Allie's War Early Years

by JC Andrijeski

  A few minutes later, he’d ceased to think about his body’s previous owner at all.

  It was his, now.

  In the end, they were all just his.

  BIRTH

  ALLIE’S WAR EARLY YEARS

  For Mark

  1

  UNDERGROUND

  “THAT’S NOT SOMETHING we hear in here often, brother...”

  Revik looked up sharply. Almost before he knew he’d done it, his body tensed into a near-fighting stance. He hadn’t heard the other male walk in. He hadn’t heard the door.

  “...The music, that is,” the other seer clarified.

  The seer smiled at him, holding up a hand in a peace gesture when Revik’s stance didn’t immediately relax. Waiting until Revik had stepped back, eliminating the most aggressive aspect of his posture, the other male changed the direction of his gesture at once, without a single hint of accusation. Revik followed the monk’s eyes back over his own shoulder then, towards the small music player and its somewhat crackly speakers.

  Sitting on a stone bookshelf, it blared a poor recording of one of Revik’s old albums. The tinny strains of music echoed strangely against the walls of his small, cell-like room.

  Somewhere in those few ticks of silence, Revik understood the monk’s remark.

  His eyes shifted back towards the older seer. Like most of the permanent residents here, the male wore a loose-fitting, sand-colored robe, and a guileless smile.

  “What is it, brother?” the monk asked curiously, his light blue eyes holding a flicker of interest. “The music you are playing... it is human, is it not?”

  Revik fought to stifle a snort.

  Gods. He’d been lost in his own kind of bubble over the past few years, but never in his life had he encountered beings as out of touch with the wider world than the traditional seers who lived here, in the enclave of the Parmir.

  He’d been warned to curb his sarcasm, though, especially with the senior monks.

  Another element of “negativity” in his overall make-up, Revik supposed.

  “It is, brother,” he said politely. “...Human.”

  “And what is it called?” the seer asked, his eyes and voice still openly curious. “It has a name, does it not? This type of music? Would I know it?”

  Fighting the pounding in his head, that denser feeling of claustrophobia that tugged at Revik’s chest whenever he existed in the stone room for too long, he kept his blank, his infiltrator’s mask in place. Still fighting to control his own light, he made an inviting gesture with one hand for the seer to enter the room.

  “They call it rock and roll,” he said, his voice deadpan. “...Humans, that is.”

  The seer grinned like a kid, clasping his hands in front of the robe.

  “Rock and roll? That is a curious name, is it not?” He looked back at the music player, as if examining the nature of the beings making the sounds through the speakers themselves. “That is the type of music though, yes?” the monk persisted, his dark eyes still holding that curiosity. “What is this exact group called?”

  “Band,” Revik corrected thoughtlessly.

  “Band, brother?”

  “They call them bands. Not really groups. Not anymore.”

  A flush of impatience hit Revik’s light as the monk nodded with interest. He struggled with a denser annoyance at being disturbed, and seemingly for no reason at all, other than for a curious monk to stare at his cassette player. Rubbing his forehead, Revik tried to shove his irritation back, avoiding the eyes of the other male.

  Even so, his resentment didn’t dissipate.

  It’s not like he got a lot of time alone. They were on him pretty much all day, every day, when he wasn’t asleep. Why the fuck wouldn’t they just leave him be, the few minutes he had to himself? He couldn’t remember anything dangerous to them. He was no risk to them these days at all. The mind wipe that Vash and his infiltrators performed when Revik left the Rooks made certain he’d be as harmless as a neutered kitten. Hell, he could barely function on his own these days, after so many years in the Pyramid.

  He felt toothless. More than that, he felt like he had nothing to offer anyone any more, either in terms of a threat, or... gods forbid... some kind of benefit.

  Even as he thought them, Revik struggled with his own thoughts.

  He knew why the seer had likely come.

  Revik had been indulging in more than a little “negativity” for the last hour or so, including around one of the worst bouts of separation pain he’d suffered in quite awhile. He’d already been warned against trying to seduce any of the monks living in the enclave, male or female, so he’d taken to hiding in his room when he got like this.

  They should have taken the fucking hint and left him alone.

  Even knowing that compassion likely led the other male to come find him, Revik couldn’t seem to make his anger lessen.

  When the old monk stepped deeper into the room, Revik saw a flash of image behind his eyes. Dark, swift. It was gone as soon as it was there, but disconcerting enough to make him flinch, and leave a harsh taste in his mouth.

  It also caused him to take another step back from the other male.

  Somewhere in that image, he’d jabbed a flip knife in the male seer’s eye.

  Something about the light there, maybe.

  Something about the monk staring at him, too. Something about the fucking innocence there, the (... sheep-like, his mind muttered) openness of his light, the compassion devoid of any cynicism or guile whatsoever...

  Something about the fact that they wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone.

  “Brother?” the seer said.

  His voice held patience that time, along with a denser light. The warmth of that same light wove into Revik’s as he stood there, (insidious, his mind accused, unwanted, unasked)... holding him, providing him with a measure of stability, grounding his light in a less angry space.

