by Caro Soles
“You know the answer to that, my son. Continue.”
Luan turned back to the incense. “Ah! The cave is gone, now, and the rebel camp is in the distance. I hear someone calling my name. A light Merculian voice. Is it the Ambassador?”
“Luan, my dear boy, he is an alien; neither a man nor a woman. Can you picture him living with you in your house with the flowers?”
“I… No, lord. But, I am so alone!” He covered his face with his hands. In the silence, the Dream Weaver sat motionless. Luan sighed and looked once again at the smoky basin. For a moment he thought he saw a pair of round, black Merculian eyes looking at him intently. “That young dancer should not die because of my father,” he said, his voice growing hoarse. “I must try to get him back, if only so I can sleep again. But the shapes I see now are not clear…. Not clear…. Perhaps I am not a Dreamer, after all.”
There was silence again, hanging in the cave like dark draperies around the shoulders of the Dream Weaver. Time passed. Luan heard a strange thrumming and looked up. The old man’s voice seemed to come from far away, although he was right in front of him.
“It is time, my son. It is time for you to prove to yourself what I have always known. Do you trust me?”
“Completely.”
“Hold your right hand over the brass bowl.”
Luan obeyed, watched the blue smoke curl against his skin. It clung to his flesh coating his hand with bluish-green luminescence. He watched it, fascinated.
“Now, plunge your hand into the brass bowl and pull out a handful of the sacred fire.”
Luan swallowed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He felt the cool trickle of it under his arms. Taking a deep breath, he thrust his right hand into the brazier. Heat seared along his arm and he jerked back. At the last minute, he remembered to close his hand around the pain. Through traitorous tears, he looked up at Quetzelan and he opened his mouth to speak. Far away, he heard a distant thrumming. “A campfire…trees…a rushing river… Moonlight on the water… Everything is whirling together and I cannot…cannot… A cats-eye. I see my father’s cats-eye, high above my head.”
“Touch it, Luan. Reach out and touch it!”
Instinctively he held out his hand, still clutching the remnants of the coal, to the image he saw floating near the roof of the cave. It was close…very close…. Puzzled, he looked down and saw below him the carved throne, the brazier, the old man watching. Everything was bathed in an odd bluish light, that shimmered in the dimness. At that moment, he realized he felt no pain, and that the thrumming noise was his own voice, speaking in the voice of a Dreamer, telling the beginnings of a tale. But he couldn’t hear his own words. He looked down and felt the panic rise in his throat. His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the voice. In alarm, he opened his hand, trying to catch on to something, anything, that would keep him safe. The small piece of coal fell to the ground—and so did he.
Luan cried out in fear as the hard stone floor rushed up to meet him. The cave swirled around him. He felt the solid rock against his knees, felt the painful indentations in his flesh. His dark head sank low on his chest as consciousness slipped away and his body crumpled against the old man’s knees. Quetzelan smiled. “Do not fight it so,” he murmured. “You are a Dreamer. Soon it will become clear to you, dear child.”
* * *
The sun was slanting low in the sky when Luan at last emerged from the cave. He stood on the path swaying, blinded by the light as he tried to bring his mind back from the tangle of dreams. He rested against the rough surface of the rock behind him and breathed deeply, trying to steady himself.
What had happened this afternoon in the cave? It had been so different this time. It had been more than the caring touch of the old man’s hand on his head, guiding him to see the way, make his own choice, try to understand. Was it a dream? A vision? He could still hear the echo of Quetzelan’s voice, feel the odd thrumming deep inside himself as he opened his mouth and began to tell the story he now couldn’t remember. He saw the cave spread out below him, shimmering in that unearthly blue-green light…. Luan shivered. Was that part merely a dream, too? Or did he really have the power to travel, as if in a dream, as Quetzelan could? As all true Dreamers could. He raised his right hand and stared at the red mark on his palm. It throbbed, but the skin wasn’t blistered. Tentatively he touched the burn with a finger and winced.
