“That is an astute question, but the answer should be obvious. You have a clever mind. Hmm. Let me rephrase. You are devious and filled with greater zeal than the rest of my mentalists. You can probably trick the subject better than the others could. Naturally, I shall watch you closer than ever. The Bo Taw will catalog your seditious and heretical thoughts, even as they’re doing so now.”
Niens licked his lips. “May I make a statement?”
“Yes,” Zama Dee said.
“I do not find in myself any desire to think or act like a Humanity Ultimate. I am satisfied with my lot in life.”
“You are incorrect. You are not satisfied. You strive in many areas. You sought to rid yourself of your mate, and you did. You sought younger and more numerous sex objects—and you have them. You used guile to survive during the attack that slew Chengal Ras. Other mentalists would have aided the 109th, helping him to defeat the intruder. You merely sought to preserve your own life. Those are actions of Humanity Ultimates.”
“The actions shame me.”
“On one level that is true,” Zama Dee said. “However, Klane would have slain you and Chengal Ras. Through that, I might have lost the clue that has put me on the present path. Therefore, your guile has aided me. I will give you the rewards you desire, but I will also cage you out of the way. I will gain from new knowledge and I will protect the Kresh from a random element such as you.”
“Your logic—”
“Stop,” Zama Dee said, with her tail lashing. “Your praise leaves me cold. It is also self-serving and improper for one of the lower forms. You are not Kresh, but one of the cattle.”
Niens bowed his head.
“You will bend your intellect and curiosity toward solving the mystery of Klane’s consciousness,” Zama Dee said. “In order to invest you with greater zeal, I now tell you that failure in your task will bring about a hideous and shameful death. You are a Humanity Ultimate. You seek your own good above the good of the Kresh. That is intolerable unless you give me a greater good: the so-called savior of humanity. On those conditions, I can allow a worm like you to exist. Any other conditions are too distasteful. Do you understand me, Mentalist Niens?”
“I do,” Niens said.
“Revered One,” Zama Dee reminded him.
“Revered One,” Niens hurried to say.
Her tail lashed one more time, striking a wall with a thud. Then Zama Dee pointed at the bulkhead. Niens turned. The way appeared, as did the two Vomags.
“Trap him, Niens, and all will be well. Fail in this, and your existence will end sooner than you can believe.”
22
Cyrus hunkered low in the seeker’s tent, trying to get it straight in his head how the transfer actually worked. She’d been explaining it to him for quite some time now.
The gat-hide tent rippled in the powerful gusts of wind sweeping through the forest. Outside, branches swayed and creaked, and leaves rustled by the tens of thousands. The tent motions and outer sounds intimidated Cyrus. He’d lived on Crete for a few years. Otherwise, he’d been in controlled city and spaceship environments. The sudden thrust of the hide and the flapping unnerved him.
The insides here also unnerved him more than he cared to admit. There were far too many bones and slick things called junction-stones. He’d picked one up yesterday, and had felt it quiver in his mind.
The seeker had berated him, telling him the stone could have put a curse on him, might have even killed him.
“How can a stone do that?”
“Through magic, psionics,” she said.
Cyrus didn’t see how, but he didn’t pick up any more of the oiled stones. The bones disturbed him more, though. There were big ones—thigh bones—middle-sized ones, and tiny ratlike bones. The seeker had clay jars full of crushed substances and leather bags filled with more stuff.
It felt like a witch’s tent in here. Even with his psi-training, the feel in this tent, the way the others treated it, made him uneasy.
The howling wind seemed to reverse course, shoving the nearest tent wall toward Cyrus and blowing the one near the seeker outward.
“What are you doing?” Cyrus asked.
The seeker had been chopping roots and grinding bones. Now, she mixed stuff in the biggest clay container of all, gathering saliva and spitting into it.
“I’m gambling,” she told him.
“You mean with the transfer? I’ve already told you I can help you with that.”
She moistened her lips. “What you’ve been suggesting . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. There is only one way to make a transfer. At the end of the ceremony, the giver of memories must die.”
“Why? I don’t get that part.”
“I’ve already explained it two times,” she said.
“And I’ve told you what Jasper did with me in the Teleship. I think I can anchor you right there at the end. I can draw you back, stop you from giving everything.”
“That might foil the transfer. It’s more than mere memories we’re giving.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting a transfer of souls,” Cyrus said.
“No, nothing like that,” she said. “I don’t think something like that is even possible.”
“Okay.” He didn’t like the subject, not in this tent and not during the storm outside.
“The others must be ready to accept what I’m going to give,” the seeker said. “I don’t see how more than one person can receive the memories.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Cyrus said. “It’s groupthink. We had to do that sometimes during training in Crete.”
“Can you show me how it was done?”
“I’ll try,” he said.
They sat across from each other holding hands, and Cyrus used his limited ability. Soon, his head hurt, making his eyes watery. He detested the fact that he had such a weak talent.
The tent flap opened, surprising them. Cyrus looked up and spied Jana staring at him. She’d been grinning, but when her gaze fell upon their hands—
“I can’t believe it,” Jana said. She darted out of the tent, letting the flap drop down.