  Reluctantly, Revik let the other male coax him out of the worst edges of his anger.

  A few seconds later, he exhaled sharply.

  Then he shook his head, clicking under his breath, rubbing his temples with the same hand. He wouldn’t look at the old monk at all that time.

  “The Stones,” he muttered tonelessly. “They’re called The Rolling Stones, brother.”

  The other seer sent a warm pulse of light to Revik’s chest.

  Humor lived there, but also a denser understanding, one so complete, Revik had to fight not to yell at him. The compassion there threatened to pull more words out of him briefly, too, even as his own reactions sickened him, bringing a surge of self-hate strong enough that he had to fight not to yell at the other male again.

  Patience, brother Revik, the male sent softly. You are too hard on yourself.

  And if I stab one of you in the throat, my good brother? Revik sent back bitterly. Will you think the same charitable thoughts of me then, I wonder?

  You will not.

  You cannot know that, Revik retorted. I’ve done it before. Many times.

  Not here.

  What difference does that make, brother? Do you think me so religious that I wouldn’t kill a man of the cloth? Because believe me, I would. I’ve done that before, too...

  The truth was, though, Revik hadn’t.

  Not that he could remember, anyway.

  Moreover, unlike some things he couldn’t remember but suspected he had done anyway, or somehow knew he had done, in the deeper areas of his heart, he didn’t feel that way about this. He didn’t think he’d killed a lot of monks in his life, whatever other horrible things he might have done while living inside the Pyramid of the Rooks.

  Something in hearing the lie in his own words caused him to relax, if only a little.

  The old monk’s blue eyes sharpened, even as a faint smile touched his lips. In point of fact, brother, you are doing far better now, to express these thoughts where we can see them. It is progress, although it may not feel like it...

  Revik let ou
t a short laugh, nearly choked on it.

  The monk, Tulani, only smiled.

  While thoughts are powerful with seers, it is true, Tulani added, that humor still in his light, even as he bowed politely. ... Thoughts are still not actions, brother. Not even in a seer of your stature. He ignored the openly disbelieving look Revik gave him at the “stature” comment, continuing without a pause. Thoughts carry karmic repercussions of their own, it is true... but do not make them equivalent to actions in your mind. Just because you think something, you should not treat that impulse as something you have done already, brother...

  And if I want to do it? Revik sent, his jaw hardening. What then?

  The old monk clicked at him that time, if softly.

  Do not worry what you may or may not do based on passing impulses alone. He made an eloquent calming gesture, using his light. As I say, we fear you far less now than we did before, brother Revik... when you would not express any feeling in front of us at all. When you refused to talk to us about anything going on inside your light...

  Revik shook his head, but did not attempt to answer.

  The monk’s smile teased higher on his lips. Anyway, brother, I somehow doubt that it is violence that truly motivates you at the moment. At least not violence of the sort you seem to imagine. I think if I was more your type in other respects, the impulse might have struck you somewhat differently...

  At that, Revik gave another short laugh.

  That one was almost real.

  He still didn’t look directly at the other male, though.

  When the silence stretched, he conceded the monk’s point with a gesture of his own, then backed deeper into the room when the monk walked towards him. Rather than maintaining the distance between them, Revik doubled it, one of his arms folded tightly over his own chest. He felt the gesture as protective, but he couldn’t quite tell at that point if he was protecting himself from the other seer, or the reverse.

  You are too hard on yourself, brother, the monk repeated gently. Do not beat yourself up for feeling. The karmic repercussions of our thoughts are quite heavy enough.

  Revik nodded.

  Truthfully, though, he wasn’t really listening.

  He only listened to about half of their words, even now.

  He fought to push away the part of him that was tired of this, that wanted to sink into a different kind of depression, one based in a heavier futility.

  The silence between them stretched.

  “Are you ready, brother?” the seer asked aloud.

  Revik nodded, but made no effort to move.

  It is time, the other seer said, his voice gentler still.

  Without waiting that time, the monk turned smoothly on his bare heel and left out the only door into Revik’s cell-like room. That painted wooden door opened out to a rough-hewn corridor, which itself grew into the larger maze of passageways that crossed and splinted up and down countless floors inside the rock fortress that made up this part of the old city.

  This particular monastery was the oldest such enclave in the Pamir, Revik knew, and not simply the oldest of those still in existence. It had been constructed as part of the original plans for the old city, to be housed directly opposite of where the famed Adhipan had trained since the infiltration group’s inception.

  Revik found it sort of ironic that, as a boy, he’d fantasized about living here, but on the opposite side of that dyad protecting the city’s light.

  He knew it was a privilege to be here, too, to even be allowed inside these rock walls.

  It still felt like a prison.

  Watching the old monk leave his chambers, Revik felt a whisper of defeat go through his light again, almost in spite of himself... and in spite of the fact that he knew the other male probably felt that, too. He never would have thought a bunch of kneeler monks would wear him down to a nub, to a pale ghost of what he had been.

