Grey Eagle - Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Arion sat against the wall, tucked into himself. He missed the mythra terribly, and he did not expect Sharsa to come today. He had been unbelievably stupid to attack him that way. It had all happened so quickly, unplanned... He was losing control. Piece by piece, he was losing himself.

He tried to sleep, but couldn't. He gazed up at the small holes near the ceiling. Some of them served as the eyes for Sharsa's video. He had decided that when Sharsa brought the monitor, but had never tried to do anything about it. He wondered now if he could blind them...

Nothing came to him and he put his head down in his arms. ...If he threw himself through the doorway every time Sharsa put him back... It wasn't 'right' to die on purpose, but he felt cold and angry, and he didn't care. He wasn't all right and he wasn't going to be. He had done his best and it simply wasn't good enough.

Kuna, and especially the mythra had been major distractions, welcome and invigorating. The return to utter nothingness now was devastating and intolerable. When Yavin came, Arion grabbed onto the stick and held it, not taking it, but holding it so that he couldn't leave.

"Tch tch tch," Arion clicked his tongue with his mouth nearly closed, imitating the low, soothing cluck that Raach had used on Ky. Yavin relaxed marginally, holding tightly to his stick. Arion clung to the other end, a solid object. He looked at Yavin, a piece of reality, and ate slowly, one handed.

Yavin studied the situation, and waited. When the food was gone, he tugged on his stick. Reluctantly, Arion released it, watching sadly as Yavin took the tray and left.

The following day, (now defined in his mind as the first time he woke up after eating), passed as emptily as the last. He wondered if Sharsa would come this time, or if he was still mad. Maybe now that he had attacked him, he would give up. Well I guess I'll be dying now, he thought flippantly, not caring, almost hoping...

Sighing, he leaned back against the wall and stared into the blankness. Fading into white, he imagined the beauty and openness of snow fields stretching away... The image became vivid, startling him.

Fascinated, he toyed with it, greatly amused to find that he could shape it, conduct it to some degree. It was a pleasing sensation, considering how little control he had over anything these days. The thought depressed him though, knowing that the image did not signal control, but rather the lack of it.

You have dreams when you're awake, Sharsa had said. Was he awake now?

Angry, he willed the vision to fade, but it remained. He began walking, looking for a way out. He willed a cave mouth into existence, so that he could go through and leave the mirage behind.

The cave appeared on cue, but he stopped, afraid to cross the threshold, unable to tell where the dream left off and reality began. Disgusted with himself, he wondered what would come out of the cave since he could not go in. What else but a polar bear? Of course.

Hello Bear. I've heard tell that if you die in a dream and don't wake up, you die for real. So come set me free. Either I wake up or I die, right?

The bear advanced then, smiling. I will eat your soul...

Arion groaned, helpless and inadequate. The brute lunged, attacking. They wrestled, and he realized with a start of terror that he could feel the pain. Only a vision. Only a dream. How could he feel it?

And he was losing. Slowly, inexorably, it was draining his strength. What is it like to be an animal? The thought of being a damat revolted him. Unable to win, he curled into a ball, hiding his eyes from the beast, refusing its existence...

Footsteps. Arion rose, waiting, hopeless and desperate. Sharsa appeared at the doorway, a vivid figure, a stark member from the world of reality, that realm to which he no longer belonged...

He came in and handed the tray to him, his eyes searching him silently. Arion avoided the eyes, looking down at the tray, and it too seemed foreign. He sat then, picking at the food.

"Are you okay? Or are you still mad at me?"

"No. Yes."

Sharsa was silent, sorting out the answer. "Tell me about it?"

Arion looked at him, meeting his eyes. "What for?"

"So I can help."

He stared down at the food again. "You don't want to help," he said softly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you do it on purpose."

"Do what? I keep asking you what I can do to make you happier, but you won't tell me. You seem to think it's obvious, but it's not. Not to me. I can't help you if you won't tell me how."

