“Bridge,” he said. He sounded almost like he was reciting. “The Bridge brings Death,” he said. “Death is her responsibility...”
I stiffened.
Glancing down, I found that my fingers gripped the table, too. Tarsi had spoken those exact words to me once, what seemed like a million years ago now.
Feigran seemed oblivious to the change in me. He went on, still sounding like a schoolboy reciting his lessons.
“And the words say...Death listens as the Bridge spins down...illumines a path to the sky. And those left behind...” His eyes grew confused. “And those left behind...those left behind...fated to watch the fires burn yet again...”
His head tilted, sending those owlish eyes looking at me.
“Is that us, Bridge? Are we those fated?” He smiled, clicking to himself softly. “How ironic. How very, very ironic...”
I frowned. “You’re going to recite scripture to me now?” I said. “Is that it, Terry? Teach me about the Myth?”
“There are four of us,” he said.
He smiled, and for an instant I saw the Terian I knew there. His eyes grew predatory, holding a glint of humor as he let them trail over my body.
“Four of us...” he repeated, cocking an eyebrow at me. His voice changed, growing almost falsetto. “‘Let me guess,’” he mimicked, his voice sounding suddenly an awful lot like mine. “...‘we all ride horses, right?’”
I blinked, staring at him again. Those words were familiar too, somehow, but I couldn’t quite place them.
“Horses?” I said. “Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?”
He mimicked my voice again. “‘I do read, you know...’”
I leaned back in the chair, combing fingers through my hair.
This interview was starting to seem less and less productive.
I clicked the VR link at my ear. “This doing anything for you?” I asked Balidor. “Or are you itching to shoot him again?”
“Just keep him talking for now, Allie...if we need you to redirect, I’ll let you know.” He hesitated, as if about to say more, then didn’t.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.” I heard him click softly under his breath. “I’ll tell you during the debriefing.”
Shrugging, I clicked the audio off, facing Terian again.
“Look,” I said, laying my hands on the table between us.
He stared at my fingers, as if afraid of them. Even so, I glanced at his own hands, making sure they still wore the organic cuffs Tenzin put on him. He could move them over the top of the table...even gesture...but he couldn’t reach me where I sat.
“Look,” I said again. “Do you remember me? Do you remember Revik?”
“Syrimne wants me.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know he does. Why is that, Terry?”
“Brother,” he said. “One of the four.”
I frowned. “One of the four. What does that mean?”
“One of the four,” he repeated.
“Am I one of the four?” I asked.
He smiled at me, shaking his head and clicking softly.
I didn’t get the sense he was saying ‘no’ though. I thought about pressing it, when he spoke up again.
“What about Elise, Revi’?” he said.
He sounded like Terian again, but a shadow of himself...as though not talking to me, but to someone else in the room.
“...What about her, Revi’? She seemed to think you were a good husband, once...when you weren’t off gassing your own kind, that is...”
I swallowed, fighting to keep my reaction out of my light.
Elise had been Revik’s first wife, during World War II, when he’d been working for the Seven in Germany. Seeing the distance in Feigran’s eyes, it occurred to me that he might think he was talking to Revik now...maybe even remembering a conversation they’d had.
“What do you want to know about her?” I said, my voice conspiratorial.
He leaned closer, looking around as if to make sure we weren’t overheard.
“Why haven’t you fucked her yet, Revi’?” he said, soft. “She’s a virgin you know. Are you afraid she won’t want your cock in her, after what you’ve done?”
I flinched, leaning back.
Frowning towards the one-way window, I touched my headpiece again. “Is any of this making sense to you?” I asked Balidor.
“Only the reference to the four,” he said.
“What does that mean, the four?”
“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, his voice that of the schoolboy once more. “...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...”
“What’s he talking about, ‘Dori?” I muttered, watching the owl-eyed seer as he stared at the surface of the table, tracing patterns on the surface with his fingers, his expression concentrated.
I couldn’t help but be unnerved at what he’d said.
“It’s scripture, Alyson.” Balidor hesitated. “Do you think that’s why Dehgoies wants him? Something to do with the old stories?”
“Or he just wants to kill him,” I said, watching Feigran.
