by Ryk E. Spoor
Oh, crap. I can already see the light at the end of this tunnel is an oncoming train. ‘‘Join you? I’m a member of the Faction of Humanity, and I don’t see any reason to join the Shadeweavers and abandon my own people.’’
The Shadeweaver bobbed its fighting claws side to side, a movement that seemed to indicate negation or disagreement. ‘‘You cannot remain solely here, Captain. You need to learn control and direction of those powers. And you are one of us now, despite that you gained the power under . . . unusual circumstances.’’
‘‘I am most certainly not one of you, and of all the Factions, the Shadeweavers are one of the very last I would want to join. You people have been a pain in my ass ever since I came here, and I want as little to do with you as possible!’’ Like I really want to be a member of a club that includes Amas-Garao?
Mandallon seemed to straighten up slightly at that, and Nyanthus moved forward. ‘‘Indeed, it was my hope that this would be your reaction, though I had many fears. Captain Austin, you have had a great blessing, a miracle according to Mandallon—and I would be most reluctant indeed to gainsay him. In one thing is the Dark One correct, that you need to learn of the powers with which you are blessed, but he has clearly misjudged the nature of your blessing. The Temple of the Faith waits to welcome its newest sister, and teach her the Sevenfold Way—which, I earnestly assure you, you will find much to your liking. I have learned much of your people in your short time here, and there is much of the Sevenfold Way that the wise of your people have already grasped.’’
‘‘Nyanthus,’’ she said, carefully trying to pick the right words, ‘‘I’m honored by this invitation, but I’m not one of your people.’’
‘‘But you saw!’’ Mandallon burst out, stepping forward, a pleading tone in his voice. ‘‘You must have, Captain Austin! You did, I know you did! The Creators revealed themselves to you, didn’t they, just as they did reveal creation to me? Please, Captain, tell me they did!’’
Crap. I hate to disappoint him. ‘‘Well . . . Mandallon, I saw many wonderful things in that moment. And maybe some of them were the Creators. But . . . I can’t be sure what I saw, and I certainly don’t believe I’ve seen any gods like you seem to think the Creators are.’’
With the drooping of the feathery material on his head, Mandallon was a literal picture of crestfallen.
Nyanthus was now more tense, his symbiotes flying tight, controlled arcs around his upper half. ‘‘So you deny the Creators, Ariane Austin?’’
‘‘I don’t deny anything right now, Nyanthus. I’m just not sure what I believe about what I saw.’’
Nyanthus’s openwork tendrils snapped out and back. ‘‘And you will not come to us and let us help you understand?’’
‘‘I’d gladly come,’’ she began, and saw both Nyanthus and Mandallon start to relax, ‘‘but only to learn about what’s happened to me. I’m not leaving my friends or my command.’’
‘‘You cannot remain with them,’’ Gona-Brashind said flatly. ‘‘The Shadeweavers cannot permit such an uncontrolled apprentice as yourself to wander, uncommitted and untrained; nor can we give you our secret teachings if you are not one of us.’’
‘‘And equally we cannot allow the teachings of the Sevenfold Way to be given into uncommitted hands,’’ Nyanthus said grimly, ‘‘as one who has not accepted the Creators may be empowered by something far darker.’’
‘‘What?’’ she snapped in disbelief. ‘‘Are you saying you think I’m, what, a demon or something?’’ At her anger and tension, she felt something in her twinge, heard a soundless singing in the back of her head.
‘‘I say it is possible and we can take no risks with our knowledge in these matters,’’ Nyanthus said coldly. ‘‘Did you not call out the sacred words in desperation, Ariane Austin? Were you not furious and frightened? Did you not wish for power to destroy your enemy?’’
Well, I can’t entirely deny that. I was pretty pissed off at the time. And scared, yes. And half out of my head, I think. ‘‘Partly.’’
The great candle flame openwork shuddered. ‘‘These are the ways of darkness. Calling for powers in that spirit is all too likely to attract those that mask themselves as the Creators, the Deceivers. It is good,’’ he said, with an air of one making a great concession, ‘‘that you do not immediately turn to the Shadeweavers for their knowledge, dark and corruptive as it is. It gives me hope that you may yet find your way to the Faith.