"You didn't even leave me the mythra," he complained bitterly, his emotions writhing again. "I'm sorry I attacked you, okay? Don't leave me alone anymore..." He spoke softly, knowing Sharsa had won, but also knowing he would figure it out from the videos anyway. Besides, he was doing it on purpose, wasn't he? He closed his eyes, confused again.

"Kuna took the mythra," said Sharsa slowly. "I didn't realized until after we had left. Later, I didn't have time to bring it back."

Arion shrugged, not believing him. "If you're going to punish someone, you might as well make it count."

"Punish? I didn't take the mythra," he said gently, coaxing. "I wasn't trying to punish you."

"No," he agreed sullenly, "just muddle me up."

"Muddle?"

"Yeah. Muddled. Addled. Wrong in the head. Every time I do anything besides play your pet, you leave me in here all alone. No one to talk to, nothing to do, there isn't even anything to look at. And every time, I get a little worse. Then you sit here and pretend you don't know what you're doing. A homologist, and he doesn't even know..."

Sharsa sighed audibly, then nodded. "I understand now. I guess it was pretty blind of me not to see it. Thank you for telling me finally. Now I will tell you what I saw.

"Every time you tried to get away, I had to go before the Rikshastika and justify retaining my rights to you. That's what I was doing yesterday - not trying to punish you. When I'd come back and you were depressed, I always thought it was because you hadn't been able to escape.

"I'm truly sorry Arion. I know from my damats that the little ones don't do well without enough attention, but I thought being an adult... All the adults I've worked with have always been in groups. I never tried to punish you."

Arion hesitated, mixed as always. Sharsa's excuse was a good one, but it also meant that his victory was all the greater, his own defeat more costly. Sharsa hadn't known, and he had babbled away to him.

He should have been dead a long time ago... "What do you want from me? Another damat?"

"No. I want your approval."

"My approval? You expect approval from a Cedrychad?"

"I demand your approval," he said quietly. "Because you're a Cedrychad. In time you'll see the whole picture, and then you'll approve. The humans on Lenis know."

"Turpa!" spat Arion. "They're worse than you!" he said viciously, finally voicing what he had felt for so long.

"Worse than a venat?" he asked softly, almost smiling. "Why? Because they're human?"

Arion glared at him, recognizing the point scored. "No. Because they're not human. They can't be."

"Why not? Because they're not loyal to you? You're insulted, that's all. How can they be worse than me?"

Arion was silent. "...I expect trouble from you," he said finally, morose, "but not from my own. I thought they were human. ...It's like.. like being lost, and suddenly finding home, and then... They had no reason." The hurt was deep, and it rose within him, choking.

"They had reason, if you only understood."

"You want me to approve of them too?"

"They just want to survive," he said gently.

"By giving humans to venats?" Fury and anguish battled within, and he tried to bring his emotions under control, but like a handful of wet spaghetti, they kept slipping through his fingers.

"You're insulted. You're angry with them because they aren't loyal to you, that's all." Arion glared at him and Sharsa sighed deeply with mournful patience. "They understand each other. It's not their fault that you don't. They've been there for a long time, and they learned to survive in the only way they could find. They are human, and deep down you know it. Humans don't have to be loyal to you in order to be human."

"They don't have to be loyal to venats either."

"They aren't, really. But they have nothing. They can't even fly. They learned that if they allowed us to take what we wanted, they actually lost fewer people than when they fought back. Is it wrong to minimize your losses?"

"Humans don't treat each other the way they treated me," he said, his voice soft but grating.

Sharsa shook his head wonderingly. "They didn't kill you, did they? In their own fashion, they even tried to return you to your friends. It's not their fault you couldn t communicate. ...As close to us as they are, as helpless as they are, they actually lose fewer people than you do."

"What do you want from me? Why do you care what I think?"

Sharsa hesitated, holding his eyes. "I'm trying to replace your people with the damats. When we have enough, we won't have to hunt anymore and your people will be left in peace. Don't you see? Won't you please try to conceive of something new? I'm trying to change things for the better. For everyone."

