by E. J. Godwin
♦
The steely, wind-chopped waters of Tnesen stretched from horizon to horizon under the westering sun. A snow-swept wagon road ran along the shore, and they turned left, east toward the tiny village of Gebi.
It was one of several along the lake, consisting of only a few dozen buildings owned by shepherds and fishermen, and the few folk who served them. The land was plentiful, and the teeming waters added to this bounty, yet Gebi’s people were the only ones living north of Tnesen. Illvent meant nothing to them. Practical to the point of stubbornness, they had been minding their own business for generations, far removed from Ada’s daily concerns or any threat from the Hodyn.
Now, as the riders approached and evening colored the sky, the village looked empty and forsaken. A hint of neglect tainted the well-built houses and barns, like an old restored ghost town Caleb had once seen as a child. Soren halted some distance from its western end, and the others gathered around, their horses breathing plumes of mist.
“Where is everybody?” asked Caleb. “Indoors?”
Soren jumped to the ground. “I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps we should scout ahead.”
“Perhaps I should.”
Caleb patted the laser at his hip. “They won’t get the best of me. Not this time!”
“Yes, unless they get you first—then they’ll get the best of all of us. The Hodyn are excellent at ambush, which you seem to have forgotten already. You can’t shoot what you can’t see.”
“All right. But if you’re not back soon, I’m coming after you.”
Soren grunted. “I feel so much better,” he said, then headed for the village. He broke away right toward the back corner of a nearby barn, while the others dismounted and led the horses behind a large thicket to the left.
Caleb peered between the branches. Only one or two lone sets of tracks, nearly obliterated, trailed down the street in the virgin snow. Nor were there any open doors or abandoned items, nothing to indicate that anyone had left in haste or by force. After a few minutes Soren appeared, waving at his companions from the middle of the street.
They trudged over the shallow drifts to meet him on the snow-covered porch of a mercantile store. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” he said. “There are signs of what looks like a scouting party, but otherwise no one’s been here since before the storm. Tenlar or some other Raéni escort must have evacuated these people to safer country south of Tnesen.” He peeked through the frosted windows, shading his eyes. “Perfect. We can find both food and shelter here.”
“The Supreme Raén of Ada resorts to burglary?”
Soren’s nostrils flared. “Always ready with a criticism, never a solution! I’ll leave a signed note promising ample compensation. Then tomorrow we can be on our way again—though I wish we had dog teams instead of horses.”
The door was locked, so they had to force their way inside, splintering the jamb. Soren scowled at the damage, and at Caleb to squelch any further comment. They needed food. And food there was, plenty of it, as well as a big iron stove in the corner. Telai helped Soren stable the horses, while Caleb and Warren carried in a ready supply of firewood to light the stove and cook a large, hot meal. It was a more comforting and homier place than the ship by all means, and helped dilute a few evil memories. Even Warren seemed more at ease.
After the meal they gathered some chairs near the stove for a discussion. To Caleb, the prospect of an invasion sounded so unlikely, despite what Herwan had said.
“No, I believe it,” Soren countered. “This abandoned town, for one thing. And the Hodyn could never reach your ship without some kind of diversion. Tenlar’s forces must have gone north to Eastgate to stop them from getting very far. In any case, the attack was doomed from the start. Both Hené in Ekendoré and Boroné in Léiff would send out their own forces to block off any chance of escape.”
Soren leaned forward and rubbed his leathery palms together. “It’s probably well over by now. We might even see Tenlar passing this way—he’ll want to check on the villages along the lake.” He shook his head. “By Hendra! I wish I’d been there. At least I’ll be able to help plan our response to this affront.”
Caleb’s mouth fell open. “Response? After what—” he began, but a warning look from Telai reminded him to keep secret the matter of the old letter she had found. “Everyone has a right to protect their people, Soren,” he said, changing tactics. “Yes, yes, I know—the Hodyn took it way too far. I was there, remember? Now they’ve paid dearly for it. Let it be.”
