He couldn't tell her that Miran must have followed him up into
the hills. And that if he had the fellow must have seen some very
disturbing things.
He stood up and gazed intently at the dark forms stretched out here
and there. Miran was sleeping upon a blanket behind the helm. Or was
pretending to do so.
Should he kill him? If Miran turned him in to the authorities in
Estorya....
He sat down again and fingered his dagger.
Amra must have guessed his thoughts, for she said, "Why do you want to
kill him?"
"You know why. Because he could have me burned."
She sucked her breath in with a hiss.
"Alan, it can't be true! You can't be a demon!"
To him the accusation was so ridiculous that he didn't bother to
answer. He should have known better, because he was well aware of how
seriously these people took such things. However, he was thinking so
furiously about what he could do to forestall Miran, that he completely
forgot about her. Not until he heard her muffled sobs did he come out
of his reverie. Surprised, he said, "Don't worry. They're not going to
burn me."
"No, they're not," she said, choking on every other word. "I don't care
if you _are_ a demon. I love you, and I'd go to hell for you or with
you!"
It took him a few seconds to understand that she did believe he _was_
a demon and that it made no difference to her. Or, rather, she was
determined to ignore the difference. What a sacrifice of her natural
feelings she must have made for him! She, like everybody upon this
world, had been trained from childhood to develop a fierce disgust
and horror of devils and to be always upon her guard for them when
they appeared in human form. What an abyss she had to cross in order
to conquer her deep revulsion! In a way, her feat was greater than
crossing the chasm between the stars.
"Amra," he said, deeply touched, and he bent down to kiss her.
To his surprise she turned her face away.
"You know my lips don't belch fire, like the devils' in the legends,"
he said, half-jestingly, half-pityingly. "Nor will I suck your soul
into my mouth."
"You have already done that," she said, still not facing him.
"Oh, Amra!"
"Yes, you have! Else why should I follow you when you deserted me
to run away on the _Bird_? And why should I still want to follow
you, to be with you, even if those towers had turned out to be your
what-do-you-call-'em? and you had sailed away into the skies on them?
Why would any decent human woman want to do that? Tell me!"
She, too, rose on an elbow, her face now turned to him. He scarcely
recognized her, her features were so twisted and her skin was so livid.
"A hundred times during this voyage I've wished you would die. Why?
Because then I wouldn't have to think about the time to come when you
would leave this world forever, leave _me_ forever! But when you were
in danger, then I almost died, too, and I knew I didn't really wish
your death. It was just wounded pride on my part. And I couldn't face
the moment of your departure! Or the fact that you must come from a
superior race, a people more like gods than demons!
"Oh, I didn't know what to think! Whether you were a devil, or a god,
or just a man who was somehow more of a man than any I knew. I could
ignore such things as your wounds healing up faster than they should
and scar tissues disappearing. But I couldn't ignore your knowledge
that Aga would be killed if she touched that wall in the room on the
cannibals' island. Nor the fact that your teeth grew back in after
they were knocked out during the escape from the island. Nor your too
obvious interest in those two demons held prisoner in Estorya. Or...."
"Not so loud, Amra," he interrupted. "You'll wake everybody up."
"All right, all right. Better to keep quiet and pretend to be stupid.
But I can't, I'm not built that way. So ... what are you going to do,
Alan?"
"Do? Do?" he repeated miserably. "Why, somehow or other I'm going to
free those two poor devils and escape in their spaceship."
"Devils? Then they _are_ demons!"
"Oh, no, that was just a manner of speaking. I said poor devils because
of what they must have gone through in that barbarous prison. They
might as well have been in the hands of the cannibals as at the mercy
of the priests of this wretched planet."
"Yes, that's what you really think of us, isn't it? That we're all
murderous, dirty and stinking savages."
"Oh, not all of you," he replied. "You're not, Amra. By any standards,
you're a wonderful woman."
"Then why can't...?"
She bit her lip and turned away from him. She would not humble herself
by asking him to take her with him. It was up to him to make the offer.
Green did not know what to say, though he knew that it was necessary to
say something at once.
He just could not make up his mind as to how she would fit into Earth
civilization.
How could he teach her that if somebody whom you didn't like differed
with you, you just didn't try to tear them apart? Or that if the person
you hated was too powerful for you to settle matters with personally
you didn't resort to professional assassins?
How could he teach her to love the same things he did, the music and
literature of his own culture? Her roots were in an entirely different
culture. She couldn't possibly understand what he understood, thrill to
that which thrilled him, catch the subtleties that he caught, see what
lay behind the nuances of his civilization. She'd be a stranger in a
world not made for her.
Of course, he thought, there were plenty of women upon Earth and her
star-colonies who didn't share his culture, even if they'd been brought
up in it. But their case was simply a matter of taste. And they could
still share a certain amount with him, just because they'd breathed the
same atmosphere and talked the same words as he. Not that he would have
cared to live with them, because he wouldn't. But Amra, desirable in so
many ways, just would not understand what was taking place around her
or in the minds of those she would have to live with.