Arion closed his eyes, confused and miserable. He couldn't think clearly, and it scared him. His fear made him angry, which frightened him still more. If he was angry, Sharsa would leave.

He wanted to trust Sharsa, to believe in his good intentions, but they were twisted even if they were real. And he simply couldn't trust. Better for everyone. Not for the damats. What about them? "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be my peace ambassador. I want to send you home to speak to your people for me."

Arion stared at him, stunned. "Home?"

Ever so slightly he smiled, nodded. "Home. To build a peace, so no one has to die anymore. Yours or mine."

"...I can come out now?"

Sharsa paused, uncomfortable. "Well, I need your promise first. Will you promise to be good?"

Arion crumbled, betrayed, too hopeless now to be angry. He'd done it to himself. "You know I can't."

"Why not?" pleaded Sharsa reproachfully. "Is it so unfair? I want you to help me build a peace. Is it too much to ask that you not hurt anyone?"

"If no one gives me reason," he said slowly. "I could promise that. I won't start anything, okay?"

Sharsa nodded tentatively. "It's not what they asked for, but it's reasonable. I'll have to ask, but I'm sure I can tell you by tomorrow. You'll help me then?"

"What am I supposed to do?"

He smiled. "Be my peace ambassador. Talk to your people for me. The Gadamista is extremely unwilling to trust us, but they'd listen to you. Tell them I want peace. Tell them there's a better way."

Bait. "What better way?"

"Like the people on Lenis. I know you're mad at them for sending you here, but you're not dead, are you? Tell them that too. Coming here doesn't have to be bad. And when we have enough damats, we can leave you alone completely."

"...They'll never listen," he said cautiously.

"Oh, I think you'd be surprised. You're afraid to trust because you think it's giving in. They can look at things without being afraid." He stood.

"Stay and talk a bit?"

"I'm sorry, I really can't. I have so many responsibilities. But I'll ask. Maybe we can get you out of here tomorrow." Arion nodded, disappointed, excited, afraid to hope.

The next day passed horribly, his hopes and fears alternately soaring and crashing. To get out. To go home! But it could never work. They wouldn't let him go home, just like that... But at least to get out. To save his sanity... Unless they said no... Why hadn't Sharsa brought the mythra back?

He heard Sharsa's steps at last and jumped to his feet, controlling the urge to call out. More difficult to control was his breath, which came in ragged gasps. He could come out now. He had to...

Sharsa came around the doorway and Arion's hopes shriveled. Sharsa said nothing, but his expression was explicit. Arion sank to floor, weeping. "Oh, Sharsa, please... If you want to be my friend, help me. I can't take it anymore."

Sharsa sat down close and reached out with his hand, but withdrew it without touching him. "So promise," he said softly. "If you feel like you have to break it, go ahead and break it. Just make them the promise so I can get you out."

He shook his head, sitting up, pulling himself into a ball, his face in his arms. "I can't. Can't you get me out some other way?"

"Not that I know of. Besides, you won't need to break the promise anyway. Just trust me."

He looked up. "Then the bottom line is, the only way I can get out of here is to promise not to fight back."

"Well, basically, yes, but you won't need to. It's not the big deal you're making of it. They just want to be sure you won't hurt them."

He shook his head again. "They're setting me up, Sharsa. Maybe even setting you up."

"No, they just don't trust you. Just like you won't trust me. They think you put conditions on it so you could find an excuse to start a fight."

"Oh, like I'm a real big threat, right?" he demanded, lifting his head. "Look at me, Sharsa. Are you afraid of me? You're killing me - can't you see that? Little piece by little piece, and then you sit there and tell me I'm a threat." Sharsa looked at him, and Arion saw the pain in his eyes. He's really serious...

"If you're so helpless," he said very softly, "then what's wrong with promising? What difference would it make?"

Arion hesitated, then laughed quietly, sadly. "Touch ." He sagged back against the wall, mournful. "They're setting me up, Sharsa. I can't promise and they know it. I'm going to die in here."