“Syrimne was very religious back in the day,” Balidor said. “...Perhaps more religious than you realize. He believed very much in the old prophecies, and the interpretations of those prophecies. I remember this very clearly, for his messages often came encoded in pieces of scripture...interpretations by the oldest of our holy men. 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.”
“Me?”
“Of course. In the stories, the Sword is the right hand of the Bridge...her closest lieutenant. He fights for her...leads her armies.”
“Lieutenant?” I said, bewildered. “We’re supposed to be on the same side?”
“Yes.” Balidor sounded surprised. “Lieutenant...and mate. Did you not know this? Even in the histories, Syrimne and the Bridge are always mates. There is a reason why Dehgoies is so convinced the two of you cannot be separated...”
I felt my throat close.
Staring at the broken seer in front of me, I felt a thick wave of grief try to overcome me. Without warning, the emotion there turned abruptly to fury.
“It’s not my fault Menlim broke his mind...” I began, my voice harsh. “I wanted to be with him, ‘Dori...I tried my damnedest...even in Delhi! I thought maybe if we were together I could reach him...somehow. I thought maybe he’d remember who he was. I’m not the one who made him into a religious nut serial killer. They did that. They did it before I could have helped him, before I was born even—”
“Allie!” Balidor broke in, his voice showing his alarm. “Alyson...my friend! Please do not take these things to mean so much! It is only a story...I am not telling you to become slave to a sociopath because some ten-thousand-year-old book says you must!”
There was a silence.
I felt my shoulders unclench.
For another moment, I let my emotions dissipate.
“Okay,” I said then. “Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry,” Balidor said. “But you misunderstand me, Allie. I am saying that Syrimne believes this...which means Dehgoies likely does now, too. It might be that Terian knew this...or knew something about this...before his personalities were collapsed.”
“Or it could be rubbish,” I said. “Lunatic ravings.”
“Or it could be that,” Balidor agreed.
“I’m sorry, ‘Dori.”
“No apology is necessary, Alyson.”
Sighing, I looked back at our captive.
“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 was sketching out a drawing, or a diagram of some kind. 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.
“Really?” I said. “Enlighten me.”
“He is trying to force them to awaken, Alyson!”
“Awaken?” I said. “Who? Who is he trying to awaken?”
“...Do you 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...”
I folded my arms, letting out a low snort. “I’m wide awake,” I said. “Trust me.”
Feigran smiled.
I didn’t like the smile very much. It reminded me of the man I’d known in D.C., the crazy side of him. I recognized that odd confidence of his living in those eyes, the thread of abandon that always unnerved me, that made his moods and actions impossible to predict.
He leaned over the table, motioning me towards him.
Once my ear was close to his lips, he spoke, a fevered whisper.
“Your cunt feels like velvet,” he said, soft.
I almost punched him in the face.
Instead, I withdrew, staring at him.
Then my face felt like it turned to stone. Memories of what he’d done to me in D.C. flashed in 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 all the entirety of my being.
“Do you want me to kill you?” I said, equally soft. “Trust me when I tell you...no one here would bat an eye. And I have a feeling this collar wouldn’t hold me...if I was really feeling motivated, Terry...”
His smile widened.
He nodded towards me, 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?”
“I’m paying attention,” I began, angry. “Believe me, you piece of shit—”
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.
“...All gone. All gone...programmed response. Not awake...not awake...”
I felt my jaw harden once more.
It bothered me more that I almost glimpsed what he meant.
“Lost what?” I said. “What the hell are you talking about, Terry?”
He said something else, in what sounded like Mandarin.
Unfortunately, I don’t speak Mandarin.
“Terry!” I said, slamming 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 good to see you! How is the husband? You two sort out all of your little difficulties?”
He sounded so much like his old self, I just stared at him, my jaw hanging.
I closed it with a snap.
“Terry,” I said, trying to hold onto this persona...which seemed capable of linear speech at least...long enough for Balidor and his team to get some answers. “Terry,” I said. “Where’s Revik? 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 last. Do you remember? In the White House. Downstairs...in the basement. You saw him there.”
“Yes!” Terian chuckled. “Of course I remember! He shot me...”
