had frightened him and at times almost defeated him, well almost - this life was straight from his wordless dreams.
Margon looked up, the moment of silent prayer ended, taking in all those seated with his eyes.
The party came alive. Platters were passed, more wine poured, butter slopped on hot steaming slices of bread and light flaking rolls, the scent of garlic rising from the tumbling, sliding spoonfuls of salad, and great forkfuls of meat slapped onto the old flowered china plates.
"So what am I to offer you?" said Margon as if they,d been talking all the while, instead of attending to a thousand unimportant yet essential things. "What am I to give you to help you with this journey that you,ve begun?"
He took a deep gulp of the sparkling water that stood beside the empty glass for the wine he didn,t drink.
He took a heaping portion of the hot broccoli and green squash, and even more of the artichoke hearts, and tore off a hunk from a hot buttered roll.
"The basic things you must know are these. The change is irreversible. Once the Chrism has taken hold, you are Morphenkinder, as we call it now, and that can never be undone."
Stuart woke from his tears just as quickly as he,d given into them. He was eating such enormous chunks of lamb that Reuben feared he might choke, blue eyes flashing at Margon as Margon went on.
Margon,s voice was as agreeable and almost humble as it had been the night before. He was a man of persuasion and subtle power, his light golden brown face very plastic and expressive, black eyes rimmed in thick black lashes that gave a drama and an intensity to his expressions that seemed more fierce than his words.
"Never in all my existence," he continued, gesturing unconsciously with the silver fork, "have I known someone who truly wanted it reversed, but there are those who rush headlong into perdition as the result of it, driven insane by the lust for the hunt, and scorning every other aspect of life until they are destroyed by the weapons of those who hunt them down. But you needn,t worry about this. You are not, any of you" - his eyes took in Laura as he said this - "of the sort to be so foolish or such spendthrifts with the gifts of fate."
Stuart started to ask something but Margon gestured for silence.
"Allow me to continue," he cautioned. He went on:
"The Chrism is almost always passed by accident. And it can only be passed by us when we are in the wolfen state. However, my mind, my limited mind, my mortal mind, is haunted by a grim legion of those to whom I refused it and I restrain myself no more. When one is worthy, and one asks, I give the Chrism. I ask only an ardent and informed desire. But this you - Reuben and Stuart - must not seek to do - offer the Chrism, that is. The responsibility,s far too great. You must leave such fateful choices to me, to Felix, to Thibault, even to Frank and Sergei who will be joining us soon."
Reuben nodded. Now was not the time to press him on Laura, but did it even need to be done? There had not been the slightest suggestion that Laura was not already one of them, and this, in Reuben,s mind, had to mean one thing. Yet he did not know and it tortured him. He did not know.
"Now the Chrism can prove fatal to the infected one," said Margon, "but this happens very seldom and usually only with the very feeble or the very young, or those who are so severely bitten or otherwise injured that the Chrism can,t overtake the injury and the loss of blood. What I know I know from happenstance. It can kill, but in the main it does not - ."
"But Marrok said that it could," said Reuben, "and it almost invariably did."
"Forget Marrok," said Margon. "Forget what others might have told Marrok to try to curb his desire to fill the world with Morphenkinder like himself. We will say our own Requiem when we dance in the woods soon, together; enough on Marrok for now. Now Marrok knows or does not know because no one knows. And we can,t know which it is."
He stopped long enough for a bite of the duck, and another chunk of the buttered roll.
"Now when the Chrism is given to young men or women