by Kira Wilson
"It's kind of you to say so, Mrs. Spencer," Thomas called down the hallway. He slipped through the door and gave Analara a quick smile. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead."
"I'll leave you two alone then. Don't stay indoors all day." With a grin, Jessica's mother turned and left.
After the door closed, Thomas sat in a chair, his smile replaced by a look of concern. "I thought while David was gone this morning, you might like some company."
Analara gave a relieved sigh. "I have no idea what to tell them, Thomas," she said miserably. "They are her parents, and they deserve to know what happened. But…" Her eyes burned with the threat of tears again. Her grief hadn't diminished over the last two days. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. "I have resigned myself to this new form. But I can not bear telling them that their daughter is dead."
"I do not envy you that burden." Thomas seemed to lose himself in thought, and Analara suspected that he felt as forlorn as she did. "For now, nothing needs to be said. Why not give yourself some time to settle first?" He offered her a faint smile. "I'm sure there is much here that seems strange."
Analara nodded. "David explained some of the history of Phoenix yesterday, though I do not know how much I will remember."
"Well, if he explained the real world, why not come with me on a little adventure inside the virtual one?"
"I think I've had enough adventure to last me a lifetime," Analara replied morosely.
"This sort of adventure is different. There is a place that Jessica and I… liked to frequent." He paused and his voice turned soft. "I would like to share it with you."
Analara thought about it. She wasn't really in the mood for exploring, but there was a silent pleading in Thomas's eyes that she couldn't ignore. He was suffering too. While she had been displaced from her home, he had lost the woman he cared about. Perhaps the diversion would do them both some good. "All right."
Thomas escorted her to an alcove in the main room. At his instruction, she lay back in the soft chair and stretched out. A faint vibration lulled her into a kind of half-doze, and when she blinked, she found herself inside a room that reminded her sharply of home.
"You are in Jessica's cottage," Thomas's voice told her. "I'll be there in a couple minutes. Feel free to look about. It belongs to you now."
The walls were constructed of cut timbers rather than stone, and the furniture was raised off the ground. A large fire burned in a stone hearth, but Analara couldn't see any cooking implements. Despite the differences, she felt welcome and safe here. A reflective panel hung on one wall, and she examined her changed appearance. Her clothing was white and shimmering. She felt the material, and it was both strong and soft. White leather bracers encircled her forearms, and a bow and quiver were slung over her left shoulder. Her gaze moved upward and once again she found herself staring into Jessica's face. Sadness touched the visage, but she thought she could detect a few traces of the woman she still believed herself to be.
True to his word, Thomas arrived a couple minutes later. He was clad in the familiar suit of metal plates, and greeted her with a formal bow. "Shall we away, my lady?"
Analara nodded, not entirely sure what to expect next. Thomas lifted a clear crystal, and a bright light washed over them both.
When the light faded, they stood within a wilderness far thicker than any Analara had seen before. The trees were shorter than the kalneths of home, but they grew close together with great crowns of broad leaves that blocked the sunlight. The forest was eerily quiet. Thomas drew his larger sword, his eyes searching.
"Jessica and I had been tracking a band of outlaws," he explained seriously. "They had stolen something from a village, and we promised to recover it." He pointed through the trees and beckoned her to follow.
"What did they steal?" Analara asked.
"A magical sword. It was their guardian talisman."
Analara didn't fully understand, but she chose not to press Thomas further. It was clear he was focused on the task at hand, and she was content to follow.
Voices sounded from a small clearing up ahead. Thomas pulled Analara down next to him and peered through the thick foliage. "I see a dozen armed men, and two pairs of guards at either end of the camp."
A nervous thrill ran down Analara's spine. She remembered David telling her about this realm's wondrous stories. She knew that she wasn't truly in danger, but there was a strange excitement in the air. "What do we do?"
Thomas drew a diagram in the dirt. "I will charge the guards on this side and break through to the middle. Stay here and pick off the guards at the south."
Analara frowned in confusion. "Pick off?"
He pointed to the bow. "Use your weapon. You are a holy archer."
"I've never used one of these before." Analara grasped it in her hand and clumsily grabbed an arrow. She nocked it, feeling awkward and rather silly, but Thomas only smiled at her. He leaned in close.
"I have faith in you." His hand pressed against the small of her back, and Analara fidgeted, not comfortable with the sensation. Before she could say anything, he jumped to his feet and slipped into the trees.
Soon, a loud cry rang out through the forest, and the outlaws looked about in panic. Thomas charged past the first two guards, spinning and slicing with his blade. Both men fell quickly. Thomas attacked the mass of bandits, his sword flashing through the air, but he was quickly surrounded. Analara tried to fire the arrow, but it sailed off into the dark forest, nowhere near its target. Frustration coursed through her; she knew Thomas was counting on her to help. She tried a second time. The arrow buried itself in the ground, several feet from the nearest guard. She growled.