“Hi, sweetie. What’s the matter? You look kind of wasted.”
Luan blinked. “I’m…fine. I guess I fell asleep up here.”
“Sure you did.” Triani laughed.
“What are you doing here?”
“I followed you.”
“Why?” asked Luan, stunned. He sat down beside the path, his arms around his knees. He didn’t want the Merculian to see how unsteady his legs were.
Triani sat down beside him. “Ever make it in the grass?” He stroked Luan’s arm.
“Not now, man.”
Triani shrugged. “You were pretty impressive in that meeting today. Did you mean what you said?”
“I meant it, but I sure wouldn’t call it impressive. Neither would my father, as you saw.”
“I would. You made me feel I can count on you.”
“Wait. Give me a minute.” The world was rushing back at him too fast, too soon. Luan closed his eyes and stretched out both arms on either side as he filled his lungs with air, held it for a long moment and then expelled it with a loud explosion of sound. He repeated this process several times until the images in his mind had receded. He felt calmer, now. He knew what he had to do. He opened his eyes and stood up. As he looked around him, the dazzle had left the world.
“Is all this some kind of religious thing?” asked Triani with interest.
“In a way. Do you have a plan?”
“You’re a real pro, sweetie.” Triani stood on tip toe up and kissed his cheek. “I want to go back to that bar and see if I can find out something. Do you know someone named Akan?”
“What clan?”
“How would I know? He’s Quana’s uncle, and don’t ask me what clan she belongs to.”
Luan nodded. “Let’s go.”
Triani soon admitted it wasn’t as easy a place to find as he had expected. Luan was the one who eventually discovered the nondescript bar, even though it was not the kind of place that interested him. He did not share the national passion for gambling, another thing that set him apart from his countrymen.
As they went in, the fat man looked up from the abacus he was working with behind the counter. His mouth opened slightly in surprise, whether because he recognized Luan or because Triani was with him was difficult to decide. There was no one else in the room. “Business not good these days, sweetie?” Triani climbed up on a stool and leaned on the counter. “Word must have got out you beat up your customers and steal alien kids.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” said the man, looking from Triani to Luan and back again.
“Neither did I, but I got it, didn’t I?”
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. But what can I do? I just own this place, right? They hang out here all the time—”
“Who is Akan?” Triani interrupted.
The fat man seemed to turn even more pale. He licked his lips. “He’s a player. He doesn’t talk much but I know he’s one of them.”
“You mean he’s one of Yonan’s men?” asked Luan.
“Well, now, I don’t know for sure.” The man was looking more and more uncomfortable. “I mean, if I did I’d report him, wouldn’t I?”
“Tell us about him.”
“I don’t know. He’s a player, like I said. Lately he’s been winning big from that alien fellow who comes here a lot. Big blue guy. I don’t know what you call them.”
“A Serpian?” exclaimed Triani, amazed. “Zox! You mean Talassa-ran Zox?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sounds something like that. Is this any help?”
“I don’t know. It explains where Akan got the figurine.”
>
“The Serpian sold your young friend to pay off his debt,” said Luan.
“What?” exclaimed Triani, stunned.
“If these men are subversives, they don’t want money, they want power,” Luan explained. “They got their hostage by winning heavily from the Serpian and exacting your young friend as payment.”
The fat man poured a small glass of thick yellow liquid and pushed it towards Triani. “On the house,” he muttered.
“I still don’t get it,” said Triani, reaching automatically for the drink.
“How did you find this bar in the first place?” asked Luan.
“A young boy came up to us and….”
“Exactly. In other words, someone paid him to bring you here.”
Triani swallowed the drink without another word. “I’m going to kill that son of Serpian bitch Zox,” he said.
* * *
By the time they got back to the Public Gardens, the sun had dropped out of sight, plunging everything into gloom. The Festival Office was closed and Zox was nowhere to be found.
