“You’re such an entertaining storyteller,” says Tara. “You missed a fine career as a talk-show host. Of course, we could’ve saved a good ten minutes if you’d omitted the sarcasm and gloating.”
“Not to mention the sneers,” I add. I’m doing my best not to let Rivers see how upset the story has made me. Was Tara really that angry with us? Wooden Heart and Eden Blues mentioned incidents of Tara’s wrath and the damage it left on Patrick, Ari and Driscoll. I’d hate to think that the memory of her anger had traumatized me enough to block me from contact with my fellows. I’d be a weak branch indeed, were that the case.
“Did you come here simply to let us know how clever you were by cracking my security?” Tara asks Rivers. “If so, I’d like to return to my coitus, already interruptus.”
“Actually, I wanted to speak with you about that girl, the terrorist, without the presence of your security men.”
“I take it you don’t trust them?”
“No one is to be trusted. Except him.” Rivers points at me.
I’m quite surprised at this revelation. “I didn’t know you had so much faith in me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You might be God, but I’m still an atheist. I’m referring to something much more pragmatic – you’re the only one of us that can’t be possessed by a SongLuminant.”
“That’s a point, but it’s also a very paranoid point. The SongLuminants are our allies.”
Rivers meets my eyes. His expression is wary. “You haven’t told her.”
“Haven’t told me what?” Tara advances towards me.
“I suppose it makes sense. She can’t be trusted, either.”
“You’re wrong. I trust Tara more than…”
“Is that why you lied to her about the Denolin Turym?” Rivers presses.
“I don’t know anything about that. I only know that I can’t lie to her. I’m the living embodiment of fidelity.”
“No,” snaps Tara. “You can’t lie. You just can’t remember.” She turns to Rivers. “What hasn’t he told me?”
Rivers ignores her. “Then again, you can’t trust me, either. Demonstrably.”
“I thought we had reached an understanding…” Tara begins.
“This is not about the good old days,” says Rivers. “Ash understands. Or maybe he doesn’t?”
My blank expression must’ve answered him. Rivers grins. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Ashtara – with me, with her, or with the poor boob you’ve created as your latest puppet. When you figure it out, you know where to find me.”
When Rivers exits, I brace myself for the brunt of Tara’s wrath. But instead, her eyes are sad, and her face is frozen in the way I recognize means she’s not allowing herself tears. “All I want is to be closer to you, Ash,” she says. “I want to understand. But you lie, and play games, and never trust me. It’s like you intentionally keep distance between us.”
Humans use the phrase “I’m crushed” as a metaphor. What I feel next is not figurative. It is the descent of a dark wave, cold, heavy, physical, a footprint on the back of an ant. When I come to myself, I’m on the floor, sobbing, my head cradled in Tara’s lap. The presence withdraws, pulls away, like a shadow made of blue light. The exact words are left with me; my mouth moves before I will it. “Ashtara will give you anything, everything you want, but he can’t always give it to you immediately.”
“Rand, I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t your fault…”
After a moment, I gather my thoughts enough to pull myself into a seated position. How can I explain this to her, this sense of absolute despair far beyond any human despair? “It isn’t me that you hurt,” I stammer, “Not exactly. He knows he’s done wrong. He has reasons; he does the best he can. But he can’t bear that you feel he’s distant. Everything he has ever done is to be closer to you.”
My inadequacy, my words like bits of foil, like shards of metal when they need to be infinite bolts of silk. He can’t bear it – the one who will bear all the heavens on his shoulders for her. He can’t bear that she doesn’t know how much he – I want to say “loves her,” but that’s totally wrong. I love her. I love her with the entirety of my little heart of an ant. I can’t even say what it is that he feels, so of course she doesn’t know.
Maybe the 45th emanation will be able to explain.
“Then please tell me that this tree is the last,” she says. I have to stop myself from laughing bitterly. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. He’ll do it as many times as he needs to get it right. She’s the one who made the rule that he can’t scrap the prototypes.
“Tell me that I’m not going to spend weeks or months apart from him. Tell me that we won’t go through this again, like starting from the beginning.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t want that either. I’m sure he doesn’t.”
She nods wordlessly. I can see what she understands – intent, but no promises. She’s frightened and shaken by what just happened to me. The floor is chill, a thin ceramic façade over the metal construct of the ship. I help her to her feet.
She pulls away from me, folding her arms. “What’s even worse is that Clive knows something we don’t,” she says.
“I have to remember.” I have to. If he feels like that, then why the obstacles in my path? Why move me farther away when he wants so desperately to be closer? “Tara, help me – you were right about logical triggers. Rivers convinced you to follow us to Tucana. How did Axel react when you got there?”
“Axel wasn’t there when I got there. When I arrived, Yggdrasil was already on its third emanation.”
“Third?”
“Yes. First Axel, then Lens and then Beat. Beat was in the process of being attacked by one of the Denolin.”’
“Beat? That’s a strange name.” And then I get what I asked for – plunging into his memories, a cold bath of ice-white terror.