“Is any of this making sense to you?” I asked Balidor.
“Only the reference to the Four,” he said.
“He is talking about the Four, right? The seer Four Horsemen myth?” I said.
“That was what I was going to explain later—” Balidor began.
“The Three come down to be with the Bridge and then there are Four,” Feigran recited beside me, his voice reverting to the schoolboy. “They are family, and the Bridge rules them all. The Light comes from her and the Displacement will follow… and they will all help her here. They will help bring them to the Light. They will help.”
He looked at me seriously, emphasizing the last.
“Is there any possible way there’s something to this, ‘Dori?” I muttered into the transmitter, watching the owl-eyed seer as he stared at the surface of the table, tracing patterns on the surface with his fingers. “Could he really be one of the Four? An intermediary?”
I couldn’t help but be unnerved at what he’d said.
It wasn’t only the words he’d spoken, I realized a second later.
Something about it rang of truth.
Balidor sighed, clearly hearing me. “I agree,” he said, his voice reluctant. “There is something to this. I do not know that he is an intermediary, but those of us looking at his light are seeing… inconsistencies. Beyond what has been done to him. Not quite like you and your mate, but not quite Sark, either.” Balidor paused. “It would definitely explain why Dehgoies wants him, if he is Elaerian. If Syrimne somehow got information about Feigran’s race, he’d definitely have an interest in acquiring for himself.” He paused, as if thinking about this. “In which case, you were probably right to not let me shoot him.”
I smiled, clicking ruefully. “Please tell me you aren’t seeing telekinetic structures on him,” I said. “Because a telekinetic Terian we should definitely shoot.”
Balidor let out a half-chuckle. “No, nothing like that. But from what little we know of Elaerian biology, not all of them were telekinetic, Esteemed Bridge.” He paused. “We could still shoot him, of course. Especially if you’d like to keep him from your mate.”
I grunted. “Revik might just shoot him himself,” I reminded him, watching Feigran. “If what Wreg said was true, Revik might not have any interest in Feigran beyond that.”
But I didn’t really believe that, either, I realized.
Revik’s interest was too pointed, too specific. Too obsessive, really.
Anyway, he might not have told Wreg the truth about why he wanted him. Knowing Revik, he’d want to verify what Feigran was personally before he talked to anyone else.
“I agree,” Balidor said, clearly answering my thoughts, not my words. His voice grew warning. “Syrimne was very religious back in the day, Alyson. Perhaps more religious than you realize. He believed very much in the old prophecies, and had very particular ideas about which constituted valid interpretations of those prophecies. I remember this clearly, for his messages often came encoded in pieces of scripture. From their wording, he was extraordinarily well-versed in the various commentaries. He spoke often about the coming Displacement, and the fact that he was waiting for his family to join him.”
He cleared his throat.
“Especially you, Esteemed Bridge.”
I blinked. “Me? Even back then?”
“Of course. In the stories, the Sword is the right hand of the Bridge. He is her closest lieutenant. He fights for her. Leads her armies.”
I didn’t answer. Even so, I frowned, thinking about what that Indian seer said to me at the bottom of that garage.
Balidor answered my thoughts again.
“That would make sense,” he said. “He would, of course, be indoctrinating his followers with the same version of the Myth he believes.” He added, a touch darker, “It would also provide a very convincing rationale for kidnapping you, Alyson… to ‘help’ you awaken.”
I pressed my lips together, looking back at Feigran.
“So you think Revik was just blowing smoke?” I said. “All that b.s. about being my commander? About handing over operations once I’m ‘awakened’? You think he’d just want me there as some kind of religious figurehead?”
“No.” Balidor sounded surprised. “I think he absolutely believes it, Alyson. I think he’d try to turn you, and once he had, he would hand over operations to you in full, and pledge his fealty to you. Likely on bended knee.”
Feeling my disbelief, Balidor hesitated, then added,
“I was never implying he didn’t believe these things, Allie. Truthfully, I quite strongly suspect he does believe them. I think he is very devoted to those beliefs.”
