The Valancian gave a low hiss, a sign that the hulking serpentine being would turn hostile if Roger continued to disobey. “The wizard has requested your presence…now.”
Roger sighed. Well, looks like this problem ain’t gonna go away. Might as well get it over with now—what the hell do I care? “All right, all right,” he mumbled, getting slowly to his feet. “No need to get your scales mussed up over it.”
Facing the Valancian, Roger straightened to his full height…which meant his chin was level with the huge alien’s waist. The Valancian looked down at him, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, exile? Is killing one of us not enough for you? How many of us must lie bleeding at your feet before you are satisfied?”
Roger heard the words in all their biting fury. There had been a time, mere days, mere hours ago, when he would have reacted in kind, and his taunter would quickly find himself in a world of suffering. But now he felt no anger, merely a new twist of pain. The Valancian only spoke the truth; it was a reproach that Roger had earned. He bowed his head slightly, surrendering beneath the force of the Valancian’s anger.
Roger followed the Valancian into the main hold, past more of the Blood Legion. They cast him looks ranging from disgust to open anger. The man whom Roger had struck, his cheek split with a thin line of dried blood, half-stood, but one of the others restrained him, whispering something in his ear. Roger couldn’t hear the words, but he could imagine what they were: “He’s not worth it.” Another indictment that once would have evoked instant retaliation, Roger now absorbed without flinching. Say your worst, he thought dully. I deserve it all.
He walked on, through the main hold. The door to Talan’s cabin stood ajar, and Roger pushed it open. The old man stood facing the view of the mountain through the window. It was early morning outside, the faint sunlight soft as it kissed the world below.
Talan turned as Roger entered. “Greetings, Roger Warbanks,” he said.
Roger did not look at Talan. Moving mechanically, he found a chair and sat down. Only then did he speak. “Back on Pattagax, you told me you didn’t know why the Blood Legion erased my memories. But it was a lie. It was all a lie. You knew—you knew the truth all along.”
It wasn’t an accusation, not really. There wasn’t enough emotion left in Roger for that. No anger, no grief. It was just a statement, flat and empty.
“No.” Talan’s reply was a whisper of broken sorrow. “I did not lie to you, Roger. If I had known, or even suspected, I would have told you. I would not have kept such a thing from you for even a single moment. Please believe me—I did not know.”
Roger heard the truth in the old man’s voice. The knowledge Talan had not betrayed him neither comforted nor angered him. It washed over him and receded with no effect. “Then how?”
“The Legion,” replied Talan. “After they…subdued you…they took me before their Admiralty Council. There they showed me a memory. It was your memory, Roger, but yet not yours. They pulled it from your mind at your trial, and have stored it in their records these past five years. I did not know the truth until I saw it with my own eyes. I could not have. The memory was no longer within your mind; it was no longer yours to give.”
Roger nodded dully. The word ‘trial’ echoed in his ears, sending the grim reality of the truth crashing home once again. It was my fault. My crime—my punishment. And a just punishment, too. “Why didn’t they kill me? I don’t mean back then—I mean when we first got to Espir. They stunned me and dumped me in the forest, but they could have easily killed me. Should have, even. But they didn’t. Why?”
“I cannot answer that,” replied Talan. “I hope that it is because the Legion feels that they have punished you enough. Or perhaps it was some kind of trial, to test your strength and fortitude in preparation for the events to come.” The old man paused, and the sorrow came back into his voice. “But it could be that I am wrong. Perhaps they wished merely to prolong your suffering. Perhaps this is part of their punishment to you, that you live on in torment unending. I do not know.”
Roger had no reply to that. Talan’s final words bit into his soul, and he knew in his heart that they were true.
Talan walked over and placed a hand on Roger’s arm. “I am sorry, Roger. Truly, truly sorry. If I could take back what I did, I would. I should have been more patient, instead of forcing such a terrible memory into a raw emotional wound.”
Roger shook off the old man’s grasp. “Yeah, well, what’s done is done,” he said. “Too late to take it back now.”
