Silent Lucidity

by Tiffany Roberts

  Tenthil dove behind the nearest hovercar as a pair of explosions boomed—one immediately after the other—and sent heated air, and melted, smoking debris outward from their point of origin. The red light of the detonating charge mingled with the blue of an exploding antigrav engine to briefly color the wall. Keeping his attention on the door leading into the temple, he drew and reloaded his secondary blaster one-handed. Pieces of the vehicle from across the garage clattered to the floor around him and thudded atop the hovercar at his back.

  When the explosions’ echoes finally faded, only the sounds of crackling flames and the muffled, pained moans of the wounded remained.

  Tenthil rose and proceeded toward the temple door. He encountered no other acolytes along the way.

  The door was unlocked, and the dark hallway beyond it was deserted. He holstered his blasters and swung the auto-blaster to his front, taking it in both hands and steadying it against his shoulder. His heart pounded as he stalked the silent corridor; this battlefield was very different than the garage. Within the temple’s relatively tight quarters, amongst its abundant shadows, claiming the element of surprise became a matter of caution rather than aggression. The entire Order knew he was here now, without a doubt. The outcomes of his encounters within these walls would be decided by who detected their foe first—and who acted quickest.

  The vestibule was also empty, and the double doors to the courtyard stood open. Tenthil kept against the wall on which the doorway was positioned as he approached the opening. He leaned to the side to check the corners in the cloister before stepping through.

  Silence reigned in the courtyard. The dark, false sky loomed above, bearing no trace of its usual stars and galaxies. Tenthil walked forward. His skin itched with the sensation of being watched, of being too exposed, but he refused to stop. This was for Abella.

  Though he continued scanning his surroundings, he slowed his pace as he passed the Well of Secrets. Leaning closer to its inky contents, he whispered, “The one who calls himself the Master, in any and all of his names.”

  Tenthil turned his eyes toward the doors leading into the knave; it was the most direct route to reach the Master’s chamber, but the massive room had little practical cover. In such an open space, Tenthil’s anger and hatred could not shield him from being overrun.

  Hold on, Abella. I am coming.

  Opting for an alternate pathway through one of the side wings, he exited the courtyard and moved quickly and silently through the halls. In the back of his mind, he tracked his steps, counting down the distance between himself and the Master.

  Beneath the fury and instinct raging through him flowed a strange sense of predetermination; part of him had always known he’d one day stand against the Master, that one of them had always been the other’s eventual doom, but he could never have guessed how high the stakes would be during their inevitable confrontation. Tenthil had never valued anything above his own life—which even he had seen as ultimately expendable.

  But now Tenthil had Abella. She’d changed everything.

  A scent lingered on the air; it was little more than a ghostly suggestion, but it was undeniably hers. She’d passed through these halls recently.

  A hint of sound—the soft slide of a boot over the floor—brought Tenthil to an abrupt halt. The sound had come from the left branch of an intersecting corridor a few paces ahead. He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the hallway was clear behind him before resuming his slow advance. He heard another sound when he drew within a meter of the intersection—quiet breathing.

  Releasing the auto-blaster’s foregrip, he dropped his left hand to the explosives case on his belt and pressed the release on its lid. The latch opened with a tiny click that resonated up and down the otherwise silent hallway.

  Black-clad acolytes leapt around the corner and into Tenthil’s hallway—a large borian, a horned groalthuun, and a pair of lanky, violet-eyed daevahs with identical-but-mirrored white stripes on their cerulean skin. Tenthil squeezed the auto-blaster’s trigger, firing a burst of plasma bolts into the borian’s chest armor.

  Before the blaster fire could penetrate the armor, the groalthuun lunged and swung his shock staff in a downward arc, striking the auto-blaster near the end of its barrel. The force of the blow knocked the weapon from Tenthil’s grasp. Tenthil sidestepped a kick from the borian, whose breastplate glowed with heat from the plasma buildup, and shrugged off the auto-blaster’s shoulder strap. The auto-blaster clattered on the stone floor as the groalthuun swung the staff again.