He paused again, his voice still sounding puzzled.
“Alyson, are you aware just how much is written about this relationship between the Bridge and Sword? There are whole books about this, and not only in the commentaries your husband reads. In them, the Sword is depicted as your right hand. Your lieutenant… and, in most of the commentaries, he is specifically called the Bridge’s mate. From the earliest histories, Syrimne and the Bridge are almost always described as mates. There is a reason why Dehgoies is so convinced the two of you cannot be separated.”
As his words sank in, my throat closed, until I could barely breathe. Staring at the broken seer in front of me, I felt a thick wave of grief try to overcome me.
Without warning, the emotion twisted into anger.
“So… what?” I said, my voice thick. “Is Revik right then? Am I really just screwed, no matter what I try to do with him? No pun intended, of course.” I felt my jaw harden. “I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad then, for taking off with him that night in Delhi. Or for distracting the whole Adhipan with my marital b.s. while Revik’s people were planting bombs all over the hotel lobby to murder a few hundred people.”
“Alyson…” Balidor sounded at a loss. “No one blames you, my friend. No one.”
My vision blurred as I stared down at my hands. I shook my head.
I thought about what he’d said to me on that garage ramp.
He’d said I’d never be rid of him, no matter what I did.
Maybe he was more right than I knew.
“Allie!” Balidor’s voice rose, his voice reflecting alarm. “Alyson… my friend. Please do not take words of scripture as some kind of imperative, or a blueprint by which you must live your life. You are not trapped with him. There is always free will!”
Taking a breath, he went on at my silence.
“Even for those of us who believe in who you are, in who he is… we honor that free will, above all else. We also understand things can be thwarted down here, whatever their original intent. Gaos di’lalente. No one is telling you to become slave to a psychopath because some ten-thousand-year-old book says you must! Those who walk away from the Light do so at their own peril. We cannot be expected to follow them… no matter who they are.”
There was a silence.
In it, I realized he must have given that speech in front of however-many infiltrators were with him in the observation room.
I forced out a long exhale, closing my eyes.
For another few seconds, I let my emotions dissipate.
Inhaling, I nodded. “Thanks,” I said. “And I’m sorry.”
“Do not be sorry,” Balidor said, sounding relieved. “You misunderstand me, though, Allie. I was saying that Syrimne believes this. Which means Dehgoies likely does now, too. We must expect him to go to extreme lengths to make this prophecy manifest the way he believes it should. It was a tactical point I was making only.”
I nodded, fighting to make my thoughts more strategic again.
“Okay, that makes sense.”
There was a silence. In it, I found myself thinking Balidor was talking to someone else. That was confirmed when he spoke up next.
“Vash says he will look more at Feigran’s light… he and Tarsi,” Balidor added. “He’s saying he also thinks Feigran is likely telling the truth about who
and what he is.”
“Did he say why?”
Balidor smiled through the transmitter. “Does he ever?”
I smiled back, feeling myself relax more. “I’m sorry, ‘Dori.”
“No apology is necessary, Alyson.”
Sighing, I looked back at our captive, clicking out of sub-vocals.
“Can you tell me anything useful at all?” I asked him.
For a long moment, the man with the amber eyes only stared at the table, tracing those same, disjointed patterns with his fingers. It struck me that the movements reminded me of my own hand––or Revik’s––when one of us sketched out a drawing or diagram.
I couldn’t get any sense of what Feigran’s fingers outlined, however.
I was about to give up, to let Dorje or one of the other seers have a go, when Feigran met my gaze.
“I know what he wants,” he said.
I stiffened. “Revik? What does he want, Feigran?”
“He is trying to force them to awaken, Alyson!”
“Who?” I said. “Who is he trying to awaken? Humans?”
“Do you not see? The Sword paves the way. Death is the one who clears the path. He helps. He helps her. Do you see? He helps the Bridge.”