Soren stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “You are under my command, Raén. Keep your place!”
Caleb spread his hands to either side. “I’m not disrespecting your authority. I’m just asking you to think it over first.”
“Yes, that’s your usual approach, isn’t it? Think it over. Until it’s too late to act, and the opportunity is—”
“No!” Warren cried out.
The old man slowly turned. “What?”
“My father’s right. You shouldn’t take revenge on these people.”
Soren’s icy glare shrank the boy into his chair. “A child! A child who thinks he can dictate matters of warfare. To a Master Raén, no less!”
Warren gripped the front of his chair and bowed his head. “It wasn’t a request.”
“That’s enough!” Caleb snapped.
Soren rose, towering over the boy. “I will ask this one last time: hand over the Lor’yentré—now!”
Warren jumped to his feet, eyes blazing. “Don’t you realize who you’re talking to? I can send you right back where you came from, old man!”
“Warren!” Telai yelled as Caleb’s stomach went cold. “Sit down!”
The boy turned pale as chalk. He lowered himself to his chair, trembling.
“I don’t ever want to hear such words come out of your mouth again!” she cried. “The Lor’yentré will deceive you. Remember that!”
“It’s not the Lor’yentré. It’s—it’s something else!”
Her anger mellowed to a stern yet thoughtful expression, brow furrowing. “Warren, when I first met you, and touched you, I felt a little of what you suffered from back then.” She leaned forward, extending her hands. “Maybe I can help you now—help you try to understand what’s happening.”
The boy shook his head. “No!”
“Warren,” she said softly, “you can’t fight this on your own. You must let us help you.”
He drew away. “I can’t. Not yet. Give me time to sleep on it, that’s it. I don’t want to be touched by anyone!”
“Nonsense!” snapped the Master Raén, but Telai raised her palm to stop him. A slow, decisive calm entered the old man’s face, and he resumed his seat.
“All right, Warren,” she said, withdrawing her hands. “You’re tired. We all are. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
They all laid out their blankets. Caleb took a long time at it, desperate for even the simplest distraction to keep from losing his mind. Though Telai offered no word or gesture of comfort, he knew she felt just as helpless, consumed by her fears. His son lay with his back turned, while Soren kept quiet, impassive and pragmatic as usual. Yet just as the Master Raén reached over to extinguish the lamp, Caleb noticed the glint of steel under his blankets.
♦
In the last hours before dawn, Warren lay awake beneath the window at the front of the store. It was colder there, but he couldn’t bear lying near the others, listening as his father tossed in his blankets all night.
Silence reigned. Warren’s throat tightened in a surge of bitterness: his father had fallen asleep. Even that faint hope of comfort was taken away, and he was alone.
Out beyond the porch awning, the stars blazed unchallenged in a moonless sky. Lingering tears flared each one into tiny rays of light. Warren squinted to amplify the effect, a trick he learned while camping with his mother. Earth’s sun lay far beyond the power of the naked eye, and th
ere was no use trying anyway. The world he knew no longer existed, separated by an abyss of time too vast for even the Lor’yentré to cross.
His hand drifted to the ivory carving of the whale where it lay against his skin under his shirt. Though it was a gift from Telai, it always triggered memories of the Holodome in Churchill where his mother taught him the hunting ways of her ancestors. He could still feel the spear in his hand, still see her proud smile. He remembered when she told him it was all a lie. No holograph could ever reproduce the harsh existence of those ancient days, where every breath of life, from the youngest to the oldest, depended on a hunter’s strength and skill. The tundra, the rhythms of the ice-bound sea, the arctic fox and the caribou and the bowhead whale—gone forever, long before she was born. But even an artificial world was vastly preferable to a real one without her.
Warren curled up in his blankets, tears now of anger spilling. Every awkward attempt at reconciliation his father made, every kind word or gesture only reminded him of what he had lost. Would that she were here now! She would love this world, where people still lived at the mercy of nature and respected it, where strength and bravery still counted for something.