  Tenthil ducked under the blow, narrowly avoiding the crackling electric beam, and only barely raised his left arm in time to deflect a heavy punch from the borian. Dropping lower, he swept out his right leg, knocking the groalthuun’s feet out from beneath him, and rolled backward. He drew the hilt of an energy blade as he sprang to his feet. Green light bathed the nearby walls when he activated the weapon, cast by the broad, flat, thrumming plasma blade that had formed.

  The borian produced his own energy blade and stepped past the groalthuun, who regained his feet a moment later. The narrowness of the hallway forced the daevahs to hang back while the borian and the groalthuun advanced.

  No more obstacles.

  Before his foes could attack, Tenthil charged at them, moving his blade in flowing, continuous arcs. The blade’s motion left no opening for counterattack from the acolytes; the borian and the groalthuun backpedaled, parrying furiously with their own weapons. Flashes of heat and light punctuated every bit of contact between the blades and the staff.

  As Tenthil swung his blade down, the groalthuun spread his arms wide and blocked the blow with the center of his staff. The electric beam spanning the staff’s length hummed and hissed, binding the energy blade.

  With a growl, Tenthil forced his blade down. The electric band sputtered, wavered, and broke. An instant later, the energy blade sliced clean through the other weapon’s shaft.

  The groalthuun’s stance crumbled as his weapon split in half. He swayed backward to avoid the tip of Tenthil’s blade, which caught the groalthuun’s armor and cut a sizzling trail over the breastplate. The groalthuun stumbled into the borian behind him.

  Tenthil grasped his secondary blaster with his left hand, flicked the power to maximum with his thumb as he drew it, and angled the barrel toward the off-balance groalthuun. He pulled the trigger. The weapon emitted a high-pitched whine, and Tenthil felt its building heat through his glove.

  The groalthuun’s eyes rounded.

  A massive burst of plasma erupted from the blaster’s barrel, engulfing the groalthuun’s upper body.

  When the blast ended—it lasted only a fraction of a second, despite how long it felt—the groalthuun had been reduced to nothing more than a pair of legs held together by a smoldering pelvis. The left half of the borian’s torso was missing, leaving only charred flesh and glowing embers around the edge of the immense wound. The plasma’s path continued on through the bodies, having left a massive, semi-circular hole in the corner of the intersection and an even larger one in the wall across from it. The borian and groalthuun’s remains collapsed.

  The daevahs—who’d managed to flatten themselves on the floor just before the blast—stood up in unison. Each raised an energy blade, taking two-handed grips on the weapons, and narrowed their eyes. Their long, thin tails swayed side to side in sync with one another.

  Tenthil knew little about these specific daevahs, but he knew enough about their species to recognize the threat they posed—male daevahs were always born as twins, linked through a psychic connection.

  He tossed the smoking blaster aside. The air stank of burned flesh, shorted electronics, and melting stone, but beneath it all Abella’s faint-yet-unmistakable scent lingered.

  She was alive. She had to be. And she needed Tenthil.

  He lunged forward and attacked just as the daevahs made their moves.

  The narrow corridor became a blur of slashing energy blades, which left temporarily glowing scars o
n the walls as the combatants flowed through the steps of their deadly dance. Tenthil soon found himself on the defensive; though neither daevah could match his individual speed or skill, their coordinated attacks left no gaps in their collective defense and forced Tenthil to create vulnerabilities in his guard to protect himself—parrying one of their blades often meant leaving himself open to the other.

  His frustration mounted as the twin daevahs advanced. He would not accept defeat, would not tolerate delay. Shifting his stance so his body was perpendicular to the acolytes, he extended his right arm to parry their attacks. The change hid his left hand from them for long enough to pluck a stun charge from his belt. He activated the device’s on-impact detonator.

  Tenthil growled and unleashed a quick series of wild counterattacks, briefly creating a wall of whirring plasma between himself and his foes. The daevahs took the most sensible action—they retreated just beyond the range of his swings. He hopped back and snapped his left hand forward, released the stun charge, and closed his eyes.

