The Shores of Death Read Online Free

sombre shaman in his dark clothes, who might cut the organ from her, steaming in the still air, to make some unholy divination. He smiled a quiet smile as he gestured for her to precede him into the gravishute which gaped in the centre of the roof. Dropping into it, she felt as if she were condemning herself to an irrevocable destiny, and she savoured the idea until they were standing on the balcony of Narvo’s main room, drinking cocktails and admiring the view over the lake.
    Clovis was saying: “Well, Barre, you’re as adamant as ever, ah? You colonials are of tougher stuff than us.” Though Barre spoke good-humouredly, his voice had something of the timbre of the machines he had lived with and by all his life. “Not tougher, Clovis—perhaps more realistic. Certainly less romantic. I might even say that you Earth people are in love with the idea of your own extinction—it’s still remote enough.”
    Clovis smiled. “It may be true of many, but not of me. Death, decay of any kind horrifies me.”
    Barre laughed. “Oh, horrified, are you? I sometimes think that the self-control that you folk pride yourselves on has resulted in the atrophy of your emotions. You are so civilised. You might not be human at all in any real sense.”
    “The emotion’s there, Barre—we don’t let it cloud our minds or spoil our behaviour. We still have our artists, you know, to prove it.”
    “I have my suspicions of most of them—they don’t do anything for me.”
    “Not even Alodios?”
    “Alodios is good, yes—but didn’t he disappear some time ago? They said he left Earth. Now he is a giant. Born out of his time for most of you. Too rich, judging by some of the recent criticisms I’ve seen.”
    “And too romantic? You can’t have it both ways.” Fastina, also an admirer of Alodios, whose composite ‘ novels ’ of music, prose, poetry, paintings and mobiles dominated the art world, said: “Did you ever meet him, Clovis? I’ve always liked his early stuff—like Cheerless Ben Evazah and Seasons By Request —but I’ve found his later stuff difficult—obscure—nothing to help you key-in to what he’s thinking.”
    “I never met him. I sent several invitations; asking if I could visit him when those failed, but he keeps himself to himself. I wonder where he is now.”
    Narvo was looking out over the lake. He said: “ I stand on the shores of death, where there is no ocean—Only an eternal dropping away.” He turned. “That’s Alodios, I think. Something from one of his early pieces.”
    The setting sun seemed to deepen the lines on his face and Fastina suddenly felt sorry for him, realising for the first time the full implications of the Earth’s impending fate.
    Velusi’s dining room was not large. Its walls were ornamented by abstract frescoes, reminiscent of Mayan art. A somewhat ornate room, not to Fastina’s taste. Beyond the now-transparent walls, she could see the dark glitter of the lake, with a huge moon hanging over it. It was very peaceful.
    They ate and talked of many things—of the meeting, of the issues and personalities involved, and they talked of old problems solved, as they hoped to solve this one. But though they spoke a great deal, Fastina felt a little uncomfortable, as if she were an intruder. Secondly, she could not easily forget the sense of anticipation that dominated her, and she began to resent the presence of Velusi and Calax, wishing that she and Clovis could be alone.
    At length Clovis got up. As yet he hadn’t told Narvo that Fastina wished to stay, but now he said: “ Narvo —you’ve no objection if Fastina spends a few days here?” The old man smiled. “Of course not. You’re welcome.” But she felt again that she’d intruded, that her being here lessened the time that Velusi could spend with his friend. Yet, she told herself fatalistically, there was nothing she could do about it.
    Narvo and Barre Calax had rooms near to the ground, but Clovis had chosen a room