‘‘But until that day, we can offer you no teachings. And in one thing we agree with the Dark Ones: you cannot be allowed to wander unchecked without such instruction.’’
‘‘And just what,’’ she said dangerously, feeling adrenaline surging up in her, ‘‘do you think you’re going to do about that?’’
A green-blue spark suddenly crackled around her, whipped out, shattered a dish on the table, and then dissipated. The floor vibrated. She stared, startled, at the wreckage, while the two emissaries seemed to nod in grim agreement.
‘‘Last night we sealed your power away.’’ Gona-Brashind said. ‘‘Temporarily, of course, as we had every expectation that you would go to one or the other of the great Factions and be trained. But now that seal must be made permanent. Until and unless you gain the knowledge to wield it, the Power shall be kept inside, inert, unreachable.’’
‘‘A dual Sealing, by those of Faith and Shadeweaver, is necessary,’’ Nyanthus continued, reluctantly. ‘‘A sealing away, with the support of your own Faction, shall resolve these issues for now.’’
DuQuesne stepped forward. ‘‘I don’t think you guys get it. This isn’t your call to make. She’s her own boss. You don’t want to teach her, that’s fine. You guys learned on your own way back when, I guess she’ll have to.’’
‘‘You do not understand!’’ Nyanthus’s voice was more urgent. ‘‘You have just seen a tiny fraction of her power, awakened when our intentions became known. The seal is temporary, it weakens, and as it becomes weaker she becomes less controlled and more dangerous!’’
‘‘Here we agree entirely with the Faith,’’ Gona-Brashind said. ‘‘Imagine a power that may direct itself without conscious control, when you are angry, or tired, or even with more positive and focused emotions. A power whose limits you have no knowledge of, brought forth on the tide of passion, not reason.’’
Ariane tried to damp down the instinctive reaction of but I’m not like that!—but instead another blue-green crackle around her caused a chair to morph into a half-melted structure and shocked DuQuesne, causing him to give vent to an outdated curse. She bit her lip. ‘‘Damn. Marc, I think . . . I think they might be right.’’
‘‘We are right, Ariane Austin.’’ Nyanthus’s voice carried slightly more emotion, a touch of sympathy. ‘‘We must seal it away now, where only knowledge and training, or another of power of Faith or Shade can reach it.’’
‘‘You’re sure, Captain?’’ DuQuesne asked. His body language showed he was quite willing to throw both priest and sorcerer-analog out into the street if she asked.
‘‘You saw what happened in the Core Ring, Marc. If it’s even a tenth that powerful, I could hurt a hell of a lot of people by accident.’’ She looked to Nyanthus and Gona-Brashind. ‘‘Do it, then.’’
‘‘As I said, Ariane Austin, it must also be with the support of your Faction,’’ Nyanthus said. ‘‘You recall the ritual in which Mandallon became one of us?’’
She nodded. ‘‘Oh. You mean you need five of us to round out the seven-pointed star.’’
‘‘The idea is correct, but not quite correct,’’ Gona-Brashind said. ‘‘We stand outside the figure, performing the ritual, as none of your people are of us. Seven of your people are needed, seven to surround you and bind you in the essence of your selves.’’
Seven? But . . . oh, dammit.
She could see DuQuesne wince. ‘‘This poses . . . a problem.’’
‘‘What do you mean, Ariane Austin?’’ inquired Nyanthus.
&n
bsp; Gona-Brashind gave a sigh of comprehension. ‘‘Of course. A total of eight of you have been seen throughout your presence here. It never occurred to us that you had rotated your entire population through. Your vessel, then, carried eight, and no more.’’
No point in denying it. ‘‘Correct. And you’d better not think that I’m going to sacrifice our citizenship here so that you can lock me down, which I’d have to do if I got Steve and Tom to abandon the Sphere. Why can’t you just shift the design? A lot of our legendary rituals use a five-pointed star—’’
Both Nyanthus and Gona-Brashind gave virtual identically translated snorts. ‘‘Impossible!’’ the Shadeweaver said, and Nyanthus, for once in complete accord with his adversary, continued, ‘‘All seven Keys are symbolized in the sealing ritual—they must be, that all aspects of your self are included and reinforced. And, while their ways are . . . very much different, the symmetry of seven is just as necessary for the D . . . Shadeweavers.’’
