Flight To Exile

by Chris Reher

  La’il forced the conduit toward the Homeworld, laughing out loud when she felt it shape itself to her will. Galen drew on every bit of aptitude and training he had to foil her attempt and succeeded in taking the conduit back. She hissed angrily, doubling her efforts and he felt his control slipping again, unable to match her abilities. When defeat seemed inevitable, he opened his thoughts to her, jabbing at her to get her attention.

  “Idiot!” she screamed and reached into him, ready to tear his mind to pieces.

  Galen met her without resistance. He offered no mental imagery, no physical confrontation, nothing for her to grasp. When she delved into his brain to once again incite him into unwillingly supply her with the strength of his own talents, he merely ducked playfully and returned a mental sneer. “I’m not in the mood,” he grinned, rallying every shred of resilience to remain unmoved by her intrusion, counting on her vanity and arrogance to persist in her attempts instead of simply destroying his mind as she had destroyed Yobar. He continued to taunt her, only dimly aware that there was neither air nor warmth inside the conduit still whipping untethered through space.

  She tried again and again, her rage growing with each failed attempt to gain control of him. Taking the mental equivalent of a deep breath, he finally launched his own attack and drove into her mind, aiming for the part of her that she so often controlled within him. He moaned when he felt the force of her fury enter into him, bringing with it all of La’il’s strength and abilities.

  Never before, even when bathed in the most powerful riser he had ever encountered, had he felt this powerful, so very limitless in all that was possible. Her energies blasted through him and he knew that nothing was beyond him now. He knew everything she knew and felt everything she had ever touched. He laughed, cradling the La’il in his arms like a lover. Gods? Of course they were gods. Aletha had been right, those pitiful emissaries had been right. But he hadn’t seen it. None of his people had. He hadn’t believed in gods because he was one of them. Mortal, perhaps, but ultimately supernatural. The thought that he was losing his mind occurred to him. Or perhaps he was dying. That seemed interesting, too.

  “Galen?”

  He flinched when he perceived the small voice somewhere at the very periphery of his awareness. Aletha was calling to him. Something worried her; she was near the conduit’s anchor on Thali and her fear reached him in palpable waves. He had taken care to shut her out of his mind before tackling the La’il, afraid of dragging Aletha into their confrontation. How was she reaching him now?

  “Galen, can you hear me?” He realized that he could hear her voice with his ears. Galen’s ears. She was speaking to his twin, left behind on Thali. “There’s something wrong with you. Where is Chor? Is he still in the conduit? Come back, please!”

  He frowned, tempted to ignore that voice and simply float here forever, or for whatever few seconds remained of his life, feeding on La’il’s charged state of mind. He looked into her piercing eyes and suddenly realized that she no longer resisted him. A terrible, watchful intelligence observed him from those hooded eyes, flooding his willing mind with far more than he was able to process. She was healthy and strong and suffused with chi’ro; Chor’s body was a catalogue of serious injuries, barely patched by the efforts of Chenoweth’s healers, already on the brink of collapse. The icy reality of the conduit slapped him awake when he understood that, if he succumbed to his delirium, she would be free within moments.

  * * *

  Far below the poorly formed conduit rippling above the trees, Aletha hovered over Galen who had collapsed when his twin and the La’il had vanished. She found it hard to fathom that they were up there somewhere in this conduit leading to nowhere, fighting their never-ending battles, physically unmatched, and this time surely intending a fatal outcome. Galen was whispering something, his breath barely moving the strands of hair that touched his lips when she bent closer.

  “Cooking stones,” he gasped, each word a tremendous effort. “Above the broken crystal.”

  She frowned. “Galen? What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

  “Trees fly uphill and we fall. We fall.”

  “No, Galen,” Aletha wailed when the meaning of his hints became clear. “No! Please don’t!”

  The hand closing around her own felt cold and lifeless. “Do it!”

