Digital Knight

by Ryk E. Spoor

  He thought of water. A droplet, condensing in a cloud. The droplet, a single thought. Droplets coalescing, becoming a raindrop; the raindrop, a single idea. The rain falling, becoming a puddle, a thousand puddles, a downpour; a day in the life of a man or a woman, a thousand thousand thousand thoughts moving as one. The downpour, still made of a trillion trillion droplets, pouring into rivers, the rivers into a mighty ocean that covered the world; the ocean, a man. Infinite in complexity, yet united in the substance of the soul.

  Tai didn't really understand what it was he was doing. It was an art, a technique, a skill taught to him so long ago that only the dreams showed him some of the teaching. Yet in his bones he understood it. He would not fail the Master, even now.

  The ocean was his soul. How, then, could anything withstand it? How could a drug, however potent, have any effect when diluted unnumbered times in the waters of his mind? It could not. And so it did not.

  Tai felt his mind clearing. Yet just by noticing that, he trembled at the edge of losing this transcendent moment. He knew he might not reach this point again; it required the desperation and, perhaps, the paradox of the drugged calmness to reach it this time.

  But the very instability was the key. Like the shaken ocean, his soul gathered into a roiling wave. He spun and gathered the force of the oceans into his movements, a fluid lunge at a wall of armored, tempered glass that could withstand explosive shells.

  But what is anything next to the power of a tsunami? What use armor plate against the relentless pressure of a glacier?

  The wall bulged outward like cheap cardboard, bulged and then shattered into a billion fragments that glittered in the laboratory lights like diamonds. In that moment, he saw the shocked faces of the scientists in the lab, and the calmness evaporated. Berserker fury took him.

  * * *

  Breathing hard, Tai slowly came back to sanity. Blood was splattered on him from head to toe; he chose not to look at what he had left behind him. In front of him was a door, and behind that door . . .

  "FATHER!"

  He hugged Seb and Tai fiercely for a moment, then pulled away. "Go. The way out is clear. Run."

  "But what about you?" Seb asked, fighting to keep from crying.

  Tai shook his head. "I have to go after Genshi, Kei, and Kay. But I won't have you staying here any longer. Go. And keep going. As far away from here as you can get, to another country if you can. Don't look back. I will find you. If it takes a year or a dozen years, I'll find you. Just make sure that you're safe."

  Seb looked torn, but then looked at little Tai and realized what his father meant. It was his time to be a protector. "Yes, Father."

  He watched until the two were out of sight. Then he loped down the corridor. Turning the corner, he backpedaled to a halt.

  Dr. Ping Xi was there, holding a black box. "Tsk. Are you forgetting something, Alpha?"

  "I AM NOT ALPHA!" Loathing and fear held him where he was. Dr. Xi was the only thing he could remember that frightened him.

  "Do you think I left everything to chance? The coded transmissions this sends out will detonate a small implant in your brain. A hideous waste, one I would rather avoid. But your children will serve well enough in the lab. You have become, as the Colonel would say, a far too expensive luxury."

  The black box seemed to pull his gaze towards it like an evil magnet. One button, and he would cease to exist. He didn't doubt Dr. Xi. Dr. Xi never bothered to lie, it wasn't in his nature.

  But was it better to live in the grip of the Project?

  That thought decided him. He would win either way. But his children . . .

  He had to succeed. He remembered his Master's movements. He had to combine his own speed with the Master's inhuman accuracy. And only one chance to get it right.

  He let his shoulders sag, as though realizing he was hopelessly trapped. Then he lunged forward, leaping across the forty feet separating them like a missile.

  He saw Xi's eyes widen, and knew in that instant that he was too late; the bastard had more than enough time to press the button.

  But he saw the finger hesitate; perhaps, in the end, it was just a little too hard for the doctor to destroy his greatest work. And then he was on Dr. Ping Xi, and his blood tasted like freedom.

  33

  I rubbed my temples, trying to take this all in. "Okay, let's see if I have this straight. You are some kind of genetic experiment? And this wanted-poster stuff about you is all lies made up by the Evil Government Conspiracy?"

