The Lotus on the Other Side

"Will you walk with me in the Everlasting Fields?"

Sister takes my hand. We stroll through a meadow bathed in perpetual twilight. The grass underfoot is soft and colorless. The air smells clean, like flowing water. Sounds are muffled. If one chooses not to hear, one can block out all sound the way that a living person can eliminate sight simply by closing the eyes.

Spirits dwell in the Everlasting Fields. Some have been here for thousands of years. Others have only recently arrived. A few of the dead are recognizable as men or women, young or old. Most are little more than shadows with hands, lips and eyes. They watch. Occasionally, they reach out to touch Sister's black cloak or my black armor. More rarely, they speak.

"An angel."

"And a knight."

One spirit, a young girl steps forward to show my sister what she has made. "For the living," she says. Her feet do not touch the ground, and there is a thin, hazy ring of light around her head. In her hands, she holds a doll fashioned from clay. Its head is huge, its face hideous. Lips are pulled back baring sharp teeth. Its eyes bulge, its tongue protrudes--

I find the doll slightly disturbing. How can one so innocent know so much of suffering? "What it is?" I ask the child.

"For the living," the girl replies. Her face is beautiful, calm. She tugs at the hem of Sister's cloak. "Is it good?"

Sister pats the young girl's head. "Very good. Have you decided where you will bury it?"

The girl nods. Sister kneels beside her. Together, they place the angry, snarling doll into a tiny coffin . "Sleep," Sister murmurs. "Sleep the sweet sleep of the dead. Sleep and forget." The box is closed and buried. Girl and angel bow their heads.

As we continue our walk, Sister explains. "The newly dead, those who still remember human emotions and desires, feel sorry for those they have left behind. They make dolls of their loved ones and bury them, as a way of sharing with them the peace they have found here."

"Like Day of the Dead. Only in reverse."

"Day of the Dead?"

"Once a year in Mexico, they have a party for the dead. Family members decorate graves with flowers and candles. They bring food, candy, cigarettes and alcohol. So the dead can have a high old time."

We both chuckle at the absurdity of this. When one has been freed of hunger, why eat? If one has no fear or anger, why drink to forget?

"Is our mother here, in the Everlasting Fields?"

Sister bows her head. "She left almost as soon as she arrived. It wasn't her time to die."

So we are both orphans. I squeeze her fingers. Were we alive, my grip would make her cry out in pain. Here, it is only pressure. "I wish that I had died at birth, with you, then we could have grown up here, together."

"If you had died at birth, you wouldn't be a knight. 'Life tempers the sword of death.' Haven needs it knights."

"So I got left behind on purpose?"

"You would have to ask Anubis that."

"I have."

"What did he say?"

"He gave me another stack of books to read. I'm sick of books--why are you smiling?"

"You are so impatient. It's sweet," she adds. "And you are sweet." She touches my face.

The dead do not feel things, not the way that people feel them on the other side, but the sensation of her palm against my cheek is close to a physical sensation. It frightens me. Sometimes I wonder if I should have chosen the oblivion of the Everlasting Fields. I exist in a place in between life and death. Soon, they will ask me to journey back to the land of the living. Here, there is no fear, but I can remember fear. Will fear be waiting for me if I go back to its domain?

"We should go back," my sister says.

The Everlasting Fields respond by throwing up a black fortress before us. The first few times I witnessed this miracle, I was startled, but I have gotten used to it. We enter the fortress through a side door. There are miles of passages within this---I hesitate to call it a building. According to the books, it was formed not by hands and tools but by human minds, and it continues to shape and reshape itself in response to our needs.

The halls which twist, turn and intersect are all uniformly grey, but Sister navigates them easily. "I will leave you here," she says. We are outside the armory. "Nil wishes to speak to you."

Nil is the weapons master. There are no swords in the armory, no bows, lances or shields. The Knights of Death do not have the power to cause physical harm to those in the realm of the living. Our methods are more subtle.

I pick up a severed head. It opens its eyes and grins at me. It tries to speak, but lacking lungs, all it can do is mouth words.

"You won't be needing that," Nil says.

I set the head down on its bed of graveyard dirt and turn.

The weapons master has been here a very long time. There is something about her face that is not quite human. Her forehead recedes too sharply, her arms and legs are too thick and short. It is rumored that she was the first suicide. I would like to ask her history, but this is not done in the Land of the Dead. Here, we respect boundaries. Here, we value privacy.

