The Dance of Time

"He's dying," Belisarius choked. He had the pouch out, finally, and spilled the jewel onto his palm.

Aide looked...

The same as always. Glittering, coruscating. Beautiful.

Please, Belisarius. I want to see the sky over India.

He took the stairs three steps at a time. Never even thinking about the emperor he left behind, open-mouthed.

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Framed

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Chapter 41

Kausambi

Belisarius knocked down two courtiers in the palace's corridors and rolled another halfway down the steps leading to the main entrance, before he finally reached a place on the square fronting the palace that was sun-drenched. He had no memory of it, afterward. All he remembered was the all-consuming, desperate hope that exposing the jewel to full daylight would somehow change things.

A stupid hope, really, on the part of a man who was anything but stupid. As if light rays and summer heat could alter the nature of space and time.

Sit down, will you? said Aide. You're gasping for breath.

Belisarius was winded. Winded and half-exhausted. Even for a still-young man in very good physical condition, that long race up the stairs from the deep cellars had taken a toll.

He more-or-less collapsed onto one of the wide stone benches that lined the square in front of the palace. Dully, staring at the blue sky above.

Why? he asked, and began to weep. You knew all along, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?

Actually, I didn't know at the beginning. If you remember, I didn't know very much, then. But I realized within the first year, yes. First, because it was obvious. And then, because I remembered.

Belisarius lowered his head and pinched his eyes. Remembered what?

My last conversation with the Great Ones. Just before they sent me here. Well, "sent" isn't exactly the right word. Neither is "me," for that matter. I wasn't really me, when I left, and I wasn't sent here so much as they made it possible...

He was silent, for a moment. It's really hard to explain, Belisarius. What existed then—in the future—was nothing you would have recognized as "Aide." I emerged here, over time, where I had only been faceted crystals before. What was sent here was not a "me" that had never existed before, but more in the way of the condensed facets. A package of potential, if you will, not a real person.

Apologetically: I know it doesn't make much sense to you. But it's true. The Great Ones told me I would change, and they were right.

His eyes still pinched, Belisarius shook his head. Those bastards. They sent you here to die, is what they did.

Yes, in a way. But it's not that simple. If I didn't die—volunteer for it—my people wouldn't live.

Angrily, Belisarius dropped his hand and slapped his thigh. "Bullshit!" he shouted, aloud. Don't tell me they couldn't have handled those so-called "new gods" on their own—without this.

Yes, but—

The crystal's flashing image in Belisarius' mind seemed to freeze, for an instant. Then, sounding very relieved, Aide said: They're coming. I hoped they would. I will let them explain.

For the second time in his life, Belisarius felt himself swept away into the heavens, as if blown there by a giant's gust.

* * *

As before, he found himself hanging in darkness. Somewhere—somehow—suspended in space. Able to observe the stars and galaxies, but not really part of that universe.

And, as before, he saw a point of light erupt, and come before him in the form of a Great One. Only, this time, it was many points of light and many Great Ones. He seemed to be facing a three-dimensional phalanx of the beings.