"No, Arion," said Sharsa, his own voice suddenly pleading. "We'll come up with something. But for now you've got to promise. You've got to. If you promise, I can take you with me. I have to leave for a few days... I have to. Please promise."

Arion stared at him. The cold, dead calm had returned. "How long?"

"Three or four days. I can't help it, Arion. I don't want to go, I have to. Please promise."

"No," he said, dropping his eyes, his voice flat and final. Sharsa was in on it after all. He'd done it to himself. He'd given him the weapon; it was only natural that he use it. ...As if sitting in a little room should be so unbearable, he thought disgustedly, twisting Sharsa's knife.

"Arion..." He rose suddenly. "I'll be right back." He slipped out the door, but Arion didn't even look up. He did return quickly, placing the mythra in Arion's lap. "Is there anything else I could give you?"

"...How about a blast between the eyes?"

He sighed. "Why is it so impossible to promise?"

"Because I already made a promise, and I don't make idle promises. It's more than just words. You're making it so I can't fight back no matter what. I'd be breaking an even deeper promise to God."

"Wouldn't he understand?"

He frowned, confused and uncertain, answers and impossibilities swirling together. His soul was protected, except... "Not if I know better than to make it in the first place."

"What happens?"

He shook his head, not knowing. His soul was safe, but...

"If you had a good reason, wouldn't he understand that?"

"Promise is a promise," he said, telling himself as much as Sharsa. "That's why you don't just throw them around. That's what makes them worth something."

"Sounds pretty unfair to me," said Sharsa, frustrated. "You talk about how wonderful he is, but I don't see him doing anything but making you miserable with rules you can't live up to."

"It's not His fault, it's mine."

"Then what good does it do to have him helping you? Doesn't seem to me like he's doing anything at all, and now it's supposed to be your fault? I'm sorry, but I just don't see it. If he's not going to help you, maybe you should help yourself."

Arion closed his eyes, clinging to the mythra, unprepared for Sharsa's sudden assault. Avigdor, help me... Ever so slightly, he felt a tiny spark of calm from deep within. Focusing on it, it grew, little spider-like tendrils spreading though him, infinitely delicate, yet present... He opened his eyes then and smiled briefly. "Sometimes it helps to ask," he whispered.

Sharsa slumped, discouraged. "Aren't you going to eat?"

He looked at the tray. He picked up the glass and finished the water. "I'm afraid I'm just not hungry."

"Is there anything I can bring you before I go?"

"Some books? A bath? A toothbrush?" The last was an accusation. He had abandoned the idea of asking for anything long ago, but what Sharsa thought didn't matter anymore.

"I don't have time to arrange for a bath, but as soon as I get back. The toothbrush, yes, and books, I don't know. Do you read Venatese?"

"No."

"Well, I'll look around. ...I was wondering when you'd ask for another bath."

He laughed slightly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have to. You want to be friends, remember? If you wouldn't even bring a toothbrush, what's the point in asking for a bath?"

Sharsa smiled, apologetic. "I'm sorry. I did bring it the first time, but then I forgot after that."

"You never brought it all, Sharsa."

"Yes I did. That was the day you got sick."

He laughed softly again. "My fault, right? Okay."

"Well, anyway, I'll bring it tomorrow."

You won't be here, remember? "Thanks."

"And a bath when I get back. And I'll try to find some books. If I can't bring them before I leave, I'll have them sent over."

Arion nodded.

"Well, I have to go..."

"Okay," he said, nodding again. "See you later." Sharsa looked troubled, but he left without saying anything more.

Arion dropped his eyes, gazing at the mythra. He sat quietly, fascinated with himself. His desperation had left, and he wondered calmly if he would still be alive or sane when Sharsa returned.

Will You protect my sanity, or does that not matter either? I always sort of thought of my mind as me, but I guess it isn't important. The struggle to stay alive had been important once too.

He didn't want to be crazy, hadn't thought he could be, but it no longer seemed to matter. He was abandoning his body completely, pulling inward to his core, retreating within the sanctuary of his soul. A smile flickered across his face, realizing that this alone was a sign of madness...