"You have a task for me?"

"Your first mission. Why so nervous? You've been chomping at the bit ever since you arrived."

Am I nervous? Perhaps I am, by the standards of Haven. I feel surprisingly calm. Sister's influence. The Angels' mission is to comfort and soothe, just as my mission is to fight and defend. "What do you want me to do?"

"There is a man named Kuna. He refuses to cross over."

"A ghost? I thought the Angels take care of ghosts."

"They do. Kuna isn't dead. He finds it amusing to mock us." She bares her teeth. The canines are long. What was the earth like when she was alive? Did she rip raw flesh away from bones with her bare teeth?

"What do you want me to do about him?"

"I want you to make his life a living hell. Make Haven look good in comparison. This will help you find him." She hands me a smooth, fist sized, blue grey stone. It is cold and heavy, physical properties which are rare in Haven. A soulstone. As I near my target, it will grow warmer and lighter. I have heard about them but never seen or touched one. I am not prepared for the sickening feeling which washes over me when I take the soulstone in my hand. The warm, hollow place in my stomach feels heavy. Phantom intestines begin to cramp.

"What's wrong?" Nil asks.

"I feel---nauseated."

She frowns. "Stone sickness is rare in novices. It must be true what they say about you."

"What do they say?"

"If you were meant to know, you would have been told." She hands me a soft cloth. "Wrap it in this. After you cross over, you'll be able to handle it without getting sick. The Baroness is waiting for you. Good luck."

I hesitate. There are questions I would like to ask. Who is Kuna, and why must he die? Does he have a weakness I can exploit?

Again, Nil bares her teeth. "If you aren't up to the task. I can send one of the others."

"Please, I want to go. It's just--"

"You're afraid?"

"Yes."

My answer pleases her. Why? "If you linger on the other side, we'll send one of the Angels after you. I wouldn't worry about it too much. You'll find the temptations of the flesh less tempting now that you have no flesh. "

"That 's not what I'm afraid of."

"No?"

"Life was so--awful. The sounds, the sights, the scents--especially the scents. They used to disgust me. I'm afraid that I won't be able to stand it long enough to get the job done."

From her face, I know that I have said the wrong thing. How? All this silence and secrecy can be confusing sometimes.

Nil presses the soulstone, now wrapped safely in cloth, into my hand. "Kuna is your target. Take care of him and return to Haven. No detours, understand? Go, now. The Baroness is waiting." She turns her back on me.

Our interview is over. I head for the Temple of the Baroness.

In the land of the living, the Baroness is the guardian of cemeteries. There, she appears as a beautiful, middle aged woman, usually with cafe au lait skin, wearing a lace dress or shroud. To grave robbers, she appears as a skeleton, eye sockets crawling with maggots, rib cavity full of snakes.

Here in Haven, she is a paper thin membrane of clear quartz which guards the portal between the worlds.

I bow my head before her. "Madame, may I pass?"

The membrane vibrates."You have business in the world of the living?" she hums.

I hold out my hand and unwrap the soulstone.

"Who do you seek?"

"One called Kuna."

"It is permitted." The clear wall quivers as crystal changes to water.

I step through the fluid wall. The water moves through me. I feel the change within, before I see the change without. The quiet, shadowy halls of Haven vanish and...

...I stand in sunlight, beside a small, backyard grave. Moss grows on a tombstone engraved with the words, "We love you, Funny Bunny." A pet's grave. A snail crawls over the tombstone, leaving a glistening trail of slime.

The sight nauseates me. I begin to retch. Phantom bile and acid pour from my mouth. It vanishes before it hits the ground. My limbs feel heavy. It is an effort to stand up straight. When I turn, waves of dizziness wash over me. I am being swept away---

The soulstone is my anchor. It reminds me that I am here for a purpose. I unwrap it. The stone is now warm and much lighter, roughly the temperature and weight of sun baked terra cotta. I take a few steps in each direction, noting the effect on the soulstone. This way.

There is a fence between me and my goal. I try to climb it but fall through it instead. Remembering what I am, I walk straight through the next two fences. A dog barks and growls. Its owner, who can not see me, hushes it angrily.

Through another fence and now the soulstone is as hot and light as a donut fresh from the cooker. My target must be nearby. I examine my surroundings. This back yard is filled with junk--rusted machine parts, a Volkswagen body, several enormous blocks of wood and three sculptures in various stages of completion.

