Beasts John Crowley

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end the long shivers that her fingers started. Meric . . . Like grace, the
lovely feelings were suddenly withdrawn from her. Meric. Where was he? Out
there, in the limitless darkness, looking at those creatures. What would they
do? They seemed to her dangerous, unpredictable, hostile. She wished -- so
hard it was a prayer -- that Meric were here in the shelter of the Mountain.
She surrendered to the anxious tightening of her body, rolling on her
side and drawing up her knees. Her eyes were wide open, and she listened to
the sounds more intently now, searching them. And -- in answer to her prayer,
she was certain of it -- she sorted from the ambience footsteps coming her
way, the sound altering in a familiar way as Meric turned corners toward her.
It was his tread. She turned over and could see him, as pale as a wax candle
in the darkness of the house. He put down his bundles.
"Meric."
"Yes. Hello."
Why didn't he come to her? She rose, pulling the robe around her, and
tiptoed across the cold floor to hug him, welcome him back to safety.
His smell when she took hold of him was so rank she drew back. "Jesus,"
she said. "What . . ."
He turned up the tapers. His face was as smooth and delicate as ever,
but its folds and lines seemed deeper, as though filled with blown black dust.
His eyes were huge. He sat carefully, looking around himself as though he had
never seen this place before.
"Well," she said, uncertain. "Well, you're back."
"Yes."
"Are you hungry? You must be hungry. I didn't think. Wait, wait." She
touched him, so that he would stay, and went quickly to make tea, cut bread.
"You're all right," she said.
"Yes. All right."
"Do you want to wash?" she asked when she brought the food. He didn't
answer; he was sorting through the bag, taking out discs and reading the
labels. He ignored the tray she put before him and went to the editing table
he kept in the house for his work. Bree sat by the tray, confused and somehow
afraid. What had happened to him out there to make him strange like this? What
had they done to him, what horrors had they shown him? He chose a disc and
inserted it; then, with quick certainty, set up the machine and started it.
"Turn down the light," he said. "I'll show you."
She did, turning away from the screen, which was brightening to life,
not certain she wanted to see.
A girl's voice came from the speakers: ". . . and wherever they go, I'll
go. The rest doesn't matter to me anymore. I'm lucky . . ."
Bree looked at the screen. There was a young woman with short, dark
hair. She sat on the ground with her knees drawn up, and plucked at the grass
between her boots. Now and again she looked up at the camera with a kind of
feral shy daring, and looked away again. "My god," said Bree. "Is she human?"
"No," the girl said in response to an unheard question. "I don't care
about people. I guess I never liked them very much." She lowered her eyes.
"The leos are better than people."
"How," Bree asked, "did she get there? Did they kidnap her?"
"No," Meric said. "Wait." He slid a lever and the girl began to jerk
rapidly like a puppet; then she leapt up and fled away. There was a flicker of
nothing, and then Meric slowed the speed to normal again. There was a tent,
and standing before it was a leo. Bree drew her robe tighter around her, as
though the creature looked at her. His gaze was steady and changeless; she
couldn't tell what emotion it expressed: patience? rage? indifference? So
alien, so unreadable. She could see the muscles of his heavy, squat legs
beneath the ordinary jeans, and of his wide shoulders; at first she thought he
wore gloves, but no, those were his own blunt hands. He held a rifle,
casually, as though it were a wrench.
"That's him," Meric said.
"Him?"
"He's called Painter. Anyway, she calls him Painter. Not the others.
They don't use names, I don't think."
"Did you talk to him? Can he talk?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
The leo began to move away from the tent door, but Meric reversed the
disc and put him back again. He stood at the tent door and regarded the humans
from his electronic limbo.
What had he said?
When Meric had gone down to where the leo stood broad and poised in the
twilight, the leo hadn't spoken at all. Meric, in tones as pacific and
self-effacing as he could make them, tried to explain about the Mountain, how
this land was theirs.
"Yours," the leo said. "That's all right." As though forgiving him for
the error of ownership.
"We wanted to see," Meric began, and then stopped. He felt himself in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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