Vorbis lay on his side, his black-on-black eyes staring at nothing.
Brutha tried to sleep.
He had never dreamed. Didactylos had been quite excited about that. Someone who remembered everything and didn't dream would have to think slowly, he said. Imagine a heart,[9] he said, that was nearly all memory, and had hardly any beats to spare for the everyday purposes of thinking. That would explain why Brutha moved his lips while he thought.
So this couldn't have been a dream. It must have been the sun.
He heard Om's voice in his head. The tortoise sounded as though he was holding a conversation with people Brutha could not hear.
Mine!
Go away!
No.
Mine!
Both of them!
Mine!
Brutha turned his head.
The tortoise was in a gap between two rocks, neck extended and weaving from side to side. There was another sound, a sort of gnat-like whining, that came and went . . . and promises in his head.
They flashed past . . . faces talking to him, shapes, visions of greatness, moments of opportunity, picking him up, taking him high above the world, all this was his, he could do anything, all he had to do was believe, in me, in me, in me-
An image formed in front of him. There, on a stone beside him, was a roast pig surrounded by fruit, and a mug of beer so cold the air was frosting on the sides.
Mine!
Brutha blinked. The voices faded. So did the food.
He blinked again.
There were strange after-images, not seen but felt. Perfect though his memory was, he could not remember what the voices had said or what the other pictures had been. All that lingered was a memory of roast pork and cold beer.
“That's because they don't know what to offer you,” said Om's voice, quietly. “So they try to offer you anything. Generally they start with visions of food and carnal gratification.”
“They got as far as the food,” said Brutha.
“Good job I overcame them, then,” said Om. “No telling what they might have achieved with a young man like yourself.”
Brutha raised himself on his elbows.
Vorbis had not moved.
“Were they trying to get through to him, too?”
“I suppose so. Wouldn't work. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. Never seen a mind so turned in on itself.”
“Will they be back?”
“Oh, yes. It's not as if they've got anything else to do.”
“When they do,” said Brutha, feeling lightheaded, “could you wait until they've shown me visions of carnal gratification?”
“Very bad for you.”