“Jana,” Cyrus said.
“Let her go,” the seeker said. “Your talent is weak. You need rest now from your mental efforts.”
Cyrus shot the seeker a glance.
“Am I supposed to hide the truth in order to shield your soft ego?” she asked.
With a heave upward and a grunt, Cyrus stood unsteadily. He swayed, and vomit burned the back of his throat. He was a weak talent. He’d always known that. Was he too weak to anchor the seeker during the transfer ceremony?
Grinding his teeth together, Cyrus staggered out of the tent. He saw Jana race into the forest. He looked up at the swaying trees with their billowing and wet leaves. Drops fell from them, and the ground was muddy, slippery.
“Jana!” Cyrus shouted. He staggered after her. Yeah, it was probably stupid. The way to deal with something like this was to ignore it. She’d get over what she saw. Besides, she didn’t see anything. The seeker and he had been holding hands to strengthen the psi-connection. Surely Jana could understand that.
Cyrus’s steps grew steadier as he ran past wet trees. Branches bent low and groaned ominously. Rain flew into his face. He wiped his eyes and caught another flash of Jana. This was crazy . . . but what the heck. It was a whole lot better than sitting in the tent and getting a splitting headache.
Cyrus put on a burst of speed, and he began to enjoy himself. Then he ran between some bushes and yelped. Jana stood before him, with a spear in her hands. She thrust the flint tip at his belly. Cyrus dove low, and he used his power, deflecting her thrust. It made his mind throb painfully and wiped away the good mood. Why did she have to go and do that?
He slid on mud, and he tackled her, bringing her down. She yelle
d as her head thudded into a puddle. Then Cyrus clambered up her prone body.
“Listen,” he said, angrily.
He never had a chance to say more. Jana grabbed his face with her cold, wet hands, and she yanked his face down, pressing his lips against hers.
Some of the headache went away. She had a tasty tongue. Then she pushed him, and with an oath, she tried to hurl him away.
“What’s wrong with you?” he shouted. “You’re hot and cold.”
“You were holding her hands,” Jana said.
“Yeah,” he said, “because we used psionics.”
“Magic,” she said, managing to make it a superstitious word.
“We’re getting ready for the transfer.”
She peered into his eyes. “I don’t think I can do it, Cyrus.”
He knew what she meant. Jana wanted to back out of the group transfer, the mind teaching to the warriors. She didn’t want to receive the seeker’s many memories.
“Of course you can do it,” he said. “You’re coming with me into the valley.”
“You’ve never asked me to come with you.”
“Of course I did,” he said. “I asked you at the meeting around the fire when I first proposed the plan.”
“Why?” she asked, while searching his face. “Why do you want me to come with you?”
“Because you’re a good warrior,” he said, lamely.
“That isn’t the reason.”
“Uhhh . . . you’re smarter and cleverer than the other Berserkers,” he said.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah. What other reason could I have?”
Her eyes hardened.
“And I like you,” he added.
She searched his eyes.
“I want you to stay with me,” he said.
“As a pet for the star man?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Stay how?”
“You know,” he said.
“The great Cyrus cannot speak his heart. I’ve seen how you look at me. Are you strong or are you weak, star man?”
He took her face in his hands. He stared down at this beautiful primitive. He’d known pretty girls in Milan and good-looking women in Crete. None of them had Jana’s vitality. None of them had her eyes. He wanted Jana. He wanted her to stay with him no matter where he went.
“I want you to be my wife,” Cyrus said.
“Oh. That is what the great star man wants. Maybe Jana wants something else.”
He knew then what she wanted from him. Wow. He couldn’t believe it. This was crazy, really. This was humanity on the edge of existence. He was marooned way out here, far from the solar system. Yet . . .
“Jana,” Cyrus said, as he lay on her in the rain. “If I asked you . . . no. I’ll do this straight up. Jana. Will you marry me?”
Cyrus wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t what happened.
“Yes,” she said in a small, soft voice.
He couldn’t believe it. His heart melted. Some of the dross burned away in that melting. Something tender and something fierce welled up in its place. If anyone ever tried to hurt Jana . . .
He bent his head, and he kissed her tenderly. After he raised his head, she said, “Now I know you really want me for me, and not just to use my body. We Berserkers believe a man should stay faithful to one woman his entire life.”
“Yeah?” he said.
“Do you believe that?”
“I do,” he said, kissing her again, and he did believe that. He didn’t want anyone else but her. He wanted this woman for his wife.
“You’ve made me very happy, Jana.”
“Yeah,” she said, mimicking his way of talking.
The two of them burst out laughing. Life was good. It was very good.
The rain had stopped as night fell. Jana wore dry furs and Cyrus, Berserker leathers.
Eight warriors, including Yang and Grinder, stood around a crackling fire. Skar was present, together with the downcast seeker. Cyrus had wanted to wait to attempt the transfer. He felt terrific, but his mind was fuzzy. That wasn’t due to Jana’s acceptance of his proposal—well, the terrific part was. The psi-practice earlier had worn him down.
