Nilla crossed the bottom of the canyon and clambered up the rock face beyond. She kicked off her shoes and used her bare toes to dig for footholds, clawed at the weathered sandstone. She didn't sweat, nor did she pant for breath as she climbed upwards, always upwards, but she felt the strain in her dead muscles, the pull in her back as she hoisted herself bodily to where the naked man sat waiting for her, not moving an inch to close the distance between them.

So brutal you can be. He tsked her, looking like he had just dropped by for a social chat. She clambered up to him on her stomach, crawling likean insect, and just collapsed. So angry. I suppose it's understandable. The living have been so cruel to you, haven't they? And now you're willing to torture them just to find out a name that doesn't mean anything anymore.

She stared at him for a moment, unsure what to think. She was pretty sure that Mael was not at all what he appeared to be. You have a better plan?

I do, lass. Would you like to hear it?

She rolled over onto her back and lay staring up at the intensely blue sky, so rich in color it nearly turned to black at the zenith. Your English has improved, she told him. He took it as a yes. End all the anguish, finish all the sadness. Wipe out the violence and the depravity and the suffering in one fell swoop. It is a tall order, I'll admit. Perhaps we can go one better: get them to do it for themselves.

She hadn't cared for Singletary's nebulous refusals. She liked even less when Mael talked in riddles. What are you? she asked, sitting up, facing away from him. He wasn't really there, of course. He was pushing himself into her head just like the psychic. It didn't matter if she looked at him or not.

A musician, once upon a time. And a politician. I was a sorcerer and a hunter, too. I wrestled with monsters in my day. I conversed with whatyou would call gods.

She smiled weakly. Great. A Jesus freak. Or no, he had said gods, plural. A Hare Krishna. Oh, I see. And what did they tell you? His voice softened. Shall I be plain? They whispered to me in the dark and stillness of the forest that humanity is wicked. That men are born with evil in their hearts, and must expiate their corruption by deeds."

"Oh yeah? What kind of deeds makes up for somebody with evil in their heart?" Nilla asked. She wished he would get on with it. "Sacrifice. Blood sacrifice, if necessary. The longer we go unredeemed, the steeper the payment. They told me that should the necessary rituals go unfulfilled and the good works left undone it might eventually be necessary to wipe out the human race altogether. For the good of the world.

That's... Nilla started, but she knew better than to finish. Crazy? I know you think it so. Your generation knowsbetter. Your land doesn't believe in gods. You believe everything just sort of happens for no reason, isn't that right? You call that belief science. In my day we knew better. When the gods, especially when the Fathers of Clans spoke, we listened.

Nilla stood up on the top of the rock and stared down at him. Did you start the Epidemic? she demanded. That's what I'm feeling here. You brought the dead back to life so they could kill all the living for you. I swear- Lass, you're confusing the author with the agent. I didn't make this apocalypse. I serve it. As will you. She shook her head violently and started away from him, moving as fast as she could, walking flatfooted on the uneven rock. The sun's heat, stored up all day in the rock, burned her feet but she kept moving. She wanted to get away from him, away from- You were created to be the sword in my hand. My weapon. He stood before her. She hadn't seen him move, hadn't even seen him blink into existence there, he just... was there. She stopped short before she collided with him. Why do you think your name was taken away from you?

Brain damage. There was no oxygen going to my brain so part of it died. He grinned at her. That sounds crazy to me. Why would the Father of Clans bring you back damaged? He had his reasons, I can assure you. He wants to make this task easy for you. You have no attachments to the humans. They hate you-you may safely hate them back because you don't remember what it is like to be one of them. You can do violence without guilt. You don't ever need to question your own motives. What a gift you have been given!

Christ! I'm not some kind of evil undead warrior! I don't want to hurt anyone! Except Jason Singletary. Mael place a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. The touch felt good-it had been a long time since anyone had touched her-but she shrugged it away. I've seen through you, Nilla. You would have shaken him till his teeth rattled in his mouth if it would have gotten you a name. And what about those children? You lead them right to their deaths, even after I warned you to stay apart from them.

She took a swing at Mael, her hard fist tight as a muscle cramp, but the blow met no resistance. She felt a clamminess in the air but there was no connection. She reached out and grabbed for his throat but her fingers just disappeared into his flesh as if she had stuck her hand into a column of smoke.

Nilla threw her hands up in disgust and turned around, heading back the way she'd come.

His life has been one of torture. He's been in pain since he was a child. Your heart didn't go out to him, though. You were willing to use his pain. You wanted to make him hurt more. And that's a good thing? she demanded. She was not surprised when she found him standing in front of her again. She tried walking right through him but he grabbed her shoulders and stopped her dead in her tracks. You want me to do that, to hurt him?

Lass, you haven't been listening. I want to stop his pain. Mael glanced down into the canyon, toward the weathered shack. I want to take it all away. Nilla looked too and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. A dead man stood on the doorstep of Singletary's little home. The dead man with no arms. With his head the corpse butted open the door and stepped inside.

She nearly broke her neck racing down the side of the rock.

Virgin desperately seeking help before world ends, T/Th 5:00, tap foot [Graffiti in a bathroom stall, OHare International Airport, 4/18/05]

Dick stumbled through the door into cool air and just swayed there for a moment, glad to be out of the punishing sun, glad to have a soft wooden floor under his bare foot. For a moment, just a moment he felt the comfort of being in a place with square corners again. There were no memories in his head to be awakened, no thoughts of any kind but this perfectly simple, perfectly harmless pleasure. He was allowed to revel in it for just a handful of moments.

