8.
In those days of lessons, we continued to sing every evening, after dinner. Sometimes he let glimpses of his old life slip through, and I would see him with other musicians, working in crowded rooms where people were talking and laughing, or in quieter, smaller places where the audience actually listened to their music. There were also times in large concert halls, with thousands of people gathered in row after row of seats. Then there were moments when he was alone, singing to his God, hidden somewhere in a silent corner of the great city, or outside, in the open country. He looked at me and we saw that we believe in the same great spirit, creator, father-mother who exploded the cosmos into existence and reaches into each of our hearts, offering us the greatest treasure of all: love. But so many of us turn away from that simple gift, and grasp after the power and riches of the worlds, to control others' lives and raise monuments of stone and steel.
Once or twice he would teach me a love ballad, singing it first for me, then leading me through it a second time. I could feel his hunger, searching for that love which is special, not only of the spirit but of the body, too. I flattered myself that he was singing for me, but from his mind came flashes of many memories, some of them quite intimate, and although they frightened me, I understood that he wanted me to know that he was not a virgin, that he had loved and hurt and been hurt, and still was willing to try again. On the night after we swam naked, I heard him thinking that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. He told me he was echoing a saying from the ancient poets of Earth. We were singing one of the old songs from the home world, from days when the first ships were being dreamed, before mankind brought the plagues and destruction upon themselves, before the great diaspora began, before the sky burned, oceans rose, and billions died while only millions escaped to the seven new worlds, including ours, Djardon.
It was now six days since he arrived, and we were very, very close to becoming lovers, especially after that afternoon. But we kept an uncertain distance, hesitating to take that last step. He wanted me to see something, and I was waiting for him to show me. Sitting on either side of the fire in the sand, on the open space before my small house, we sang the last notes of the ancient song, our voices flowing in harmony, then fading into the starry night. He gazed at me over the flickering flames, and I felt him offering me his life. Now, if you are ready, look across the fire into my soul, see the boy I was and the man I have become.
His eyes flashed - a reflection of the popping driftwood - and I felt him gently relax and pull back all the curtains, open all the doors. There was no force, no demanding struggle like earlier today, when he tested me, making me learn to raise my shield. Instead, his psyche just completely opened before me, and I could see the waters of his memory move softly behind his eyes. I wanted nothing more than to slip into that sea and swim forever. Carefully I pulled my legs into a half lotus, echoing his posture, and then, reaching out for his slowly drifting thoughts, I stepped across the fire into his mind.
Go to Chapter Nine, the beginning of Jorak's Story