Evarin's laugh was only a soundless shaking of his thin shoulders.
"Karamy can wait. Better for you if she waited forever. Come along with
me, or Gamine will be back. You don't want to see Gamine, do you?" He
sounded anxious; I shook my head. Emphatically, I did _not_ want
to see that insidious spook again. "No. Why? Should I?"
Evarin looked relieved. "Come along, then. If I know Gamine, you're
pretty well muddled. Amnesiac. I'll explain. After all--" his voice
mocked, "you _are_ my brother!"
He thrust open the door and motioned me through. Instinctively I drew
back, gesturing him to lead the way; he laughed soundlessly and went,
and I followed, letting it slide shut behind me.
We went down stairs and more stairs. I walked at Evarin's side, one
part of me wondering why I was not more panicky. I was a stranger in a
world gone insane, yet I had that outrageous calmness with which men
do fantastic things in a dream. I was simply taking one step after
another; knowing what to do with that part of me that was Adric. Gamine
had spoken of habit patterns, the convolutions of the brain. I had
Adric's body. Only a superficial me, an outer ego, was still a strange,
muddled Mike Kenscott. The subconscious Adric was guiding me. I let him
ride. I felt it would be wise to be very much Adric around Evarin. We
stepped into an elevator shaft which went down, curved around corners
with a speed that threw me against the wall, then began, slowly, to
rise. I had long since lost all sense of direction. Abruptly the door
of the shaft opened and we began to walk along a long, brilliantly
illuminated passage. From somewhere we heard singing; a voice somewhere
in the range of a trained boy's voice or a woman's mature contralto.
Gamine's voice. I could make no sense of the words; but Evarin halted
to listen, swearing in a whisper. I thought the faraway voice sang my
name and Evarin's, but I could not tell. "What is it, Evarin?"
He gave a short exclamation, the sense of which was lost on me.
"Come along," he said irritably, "It is only the spell-singer, singing
old Rhys back to sleep. You waked him this time, did you not? I wonder
Gamine permitted it. He is very near his last sleep--old Rhys. I
think you will send him there soon." Without giving me a chance to
answer--and for that matter, I had no answer ready--he pulled me aside
between recessed walls and again the shaft in which we stood began to
ride. Eventually we stepped into a room at the top of another tower, a
room lavishly, even garishly furnished. Evarin flung himself carelessly
on a divan embroidered in silken purple and gestured me to follow his
example. "Well, now tell me. Where in Time has Karamy sent you now?"
"Karamy?" I asked tentatively. Evarin's raucous laugh rang out again.
He said with seeming irrelevance, but with an odd air of confiding, "My
one demand of the Dreamer is--freedom from that witch's spells. Some
day I shall fashion a Toy for her. I am not the Toymaker of Narabedla
for nothing. I demand little enough of the Dreamers, Zandru knows! I
do not like to pay their price, but Karamy does not care what she pays.
So--" he made a spreading movement of his hands, "she has power over
everyone, except me. Yes; assuredly I must make her a Toy. She sent you
out on the Time Ellipse. I wonder who brought you back?"
I shook my head. "I've been out of my body too long. I can't remember
much."
"You remember me," Evarin said. "I wonder why she left you that?
Karamy's amnesia-rays took the rest of your memory. She never trusted
me that far before."
But I caught the crafty look in his face. I knew only this about
Evarin; Karamy was right not to trust him. I said, "I only remember your
name. Nothing more."
Because Evarin--I knew--was never ten minutes the same. He would
profess friendship and mean friendship; ten minutes later, still in
friendship, he would flay the skin from my body and count it only an
exquisite joke. I did not like those perverted and subtle eyes. He
seemed to read my thought. "Good, we will be strangers. Brothers are
too--" he let the word trail off, unfinished. "What have you forgotten?"
Could I trust him with my terrible puzzlement? How much could I, as
Adric--and I _must_ be Adric to him--get along without knowing?
What was even more to the point, how many questions could I dare ask
without betraying my own helplessness? I compromised. "What are the
Dreamers?"
That _had_ been the wrong question.
"Zandru. Adric, you have been far indeed! You must have been back
before the Cataclysm! Well--our forefathers, after the Cataclysm,
ruled this planet and built the Rainbow Cities. That was before the
Compact that killed machines. Some people say the Dreamers were born
from the dead machines."
He began to pace the floor restlessly. "They were men--once," he said.
"They are born from men and women. Mendel knows what caused them. But
one in every ten million men is such a freak--a Dreamer. Some say they
came out of the Cataclysm; some say they are the souls of the dead
Machines. They are human--and not human. They were telepaths. They
could control everything--things, minds, people. They could throw
illusions around things and men--they contested our rules."
He sat down; his voice became brooding, quiet. "One of us, here
in Rainbow City, a dozen generations ago, found a way to bind the
Dreamers," he said. "We could not kill them; they were deathless,
normally. But we could bind them in sleep. As they slept, under a
forced stasis, we could make them give up their powers--to us. So that
we controlled the things _they_ controlled. For a price." There
was a glimpse of horror behind his eyes. "You know the price. It is
high."