Serpent Mage by Weis, Margaret

“I’m sorry!” Alfred dropped the flower, looked in horror at the ravages he’d committed. “I … wasn’t thinking. . . .”

“But your pain is the greater,” Orla continued. “Please, share it with me.”

Her gentle smile warmed him like spiced wine. Alfred, intoxicated, forgot his doubts and questions. He found himself pouring out thoughts and feelings he’d kept locked up so long, he wasn’t fully aware of them himself.

“When I awoke, and discovered that the others were dead, I refused to admit the truth to myself. I refused to admit I was alone. I don’t know how long I lived in the mausoleum on Arianus . . . months, maybe years. I lived in the past, remembering what life had been like when I was among my brethren. And soon, the past became more real to me than the present.

“Every night, I would go to sleep and tell myself that when I woke the next morning, I would find them all awake, too. I wouldn’t be alone anymore. That morning, of course, never came.”

“Now it has!” said Orla, closing her hand over his once again.

He looked at her, saw her eyes glimmer with tears, and came very near weeping himself. Clearing his throat, he swallowed hard.

“If so, the morning has been long in coming,” he said huskily. “And the night that preceded it was very dark. I shouldn’t be troubling you—”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you. Please, go on.”

She continued to hold his hand. Her touch was warm, firm, comforting. Unconsciously, he moved nearer to her.

“One day, I found myself standing in front of the crypts of my friends. My own was empty and I remember thinking, ‘I have only to climb back in, shut my eyes, and this pain will end,’ Yes, suicide,” Alfred said calmly, seeing Orla stare at him in horror and shock. “I had come to a turning point, as the mensch say. I finally admitted to myself that I was alone in the world. I could either go forth and be part of life, or abandon it. My struggle was bitter. In the end, I left behind all I had known and loved and went out into the world.

“The experience was dreadful, terrifying. More than once, I thought of running back, hiding myself forever in the tombs. I lived in constant fear that the mensch would discover my true powers and try to use me. Where before I had lived in the past and found comfort in my memories, I saw now that those memories were a danger. I had to put all thoughts of my former life out of my head, or be constantly tempted to use it, to draw on it. I had to adapt to the mensch way of life. I had to become one of them.”

Alfred ceased talking, stared out into the night sky that was deep blue, streaked by lighter blue clouds.

“You cannot believe the loneliness,” he said at last, so softly that Orla was forced to move closer to him to hear. “The mensch are so very, very lonely. The only means they have of communicating are physical. They must rely on words or a look or a gesture to describe what they feel, and their languages are so limited. Most of the time, they are unable to express what they truly mean, and so they live their lives and die without ever knowing the truth, about themselves or others.”

“A terrible tragedy,” murmured Orla.

“So I thought, at first,” Alfred answered. “But then I came to realize that many of the virtues which the mensch possess have grown out of this inability to see into each other’s souls, the way we Sartan do. They have words in their languages like faith, trust, honor. One human says to another, ‘I have faith in you. I trust you.’ He doesn’t know what’s in his friend’s heart. He can’t see inside. But he has faith in him.”

“And they have other words we Sartan do not,” said Orla, more sternly. She let go his hand, drew away from him. “Words such as deceit, lie, betray, treachery.”

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