Grey Eagle - Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

He woke the next morning to the ache of his arm and a vaguely guilty feeling... He rolled to his back, sleepily tracing the guilt... The marl. He should have stopped when he realized it had something in it. Somehow it just hadn't seemed to matter. Still didn't. Matter of fact, he could go for some right now to take the ache away.

He sighed and sat up. Dangerous. Dangerous attitude. He looked over and spotted his breakfast already on the table. He went over to it, but it was already cold. No matter. He didn't want it anyway. Another heavy sigh, and he laid his head down in his arms.

Raach came in, and with him was a human. With a start, Arion studied him, somehow suspecting that the fellow was fully human and not a damat. Their eyes met, mutually curious. He looked to be in his mid thirties, maybe older, with dark hair and brown eyes. "My haircut?" he asked.

"Yes," said Raach, curt and formal. "Set the chair here."

Arion moved the chair and sat straddling it, resting his arms on its back. "You don't look that different," said the man amiably.

"Just cut his hair." Raach's voice was cold and hard. The job was done quickly and silently, and they left, leaving the mess on the floor. Arion watched them go, disappointed and disturbed. He and the man had made eye contact twice more, but his eyes had held only cold indifference.

He took a shower to wash the tickle away and when he came out, the mess was gone too. Almost, he regretted the haircut. He felt odd, looked odd, his hair so short he felt bald. But Reegat wouldn't be grabbing and pulling it now. Depressed, he stretched out on his bed and listened to some music, but it seemed empty, meaningless.

He switched it off when Reegat came in. He had the mythra with him, and he handed it to Arion silently. It was the same one, but the strings had been repaired. "That was quick," said Arion, stroking the wood, surprised once more by how deeply it moved him.

"Sharsa brought it a long time ago," he answered in neutral tones.

Arion looked up at him but said nothing, troubled by mixed reactions. He searched his eyes, feeling a renewed stubbornness, a determination not to give in that faded even as he held the gaze. He was beaten, and he would train Reegat whether he liked it or not. But they had best not let their guard down.

"You wouldn't dare kill me," said Reegat at last.

Inwardly, Arion smiled, remembering his threat. "It doesn't really matter, does it? You're supposed to be learning how to fight. You go out there for real and they won't be wearing leashes."

"But you are. And you promised. You can't kill me."

"Sure I can. I'd even like to. Just don't make it worthwhile." Reegat glared at him, his anger rising. He apparently wasn't used to being threatened, and it occurred to Arion that he shouldn't give him the practice. "Teka moraia," (Hold your anger), Arion cautioned somberly, suddenly unable to resist.

Reegat's eyes flashed, furious, and almost.. almost he attacked. He turned and walked stiffly out of the room.

Arion smiled and shook his head, wondering how long Raach would give him to heal, and how long Reegat would stay angry. Though perpetually obnoxious, he didn't seem to hold grudges. He sat down on the bed again and began tuning the mythra.

It was roughly mid-lesson time the following evening when Raach came in with a pot and two cups. Arion smiled slightly, concerned but pleased. Certainly his punishment was ended, and he guiltily welcomed the company. "Again so soon? I'm flattered."

"You won't be here forever," said Raach casually. "I must satisfy my curiosity while there is still time."

Arion laughed softly, shaking his head. "Patka." He looked down at his cup, reluctantly deciding not to drink.

"Would you rather I left?" asked Raach, feigning offense.

His smile broadened. "No. I like to talk. And I'm curious too."

"Ask."

He gave a short nod as his smile faded, phrasing what he would ask in his mind. "The man who cut my hair. You wouldn't let us talk."

"It would have made trouble."

"Why?"

"You are only temporary, and I do not want them to mourn. They are already curious about you. The less they know, the better."

"They?"

Raach nodded. "I have four humans here. Like the damats, they are permanent."

"Permanent... What for?"

He smiled slightly, gazing at Arion's untouched cup. "They are useful," he said, looking up. "Well adjusted, respectful. We get along quite well."

Arion sat back, disturbed. "You keep them tied up too?"

"No. It is not necessary. As I said, they are well adjusted."

Arion's laugh was soft, short and angry. "In other words, they're from Lenis."

Raach's smile deepened and he nodded indulgently. "We call it Pesdo. In any case, they have never heard of Gadamis. What you are and what you think have no place here. They are not allowed to come near you. This makes them curious because they do not know why."

Arion nodded. "Bad influence."

"Yes. So. It is my turn. What is the foundation of your perseverance?"

"God," he answered readily.

"Too easy," he said, shaking his head. "Tell me why."

"He may let you kill my body, but you can't kill my spirit."

"Why not?" he persisted.

"Because God won't let you," he said, growing irritated. "You can't reach it."

Raach laughed softly. "But I have reached it, Cedrychad. Do you forget so quickly? You have your ring back because I gave it to you. But you surrendered it to me."

