Through the Ice (21 page)

"My perception of a suitable object for romance changed," she explained. "Our recent experience has shown me that you have qualities that override those I first noted. You are a natural leader, with excellent judgment, and I think commendable values. You have been instrumental in carrying us through crises, of which the cliff was only the most recent. You are in fact a man."

"But—I thought—" He was unable to continue, flustered.

"I think I should not do this," she said. "But perhaps it is fitting that I indulge my guilt before I explain it." She put her hand on his arm, causing him to pause and turn toward her. Then she embraced him and kissed him again. This time it was no passing thing; it was charged with emotion that stemmed from her mind.

How sweet it was! "Oh, Tirsa—" Seth began, overwhelmed.

"Now I must tell you why what I have done is wrong," she said, disengaging and resuming the walk. Seth, mystified, had to go along, though his heart was flooded with burgeoning emotion. "It is not that you are younger than I, for age is no barrier to true friendship or love. It is not that you are an unsuitable prospect, for I feel you are. It is not that I am affianced, for I believe that was severed with my separation from my home plane."

"Affianced?" Seth got out. "You mean, engaged to be married?"

"I would have mentioned it before, had I deemed it relevant. It did not become relevant until recently. Now it does relate, but I think not in the way you anticipate. I told you before that I was interested in romance, but not with you. Now I am interested in romance with you. That is why I must tell you what may distress you."

"Oh, Tirsa!" he exclaimed. "If you—I can't think what—"

She smiled. "Your impetuosity has become endearing. But I will tell you what. First let me explain the seeming mystery of my reaction to your kiss. I had already come to the conclusion that I had judged you imperfectly, and was waiting for the appropriate occasion to apologize for that. But your reaction to my attitude had been so hurt that I felt it was better not to hurt you further, and to leave it as it was. Then you kissed me, and I realized that I had also misjudged myself. Knowing that we were to be stranded on this plane regardless of the success of our assignment, I thought I would have to seek companionship with a male of this plane. I realized abruptly that I had no interest in that; I preferred to seek it with you. It was not anger which motivated me to conquer my paralysis in the cave; it was passion. I knew that I could have no relationship with you if I remained crippled by the trauma of the separation from my home plane. I said I would settle with you later; now I am doing so."

"I never dreamed—"

"You must hear the rest, Seth. Then you will decide. I was affianced, but the relationship was strained. I told you I had tried to commit suicide, but I did not tell you why. Remember, every person in my culture is what you call telepathic; we freely interchange thoughts and emotions. When we marry, we are very certain of our feelings for each other. But I did the unpardonable: I deceived my lover about my commitment. It was not intentional; I deceived myself as well. I thought I loved him completely, but after we were affianced and gave each other to each other completely, there turned out to be a reservation in my feeling. We explored it, and it turned out to be a passion for another man. I had no knowledge who that other might be, but the feeling was there, and I could not be completely fulfilled with the one I had chosen. Our union could not be perfect until this illicit passion was eliminated. My lover, naturally, was deeply hurt, but in the generosity of his nature he did his best to enable me to expunge this barrier between us. We concluded that it was a phantom passion, rising not from any actual experience with or knowledge of another man, but from the hope that such a man existed. Such things are known in our culture. So I undertook a journey alone, trying to extirpate this phantom passion. The purpose of this journey was to put me in such danger of my life that I would yield the illicit passion in favor of the licit one. Do you understand?"

"I'm trying to," Seth said, his head spinning. He had never known anything like this.

"I believed that if my choice were between death and the extirpation of the illicit passion, I would choose the latter. So I explored the wilderness, with limited supplies, alone, where the thoughts and feelings of others would not interfere. I came at last to a great declivity, from which the only feasible escape was a tortuous passage through the rock: a narrow cave. I commenced that ascent, but my physical stamina was depleted, and I was unable to draw myself through the closest constriction. I realized that I was going to perish deep in the earth—yet in that fading moment the passion that remained with me was not for my husband, but for that unknown other. Death itself would not cleanse my crime of emotion. And so I died, not with pride but with shame. In this manner I found myself on the surface of Earth Plane 4, where a passing peasant of the Teuton Empire found me and guided me to the capital. The rest you know."