“I’ll walk you to the theater.”
Triani nodded. “It’s lucky for Zox I have to dance tonight,” he muttered darkly, as they made their way the short distance along the boulevard.
“You can talk to him tomorrow.” Luan smiled above the Merculian’s head.
“Talk isn’t what I have in mind for the Serpian bastard,” Triani growled. “Are you going to watch the show?”
“I think I’ll wait for when the program changes. I’ll be at the Gala.”
“Okay. See you later.” Triani disappeared through the stage door.
Luan walked back through the gardens. He didn’t want to go home, back to the fortress-like palace, permeated with his father’s autocratic presence. Besides, now that he was alone, he still felt shaken by the afternoon’s experience in the Cave. He wanted to think. Almost automatically, he turned towards his favorite spot. The low-hanging moon silvered the branches of the trees along the path to the reservoir. Somewhere in the night, an animal called out shrilly. Luan walked slowly, trying to decide how much of a contribution he could possibly hope to make to help right the wrong against the Merculians. Even if nothing was accomplished, he decided, he would at least feel better about himself.
Massive, twisted kahadari trees surrounded the reservoir, their shadows grotesque in the moonlight. He stood for a long time gazing out over the motionless expanse of water, his hands on the rough, wooden rail. He didn’t notice the man come and stand beside him, only gradually becoming aware of his quiet presence. Luan turned his head and looked up at the tall, slender figure, the clear cut features pale in the moonlight. His black hair fell straight and gleaming to his shoulder blades. A rough gold nugget dangled from one ear. Luan turned back to the water. Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe and although the air was cool, he felt a glowing warmth all over. The man’s hand moved and covered his on the railing. Luan stood motionless, his heart pounding. He turned his hand, moist palm upwards, and entwined his fingers with the stranger’s.
“The moon makes a silver highway across the water,” remarked the man, and his voice was a low whisper in the stillness.
“Twice I tried to take that highway as an escape,” replied Luan, admitting to a total stranger what no one else knew.
“That is never an answer.” The man looked at him sternly. “Don’t do it again.”
“I don’t want to. Not now.” Luan turned towards his companion, tightening his fingers around the strong hand. “Why have I never seen you before?”
“I’ve been away.” Luan gazed into the deep, dark eyes and knew he could easily get lost in them. He felt the man’s other hand move to his waist. In sudden panic, Luan moved away slightly and turned back to the water. ‘Oh gods! Please don’t let me make a mistake!’ he prayed fervently. Who was this man? Did it matter? He could feel the quiet, strong presence at his side, part of the night and the moonlight. He had seen no recognition in those great, dark eyes. Nothing but a possible answer to his own hunger and loneliness. He wanted to keep his identity a secret as long as possible. Let this be an encounter of souls where for once who he was played no part. He could take the man back to Triani’s apartment. It was the only anonymous place he could think of. He let out a long breath and started back along the path, still holding the man’s hand. From somewhere came the nagging thought, was this all an act? Had this man been sent by someone because he was strong and tall and good-looking, with a face Luan had seen in his dreams? Even the voice went straight to his heart. He pushed the thought away. He remembered the image he had glimpsed in the Dream Weaver’s Cave, the moonlight on the water, the whisper of a soft voice on the air. He could almost smell the incense. They were walking very close together, the man’s long hair brushing Luan’s cheek. They didn’t speak another word.
If his guest was surprised by the alien objects in Triani’s apartment, he asked no questions. He followed Luan into the bedroom, undressed and immersed himself in the pool. When his head broke the surface of the water, he threw back his long slick of hair and reached for Luan at once. He slid his arms around the boy and kissed him, tasting him as if he were a rare delicacy. Luan felt like crying as the man’s body strained against his, releasing emotions long held in check.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.
An hour later, the man got up, prepared a long- stemmed pipe and brought it back to the bed. He offered it to Luan.
