World's End

Page 128

Song has made of my mind.

At last she has told me all that she can. ". . . it takes time. Believe in yourself. This is not a tragedy; it could be a blessing. Perhaps it was meant to be."

Never, I think, knowing the truth about what I have become. But I whisper, "Thank you." I touch Song's face again. Her eyes shine with tears. "You don't know what this means to me--" I take her hands in mine and kiss them. "I love you, Moon. I'll never love anyone else. I've hated myself ever since I left Tiamat." I take a deep breath. "I can tell you that now, because I know I'll never see you again." I try to see her as she must be--no longer a pale, stubborn barbarian girl, but a woman, a queen,

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world's end

the leader of her people. The once painful knowledge only makes me love her more.

Song blinks her eyes, and sudden tears run down her cheeks. "I need you," she cries, like the crying of sea birds. Her eyes begin to stare.

"Moon!" I clutch Song's shoulders, clutching at the spirit that inhabits her. My kiss smothers the last words that come to her lips: "No further analysis!"

Song sways; I catch her as she falls and lay her down on the bed. I straighten up again, still feeling the moist pressure of her lips against mine. "/ need you." Were those words really Moon's, or her own? She stares darkly at me, wiping her eyes, but she says nothing. I look away.

Twice now I have used her body to answer my need for

Moon. ... I tell myself angrily that I haven't used her half as badly as she has used me.

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I leave her alone in the tower and go out into Sanctuary.

The night is red with the Lake's unquiet glow. There are still many people moving through the ghosts in the levels of the ancient city, in the relative coolness of the night. I see lights in windows, and hear shouts and laughter and screams. Some of the lights are phantoms, and some of the voices echo inside me. I hear Spadrin's last scream, and I stumble against a wall, clinging to the rough stone.

I push myself away and move on, passing through ghosts, watching buildings melt and reform like mutating tissue inside clouds of ghost-light. It is almost as though I am looking through time, seeing Sanctuary's history unfold, superimposed on reality. I wonder how many people actually live here in the present, and how many of them are sane. ... I hold the trefoil briefly; let it fall against my chest again, touching it now and then with my fingers as I walk.

"So, pilgrim, did you get what you came for?" a voice asks me unexpectedly.