Arion glared at him, angry, even frightened, impossibly defensive. "My spirit isn't in my ring. It isn't in my blood, and it isn't in my ring."

Raach shook his head, his eyes intense. "I know your writings very well, and this much is quite clear. Blood was forbidden to you because it is life. Then, when your Son of God came, he told them to eat his flesh and drink his blood because he had the eternal life."

"That was figurative. He gave them wine and bread."

"Figurative in action, yes, but the meaning was there. This is your inheritance, but you are not invulnerable."

"My body is vulnerable, but He won't let you touch my spirit."

"So arrogant. You know better, but you will not admit it. Think back, human, fifty generations before we came, back to those your people fled from, back to those who allowed them to flee, knowing they must die in space. They were your own people too, just like the people on Pesdo. You are not invulnerable. He gave you up, Cedrychad. You just don't know it yet."

He shook his head. "But they didn't die. The Marshandra came and led them here. God's intervention."

"Does that excuse what was done? Does that explain your kin on Pesdo?"

"The people on Pesdo aren't human, and the humans on earth were misled by.. Satan," he finished, not knowing how to translate.

"Dokapka, the deceiver," said Raach, supplying the name. "He has been released."

"Impossible."

"Nothing is impossible to the Infinite. Your own writings even speak of it."

"No. That's all past," he answered softly, but the doubt within was becoming fear. "You can't reach my spirit. He won't let you."

He growled softly, contemptuous. "Is that why you are frightened? Of all the traits I detest in humans, I loathe the arrogance most. Even your own writings tell you that there are those who claim to know Him, yet do not belong to Him. So you can not tell your lies to me. I know better."

"That was before," he stated firmly, but he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the intense chill that swept through him. It couldn't be true, and yet... He opened his eyes again, staring at the marl.

Raach sat back, relenting. "Dokapka caused much suffering, but he taught you humility. Do you think you cannot err on your own?"

"Sure we make mistakes, but... You're trying to say that spirits can still be lost, and they can't. Satan's gone."

"Do they need his help to be lost? It is your very confidence that has destroyed you. You blamed all your faults on Dokapka, and say now that you have none."

"No, I said we make mistakes."

"Kirtika," he sneered, his lip rising as his ears laid flat. "It is a false humility. You do not hold yourselves accountable."

"What do you care?" he snapped angrily. "You're talking about things you can't even hope to understand."

Raach gazed at him, his ears relaxing. "Teach me then," he said, with a mellowness that made Arion's skin prickle. "Teach me why it is that the Infinite has not kept the promise made to your people so long ago."

"What promise?"

" 'And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison.'" he quoted in Homonic. "Surely you know more about the sacred writings of your own people than a mere vampat. Explain to me what this means."

Arion hesitated, uncertain. He wasn't even sure whether such a passage existed or not, but he wasn't about to admit it now. "The writings are our history and our heritage," he said, with a dignity he could not quite feel. "They describe our past. What has been written there has already been fulfilled."

"Is it not also promised that there shall be no more death?" he asked in the same quizzical tone. Then, coldly, "Explain this to me."

Had he asked anything else, Arion might have been able to fudge it. Had Raach not been staring at him with brilliant, yellow eyes, he might have managed an answer. "I can't," he whispered, dropping his eyes to stare at his cup.

Raach stood suddenly and Arion flinched, startled. "You have enough to think about. Tomorrow," he said, raising his cup in farewell. He collected the remaining cup and the pot, and left. Arion climbed into bed, but it was a long while before he slept.

He spent the next day alone, grateful now for the solitude, dreading Raach's return that evening. Always he had been taught that his soul was inviolate, not subject to attack. Evil had been defeated, Satan cast down. The Venatorista had never been anything more to him than dangerous animals, frightening enough as a threat to his life. But Raach was no animal. He was more than that. Or rather, he was less.

More frightened and bewildered than ever before in his life, he clung desperately to the assurance he had felt in his thwarted suicide attempt. No matter what Raach might be, no matter what he said, his soul would somehow make it through...

But if Satan was loose again...

Once more he turned on his pocket pal and reread the passage Raach had quoted. It was there, and no amount of contempt for Raach could erase it. "And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison."

Once more he assured himself that the Council of Elders could not have missed something so monumental. It was past, over and done with. Ancient history. And he told himself again, but his gut would not believe it. Was it not the elders, the educated leaders of the temple, that had missed the arrival of Jesus?

Again his mind rebelled. The guidance the Council provided was founded in the promise that where two or more were gathered together in His name, Jesus would be there, giving them that very guidance. It could not be questioned.

He, on the other hand, was very much alone. Who was he to contradict the Council itself? Where, for that matter, had his doubts come from? From that vampat, Raach. Who better to listen to then, the Council, or the animal?

So why couldn't he convince his gut?

Raach came in shortly after supper. "What have you made of our little talk?" he asked quietly. Arion raised his eyebrows and shook his head, silent. He stiffened then, revolted as Raach took hold of his arm, checking the injury. "How is it?"

