Xellasmos dropped the bulb into the liquid, which quickly began to steam and froth. A few moments later a mass of gleaming microfilaments rose from the surface of the liquid and wove themselves together into a rough sphere. There was a burst of light from within the sphere followed by a flash of color that quickly resolved itself into the silent image of a jungle at night.
“This is your homeworld, known in this age as Sha-ka-ri, as it was before the emergence of your species,” said Xellasmos.
“Where is the sound?” asked Trielle
“It is an artifact of the technology,” replied Xellasmos. “The first generation devices could not extract sound wave information from the quantum entanglement data. Still, it is enough to show you what you need to see. Now, watch.”
Trielle turned back to the image. The trees were ancient, their trunks reaching skyward like the pillars of an ancient temple. The roof of the forest was dark with leaves, but here and there small holes in the canopy let silver shafts of starlight peek through, dappling the ground with a shifting pattern of shadow and soft iridescence. Then a patch of foliage at the lefthand side of the image began to rustle, and a few moments later the figure of a man stepped from the shadows. His body was covered in thick hair that barely concealed the massive cords of muscle rippling beneath. He wore no clothing but carried a spear in his right hand. She could not see his face.
“Who is that?” asked Trielle.
“Right now he is nobody,” said Xellasmos. “He is a creature with no no name, no identity. Look at his movements, consider the way he surveys his surroundings. He is intelligent to be sure, but there as yet no sentience in him.”
As that moment, as if on cue, the man turned to face them, and Trielle could immediately see that what Xellasmos said was true. The expression on his face was cunning, even feral, a mass of instincts given emotional expression. She watched as his eyes darted about in search of the next meal or predator and realized that despite the creature’s evident intelligence there was something missing in his gaze that was present in every other human she had ever known.
Intelligence without understanding; a mind without a soul.
A wind began to blow. It surged through the leafy roof, pushing aside the leaves and filling the forest with the soft gleam of starlight. Trielle watched as the light grew, and realized that the wind itself, and not the stars, was its source. It seemed to pulse with a soft inner fire, a burning radiance that brought out the colors of the trees and soil in stark relief. Evidently the man realized it also, and, confronted with the unknown, began to run. Their viewpoint followed the figure as he crashed through the jungle, pursued by the strange flaming wind, until finally it reached a clearing surrounded by scrub brush too thick to penetrate. In the center of the clearing stood two saplings. The man hid beneath them.
“Watch,” said Xellasmos. “You are about to see he awakening of your race.”
As he spoke the wind began to rise in fury, fire and light soaring high above the clearing in a hurricane of celestial radiance. Then, from the center of the hurricane, a gust of brilliance flooded downward to the cowering figure, caressing him with soft warmth. In wonder, the man lifted his head, breathing the light into his nostrils.
Suddenly his body stiffened. His eyes dilated, momentarily lit from within by the radiance that now flowed through him. Then they constricted and the man tilted his head upward, the light of the glory-cloud bathing his face as he opened his mouth in a soundless cry.
“Father,” said Xellasmos in answer to Trielle’s unspoken question. “He calls on his father. It is the first cry of all the awakened races. Charagon, our oldest ancestor, used to tell us of when the Root of Life was given to him. As his mind filled with understanding, he looked out on a world awash with a Presence beyond his comprehension, a Presence that was to him as a father to a son. This Presence has been given many names throughout the ages, and yet in the end they all carry the same meaning: He Who Is, the Self-existent One.”
“Why does my race not remember this?” asked Trielle, shaken and amazed by what she had seen.
“Some still do,” said Anacrysis softly, “You will meet them soon.”
“Watch,” commanded Xellasmos, “There is more to be seen and the time grows short,” Xellasmos waved his tendrils at the image, and there was a momentary blurring as time compressed. When it again came into focus Trielle saw that they were still in the clearing, but now the trees in its center shone with unearthly light. One pulsed with a golden glow; the other was wrapped in a nimbus of violet shadow.”
“The Two Trees,” explained Xellasmos. “Life and Knowledge, Self-Sacrifice and Self-Awareness. They are given as a gift to all awakened worlds, and are the source of its lifeblood. It is said by our metaphysicians and hypernoeticists that each pair in this cosmos is but an eidolon, an image, of the true trees that stand in worlds above our own. But I do not know the truth of this.”
Then the man reentered the scene, bringing with him a woman.
“He brings his mate,” said Xellasmos
Trielle could clearly see the difference in their bearings. The man, now gifted with sapience, moved forward with deliberate, purposeful strides, while the woman seemed perpetually poised to run, her eyes darting back and forth in search of the next threat.
When the pair reached the center of the clearing the man raised his hands and suddenly the sky was bright again with flaming wind. His mouth moved rapidly, as if conversing with a silent partner. Then he gestured toward the woman and in answer the flaming wind descended upon the man, embracing his body and easing him to the ground. His eyes fluttered and then closed in a deep sleep. The womans’s gaze darted about and her muscles tensed as if to run, but the wind encircled her also, soothing her with its warmth. Trielle could see her fear gradually abate until finally she walked toward the man and rested calmly at his side.
