“A load that on me has often felt well-nigh unbearable,” Gest told him. “Shared, though, it will be light.”
Starkadh clenched oak-burl fists. “What shall we do with it?”
“Ward the gift well. It may, after all, be from Beyond, and those who bear it singled out for deeds that will change the world.”
“Yes.” Glee began to throb in Starkadh’s voice. “Fame undying, and I alive to enjoy it. War-hosts to rally round me, kingdoms to take, royal houses to found.”
“Hold, hold,” said Gest. “We’re not gods, you know. We can be slain, drowned, burned, starved like any other men. I’ve stayed on earth these uncounted years by ganging warily.”
Starkadh gave him a cold look. Scorn snorted: “I understand that. Do you understand honor?”
“I don’t mean we should skulk. Let us make sure of our safety, both in strength and in boltholes, lest luck go awry. After that we can make known what we are, piece by piece, to such folk as we can trust. Then- awe of us will help, but that is not enough; to lead, we must serve, we must give.”
“How can we give unless we have gold, treasures, a hoard such as deathless vikings can heap up?”
Gest frowned. “We draw near to quarreling. Best we speak no further tonight, but sleep on it. Tomorrow, refreshed, we’ll think more clearly.”
“You can sleep—after this?”
“What, are you not worn out?”
Starkadh laughed. “After reaping a goodly harvest.” He failed to see how Gest winced. “As you wish. To bed.”
However, in the shelter he thrashed and muttered and flung his arms around. Finally Gest slipped back outside.
He found a dry spot close to the spring, but decided he would take his rest in meditation rather than sleep. Having assumed the lotus position, he raised calm within himself. That came easily. He had far surpassed his gurus in lands east of the sunrises over Denmark: for he had had centuries to practice the disciplines of mind and body that they taught. Yet without those teachings, he doubted he could have endured his lot. How fared those masters, those fellow chetas? Had Nadha or Lobsang at last won free of the Wheel?
Would he ever? Hope bound him. He could never quite bring himself to loosen it. Did that mean he spurned the faith? “Om mani padme hum.” No such words had seized him by the soul; but was that because he would not let them? Could he only find a God to Whom he could yield —
At least he had become like the sages in control of the body and its passions. Rather, in this he had won to the power for which they had striven. Breath and heartbeat dwindled at his command until he was unaware of them. Chill ceased to be a thing invading his skin; he was of it, he was the night world, he became the stave that unfolded.
“Slowly the moon Slides aloft.
Keen is its edge, Cutting the dark.
Stars and frost,
As still as the dead,
Warn of another Waning year. “
A noise recalled him. Hours had passed. The east stood gray above the trees. Dew spread the only brightness in a hueless half-light. Mists smoked above it and along men’s breath. The clear gurgle of the spring sounded much louder than it was.
Starkadh hunched at the shelter. He had knocked it apart, blundering out. He carried the sheathed sword that had lain across his doffed mail. A bloodshot and darkrimmed gaze jumped about until it landed on Gest. He grunted and stalked that way.
Gest rose. “Good morning,” he greeted.
“Did you spend the night sitting?” Starkadh wondered. His voice grated. “Sleep fled me too.”
“I hope you got some rest anyway. I’ll go see what’s in the snares.”
“Wait. Ere I take more at your hands—”
Cold pierced Gest from within. “What’s wrong?”
“You. Your slippery tongue. I tossed as in a nightmare, righting to grasp what you meant yesterday. Now you’ll make it plain to me.”
“Why, I thought I did. We are two ageless men. Our loneliness is at an end. But there must be others, women among them, for us to find and … and hold dear. For this, we’ll swear oaths, become brothers—”