He met her in the spring. Rays of light poked through the trees like tangible objects, melted ore poured into invisible slits, radiating brightly with swimming particles, the ascending water vapor. A family of deer bowed on the still edge of the still water, unperturbed by the presence of humans. A branch broke on the other side of the spring, from the depths of dense underbrush flourishing with hidden birds singing and squirrels hopping. Goldmund's attention was taken for a moment, and when it returned the deer were gone.

His hair was sticky and tangled and glistened in the sunlight so that the white for a moment was reminiscent of the golden crown it once was. Someone slender appeared out of the brush, unblemished by the rough foliage. She waded into the water uninvited, not that she was unwelcome. Her hair was brown. It ran perfectly symmetrical over her shoulders. Each step she took shifted the hair but it always returned to its original place. She was pale, so pale it seemed the sun had never touched her, but it was now.

There were no words. It would have been unnatural. She pressed her lips against his old, and they made love under the water. Ripples reached the edge of the water, slapping down on the stony shore, powerful enough to match the tallest wave the coasts bore. The water was hot, and a mix of perspiration and water and saliva covered their faces and dirtied their hair.

Gregor held himself against a tree amid the unnavigable brush, watching and thinking to himself that now might not be the best time to tell Goldmund he had learned to control his transformation, while supposedly taking a bathroom break.

Gregor remained aloof to Julia after their introduction, though Goldmund could not get him to divulge a reason for this, or acknowledge it at all. "I'm behaving perfectly normal. I don't know what you're going on about," he'd say, when Goldmund brought up his Julia-induced awkwardness.

The three walked for days, without deviation from their agreed upon path. Julia didn't seem to have a purpose of her own. Gregor feared he'd be curse to thirdwheelmanship for the rest of the journey, and considered leaving during the night, and flying off to some distant land. He also couldn't tell Goldmund of his progress in transformative abilities, because Julia was deeply imbedded in their business. He even felt compelled to keep a leaf over his crotch in her presence, at least until they found clothes. Jesus, they'd been walking for weeks, and still nothing to wear.

He watched them sleep that night as he sat on a rock, building up the courage to leave Goldmund. He understood there was something special between the two lovers, after hearing of Goldmund's lecherous past. Yes, he owed him his life, but now Julia was here. She would take care of him. No, that idea was laughable. Her ribs were too visible for her to be of any use. She didn't have clothes either. Was beginning to be a burden, really. And he couldn't abandon his friend, because Goldmund was more than his savior. No, he couldn't leave. There was still an unbalance, however. He liked Julia enough, though she was young, but that wasn't it. He didn't want to trust her with his secret, though he felt there was no reason to tell her. There was no envy in Gregor's heart; he felt no desire to find a mate at all. He just felt as if Goldmund and Julia needed space for their love to grow. He couldn't grow entangled with them. He felt sure that Julia understood this. She probably wanted him to leave. As an adult, it seemed silly to make an assumption like this, but it was possible. It occurred to him that he'd never talked to Julia alone, or had the chance to. Goldmund and him had their little side talks, and Goldmund and Julia their own, but never Julia and Gregor. It wasn't surprising actually; it made perfect sense, but still, something was off. He decided to stick it out, in the end. They'd make it to their destination in a year, Goldmund would go back to die with Narcissus, and Gregor would stay, for he had heard New Zealand was a beautiful land. He laid his head back, and the next the he saw was his companions on fire.

Goldmund woke coated in oil. He opened his mouth to warn the others and had more dumped into his mouth. He pushed Julia awake, and a great whoomf! of fire appeared before him. Flames spread over his body for a moment and then he was drenched in greyish white nothingness. For a moment he thought he was seeing the afterlife, though it seemed strange to die so quickly, and without any pain.

Gregor watched the flames dissipate from Julia's glinting, metallic side. A hose tore through the flesh of her hand and shot white foam over her fiery lover. The leering faces of the townsfolk grew hollow and terrified as they drew back from the half-skeleton woman.

"Devil! It's the devil!" they screamed, some of them turning and running.

Julia grabbed the closest through his eyes and tore his head from his body, put her thumb in his gaping mouth and bowled his head, tripping up a running boy, no more than twelve. He dove headfirst into a stone.

She gave an inhuman screech and jumped to and from the backs of the various running townsfolk as they cascaded down the hill, pulling out hearts and livers and spleens and lungs as she leapt. At the bottom she threw the fistful of organs upon the quaking reverend who recited vows in tongues before the wrath of God. Then she crushed his head under her skinless foot.

She walked up the hill of wailing souls, clutching themselves and their neighbors as they died. At the top Goldmund stood with tears washing off the ash on his face.

"What are you?"

"I used to be a human, like you, Goldmund, but my time was cruel, and for loving a man the party decommissioned my flesh and made me their tool. Their reach, however, does not extend to the tangible past. I am free here, and I love you, and that is what matters."

Goldmund looked into her eyes, one red and the other brown. He saw what she said was true, and was overcome with a feeling of security, of invincibility, of an unconquerable love. Then a log came crashing down on Julia's head, sending a rain of sparks over his surprised face. Gregor stood heaving behind the twitching thing, not meeting Goldmund's eyes.

"She wasn't human, Goldmund, she was a robot, a machine, a hunk of metal designed to do its creator's bidding."

"And aren't we hunks of clay molded by our creator to do his bidding?"

"There are no gods where we come from, Goldmund, only the party. The men who sent me back… they were delusional, power-crazed, lunatics. They would leave no free will in her."

Goldmund looked at the broken body beneath him, and the scattered bodies of the townsfolk it had slain.

"I'm sorry, Gregor, I've been short-sighted. I owe my life to you. That… machine… could have done me in. Let us walk."

And so they walked, but not before looting a couple corpses of their clothes and weapons.