The wind gathered about them as they lay there, a cradle of glory holding them together with cords of light and power. Then, like the hand of surgeon, the wind touched the man’s chest and brought forth a bright flame that pulsed like an incandescent heart. Carrying it to the woman, the wind pushed the flame through her skin and deep into her body. Then the wind vanished, leaving the pair alone in the light of the trees. A few moments later they awoke, and as the man and woman saw in each other’s eyes the telltale gleam of life and understanding they leapt up and danced together.
“Thus far,” said Xellasmos as the image faded away, “the awakenings of both of our planets mirrored each other, and my people rejoiced to see another world entering into the harmony of the deeper life. But several decades later we saw another scene that disturbed us greatly. Watch again Trielle, one last time.”
Again the image blurred as an unknown span of time rushed by. When it cleared, Trielle saw that the two trees had grown tall in the interim, their branches weaving together in a glowing ceiling of bright gold and deep violet. The woman, looking somewhat older, rested beneath them. Then a curious red light began to play over her features. At first Trielle thought it was the wind again, but the color seemed off somehow, almost alien. As if in response to her unspoken question, Xellasmos gestured and the aspect of the image widened to reveal a strange creature standing at the edge of the clearing.
Serpentine in form, the creature looked as if it were composed of liquid flame, a sinuous mass of burning redness almost as tall as the trees. Its reptilian face was surrounded by a mane that blazed like the suns at noon, and its head was crowned with ten horns that gleamed like brass drawn from a furnace. Its form seemed to swim in and out of focus as Trielle watched, as if in some undefinable way it wasn’t really there. The creature and the woman appeared to be in dialogue.
“Such a thing also happened on our world,” said Xellasmos. “Perhaps even with the same creature. After studying this image, most Ferisi metaphysicians have come to the conclusion that this creature is a three-dimensional manifestation of a being whose primary existence rests in a higher plane. But th
at is a debatable matter and of no course. Charagon himself told us of his encounter with the creature, thought he did not like to speak of it. He said only that it offered to somehow augment the root of life within him, to make him wiser. Such counsel seemed foolish to Charagon, and he refused. Would that she had done the same.”
As he said those words the woman stood and walked to the trees. For a moment she stood between them, her head turning back and forth. Then she walked to the Tree of Wisdom, reached out, took something, and put it in her mouth. Suddenly the woman looked about as if in fear. A wind began to blow, but there was no light in it. As the scene began the fade out, the woman shivered and her eyes filled with tears.
“Thus is a world cut off from the True Life,” said Xellasmos At first we continued to watch your world to monitor the effects of her choice, but when our monitor showed us an image of the mother of your race dying in pain we were so shaken that we could not look again. It was seven thousand years before another of the Ferisi dared use a photonoscope again. During those lost millennia we found that many new races across the galaxy had awoken to the deeper life. Some, like us, chose well at the moment of awakening and with these we communed. Others chose poorly, and whenever we looked upon those worlds we saw nothing but pain, destruction, and death.”
“Then, tens of thousands of years later, an envoy of beings such as Anacrysis, those whom you call the Anastasi, came to our world. They told us that you race had not been left alone in their darkness, that a mighty work of healing had come to all those worlds that rejected the True Life, and that the time had come for the entire galaxy to enter the deeper life as one.”
“I remember those journeys,” said Anacrysis wistfully. “The first time our explorations brought us to a world of the unfallen we rejoiced in wonder. Until then I had never dared think it possible that a race could remain uncorrupted.”
“Then came the war,” said Xellasmos with a note of sadness. “But now, with your brother’s journey, and with your coming, perhaps the time of our exile is nearing its end.”
The weight of this new knowledge crashed down on Trielle with the sudden force of an avalanche. She had known that the Conclave’s history was a falsehood, but only now was the true depth of the deception apparent. And somehow she and her brother were expected to right the situation? The thought was absurd.
“What can I do?” she said finally, her words as much a plea as a protest. “You both know the strength of the Conclave; it shattered an empire and put you here. I don’t have the power you think I have, and my brother, even if he returns, doesn’t either. Perhaps my father once did, but not anymore.”
“Power?” said Xellasmos with a rustling sound suspiciously like a chuckle. “Who said anything about power? The deepest wisdom of the Dar Ekklesia has always told us that all strength will one day fail, and that true strength is only found in weakness. In the end, I have confidence that what you can offer will prove in the end to be sufficient.”
“I wish I shared that confidence,” said Trielle sith a grim smile.
“Come Trielle,” said Anacrysis, “There is one another you must meet before I return you to the Conclave. Perhaps he will make your path clearer. Thank you, Xellasmos.”
Xellasmos’ trunks shifted and creaked as he bent in a deep bow. Trielle and Anacrysis bowed in return, then descended the stairwell and exited the building.
Chapter 27: The Sword and the Lampstand
Fire, an endless storm of fire raging as far as he could see.
