Miami Days and Truscan (11 page)

“Did you give me more than half, or did you just hold Pegasus back?”

“Just a little,” he admitted, as he lifted me down. He wrapped Andromeda’s reins around the same tree which tethered Pegasus, and the faltons moved closer together, whickering at each other softly through their blowing nostrils. Dalph led me toward the stream banks. “I wanted to watch Andromeda. She’s as fleet with a rider as she was with the herd. Toron has schooled her well.”

“Toron?”

“He’s my head horseman,” he explained as we settled on the lush grass. Like everything else in Trusca, it seemed to have more substance than its earthy counterparts, and spread over the ground with the thickness and softness of moss.

The stream sang, and the breezes frolicked. Could this world really hold such danger, such darkness, such creatures as the Prians?

“So,” I said softly. “Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“This is a carefully staged setting. You wanted me here, away from Trussa, away from the Rata, away from everyone, when we are well-rested, well-fed, and mildly exhilarated from the race. I know a staged production when I see one. I’ve staged plenty. You want to tell me of your world, but you’re not sure you can find the words. And you’re not sure I’ll understand them if you do. I’m not sure I will either. But I’ll try.”

He looked at me and smiled slightly.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he said.

I raised my own eyebrow. Seeing that I was not going to speak, he continued.

“And everything I told you last night was the truth. But what’s even more the truth is that I saw you, and I saw where you came from. And I wanted you no matter what it did to the political situation. You see, the thing is—” He broke off and stood up, pacing. “I’m
lonesome,
damn it, Tess! In a way no one from this world can possibly understand. Sometimes as I ride the borders, I think of
your
world, your world as my mother made it live for me, with wondrous luxuries I’ll never see, and of which nobody else in this world has a concept. A world where men fly through the air, and voices travel through ropes of metal, where buildings touch the sky, and men even seek the stars. Your world has war, I know that, and enmity between its countries, but it has no creatures such as the Prians, and no dangers such as—”

He broke off and came back to sit beside me. He picked up my hand.

“When I am very tired, when I have ridden the borders, and lie under my Truscan stars that men will not seek to touch for countless, untold years, I think sometimes of what it would be like for me if my mother had never come through the door, and I had been born in your world. Which is stupid, I know, because if she had not come through the door, any child she had would not be me, because I am as much a part of my father as I am of her, but on those nights, in those moments of exhaustion, I don’t think of that, I just think of me, walking down a beach of white sand under earth’s yellow moon. Tell me, is the ocean as big as my mother said, are its waves as unceasing? Are the sun and the moon really yellow?”

I nodded, unwilling to interrupt this flood of words which I was certain he had never unleashed in anyone else’s presence, the slight formality of speech which I had already noticed creeping into his speech patterns when he was very passionate or upset about something, legacy of his mother. I recalled what Johnny had said to me in the stables a mere hour before. “He’s an abnormality in his own world,” he’d said. And how right he’d been.

“I dream of that world and how wonderful it would be to be in it, free, without Trusca on my shoulders, and one of Earth’s women at my side, strong and proud, who has no need for a man to pretend always that he was strong and unafraid, a woman who could look into my soul and see it with all its frailties and accept it, even love it, not like the women of Trusca, who’ve been raised for countless years and will be raised for countless more to expect men to show no weakness, to need nothing more than food and sleep and a woman’s body on occasion. I’ll never see that world. But I saw you. And I thought I could have maybe just a part of that world. So that’s the truth, all of it, as best I can explain it. So do you think we have a chance?”

I was shaken. Deeply. Okay, I was overwhelmed. He didn’t release my hand, but neither did he speak. He had stated his case, most eloquently, and that was all that he would do. In fact, it was all that he could do, and I respected him for knowing that. One cannot control another’s thoughts and feelings, even if they can control, to a certain extent, their actions.

“Our world is not just beauty and luxury,” I said finally. “It also can be a hard world, and I grew up with a fair knowledge of its hardness. All that I was in my world, all that I became, I achieved on my own. That makes it hard for me sometimes to trust other people.”

I paused, and he nodded, acknowledging that I was sharing with him a part of myself that it was very hard to share.

“It also makes my first response to other people one of suspicion. What do they want? Why are they telling me this? What do they hope to gain from it? But I’m not so embittered that I don’t recognize real emotion, real truth, when I hear it. I was always lonely in my world, even when I was with other people. So suppose we pretend we’ve just met? And you’re introducing me? To you. To Trusca. What do you think about that?”

He smiled. “Welcome to my world, Madam. I am Randalph of Trusca.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said. “Now introduce me to your world.”

“That will be a long ramble, Green Eyes.” He glanced around and settled his back against one of the large boulders, shifting his weight until he was arranged to his own satisfaction, and gestured an invitation. I got up and moved over, and he pulled me down, settling me easily beside him with his arm around my shoulders. He rested his chin on my head for a moment, and then he began to speak.

Chapter Eleven

In the beginning, when there was only the beginning, and the world held no world except the mists, the mists parted and gave birth. Far out, beyond the mists, the gods watched and guided, and Trusco, the King of the Gods, he who carried the great sword of lightning and the impenetrable shield of thunder, laughed in his pleasure as the ground gained firmness and shape.

“You call that a world?” asked Tarn, the Queen of the Gods, and the consort of Trusco, who as a woman, saw always what was missing instead of what was there. “It has no shape. For all its width and breadth, it is flat. And empty. There is nothing there but barren ground.”

