An animal, he decided, and envied her the cool self-possession which clung to her like a cloud. A strong, female animal who should have borne many children-he was disturbed by the train of thought. In Instone, such things were not the province of those who lived under the aegis of Camolsaer.
Camolsaer!
It was all around, everywhere, watching, calculating, omniscient-inescapable!
He felt the sudden dryness in his mouth and looked longingly at the wine, yet the formalities had to be observed.
Stiffly he said, "My thanks, Eloise, for your invitation. This is not a good time to be alone."
"Then why suffer it?"
A question which she had asked before, many times; and to which, as now, he could find no answer. Because it had always been so. Because things did not change. Because instilled pride maintained the composure which was a part of his heritage. Why were her questions so direct? The answers so difficult to find?
Weakly he said, "You are a stranger. You would not understand."
"A stranger?" The musical resonance of her voice held an acid amusement. "You say that, after so long?"
"You were not born here."
"True, thank God. But does that assume a lack of comprehension?" She rose as he hesitated, the thin fabrics she wore streaming behind her as she stepped towards him; the scent of her perfume signaled her proximity. "Adara! My friend!"
Their hands touched, softness against softness, the delicate fingers no harder than his own. Her body too, he knew, held a more than equal strength. Once it had disturbed him; now there was no time or room for concern. And yet he was grateful for her presence.
His hand shook a little as he reached for the wine.
"So soon, Adara?"
"You deny me?"
"Nothing-I owe you too much for that. But do you think it wise?"
"You tell me that. You provided it."
"To celebrate."
He lifted the lambent fluid trapped in its container of crystal and looked at the vivid blueness. One glass would do no harm. Two even and, if things went against him, what did it matter how much he swallowed? And he needed the strength it could lend.
"To celebrate," he said, mocking her tone. "To show my gratitude? To what? The Goddess of Luck you have so often mentioned? You see, my dear, how you have corrupted me. In this place there is no such thing as luck."
"Nor guts either, from what I've seen!" Immediately she was contrite. "I'm sorry. You can't help being what you are and, God knows, I've little cause to berate you. It's just that, at times, I-"
"Will you join me?"
"No." She had sensed the raw emotion within him, the turmoil which could be controlled only by an effort. "Drink if it pleases you, my friend. Drink and be happy for tomorrow we die."
Only the wine stopped the words; the savage, biting words which sprang from the outraged core of his being. For her to have so broken all accepted convention, at a time like the present!
The goblet rang a little as he set it down, its rim barely touching that of another, producing a thin, high note of ringing clarity.
He didn't look at the woman as he stepped towards the window.
Outside the streets were deserted as he had known they would be. Now everyone was inside, warm, seeking what comfort they could; those with the low numbers having already accepted their fate and engrossed with a final enjoyment of the flesh, or sitting in solitude doubting their ability to maintain their composure.
But not all of them. Some would be surrounded by friends, the center of attention, drinking with careless abandon or lost in the euphoria of drugs; the need of careful abstinence thrown aside like an outworn garment.
He said, his forehead tight against the coolness of the pane, "How long?"
"Not very long now." He scented her perfume as she moved towards him, felt the soft weight of her hand on his shoulder. "Adara-you are not alone."
Words, comforting perhaps, but what did they mean? What else was he now but alone? Who could share his torment, ease it by taking a part of it from him? Like physical pain, it had to be borne. Like the dreams which had ruined his sleep, the sickness he had felt when on his way to this very room.
"Adara?"
Irritably he moved away from the hand on his shoulder, stepping back from the window a little, unwilling for her to see his face. A soft face, older than he remembered; the eyes shadowed pits as they stared at him from the reflection in the crystal, the muscles lax with lack of self-control. Yet control must be maintained. Tradition and pride demanded it. Self-respect if nothing else. And still it was hard.
Harder still when he remembered the incident which had happened while on his way to join Eloise.
A small thing, but it had shaken him. He had passed two Monitors in the passage and the sight had turned his knees to water so that, for a long time, he had leaned against the wall lacking the strength even to stand. An odd thing to have happened. All the years he had lived, it had never happened before. But then he had never drawn so low a number before; had never appreciated the full significance of what he had seen.
"Adara!" The musical voice was urgent. "Turn, look at me! Adara!"
As he obeyed the great bell began to toll.
* * * * *
It was a sound which filled the city, dominating, Imperious, a deep, solemn throbbing which came from the very walls, the air itself; causing little harmonics to quiver the panes of the window, to set the goblets trembling so that they touched and filled the air with singing chimes.
At the third knell he began to tremble; a hateful reaction which constricted his stomach and caused tiny muscles to jerk along the line of his jaw, the apparatus of his hands. Desperately be hid the discomfiture, keeping his face a blank mask; aware of the woman, her eyes, his own growing terror. The tolling continued, each knell a claw raking at his naked brain.
"… six… seven… eight…"
Eloise had regained her chair and sat, watching him with a peculiar intensity. Almost, he thought wildly, as if she were studying a specimen to determine how efficient its training had been. Relentlessly her voice kept time to the bell, counting the strokes; merging with the sonorous throbbing, the thin chiming of the goblets which now sang with a rising note as if the inanimate material could sense and respond to his mounting distress.
"… eleven… twelve .. thirteen…"
He felt perspiration dew his forehead, the body beneath his clothing; the trembling now increased so that he had to lock his fingers to disguise their rebellion. To remain detached. To remain calm. To accept what had to come. The teachings of a lifetime- why had they failed him now?
". . fifteen… sixteen .. sev -"
"Eloise?"
"Sixteen, Adara! Sixteen!"
Her voice was a shout of triumph filling the room with gladness and, he thought, relief.
Relief which in no way could equal his own. "Are you certain?"