Descending Road - THE NAME SWEPT ANDREW AHEAD OF IT by Dana W. Paxson

THE NAME SWEPT ANDREW AHEAD OF IT

1563 4D

At last the tall woman returned, shadowing him from the sun’s warmth, and leaned down. But not to him; she looked closely into the face of the young Leil-woman opposite him, and lowered her tall figure to lie face to face with her, blocking Andrew‘s restricted view. Their heads rolled together, face to face, for a minute or two; the tall woman’s head sank to the grass, and the young Leil-woman rose, yawning, from the floor of the garden to stretch and look around her. From the corner of his unmoving eye, Andrew saw her freeze.

She spoke to him. “You should rest. Why do you hold your eyes open?” To Andrew, the voice had the same wrongness as the tall woman’s, but in tones much like the young Leil he remembered. Was this some kind of trick? None of this, the sun, the tall woman, this Leil-woman, seemed right. Yet he knew Leil, wanted her back again; maybe the trick was that she hadn’t died. And maybe she had, and this was all…

And she stooped and thrust her face in his, conflicting feelings working across her mouth and eyes like a swift storm. She gasped. Wide-eyed, seizing his shoulder, she sputtered, “Andrew. Andrew! You’re so old. What’s the matter? Why can’t you—" and her face composed itself as abruptly as she had stooped to him a moment earlier. She withdrew again, and stood up.

“He’s my lover,” she said to the garden. “No! I don’t want you to—" and her voice cut off. Then she knelt down and lay beside him, her dark eyes warming him. “Kiss me, Andrew,” she said.

He stared at her, unable to move, wanting to wrap his arms around her and engulf her with love and relief and wonder; she moved closer and took his face in her hands and placed her mouth on his. His whole being jerked awake. As she deepened her kiss, the same wrongness as before assailed his desire and joy. A great drunken feeling took him even as he thought, No, something’s not right, this feels so good but she’s forcing me.

Her tongue found his mouth and entered it, and energy and pleasure drugged him, and the tongue began to probe his throat, and he wanted to draw back, but the tongue swelled along with the ecstasy that gripped him like her hands, swelled and surged down deep into him and flowered into a warm voice that said from the depths of his head, Hello, Andrew.

The young Leil lay inert beside him. His voice and mouth worked once more. “Leil.” She didn’t move. “Leil!”

She’s sleeping, just like you were, only deeper. The voice, low but feminine, held rich overtones Andrew had never heard from any human or andro. I was with her, to wake her and keep her company.

“But is she my… wife? What happened to her? She wasn’t burned?” Andrew‘s mind reeled. What had invaded him?

She was burned. She died. I was… I rebuilt her. Now she is young again.

Andrew ran his hands over his still-tingling body. He struggled to sit on the grass. “Where are you? I hear you inside my head. Are you transmitting from somewhere?”

No. I am inside you.

Andrew recoiled. “What are you?”

My name is Turiosten. You would call me… an alien. The voice seemed to stumble, its tone lowering, shading into overtones of sadness.

“An alien? Like the ones in the green ships that come to the City?”

Yes. But I can’t meet with them, not any more. They would … me, anyway. Here Turiosten used a word Andrew could not hear as a word or a sound, only as a feeling.

“They shun you?”

Something like that. But more painful.

Andrew looked down at Leil‘s sleeping form. “Can you wake her up? I want to talk with her again. I’ve missed her so much.” He bowed his head. “Please?”

No. I’m not allowed to do that.

A bee buzzed past Andrew‘s ear. “Who can stop you? Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

No. If I do that, I’ll be killed.

“Who would do that?”

My keeper. Arlen.

Arlen. The name swept Andrew ahead of it like a tidal wave. He raised his hands to his head, cradling his temples, and rocked back and forth, the pains in his scars building in remembrance. And here was Leil, too, destroyed and rebuilt and imprisoned with him.

Rage and fear stamped his heart. He raised his face, his eyes clenched shut, his fists clutched against his ears, and shouted, “Arlen!” None of the figures near him stirred, all in some trancelike sleep. He sank to the ground again, near Leil, and curled his body around hers.

He has hurt you. Why did he do this? Turiosten‘s voice came softly among Andrew‘s reeling thoughts, the words walking indifferently past the flames of terror in which he lay.

Andrew clutched Leil‘s body. A calm grew slowly in him and settled him once more. The fear and pain retreated, and he relaxed his grip. Are you feeling better? Andrew looked up to see again the woman who had brought him to this place.