Talan was silent for a moment. “It is not too late,” he said quietly. “If you wish it, I can block the memory from you once again—”
“You can’t just solve a problem by pretending it never happened.” Roger’s voice was sharp but still without anger. “The fact is, it did happen, you did tell me—and no one’s gonna mess with my memory again, for any reason. You got that?”
Talan nodded. “Of course, Roger.”
“Good.” Roger settled back in his chair, his gaze drifting towards the soaring majesty of Nembane Mountain looming in the window. “Now, you called me here for a reason, so just say your piece and be done with it.”
Talan seemed taken aback, perhaps by the bluntness of Roger’s words or by the absolute indifference with which he spoke. “Certainly, Roger. I wished to speak with you because it is important that you know what is going to happen next.”
Roger barely heard Talan; the old man’s voice was like the rustling of the winds in his ears. “So talk,” he said. “And maybe I’ll listen.”
If Talan showed any reaction to this, Roger didn’t see it. But a definite pained note came into the old man’s voice. “You already know the essentials. Beneath Nembane Mountain are tunnels, and then finally a cavern. It is here that we must go. Others have already been drawn there—our enemy, the Heir, and four others whose identities I do not know and whose faces I cannot see. But those four are ultimately inconsequential. Our enemy has plans for the Heir—he will harness the latent energies of Espir for a ritual of ancient and devastating power. A ritual that he believes will disrupt the webs of prophecy and assure his victory.”
As Talan spoke, Roger wondered idly what would happen if someone ejected out of a ship that was traveling in u-space. Would they immediately fall back into realspace, or would they stay in u-space, continuing on for eternity, out beyond the farthest stars? He was sure that the scientists had an answer for that question. It was something he had never considered before, but right now it seemed a tempting proposition. The idea of just disconnecting from everything, and drifting onwards…forever…
“Roger, are you listening?” Talan raised his voice ever so slightly. “This is important.”
With an effort, Roger dragged his attention back to the old man. “Yeah, sure, I heard you. We go in, break up the ritual, and send this enemy back to the fires of Muntûrek. Terrific plan.”
Talan sighed, and his head drooped. “Ah, were that it were so simple. Were that we could simply end this all, right now, and prevent the war that will soon sweep through the galaxy and kill billions. Alas, it is not. If I could do that—if I could kill our enemy on Espir—I would do it in a heartbeat…but I cannot. The ritual cannot be stopped; the enemy cannot be killed.”
He sounded so sad, so tired, that for a moment a tattered remnant of empathy stirred within Roger, struggling to emerge. But its effort fell short; the malaise in Roger’s soul was too thick, too vast. “Then why bother?” he asked. “Seems like a waste of time.”
Talan looked up at Roger. “Because we must,” he said, his voice still soft but suddenly burning with fierce intensity. “Because nothing is a waste of time. The reasons are not always clear at first—sometimes they never become clear—but everything that everyone does is important. Especially for those few who have been chosen to shape the course of galaxies. Me. The Heir. But most importantly, you. You must be there for this confrontation; it is your presence that is essential.”
Rog
er was not surprised in the slightest. All I ever wanted was to make my own path, but it looks like my lot in life is to be the scapegoat in everyone’s cosmic game. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “And why exactly is that?”
Talan paused, then said, “Unfortunately, I’m not sure.”
Even better. “Even better.”
The tiniest hint of a smile turned at the old man’s lips. “I wish I could tell you more, Roger, but unfortunately prophecies are by nature vague. This particular prophecy is thus: ‘At the heart of G’Char, the Scions will meet. And from that moment, one will begin to lose himself, and the other will begin to find himself.’ It says nothing about how…but it is clear that it refers to the approaching confrontation.”
“Obviously,” said Roger. It wasn’t, at least not to him, but he wasn’t interested in prizing out all the details. “Are we done here?”