“He shot you? Why?”
“For fucking you, of course...”
I stared at him. “What else did he say? Do you remember?”
My frustration grew when his expression phased again, blurring into the myriad that lived behind those owl-like eyes. I slammed my hand on the table again, and the seer flinched.
His eyes clicked back into focus.
“Your pain is delicious, my dear...” he said, soft. “I can feel it even through this collar...”
“You’re a liar,” I said, clenching my jaw. “Terian...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 my anger, exhaling in a sharp breath.
“Terry, focus. Is it something to do with Syrimne’s religious kick? Does it have to do with helping him find the rest of the four?”
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.
But this time, I got the strange, twitchy, owl-like Feigran.
“...I am one of the four,” he said solemnly, his face that of the schoolboy once more, serious and a little prim. “I am one, Alyson. We are family. You, me, Revi’...we are Bridge, Rook, Sword...”
“You’re one of the four?” I said. “An intermediary...?”
“All of the four are intermediary...” he said, sniffing a little as though I were a little slow for asking that. “You know me, Bridge.”
I bit my lip, searching my mind to find an inroad there.
Then 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. “The Shield is something else! Intermediary, yes...not one of the four. No. No, no, 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...”
I blinked at 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! Far, far, far more than four...far far more...”
Remembering the mural of the intermediary beings that Tarsi showed me in the caves of the Pamir, I found myself nodding.
“Okay. So who is the fourth, Terry?” I said.
“It is War,” he said, looking at me. He nodded sagely, his mouth pursed in seriousness. “War is the fourth. She is a bitch. A real bitch...no one ever likes War...” He frowned, shaking his head at me and clicking as though in warning. “Watch out for her...she is sister pain. No fun. No fun at all, Bridge Alyson...”
“War?” I blanched. But now I was thinking, partially aloud. “...But that’s the human version. Tarsi told me the seer version wasn’t as black and white as the human version...that it’s not all fire and brimstone. She said the human version was overly dark in interpretation, even in language. She said that the seer version was more complicated. There shouldn’t be a War in the seer version. Some equivalent, maybe—”
“No.” Feigran shook his head, clicking softly. “No, not an equivalency, Bridge Alyson. It is War. Definitely War. She will find us next. She is always the last...always late...”
He leaned closer still, his voice once more conspiratorial.
“...She really hates
you,” he confided. “Jealous, you know. She thinks she should be in charge. She hates your guts...”
For a moment I just stared at the mumbling, rain-man seer.
He muttered again.
“Prone to excess...War. She cannot be trusted. Likes death too much...likes it more than Death. Prone to excess...must be watched...”
“Excess?” I said, frowning.
“Yes. She is the terrible one. She comes when the softer approach fails. The Death starts...the Bridge bridges...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 one likes War. She is cold, Bridge...cold as ice.”
I turned, looking at the one-way glass, touching my earpiece.
“Please tell me he’s joking, ‘Dori,” I said. “...that this is just more crazy rant. Please tell me that the last of the four isn’t called War...that you don’t all believe yet another of these lunatics is out there somewhere, waiting to throw into the mix...”
There was a silence on the other end of the line.
I was pretty sure Balidor was looking for an answer that might give it all a positive spin, or at least make a joke of it. Maybe he even considered lying to me outright. But that loaded silence told me everything I needed to know.
“Great,” I muttered, staring at the fidgeting Feigran. “Just great. Two crazy brothers and a sister who hates my guts. Just what I always wanted...”
I forgot the earpiece was still on.
When I heard Balidor and the other seers chuckling through the headset, I frowned, watching Terian’s fingers as he began tracing elusive patterns once more on the top of the metal table. As I did, the same thought kept repeating in my head.
I hoped like hell Balidor was wrong.
I hoped like hell Revik didn’t believe this crap.
9
TEST
I GLANCED UP when the door opened, a little surprised...although I shouldn’t have been, I suppose. I’d invited him there. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
Then he glanced down at my hands, and smiled faintly.
“I had heard you were an artist,” he said. “...And yet, I have never seen it.”
Lying on my stomach on a floor pallet, I’d been drawing, for the first time in ages, really.
Allie's War Season Two Page 11