She did not turn away. There had been no satisfaction in knocking the escort about; clearly, abuse did not bother Typhōn. And there was scant satisfaction in defiance. She was too small and limited to even begin to search for weaknesses. Still, Rhita needed to do something, to pick up some thread, or indeed she would just lie down and die.

But they would not let her die. She would be stored. And someday, surely the people who had built the Way would fight the Jarts again, perhaps destroy them, perhaps find her and her companions, as records or in boxes or however they might be stored, and bring them back. Could that much be hoped? She could barely even conceive of such things.

But Patrikia would have grabbed at any thread.

Rhita seized this one and observed Typhōn calmly now, having lost everything and knowing it if not accepting. “Take us back,” she said.

“This means nothing to you?”

She shook her head.

“You do not wish to visit the temple?”

“No.”

“Do you wish to die?” Typhōn inquired curiously, politely.

“Are you offering?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Just take me back.”

“Yes.”

The interior of the bubble seemed to fill with gelatinous smoke. She felt all weight lift from her feet.

Store me, she thought. Pack me away.

My time must come again.

Oblivion would have been welcome, if she could have known she would not be disturbed.

53

Earth, Thistledown

Lanier had resumed walking the trails again, climbing the side of the mountain, looking down over the autumn-brown grasslands and the increased flocks of sheep. Despite all that had happened, he thought himself a contented man. He could not save all of humanity from its follies; could not stop the flow of history.

Losing his sense of responsibility was a necessary liberation; he had spent much of his life helping others. Now was the time to calm himself and prepare for his own next step.

Despite the forced implant, and his relief at being saved from death, he knew he would not choose immortality. When the time came—whether it be ten years, or fifty years—he would be prepared.

He did not think his personality was so valuable that it should impose itself on others for more than a century. This was not humility, nor was it exhaustion; it was the way he had been raised.

He accepted that Karen did not agree. Even so, they were much closer than they had been in years. That was sufficient.

Two months after his recovery, on a particularly crystalline night, they walked under the stars. Thistledown was not visible. “I’m not sure I care what’s happening up there, down there.” She pointed through the Earth at where Thistledown might be.