“They go there often, and I have to say that it is your fault,” she smiled. My fault? She is joking. Well, she was not. “What happens now is an exception that we still fail to understand. Don't despair,” she correctly read my grimace, “the people there have an innocence that you are not able to appreciate on Earth, and that innocence is hard to erase. Twenty-five years of interference have not started a war. How much time do you think they would need on Earth for the same task?” I shrugged; the answer was obvious. “Some of them are conditioned to help you: not directly, they will recognize patterns in your actions; others belong to Faction Two. I cannot reveal their contacts,” she stopped me asking names. “You will be a lone wolf.” A white lone wolf ... like in my dream, I sighed and said nothing. “One more thing,” a thin smile appeared on her face. My terrace disappeared, replaced by a hilly landscape. A mounted warrior was riding with the sun on his back, and here was something familiar in his appearance as he came closer. The flag! A wolf with a dragon body, a red, yellow and blue Draco, its unmistakable roaring already reaching us.
“Houston, what has a Dacian rider got to do with my mission?”
“He's not Dacian. He's a Baragan warrior as they were in the past, before the Great Drought.” Draco ... Comosis, that young librarian... Comosis is a Dacian name.
“Comosis.”
“What about him?” I know; I have to ask properly.
“Dacian name, Dacian flag. I am missing something.” A horse snorted and three riders passed through me, entering my garden. I jumped from my chair and cursed Houston. She bothered to smile. The riders stopped their horses, trotting between the roses. My roses! Don't be stupid, the horses are not physically here. “Deceneus!” they shouted with joy, when the lone rider approached. “Welcome back from the Other Side of the Mirror.”
“Andrada, my sister, you are a beautiful queen,” he answered catching the young lady in his strong arms, raising her up to the air. “And you Duras! Or should I call you Diurpaneus now? You are the King.” He bowed mockingly. Their four left fists touched, the Dacian salute for friends meeting after a long time, then went to hearts. The image shifted, and I glanced at Houston. “We can jump some parts,” she shrugged.
“I cannot stay too long; the Hidden Passage will close soon.” Deceneus's tone was now sad, giving me the impression that I knew that voice, yet I could not see his face. Later I found that Houston had tricked me, shifting the simulation to hide his appearance. “I need you, Burebista,” he pointed to the third man. Burebista and Deceneus ... King and High Priest of Dacia…
“I cannot let you take one of my Marshals,” the King complained.
“The youngest of them in many years, the best of them. I know it is a hard request. But, I am only a librarian,” Deceneus sighed. “I need a warrior. There are no wars here, there are many there. Those people cannot live without wars.”
“Do they have librarians too?” Burebista asked as if trying to avoid the request.
“They have, a respected occupation everywhere, but they call me 'priest'.” The name meant nothing to them. “I am God's representative there. They care about two kinds of things: Gods and money. With one exception: the Draco people. They care only about God.”
“What is a 'God'?” they asked in one voice.
“A sort of Traveler, very powerful.” They wanted more, he stopped them. “We don't have time for this. The Other Side of the Mirror needs us. It is the time to pay our debt. I will leave their flag with you as a bond between our worlds.” He pushed the Draco flag to the Queen, who caressed it and smiled.
“Deceneus, you are not a librarian for nothing. You gave the flag to me on purpose. I never had such a soft material in my hands. It is a small price to pay for a Marshal.”
“Silk,” he smiled back. “It is made by worms. I will need a different passage to bring them here; the Other Side of the Mirror has many facets.” The riders disappeared and I glanced at Houston.
“Yes, it is a riddle, and you will find its answer in time. Take it as a bonus.”
*
The black horse was happy, he recognized me, the knowledge of his master had been inserted in the same way as my training. We had raided together for many months ... in our minds. I had a piece of sugar for him, and he knew it. “We use the same basic training routines,” she mocked. I tapped his mane and noticed my clothes. Black clothes, mantle and a ... hat.
“What’s this?” I don’t like black. You will not like many things here.
“Just a precaution.”
