Beowulf's Children

Robor was moored, and the exodus began. They handed the bodies—what was left of them—hand over hand.

And when the last of them was aboard, the rain had almost ceased. They could hear the buzz as the bees awakened.

Sylvia stood beside him, holding his arm. Her son seemed almost like a stranger, so intense was his focus.

"He's out there," Justin said.

"Who?"

"Aaron. He's out there."

"He's dead," she said.

Justin shook his head. "He's not lucky enough to be dead. Yet." He screamed out of Robor's door: "I'll be back, you bastard! I swear to God I'll be back, and I'll kill you!"

She pried him carefully away from the door, and closed it on the camp, the shattered shell of Avalon's dreams. And then they lifted away.

The rain started again, and the bees still huddled in the forest, awaiting their time. The chamels had been set free, and were returning to the plains. The horses and other livestock were all dead.

For a few moments there was no sound, no movement, and then the mud stirred.

Aaron Tragon rolled half free of the mud. His eyes were wild and staring, almost sightless. He wasn't certain where he was. The chamels had trampled him on their way out, and he was badly concussed. His eyes wouldn't focus. He had to move. Had to hide. The bees would come back.

Soon. They would.

But his eyes wouldn't focus.

He flopped over onto his stomach, and tried to crawl away. There was something coming. Death was coming. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. But it was there.

Cadma

His mind wouldn't work. So much death. He stood, bent far over around broken ribs. He staggered through the streets of Shangri-La, the camp that he had schemed and stolen and killed to build. It was destroyed. Empty. Robor was retiring in the distance, gri

He heard a noise behind him. He was too tired, too confused to turn.

It was the grendel. The grendel god. He felt a wave of fear, of freedom approaching. His judgment. His salvation. He spread his arms and exposed his throat.

And then the grendel came to him. And she said Cadma

And the grendel took him by the throat, and she said... Chaka.

And the grendel devoured him, saying... Jessica.

And in the grendel he saw her heart, and the heart beat, saying...

Toshiro.

And he passed into darkness and into death, and the grendel spake unto him, and she said...

Aaron.

We are one...

Chapter 41

CHOICES

But there's a tree, of many, one,

A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of

Early Childhood

It was a beautiful day for a memorial, Justin thought. Tau Ceti shone down on the bluff, on the land that Cadma

And if he turned around, Justin could gaze down on the colony itself. See the crosshatch of roads that Cadma

The Bluff wasn't crowded. The public funeral had been held a week before. This was just family. Just the kids, and Cadma

Just the ones who loved the old man—and Jessica.

Jessica.

"We're here today..." He steadied his voice as much as he could. "... to say good-bye to two people we love." He stopped, dug his hands into his pockets. A sad, crooked smile plucked at his lips. "Isn't that just the way it is? No matter how much we say to someone while they're alive, there's always more to say. That' s the tragedy of it... but that's the joy, too."

He looked out at the mourners. They were seated in two rows of folding chairs. Carlos sat next to Sylvia, holding Cadzie, the sleeping child wrapped in a bright blue blanket. Sylvia held Mary A

"Dad," Justin said, "I can still talk to you, when I need to. And I will. We all will. Jessica—"

And here his words faded for a minute. There were things that he wanted to say: You made the wrong choice, Jessie. You chose the wrong side. And in the end, you didn't think fast enough. God. I'll miss your smile, your laugh. I'll never forget the one kiss we shared, not even when they put me in the ground next to you. I loved you, Jessie. Maybe it wouldn't have made a goddamned bit of difference, but I should have told you. Maybe if I had. Maybe if I'd found the right way to say it, you ‘d still be alive...

Katya was smiling at him. Katya, who loved him, and wanted to bear his children. Katya, who must never know what his heart had just revealed to him.

Justin realized he had stopped speaking. He felt as if his mouth was packed with cotton. He had to say something. Anything.

Why was life so goddamned hard?

"Jessica," he lied, his voice breaking, "you were my sister."

Sylvia found Mary A

"Mary A

Mary A

"He... loved you more, you know," Mary A

Sylvia started to speak, to say something reflexively, but Mary A

She smiled again. Her cheeks looked waxen. "I let you into my marriage, dear, for him. To hold on to him. If you were here, he wouldn't have to go to you secretly. He would have done that eventually, you know. And people would have talked. And felt sorry for me. I don't think that I could have survived that. So I let you in. And he stayed. Because he had no reason to go, don't you see?"

Sylvia reached out and took her hand. Regretfully, but firmly, Mary A

Sylvia waited until the silence grew too painful, then told the truth.

"I know."

"I've thought about asking you to move out. But it wouldn't be right."

Sylvia stiffened a bit. "If you want me to go, I will."

Mary A

The room was very quiet. Mary A

Then she lay back on the bed, in the middle of the bed that she had shared with Cadma

When she spoke, her voice was very, very soft. "I'd like to rest now, if you don't mind," she said. "I don't know why, but I get tired so easily these days."