Somehow I sort of guessed that. ‘‘Then why my Faction? We could get a couple other people—Dr. Relgof and Orphan, for instance—to round out the seven.’’
Nyanthus and Gona-Brashind held a brief debate that used so many specialized terms that it might as well have gone untranslated. Finally the Shadeweaver turned back to her, attack claws bobbing in negation. ‘‘For the Shadeweavers, it is possible that such would work—though I would not wish to attempt it—and it clearly cannot work at all for the Faith. The unity of the Faction from the point of view of the Powers of the Arena is part of the strength of the sealing away. Seven Faction members for the Seven . . . Keys, as the Faith call them. No, it must be your people.’’
‘‘Captain,’’ DuQuesne said, in a reluctant tone, ‘‘we could move this whole party over to our Sphere, I suppose. Though I’m real reluctant to invite anyone else there right now.’’
Nyanthus quivered as though hesitating, but Gona-Brashind’s claws gave a sharp, cutting gesture. ‘‘Not wise. Not wise at all. The seal is breaking down. We will have to work to keep it stable as you assemble, and this cannot be done while moving . . . and I have no idea what might happen to someone in her state attempting to transit through the Inner Gateway. The results could be . . . disastrous.’’
Mandallon looked almost ready to beg her on his knees. ‘‘Please, Captain Austin . . . can’t you accept the Creators’ gift?’’
‘‘I’d accept the gift, Mandallon . . . but I just can’t be sure who’s giving it to me.’’ She looked at him sympathetically, then glanced back at the others.
Both Nyanthus and Gona-Brashind looked more agitated, especially as a faint glow momentarily traced its way around her and faded. ‘‘Ariane Austin, the problem shall only grow worse. You must sense this in your own heart. If you do not accept one side or the other, you shall be an increasing danger to all—especially your own people.’’
DuQuesne looked at her, clearly awaiting her decision. But she could see the worry, mostly for her, behind his calm black eyes.
Suddenly she remembered a prior conversation with Orphan. ‘‘Arena! Arena, do you hear me?’’
‘‘The Arena hears. ’’
‘‘You are aware of the situation here?’’
A momentary pause. ‘‘The data have been reviewed. ’’
‘‘Then you are aware that I will need to empty our Sphere if I am to have this ‘sealing’ performed. You have previously made exceptions on occasion for particular situations which were beyond the control of the citizens, such as Orphan’s ability to travel as he does. May I therefore summon all of my people here for this purpose without forfeiting our hard-won citizenship in the Arena?’’ She found herself almost holding her breath, and tiny sparks chased across her hand like skittering ants.
The pause was longer, as though the Arena was conferring with itself, or something else. But finally it spoke. ‘‘This request is granted. You may empty your Sphere for this purpose. This exception ends as soon as one or more of your people leaves your Embassy following that ritual; at that point at least one of you must travel back to your Sphere within one hour. ’’
She gave a sigh of relief and turned to DuQuesne. ‘‘Marc, go tell the others the situation. Then I want you and Carl to go get Tom and Steve and bring them here.’’ She fixed a stern glare on the three aliens. ‘‘And you people will say nothing of this, understand? Or I don’t go through with it, no matter what the cost.’’
Gona-Brashind crossed and rocked his fighting claws, Nyanthus gave that open-and-close gesture, and Mandallon bent in his people’s curtsy-bow. ‘‘Understood, Captain Austin.’’ Gona-Brashind said. ‘‘Until you have returned home and established a presence here with far more people, this is a vital fact that you have wisely concealed. We shall not speak of it.’’
She nodded and stood, calming herself to wait as DuQuesne left, almost at a run. A tension was building in her, and she realized that Nyanthus and Gona-Brashind were more right than they knew. Hurry, Marc. I can feel . . . that I don’t have much time.
Chapter 71
Simon stared at Ariane, kneeling at the center of the seven-pointed star. Oh, my, it’s worse than I thought.
The solid floor under their feet—a part of Nexus Arena itself—was vibrating erratically. Blue-green and blue-white sparks snapped outward at random intervals, and the smooth stone-like material was scored, blackened, and . . . changed at multiple points within that area. ‘‘Why is this happening? I had thought you sealed this power away just last night!’’