After the grueling climb up the column of brass Garin had hoped that the next domain would be more level. But this place only traded the sheer sides of the pillar for near-intolerable heat. Still, he could not help but wonder why he was able to survive at all amidst the burning clouds. It was as if the fire was a living thing that waited and watched, reserving judgment on his presence, holding back the full measure of its fury until some unpredictable moment when it would decide that he didn’t belong and burn him to ash. He pressed on with dogged steps, marching forward across a plain of black obsidian that shimmered in the heat, hoping that his course was taking him closer to the resting place of whatever intelligence called this domain home.
He had chosen this path and was not turning back.
After what seemed like an eternity of wandering amidst the flames and black glass Garin thought he saw a dark shape ahead. He could not make out exactly what it was, only that it was tall and thin, and seemed to drink in the light of the surrounding blaze. The object loomed larger as he drew nearer, until at last the fires parted and Garin could see it clearly.
Within the eye of the firestorm hovered a sword, its upright blade a dull black and its hilt shaped like a stylized version of the scales of justice. Beneath the sword lay a circular pool filled with blood. Garin walked to the side of the pool and waited for the spirit of that place to speak. He did not have to wait long.
“Guilty or not guilty!”
The dolorous words crashed around Garin like a thunderclap and the fire-clouds seemed to whirl faster in response. He could not escape the sense that his answer might well determine the outcome of his journey. Still, the question was not entirely unexpected, and he was not entirely unprepared.
“Great One,” he began, “I come as a representative of the lowest world, a world that has strayed far from the right path. A world that…”
“The words you speak are at best peripheral. Only one question matters. Guilty or not guilty!”
Garin was confused. Hadn’t he been in the process of declaring the guilt of his world? He took a deep breath, and began again.
“Great One, my people have done many wrongs. I have come to represent them in…”
“Do not trouble me with irrelevancies! Now I ask again. Guilty or not guilty!”
With each word the fury of the fire-clouds grew, until the heat became so great that Garin felt his skin would char. Yet still he remained unharmed.
What does it want? How do I answer?
“Great One,” he whispered with a note of fear. “I do not understand.”
“Then watch, and learn!”
A beam of brilliant red light stabbed from the tip of the sword, transfixing Garin’s forehead like a red-hot nail and driving him to knees. A wave of pain rolled through him and a volley of images flashed through his mind. Faster and faster they came until at last they blurred together into a white haze. A moment later his vision cleared and he found himself sitting in the central chamber of their apartment on Latis, hard at work on the family infochryst. The kitchen door opened and his father stepped out. He was clad in his robes of office.
“Hello Father,” Garin called.
“Hello,” Gedron replied with a weary voice.
Garin rose to his feet in excitement.
“Father, I’ve been working on a new gravitics simulation program for school on our infochryst. It’s almost done, but I was hoping you could help me.”
“Garin,” said Gedron with a dismissive voice. “Not tonight. I barely have time to eat. There is an urgent meeting at the College of Gravitists that I need to attend.”
A wave of bitterness surged up inside Garin.
“You’ve had urgent meetings every night this week,” he said in anger. “Father, I need your help with this! Can’t you stay just tonight?”
“No,” said Gedron with a touch of exasperation. “There are a number of resolutions that require my attention.” As he turned toward the transit tube he added, “I need to keep up with these things if I ever want to be High Gravitist.” Then, without another word, he left.
Anger and malice surged within Garin.
“I hate you Father! I hate you!” he called out, then his vision faded away into indistinct whiteness.
He stood on bridge of a golden starship the size of a continent, the flagship of a vast armada of stellar dreadnaughts and battleships. Before them, bathed in the light of the mighty accretion disk that churned at the galaxy’s heart, hung a golden cube surrounded by c
ountless smaller ships.
None were armed.
Malice surged within his heart, the same feeling that had filled him in the previous vision. Garin raised his arm.
“Fire all batteries!”
Each warship fired as one, and a wave of searing fire surged toward the golden cube, immolating the orbiting spacecraft like snowflakes in a blast furnace. Soon the space around the golden cube had been converted into an expanding shell of white hot plasma, and his field of vision again faded into blinding whiteness.
Garin felt a sudden weight on his body, and he looked down to see himself clad in armor. He stood in a company of soldiers atop a sun-bleached outcropping of rock at the edge of a sprawling city. In his right hand he held a hammer. On the ground in front of him was a naked man tied to a beam of rough wood.
“Well,” said a soldier next to him. “Are you going to finish the job or should I.”
“No, I’ve got this,” said Garin with a harsh, guttural laugh.
Garin reached into a leather pouch on his belt and removed a long iron spike, the now familiar sense of rage and malice filling him again as he did. With a grin, Garin placed the point of the nail on the man’s wrist, raised the hammer, and drove the sharp metal through flesh and tendon. Blood spurted from the wound, running hot and free across Garin’s hands, and he laughed as he hammered the spike deeper and deeper. Then he glanced at the man’s face, and the feeling of malice fled in a flash of sudden recognition. Though countless years younger, the outlines of the face were clear. As the vision began to fade one last thought hung in his mind.
The Sovereign Road Page 25