“You said it was a safe point for landing.” The landscape was peaceful: a thousand yards in front stood a small peak. A valley should lie beyond it, I guessed. On the opposite side a lazy slope was going into a green plain. It was sunny, with a rivulet singing and sparkling in the sun – beautiful. I can stay here for a while, just doing nothing.
“As safe as it can be so close to inhabited areas.” She stopped, the horse snorted. “Run! To the peak.” I saw movement from the corner of my eye. Black shapes, walking through the meadow, dressed like ... me. Three of them ... four, spread to cut my exit into the valley. I mounted. Why is there no one on the peak side?
“What happened?”
“Bad luck, they have a contact point in this area too.” The black shapes moved with surprising speed. They were tall, but not enough to explain all that speed, at least not in human terms. I urged my horse into a gallop to the peak. The wind came from nowhere; the trees rustled in pain.
“Take me back,” I shouted.
“I cannot, my transponder is blocked by their field.” I cursed her and her useless technology.
“Valerei!” The shout broke something inside my mind, the tone of the voice was sharp, almost a bark. “Valerei!” A second voice. What the hell is this? “Valerei!” A third one. “Valerei!” A fourth bark. The black shapes... I think there are two words: val and erei. Who cares? “Val erei!” This time it was a chorus, all four voices combined, deadly voices spreading terror. The halter fell from my hand. Fear and hate mounted inside me. I am paralyzed. The horse slowed.
“Run!” Houston shout whipped my nerves, and my body moved again.
“Go forward,” I whispered to the horse. His conditioning functioned well. Basic words were inserted inside his mind, linked to my voice, like a password. His ears moved in acknowledgement, and he started the gallop again. “Stop the voices,” I begged Houston.
“I cannot, I am only able to shadow your mind.” What shadow? I wanted to ask; she answered before I could open my mouth: “I blocked your mental signature; they must think you are one of them. A small sign of good luck,” she continued.
“Where do you see that?”
“They are running; their contact point and belts are blocked too.”
“Big deal.”
“You have a horse.” She was right; the horse was fast but faster was the wind, and the chill on its wings. The spring moved into winter; the grass whitened, a band of glimmering crystals ran in front of me, covering everything. Silence fell over the land, from that heavy frost. Why is it so cold? My teeth chattered my lips cracked, my hat flew; the wind cut into my flesh, the horse faltered. Frosted leaves touched my face, icy, burning.
“What’s this?” I barely could talk.
“I need energy, they need energy ... to maintain the contact; we cannot transfer it from subspace. Our devices are absorbing whatever they can from here. Nothing will survive. Except you,” she swiftly added. “And them,” she said after a short break. In that moment, I saw the cliff. The horse pranced.
“Jump!” she snapped at me.
“You crazy woman, there is a cliff there.” Such was the command in her tone that I forced the horse to jump before finishing my vain complaint. He pranced again and fell. I saw the stone, on the left side – sharp black, rimmed with frosty glimmering crystals. It went through my leg, into the bone, as cutting into bread, and I heard the crack, the ugly crack coming from inside my body. The sound was so foreign, tha
t for a moment I thought I had escaped. Wrong! A sharp bone splinter crossed the cloth of my pants, white. It looked like a foreign body, an excrescence growing in the wrong place. “It’s mine,” I cried out in pain. My scream echoed in the valley, in my mind. It’s mine. Blood welled out, red, and steamed in the cold before freezing. My blood. There was blinding pain and taste of bile in my mouth. “You bitch, take me out of here!”