“Helps me how, Terry?”
“He awakens you, too.”
Leveling my gaze at him, I folded my arms, sighing. “I don’t really need Revik’s help with that, Terry. I doubt his definition of ‘awake’ is the same as mine right now, anyway.”
Feigran smiled. I didn’t like the smile very much. It reminded me of the Terian who held me captive in D.C. I recognized the odd confidence living in those amber eyes, the thread of abandon that unnerved me, that made his moods and actions impossible to predict.
He leaned over the table, motioning me towards him.
Once I was closer, he spoke in a lulling murmur.
“Your cunt feels like velvet,” he said, soft.
I almost punched him in the face.
Instead, I withdrew, feeling like my expression turn to stone. Memories of what he’d done to me in D.C. flashed to the forward part of my mind. It had been easy to forget, looking at this child-like man. Now, I found myself remembering all of it, every last detail.
For an instant, I focused on him with the entirety of my being.
“Do you want me to kill you, Terry?” I said, equally soft. “Trust me when I tell you––no one here would bat an eye.”
His smile widened.
He nodded towards me, gesturing with his hands, smiling again.
“See?” he said, bobbing his head. He pointed to the nonexistent symbol he’d drawn on the metal table with his fingers, then at the collar around my neck. “That woke you up, didn’t it, Bridge? You paying attention now? Not thinking about sad things, about what happened before, but here. Right now. Here.”
“I’ve been paying attention,” I began, angry. “If you want to waste my time––”
But he shook his head, clicking.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no, no. You lost it, little bird. You lost it. Almost had it…” He made a “poof” gesture with his fingers. “Gone. All gone. Programmed response. Not awake.”
I felt my jaw harden as I leaned back, re-folding my arms.
It bothered me more that I almost glimpsed what he meant.
“Why does Revik need me awake?” I said. “Is it to lead his Rebellion?”
He said something in what sounded like Mandarin.
Unfortunately, I don’t speak Mandarin.
“Terry!” I slammed my hand down on the table.
He jumped, looking up at me in some surprise. I saw recognition in the yellow eyes, confused, but irrefutable. Then, just as abruptly, the confusion seemed to lift.
“Alyson, my dear!” he said, smiling. “It is so very good to see you! How is the husband? You two sort out all of your little domestic difficulties?”
He sounded so much like his old self, I just stared at him.
I closed my mouth with a snap.
“Terry,” I said, trying to hold onto this persona, which seemed capable of linear speech at least. “Terry, what does Revik want from you? Do you know? He was looking for you.”
“Revi’?” Terian’s eyes grew puzzled. “Isn’t he with you?”
“No,” I said. “You saw him after he changed. Do you remember? In the White House. Downstairs. You saw him there.”
“Yes!” Terian chuckled. “Of course I remember! He shot me.”
“He shot you?” I exhaled. Of course he had. “Did you talk first?”
“Well, yes… he was quite angry I’d fucked you, Alyson. He had some very stern words for me on that count, let me tell you––”
I cut him off.
“What else?” I said. “Did you talk about anything else?”
My frustration grew when his expression phased again, blurring back into the myriad that lived behind those owl-like eyes. I slammed my hand on the table, and the seer flinched.
His eyes clicked back into focus.
“Your pain is delicious, my dear.” He smiled, winking at me. “I can feel it through this collar. It’s making me quite hard.”
“Focus, Terry,” I said. “Why would Revik want you? Can you think of a reason? Does he need you for something?”
“Why wouldn’t he want me?” the seer smiled.
“Does it have something to do with the Rooks? With his plans down here? Did he say anything to you about bringing the Pyramid back?”
“He was a little angry that I had carnal relations with you, dear heart.”
I bit back irritation, exhaling in a sharp breath.
“Is it because you’re one of the Four?” I said. “Is it something to do with Syrimne’s religious kick? Is that why he wants you?”