  The bright flash of the device’s detonation was visible even through his eyelids, and the boom—amplified by the stone walls, floor, and ceiling—deafened him, leaving a loud, insistent ringing in his ears. He slitted his eyes as he darted forward; the daevahs had their forearms over their eyes, energy blades held vertically in a blind, uncertain defense.

  Heartbeat thumping in his head, Tenthil dove forward.

  The daevahs lashed out with their weapons simultaneously. The energy blades sliced through the air over Tenthil’s back as he dropped low and rolled between his foes, catching himself on one knee behind them. With one foot, he spun himself around, pivoting on his knee, and swung his weapon backhanded. The blade traced a wide arc from one wall to the other, cleaving through both daevahs at their waists.

  Tenthil stood up as the twins fell, their torsos separating from their legs on the way down.

  Apart from the bodies, the hallway was empty, and silence reasserted itself as the ringing in Tenthil’s ears gradually subsided. He deactivated the blade, tossed the hilt into his left hand, and drew the blaster from his right hip before continuing onward. The corridors were increasingly dark and devoid of life. Tenthil felt as though he were tumbling ever deeper into space, into emptiness, and the only possible destination was the Void itself. He was charging head-first into the darkness that terrified so many people.

  But Tenthil harbored no fear; wherever his mate was, he would go to her. He would follow her beyond the universe’s edge.

  A right turn led him to the stairs, which he climbed quickly and cautiously, keeping his blaster at the ready. But the stairs were clear, as was the hallway into which they let out. His suspicions peaked as he moved through the corridors leading to the main hall, where only the cold, faceless statues in the alcoves along its length greeted him.

  Tenthil had never liked those statues.

  As he stalked down the hallway toward the ominous door at its end, checking every alcove and side-corridor, his rage blazed anew. He had no idea how many acolytes dwelled in this temple—no one did save the Master and, perhaps, his second-in-command—but Tenthil knew he hadn’t killed them all. Not even close.

  When Tenthil was within ten paces of the Master’s chamber, a black-clad figure stepped out from the righthand alcove nearest the door. He knew her before she reached up and pulled back her hood—the resentment in her stance was unmistakable.

  Corelthi’s eyes were blazing as they met Tenthil’s. “He wouldn’t let me hunt you.”

  Tenthil stopped and resisted the instinct to shoot the volturian acolyte; he knew Abella was somewhere behind that door, and there was too great a risk of the bolt penetrating into the room and harming her.

  “Even after all this, he’s still going easy on you.” Corelthi sneered and stepped forward, offering Tenthil a glimpse of the blaster in her right hand. “You’ve killed what, twenty-five of our brothers and sisters now? Thirty? His judgment is clouded when it comes to you, wretch. No more lives will be sacrificed to capture you.”

  She raised her blaster. “I am going to do what should’ve been done long ago.”

  Tenthil leapt aside as she fired. He rolled into the cover of the nearest alcove, plasma bolts zipping through the air behind him. Several shots sizzled through the wall over his head, dropping tiny globs of molten stone onto his clothing.

  He ducked as low as he could, ignoring the searing sting of the falling debris. She’d change the angle of her fire soon, and when she did, his cover would count for little. It was all a matter of luck; if she struck his armor, he’d have a chance, but if she hit his head…

  The blaster fire ceased, and Tenthil’s sensitive ears picked up a faint clicking—the sound of a blaster’s power output being adjusted.

  Tenthil sprang out of the alcove. Corelthi tracked him with the blaster, squeezing its trigger; the weapon produced a familiar high-pitched whine as it charged. Before he landed on the floor, Tenthil activated the energy blade in his left hand and threw it.

  Corelthi’s eyes widened.

  The whirling energy blade struck her weapon just as it was about to fire its supercharged blast.

  Tenthil slid behind one of the statues as Corelthi’s blaster exploded. Intense heat swept past him, and the dark hallway was momentarily illuminated by near-blinding light. He gritted his teeth and slitted his eyes.

  The heat and light faded after only a second or two. Releasing a ragged breath, Tenthil stood up to survey the damage.