And as it was then, as it will always be, the purpose of women to fill the world with life, she raised her hand through the mists and reached beyond to the stars, and gathering a handful of the stardust, she scattered it upon the ground; and where it touched, hills sprang forth to give the world breasts, with which to nourish the giant trees which broke through the soil in the great pangs of this second cycle of birth, and streams began to flow down from those breasts, as milk flows from the breast of a mother, and soon all the world was green.

“You call that a world?” asked Prias. Prias was a powerful god, the God of Darkness, who ruled the outer reaches of the mists and seldom troubled himself to visit with the other gods, which was fine with them, as his ugliness was in direct proportion to his power. A very ugly god was Prias, short and squat, flat-nosed, and big-mouthed, to catch the light, for as the god of darkness, light was his favorite food and he ate light whenever it penetrated into the mists. “It is still empty. It has no life.”

“No life?!” exclaimed Tarn, in exasperation. “No life? When I have created these tall trees that stretch their branches up to the sky and these flowing streams to feed them?”

“No life I said and no life I mean,” the dark god replied. “It must have creatures which stand and walk and breathe.”

“Never!” proclaimed Trusco. “For to create such creatures is to create only trouble, for as they grow they will be envious of our powers and seek to displace us as the rulers of creation. They will destroy this beauty which I have created and which Tarn has embellished and they will give us only grief.”

Prias said nothing and crept away from Trusco and Tarn, from Andovo, the God of Light whom he was secretly sworn to destroy with no thought that if he did, who would send forth the Light upon which he fed? From Andovo’s wife, Motravia, the Goddess of the Stars and from Fresco, their child, who played with the stars and sometimes bounced them back and forth across the heavens, creating great floods of shooting light in the sky. He left them there, exclaiming over their creation of the world, as they argued back and forth over things which should and should not be placed on the carpets of green that now blanketed the hills.

No one missed his absence, and the gods and goddesses continued in their play. Andovo placed great herds of faltons on the flatlands, which ran swiftly across the grass, and Motravia created gentle showers of rain to fall upon them and cool them in their play. Tarn sent forth streams of colored light to catch the glint of the raindrops, and great bridges of color swept across the sky, and the gods and goddesses were pleased.

Then Trusco roared in rage.

“What is this?” he shouted, his anger great to behold. “What are these miserable, misshapen creatures running across our new world? This is Prias’ doing, I know it! Find him and bring him here!”

The gods and goddesses scattered, and Trusco himself strolled across the heavens, searching for Prias, for Prias had done what he had been forbidden to do, and had sent forth on this new playground of the gods creatures who stood upright, who moved and walked and spoke, and these creatures were in his own ugly image.

Prias laughed at Trusco’s anger. “I do not heed your orders and I do as I please. You and the others created what you desired for this world. Why should not I?”

“Because you have created a creature who will destroy the others, eating the beauty of this world even as you eat the light which Andovo streams across the skies!”

Prias laughed and ducked behind the nearest cloud.

“And there is nothing that you can do to stop it!” he called out, as he disappeared into the outer reaches of the heavens. “Nothing!”

The gods gathered mournfully together, as the creatures of Prias’ creation spread out over the land, blighting it with their ugliness.

“What will we do?” asked Motravia. “Would that we could destroy these awful creatures!” But they could not, because one god was powerless to destroy the creation of the others.

“We will create our own creatures,” said Trusco, finally. “Each of us, and we will give them each a portion of this new world of ours, to guard and hold and prevent its destruction, for Prias’ creatures will surely destroy all if they are permitted to multiply unchecked.

And so saying, Trusco held out his mighty sword, and as the lightning flashed, the country of Trusca was born, and the first Truscans sprang forth from its soil, tall and straight, with mighty shoulders, in the image of Trusco, so that they could lead this world into battle against the creatures of Prias.

Then Tarn stepped forth and reached again into the heavens, gathering stardust, which she threw across the hills and so was born the country of Tarn, whose people are tall, though not as tall as the Truscans, and slender, whose greatest delight is the growing of things, and whose country produced the finest trees, the greenest plants, and their purpose was to aid the Truscans in their battle.

Andovo stepped forth, and Andovia rose from the hills, with its people who are fair of skin and golden of hair, as was the God of Light from which they sprang.

And Motravia, she of the stars, gathered starbeams and where they struck, Motravia was born, whose people are small and gossamer like the Goddess who gave them birth.

And young Fresco threw whole shooting stars to the ground, and Frescia grew, with its people who sparkle and desire nothing more than to be left alone to play, for they were the children of a child and could not be expected to understand the dangers of Prias’ children.

And the gods and goddesses looked down.

“At least they are contained,” Trusco said with a sorrowful sigh, “and their portion of our new world will be Pria, but they will ever seek to move out and destroy our children.”

“Then we must give them suitable weapons,” cried young Fresco, who really had no conception of what he was about to do, and he reached out beyond the stars.

Trusco cried out, “No! We must not! For they do not have the maturity or the wisdom to use those weapons. They will destroy the world with them, themselves, and we will have prevented nothing!”

But it was too late, and from beyond the stars, Fresco threw down the great Stones of Power, which burned through the heavens with trails of fire behind them, carrying the secrets of the gods, and they smoldered as they struck the world.

The older, wiser gods moaned as they saw their new children rush up to the great Power Stones which had fallen, one in each world, and seek to carry them away.