  It turned out the patience of the Ancestors could outlast even his own.

  Walking over to the bookshelf, Revik leaned down to switch off the small cassette player, right as “Paint it Black” started playing.

  He couldn’t help but find that fitting, too.

  2

  PULLED EARLY

  REVIK CAME OUT of the session, if anything, angrier than before.

  He expected to be alone, at least, once he had.

  He craved it, needed it by then, even if it meant returning to that fucking cave-like room for the rest of the evening... which he more and more wondered if they’d saddled him with on purpose, knowing he was claustrophobic. Rooms existed with windows inside these caves, even with real ventilation to outside. Revik had seen those rooms. He knew they had an excess of space right now, given how much the monasteries had shrunk. That didn’t even include the size of the Pamir underground city itself, most of which now stood abandoned.

  So yeah, not a shortage of space. They’d had plenty of options when assigning him a room.

  They also likely knew he wouldn’t particularly want to admit to his own discomfort, if only because he didn’t want to have to discuss the reasons why.

  His claustrophobia was his own damned business, too.

  Tulani, the old monk who had been in Revik’s room earlier, asking about his music, would probably have agreed with him on that point, though... right before he suggested that Revik talk about it for his own benefit, not theirs.

  Revik wondered if Tulani had been assigned to watch him specifically, to keep him from being alone too often with his thoughts, or committing suicide, for that matter... or contemplating escape, or whatever else. He also wondered sometimes if Tulani overstayed his welcome on purpose, just waiting for Revik to snap... to have some kind of nervous breakdown that they could all then observe and use to pull him apart from the inside.

  Even breathing hurt him by then.

  After over four hours trying to meditate with a bunch of happy, contented monks, who found the entire process effortless and illuminating, Revik more or less wanted to put his hand through a wall. At the very least, he wanted to be alone.

  He knew it was childish, hiding from the rest of them... as well as holding onto his own music, his books, his previous connections with the world... the fact that he’d read a fucking newspaper in the last fifty years. But he couldn’t seem to be able to shake his stubborn desire to hide and hold on to those things, anyway. He knew they’d call it attachment, avoidance, whatever else, but he didn’t care about that, either. It beat the fucking silence. As much as he’d grown to crave aloneness, he also hated the silence of leaving all of those things behind. He hated the feeling of disconnection, too, but he knew that wasn’t all of it.

  He hated how irrelevant all of those things felt, with him in here.

  He hated how irrelevant he felt.

  It was as if the last thirty years of his life had pretty much been a wash. Or worse, steps backwards through blood and clay, all based on a lie.

  Of course, the monks saw all of this somewhat differently.

  The monks told Revik that he missed the symbiotic connections of the Pyramid itself. They told him he missed the sense of power it had given him... the sense of purpose to his life. They said, even more than that, that the Rooks had stripped away his true independence of mind while he’d been one of them. They told him that as a result, Revik lost the ability to really know his own mind, or make his own decisions.

  They told him he would have to build himself back up, from the ground up.

  And yeah, maybe those things were true, too.

  Revik had trouble fully believing that was all of it, though.

  Hell, he missed being a part of the world. He didn’t even know if the last human war he’d been involved with had ended.

  He didn’t know if his favorite human bands got played on the radio anymore. He didn’t know if the same politicians were in office, or the same types of clothes were worn, or what had happened in any of the big stories he’d left behind.

  But it was more than tha
t, too.

  Revik was missing pieces. Black marks, where his mind had once lived... where he had once lived, surrounded by vague memories and prejudices and wants.

  He could no longer remember most of what he’d done since the end of the second world war. He’d stumbled across pockets of grief, faces, fleeting images that felt and tasted familiar. He remembered the faces of some of the people he’d killed, and even happier moments, here and there... or at least more decadent ones... but none of it lingered long enough for him to know what to do with any of it.

  He remembered Kali, and those last hours he’d spent in Vietnam...

  The monks told him to let all of that go, too, however.

  They told Revik to approach himself with new eyes, to relearn himself without allowing any of those old ways of seeing himself to color his impressions. They told him he didn’t see himself clearly, either in the good or the bad. They told him he didn’t see his abilities clearly, either, nor did he see others clearly, particularly in terms of how they viewed him.

  But Revik didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let all of that go.

  Even when he tried to disobey them, however, he couldn’t hold on to enough of his own mind or emotions or memories for any of it to make a real difference.

  He’d been in here for almost five years, according to Vash.

  Five years, and no one had fed him a scrap of news, not even on whether the American war in Vietnam had finally ended, or if the war between Russia and China had ended, either.

  He was losing his fucking mind in here.

  He was starting to really lose his mind.

  The monks, of course, called this “progress.”

  Revik had different words for it. He’d been muttering and even shouting those words at them for months now, but they didn’t react to that much, either.

  He wanted them to fucking react.

  He wanted them to get angry at him now and then, shout back, hit him.

  But they never did that, either.