Demon (GAIA) (33 page)

Gaby rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, blinked, then leaned back on her arms and stretched her feet out. It was only then Cirocco saw the fire was out. Not only out, but long dead, nothing but crumbling ashes. Gaby moved her heels through the ashes.

“If not for her madness, Gaea would be invulnerable. There would be nothing you could do. But, because she is mad, she takes chances. Because she is mad, she approaches reality as a game.

“She operates by rules. The rule book came from her old movies, and from television, and from fairy stories and myths.

“The most important thing you must realize is that
she is not the good guy.
She knows this, and prefers it that way. Does that suggest anything to you?”

Cirocco was sure it ought to, but had been so intent on listening that the question surprised her. She frowned, chewed on her lips, and hoped she didn’t sound like a fool.

“…the good guys always win,” she said.

“Exactly. Which doesn’t mean
you
are going to win, because it hasn’t yet been established, by her rules, that you are the good guys. If you lose, it would be at least two decades before another challenger
could arise.”

“Are you talking about Adam?” Cirocco asked.

“Yes. He is the next possible hero. Gaea has him waiting in the wings, ready for you to stumble. But his task would be horribly difficult. She plans to make him love her. He would first have to fight that, before he could get around to fighting Gaea. That’s why Chris was permitted to live. He will function as Adam’s conscience. But Gaea will kill him when Adam is six or seven years old. That, too, is part of the game.”

They were silent for a time, as Cirocco digested it all. She felt a deep urge to protest, but she swallowed it. She remembered her words to Conal.
You expected a fair fight?

“So far, you’re going at it the wrong way. You have been given powers that you don’t seem to wish to acknowledge. You accept the physical powers easily enough, but the others are stronger.”

Gaby began to list things on her fingers.

“You have many more allies than Gaea. There are those above, and those below. Some will come to your aid when you least expect it. You have a spy in the enemy camp. Use Snitch, and trust what he has to say.

“You have a guardian angel, of sorts.” Gaby grinned, and jerked a thumb toward her chest. “Me. I will do all I can to stack the outcome in your favor. I’ll tell you all I can…but don’t expect timely warnings. Rely on me for deep background. Think of me as a mole.”

Gaby waited while Cirocco absorbed that.

“Remember, it’s better to wait until you feel right about it than to rush into something. Now. If you would…touch me—” Gaby coughed and looked away, and Cirocco realized she was close to tears. She started to get up.

“No, no, you stay there. Nothing sexy, nothing like that. But I can maintain contact with you a bit longer if we touch. Just move forward a little.”

Cirocco did, until her bare feet were in the ashes with Gaby’s. Gaby sat with her chin on her knees,
and they held hands, and she told Cirocco a story.

Robin watched Conal get up, open the door, and leave.

Rather abrupt, she thought, but she hadn’t asked for anything else. They had used each other for their own purposes. Still, he could have said good-by.

Then he was back, carrying the old jacket he had worn when they’d met him in Bellinzona, and which he had been wearing less and less in the days since the kidnapping of Adam. He rooted around in one of the pockets and came up with a long, fat cigar, the kind he had smoked constantly before and seldom did now. Come to think of it, he had gone through a lot of changes from the time she had first met him.

“Can I have one of those?” Robin asked.

Conal had clamped his in his teeth and now he gave her a sideways look. But he took another from his pocket and tossed it to her.

“You’re not gonna like that,” he said, as he sat on the bed and leaned back against the gigantic pillows heaped against the headboard.

“They smell good,” Robin said. “I always liked the smell.”

“Smelling ’em’s one thing, smoking ’em’s another.” He bit the end off his, so she followed suit, then he struck a match and took a long time getting it going. The air filled with bluish, aromatic smoke. “Just whatever you do, don’t inhale it,” he said, and held a match for her.

She sucked on the bitten-off end, and in a few seconds she was coughing. He took the cigar from her and patted her on the back until her breath returned, then ground hers out in an ashtray.

“Pretty foul, huh?” he said.

“Maybe I can just take a few puffs on yours.”

“Anything you want, Robin. You’re calling the shots.”

