Page 47

"To pieces, no," said Rhosh. "But the removal of one piece might do wonders."

He lunged forward. Allesandra screamed. There was no escape for Derek. Rhoshamandes brought him up to his feet, turned him around, and flung him at the wall. "You don't have the strength of your friend Garekyn, do you?" Rhoshamandes whispered in his ear, his hand against Derek's back. "Or is it confidence you lack?"

Derek clawed helplessly at the stone.

The blow came without warning. The pain exploded in Derek's shoulder, and once again Allesandra screamed and this time she didn't stop screaming. For one instant Derek prayed to die, to perish so that it was all over. He heard his own scream mingled with that of Allesandra, and the world went dark, but only for an instant.

He woke to find himself slumped on the floor and the pain in his shoulder throbbing unbearably and, with utter horror, he saw his own left arm lying on the floor, the fingers of his left hand curled inward, a piece of lifeless meat wrapped in the filthy white shirtsleeve.

His eyes rolled up into his head. Their voices were so much babble, and he slid into darkness.

Far away, he heard a woman pleading. "Now Benedict will never come back to you, don't you see? Oh, when did you ever become so cruel! And this cannot be undone and for all time now this being will exist maimed and robbed of his arm and you have done this, you, my master, my maker." She was crying. Far away, she cried.

Then they were all speaking at once.

"No...no, look, the wound's healed, he's not bleeding."

Derek was dreaming. Jungles. With the others, laughing together, talking, stopping to pick the fruit from the trees, large yellow fruit. So luscious and sweet. No, here in this horrid place, and their voices...

Derek's eyes opened before he could will them to do so.

The firelight. The candle flickering on its shelf. The sound of the wind beyond the window, and perhaps rain in the wind, sweet rain cooling his face. Oh, the miracle of rain after all those years beneath the ground in Budapest. The sweet smell and taste of rain. His left shoulder was warm but the pain had gone. He stared forward hearing their mingled voices.

"...completely healing."

Don't touch me. Get away from me.

"...skin growing back, sealing it up."

Warmth in his shoulder, warmth in his chest.

"What's done is done..."

"You should never..."

And then they were all singing the same song to him to talk, to tell what he knew, where he came from, to tell the names of the others, to tell what the visions of the city meant. And Amel. What did the name Amel mean to him? And it was like so much noise. He felt sleepy all over and crushed inside and he realized that if he listened very carefully he could hear the sound of the sea beyond this prison, the sound of waves crashing on rocks perhaps or on sand or even on the walls of this citadel. Sleepily he began to visualize the sea. He opened his eyes and stared up at the distant window and he could see rain swirling in the darkness like tiny needles in a whirlwind.

"All right, let's leave him now. Nothing more can be done tonight. Let's leave him here to reflect on what his obstinacy has cost him. And we will see if you are right."

Staring at the swirling rain made him feel colder. Listening to the sea made him feel colder. The warmth in his shoulder and chest felt good.

He turned so that he lay with his left shoulder against the wall, the warmth intensifying to heat again, staring dully at the distant window, wondering if stars would ever become visible there when perhaps the rain stopped and the heavy pregnant clouds were gone. Only slowly did he realize that when the night died, he would see blue sky through that window! He would see actual light! Now that was something to hope for, to cling to, even if the fire were allowed to die, and the room grew as cold as the sea.

And would that severed arm now live forever just as he, Derek, had lived forever, all these long years since then, since Atalantaya fell into the sea, the cold sea?

"No." The woman screamed again.

"Let it burn!" said Rhosh.

"I will not!" screamed the woman.

Derek turned his head. Arion reached into the fire and grabbed the severed arm and threw it down on the stones as if it were horrible to him, this severed part of Derek. And it was smoking, the torn sleeve smoking! Overcome with horror, Derek felt himself losing consciousness again.

Roland came close. "No, not bleeding, it's all sealed. Ah, what an amazing creature you are. But I'm not surprised. I've beaten you before, haven't I, and you've always healed. I broke your arm once, didn't I? Was it your left arm? And it healed, didn't it? I wonder how much of you might be divided away before you lose your capacity to reason. Any gift can be used as its opposite. Immortality can be a terrible thing."

His face was dark because the fire was behind him. But Derek could just make out the glitter of his eyes, and see his gleaming white teeth as he smiled.

"I suppose if your chest is divided from your head, you'll die, but perhaps not."