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	THE NAME SWEPT ANDREW AHEAD OF IT 1563 4D At last the tall woman returned, shadowing him from the sun’s warmth, and leaned down. But not to him; she looked closely into the face of the young Leil-woman opposite him, and lowered her tall figure to lie face to face with her, blocking Andrew‘s restricted view. Their heads rolled together, face to face, for a minute or two; the tall woman’s head sank to the grass, and the young Leil-woman rose, yawning, from the floor of the garden to stretch and look around her. From the corner of his unmoving eye, Andrew saw her freeze. She spoke to him. “You should rest. Why do you hold your eyes open?” To Andrew, the voice had the same wrongness as the tall woman’s, but in tones much like the young Leil he remembered. Was this some kind of trick? None of this, the sun, the tall woman, this Leil-woman, seemed right. Yet he knew Leil, wanted her back again; maybe the trick was that she hadn’t died. And maybe she had, and this was all… And she stooped and thrust her face in his, conflicting feelings working across her mouth and eyes like a swift storm. She gasped. Wide-eyed, seizing his shoulder, she sputtered, “Andrew. Andrew! You’re so old. What’s the matter? Why can’t you—" and her face composed itself as abruptly as she had stooped to him a moment earlier. She withdrew again, and stood up. “He’s my lover,” she said to the garden. “No! I don’t want you to—" and her voice cut off. Then she knelt down and lay beside him, her dark eyes warming him. “Kiss me, Andrew,” she said. He stared at her, unable to move, wanting to wrap his arms around her and engulf her with love and relief and wonder; she moved closer and took his face in her hands and placed her mouth on his. His whole being jerked awake. As she deepened her kiss, the same wrongness as before assailed his desire and joy. A great drunken feeling took him even as he thought, No, something’s not right, this feels so good but she’s forcing me. Her tongue found his mouth and entered it, and energy and pleasure drugged him, and the tongue began to probe his throat, and he wanted to draw back, but the tongue swelled along with the ecstasy that gripped him like her hands, swelled and surged down deep into him and flowered into a warm voice that said from the depths of his head, Hello, Andrew. The young Leil lay inert beside him. His voice and mouth worked once more. “Leil.” She didn’t move. “Leil!” She’s sleeping, just like you were, only deeper. The voice, low but feminine, held rich overtones Andrew had never heard from any human or andro. I was with her, to wake her and keep her company. “But is she my… wife? What happened to her? She wasn’t burned?” Andrew‘s mind reeled. What had invaded him? She was burned. She died. I was… I rebuilt her. Now she is young again. Andrew ran his hands over his still-tingling body. He struggled to sit on the grass. “Where are you? I hear you inside my head. Are you transmitting from somewhere?” No. I am inside you. Andrew recoiled. “What are you?” My name is Turiosten. You would call me… an alien. The voice seemed to stumble, its tone lowering, shading into overtones of sadness. “An alien? Like the ones in the green ships that come to the City?” Yes. But I can’t meet with them, not any more. They would … me, anyway. Here Turiosten used a word Andrew could not hear as a word or a sound, only as a feeling. “They shun you?” Something like that. But more painful. Andrew looked down at Leil‘s sleeping form. “Can you wake her up? I want to talk with her again. I’ve missed her so much.” He bowed his head. “Please?” No. I’m not allowed to do that. A bee buzzed past Andrew‘s ear. “Who can stop you? Go ahead. I won’t stop you.” No. If I do that, I’ll be killed. “Who would do that?” My keeper. Arlen. Arlen. The name swept Andrew ahead of it like a tidal wave. He raised his hands to his head, cradling his temples, and rocked back and forth, the pains in his scars building in remembrance. And here was Leil, too, destroyed and rebuilt and imprisoned with him. Rage and fear stamped his heart. He raised his face, his eyes clenched shut, his fists clutched against his ears, and shouted, “Arlen!” None of the figures near him stirred, all in some trancelike sleep. He sank to the ground again, near Leil, and curled his body around hers. He has hurt you. Why did he do this? Turiosten‘s voice came softly among Andrew‘s reeling thoughts, the words walking indifferently past the flames of terror in which he lay. Andrew clutched Leil‘s body. A calm grew slowly in him and settled him once more. The fear and pain retreated, and he relaxed his grip. Are you feeling better? Andrew looked up to see again the woman who had brought him to this place.