Seth was silent. What she had told him was at the same time much more and much less than he might have expected. Her telepathic culture had deeper implications than he had realized, while her supposed crime was no crime at all in his culture. Ambiguity was a fact of human life, as he knew it, and he had long since understood that what counted was not so much what a person thought, but what he did. Thus a man might take delight in a vision of a pretty girl on television, but still be true to his wife. A girl might long for the most fattening pastries, but remain on her diet. A man might have the capacity for devastating physical combat, yet strive for peace, as his father had taught him. Thoughts did count, of course, but not as much as actions, in the end.

"But you see, if you were to unite with me, I would train you in mental contact, and our thoughts and feelings would be completely open to each other." She was answering his thoughts, without making a direct allusion to them. "Such ability, once invoked, cannot be banished. At present you share my thoughts and feelings, and those of the others, only when I create an ambience; when I desist, your thoughts are indeed private to all except to me. I will say that your private thoughts become you, and this has influenced me significantly. But if mine were always open to you, you would come up against the reality of my guilty passion, and you would know that I could not love you completely any more than I could my affianced. You would find this painful."

"You
still
have that—that secret love?" he asked, surprised though she had never suggested otherwise.

"I still do. My shame remains, and death will not abate it. I can offer you everything physical and mental, but my love can never be true. This is no bargain, and I regret hurting you in this manner, but in the circumstance I believe it is necessary for you to know. I think your best course is to eschew any further emotional involvement with me, in the interest of sparing yourself greater distress later."

She offered him, by her reckoning, half a loaf, with the best part always in view but never attainable. Yet was that more than any person in his culture offered any other? On his plane half of all marriages ended in divorce, and many that survived did so because of economic or social considerations, rather than true love or loyalty. Still, true love had always been his aspiration, and she could not give him that.

Yet she had given him honesty. That was valuable in itself. She had told him her limit, and it went far to counter what she called her shame.

"How do you feel about it?" he asked.

"It is not appropriate for me to say, apart from the interest I have already expressed. I have described the manner in which my judgment of you has changed, so that I now deem you to be a suitable prospect for a serious relationship. The actual state of my emotion is not relevant to your consideration."

"Yes it is! I think you're beautiful and courageous and compassionate and intelligent—the ideal woman. But it is what you want that counts, or this is none of my business. Do you want my—my love?"

She hesitated. "I see I did say too much, so that you have been unfairly influenced."

"I was influenced the moment I first saw you! I'm young and impetuous, remember? But I need to know your real desire. Do you want my love? Or is this just a passing entertainment for you?"

She gazed at him expressionlessly. Then she nodded. "I want it, Seth."

"I—" He found himself at a loss. He really hadn't expected her direct affirmation. He had thought she would offer him the undoubted delights of dalliance, without deep commitment, being reserved even in romance. He had expected to be put astride the horns of a dilemma, whether to take what she offered or to wait for true love elsewhere. Instead he had found none. She wanted a full relationship—as did he.

She paused, and put her hand on his arm again. "I think you are not ready for this, Seth. Shall we say that at such time as you approach me, you shall not find me unapproachable? There is much that may be said for a gradual relationship, and we have much doubt in our immediate future. Our lives have already been threatened, and we have suffered discomfort."

"But—but what if I wait to—to approach you, and then one of us gets killed?"

"Even so, things must be done in their own time."

He considered that, and realized that it was true. He had no clear idea what she meant by being approachable; it might be that she just would not call him an impetuous youth again, or it might be that if he wanted her in his bed—

"I think in due course you will know what is appropriate, and when you do, so will I," she said. "I am not inexperienced in such matters, as you understand."