Talan looked pained. “I don’t think you understand the importance of what will happen on Espir—”
“Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. I just don’t care.” Roger stood, facing the old man. “It’s that simple—I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it is that I’m supposed to do, because I’m already here and it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to leave. But don’t ask me to care.” Roger felt his voice growing heated, but there was still no emotion behind it. No anger, no bitterness—he was simply stating facts. “This is your mission—it ain’t mine. I don’t have one anymore. Since we met, I’ve asked some questions you didn’t want to answer, made you explain things that you wanted to just leave as they were. I bet you wanted a servant who didn’t question you, who simply played by your rules and did as he was told. Well, guess what—you got your wish. Congratulations.”
Roger’s outburst seemed to stun Talan. For several seconds, the two men neither moved nor spoke. Finally, despair and sadness settled across the old wizard’s weathered face. “I never wanted a servant, Roger,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Once again, Roger knew that the old man spoke the truth. But once again it didn’t matter. Nothing does, anymore. “Maybe not. But now you’ve got one. And you’d better be sure you’re ready to use him.”
Roger didn’t wait for Talan to respond. With those words still hanging in the air, he turned and walked away.
* * * *
A short time later, one of the Blood Legion warriors, a stocky, female Florca, appeared and commanded Roger to follow her. So he followed, barely watching where he was going, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. Talan led them out of the ship, moving quickly and confidently. They soon came to a grove in which nothing grew, and the grass beneath their feet was replaced with shards of white stone. At the far end of the grove was a mouth in the mountain, a gaping hole from which sighed an aura of stale air. Talan walked up to the tunnel opening, but he did not go in. Instead, he gestured, and three of the Blood Legion warriors entered first. Talan followed them into the tunnel. Roger remained motionless, until he felt a sharp prod in the small of his back, and a rough voice growled, “Inside.” Without a word, Roger complied, continuing on into the dark corridor without hesitation, without fear. In, out—who cares? If they want to go inside, I’ll go inside. The final three red-garbed warriors followed after Roger, so that the Legion formed a sort of honor guard around Roger and Talan.
As they walked, Roger gradually became aware of a dull pain in his hand. He glanced down at the ring of black stone fused to his third finger. At that sight, the memories came flooding back—the strange alien Fa’ix, the chance meeting that Roger knew now had been anything but accidental, the meeting which had set him on the path that had eventually led him here. The path that had eventually led him to the truth that he now wished he had never found. A few weeks ago, I had too few memories, and now I find that I have far too many. Roger heard again the alien’s soft, wearied voice: “To that end, I have something for you. Something to…illuminate the way.” He felt a sour taste in his mouth and a rush of bitterness came over him. Well, she got that part right. Without the ring, I never meet Talan, I never come to Espir, I never learn that the truth I’ve spent five years looking for is not a blessing, but a curse. A terrible curse. “Illuminate the way”—oh yes. The way straight to hell.
That last thought, Roger decided, was fitting. His mind and soul now dwelt in a symbolic underworld, while every step he took carried him further towards a physical one. Down, down, down, into the very bones of the world. And what monster awaits us at the bottom? For there must be one; even if Talan had not said so, I would know. It is the universal truth, the inescapable reality of all life. I know it; I have seen it.
And now, I am living it.
My memories, which were once dark with emptiness, are now dark with the truth. And in all dark places, there are monsters.
-21-
As they moved further towards into the heart of Nembane Mountain, Drogni could feel the peak’s power pressing down upon him, a tangible force emanating from the cold stone. It reminded Drogni of being on a high-gravity planet, where every movement was slightly more taxing than it ought to be—ironic, given that Espir’s gravity was less than Tellaria’s. For now, the effect was negligible, but Drogni suspected that it would continue to intensify as they drew nearer to their destination. Which’ll make killing that bastard tougher—but not impossible. By the gods, not impossible.