He looked down at Amra. Her back was turned, and she seemed to be
breathing the easy breath of deep sleep. Though he doubted very much
that she could be sleeping, he decided to accept things as they looked.
He wouldn't answer her now, though he knew that when morning came her
eyes would be asking the same question, even if she didn't voice it.
At least, he thought, she'd been diverted from her curiosity about what
he'd been doing that night. That was something. He didn't want anybody
to know about that. Not until the time for action came.
Provided, that is, that he could do anything even then. He'd discovered
certain things tonight that could mean his salvation if he could
utilize them.
That was the rub, as some poet or other had once said.
Wondering just who had originated that saying, he fell asleep.
Woolgathering had always been a favorite occupation of his when people
left him alone to do it. That was the rub. They didn't.
25
Shortly after dawn the yacht set sail and sped toward Estorya, a
hundred miles west. The breeze was a strong thirty-five miles an
hour, precursor of the violent winds that roared across the Xurdimur
during the rainy season. Green set every inch of sail he had and took
over the helm himself. Steering was not as simple as it had been,
for traffic was getting heavy. In an hour he saw no less than forty
'rollers, ranging in size from small merchants not much larger than
his own craft to tremendous three-decker 'rollers-of-the-line from
far-off Batrim, convoying even larger merchant vessels, high-pooped and
richly decorated. Then, as they came to within fifty miles of their
destination, small pleasure yachts appeared in increasing numbers. And
by the time they saw the white rocket-shaped towers that stretched from
horizon to horizon, Green was sweating at the manner in which craft
were shooting back and forth in front of him.
Miran said, "The entire nation is surrounded by these white towers and
by many fortresses interspersed between them. Inside the great circle
of towers the Estoryans have many rich farms on the plains. The city
proper, however, is built on three roaming islands that were captured
by their magic many centuries ago."
Green raised his eyebrows at this information. "Indeed? And where is
the vessel that brought the two demons down from the skies?"
Miran looked blankly at the Earthman, though he knew well enough that
he was keenly interested in the so-called demons.
"Oh, it is located close to the palace of the king himself, but not on
the hills. It landed on the plain."
"Hmm. And the strangers will be burned during the Festival of the Eye
of the Sun?"
"If they have lived, they will be."
Green didn't like to think about their dying. If they had, then his
problem was solved. He stayed upon this planet and did the best he
could here.
There was one thing he had to admit. That was that having Amra as his
wife made such an event not so calamitous as it might have been. She'd
keep him so interested that time would pass swiftly, even on this
barbarous place.
In that case, he thought, why was he hesitating about taking her to
Earth, if he got the chance? No matter where he was she'd see that life
was a whirlpool of action. And she'd only begun to disclose the deeps
within her. Give her an education, and what a creature might evolve!
What's the matter with you, Green? he said to himself. Don't you know
your own mind? Are you so capable at handling physical events but a
complete muckup when it comes to psychical? Why...?
"Look out!" cried Miran, and Green threw the helm hard aport to avoid
crashing into a small freighter. The captain, standing on the foredeck
behind his own helmsman, leaned over the rail and shook his fist at
Green and cursed. Green cursed back but after that he didn't allow
himself to begin thinking about Amra until he had steered the 'roller
into the 'break.
The rest of the day he was busy getting cleared with the port
authorities. Fortunately he had a letter from the officer of the
island-fortress. It explained why he happened to be in possession of
a foreign craft and also recommended that Green be given a chance to
sign up in the Estoryan 'roller-fleet if he wished. Even so, he had to
tell his story so many times to an admiring and amazingly credulous
audience that it was dusk before he could get free. Outside the customs
building he found Grizquetr waiting for him.
"Where's your mother?" he asked.
"Oh, she knew you'd be tied up for a long time, so she went ahead and
got a room in an inn. They're very hard to get during the Festival,
almost impossible. But you know Mother," said Grizquetr, winking. "She
gets what she goes after, every time."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. Well, where's this inn?"
"It's clear across town, but it's within sight of the wall that's built
around the demons' skyship."
"Wonderful! Rooms must be twice as difficult to get there as on the
edge of town. How did Amra do it?"
"She gave the innkeeper three times his asking price, which was high
enough. And he found a pretext to quarrel with a man who had long ago
reserved a room, threw him out and gave it to us!"
"Ah? And where did she get this money?"
"She sold a ruby to a jeweler who kept shop close to the 'break. He's
sort of shady, I guess, and he didn't give Mother what the ruby was
worth."
"Now, where would she get a ruby or any kind of jewel?"
Grizquetr grinned crookedly but delightedly. "Oh, I imagine that a
certain fat one-eyed merchant-captain who shall remain nameless must
have had one or two rubies within that bag he keeps inside his shirt."
"Yes, I can imagine. The question that alarms me is how did she get it
off Miran? He'd sooner lose a quart of blood than one of his precious
jewels. And he'd notice its loss quicker than he would the blood."