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Paul
felt
the
diminishment
of
his
self
as
he
advanced
into
the
center
of
the
circle
.
It
was
as
though
he
lost
a
fragment
of
himself
and
sought
it
here
.
He
bent
over
the
mound
of
belongings
,
lifted
out
the
baliset
.
A
string
twanged
softly
as
it
struck
against
something
in
the
pile
.
“
I
was
a
friend
of
Jamis
,
”
Paul
whispered
.
He
felt
tears
burning
his
eyes
,
forced
more
volume
into
his
voice
.
“
Jamis
taught
me
.
.
.
that
.
.
.
when
you
kill
.
.
.
you
pay
for
it
.
I
wish
I
’
d
known
Jamis
better
.
”
Blindly
,
he
groped
his
way
back
to
his
place
in
the
circle
,
sank
to
the
rock
floor
.
A
voice
hissed
:
“
He
sheds
tears
!
”
It
was
taken
up
around
the
ring
:
“
Usul
gives
moisture
to
the
dead
!
”
He
felt
fingers
touch
his
damp
cheek
,
heard
the
awed
whispers
.
Jessica
,
hearing
the
voices
,
felt
the
depth
of
the
experience
,
realized
what
terrible
inhibitions
there
must
be
against
shedding
tears
.
She
focused
on
the
words
:
“
He
gives
moisture
to
the
dead
.
”
It
was
a
gift
to
the
shadow
world
—
tears
.
They
would
be
sacred
beyond
a
doubt
.
Nothing
on
this
planet
had
so
forcefully
hammered
into
her
the
ultimate
value
of
water
.
Not
the
water
-
sellers
,
not
the
dried
skins
of
the
natives
,
not
stillsuits
or
the
rules
of
water
discipline
.
Here
there
was
a
substance
more
precious
than
all
others
—
it
was
life
itself
and
entwined
all
around
with
symbolism
and
ritual
.
Water
.