Seth felt himself blushing. She was right: mind-reading could be a problem at times!

Perceiving his embarrassment, she alleviated it. She extended her hand. He took it gratefully, and they continued their walk holding hands. It was the right level, for now.

Rame was busy conjuring new fruits and vegetables into his whistle when they returned. "I did not come here for this, but if I had, it would have been worth it," he said. "The elves have marvelous variants." He looked up. "What were you two doing?"

Whereupon Tirsa smiled and Seth blushed. The faun nodded slowly. "About time," he remarked.

"Do not belabor the obvious," Tirsa said, and at that they all laughed.

"How is Vidav?" Seth asked.

"Visibly improving. He should be ready to wake in another day. But then—"

"Do you have the wizard's address on your map?"

"I do, now. With the magic boots we can reach it readily. But the elves have warned me that the wizard's cure will not be easy, even if he agrees to do it."

"We shall simply have to do what we can, and hope for the best," Tirsa said.

They had another good meal with the elves, and retired at dusk. Seth expected to fall instantly to sleep, as he had before, but instead he lay awake, marveling at the day's events, especially his dialogue with Tirsa. How suddenly his hopeless love had become hopeful! Yet a dissatisfaction somehow remained. He could not quite pin it down.

Tirsa got up from her bed. She picked up her moss in a big armful and carried it over to Seth's bed. She dumped it down, straightened it, then lay down beside him, taking his hand. She closed her eyes.

The dissatisfaction was gone. Seth sank into sleep.

He woke at dawn. Had it been a dream? Then he found Tirsa's hand in his, and knew it was not.

On the following day the elf healer roused Vidav. They were all present as the man woke. "Where am I?" he asked, sitting up.

Caution!
Tirsa thought to him.
There is a spy here.
Aloud, she said: "We are at the elf village, Vidav. "You were poisoned by a Sateon dart, and almost drowned after saving us. We brought you here, but the poison did you harm."

"I remember the lizard attack," Vidav said. "We were in the river, and—" He shook his head. "That seems a long time ago."

"Several days," Seth said.

"We must be on our way!" Vidav exclaimed. "Every hour counts!" He got to his feet—and wobbled.

Seth jumped to help support him. "You have been very ill! You must take it easy."

"Nonsense!" Vidav said. "Our mission is too important." He took a step, and stumbled. But for Seth's support, he would have fallen. "How can this be? I'm weak!" he exclaimed, appalled.

"It is the damage left by the bacteria," the elf healer said. "It was extending itself to take over his mind, but first it captured the nervous system for the body. That system has been freed—but what remains is only a shadow of its original condition. Fortunately he was very strong, so that what would have killed an ordinary man merely reduced him to fractional strength."

"But I cannot exist this way!" Vidav cried. "Strength is my essence! Without it my life is nothing!"

"We shall take you to a wizard who can restore your strength," Rame said.

Vidav, suddenly insecure in his awful weakness, sat down on his bed. "Is it far? I do not know how far I can walk."

"Not far," Rame assured him. "Tomorrow we will take you there."

Vidav lay back on the bed, satisfied.

But in the evening, as Seth lay down to sleep, Tirsa's terse thought came.
I told no one, to preserve the secret. But we must go tonight. The spy is planning to set an ambush for us when we are away from the protection of the elf village.

But we can't use the boots effectively at night,
Seth protested.

Rame!
she thought.
You have plotted the route?

Yes. But if there is an ambush
—

I read in your mind that there is an herb the elves grow that will cause unconsciousness for an hour. If Seth and I take that, and give it to Vidav, could you play us all into your whistle?

Now the faun understood what she was getting at.
I could. But we are larger than the elves, and the herb is not attuned to us. It would cause only brief unconsciousness in us
—
perhaps no more than five minutes. Even with the boots, it will take me several hours to reach the wizard's castle.