“She wants you,” Norit said. “She wants you, because you’re Marak Trin Tain, because she knows your name, she knows who you are, she knows what you did in the war, and she knows the Ila sent you.”

“Yes the Ila sent me. The Ila gathered all the mad together and chose me to find her answer, to find out what we see and why we walk off into the desert to die like damned fools.” Temper rose up, the temper that was Tain’s curse, and his, and he choked it back, because it was only Norit he could hurt if he let it fly. “So what is this great truth? Why have we been tormented all our lives, and what good is it to anyone, and why should this Luz or the Ila care about a handful of madmen?”

“She’s given us a gift,” Norit’s lips repeated, trembling at every word. Her eyes were immense, dark and haunted. She drew a deep breath, shut her eyes, and the tremor went away. “We have had our thirty years. Thirty years to gather in those that will listen, thirty years to store away your knowledge, so what you know… will not… will not perish.” She spoke. Then terror overwhelmed Norit. Her lips trembled into silence, as if she denied all that had flowed through her mouth.

Pity moved Marak’s hand to her cheek, gently, gently, and wiped a tear. “You are not to blame,” he said. “Norit. You are not to blame.”

“I love you,” Norit said. “You were kind to me, and I love you. Remember it if I can’t.”

It was like a good-bye. It haunted him. And there was nothing he could do to help her. He brushed her cheek, straightened her hair.

“Let her speak to me,” he said. “Let her speak. Let’s see if we can make sense of this. And damn this Luz, she’ll give you back your right mind again when she’s done.”

“I hear,” Norit’s lips said. And Norit’s eyes were in torment.

“Then tell the truth! Why do you do this to her? Why not come in here and speak to me yourself?”

Marak! roared in his head. Marak, Marak, Marak! so loudly that he flinched.

“Speak to me, damn you, don’t shout!”

“I’ve spoken to you,” Norit’s lips said, “for nearly thirty years, and you won’t hear me. You hear what you want to hear.” Norit hesitated, trembling. “You recast everything the way you want to hear it. You’re very stubborn.”

“It’s my father’s inheritance,” he said. He caressed Norit’s cheek and found his own hand trembling. “I’m here. Tell me whatever she wishes, Norit. I love you. For your sake, I’ll listen.”