“You have to jump,” she pushed me further. I crept to the edge and glanced down. Two thousand feet were looking back up at me – an absurd view, dancing in the steaming of my breath. You are crazy. “There is no other way.” I looked down again. I can’t. The blood smell filled my nostrils – my blood. I touched my leg: the blood was frozen. Frozen blood does not smell, does not taste. Numb fingers do not sense. Why do I feel it? I started to sob; the wind took my whispers away. I can’t do it. The cold went further inside, silent and fast; the pain was gone; sleep was coming, nice sleep... A black bird fell dead beside me, waking me. A flashback filled my mind: the old chief chopping a piece of wood with flint – the same dull sound. The crow is frozen. “Fight the sleep! Jump!” Houston’s voice whipped me. The black shadows were coming. I found a place in the stone and forced my frozen hands inside, blood welling from swollen fingers. I pulled my body toward the ridge, and looked down again, an eagle’s nest, empty. Maybe... I pulled further; my body was half over the ridge. I looked back; they were there, fifty feet behind. “Val erei!” I heard them again. I don’t want to die... The wind howled, pushing me further. I clenched my teeth and rolled down. I hit the nest and moaned; my frozen hands tried to grip on something. No chance; I fell further. “Noooo!” They jumped after me, four big human crows. I could not see their faces, too much fear for details. They must not catch me. They must not know about me. They will kill me. ‘Annihilated,’ she said, a fancy word for death. Would they torture me? The ground was far below, barely visible through the mist. I wanted to cry; I could not.
“What now?” The ground was rushing up toward me, changing each second, too fast for my eyes to handle close objects as they passed. An illusion? They are flying, not me. Air touched me like a steady wind, breathing was hard, killing my illusion of motionlessness. Nobody is flying. I am falling. Far small points were growing into shapes, stones, scattered everywhere. I feared them, as if it would really matter at that speed. It was warm again, and the mist stuck to my face, wet, like being in a car with no roof running toward a wall. I wiped off the moisture; my hands are red. I am still falling. The crows are falling too.
“We have to wait for the next contact point.” I cursed her. “We are almost there.”
“We?” My mind blackened that moment.
“Where am I?”
“In your garden.” I blinked as though it pained me to see the world again. Behind my eyelids, the captured image persisted: green grass and blue sky, no human crows. I sighed. Is she right? I blinked again, the same image. She is right; this is my garden, or its Heaven version, or Hell.
“I died from that plunge.” My calm acceptance of death surprised me. An involuntary hand movement checked my leg: no fracture, no pain. No pain in my leg, but my mind remembered, and I moaned. It is true. I died.
“Almost.” She smiled a thin, almost imperceptible, smile.
“Why can’t I have a proper answer to such a simple question?”
“It is the correct answer; you have reached the second point of contact, zone. You are home.”
“No duplicate.”
“No.” She is right; I remember things. A copy can’t do that. I sighed. I still do not know why but I sighed. I am not dead. The realization took longer than one might have thought.
“What does ‘val erei’ mean?” The words were still living inside my mind.
“Stop there.”
“I had no idea, yet they stopped me.”
“This is the standard high language in the galaxy; it has the power to transfer bits of information to any human level, at subconscious level of course.” You mean stupid low level ... like me. “Only short words.” Yeah, our brain is not like theirs. Take the good part. Where do you see any good part?
“My clothes,” I suddenly remembered.
“Precaution.” You already said this once; I kept the thought to myself. There must be a reason for this. “Camouflage, I wanted you to look like them, just in case they intercepted us. The black clothes would have been changed into normal ones once the transfer cleared.” ‘Rival Factions will hunt you,’ I remembered. For two weeks, she asked nothing from me, but the next day, I was already dreaming of traveling again. You will pay, bastards.
“If you do not mind I will schedule more training.” I was drinking my morning coffee and kept her waiting.
“Your simulations showed a happy landing. Did anyone tell you about your own training?”
“I have never stopped training.” No smile on her face. So what? I sipped more coffee, struggling for an answer, while another batch of knowledge infiltrated my mind, and warrior crossed my path. I was trained enough to recognize a master.
“I have not finished my coffee.” She did not answer. The samurai saluted me with specific courtesy. I belonged to them.