“Am I?”

He turned and looked at her, and she was surprised to see he was nervous and apologetic.

“Listen, I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I tried, honest, but after a while there’s not much I can do but—”

“What are you talking about? You did fine.”

His eyes narrowed.

“But you didn’t come.”

“Conal, Conal…” She turned and put an arm over his chest and a leg over his loins, and snuggled fiercely into the hollow of his neck. She spoke into his ear.

“I never expected to. Think back. Did I seem to be enjoying myself?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Then you did fine. I didn’t expect an orgasm. Frankly, I still don’t see how it’s possible, that way. The design of the bodies is all wrong. The act doesn’t seem designed to satisfy the female.”

“It can,” he said. “Take my word for it. You just have to get used to it, that’s all. And I have to learn…”

He trailed off, and they searched each other’s eyes. He gave a fatalistic shrug and leaned back against the pillows. Robin did the same.

It was a hot day. Both of their bodies gleamed with sweat. Robin felt great. There was a boneless warmth in her that made her body hum. It had been so long since she had felt it. She put her hands behind her head and looked down at herself, and at him. Moving one of her bare feet to touch his leg, she compared her foot with his. So different, yet the same basic design. It was the same with the legs. Then the loins, so totally different. Her compact, tidy arrangement, his…flamboyant, exuberant, external softnesses, lying there smug and exhausted and damp from her.

She never had found it ugly, even when erect. It looked so vulnerable—and was, as she had learned long ago during an unfortunate episode with Chris.

She tried to imagine her head sitting where his was. What would it be like, to look at oneself and see that? Try as she might, she could go no further than the fear she thought he must always feel. She felt she would have to walk crouched over, eternally alert for an attack, pitifully exposed. His was a nakedness she could never feel. She thanked the Great Mother she had been blessed to be born a woman.

“You know what I liked?” she said, suddenly.

“What?”

“Your penis is so little. When I did it with Chris, it was uncomfortable, because he’s so much bigger than you, but the first time I…”

She became aware that he was shaking, and glanced at him. His face was screwed up and he seemed to have trouble breathing, then he looked at her, tried to say something, and burst out laughing.

It was one of those laughs that are very hard to get under control. It was infectious, up to a point—Robin laughed with him for a while, but before long she felt that special insecurity that comes from not getting the joke, not knowing if you are being laughed at. Finally he settled down with a case of the hiccups.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, icily.

“Robin, all I’m going to say is thank you. I’ll accept the compliment in the spirit it was offered.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough, Conal.”

He sighed. “No, I guess it wouldn’t be. I guess I’ll have to explain it.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, Great Mother, give me strength.”

It was so unexpected that Robin laughed.

“What in the world made you say that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve heard Nova say it enough times when she was up against this or that bit
of cultural gap. And I had the feeling She was the only one who might understand.”

Robin waited patiently as he wiped his eyes and held his breath, trying to banish the hiccups.

“It’s stupid, Robin, okay? It’s one of those things where you gotta laugh or cry. Not many years ago, I’d have been insulted. Thank god I’ve grown up a little bit since then.”

So he explained it to her, and he was right, it
was
stupid. She was certainly no expert on the matter, but knew it was something that could only be important to a man. She wondered if it was tied up in their vulnerability, if they thought that, somehow, having a big penis would help. But he said logic had nothing to do with it. He wondered if there might be any parallels in Coven society. She couldn’t think of any. He told her that, on Earth, breast size was often important in a woman’s sense of herself.

“Not in the Coven,” Robin said. “I’m sorry, but—”

“No, no, no. I told you, I knew it was an honest compliment. It just broke me up that…you know.”

She thought she did, and it made her sad.

“It’s just another example of why it couldn’t work between us, Conal.”

He sobered, looked at her, and nodded, reluctantly.

“I guess you’re right.”

She hugged him again, and it felt good to be held close in return.

“I want to thank you for…for the comfort,” she said.

“It was entirely my pleasure, ma’am. Sorry to say.”

She laughed, but knew he really was disturbed that he had failed to bring her to orgasm.

“I want you to know that I really like you, Conal.”

