Nothing you can help."

Newlin probed mercilessly. "Tell me. Why did you bring me here? It was
not only to save me from the hunters. Even I guessed that. Why?"

Poised, slender, defiant as a sword, Songeen met and parried his attack.
"I cannot tell you that."

Newlin took her rebuff gracelessly. He was a son of Chaos, a man of the
brawling, violent Solar breeds. His temper was short, his words and
actions direct. He saw challenge and answered in kind.

"Then take me to the Masters."

Fear and fury blazed in her eyes. "They have not sent for you. I cannot
take you to them like this. You are mad. You will live to regret this.
Why, why?"

"I'll tell you. You said I could be decontaminated. You said I could be
cured, that I could stay here--afterwards. I want to stay now. Is there
a way. Can I be cured?"

"Of the madness, yes. But it is a fearful way. Do you know how all
lunatics are treated? How they are cured, if at all? In your own
asylums, do you know how madness is treated?"

"Yes, I know," Newlin answered roughly. "By shock treatment. I suspected
something of the sort, all the time. Am I right? Is your treatment
similar?"

Songeen nodded, her movement a shimmering echo of the forest's mirrored
quivering.

"Similar--but not the same. The shock used is different. More intense
and terrible than insulin or electrical shock. Could you survive such
treatment?"

Newlin snorted. "I don't know. I'm just crazy enough to try. I won't say
I like this place--your world or the nuthouse entrance to it. But with
you, I like it better than any other place without you. I think I'm in
love with you."

Worms of pale light flared and writhed in her eyes. Something shifted,
the oddments of woman-flesh shredded from her. Like a transparent
mannequin of glass, she stood. Inside her, luminous organs squirmed
visibly. Like a dream-woman, she stood just outside the boundaries of
sanity. But like a dream-woman, she was beautiful, immortal, desirable.

"You've said it," she murmured. "Now that you see me as I am, do you
still want me? Say it again, now, Spud Newlin, say it in your new
knowledge of the things as they really are."

* * * * *

Newlin hesitated, made his choice. Wandering, ill and alone, terrified,
in the forests of nightmare--he chose. Madman's choice.

"I love you, Songeen. Take me to the Masters."

Nightmare wavered. A hand, oddly shaped, sought his as the witchfires
burned low