Eloise

Chapter Three

Eloise had taken special care, setting out a tray of tiny cakes, crisp things adorned with abstract designs and bright with touches of color. Another tray bore goblets of fine crystal placed close to decanters of sombre red and vivid blue wine. The liquids of forgetfulness, thought Adara bleakly. Forgetfulness and a false courage; the poison which numbed minds and made even the prospect of imminent conversion a bearable concept. Protection against what was to come. A defense for himself at least, though the woman did not seem to need such aid. He glanced at where she sat, lounging in the deep chair at the far side of the room; the curtains drawn back from the window at her side to reveal the city beyond, the spires and pinnacles, the rounded domes, the streets and buildings which stood in their mathematically precise arrangement, coldly white beneath the pale glow of the stars.

She said, "If the sight bothers you the curtains can be closed."

"No." He dragged his eyes from the window. "It does not bother me."

"Not the darkness? The cold?"

Shaking his head he looked directly at her, studying her as he had done a thousand times before; more conscious now than at any time before of the influence she had had on him, the way in which she had altered his perception. Conscious, too, of her beauty which sat framed in the arms of the chair.

She was tall, thin fabrics covering the long, lithe lines of her figure; the material enhancing the swelling contours of hip and thigh, the narrowness of her waist, the twin prominences of her breasts. Her neck was slender, her face strong with finely set bone; the eyes deep, watchful beneath thick and level brows. Tonight she had dressed her hair in a rising crest which exposed the tiny ears, the gems at their lobes, more gems glittering in the ebon mane. The nails of her high-arched feet naked in thin sandals were painted a flaring crimson; the color matching that on her fingers, her lips.

Hard as he searched he could find no trace of the trepidation which surely must possess her, the mounting dread which threatened to engulf him.

An animal, he decided, and envied her the cool self-possession which clung to her like a cloud. A strong, female animal who should have borne many children-he was disturbed by the train of thought. In Instone, such things were not the province of those who lived under the aegis of Camolsaer.

Camolsaer!

It was all around, everywhere, watching, calculating, omniscient-inescapable!

He felt the sudden dryness in his mouth and looked longingly at the wine, yet the formalities had to be observed.

Stiffly he said, "My thanks, Eloise, for your invitation. This is not a good time to be alone."

"Then why suffer it?"

A question which she had asked before, many times; and to which, as now, he could find no answer. Because it had always been so. Because things did not change. Because instilled pride maintained the composure which was a part of his heritage. Why were her questions so direct? The answers so difficult to find?

Weakly he said, "You are a stranger. You would not understand."

"A stranger?" The musical resonance of her voice held an acid amusement. "You say that, after so long?"

"You were not born here."

"True, thank God. But does that assume a lack of comprehension?" She rose as he hesitated, the thin fabrics she wore streaming behind her as she stepped towards him; the scent of her perfume signaled her proximity. "Adara! My friend!"

Their hands touched, softness against softness, the delicate fingers no harder than his own. Her body too, he knew, held a more than equal strength. Once it had disturbed him; now there was no time or room for concern. And yet he was grateful for her presence.

His hand shook a little as he reached for the wine.

"So soon, Adara?"

"You deny me?"

"Nothing-I owe you too much for that. But do you think it wise?"

"You tell me that. You provided it."

"To celebrate."

He lifted the lambent fluid trapped in its container of crystal and looked at the vivid blueness. One glass would do no harm. Two even and, if things went against him, what did it matter how much he swallowed? And he needed the strength it could lend.

"To celebrate," he said, mocking her tone. "To show my gratitude? To what? The Goddess of Luck you have so often mentioned? You see, my dear, how you have corrupted me. In this place there is no such thing as luck."

"Nor guts either, from what I've seen!" Immediately she was contrite. "I'm sorry. You can't help being what you are and, God knows, I've little cause to berate you. It's just that, at times, I-"

"Will you join me?"

"No." She had sensed the raw emotion within him, the turmoil which could be controlled only by an effort. "Drink if it pleases you, my friend. Drink and be happy for tomorrow we die."