You can fix all that now. You’ve got the Lor’yentré!
He felt strange when he talked to himself, silently in his mind. But who else was there to talk to now?
I can’t fix something like that. Even if I repaired the rest of the ship somehow and learned how to fly it, the Earth I remember doesn’t exist anymore.
I’m not talking about your ship, boy!
Warren stiffened. He never answered himself like that.
He glanced at the others, but no one had stirred. “Who’s there?” he whispered aloud. His heart hammered. He sat up with his blankets wrapped close, chilled to the bone, almost expecting a cold, sinister hand to reach out and seize him from behind.
The voice spoke again, coming from nowhere, everywhere. I can help you, little one. You have no idea what you can accomplish, what kind of power is at your fingertips.
Warren clamped his head in his hands. Get away! he demanded in what he thought was a shout, but the silence remained unbroken.
I am no newcomer, child. It all changed back there on that lonely island.
His fear withdrew a little, opening a gap for his curiosity. You healed me?
The voice seemed to laugh, but there was no sound, real or imagined. No, not me. You can thank dear old father for that.
Warren hesitated. My dad healed me? How?
Not yours, fool. Mine! What idiots you all are!
Rennor? He was your father? He had that kind of power?
Of course. You think he didn’t own a Lor’yentré of his own? Or did you expect him to wave it in the air where everyone could see it? Why do you think he waited until Graxmoar to heal you, where no one would suspect him?
Warren shook his head quickly. No, no! It can’t be. Why did he do that? Who are you?
You already know who I am, don’t you? Yes, such a clever lad. But you don’t realize yet what the Lor’yentré can do. I can teach you—teach you how to undo all the mistakes your blundering father made. And anything else you want—anything!
A spark of hope flared beneath his terror. But his mother had been dead for years and years, hundreds of light years away.
It doesn’t matter. You can get her back.
He paused, his heart and mind in bitter conflict. No, no, it’s been too long! She doesn’t even have a body anymore. Not like Soren.
Neither do I, little one. I’ve waited over a thousand years for this. Now I live! She can, too.
You mean—
—It was the one good thing my father did for me. Another body! Don’t you see? You’ve already done it. You brought that old man back to life!
But that was his own body, he—
—It doesn’t matter. As long as it’s healthy. You can return her to life, right here, without ever leaving Ada.
Here? Now?
Whenever you want. Then, once you’re finished with the Lor’yentré, I can be on my way with someone else, with a body of my own, and never bother you again. You’ll get your mother back, and be free!
The horrible prospect lay before him. This creature had inflicted so much evil on Ada’s ancestors! He knew he shouldn’t trust her. But he couldn’t help it. He was so far from home, so far from …
The voice no longer spoke. He could sense it waiting … waiting …
The battle ended. Desperation flared into a storm of defiance. Every doubt, every sense of right and wrong died beneath the overwhelming need to be loved.
He screamed—a real scream, a burst of wild terror from deep in his mind.
Warren, NO!
For one agonizing moment he saw the trap. It was too late.
♦
Soren shot bolt upright, wide awake in an instant. He leaped aside from unseen dangers, Fetra in hand. But his quick reflexes betrayed him, and he crashed into a tall set of shelves. The structure collapsed, crocks and packages tumbling down on his back.
Telai and Caleb sat gaping while he cursed and struggled to free himself. But they were not astounded by his clumsiness. The sight of Warren’s transformation had robbed all movement from their limbs.
He knelt trembling on the floor, touching himself here and there as if to make sure he was alive. One hand was wrapped in a net a of poisonous blue-green light, spreading outward until it shrouded his entire body. Soren leaped in front of the others, weapon at the ready.
Warren laughed—a laugh more like from the grave instead of a child. “Finally,” he said, in a voice so laced with venom that Caleb knew with grim certainty that it couldn’t have come from his son. The boy stood and raised his fists toward the rafters, shouting his triumph, the Lor’yentré blazing in his grasp.
