservation was too powerful, too encompassing.
Maybe ignoring danger isn’t really brave,
Zeus considered.
Maybe it’s just a form of stupidity, and I’m too smart to fall into that trap
.
When Gallen had found the Qualeewoohs, Zeus had been tempted to slay the Lord Protector then. But something stayed his hand. At first he told himself it was curiosity—the simple desire to find out what Gallen would do with the Qualeewoohs.
But his reasoning went beyond that. Killing Gallen for his mantle would have been easy. Zeus had no feelings for the man. But Orick’s sermon had shamed Zeus.
Killing Gallen was one thing. Zeus had been framed to crave power, to take it at any price. He’d killed Arachne without much thought. But killing an innocent like Maggie or the bears was beneath him.
This realization struck Zeus to the core. Zeus had not often made such self-discoveries. And when Gallen asked Zeus whether to kill the Qualeewoohs, Zeus had declined. Once he’d seen Herm’s killers, Zeus couldn’t sustain his rage. The birds were so regal, so worn, so repentant. He couldn’t kill them, not when their deaths gained him nothing. But Zeus told himself that it was more than compassion that caused him to spare Gallen and the Qualeewoohs: it was knowledge.
He felt that some deep, subconscious sense guided him. Despite his lightning bolts, Zeus did not believe he could make it into the depths of the tangle alone—not fighting the sfuz. The creatures were too numerous. No, to make it to the cisterns, Zeus needed Gallen’s help.
Perhaps that’s why I left him alive. In my heart, I knew I’d need him. His help could be worth more than the mantle.
And looking back, Zeus realized that he could not have held Gallen’s trust if he’d killed the Qualeewoohs. The deed would have lessened Zeus in Gallen’s eyes.
Zeus realized,
if Gallen takes me to the Waters, fighting beside me, all I have to do is drink. Then I will gain such power that I won’t need his mantle any longer
. But Zeus recognized that if the Waters of Strength flowed in some cistern deep inside the cliffs of Teeawah, Zeus could not afford to let the others drink. The Waters would make Zeus a power without equal.
Then Gallen’s mantle would mean nothing, and Zeus could kill them all. Indeed, he would be forced to kill them all.