"All creatures born in this world want immortality," he said. "But why should a tribe of immortal witnesses be Morphenkinder, part human, part beast?"
"You just said it yourself," said Laura. "They should draw from the two states a transcendent power, and have compassion for all forms of life - ."
"But is that true of us?" Margon asked. "Do we truly draw on both states for a transcendent power to feel compassion? I don,t know that we do. I don,t know that our immortality is anything other than incidental, as much of an evolutionary accident as consciousness itself."
Felix appeared deeply affected by what Margon was saying, and eager to interrupt.
"Don,t go on with this now," he pleaded gently. "You,re traveling into your darkest memories, darkest disappointments. This is not the time or the place."
Margon appeared to agree.
"I want others to have the dream," he said, looking again to Laura, and then at Stuart and Reuben. "I want there to be such a dream of transcendent witnesses. But I don,t know if I believe in it, or ever really, truly, did."
He seemed personally hurt by his own confession. Suddenly and obviously broken. Felix was visibly protective and concerned. Thibault appeared fearful, and faintly sad.
"I believe it," said Felix gently, but not reprovingly. "I believe in the tribe of witnesses. I always have. Where we go, what we do - it,s not written. But I believe we are to survive as the tribe of those who have the Chrism."
"I don,t know," Margon responded, "that our witness will ever matter, or that our synthesis of powers will ever have other witnesses - ."
"I understand," said Felix, "and I accept that. I take my place among the hybrids, those who continue, those who see the spiritual world and the brutal world in a unique way, those who look to both as a source of truth."
"Ah, that,s it, of course," said Margon. "We always come back to that - that both the brutal world and the spiritual world are sources of truth, that the truth resides in the viscera of all those who struggle as well as in the souls of those who would transcend the struggle."
The viscera of all those who struggle. Reuben drifted, caught again in that chapel of the forest canopy gazing up at the stars. And in the viscera is the pulse of God.
"Yes, we do always come back to that," said Felix. "Is there a maker hopelessly beyond this world we know of cells and breath, or is He holding all this within Himself?"
Margon shook his head, glancing sadly at Felix, and then he looked away.
The expression on Stuart,s face was beautiful to behold. He had something of what he had wanted, and he was no longer asking anything. He was gazing off, clearly mounting up and up through all the lofty thoughts that were being inspired in him, keeping company now with possibilities that hadn,t occurred to him before.
And Laura was engrossed, and turning inwards. Maybe she too had what she wanted.
And if only I could describe what I see now, Reuben thought, that my soul is opening, that my soul is breathing and I am penetrating ever deeper into the mystery, the mystery that includes the viscera ... but it was more than he could express.
Something immense had been attempted. And now it seemed all backed off from the peak that had been conquered.
"And you, Margon," Laura asked, in the same respecting but probing manner. "Can you die, as Marrok died? Or Reynolds Wagner?"
"Yes. I am sure that I can. I have no reason to believe I am in any way different from any other of the tribe. But I don,t know. I don,t know if there are in the universe gods who cursed me for stealing this elemental power, and cursed those to whom I,ve passed it with my teeth. I don,t know. What does it explain, any of it? We are all an enigma. And that will be our only truth - as long as we know only how and when ... and not the why of anything."
"You don,t believe in such a curse, surely," said Felix reprovingly. "Why do you say these things now? And that is hardly our only truth, by the way, that we are an enigma. You know that too."
"Oh, perhaps he does believe these things," said Thibault, "more than he,s ever cared to admit."
"A curse, it,s a metaphor," said Reuben. "It,s the way we describe our worst unhappiness. I was