“Oh, come now, you can’t be serious,” Eiron interrupted as Alessia paused in her story, his head edging back slightly as he narrowed his eyes upon her in disbelief. “No one… is immortal.” He said.
Now, he was back in the isolated passageway again, as far from the distant echoes of history as he could be, if only because that was what he believed. Alessia had transported him in time through the magic of her voice, but the limits of his own faith restored him to firm reality.
Eiron was still sitting down, and the soft ground beneath him made muffled sounds as he restlessly shifted his posture to match the whirling effect Alessia had wrought in his mind. He had the sudden urge to stand, to move about, but it was all fruitless if Alessia didn’t explain herself, or how she could sit there so absolutely calmly and tell him that she was an immortal and had made this other man, this Sargon, an immortal, too!
The ghost of Inen… at last the words made sense. Yet was she a ghost or like an angel? Or was she something evil?
She had done only good to him personally thus far, Eiron reminded himself. Was she listening to his thoughts even now? He wondered.
“Tell me,” he demanded, reaching out to grasp her arm before he even realized he had so brashly moved towards her. “Tell me that what you just told me is only a story, that it isn’t true. People can’t live forever. You can’t read my mind, or move objects around just by thinking about it. You aren’t… immortal. You can’t be.”
She was very close to him, leaning away against the wall, her eyes expressing and betraying an inner turmoil which her face would not. She was poised to answer him, he was certain, but why did she hesitate now? What could she fear by simply confessing the truth, and quickly?
Who was this Sargon? Where was he, and why hadn’t she loved him in return?
Eiron’s grip on her arm grew tighter. “Are you going to answer me?” He wanted to focus only upon the question, but he found his mind considering that perhaps this Sargon was the reason Alessia was hiding here in the Classified Zone. The thought brought him nothing but more unease, and he fought it off. He looked at her instead and focused on her face.
“You want me to prove to you that what I’ve said is the truth?” she asked quietly, in a level tone.
“Maybe. You’re asking me to believe the impossible,” he protested, shaking his head with the quick motion.
“I know,” she answered quietly.
“Telekinesis, the healing—that I might believe…”
“And you would rather not believe that I can read your mind.”
He reacted, stared at her hard, then nodded. I would feel violated.
“Eiron, I wish I were lying to you,” she admitted in a low, strained voice.
“What?” The delirium in Eiron’s eyes retreated; he realized he was still holding on to her. He felt a wave of self-reproof for no reason at all, or perhaps because Alessia’s face looked sad, and he had never seen it that way. He experienced a strange sense of helplessness, and his grip on her arm grew slack.
“I don’t understand you now,” he said, shaking his head at her, but now with affection.
“You think I’m crazy?”
“No,” he protested, “I know you’re not. But immortal—”
“I can produce proof enough for you later that what I have told you is the truth. Have you ever seen the face of the Orian Great Leader?”
“No,” Eiron replied, with questioning eyes.
“He is Sargon.”
Eiron let go of her arm. The world was spiraling around him, though he stood still. He sat back, and sat down hard. After a moment, he looked up at Alessia and into her eyes. He stared, blinked a few times.
“If you can’t believe me, Eiron, I’ll understand.” Alessia said. “But if you’re willing to hear the end of my story—”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“Then let us end the tale,” she said.