Only the wine stopped the words; the savage, biting words which sprang from the outraged core of his being. For her to have so broken all accepted convention, at a time like the present!

The goblet rang a little as he set it down, its rim barely touching that of another, producing a thin, high note of ringing clarity.

He didn't look at the woman as he stepped towards the window.

Outside the streets were deserted as he had known they would be. Now everyone was inside, warm, seeking what comfort they could; those with the low numbers having already accepted their fate and engrossed with a final enjoyment of the flesh, or sitting in solitude doubting their ability to maintain their composure.

But not all of them. Some would be surrounded by friends, the center of attention, drinking with careless abandon or lost in the euphoria of drugs; the need of careful abstinence thrown aside like an outworn garment.

He said, his forehead tight against the coolness of the pane, "How long?"

"Not very long now." He scented her perfume as she moved towards him, felt the soft weight of her hand on his shoulder. "Adara-you are not alone."

Words, comforting perhaps, but what did they mean? What else was he now but alone? Who could share his torment, ease it by taking a part of it from him? Like physical pain, it had to be borne. Like the dreams which had ruined his sleep, the sickness he had felt when on his way to this very room.

"Adara?"

Irritably he moved away from the hand on his shoulder, stepping back from the window a little, unwilling for her to see his face. A soft face, older than he remembered; the eyes shadowed pits as they stared at him from the reflection in the crystal, the muscles lax with lack of self-control. Yet control must be maintained. Tradition and pride demanded it. Self-respect if nothing else. And still it was hard.

Harder still when he remembered the incident which had happened while on his way to join Eloise.

A small thing, but it had shaken him. He had passed two Monitors in the passage and the sight had turned his knees to water so that, for a long time, he had leaned against the wall lacking the strength even to stand. An odd thing to have happened. All the years he had lived, it had never happened before. But then he had never drawn so low a number before; had never appreciated the full significance of what he had seen.

"Adara!" The musical voice was urgent. "Turn, look at me! Adara!"

As he obeyed the great bell began to toll.

* * * * *

It was a sound which filled the city, dominating, Imperious, a deep, solemn throbbing which came from the very walls, the air itself; causing little harmonics to quiver the panes of the window, to set the goblets trembling so that they touched and filled the air with singing chimes.

At the third knell he began to tremble; a hateful reaction which constricted his stomach and caused tiny muscles to jerk along the line of his jaw, the apparatus of his hands. Desperately be hid the discomfiture, keeping his face a blank mask; aware of the woman, her eyes, his own growing terror. The tolling continued, each knell a claw raking at his naked brain.

"… six… seven… eight…"

Eloise had regained her chair and sat, watching him with a peculiar intensity. Almost, he thought wildly, as if she were studying a specimen to determine how efficient its training had been. Relentlessly her voice kept time to the bell, counting the strokes; merging with the sonorous throbbing, the thin chiming of the goblets which now sang with a rising note as if the inanimate material could sense and respond to his mounting distress.

"… eleven… twelve.. thirteen…"

He felt perspiration dew his forehead, the body beneath his clothing; the trembling now increased so that he had to lock his fingers to disguise their rebellion. To remain detached. To remain calm. To accept what had to come. The teachings of a lifetime- why had they failed him now?

". fifteen… sixteen.. sev — "

"Eloise?"

"Sixteen, Adara! Sixteen!"

Her voice was a shout of triumph filling the room with gladness and, he thought, relief.

Relief which in no way could equal his own. "Are you certain?"

"Listen!" Her upheld hand demanded silence, All around, the walls seemed to retain the tolling note of the bell so that ghost-echoes quivered in the air and tricked the senses. Yet there was no substance to the sound. It was nothing but a ghost lingering in his own brain, whispering in his ears.

"Sixteen, Adara! You were number eighteen and I was twenty-two. We're safe! Safe!"