“I don’t want this to be a casual, nameless meeting,” he said, watching Luan pull at the pipe. “I want to be with you again.”
“It’s like I’ve known you all my life. I’ve never felt this way before.” Luan handed the pipe back. His moment of decision had come. He took a careful breath. “My name’s Luan, of Quarr.”
The dark eyes flickered once. He couldn’t read the expression. “I am Marselind.” Luan waited for the rest. Marselind pulled at the pipe before continuing. “I cannot lie to someone who has touched my naked heart. My clan has disowned me.”
“It was a minor offence?”
“Not in your eyes. If I tell you, I put my life in your hands. Do you demand this?”
Luan studied the man’s face. “You’re telling me you are with the rebels.”
“Yes.”
“No!” Luan turned away, cold with shock. How could his dream image have betrayed him?
Marselind got up and started to put his clothes on. “I will leave now. It is the only way.”
“Wait.”
“You are going to call the guards?”
“There are no guards. As you have probably gathered, this is not my place.”
“No. It’s mine,” came a voice from the door. “Or at least I thought it was. Look, guys, you’re both gorgeous but I don’t go for threesomes. Okay?”
“Triani!”
“Make your choice. Either him or me, sweetie, but hurry up. I’m exhausted.”
Luan got into his clothes quickly. Marselind stood quietly by the door, his dark eyes watchful.
“I came to the city to see you dance,” he said.
“Well, I don’t do it in my bedroom. You’ll have to buy a ticket and come to the theater like everyone else.”
“I intend to.” Marselind bowed and followed Luan out the door.
THIRTEEN
“Ambassador Benvolini, I must speak with you on an urgent matter.” The Serpian office manager maneuvered himself in front of the door so that it was impossible for Beny to leave.
“I would appreciate it if you would take this up with Thar-von Del, as is your custom,” said Beny, adjusting his tunic.
“But Excellency, Del-k’sad is not here.”
Beny glanced up at the man, suppressing his irritation. “What is this urgent matter?”
“Excellency, I try to do my appointed tasks well, observing all the—”
“I have no complaints about your work,” Beny broke in impatiently.
“I am relieved to hear that. But you
must know that some of my Merculian co-workers continue to find fault with me, even though they are not as conscientious as I. Sophisticated hardware is left unattended. Power-source packs are allowed to deteriorate. Security codes are completely ignored. I have even found some inaccuracies caused by carelessness, which could seriously throw off important calculations, as you know. Yet all these shortcomings could be corrected.”
“Then do so,” said Beny crisply.
“But sir—I mean, Excellency, the prejudice I encounter at every turn makes this very difficult. They reduce everything to the personal.”
The word ‘prejudice’ acted as a red flag to Beny. He rubbed the palm of one hand with his thumb. “I understand the problem, Zox-k’sad,” he began, using the Serpian form of address. “But I feel that perhaps you do not. This is precisely why the choice of key personnel for a test project such as this is of prime importance. There is always more than meets the eye in these cases, as a man of your experience well knows. Your position here is no less one of diplomacy than mine, and we are evaluated in much the same way, on many levels. The inter-personal level is of major importance in the diplomatic corps. Do you follow me, Zox-k’sad?”
The tall Serpian blinked twice as he digested the possible meanings of this speech as applied to him. “You called this operation a test project,” he said.
“Indeed. When, to your knowledge, was a Serpian male sent out as manager with a group of Merculian office workers by the I.P.A.? Your embassy has faith in you.”
“I see.” A look of satisfaction spread over the Serpian’s face. “But it is not easy.”
“Nothing of merit is ever easy,” replied Beny smoothly. “Are you capable of handling this?”
“I am, Excellency.” Zox bowed and was moving away when the door burst open behind him.
“You fucking bastard!” cried Triani, springing at the Serpian. Zox raised one hand and brushed him aside. The Merculian staggered and fell.
“You are my witness, Excellency. That was an unprovoked attack, a prime example of what I was just talking about.”
