The End of the Game

Talents will return. Sometimes not. Life is better for most, now, without Gaming. But I think of Mavin and wonder if she will want to wake into a world in which she must remain one shape always, in which she cannot Shift, become whatever she wills to become. I think of her being forced to remain only herself and believe she might rather sleep.

And, sometimes, I think of myself, having a Shifter lover. Well. Mothwings Go Spinning. End and Beginning.

And I say, as Murzy has taught me, “Time does as time wills. Live today. Tomorrow is its own mystery.”

We will be having our own children, Peter and I, starting rather sooner than I might have planned, it seems. I will have midwives at the birth, for the Talent of midwives to seek bao in the newly born was the single Talent that Lom left to man. It was merciful of Lom to do so, though we may not think so now.

I must put the pen and paper away and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be busy. We are expecting visitors from the north, Peter’s old friend Yarrell, whom he has not seen in years, with his wife and child.

It is full dark, and Ganver is standing upon the far hill, a great, star-shaped form silhouetted against the moon, keeping watch on us. Sometimes the old Eesty does that, and I send my love toward. And my promise to do what is right, as Ganver did, at long last, what was right.

And this book I began upon the Wastes of Bleer is ended. I can put it away until the children are old enough to read from it. Perhaps they will not care enough about the way things were to bother. In which case Peter and I will read it to one another when we are old.

I pray we may live a thousand years, Peter and I.

I pray the midwives will find bao in all our children.