His hand trembled as it reached for the wine. Red or blue, did it matter? Yet red was the color of blood, and blue of hope. Now there was no need of hope. Ruby liquid spattered as he shakily poured it. A man reborn, reprieved. The wine slid down his throat as if it had been water, his goblet refilled before the woman had lifted her own.

"To life," she said.

"Eloise!"

"To life," she repeated doggedly. "And to hell with conventions which insist that no one must speak of life or death, or the crazy pattern of the city in which we're stuck. To hell with the city. To hell with Camolsaer!"

"You're drunk!" he shouted. "Drunk or mad!"

"Not drunk, Adara. And not scared. The bell has tolled, remember? The choice has been made. Those poor, damned fools who lost have gone to their living hell. Gone, or on their way. So drink, you fool, and enjoy life. Enjoy it while you can."

She drank, throwing back her head; the slender length of her throat fully exposed, taut, lovely. With an abrupt gesture she threw aside the empty glass so that it shattered into fragments against the wall and then reached towards him, hands extended, eyes enormous with emotion.

"Eloise!"

She stepped closer; her mouth wide, sensuous, the lips full and softly moist.

"No!" He backed, cautious, afraid.

"You coward!" Her voice, still musical, now held the chill of contempt. "Afraid to drink too much. Afraid to break things. Afraid even to make love too often. Terrified even to talk about life and death, and what happens to those who have lost. Fear. Is that what rules you? Are you so in love with it that you can't remember what it is to be a man? Have you ever known?"

"Eloise! Please!"

Camolsaer would be watching, noting; measuring the emotional content, the amount drunk, everything. He saw her hands come towards him, the fingers curved, light reflected from the points of her sharpened nails. They touched his cheeks and he felt the stab of incipient pain, yet could do nothing to prevent her stripping the flesh with her talons if she so desired.

And then, abruptly, she dropped her hands.

"Reaction," she said huskily. "It hits people in different ways. Let's get the hell out of here."

* * * * *

The city was at gruesome play. A long conga line of near-naked men and women wound down the passages, past the adornments, beneath the arched roofs and down the ramp into the main assembly hall. There, at the far end, a man stood between two Monitors. At least he seemed to be standing and then, Adara saw that he was being supported at each side, his feet hanging inches above the floor.

"Larchen," said a man at his side. "Number four. He tried to put a good face on it, but collapsed and tried to run. A bad thing to have happened."

"And Thichent?"

"As you'd expect. He drew the prime and knew there could be only one end. He left the party at the first knell; an example to us all." He smiled at Eloise, bobbing his head. "You look superb, my dear, but then you always do. A little wine?"

"Aren't you afraid of Camolsaer?"

"After the bell there is always a period of grace. Didn't Adara explain that? Drinks taken now are not counted. A concession for which we must be grateful. But surely you know this?"

She had known it, realized Adara sickly. It had been himself who had forgotten. Or perhaps not forgotten, but distrusted. The woman's fault-why had he ever saved her?

Taking the proffered glass she said, quietly, "Choi, you amaze me."

"In what way, Eloise?"

"In your acceptance."

"Of what?" He frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Things are what they are-what they have always been. We are born, we live, we leave. It is as simple as that."

"Leave?" Her voice was faintly mocking. "Don't you mean that you die?"

Flushing, he said in a high voice, "Now listen, I know that you're a stranger, but that is no way to talk. You've been here long enough to have learned our customs. We don't-die." He seemed to gag on the word. "We are converted."

"Yes," she said.

"Changed! Improved!" His voice was now almost a scream. "Thichent knew that. He realized and accepted it. He was proud to be the first. To pay his debt to the city, to us, to Camolsaer."

"Who are you trying to convince?" she said flatly. "Me or yourself?"

"Adara!"

Adara answered the appeal, taking her by the arm and guiding her away from Choi, the others who had overheard. Beneath his fingers he felt the quivering of her flesh, the anger which threatened to consume her. A pair of girls ran towards them, long streamers of bright fabric in their hands, the material breaking beneath his impatient gesture. Pouting at their spoiled pleasure, they ran towards others more receptive of their attention.

"Eloise, why be so foolish?"