  If Kafan had been a cat, his fur would have bristled; as it was, he did a pretty good imitation by glaring at me. "I don't like your tone of voice."

  "Gently, Raiakafan." Verne said sternly. "The story is not one to be accepted easily. Jason has a mind that is open . . . but not so open that he is utterly credulous."

  Kafan snorted, but turned back to me. "It's not the government, except a few key people. At least that is the impression I got. The group that . . . made . . . me is a self-contained organization. There were some references to a prior group that they belonged to, but I never really heard much. Educating me was not what they were interested in." He stood up again, as he had many times during his story, and paced a circle around the room like a caged lion. "Why do you find this so hard to believe? I haven't been here that long, but I know that genetic engineering is part of your civilization, while magic is not, but you accept Verne . . ."

  "That's why," I answered. "First, I've seen Verne and other things like him in action. I don't ignore things that I actually see. But I know a fair amount about genetic engineering, at least for a layman, and I do know that we haven't got close to the level of technology we'd need to make something like you claim to be. And other elements—this 'super martial arts' or whatever it is you say got you out of their holding cells . . ." I chuckled, then looked apologetic. " . . . sorry. But that kind of stuff comes out of video games and bad Hong Kong flicks. Accepting it as 'real' just isn't easy."

  Kafan shrugged helplessly. "I can't help what you believe. I know what I am."

  "What happened after you killed Dr. Xi?" Sylvie asked.

  Kafan's gaze dropped to the floor. He stood still for a moment, and just the slow sagging of his shoulders told us more than we really wanted to know. "I failed.

  "I found where they were keeping Gen, Kei, and Kay. And I got in. But by then the Colonel had organized a counterattack. I was separated from them . . . I had Gen, but Kay and our daughter . . ."

  Syl put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his back on her, but didn't pull away; his back shook for a moment with silent sobs. Then he turned back. "They were back in their hands."

  "And the Colonel?"

  The iron-cold expression returned. "I tracked him all the way to Greece, where he had a secondary headquarters. But he'd tricked me. Even as I killed him, he laughed at me. I'd come all the way across the continent and all the time Kay and Kei were still there, in another part of the lab complex!"

  I winced; Sylvie just looked sympathetic. "So what brought you here?"

  "In my travels across the continent . . . I started remembering other things of my past. The few things I told you, Mr. Wood. And I thought that America was the best place to begin looking, especially once I saw the news about the werewolves and realized that there was someone here who was able to deal with such things."

  "So can you prove this story of yours?" I asked.

  Kafan narrowed his eyes, then smiled—an expression that held very little humor. "I think so." He turned and looked out the door, towards the entrance hall where the stairs ran up to the second floor. "Gen? Genshi! Come in now, Gen."

  There was a scuffling noise with little scratching sounds, like a dog startled up and starting to run on a wooden floor, followed by a thump and a high-pitched grunt. Then a small head peeked around the edge of the doorway, followed by an equally small body crawling along on all fours.

  The little boy had a mane of tousled blond hair, bright green eyes . . . and a coating of h
oney-colored fur on his face. His hands were clawed, as were his feet, and canine teeth that were much too long and sharp showed when he gave us a little smile and giggle, and crawled faster towards his father. His long, fur-covered tail wagged in time to his determined crawl.

  "Genshi! Walk, don't crawl."

  Genshi pouted slightly at his father, apparently thinking that crawling was more fun, but pushed himself up onto two legs and ran over to Kafan, jumping into his arms and babbling something in what I presumed was a toddler's version of Vietnamese. Kafan replied and hugged him, then looked at us.

  Sylvie was smiling. I was just speechless. "Can I see him, Kafan?" Sylvie asked.

  Kafan frowned a moment, but relented. "All right. But be careful. He's very, very strong and those claws are sharp." He said something in a warning tone to Genshi, who blinked solemnly and nodded.