A small, dark man crouches beside one of the half finished carvings. He is dressed only in sweat pants. In his hands, he holds a knife. His back is to me.

The glowing soulstone rises from my hand. Quickly, I capture it and slip it into my pocket.

Though I have made no sound, the carver senses my presence. Without turning, he says "The answer is still 'No.'"

What should I do next? The books offer no specifics. On a whim., I crouch beside him.

"What are you carving?"

For the first time, he looks at me. "St. George. I've never seen you before. You must be new."

He has the blackest skin I have ever seen, almost blue-black. His close cut hair is salt and pepper, but his skin is smooth, without wrinkles or even frown lines. Though his skin glistens with perspiration, his scent is too faint to sicken me. Despite his vigorous appearance, I sense that he is close to death.

"Kuna?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "Haven't you done your homework? Only your target can see and hear you. If your target is named Kuna, then that must be me. Do you have a name?"

"Rusty."

"Rusty? Unusual choice for a Knight of Death. How did you pick that one?"

"It's my name. I've been sent to bring you to Haven."

He grunts. "Tell me something I don't know. Like why they sent a novice on a mission like this. Didn't they warn you of the dangers?"

"Are you dangerous?"

"I could be a sorcerer, waiting to ensnare you in a crystal bell. I could have an exorcism spell hidden up my sleeve."

"You aren't wearing sleeves."

"That's not the point." He studies his carving, then my face, then his carving. The statue is three feet high. The saint's body is almost finished, as is the dragon beneath its feet, but George's face lack features. "I'll make a bargain with you. If you'll sit for me, I'll listen to you. Is it a deal?"

One things the books agree on is the need for caution in making deals. Mortals lose all sense of honor when faced with death. "If you want to sketch me while I talk, I can't stop you."

"I'll take that as a yes."

I follow him into his house. He uses the door. I use the wall. It is an old, suburban ranch style home. Canvasses are stacked against every wall except for one, which is covered with unframed pastel and watercolor sketches. The only furniture in the combination living room, dining area is an easel and a chair.

The foundation of the house lacks the spiritual energy of the earth which makes the ground "solid" for my kind. I sink into the floor up to my thighs. With an effort, I am able to elevate myself so that only my feet and ankles are lost.

Kuna takes the chair. He picks up a sketch pad and charcoal pencil. "Talk all you want. I'll tell you when I start working on the mouth and chin."

This isn't going the way I imagined it would. "Why do you fight the inevitable?"

Without taking his eyes from his sketch pad, he replies "The Knights are getting sloppy. First they send a novice. Then, they forget to brief him. Death may have been inevitable for you, but it isn't for me. Now, you are supposed to ask why?"

"Why?"

"They really didn't tell you? I am a vampire."

I consider this a moment. "You were outdoors in the sunshine."

"True. I also cast a reflection in mirrors. I love garlic bread with my spaghetti. Bullets, even of the silver variety, do little more than annoy me. A stake driven through my heart would ruin my shirt and possibly my disposition, but that's all. Completely destroy my body--theoretically it is possible with fire or a nuclear weapon--and my spirit will find a new one to call home."

He must be lying. "Why send me here if there is no way you can die?"

"You weren't sent here to kill me. You were sent to bring me to Haven. Vampires are as much at home in Haven as we are in the world of the living. Remember that old wives tale about vampires sleeping in coffins during the day? It's partly true. When we journey to Haven, we leave our physical forms behind in this world. A coffin or tomb makes a good place to store a body which isn't currently in use. Turn your head a bit to the right, please. Perfect."

"I don't believe you."

"Good for you. Only a fool would buy such a ridiculous story. Unfortunately, it is the only story I know. Five thousand years ago, for the sake of my pharaoh, I submitted to being bitten by a rabid wolf. One thousand of us volunteered. Most died, horribly. A handful of us transformed. The virus infected our brains--I am speaking from hindsight now, you understand. We knew nothing of viruses or neural tissue back then. All we knew was that occasionally, people from certain tribes along the upper Nile were able to survive hydrophobia. Afterwards, we changed. Cut off a body part, it grew back. Damage our spines--we healed and quickly regained the use of our limbs. We stopped aging. We developed new senses and increased physical strength which made us great fighters. More important, from the Pharaoh's point of view, was our ability to move freely in the Western Lands, the place now known as Haven.

"There was a price. In order to survive in this world, we required enormous amounts of blood. An agricultural society like ours could not always provide us with cattle, so sometimes we had to feed on human blood. " He watches for my reaction. There is none.

