The Line Between

«It is not so simple!» he began angrily, but he caught himself then, and went on more calmly. «Well, well, your morality's no matter to me either, What should matter to you is that a stolen dream cries out to its begetter. No Goro will ever rest until his dream is safe home again, and the thief gathered to his ancestors in very small pieces. Most often, some of the pieces are lacking.» He smiled at me.

«A grassblade?» I demanded. «A stone — a stick of wood? To pursue and kill for a discarded stick, no use to anyone? You neglected to mention that your brave, fierce Goro are also quite mad.»

The old man sighed, a long and elaborately despairing sigh. «They are no more mad than yourself — a good deal less so, more than likely. And a Goro's dream is of considerable use — to a Goro, no one else. They keep them all, can you follow that ? A Goro will hoard every physical manifestation of every dream he dreams in his life, even if at the end it seems only to amount to a heap of dead twigs and dried flower petals. Because he is bound to present the whole unsightly clutter to his gods, when he goes to them. And if even one is missing — one single feather, candle–end, teacup, seashell fragment — then the Goro will suffer bitterly after death. So they believe, and they take poorly to having it named nonsense. Which I am very nearly sure it is.»

When he was not railing directly at me, his arrogance trickled away swiftly, leaving him plainly uneasy, shapeshifter or no. I found this rather shamefully enjoyable. I said, «So. This one wants his shiny stone back, and it has called him all this way on your trail. It does seem to me — "

«That I might simply return it to him? Apologies — some small token gift, perhaps — and no harm done?» This time his short laugh sounded like a branch snapping in a storm. «Indeed, nothing would suit me better. It is only a useless pebble, as you say — the shape lost all interest in it long ago. Unfortunately, for such an offense against a Goro — such a sin, if you like — vengeance is required.» Speaking those words silenced him again for a long moment: his eyes flicked constantly past and beyond me, and his whole body had grown so taut that I half–expected him to turn back into a fox as we sat together. For the first time in our acquaintance, I pitied him.

«Vengeance is required," he repeated presently. «It is a true sacrament among the Goro, much more than a matter of settling tribal scores. Something to do with evening all things out, restoring the proper balance of the world. Smoothing the rumples, you might say. Very philosophical, the Goro, when they have a moment.» He was doing his best to appear composed, you see, though he must have known I knew better. He does that.

«All as may be," I said. «What's clear to me is that we now have two different sets of assassins to deal with, each lot unstoppable — "

«The Goro are not assassins," he interrupted me. «They are a civilized and honorable people, according to their lights.» He was genuinely indignant.

«Splendid," I said. «Then by all means, you must stay where you are and allow yourself to be honorably slaughtered, so as to right the balance of things. For myself, I'll give them a run, in any case," and I was on my feet and groping for my belongings. Wonderful, what weeks of flight can do for a naturally mild temper.

He rose with me, nodding warningly, if such a thing can be. «Aye, we'd best be moving. I can't speak for your lot, but the day's coming on hot, and our Goro will sleep out the worst of it, if I know them at all. Pack and follow.»

That brusquely — pack and follow. And so I did, for there was no more choice in the matter than there ever had been. The old man set a fierce pace that day, not only demanding greater speed from me than ever, but also doubling back, zigzagging like a hare with a shukri one jump behind: then inexplicably going to ground for half an hour at a time, absolutely motionless and silent until we abruptly started on again, with no more explanation than before. During those stretches he often slipped out of sight, each time hissing me to stillness, and I knew that he would take the fox–shape (or would it take him? which was real?) to scout back along the way we had come. But whether we were a trifle safer, or whether death was a little closer on our heels, I could never be sure. He never once said.