Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [255]
Yazra’h glanced at him with respect. With her long hair flowing back from her face like a mane, she looked like a character from legends of fearsome female warriors: Amazon queens, Boudicca, Olga, even Wonder Woman. He thought the Mage-Imperator’s daughter would have been pleased by the comparison.
Anton sat for hours at the rememberer’s bedside, holding one of the datascreens he had brought along when he’d left Earth. “I’m going to read to you, Vao’sh. Even if you can’t hear me, I’ll keep you company with more stories. Listen. Try to grasp the thread of my voice and follow it back here.”
He called up literature files, cleared his throat, and drew a deep breath. “Homer’s epics are the closest thing to the Saga of Seven Suns our storytellers have ever created. I’ll begin with the Iliad.” He cleared his throat. 'Sing, O Goddess, of the wrath of Achilles, such a deadly wrath that brought countless woes upon the Achaeans and sent the souls of many mighty heroes down to the house of Death.' ”
Anton drew another breath and continued. This was, after all, an epic.
Yazra’h returned often to check on him, making certain that servant kithmen delivered adequate food and drink to him. At first she seemed amused by Anton’s devotion, and then touched.
He did not despair. His voice grew rough and cracked, but he continued his best telling of the Trojan War, of the heroes Hector and Achilles, the dangerous love of Paris and Helen, of disgraced Ajax and how he had fallen on his own sword.
Throughout the recitation of the epic, Vao’sh stared blankly at the curved ceiling. At times, Anton would set Homer aside and recount other anecdotes from history, even reminiscences of his lost parents and their archaeological work.
It went on day after day.
When he was halfway through the Odyssey, intent on Odysseus’s perilous voyage between Scylla and Charybdis, his voice took on a strong, dramatic tone, and the words flowed. At the most exciting point, he glanced down at Vao’sh and paused in mid-stanza.
It seemed to him that the rememberer’s skin had flushed with new color. Anton set the datascreen aside. To his astonishment, Vao’sh blinked his normally fixed eyes. Anton leaned forward, eager to see any other movement.
Vao’sh blinked again and turned his face. The rememberer’s mouth curved in a smile. “Do not stop there, my friend. Tell me how the story ends.”
Chapter 131—SULLIVAN GOLD
When the rescued Ildiran miner kithmen, as well as his own crew, were delivered to the Prism Palace, Sullivan Gold felt like a hero. He hadn’t planned on that, but saving the Ildirans had been the right thing to do. Lydia would have been proud of him.
Sullivan wasn’t the sort of man to travel to exotic places and see the extravagant wonders of the Spiral Arm. He’d never dreamed of finding himself welcomed into the crystal metropolis of Mijistra. Ildiran bureaucrats celebrated their arrival, rewarding the human skyminers for their selfless rescue, pampering them with every possible consideration. He certainly hoped he would receive such a warm welcome when he returned to face the Hansa Chairman.
Kolker, though, remained inconsolable. Here on Ildira, the green priest remained cut off from his telink network, blinded. Sullivan tried to help his glum companion. “I don’t think the Ildirans have any worldtrees here, but I’m sure they’ll send us home soon. Maybe they can even drop you off at Theroc. You’ll just have to wait a little while longer.”
Kolker hung his head, weighed down with grief and loneliness. “Every hour seems impossible. Is this how the rest of you live every day? So disconnected. Talking aloud is such a shallow imitation of real communication.”
Sullivan squeezed Kolker’s shoulder. “Nevertheless, it’s all we have, and our civilization has made do. We’ve muddled along for thousands of years.”
Kolker looked at him with a lost expression. “But have we muddled along? Truly? Think of all the unnecessary conflicts caused by misunderstandings. Maybe clearer communication