"You call it that?"

"To upset Choi and the others, yes."

"To upset them?" She shrugged. "To teach them, you mean. To try and reach them. To stop them from being so blind."

"To spoil their pleasure." His voice was brittle with impatience. "Have you learned nothing? To talk as you did was stupid."

"Stop it, Adara."

"But-"

"Stop it!" She pulled her arm free and turned to face him. Colored light from drifting globes bathed her face with shadowed radiance, accentuating the structure of the bone, hardening the contours in their rigid anger. "I won't be lectured by you or any man in this insane city. Nor any woman. If you want to know why, just look around. Minutes ago they heard the bell. Now every damned fool acts as if he were at a party."

"It's custom, you know that."

"Madness!"

"No." He reached for her arm and felt a momentary hurt as she avoided his hand. "You are disturbed, but that is natural. I understand. But it is all over now. There is no need for concern. You, I, both of us are safe."

"For how long?" She gave him no time to answer. "Until the next draw," she said bitterly. "The next selection. How can you be sure that you won't draw prime? And, if you do, will you walk willingly to your death as that fool Thichent did?"

"Please, Eloise."

"Death," she repeated savagely. "Death, damn you! Death!"

She saw the sudden pallor of his face, sensed the abrupt hush from those who had overheard; the tension, the shifting away from where she stood. Afraid, all of them, herself too; but with a fear more corrosive than their own. They were simply afraid of what she said; she was terrified of what the future could hold.

"Eloise!"

Adara stepped towards her, one hand extended-he, at least, displayed a little courage. But not enough. Not anywhere near enough. And, now that the bell had tolled and the danger was over, old habits would regain their hold.

Rabbits, all of them, men and women both-and she, dear God, was trapped among them.

"Eloise."

She turned as Adara touched her, running through the assembly; passing startled faces and barely conscious of the voices, the laughter, the gaiety which ruled beyond her immediate vicinity. A winding stair led to the summit of a tower and she reached it, pressing open the door; walking to where a high parapet edged the city, the area beyond.

Tiredly she leaned against it, barely aware of the chill which numbed her flesh through the thin clothing, the harsh pressure against her breasts.

The night was still. Here, in the cup of the valley, was little wind; but higher, where the ringing hills stood like pale sentinels, their slopes and summits thick with ice, there would be a frigid blast whining from the north, carrying particles of snow and sleet; a killing wind which robbed body-heat and brought killing hypothermia.

She remembered it, her skin puckering at the memory. A bad time in which she almost died. Should have died, she thought bleakly. At least, then it would have been over.

"Woman Eloise, it is not wise to stand here dressed as you are."

Engrossed with memory she had heard no sound and, as always, the Monitors were silent on their padded feet. She turned, looking at the thing. Seven feet tall, a body made of articulated plates, limbs, torso; all in a parody of the human frame. The face too, cold, hard despite the paint, the eyes elongated curves of crystal. Starlight shone on the figure in a cold effulgence, accentuating the chill of the night.

"Woman Eloise, you must return below."

The voice was like the body, cold, flat; an emotionless drone.

"No. I-"

"Woman Eloise, you must return."

She could argue, try to run, but the end would be the same. She could walk or be carried like a stubborn child, but the Monitor would be obeyed.

Always the Monitors were obeyed.

It followed her down the stairs, halting as she entered the assembly room, watching as she thrust her way into the crowd, to the passages leading to her room. The fragments of the glass she had shattered had vanished; another goblet replacing the one broken, clean and bright on the tray.

She filled it with lambent blue wine and drank and refilled it with ruby, they carried it over to the window where she stood looking out over the city, upward to the stars.

A host of suns, the vault of the sky filled with glittering points, sheets of luminescence, patches of nacreous light, the blur of distant nebulae.

Suns around which circled a multitude of worlds on which men could walk free. Ships traversing the gulfs between them. The ebb and flow of restless life of which once she had been a part.

The glass lifted in a silent toast, a prayer and then, abruptly, she collapsed in a storm of weeping.