He frowns. "For some of us, feeding off people got to be a habit, then a passion. Those are the true vampires. They will swear until they are blue in the face that they must absorb the life energy of another human in order to survive. That's bullshit. All we really need are certain proteins and hormones found in mammalian blood along with enormous quantities of iron. Nowadays, there are shops which sell a powdered formula, much like the stuff babies drink. In a pinch, human breast milk and rusty nails will suffice. Please don't shake your head."

"I've never heard anything so preposterous."

"A few months ago, if someone had told you that you would wake up in the afterlife and find yourself a Knight of Death, you would have called that preposterous. Hold very still now. I'm doing the chin. I'm glad they sent you, Rusty. None of my regular models has the right youthful stubbornness for my Saint George. How did you do it?" When I do not reply, he adds "I'm finished with the mouth. You can talk now. How did you kill yourself?"

I tell him.

"How does it feel being back in the world of the living?"

"Awful."

He glances up from his sketch pad. "Miss it, do you?"

"Miss it? No. I hate it." There was a snail crawling across a tombstone. It was so...so soft. I could almost feel the stone tearing at its belly as it slid. How could it bear it? Why live, if life is so..so rough. I shiver. Memories are coming back to me. "Even the air here is like sandpaper. It touches, it tears. The sun---light doesn't have to burn. And it isn't supposed to blind. The worst part is the stench. Rot, decay, mildew--it's everywhere. The earth is a giant carcass covered in parasites which feed in order to shit. When life is done, do you know what will be left?"

"According to you, an enormous pile of shit. What happened to you, Rusty? What made you so bitter?"

"What happened to me? I was born." I recall Haven wistfully. As soon as I complete my mission, I can go back there. Time to get to work. I lower my voice and begin weaving my spell. It is easy. All I have to do is say what I believe. "You've been to Haven. How can you bear to be here when you could be there? The sky in Haven is always perfect, like that moment at twilight when the fire of the sun is below the horizon and all that remains is the pure, clear light." I close my eyes. For a moment, I am there, and a bit of "there" creeps into the "here" of Kuna's home. "The air is clean. No foul smells crawling up my nose, invading my mind, clouding my thoughts. When I need silence, there is silence. When I need to be alone, I am alone. In Haven, I am free of pain, worry and fear. I never have to put a thought on hold, because it's time to stuff my face or empty my bowels. I never have to take a life in order to live" I open my eyes. Kuna is staring at me. His jaw is slack. The hand holding the charcoal pencil is still. "In Haven, no one has to kill, and no one ever dies. Your friend is your friend forever--"

"Wrong!"

Up until this moment, he was under my spell. What happened? What did I say?

He throws his pad and pencil to the floor and begins pacing. "Do you know what they call 'death' in Haven? They call it 'being reborn.' Don't fool yourself, Rusty. The one you love most today may turn around tomorrow and say 'It's been real, but now I have to move on. Nothing personal. It's just my time.' And guess what? It hurts just as bad losing a dead friend as it does a living one."

So he lost a friend. I pity him. However, that does not change things. "You are needed in Haven." I hope he doesn't ask me why he is needed. I am having a difficult time imaging what purpose someone like him could serve in the land of the dead. If left among the living, he would make an excellent assassin.

"According to you, there is no 'need' in Haven. No hunger. No desire." He picks up his sketch pad and shows me his work. Is that really how he sees me? The boy in the picture looks very young and very angry. "You'll make a good St. George. This is the face of a man who doesn't know fear. Failure isn't in his vocabulary."

I refuse to be distracted. "You should reconsider your decision. The Knights may not have the power to do physical harm, here, in the mortal plane, but we can hurt you in other ways. We can make you remember things you would rather forget."

"Is that a threat?" He snarls. His teeth look ordinary, slightly crooked, but no fangs. "You're going to be sorry you said that."

"You are coming back to Haven with me?"

The more relaxed I seem, the angrier he gets. "I never said that!"

"You can't get even with me if you stay here."

"You're going to be sorry for that, too. Wipe that nasty smirk off your face. You Knights think it's so easy." He picks up his sketch pad. "Go away. I have work to do."

He returns to the backyard, where he begins carving St. George's face, using the sketch as a model. I follow.

It is slow work. "In Haven, you could imagine a statue, and it would appear."

"I like to carve."