  An almost spherical, three-meter-wide chunk of the hallway—floor, walls, and ceiling—had been blasted away, parts of it still glowing orange with heat. Dark scorch marks extended beyond the sphere, and the floor was littered with flakes of ash and blackened rubble. Nothing remained of Corelthi.

  Tenthil strode past the destruction as he drew the hilt of his spare energy blade, avoiding the patches of molten stone, and continued down the hall. When he finally reached the door to the Master’s chamber, he didn’t slow; he grasped the handle and tugged it open hard enough for it slam against the wall.

  He stepped through the doorway, and his heart skipped a beat.

  Abella sat on the chair in the center of the circular room. Her head was tilted to the side, cheek resting on her shoulder. A sheen of sweat glittered on her face, accented by the column of light from overhead, her skin was paler than ever, and there were bags under her eyes.

  Her chest expanded and eased with a slow breath that disturbed the strands hair hanging in front of her face. The dark bruise on her cheek and the trail of dried blood leading down from her nose were sure evidence of the Master having interrogated her.

  As his anger flared to new heights, Tenthil was torn. His instincts screamed; they both demanded he go to her and insisted that doing so would be his end. Lowering his guard for even an instant would grant the Master more than enough time to strike.

  The door slammed shut behind Tenthil, and he was suddenly aware of a presence—the Master’s presence.

  “Finally returned to us,” the Master said, his voice flowing from the thick shadows ringing the room, “and all because of this weak, soft creature.”

  A chill crept up Tenthil’s spine. He clenched his teeth as the sensation solidified and pressed into his skull.

  “I warned you, Tenthil. Warned you of the consequences,” the Master continued. “You made your choices knowing full well what I would have to do. I am disappointed. Despite your flaws, you were my best.”

  The Master’s words projected from everywhere and nowhere, and seemed to curl around Tenthil like wisps of smoke clinging to his clothing—intangible, persistent, and unavoidable. Normally, his hearing could pinpoint the source of even soft sounds, but it couldn’t be trusted here. Couldn’t be trusted against this foe.

  For Abella. Must overcome him for her.

  The icy touch in his mind slithered deeper.

  “For her?” the Master asked. “Everything I gave you—every enhancement, every advantage—you�
��ve thrown away to chase a female like an animal maddened by mating season heat. I suppose I expected better of your inevitable betrayal. Better than this.”

  Tenthil inhaled through his nostrils. This room had always possessed a unique aroma that was slightly separated from the Master’s, which itself had a faint spice to it unlike anything else Tenthil had smelled in the Infinite City.

  It was that slighty spicy scent upon which Tenthil focused. Though it was diffused throughout the air, it was most strongly concentrated at one particular point amidst the shadows.

  No more games, he thought.

  “Indeed,” the Master purred.

  Snapping his torso toward the Master’s scent, Tenthil fired three quick shots into the shadows. The glowing plasma bolts were swallowed by the darkness, hissing as they impacted something unseen within it.

  “Clever beast,” the Master said, darting out of the shadows to the right of Tenthil’s shots.

  Tenthil swung his weapon toward his foe, but the Master caught his wrist in his long-fingered right hand. The strength in that grip rivaled Tenthil’s. He could feel the Master’s smile even through the concealment of that featureless black mask.

  For Abella.

  Tenthil lifted his foot off the floor and unleashed a quick kick at the Master’s leg. Before Tenthil was halfway through the action, the Master tugged him forward and slammed his left fist into Tenthil’s cheek.

  The force of the blow snapped Tenthil’s head to the side and blasted a wave of pain across his face. A tang of blood joined the venom induced bitterness on his tongue. The Master twisted Tenthil’s wrist, breaking his hold on the blaster, which clattered to the floor. Tenthil flicked on the energy blade in his left hand and thrust its point over his right arm, aiming for the Master’s face.

  The Master swayed out of the blade’s path and forced Tenthil’s right arm up. The edge of the blade seared through Tenthil’s armor and bit into the flesh of his forearm, sending an agonized, stinging jolt along the entire limb.