There were rules that had to be followed. This was a game. Dick's universe had become a sort of game. It had rules. No-no, not now, someone said from below him and it was over. The hunger raced up his spine and into his brain and he swung his head around, sniffing out whatever had made that noise. He stumbled against a table and metal crashed to the floor, bright sounds banging and crashing in staccato rhythm, turned and spun, the silvery grain of the wooden walls captivated him but no, he stepped forward and nearly trod on the very thing he sought.

Rule One: Dick will eat what Dick finds.

In a heap on the floor a nearly-naked man lay curled around one leg of the table, his head in his hands. I didn't hear you come in, he said, a sad, gentle smile in his voice. Dick didn't understand the words- words as a whole were lost to him. That was less of a rule than a condition of play. It was a relief more than anything. When people spoke to him he knew that they were trying to get his attention, that they were trying to communicate. He felt no frustration when he failed to get the point. There were rules in this world, but no decisions.

Dick sank to his knees. The food in front of him whimpered quietly but didn't try to get away. Dick felt no pangs of conscience. Sometimes food ran and you had to chase it all day, the hunger dogging every footstep, every moment that passed an agony of want. When the food just laid there perfectly still, that was best.

He bent lower, bringing his mouth down toward the glowing energy of the food. It looked a little thready, a little dulled as if this food was already wounded but that made no difference. Dick bared his teeth and aimed for the food's throat.

Stop now. Wait for my command. The voice did not startle Dick, even though he understood it perfectly. The message was not made of words at all but of pure neural voltage. It slotted into his nervous system like a computer program loading from a disk.

Dick could more easily have stopped a moving bulldozer with his face than he could disobey that command.

Rule Two: Dick obeys the Voice. The Voice is the Voice of the Source. No further explanation is required. The door opened again and an other came in. A shadow like himself, different in some way that didn't matter. They were one and the same and that meant she was competition for the food. They both played the game. Dick had seen her before but he was incapable of creating new memories and uninterested in connecting any dots. He stayed where he was.

The competitor moved around the tiny room in a flurry of action, faster than Dick could move, much more agile. She picked up something heavy and metallic from a shelf and came at Dick, her hand held high, her weapon ready to smash in his head.

You want to destroy him now? A perfect innocent? The words were not meant for Dick. He ignored them.

The competitor snarled and held her hand in place, ready to bring the weight down on Dick's skull. Dick felt no fear, though he understood what was happening in his own dim way.

Rule Three: Dick and death are old friends.

He's a killer! A monster with no mind left! You have more in common with him than you do with that sick, living thing on the floor. The only difference between you is that our friend here can't be held responsible for his actions.

The opponent said nothing but she lowered her arm. This is a test, lass. A test for you. No one will leave this dwelling until Jason Singletary is dead. You have some choices now, and I'm so sorry to force your hand but I have a duty to perform. You can let our armless friend tear out the psychic's throat. Or you can do it yourself.

No, the competitor sobbed, a blurred sound like a shake of the head, like the sound of an avalanche starting to let go. No. Nilla, someone said. Itsounded like the Voice but even Dick knew it wasn't. Did it come from the food? That made no sense. Luckily for Dick's sake it didn't matter. Only the rules mattered. That place, the fire in the mountains. Dont get distracted now!

No-I won't, the other demanded.

You have to go there-you are the only one who can! Ignore him, the Voice said. You have to understand me, lass. I would turn away if I could. I cannot. Dick here and I have done such things... terrible things. Together we poisoned the waters, lass. We have sown a savage crop. But it's not over yet, and we can't rest. You are one of us. We need you for what comes next.

The end of the world, the other breathed. We are the ones who end it. You, myself, and all the others like us. It has been decided by powers I am compelled to serve. You must serve them as well. Can't you see it now? We've been given this curse by forces larger than ourselves.

No, not me... The other sounded pained. What could be bothering her so? There was food. She would be hungry, as Dick knew all too well. Why would she not eat? Even the Voice agreed. She should eat!

Rule Four: Questions run away from Dick like the ripples on a pond.

They were gone before anyone had a chance to speak again.

Nilla! The snow-peaked mountains! The fire! Everything happens for a reason. You were made for a reason. You were allowed to keep some portion of your wits in your head. That makes you special. It does not make you immune. The Father of Clans has judged mankind and mankind has been found wanting. Someone must carry out that decree. Someone must wipe the slate. When it is done, Nilla, the world will be healthy again. It will be clean, and as beautiful as it once was. Do we deserve to remain in a world they have polluted? Do the powerful have a right to despoil, simply because they are powerful? There must be limits, lass. There must be a vengeance. Without the threat of a penalty why would a man not commit a crime? This curse is ours. We died so that others may be purified.

This isn't my curse. It's not... it's not mine. Lass. It is. But my masters are gentle, even as they are horrible. They've given us a gift, too. You and I, we aren't like the others. We retain the ability to choose. And we are allowed, within some small latitude, to choose mercy. My friend here will kill this man in the most horrible, painful way imaginable. Or you can do it yourself, instead.

...no, I... no. Her voice was tiny. She made herself small, falling to her knees, bending low over the food. Her face came very close to Dick's and their eyes met. Dick had no idea what she might have found in his gaze. He saw only her dark energy.

The ever-burning fire!

We can wait for as long as you like. But that will just prolong Singletary's fear, won't it?

Her head moved, lowering her mouth to nearly touch the food. So slow. Dick understood being slow. It didn't matter-you got there in the end.