Minutes stretch to hours. A visiting yellow tabby takes an interest in me. She sniffs my leg. When I look directly into her eyes, she arches her back and hisses.

The insects aren't so fearful. Butterflies, gnats and moths are attracted by my aura. They hover around me, forming a living, buzzing cloud. The noise is almost intolerable, but I refuse to give up. Kuna was right. Failure isn't in my vocabulary. Not now, when I sense that his resolve is wearing thin.

"Haven is like a perfect flower," I say. "Not one of the fat, showy ones that pollutes the air with its sweetness and drops petals all around. It is a simple, pure white flower, the kind a gardener tends carefully for weeks so that he can enjoy the bloom for a moment. In Haven, that moment is forever."

He does not reply. Does he have the power to shut out sound, here in the world of the living?

I close my eyes and visualize the flower. See its beautiful simplicity, feel its airy lightness, breathe in its water clear scent.

I let the image go. Beauty, light, clarity are all that remain, and they are everything. No longer aware of the sun or the flying insects, I relax in my own little island of Haven.

Out of the blue, Kuna asks "How long have you been a Knight?"

It hurts being pulled out of Haven, but only a little. I can go back at will. "A little over two months in your time."

"This is your first mission?"

"Yes."

"You have friends in Haven? Family?"

"A sister. My twin sister. She died while we were being born. She's an Angel. My mother died, too."

Under his breath, Kuna mutters "That explains it. God help the living." Aloud, "If I promise to follow you to Haven after I finish the carving, will you leave me in peace?"

I hesitate. No bargains, no compromises, that is what the books say. The living will tell any lie, commit any sin to save their pathetic, decaying flesh.

Kuna turns. He raises his carving knife. Does he intend to attack me? If he knows about Knights, he must realize that I have no flesh to wound.

No, the blade comes down on his own forearm, opening a deep, wide gash. Blood flows from the wound. Then, before my eyes, it heals, leaving no scar. He licks the blood from his skin.

"Convinced?"

"When should I tell Nil to expect you?"

"I'll come when I'm good and ready. Go away. Shoo!"

I leave, neither victorious or defeated. This isn't the way I expected my first mission to end. There are too many unanswered questions. And my head aches. It must be the sunlight and stench.

Funny Bunny's grave stone is now dry. No sign of the snail. Is it nesting in some bed of decayed plant matter, spawning more of its kind? Sister says that life is not so painful for insects and small animals. "As soon as they die, they are reincarnated. As they near the moment of death, they see their own rebirth and are drawn to the light. When pain or hunger becomes more than they can stand, they lie down and surrender themselves willingly."

The thought of Sister restores me. I search until I find water and a bucket. The task requires all my concentration, because the hose and bucket tend to slip through my hands. Once the faucet is turned on, I can't switch it off again . I leave it running.

At last, I manage to reach Funny Bunny's tombstone with a half bucket of water. Standing on the stone, I pour water over my head.

The liquid becomes the wall of the Baroness. I feel her magic within me, changing me. My nausea vanishes. I can now turn my head without becoming dizzy. I step forward. Behind me, the wall reverts to its crystalline form.

The silence is complete. Even the ringing in my ears is gone. I raise my hand and sniff my sleeve. No stench of decay clings to me. My eyes are perfectly adapted to the dark.

Nil is waiting for me in the armory. "Well?"

"He says he'll be here after he finishes a carving."

I expect her to scold me. Instead, she looks surprised. "He's coming?"

Did she think that I would fail? Was the mission supposed to teach me some lesson in humility? I hesitate to call what I feel anger. Compared to the burning rages I used to experience in my former existence, this is a very minor emotion, slight annoyance, nothing more. However, it is the first time I have felt less than completely contented since finding Haven.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"I wanted to see what you 're capable of."

"He says he's a vampire. Is that true?"

"Yes, it's true. How did you get him to agree to come?"

"I don't know. First, I wove a death spell. It seemed to be working. Then, I made a mistake and talked about friendship and loss. That broke the spell. He was angry. Angry and afraid. I played on his fear of loss. He didn't like that at all. I thought I had blown it, but then he promised to come to Haven. I still don't understand why you need him here. What can he do that the Knights can't?"

"Never mind that. I want you to take this to Anubis." She scribbles something on a piece of parchment, which she folds and seals. "Wait for his reply."

I track Anubis down in the Everlasting Fields, where he and the shade of a young woman are speaking in soft tones.

"You are certain that you want to return to life?"

She nods.