  Aletha bit her lip as she concentrated and traced her way back through the jungle islands until she found the place he was looking for. She did as he had asked, her eyes fixed on Galen’s empty face. “I got it. It’s done.”

  The unstable conduit suddenly ceased its aimless undulations and soared into the sky, heading west where it rocketed toward the islands and finally slammed into the boiling lava flow they had found along their journey. Aletha clasped her head in both hands when a flash of immeasurable fury and fear enveloped and infused every living thing able to perceive La’il’s terrible power. A few of the others felt it, too, and some fell to ground, unconscious, when all of Thali moon’s adepts became witnesses to La’il’s final moment. They felt her life wink out in an instant and when Galen cried out in terror Aletha knew that Chor was gone, too.

  Minutes passed in silence before Aletha fully understood what had happened. She knelt motionless beside Galen, feeling her way to the other launch, the one hidden inside the volcano, afraid of what she might find. But there was nothing there now. The crystal, briefly opened by her to show him the way into the pool of lava, remained sealed, its guardian riser undisturbed. Whatever living thing had fallen into the fiery depths was no longer recognizable to her touch.

  She dissipated the conduit. “They’re gone, Galen. Both of them.”

  “Aletha!” Yala raced across the clearing to throw herself into her arms. She clung to her, apparently willing to remain in her protective embrace indefinitely.

  Aletha drew her back to look into the dirt-smudged face. “It’s all well now, Yala. It’s over.” But she wondered if it would ever be over for the child, and what had to be done to heal the wounds she had sustained today, witnessing events that were beyond anything for which even the harshness of her life in the slums had prepared her.

  The girl’s attention was drawn to something beyond Aletha. She turned to see a new conduit forming on the launch and several of the Chenowan adepts emerge to look cautiously around the clearing. Dwen Neben came first, probing the crystal to assure himself that no link to the Homeworld remained. Some of the newcomers rushed to their fallen companions in the hopes of finding some of them still alive. Seeing Galen on the ground, Neben motioned to another adept to come to his aid. Everyone here moved like one who has just woken from a strange dream, not entirely certain that it is over.

  Aletha gaped in awe at Dwen Neben and his people. How often had she wondered about these adepts, these gods, who lived in Chenoweth? She had prayed to them and hoped to join them some day and here they were, looking as confused and astounded as any of the mortals present. True to the tales told of them, these people were handsome and fit, dressed in rich fabrics and enveloped in sheaths of chi’ro that she felt like a warm breeze against her skin. These were truly her people. She could touch each of them, could understand their power, their abilities, and their limits. Nothing lay hidden within these adepts and knowing that they were mortals like herself only deepened her feeling of kinship.

  She looked toward the edge of the clearing to Delann and those who had not fled in terror when people began to disappear and reappear, bloodied and murderous, struggling over something that few of them could even perceive. Most of them remained at a distance, cautiously circling closer, and only Delann approached, looking as mystified and fearful as the others. Perhaps it would never be possible to explain to them what had happened here today. Perhaps it wasn’t necessary. They had seen enough of the La’il to understand that there had been more to her ungodliness than mere mortality.

  “Bacchias,” Aletha heard an urgent whisper. “This is wrong.”

  Both Aletha and the elder adept t
urned to where the Chenowan healer knelt beside Galen. He still sprawled where he had fallen, his face without life, without expression. The woman’s hands were on his temples and then moved to his chest. “I can’t get to him!”

  “Galen!” Aletha cried and dropped to the ground beside him. “Galen, wake up! Don’t do this!” She looked into his eyes, which were not quite closed. Dead, empty eyes that saw nothing. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Neben reached out to the comatose adept, finding nothing there but an empty shell. The Homeworlder still breathed but his body seemed to be shutting down, barely functioning in his deep trance. Neben shook his head. “Where is his brother?”

  “Dead,” she said. “They were joined. One mind. And it was centered on the other one.”

  After a long, silent search the adept’s touch withdrew from Galen. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve not encountered this before. He’s gone. I can’t help him.”