Caleb sat washed in its lurid glare, powerless to move or even breathe. His mind could not accept the agony his eyes inflicted on him.
Telai shouted in a voice raw and primal in its intensity. “Warren!”
“Your Warren is no more,” the child said, lowering his arms. “By great Osaxin, how long has it been? I still remember that puny little Grondolos and his puny little weapon. Intolerable that he lived a full life, and paid so little for his crime. But his heirs, the descendants of his people—that’s something else altogether!”
Soren took a step closer, gripping his saber. “Whatever evil spirit you are, you have no right. That is Warren’s body, not yours!”
The child slumped his shoulders, as if wearied by the man’s ignorance. “As usual, your wits aren’t up to the challenge. Haven’t you guessed my identity by now? And what would you do? Stab me? Cut my throat, as poor Urman did to his emperor so long ago? Do you have that kind of iron, old man?” He tapped at his chest. “Right here. Thrust your blade through this young boy’s heart.”
The Master Raén waited, still as stone. Then with a cry he lunged.
An instant of true shock transformed the child’s face. Yet before the blade reached him, Caleb swung his arm down and struck the weapon into the floorboards. The impact tore away his sleeve and sliced a long gash across his skin. He collapsed, bellowing.
As Telai dropped to her knees beside Caleb, Soren wrenched the sword free and leaped again. But the child was ready this time. The weapon shone white-hot, then rifled upward and passed through the roof with a crash. Flames danced around the ragged opening and along the shards and splinters falling to the floor, while Soren gasped and fell back, his hands scorched.
Warren’s voice dripped with pity and disgust. “A fool to the very end—throwing away your only chance to destroy me.” He glanced at Soren in disbelief. “I never dreamed he would charge me like that. But now I’ll be on my guard—as I should have been long ago when I underestimated my enemy.” He pointed a finger. “You, Caleb Stenger of poor Earth, your quaint love for your son was your undoing—and Ada’s! What a bitter truth that will be once you see what I have in store for these people.”
Slowly, Caleb pulled out his laser and held it trembling in his hand. He could go no further. No matter how lost Warren might be to him, his mind, even his body could never obey such a command. He would sooner have turned the gun on himself.
Smoke trailed out through the hole in the roof; the fire was growing. The child spoke, his voice soft against the crackle of flames. “You pitiful man. But it would have been useless to try.”
The laser shot out of Caleb’s hand, and landed in Warren’s. The boy nodded in satisfaction. Then he stared into the corner, and a small bundle flew out of Caleb’s baggage and into his arms.
“These will be very useful to the Hodyn—who in turn shall be very useful to me.” He bent low and spoke directly into Caleb’s face: “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, right? Isn’t that how the saying goes, Falling Man?”
Caleb released a strangled cry. The words were English.
The boy straightened. “I could kill you all right now, of course. But I want to set an example for those wise enough to help me—even the descendants of Grondolos.” He shook his head slowly. “It is the only mercy you will ever receive.”
“Witch!” Soren shouted. “Be gone!”
The young face twisted. Then it tilted back and released a terrible scream. The entire roof of the store shuddered, cracked, and with a frightful rending and splintering ripped free and rocketed into the sky. Shattered beams and fragments fell throughout the room, and the others cowered, shielding their heads.
When the last of the debris had fallen and they lifted their heads, Warren was gone. Only the stars remained. In time a distant splash reached their ears as the torn roof plunged into the cold waters of Tnesen.
♦
They crouched on the littered floor, silent, motionless. After all the strange places they had seen, it was the cruelest of ironies to witness the fulfillment of Yrsten in a little country store in a lakeside village. A nightmare—Caleb could only accept it as some kind of nightmare. Every nerve waited in intolerable desperation for the awakening.
A bitter wind whipped down into the room, stinging his eyes. A last bit of shredded lumber clattered to the floor, a noise that seemed to echo across the planet. It was like a final blow in a fight he had already lost. And the only way to confront the terrible truth was with a fury that knew no bounds.