"You must say the words out loud."

"I want to be reborn."

"You will lose all memory of who you are now and this place. You will be forced out into a world of bright light and bitter cold, and you won't understand any of it. You will be afraid."

"For a while. I'll adapt. I want to go back."

"I can't give you any assurance that your next life will be a happy one."

"Sadness is OK. At least it's real."

"Haven is not real enough for you?"

The shade sighs. "I hate to complain, but it's all--the same. Boring. Please."

The god places his hand on her head. "Go with my blessing, child. I'll be waiting for your return."

The shade claps her hands. She begins to twirl around. "I'm going back!" she exclaims. Most of the residents of the Everlasting Fields ignore her, but some of the children look curious. I wish that Sister was here to protect them from the influence of this foolish woman.

Anubis directs the shade to a gate. "On the other side is the River of Rebirth. Follow it to Sea, and you will be reborn. Take this key. It will allow you to open the gate. Once through, there is no coming back."

The shade grabs the key and hurries towards her goal. One of the children, a tiny toddler makes as if to follow her, but Anubis scoops her up. With the spirit child in his arms, he turns to me.

"You have a message?"

I hand him Nil's note.

"Is there a reply?"

He considers his answer. "Tell Nil 'Good work. Keep your eyes on them.' That's all. You may go."

As I near the armory, I hear voices. Two people, a man and a woman are discussing someone, a Knight.

"He is dangerous."

Nil replies "He is a double edged sword, like all the Knights of Death. I think we can make use of him."

"He made me wish that I could die. Hell, I was on the verge of crying like a baby, because I can't die. If he doesn't learn to control his power, he could upset everything."

"That's why you're here."

Silence, then "You know I don't teach anymore." I finally recognize the voice.

"This is a special case. I'm not sure we could send him to the Everlasting Fields now, even if we wanted to. He'd tear Haven apart before he's let himself be reborn---Rusty! How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." I enter the room but take care to keep far away from Nil and Kuna. He is wearing the black armor of a Knight and the cape of an Angel. That makes him a Master. I have seldom spoken to Masters, and I have never faced the possibility of having to fight one, but I will if he tries to eject me from Haven. "Have I done something wrong? Have I broken a rule?"

"It's nothing like that," Nil says.

"Then why this talk of sending me away?" Something strong and dark rises up within me.

Nil's eyes widen.

Kuna stares. He is not frightened like Nil, but he is surprised by whatever it is that he sees. "All right," he says abruptly. "I'll do it."

"Do what?" I ask. There is something wrong with my voice. It cuts the air like a knife.

"Relax," Kuna replies. "No one's kicking you out of Haven. I've agreed to be your teacher. You should be flattered. Few students begin their studies with a Master."

It is all clear now. We have been tricked, Kuna and I.

I remember the soulstone. Reaching into my pocket, I find it burning hot and as light as air. "Here." I hand it to Nil. Because I am still slightly annoyed, I add "Anubis said 'Good work. Keep your eyes on them.' I think he meant Kuna and me."

If Kuna did not know about the conspiracy before, he does now. He growls. "Damn deities are all the same! They pull our strings and expect us to jump. I'm only doing this for the boy. Understand?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns. "Rusty!" he barks from the door.

"Sir?"

"Come on. We've got work to do."

I have to run to keep up with him. For a man who has lived five thousand years, he seems awfully impatient. What can he teach me of death? No matter. If it keeps me in Haven, I'll pretend to be his student.

"First," he says. "I want to get one thing straight. No matter how your training goes, no one is kicking you out of Haven. Or washing your mind out in the Well of Forgetting."

"Nil said--"

"That was for my benefit. She was trying to make me feel sorry for you. Make me think that you're my responsibility. That's another thing. I'm your teacher, not your nursemaid, not your soul mate, not your best friend."

"Yes, sir."

"And don't call me, 'Sir.' It makes me feel old."

"You are old. Five thousand years old."

He growls. "You'll feel older than that by the time I'm through training you. This way!"

I follow him reluctantly. Things do not touch me, the way they used to touch me in the land of the living. However, I find his loud, impatient voice distracting. Also, he said he would make me regret the things I said to him. Nervousness is not an emotion that I associate with Haven, but I am not looking forward my training.

Bio:McCamy writes speculative fiction with elements of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. Her long fiction can be read on her web site at http://www.nationwide.net/~taylorjh.

E-mail: taylorjh@nationwide.net

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