The vortex fades to the dusty sky of afternoon, the sun pale behind a film of clouds. The
city they recently left reforms around them- there are three of them now- Jaldeja, Katya,
and one other. They are all naked, feeling the hard dry earth beneath them. The stranger,
like them, has no hair. His body is long and slender, and he stares at Jal narrowly with
heavily lidded blue eyes. They're alone in a courtyard with a dry fountain at its center,
surrounded by white mud buildings. Jal begins to shake, tries to rise, then falls back down
again.
With surprising speed and grace, the stranger rushes over to Jal's side, resting his hand
on his head, whispering gently in his ear. In a moment, Jal is sleeping.
Kat painfully picks herself up, sitting on the edge of the fountain. "Get away from him," she
says.
The man continues staring at Jal, thinking, brow furrowed in concentration. Only when Kat
begins moving toward him does he look up. "No, it's all right," he says in a voice that
makes Katya halt, uncertain.
"He'll be fine- or at least, he won't die. Not right away. No, stop," he says calmly as she
moves toward him again. "See, look here." He points to red, jagged scar on Jal's forehead.
"Only one other man has this mark- it's the mark of the Creator. No one can hurt him."
"Your voice," says Kat.
"Yes," says the man nodding. "It sounds familiar to you, doesn't it? Does it- remind you of
him?" He says, nodding toward Jal.
"Sometimes," she says, "he'd talk like you're talking now. When he'd forgotten himself."
"You mean when he was happy," the man says, smiling. "I am that part of him. What you
see here," he says, pointing down at Jal, "Is what remains of the weapon that tried to
destroy the Tep. I'm amazed it's still alive at all- really, it would be better if it were dead
now. Don't look so angry- the Tep cured me- took out the part that was sick and made it
into a different person- this person, sleeping here. It's going to suffer- it still has its
purpose- the one thing it must do, but knows it cannot. I wish I could help it more, but I
don't think I can."
Standing up, he walks within a few feet of Katya. "I still love you," he says. "If you like, we
can still enter the Steppe together- we can go separately this time as well- it doesn't really
matter anymore; please- be with me again. I'll choose a place to live near here. Come and
find me.
He turns to leave, walking toward an alley, toward the sounds of a busy street.
*
Jal awakens, shaking, his hands still clenched tight. He can still feel it there, in his hand-
but what if what he touches there isn't real? What if the sensation is like a leg that's
removed, but the owner can still feel it- phantom limb, phantom emotion, phantom hope.
He's afraid to open his hand- to know. He laughs- his fingernails have dug deep furrows in
his palm- when he unclenches them, his hand will bleed. It would be funny if, despite all
his effort, there were nothing there. He begins laughing, crying, squeezing tighter, looking
at his clenched hand, then slowly- opens it.
He almost can't believe it- it's still there. A rose, a gem, his life, his soul- the Tep could
have taken it from him, if the Tep had been strong enough, but it wasn't- he had held on.
Jal sags, leaning against the dry fountain, his treasure a manacle hanging from his limp
hand. It wasn't over yet- it wasn't even close to being over.