  Sylvie picked up the little furry boy, who blinked at her and then suddenly wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her. Syl broke into a delighted grin. "What a little darling you are. Now, now, don't dig those claws in . . . there's a good boy . . ." she continued in the usual limited conversation adults have with babies.

  I finally found my voice. "All right. Can't argue with the evidence there. I find it hard to believe, though, that you were the only product of their research. They couldn't have built a whole complex around you alone."

  Kafan's smile was cold as ice. "They didn't. When I went to kill him, I found that the Colonel was no more human than I am. Some kind of monster."

  "Shit." I didn't elaborate out loud, but to me it was obvious; if Kafan was telling the truth, these people were not only far ahead of anyone I'd ever heard of, but they were also crazier than anyone I'd ever heard of. Trying out experimental genetic modifications on yourself? Jesus! I thought for a moment. "But . . . something's funny about your story. If you were a lab product, what's this about Verne being your father, or your being trained by this whoever-he-was?"

  "That," said Verne, "is indeed the question. For there is no doubt, Jason, that I did, indeed, have a foster son named Raiakafan Ularion—Thornhair Fallenstar as he would be called in English—and there is no doubt in my mind that, changed though he may be, this is indeed the Raiakafan I raised from the time he was a small boy. Yet I knew Raiakafan for many years indeed; he could never have been the subject of genetic experiments. Yet here he is, and there is much evidence that these people he speaks of exist.

  "These two things, seeming impossible, tell me that vast powers are on the move, and grave matters afoot. For this reason, I must tell you of the ancient days.

  "I must speak . . . of Atla'a Alandar."

  34

  The Sh'ekatha, or Highest Speaker, gazed in bemused wonder at the tiny figure before him. Beneath the tangled mass of hair, filled with sticks and briar thorns, two serious, emerald-green eyes regarded him. Across the back was strapped a gigantic (for such a small traveller) sword, three feet long with a blade over five inches wide. A bright golden tail twitched proudly behind the boy, who was dressed raggedly in skins.

  Yet . . . yet there was something special about this boy, more so than merely his strange race. The way he stood . . . and that sword. Surely . . . surely it was workmanship of the old days.

  "Yes, boy? What do you wish?"

  The boy studied him. "You are . . . in command here?" he said in a halting, unsure fashion. The voice was rough, like a suppressed growl, but just as high-pitched as any child's.

  V'ierna smiled slightly. "I am the Sh'ekatha. I am the highest in authority that you may speak with at this time, yes."

  The boy frowned, obviously trying to decide if that met with whatever requirements he might have. Then his brow unfurrowed and he nodded. "My Master sent me here to you."

  V'ierna understood what he meant; he had been being taught by a Master of some craft, and now this Master wished the Temple to continue and expand his education. "But there is no certainty that there will be an opening here, young one. We select only a certain number of willing youngsters, and then only when there is proper room for them."

  The boy shook his head. "You have to take me. You have to teach me. That is what he said." He blinked as though remembering something. "Oh, I was supposed to show you this." He reached over his back and unsheathed the monstrous blade. Holding it with entirely too much ease for such a tiny boy, he extended the weapon to the Sh'ekatha.

  Puzzled, V'ierna studied the weapon. Old workmanship, yes, and very good. But that didn't . . .

  It was then that he saw the symbol etched at the very base of the sword: Seven Towers between two Parallel Blades.

  His head snapped up involuntarily. He scrutinized the child more carefully now. Yes . . . now that he knew what to look for . . .

  He gave the blade back. "Have you a name, young one?"

  "Master said that you would give me one."

  "Did he, now?" V'ierna contemplated the scruffy figure before him. Certainly of no race born of this world. He smiled. "Then your name is Raiakafan." He reached out and gently pulled a briar free of its tangled nest. "Raiakafan Ularion." He turned. "Follow me, Raiakafan. Your Master was correct. There is indeed a place for you."

  * * *

  "It has never been done!"

  V'ierna shook his head. "In the ancient days, there were no such distinctions made, milady. None of these separations of duty or of privilege. I am not at all sure that the comfort brought about by such clear divisions is worth the price paid in inflexibility. Be that as it may," he raised a hand to forestall the First Guardian's retort, "in this case, it will be so. The Lady Herself has so decreed it. If Raiakafan can pass the requirements, he is to be trained for the Guardianship."