  Aletha shook her head, unwilling to follow what this man was telling her. “No!” she whispered. “By the Gods…” Her eyes traveled to the woman beside Dwen Neben and then to the other adepts. “You can’t help him,” she said, at last understanding the enormity of that fact. She had spent the past few weeks in the company of a man who had no gods and whose accounts of Chenoweth seemed sensible and right. But it was only now that the significance of what he had been trying to tell her became clear. Had she even wanted to listen? Had she ever stopped believing? When all worldly efforts failed what remained but an appeal to the gods? Here were her gods. Tangible evidence of three hundred years of delusion. There was no one left to hear her prayers.

  “No!” she said through gritted teeth. “I can do this. He’s not dying!” She drew on the power of Chenoweth to aid her in joining her mind to his, calling to him, hoping to find some evidence that his twin had not taken with him the essence that gave life to this man. She felt a ghastly void there, a cold, dead emptiness of such vast proportions that she shivered uncontrollably. It was as if his battle with the La’il and the crushing shock of having witnessed his own death had cast him to the edge of sanity and now his devastated mind refused to comprehend that part of him was still alive. Confused bits of random thought reached her, carrying with them a terrible sense of loss as he moved away from her, ready to follow wherever it was that his twin and the La’il had gone.

  Desperately, she tried to catch his attention with the lure of chi’ro, enticing his senses with the promise of wellbeing until, somewhere in their trance, he recognized her. Images began to swim into view, unfocused and incomplete, but familiar. She felt his panic subside, replaced by a calmer state of mind, as though they had reached deeply into each other and joined in an embrace without boundary between bodies. He accepted her mental touch, responding to her offer of oblivion, willing to follow where she led if only it would erase the last moment of Chor’s life from his memory.

  Untold minutes, hours, days later a gentle, persistent presence made itself felt, drawing them back to a state of awareness where Dwen Neben was able to wake them. Reality intruded into their dreams and both became aware of the hard ground beneath them, the cold mountain air, and the presence of the people around them. When Galen took a deep breath both of them felt the pain of his broken ribs. “Come back to us now,” Neben said softly from somewhere nearby.

  When she drew back, Galen’s eyes traveled to Aletha’s dirty, bloodied and tear-streaked face; it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He tried a smile. “I feel… odd.”

  “You said my spike could wake a dead man,” she said, forcing her tears back to be dealt with another time. “It’s done, Galen. She’s gone. And you’re back!”

  He raised an arm to draw her close to him. “I told you I wasn’t leaving you.” He buried his face in her tousled curls. “I love you,” he said for her ears only, knowing that she knew already, that she knew him now like only the La’il had ever seen him, but needing to say it anyway. The constant physical presence that was Chor had been torn away and he felt its absence like the loss of a limb. But he was alive, and his mind intact, because of her. He said it again, unwilling to release her until one of the Chenowan adepts pulled her gently to her feet and another set to work on Galen’s broken bones.

  Needing to share her joy, Aletha turned to look for Delann and found that he had backed away, eyes wide in shock and incomprehension. She moved toward him. “Delann?”

  He took a few more steps, looking from her to the graceful strangers and back at her again. “You’re one of them. The… the gods.” He pointed at Galen. “You did this. He was dead! I saw it! He was dead and you brought him back!”

  “No, not dead. He just needed a little help.”

  He shook his head, struggling to find words. “I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t mean—” His distraught gesture included Galen, the other adepts, the emissaries’ dead leader lying on the ground, the blood that smeared her clothes. When she embraced him he fell to his knees, tears streaming unchecked over his face. “Gods, I can’t believe I did those things!”

  “It will be all right, Delann,” Aletha whispered, holding him close. “I promise. You are not to blame. Don’t ever blame yourself for any of this!”

  Dwen Neben touched her shoulder. “Let me help him,” he said.

