“Regis, Regis, I thought you were dying—”
Regis whispered, “I thought so too.”
“I told myself, if I let you die because I could not forgive a harsh word, then I was a disgrace to my father and all those who had served Hastur. I am a catalyst telepath, there had to be something I could do to reach you—I shouted and you didn’t hear, I slapped and pinched you, I thought you were dead already, but I could feel you calling me….” He was entirely unstrung. Regis whispered, “What was it that you did? I felt you—”
“I touched the matrix—nothing else seemed to reach you, I was so sure you were dying—” He broke down and sobbed. “I could have killed you! I could have killed you!”
Regis drew Danilo down beside him, holding him tight in his arms. “Bredu, don’t cry,” he whispered. “See, I’m not dead.” He felt suddenly shy again. Danilo’s face, wet with tears, was pressed against his cheek. Regis patted it clumsily. “Don’t cry any more.”
“But I hurt you so—I can’t bear to hurt you,” Danilo said wildly.
“I don’t think anything less would have brought me back,” Regis said. “It’s my life I owe you this time, bredu.” He was still dizzy and aching with the aftermath of what he now knew must have been a convulsion. Later he was to learn that this last-resort heroic treatment, gripping a matrix, was used only at the point of death; when stronger telepaths determined that without it, the sufferer might wander endlessly in the corridors of his own brain, cutting off all outside stimuli, until he died. Danilo had done it by pure instinct. Now Regis remembered what Javanne had said. “I’ve got to get up and move around or it may come back. But you’ll have to help me, Dani, I’m too weak to walk alone.”
Danilo helped him upright. By the last light of the dying fire Regis could see the tears on his face. He kept his arm around Regis, steadying him. “I should never have quarreled with you when you were sick.”
“It was I who picked the quarrel, Dani. Can you forgive me?”
He was cruel to Dani out of fear, Regis knew, fear of what he was himself. Perhaps Dyan, too, turned to cruelty out of fear and came at last to prefer cruelty to fear—or to shame—at knowing himself too well.
Laran was terrible. But they had no choice, only to meet it with honor.
Danilo said shyly, “I kept your porridge hot for you. Can you try to eat it now?”
Regis took the hot pottery pannikin, burning his fingers a little on the edges. The thought of food made him feel sick, but obediently he chewed a few mouthfuls and discovered that he was actually very hungry. He ate the hot unsweetened stuff, saying after a time, “Well, it’s no worse than what we got in barracks. If you ever find yourself a masterless man, Dani, well get you a job as an army cook.”
“God forbid I should be a masterless man while you live, Regis.”
Regis reached for Danilo’s hand, holding it tight. He felt exhausted and aching, but at peace. He finished the porridge and Danilo took the bowl away to rinse it out. Regis lay down on the shelf again. The fire was dying down and it was cold. Danilo came and spread out his own cloak and blanket beside Regis, sat beside him, pulling off his boots.
“I wish I knew more about threshold sickness.”
“Be damn glad you don’t,” Regis said harshly, “it’s hell. I hope you never have it.”
“Oh, I had it,” Dani said. “I know now that’s what it must have been when I began … reading minds. There was no one to tell me what it was, and I never had it so seriously. The trouble is, I don’t know what to do about it. Or I could help you.” He looked at Regis hestitantly in the dim light and said, “We’re still in rapport a little. Let me try.”
“Do what you want to,” Regis said, “I won’t drive you away again. Only be careful. Your last experiment was painful.”