  Melenae closed her mouth, arguments dying on her lips. If the Lady decreed it and the Sh'ekatha concurred, there was nothing more to be said. "As the Founder decrees, so will it be," she said woodenly, and turned to leave.

  "Melenae."

  She looked back. "Yes, Sh'ekatha?"

  "I will not tolerate any manipulation of the testing. If he is held to either a higher or lower standard than any other trainee, I will be most displeased. And so will the Lady."

  Her mouth tightened, but she nodded. "Understood."

  V'ierna watched her leave. He sighed, and began walking in the opposite direction, down the corridor that was open only to himself, the corridor that led to the Heart. How long had it been? Three thousand years? Four? Ten, perhaps? Long enough for mortal memory to fade, and fade, and cultures to change even when one who founded them tried to retain that which had been lost. Even the name of the city was, to them, little more than a name. To him, it was so much more; Atla'a Alandar; Atlantaea Alandarion it had been, "Star of Atlantaea's Memory." But he was one man. Highest Speaker, yes. Blessed in his own way, noted in ritual and in action. But even his longevity was nothing more than a faded echo of the Eternal King, and he had no Eternal Queen, save the Lady Herself.

  He emerged into the Heart. The Mirror of the Sky glinted as a wind ruffled the sacred pool's surface. V'ierna knelt by the Heartstone and closed his eyes.

  Time changes all things, V'ierna.

  I know that, Lady. As always, he felt warmed merely by the silent voice within his mind. Her limitless compassion and energy seemed to lighten the world merely by existing. But is it so necessary that I see loss as well as change? Have we not lost enough already? Atlantaea—

  —was as near perfect as a society of humanity shall ever be, V'ierna. But that very perfection was its destruction. If your people are ever to attain such heights again, they must work themselves through all the difficulties, all the perils and hatreds and disputes, that are part of growing up. You are all part of nature; I am loving, but a stern teacher as well. Even to my most favored I am not without requirements or price, as you know well.

  V'ierna knew. I understand, Lady.

  He could see her now, night-dark hair ensnaring the heavens in a warm blanket, her face the hardness of the mountains and softness of the
fields, beautiful and terrifying and comforting all at once. And Raiakafan? What is his place in this?

  She smiled. He has a higher destiny than he knows. His people are filled with violence, a race of savage killers; yet by being born here—his mother landing here, on this world, and giving birth to a child—it was permitted that I touch upon him. He is a part of me, a part of the Earth for all time. He will become my Guardian, as you are my Speaker, and Seirgei my Priest. . . .

  It will not be easy.

  The arguments of the Guardians will be overcome by his ability. Jealousy cannot be helped. Evil will come of it. But no choices worth making come easily. The Power fades, my love; those who destroyed Atlantaea bent all their power to sealing it away, and Zarathan, our sister world, now lies beyond our reach. Without something truly extraordinary, even I shall fade from the world, and then . . . her phantom face looked forlornly into the distance . . . then only a miracle will restore that which was gone. And you will have to provide that miracle.

  V'ierna's heart seemed to freeze within him. This was the first time the Lady had spoken so clearly about the possibility of her own death. I? What can I possibly do? If you go, Lady, will I, too, not pass from this world? For I am nothing but a man blessed by your powers.

  Her smile seemed to light the world again, driving away the ice in his heart by the certainty of her love and concern. V'ierna, to the one who held to me beyond death itself I have given all that I can. You are tied to this world more strongly than I, and by the Ring that symbolizes the Blood of Life, you carry my blessing. You are a part of Earth's life, and so long as this world lives, so shall you, though the quality of that life may well change. Through you, some part of me will survive though all other magic be sealed away from the world by the actions of the ones who destroyed Atlantaea. If the worst comes to pass, still will there be you, to find the path to miracle that will bring the Spirit of the Earth back and let Eonae, the Lady, be reborn.