‘‘Indeed, we had.’’ Nyanthus’s normally smooth baritone was tense, worried. ‘‘Though it was a temporary seal, both of us would have expected it to last longer than this.’’
Gona-Brashind, inscribing a last sequence of glowing symbols—Half mystical symbology, half circuit diagram, thought Simon—around the perimeter, whirled on his seven legs as DuQuesne came barreling into the room, Steve and Tom at his heels. ‘‘Quickly! Into positions!’’
‘‘What the hell’s going on? Ariane, are you all right?’’ Steve said, as he was shoved to stand at the sixth point of the star. He stared incredulously around at the others, each at one point of a complex glowing array with Ariane at its core.
DuQuesne stepped into position. Tom Cussler shook his head, then jumped as the entire room shuddered.
‘‘Losing . . . control of the power, Steve . . . ’’ Ariane answered; her voice was distant, in pain. ‘‘Seemed under control right after . . . the Awakening . . . ’’
‘‘Yes, that can happen,’’ Nyanthus said. ‘‘A temporary calm, perhaps from exhaustion after the power of the Awakening, who can say? But afterward, without the training and control that the Faith can give you . . . or,’’ he admitted grudgingly, ‘‘that could be taught by the Shadeweavers, you are a time-bomb, a disaster waiting to happen.’’
Gona-Brashind nodded. ‘‘You must stay in your places and focus your concern upon Captain Austin. There may be much commotion—even danger, perhaps. Even in pain, you must not move from your places.’’
‘‘We cannot emphasize this enough.’’ Nyanthus glanced at Mandallon, whose prayers were apparently minimizing Ariane’s reaction while preparations were finished. ‘‘This may seem a foolish ritual to you, unschooled in the ways of the Faith or Shadeweavers, but whether you believe or not, whether you see magic or miracle or simply unknown science, understand that the symmetry is as important here as in . . . as in a laser.’’
Simon nodded sharply in understanding. ‘‘Misalign even by the tiniest bit, and the entire device can destroy itself with its own power. I understand.’’
With Simon’s concurrence and DuQuesne’s grunt of agreement, the others seemed to accept the gravity of the situation. Ariane suddenly gave a small shriek that seemed to tear at Simon’s heart, and he saw an echoing wince in DuQuesne’s eyes. ‘‘Hurry!’’ she hissed, as a shockwave burst from her, an invisible sphere of force that hit them like a sudden gust of wind.
Nyanthus and Gona-Brashi
nd began an invocation similar to the shielding/sealing one that had been used when Mandallon was initiated—Simon recognized ‘‘Vensecor secutaipeheliix’’ as the core chant—but added other words in low undertones she couldn’t make out. Light and dark clouds of sparks began to orbit Ariane, closer, and closer, as Shadeweaver and Initiate Guide circled the septagon, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, their energies trailing them in counter-rotating circles. Simon felt as though a pressure was building up, not only on Ariane, but on him as well, as though they were being plunged deeper into the ocean’s depths. A distant singing echoed through his mind, alien, yet almost familiar . . . from Ariane? Across from him, he could see Laila’s eyes narrow, then widen, as though understanding had come to her.
The distant singing became abruptly louder, discordant. Blue-white energy erupted around Ariane, the ground shuddered so violently that Simon staggered, nearly leaving the tiny inscribed circle; so did the others, and red energy crackled around the entire star, burning into the seven other humans as they jostled the insubstantial edge of disaster.
‘‘Stop . . . resisting!’’ Nyanthus said in a strained tone.
‘‘I . . . I don’t know how!’’ she said.
‘‘Impressively . . . powerful,’’ muttered Gona-Brashind.
Suddenly Simon heard Ariane, not speaking, but in his own head.
I’ve got to damp this down! But it’s like trying to shove a cork into a hose!
The startled eyes around the points of the star showed that they had all heard it, almost—but not quite—as they would with a full comm link on board Holy Grail.
Focus, Captain. The deep mind-voice was unmistakably DuQuesne. You’re looking outside.
Exactly. Laila’s precise, measured tones picked up the thought. This is focused on you. Not on us. You must ignore everything else.
Simon concentrated as though linking in, and felt his own thoughts become words heard around the circle. Is there a meditation? Some discipline in your training . . . He suddenly smiled, despite a new wave of rose and sapphire agony. Or that of your inspiring avatars that might . . .