He shook his head again. "Better," he said, his voice sticking in his throat.

Raach smiled. "Didn't take much to rattle your head," he chided. "What's wrong? Feeling a tad vulnerable?"

"You can't do anything He doesn't allow you do."

He nodded. "Truth. But if you've noticed, I'm allowed quite a lot."

"He won't let you break me."

"No? What makes you so special? So arrogant. Just don't make it worthwhile, eh?" Arion looked up sharply and Raach nodded, his point made. "I'll give your arm another two days. Then we begin again."

"You will treat him as a cadet," said Raach when they came in two evenings later. "Don't let him hurt you, but don't injure him. Understood?"

"I can protect myself, but I can't rip his ugly little head off."

"Right. Begin now." Reegat advanced and attacked, prompt but feeble. Arion blocked, eyeing him coldly. They continued, Reegat remaining somewhat timid, but making all the attacks. "Use your openings, Cedrychad. You don't have to hurt him to show him."

Arion sighed. He had expected it, but it annoyed him anyway. Especially now. The lesson ended at last, his fatigue more a product of nervous frustration than exertion. Reegat left, but Raach came over to him. He had a sudden urge to turn his back on him and walk away, but he repressed it, smiling slightly at the thought. The smile vanished as Raach took hold of his arm, probing for vestiges of the injury. "How is it?"

"What do you care?"

"I care," he answered simply, unoffended. "How is it?"

"It's fine."

He nodded. "If I bring marl, are you willing to drink with me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes."

Arion looked at him, puzzled, bitter, and suspicious. "Do you plan to put anything in it?"

He smiled. "No. Just marl."

He sighed. "Yeah. Okay."

When he came out from his shower, Raach was at the table, waiting. He filled Arion's cup as he walked over. "You seem an odd mixture of better and worse today. What's wrong?"

"I hate your filthy bloody guts," he answered calmly. "Does that surprise you?"

"Are you trying to start a fight?"

He shrugged. "You'll get there sooner or later anyway."

"Yet you're willing to sit here and drink with me."

"Call it curiosity. Or boredom," he said offhandedly, determined to enjoy only the diversion, not the company. "Besides, I like the marl."

"As long as I don't put anything in it."

He shrugged again. "If you want to drug me, I can't stop you anyway. I may as well take what pleasure I can find. You can do what you want with my body, but that's all."

"I've hurt more than your body, Cedrychad, and you know it. Is that what's bothering you?"

"You hurt my pride, Raach, not my spirit."

Raach gazed at him, curious. "Ta," Raach commanded. Arion rose easily and came. "Bro." He knelt. And smiled. Raach nodded, a slow smile creeping onto his face, surprised and intrigued. He gestured dismissal and Arion returned to his seat. "Pride. Spirit. One and the same, but it heals too, like your body." He sipped his marl.

"You are not my first human, Cedrychad," he continued, "and yet you are something new. Normally, such open, hateful defiance would never be tolerated, but in your case it's even appropriate. It isn't necessary, and I think you may find it tiresome, but your leash allows you certain liberties. I am harsh, but never without reason. Do as you are told, and you can find life here relatively pleasant."

He smiled. "Yeah. Until it's time to kill me. Or until you get bored for something to do."

Raach shook his head. "I plan to kill you, yes, but you are no plaything. Your purpose here is serious."

"Is that why you take such pleasure in attacking me?"

"I take no pleasure in it. I have stopped you when you required stopping, I have punished you to prevent future problems, and I have defended my son. Necessities, not pleasures. Pleasure from another's pain is a human trait."

"Is that right?" he demanded. "What about your.. your sportsmen?" he finished, not knowing a suitable translation. "Reegat could certainly make a fine sportsman someday, and they cause more pain for their own amusement than..." He fell silent, daunted by the mounting anger in Raach's face.

"Touch ," he said softly, calming already. "But Sharsa has already told you that they are a disgrace. Reegat is no sportsman. I am no sportsman. What I do, I do from necessity."

He hesitated, bringing his own anger under control. "That's an interesting way to look at it," he observed dryly. "Is attacking me mentally a necessity?"

"I don't know," he allowed readily, unashamed. "Handling you is an interesting challenge. I try different things. The truth has always been a powerful weapon."

"The truth? What do you know of truth, pyon? There is no truth in telling me God doesn't care. There is no truth in telling me you can break my spirit. And there is no truth in telling me I can find life here pleasant!"

Raach sipped his marl, unperturbed. "The truth is the truth. Whether you believe it or not is another question."

"And again, what do you know of the truth? You're not even interested in God, and you're going to sit here and tell me about my spirit and the truth."

Raach stared at him, his eyes suddenly cold. "You don't even know what it is that you believe in."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Raach, standing, "that if you read half as much as you talk, or half as much as you hate, you could know a lot more. But you don't want to do that, because then you just might learn the truth." He left.

Arion stared after him, hating with every fiber...