His eyes phased out once more as the different personalities behind them thought about my question. Seeing the collectivity begin to drift, I slammed the table again with my palm, causing him to jerk in his seat.
That time, I got the twitchy, owl-like Feigran.
“I am one of the Four,” he said solemnly, his face that of the schoolboy, serious and a little prim. “I am one, Alyson. We are family. You, me, Revi’. We are Bridge, Rook, Sword.” He sniffed, as though offended. “I am your brother. You know me, Bridge.”
I bit my lip, searching for an inroad there.
Leaning back, I gestured with one hand, acknowledging his words.
“Okay. You’re right, Terry. I do know you. But that’s only three,” I said. “Who is the fourth? Was it Galaith?”
He shook his head, curling his lip in disgust.
“No!” he said. “No, no. The Shield is something else! Intermediary, yes… not one of the Four. No. He interfered. He interfered because of the Sword. He came too early. Too early. Needed to wait for the Bridge. Needed to wait for her. All wrong otherwise. Broken. Too much broken without her here, watching over things…”
I frowned, trying to follow all this. “So Galaith was an intermediary?”
“Of course he was! How many humans can do that? Why would seers follow a worm, if he was not one of the holy ones?”
“But he’s not one of the Four?”
“There are more intermediary than four, Bridge Alyson! Many, many more than four. You should know this! How is it you have forgotten so much?”
I remembered the mural of the intermediary beings Tarsi showed me, the same one I saw in the caves of the Pamir. Remembering the depictions there, I found myself nodding.
“Okay. So who is the fourth, Terry?” I said.
“It is War.” He nodded sagely, his mouth pursed in seriousness. “War is the fourth.”
“Tell me about him.”
“It is her. Her. Like the Bridge. Two and two.” He gave me that not-very-nice smile. “War is War. She is a bitch. A real bitch. No one likes her. Beaten. Kicked. Angry War. Always angry. Always wants more.” He frowned, as if thinking, or maybe listening. Shaking his head, he clicked at me warningly.
“Be careful, Bridge Alyson. Be very, very careful. There is blood there, on the bed. It is not only yours. Not only… but there is a lot.”
Frowning, I shook that off, trying to think.
“War.” I nodded, pursing my lips. “Bridge, Sword, Rook, War. War is the only one that’s the same as the human version, then?” I looked at him again. “Tarsi said the human version was overly dark in interpretation, even in language. So this War must not be the same as the human War. Some equivalent, maybe—”
“No.” Feigran shook his head, clicking softly. “Not an equivalency, Bridge Alyson. It is War. Definitely War. She will find us, when it is time. Or she will be found. Either way, she is last. She is always the last. Always late. Her flame rises the brightest, for it is the last. So easy to warp and snuff out. So easy to turn to black smoke.”
He leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial.
“She really hates you,” he confided. “Jealous, you know. She thinks she should be in charge. Hates your guts. He’ll break her, too. You’ll see.”
“Who’ll break her, Terry? Revik? Is that who breaks War?”
Terian shook his head, clicking bemusedly.
I stared at him, lost in the profusion behind his eyes.
“Yes.” He nodded solemnly, as if thinking. “I suppose it starts with him. Death starts. The Bridge bridges. Rook guides the way. War comes to finish. War comes last, and if you’re not ready…”
He drew a line across his throat, making a face.
“Problems,” he told me seriously, tapping the table with one, narrow finger. “No margin for error.” He shook his head. “Prone to excess. Must be watched.”
I turned, looking at the one-way glass, touching my earpiece.
“Any pearls of wisdom you’d like to add here, ‘Dor?” I said. “Vash?”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Great,” I muttered, facing the fidgeting Feigran. “Two crazy brothers and a sister who hates my guts. Just what I always wanted.”
I forgot to turn the earpiece off before I said it.
When I heard Balidor and the other seers chuckling through the headset, I frowned, watching Terian’s fingers as he went back tracing elusive patterns on the top of the metal table.
As I did, the same thought kept repeating in my head.
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