  Aletha did not look up at the adept when she brushed Delann’s tears from his face. “No,” she said resolutely, helping her friend to his feet. “Would you make him forget what happened? Feel better about this, maybe? We can’t just make this go away. We can’t keep playing god for these people.”

  “I sometimes have an overly enthusiastic opinion of my skills, but godhood hasn’t occurred to me. I must make a note of that.” Neben sobered when no one else here offered even a smile for his little joke. “Come to Chenoweth with us. I think you could use some time of peace and recovery. And bring your friends,” he added, observing Yala’s pallid face. “You have much to recover from.”

  Hearing this, Galen struggled against his healer’s restraining hands. His determination clear, she supported him when he stood up and both of them swayed like drunken sailors. He was reminded of the queasy hours following his transformation after Chor had been created. Without his extra set of eyes, his vision seemed strangely skewed. “I have a better idea,” he said, breathing in shallow gasps around his broken ribs. “Conduit’s open now. Let’s leave it open. Wouldn’t take much energy to bring everybody from here to Chenoweth. This place isn’t so wonderful any more. Maybe they’ll need less persuasion this time.”

  Both Aletha and Delann started, stunned by his suggestion.

  “I know this comes a little too close to your prophecies, but it’s really just something that started a long time ago. Let’s finish this now. I don’t think anyone will insist that you have to be dead to get to the Garden.”

  Dwen Neben conferred silently with his people. “It was our original intent to bring them to Chenoweth. Three hundred years ago! It won’t be easy now. There are so many more of them, and few adepts among them.” His eyes found the group of soldiers and robed emissaries circling them at a distance, mistrustful and afraid of what they had seen here. Some of their number were no doubt already on their way down the mountain to spread the news of whatever they believed had happened here today. “Not everyone will be able to adapt. There is bound to be much suffering before Thali is emptied.”

  “They already suffer,” Galen said. “Their resilience will surprise you, I think. What do you say, Neben? It might give you people something to do up there.”

  Dwen Neben laughed, rapidly warming to the idea. It would certainly infuse new meaning into the lives of his people. In his mind he saw towns springing up, teams of hosts and mentors working with the new arrivals to create new lives among the vast splendor of Chenoweth. There would be schools, and farms and industry – all of the things remembered now only in historical accounts and certainly destined to be improved upon through Chenoweth’s vast resources of chi’ro. He rubbed his hands, ready to
start creating this new world at this very instant. “We’ll start with settlements along the lakes. They would like that, don’t you think? There is probably enough coastline for everyone!”

  Galen looked around to find Delann standing pale and uncertain beside Aletha. “Well, Delann.” He tipped his head into the direction of the visitors who would soon begin the process of inviting thousands of people to move to Chenoweth. “These people will need your help. You have ships, you have men, you have contacts in every port of call on this moon. How would you like a real job?”

  Chapter Seventeen - Epilogue

  “Where else would you be on a day like this?”

  Galen looked up from his studies when Aletha stepped out of a conduit to find him perched on the sun-drenched steps leading into Delann’s gardens. She crouched behind him to run her hands over his bare shoulders.

  “You’ll burn,” she warned. But a quick glance skyward assured her that the clouds arriving from the west would soon put an end to his sun bath. “What are you reading?”

  He put his book aside. “Some incomprehensible tale about someone who is either having an objectionable adventure with a rather large fish or is hunting one for dinner. I’m trying to learn these peculiar scripts so I can make sense of Gynn’s writings. Wish he wasn’t so long-winded about what’s happening at the delta. But if I don’t get through those things Delann is awake half the night trying to catch up. He’s not sleeping so well, anyway. How are things on Chenoweth?”

  “It’s a confusing mess but the town is coming along just fine. We’re trying to evacuate the barrier islands first, but I forgot to mention that my people won’t cut living trees to build new houses. So now we have to disassemble their villages and transport the pieces to Chenoweth. Delann is not very happy about that. It’s holding up his ships.”