“I like you, too, Robin.”

He turned onto his back again. He puffed on his cigar, and Robin watched the blue clouds of smoke rising toward the ceiling. She lazily moved her bare foot up and down against his leg. He moved his leg so he could touch her foot with his, and they played a silly game with their toes, laughed quietly, and
were still again.

Then Conal tossed his cigar out the window, raised himself on one elbow, and leaned over to kiss her nipple. He grinned at her.

“So. You ready to do it again?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Nova had hated being in Gaea for a long time. The turning point had been quite recent; now she was having more fun than at a Black Sabbath.

Swimming had started it. Swimming was a sensual delight she had never dreamed possible. It was better than all other sports put together; not even in the same league, really.

It would have been dreadful to have lived and never learned how to swim.

Then there was flying. She had soared in the Coven, but it was not the same thing. The raw power and infinite flexibility of the Dragonflys was a delight. She had taken to it quickly, though she doubted she would ever be as good as Conal.

And last but not least, there was Titanide riding.

At first they seemed dull as elevators. When you sat on one, you were hardly aware you were moving, so smooth was their gait. And while they walked along at a pretty good clip, it was not what you’d call speedy.

The important thing, she had found, was to find the right Titanide.

Now she clung to the broad back of the one called Virginal (Mixolydian Quartet) Mazurka, a two-year-old female, and out-raced the wind. It had been as simple as that, really. She had been under the mistaken impression that all Titanides were adults, since they were all about the same size. It had been a shock to learn Virginal was only two, and a pleasure to learn she still had a streak of recklessness. With Cirocco Jones gone so much of the time since Adam’s kidnapping, Nova had spent every spare moment—when not swimming or learning to fly—on Virginal’s back. Together, they had seen most of Dione south of the Ophion.

They were moving along the edge of the forest in the area where the trees thinned and the land rose slowly toward the towering ramparts of the southern highlands. Nova wore her riding clothes. Conal had called them Robin Hood clothes. They were made of supple green leather and covered her completely, leaving only her face bare. There were brown boots and gloves of the same material, and a green cocked hat with a white plume.

Virginal vaulted a fallen tree and for a moment Nova was weightless, holding on with her heels pressed to the Titanide’s side and her hands clutching the swept-back arms. They came down, and Nova bounced up to stand lightly on the jouncing back, looking over Virginal’s shoulder as they swept down a steep riverbank leading to one of four tributaries of the river Briareus. It was delicious; a controlled fall with the Titanide’s hooves touching only here and there, with a noisy parade of small rocks, loose dirt, and boulders bouncing all around them but unable to keep up with Virginal’s headlong plunge. The wind was raw and chilly and whipped at Nova’s hair.

At the bottom. Virginal slowed when her hooves crashed into the water. There was a shower of spray, then only the slow clop-clop of her hooves on the rocky bank.

“Enough, golden one,” Virginal gasped. Nova clapped the Titanide on her shoulder, and leaped to dry ground. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she needed a rest, too. Staying on the Titanide’s back was almost as strenuous as running.

There would have been no hope of staying there at all without a lot of help from Virginal. A dozen times in a mile she would feel herself slipping from her bareback perch, only to be hauled back into place by a strong hand, or to feel the back shift beneath her just enough to nudge her back into precarious balance. A Titanide’s sense of its load was almost supernatural. Nova suspected Virginal could run at a gallop with a dozen full wine glasses on her back, and never spill a drop.

She threw herself down on a broad, flat rock, rolled over, and looked up at the yellow sky.

Not such a bad place, after all. Of course, just to the left of the patch of sky was the incomprehensible depth of the Dione spoke, but there was too much haze to see it clearly. That was fine
with Nova.

She looked at the Titanide, who had unbound her hair and was kneeling in the icy stream. Virginal ducked her head under the water, then whipped her torso erect, making a fine thick arc of crystalline water. Her hair was glossy brown, streaked with emerald green, and over a meter long. It hit her back with a slap, and Virginal shook her head vigorously, producing a shower that left water streaming down her flanks. Her breath was making puffs of steam. Nova thought she was beautiful.