The Tattooed Heart (Messenger of Fear 2)

For once she did not fire back with a glib answer, but seemed to consider the question carefully. Then, she said, “I want you, Mara.”

It wasn’t said in a seductive tone, just a simple declaration. Surely she didn’t mean she wanted me in that way. But even this toned-down Oriax had the power to make my insides roil.

I forced a laugh. It wasn’t very convincing.

“There are two kinds of people,” Oriax said.

“Just two?”

“Two for the purposes of our discussion, Mara,” she said. “There’s the kind of person who thinks life is a grim march from birth through childhood to adulthood to old age and death. A grim march of virtue and self-denial and endless effort to do the right thing, for the right reasons. All to satisfy a god who does not exist, or in the case of our mutual friend, Messenger, a god who exists but whose demands are cruel and absurd.”

I waited, absorbing this, confident that she would go on to tell me the second kind of person in her cosmology.

“The second kind of person understands that they get only one life, however long or short. That life has no deeper purpose. No great moral father figure in the sky looks down on us, or if he does look down on us, he cares nothing for our pain.”

She turned to face me, and I was drawn to do the same, to stand directly before her, to meet her dark gaze, to watch with fascination as her now-green-tinged lips formed each word.

“The second person knows that life is pain, so we must seek out all the pleasure we can find. The second person knows that the only person who really matters is themselves. We are our first responsibility. Our own pleasure, our own joy, our own desire is all that really matters, and self-denial is . . . foolish.”

“You serve Malech. He’s only as real as Isthil,” I said, not quite sure if I was right.

Oriax laughed softly. “Oh, Malech is real, all right. I hope someday to introduce you to him. Malech, who maintains the balance between pleasure and denial, and understands that there is way too much denial, far too little pleasure, and wants all humans to enjoy life a little more.”

I should probably have had some clever comeback, but nothing came to mind just then. I had not felt much pleasure lately. I had seen murder. I had seen hate. I had dived deep within tortured minds to find the perfect suffering to impose on bad people who . . . who maybe didn’t deserve all the pain Messenger and, yes, I myself, inflicted.

“Don’t you deserve at least a little pleasure, Mara? Or are you proud of the suffering? Is that it? Are you one of those people, that first kind of person, who seems actually to get off on suffering and misery?”

“No,” I snapped.

“Then what have you done to balance the denial Messenger has forced on you?”

I thought back on the time since I had joined Messenger. “I had a very nice Pop-Tart,” I said at last.

To my amazement Oriax laughed. “I think you deserve more than a warm pastry, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it matters what I deserve,” I said, not meaning to sound bitter, but sounding that way just the same.

“Give me one minute. Sixty seconds,” Oriax said.

“Hah!” If I thought that monosyllabic response would discourage her, I was wrong. And to be honest, I was very lonely, and despite what I knew about her, I preferred her company to being alone.

“One minute,” Oriax said. “It won’t harm you. It will just be a break. A pleasure break. Like a coffee break at work, but with really extraordinary coffee. One minute, and then you’ll be right back here, staring glumly at the little doomed girl up there.”

I didn’t answer immediately. I was thinking. But the silence stretched on too long for me to pretend that I would automatically reject her. I was considering, and Oriax could see that I was considering.

“No,” I said after a while. Just that. I didn’t have the will to come up with anything more.

“All right,” Oriax allowed. “But the offer remains open. You have only to call my name and I’ll be there. And Mara, in that minute I can give you whatever . . . whoever . . . you desire.”

I nodded dumbly. The implication was clear. There was no point in pretending that she did not know what and whom I desired.

“Before I take my leave, may I do one thing?” Oriax asked. “May I touch you?”

The request took me by surprise. I didn’t know what she meant by “touch” and I’m ashamed to say that my imagination went in provocative directions.

Oriax smirked, as if she could read my thoughts. “No, not that, unless you want it, of course. For I can bring you all forms and types of pleasure, Mara. But for now, I merely want to touch your . . . face.”

I licked my lips nervously and almost glanced over my shoulder half expecting to see a disapproving Messenger there watching.