Cyrus pulled the seeker aside, saying, “We should do this later, after we rest.”
“No,” she whispered. “We have already run out of time.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I have sought the future,” she intoned.
“You’re a clairvoyant?”
She looked up with haunted eyes, whispering, “Enough of one to know that I do not belong in it.”
Cyrus clutched her arm, and he opened his mouth to assure her that everything was going to be fine. Yet how did he know? What if she did die tonight? Wouldn’t he have talked her into doing this? Did that mean he was killing her?
He closed his mouth and released her arm, indecisive. Maybe he didn’t need the primitives to understand high technology. Yet even as he considered it, he rejected the idea. He needed competent allies; space marine equivalents would be optimum. So what should he do?
“It is time,” she whispered.
Cyrus frowned. He couldn’t let the seeker kill herself just so the rest of them would survive. Well, it wasn’t going to be easy on their end. They merely wanted the chance to fight on better terms. This wouldn’t help them fight on equal terms, because they lacked modern weapons and spacecraft. They needed the seeker’s knowledge. She had to do this for them. Therefore, he had to ensure her survival tonight.
“I told you I’m going to anchor you,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“Yes,” she said, and she avoided his gaze, heading toward her belongings stashed in the shadows.
“I promise you, seeker—”
She whirled around, and her eyes flashed. Maybe that was the firelight reflecting in her orbs. In that moment, she seemed powerful and stern, uncompromising, a cobra rising up from the grass to confront him. He set himself, and he readied his mind. He realized he hadn’t been practicing his psi-exercises lately. No wonder his mind felt fuzzy. Then her features softened. She stepped near and pressed a hand over his mouth.
Cyrus sensed instead of saw Jana inching toward him. He hoped his fiancée had the presence of mind to give the seeker room.
Before anyone could discover the extent of Jana’s self-control, the seeker removed her hand. Sadness filled her. “I do not do this for you, Earth man. You are not talking me into anything.”
His eyebrows rose. Could she read his mind? Was the seeker that much more powerful than he was?
“I love the Berserkers,” the seeker said. “I am a link in a long chain of events leading up to this day. The memories in me push me toward your path. The voices can see the wisdom of your words, of your plan. The hour approaches where the Anointed One will reveal to us the final path. The demons crush our spirit, Earth man.” She gestured around her. “The demons have twisted humanity through their perverted genetics. We here on Jassac, on these bleak highlands . . .”
The seeker turned away, and she hugged herself. “The weak will rise up tonight in order to help defeat the strong. We are but slaves to, to . . .”
I am Spartacus, Cyrus told himself. The greatest gladiator in Earth’s history rose up and fought for a time. He must have seen many of his friends die. Can I do less?
“I will pass so that you may become greater,” the seeker whispered. “But it is hard, Earth man, very hard. I did not realize how much I love life.”
“I’ll anchor you,” Cyrus said. “I promise—”
She put a soft hand on his cheek. “Don’t promise me, Cyrus Gant.”
“I do,” he said, the words gushing out of him. “I promise to anchor you and keep you here with us. We’re going to need your wisdom.”
She smiled sadly. “You promise and I will forgive,” she said in the quietest voice so far. “I absolve you from your promise.”
“No!” he said, becoming stubborn.
“Remember, I have seen the future.” She removed her hand from his cheek, lifted a shawl over her head, and walked toward the fire. She raised frail arms and regarded the assembled. “You must sit around the fire,” she said in a strong voice. “You must stare at the flames and do exactly as I tell you. No,” she told Skar, who went to sit. “You are not a Berserker, nor is Cyrus Gant one. You are outlanders. Grinder spoke the truth about that.”
Grinder grinned, showing off his teeth, his manner saying, I knew it!
“My knowledge is for you eight alone,” she told the warriors settling around the fire.
“But if they do not belong to the clan—” Grinder said.
“The Great War is upon us, warrior,” the seeker said in a loud voice. “They are in the clan, but not of the clan. They are the allies that the dreams foretold. We need them and they need us. Can you not feel the sacredness of the moment? The Earth man has told us the chosen path. You must walk it and obey his words.”
“I would rather kill him,” Grinder said.
“I know,” the seeker said. “But you must open your mind tonight. You must drink from my memories. Then, and only then, can you make an informed decision.” She shrugged. “Maybe you are too angry to understand, but I don’t believe that about you, Grinder. You are a warrior of the clan. You will fight the true enemy, the one that condemns humanity to slavery and servitude.”
Grinder looked down, troubled.
The seeker clapped her hands twice. “We will prepare.”
Cyrus retreated to the shadows where Skar joined him. I will save her. She isn’t going to die. I don’t want her death on my conscience.
Yang, Jana, Grinder, and the other candidates sat around the fire, the play of light and shadows dancing on their faces. Logs cackled as flames leaped. Wood popped and sparks showered, one carried upward and away. The rain had stopped several hours ago, but the wind blew harder than normal, although less than earlier. The seeker spoke to them in a soothing voice. It was clear they were afraid.
Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) Page 20