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off every night and learn more, I would appreciate the effort."
Ware's heart exulted, although he kept his face as impassive as any Sylvan's. "I will do my best to help
you, Xylina," he replied gravely. "You know this is true: I will give you every effort I can."
"Yes," she said, suddenly and unexpectedly, with a shy smile that lit her eyes. "Yes, I do. Thank you,
Ware. You are proving a better and truer friend than I had given you credit for."
He bowed a little in recognition of the praise, and his heart leapt again.
She had called him "friend."
Soon, perhaps, she would be ready to call him more than that.
Chapter 12
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r r
At last it was over: they had passed through the land of the Sylvans without any mishap. The guardian of
this "door" dilated the orifice to let them out across the border, making no attempt to conceal his
contempt of them. The men marched through quickly, making no effort to conceal their relief at being
on their way out of Sylva. Xylina rode her mule into the Thorn-Wall tunnel with a feeling that she and
her men had narrowly escaped. It had been very difficult for the men to hold their tongues in the face of
ridicule and harassment on the part of the Sylvans. She suspected that only the fact that the Sylvans
tended to concentrate their harassment on her, as the mistress, ignoring the slaves for the most part, had
kept serious incidents from occurring. She had been able to keep her temper only by following Faro's
example, playing to the Sylvans' expectations and exceeding them, ridiculing them in turn. She had not
known she was capable of that. But then, there were a great many things she had not known she was
capable of.
The past week of crossing Sylva had taught her many things about herself and about the men, but the
most profound was something that simply could not be put into words. It was a feeling, and she
experienced it once again as she looked at her guards and servants.
Kinship. That was the closest she could come to it. These men, slaves though they were, and utter
strangers a few short weeks ago, felt as close to her as if they had all been born of the same mother and
raised together. They were, together, a tiny enclave of "home" among strangers, speaking the same
language, following the same customs. Even the three paw-footed women; they had been some time in
Mazonite service, and identified with the group. So far, unified, the members of this mission had
survived encounters with the surprisingly friendly barbarians, and with these arrogant creatures so
completely unlike anything she had ever seen that they might as well have been created from the plants
they were so fond of. She and her men and servants were far more alike than any of them were like the
Sylvans.
In fact, although she hated to admit it, the Sylvans frightened her, and she was very glad to be out of
their reach. She didn't understand them, and doubted that anyone not born among them could. Ware had
spoken with them and spied upon them every night that they were within the Thorn-enclosure, and
nothing he told her brought her any closer to understanding them. In fact, at this point she wasn't even
certain that she wanted to understand them; if she began to do that, she might start to act like them. No,
she would far rather turn barbarian and go to live with the Pacha than even think of turning Sylvan.
On the other hand, Ware didn't seem to understand a great deal about them, either, other than simple
things, like the obsession with absolute equality. "It can be an admirable goal, Xylina, so long as people
realize that an absolute goal can never be reached," he told her, trying to explain why the Sylvans
changed their very bodies so that there were neither males nor females among them. There were stories
of shape-changers, were-creatures, that were told to Mazonite children-even that she could understand.
She could see why someone would want to have the power of a bear, the grace of a panther, but not this.
Ware continued, trying to find words that would make it clear to her. He seemed to want her
understanding, in an almost flattering way. And-she found herself being flattered, though she resisted it.
"There are no absolutes; there never can be," he said. "When people like the Sylvans refuse to accept
that, though-"
"That is when they begin to twist things," she had finished, finally getting a glimmering of what he was
trying to tell her. He nodded.
Still, she could not understand what really drove these people, and she doubted that even Ware could
explain them. "These people frighten me," he continued. "I think I know why the demons have never
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tried to make any kind of contacts among them. They are so sure of their superiority; people like that can
resort to force to 'convert' you, if persuasion does not work. They are so passionate about what they
believe in, that there is no room for anyone else's beliefs." His eyes had swirled with a confusion of
colors that mirrored an internal distress. "I tell you, Xylina, there is no creature more dangerous than a
fanatic. You must either join them or escape them, for they will bury you. Reason does not enter into
their thinking."
She did not ask what his reasoning was, but the idea that the placid-seeming Sylvans frightened a being
as powerful as a demon was disturbing in itself. She did not understand what he meant about fanatics,
but she tucked the words away to think about later, in the darkness of the night. Instead of allowing her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]