“Welcome to the Yagyu Shinkage-ryu School of martial arts. I am Munenori.” A tearoom appeared in front of us, and I had to bow when entering – a symbolic gesture of humility – the small, beautiful room in its simplicity, with walls made from painted scrolls. A gentle geisha did the honors of the house lighting the charcoal fire under the cast-iron chagama discreetly decorated with chrysanthemum flowers. As I figured later, that chagama was there intentionally, its flowers symbolizing autumn harvest, rich and beautiful, and hope. Whether it was the geisha’s deep black eyes or the beauty of the scenery – the sea’s vivid blue was overwhelming, covering the horizon – I will never know, but that tea ceremony will forever be the moment when my restless self found peace in discovering the Japanese basic principles – harmony, respect, purity and tranquility.
“See the edge.” Munenori raised his sword with a gentleness that only the samurai could, and sunshine flashed my eyes. “Sharp, thin...” His thumb slid over the blade, and a small spot of blood covered the blue steel. “Such is the edge between good and bad. Blood is on both sides, our blood, other people’s blood, and killing is bad, but killing out of necessity is allowed if it preserves life. The life-giving sword is the guardian of life, when one taken life gives life to countless others, but it becomes a black path if many lives are taken for the sake of the few. Are you ready for this?”
“I have never killed people ... I am not sure how my mind,” I hesitantly added, “will speak in that moment.”
“Doubt is an uncomfortable condition, full of unknowns, asking questions but raising possibilities. Cold answers, cold warriors, lean to the wrong path. It’s the heart you must ask, not the mind.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise; a warrior needs to fight his opponents in cold blood. Doubts or weakness would not be to his advantage. “There is a thin line between a cold mind in battle and a cold heart.” He sensed my mind wobbling. “If you fail to understand it at first, you will never learn it. A long journey is in front of you and fate will test you. I feel this.” He remained silent for a while, allowing my mind to absorb his saying, and his hand moved toward the sea; so fluid was that movement: flying with the wind, melting in the waves. “Listen to your heart.” I listened and heard nothing.
“You came here to fulfill a spiritual achievement as there is no proper use of weapons without a proper state of mind. You have to cast away all material attachment, becoming enlightened in the state of ‘No-Mind’. If this ultimate warrior level is reached, both body and sword will naturally move together as one. The spiritually enhanced body can move without interference from the mind, reaching the stage of 'No-Self'.” During the memorable week I stayed in the small medieval Japanese village, I never crossed swords with anyone.
*
“What do they know?” I had waited too
long for this. My Faction should have reacted in some way to this failure. She had told me nothing. The new training encouraged me to ask; it was a sign that the show must go on; that I was still considered for the mission, if there was a new mission. This is not my failure! They are responsible for landing: they and the Gate. I glanced in the mirror; a strange face looked back at me, ready to fight some monsters on a faraway planet. I must be crazy.
“They were informed, and a complaint was filed in the Galactic Council. Faction Two pushed for it even when they were almost blind. They could not read your mind,” she bragged, and informed me in the same time.
“Is the contract still available?”
“There are no names in their contracts, only goals.” Open the contract, I asked Ency; my embedded hologram stared at me the next second. No names?
“Another ‘me’ is staring at me from your contract.”
“You gave the correct answer; that is my contract.” Yours … theirs… The pawn is too insignificant to be in the main contract. Bastards!
“You can replace me anytime.”
“I can, but I see no reason.” I am expendable; this is your ‘no reason’. I almost died there. “Your last training session went well.”
“What was the need for it?” Training of the will, I remembered. No fighting, no blood, nobody forced me to have a second try. I almost died there and I am still in the game. What the hell do you mean by ‘training of the will’?
“You waited too long before jumping.”
*
I am leaving again… My new destination was six months earlier and one thousand kilometers from the volcano eruption. From Scylla to Charybdis: no Travelers, just desert, no Travelers, just brigands. No help, no belt, nothing. Even worse: no farewell party to celebrate the restart of my new mission and the upgrade from primitive to medieval level, no flowers, no champagne, no handshakes, nothing. Sadness covered my excitement with blue melancholic velvet. It’s so good to feel important, but where is the fun when nobody knows it?
Io Deceneus: Journal of a Time Traveler (The Living Universe) Page 8