Beside him, Makree was silent, his eyes focused on the tunnel ahead of them. He kept varying his pace, accelerating for several seconds and then abruptly slowing down. It was irritating and distracting, but Drogni didn’t say anything. He reminded himself that Makree was convinced that he was walking towards his death. Seems like he can’t decide between rushing towards it and running away from it. Drogni had known a soldier once who had—jokingly—asked a fortune-teller on what day he would die. The seer had given him an answer, and as that day drew nearer the soldier—a sworn skeptic of all the mystic arts—had begun to wonder if the foretelling might actually be true. He had become more and more nervous and distraught. Four days before the day the fortune-teller had predicted, the soldier had died in an explosion because he had, in his anxiety, misread his instruments and flown his fighter through a stealth mine. Several years before this, the fortune-teller had been proven a hoax, but the soldier had convinced himself that the prophecy was still true. Fear of death can make a person do crazy things. If I had a chance to find out the day I would die, I’d refuse. No one should know too much about his own destiny.
They walked without speaking for over an hour. Occasionally, the tunnel forked, branching off into two or three identical-looking paths. Each time that happened, Makree immediately chose a route and headed down it without hesitation or comment. He seemed very sure of himself, and Drogni never stopped to question him. Instead, he merely took care to mark their path with a pulseknife, carving arrows in the stone at each fork. For Forgera, assuming he makes it this far. Assuming he picks the same entrance as us. Assuming way too many things.
They had just passed one of the forks when Makree suddenly froze and raised his hand in warning. Slowly, his head swiveled, taking in the ceiling, the walls, the floor. His other hand drifted towards his pistol.
Across Drogni’s back, Ss’aijas K’sejjas began to shake. A faint buzz rippled out from the Mari’eth blade. Slowly, Drogni reached back, grasping the hilt…
The air around them exploded into motion.
Claws of shadow sprang from the stone walls, cruel talons ripping towards the Tellarians. Drogni ducked instinctively, rolling forward, and as he came to his feet he unsheathed Ss’aijas K’sejjas in a single dazzling streak. Up went the blade, then down, slashing through the ghostly arms. He carved his way towards Makree, whose par-gun was having no effect on the apparitions. With each swing of the Mari’eth sword, he severed another of the shadowy limbs, until suddenly they retreated, disappearing back into the walls without a trace.
Drogni reached Makree and extended a hand to help him to his feet. “You oka
y?”
Makree’s eyes were wide, staring past Drogni. “Not…over…” he gasped. “More…”
As he spoke, a low rumbling suddenly filled the air, and the ground began to shake. Cracks appeared in the ceiling, and rivulets of pulverized stone rained down around them. Drogni swiveled, blade held to attack, but his night-vision enhanced sight could detect nothing. Just blackness, as far as the eye could—
And his eyes widened as he realized the truth. Not nothing…everything…
The enemy was all around him, it filled the very air itself—an insidious cloud of tangible oblivion, formless yet terrifying. Unlike before, no limbs of shadow reached out to ensnare them—there was nothing about it that remotely suggested a definite form. It was simply everywhere, as if someone had taken a black dye to the air. It filled every crevasse, every crack, wall to wall, floor to ceiling.
For a moment, the formless shadow was still, then it suddenly erupted. It swept towards Drogni, an implacable wall of darkness, and he braced himself for impact—
A ripple of power swept through Drogni’s arms as the darkness collided with the blazing brightness of Ss’aijas K’sejjas. Drogni tried to swing the blade, to slash through the shadows as he had done moments earlier, but he found himself immobile. The light from the sword flickered, and for a moment it seemed as though the shadow had won, but then the weapon blazed anew. Abruptly, the darkness dissipated, retreating before this brilliant beacon of power. Drogni suddenly felt the full weight of the Mari’eth sword in his arms, as whatever force had been holding him imprisoned vanished. For several moments, he remained standing, holding the sword aloft in case a third attack was forthcoming. Finally, he felt Makree’s hand on his shoulder and heard the Sergeant Major say, “It’s over, Admiral. It’s over.”
Drogni relaxed--and nearly collapsed as sudden exhaustion swept over him. “Is it gone for good?”
Chains of Mist Page 31