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Tyrell was the one who suffered. I have no price to pay for this wonder.
Twenty centuries.
And the first century must have been utter horror.
Her mind turned from the hidden mists of history that was legend now, seeing
only a glimpse of the calm White Christ moving through that chaos of roaring
evil when the earth was blackened, when it ran scarlet with hate and
anguish. Ragnarok, Armageddon, Hour of the Anti-christ two thousand years
ago!
Scourged, steadfast, preaching his word of love and peace, the White Messiah
had
walked like light through earth s descent into hell.
And he had lived, and the forces of evil had destroyed themselves, and the
worlds had found peace now had found peace so long ago that the Hour of the
Antichrist was lost to memory; it was legend.
Lost, even to Tyrell s memory. She was glad of that. It would have been
terrible to remember. She turned chill at the thought of what martyrdom he
must have endured.
But it was the Day of the Messiah now, and Nerina, the only other immortal
ever born, looked with reverence and love at the empty doorway through which
Tyrell had gone.
She glanced down at the blue pool. A cool wind ruffled its surface; a cloud
moved lightly past the sun, shadowing all the bright day.
It would be seventy years before she would swim the pool again. And when she
did, when she woke, she would find Tyrell s blue eyes watching her, his hand
closing lightly over hers, raising her to join him in the youth that was
the springtime where they lived forever.
Her gray eyes watched him; her hand touched his as he lay on the couch. But
still he did not waken.
She glanced up anxiously at Morn.
He nodded reassuringly.
She felt the slightest movement against her hand.
His eyelids trembled. Slowly they lifted. The calm, deep certainty was still
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there in the blue eyes that had seen so much, in the mind that had forgotten
so much. Tyrell looked at her for a moment. Then he smiled.
Nerina said shakily,  Each time I m afraid that you ll forget me.
Mons said,  We always give him back his memories of you, Blessed of God. We
always will. He leaned over Tyrell.  Immortal, have you truly wakened?
 Yes, Tyrell said, and thrust himself upright, swing-ing his legs over the
edge of the couch, rising to his feet in a swift, sure motion. He glanced
around, saw the new robe ready, pure white, and drew it on. Both Nerina and
Mons saw, that there was no more hesitancy in his actions. Beyond the eternal
body, the mind was young and sure and unclouded again.
Mons knelt, and Nerina knelt too. The priest said softly,  We thank God that a
new
Incarnation is per-mitted. May peace reign in this cycle, and in all the
cycles beyond.
Tyrell lifted Nerina to her feet. He reached down and drew Mons upright too.
 Mons, Mons, he said, almost chidingly.  Every cen-tury I m treated less like
a man and more like a god. If you d been alive a few hundred years ago well,
they still prayed when I woke, but they didn t kneel. I m a man, Mons. Don t
forget that.
Mons said,  You brought peace to the worlds.
 Then may I have something to eat, in return?
Mons bowed and went out. Tyrell turned quickly to Nerina. The strong
gentleness of his arms drew her close.
 If I never woke, sometime  he said.  You d be the hardest thing of all to
give up. I didn t know how lonely I was till I found another immortal.
 We have a week here in the monastery, she said.  A week s retreat, before we
go home. I like being here with you best of all.
 Wait a while, he said.  A few more centuries and you ll lose
that attitude of reverence. I wish you would. Love s better and who else can
I love this way?
She thought of the centuries of loneliness be had had, and her whole body
ached with love and compassion.
After the kiss, she drew back and looked at him thoughtfully.
 You ve changed again, she said.  It s still you, but 
 But what?
 You re gentler, somehow.
Tyrell laughed.
 Each time, they wash out my mind and give me a new set of memories. Oh, most
of the old ones, but the total s a little different. It always is. Things are
more peaceful now than they were a century ago. So my mind is tailored to fit
the times. Otherwise
I d gradually become an anachronism. He frowned slightly.  Who s that?
She glanced at the door.
 Mons? No. It s no one.
 Oh? Well . . . yes, we ll have a week s retreat. Time to think and
integrate my retailored personality. And the past  He hesitated again.
She said,  I wish I d been born earlier. I could have been with you 
 No, he said quickly.  At least not too far back.
 Was it so bad?
He shrugged.
 I don t know how true my memories are any more. I m glad I don t remember
more than I do. But I re-member enough. The legends are right. His face
shad-owed with sorrow.  The big wars ... hell was loosed. Hell was omnipotent!
The Antichrist walked in the noon-day sun, and men feared that which is high.
. . . His gaze lifted to the pale low ceiling of the room, seeing beyond it
 Men had turned into beasts. Into devils. I spoke of peace to them, and they
tried to kill me. I bore it. I was immortal, by God s grace. Yet they could
have killed me. I am vulnerable to weapons. He drew a deep, long
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breath.  Immortality was not enough. God s will pre-served me, so that I could
go on preaching peace until, little by little, the maimed beasts remembered
their souls and reached up out of hell.. . .
She had never heard him talk like this.
Gently she touched his hand.
He came back to her.
 It s over, he said.  The past is dead. We have to-day.
From the distance the priests chanted a paean of joy and gratitude.
The next afternoon she saw him at the end of a cor-ridor leaning over
something huddled and dark. She ran forward. He was bent down beside the body
of a priest, and when Nerina called out, he shivered and stood up, his face
white and appalled.
She looked down and her face, too, went white.
The priest was dead. There were blue marks on his throat, and his
neck was broken, his head twisted mon-strously.
Tyrell moved to shield the body from her gaze.
 G-get Mons, he said, unsure as though he had reached the end of the hundred
years.  Quick. This &
get him.
Morn came, looked at the body, and stood aghast. He met Tyrell s blue gaze.
 How many centuries, Messiah? he asked, in a shaken voice.
Tyrell said,  Since there was violence? Eight centuries or more. Mons, no
one no one is capable of this.
Mons said,  Yes. There is no more violence. It has been bred out of the race.
He dropped suddenly to his knees.  Messiah, bring peace again! The dragon has
risen from the past!
Tyrell straightened, a figure of strong humility in his white robe.
He lifted his eyes and prayed.
Nerina knelt, her horror slowly washed away in the burning power of
Tyrell s prayer.
The whisper breathed through the monastery and shuddered back from the blue,
clear air beyond. None knew who had closed deadly hands about the priest s
throat.
No one, no human, was capable any longer of killing; as Mons had said, the
ability to hate, to destroy, had been bred out of the race.
The whisper did not go beyond the monastery. Here the battle must be fought in
secret, no hint of it escaping to trouble the long peace of the worlds.
No human.
But another whisper grew:
The Antichrist is born again.
They turned to Tyrell, to the Messiah, for comfort.
Peace, he said, peace meet evil with humility, bow your heads in
prayer, remember the love that saved man when hell was loosed on
the worlds two thousand years ago.
At night, beside Nerina, he moaned in his sleep and struck out at
an invisible enemy.
 Devil! he cried and woke, shuddering. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]