You're thinking about it too hard. Use your instincts.
Analara cleared her mind, letting her eyes focus on a target. The large man at the edge of the clearing. She drew an arrow, pulled it back, and fired. This time, the motion felt smooth and natural, and her projectile sank into the man's shoulder.
Thomas was slowly being overwhelmed as the outlaws circled him. Analara quickly felled two and wounded another, freeing her companion to continue his attack. A movement caught her eye. She turned and saw a robed figure striding toward her, staff outstretched, chanting strange words. The air around him crackled with energy.
A sage? No. An enemy. Analara pivoted and fired. Her bolt took him in the chest, and he fell to the ground.
The rest of the bandits had succumbed to Thomas's blade. He lifted a wrapped object from an open chest and held it aloft in triumph. "Well done," he cheered as he approached her. "Well done, indeed." He swept Analara up in a hug. "You are skilled as always, my lady."
Analara laughed nervously. "I think I could have done better. Perhaps I shall practice with it."
"Nay, your skills will never have a match, fair Celas. Come and let me drink of thy lips, my dearest."
A sense of wrongness flowed over her, and time seemed to slow. Thomas drew her in close, his face inching toward hers. She stiffened and tried to push him away, but his grip was firm and unmoving. Fear and anger swept through her, and she could feel a heat growing within. She planted both hands against his breastplate, and shouted an unfamiliar word.
Light flared beneath her palms, and waves of force flowed out from her. Thomas was hurled away, bouncing off the ground before vanishing. Analara collapsed, trembling. She lifted her hands and stared blankly.
What had just happened?
***
In darkness, Totarakh screamed. A burning pain covered every inch of him, eating into his flesh and scorching his bones. He thrashed and writhed, unable to quiet his agonized body. And then something drained away, like water flowing off his back. The pain did not diminish, but his sensitivity to it lessened, as if his nerves had been silenced.
Totarakh gazed at his hands. There were no burns, no visible marks of any kind except a sickly pall that had seeped into his skin. Clenching his hands into fists sent ripples of pain through his fingers. "Almighty Siath," he rasped, "what has
been done to me?"
Getting to his feet, Totarakh looked around. He was in an endless corridor with walls that did not run straight. Instead they jerked and twisted at strange angles. Detritus littered the floor, scattered objects that held no meaning. No matter where he looked, down one path and up another, he saw no means of exit.
"The invaders seek to trap me here," he snarled. "Let them come, and I shall flay their flesh and scorch their very minds." In a rage he pounded a fist against the wall, and then stepped back when the wall gave way. A hole grew, as if his touch had melted the gray material. Bracing his hands within the gap, he tore it wider.
Totarakh felt hatred building inside of him, a vile loathing that smothered thought. His enemies had tried to strike down the incarnation of Siath's will, but he had survived, changed. He was stronger now. He felt a power he could only have imagined before. His aged body knew no weakness, only the pain that honed his rage to a razor's edge.
He glowered at the remains of the wall still barring his way. He placed both hands against it, feeling the decay under his grasp. But to merely corrode it was not enough. "Burn," he roared.
Power flared within him. The wall singed, then smoked, and finally crumbled into nothing.
Totarakh left his prison behind and floated into a dark, empty space. He searched desperately for something familiar. The image of the great arena where he had been attacked flashed through his mind. A pale glow began to emanate from his body, and he felt an awful tearing inside, as if he was being pulled limb from limb. He closed his eyes to shut out the agony, and he felt the world shift beneath his feet. He looked about in surprise at the very arena his thoughts had pictured.
A figure on the stadium floor noticed him and shouted. The man approached and drew a weapon. Totarakh glared. He stretched out his arm and focused his will on the advancing alien. A stream of pale green energy streaked through the air and enveloped the man. He tried to scream, but his body was already beginning to decay. The flesh slowly slid from his face, bubbling and hissing. Within a few seconds, a ghastly puddle of ooze was all that remained.
Totarakh grinned. The invaders would feel the wrath of Siath. He had been chosen to bear the power of the gods, and none could stand against him. He drew up the memory of the black gate chamber, and again a wave of pain tore through him.
The dark room appeared before him, and Totarakh laughed. He walked to a nearby wall and saw it bend, as if recoiling from his presence. He slammed a fist through it, taking pleasure in the way the green lines pulsed and died.
Totarakh heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He whirled about, hand poised to strike. A warrior garbed in the uniform of the Siathrak held his weapon at the ready, but his mouth fell open as recognition flooded through him. A mixture of relief and dismay filled his eyes. "Your Holiness… is it truly you?"
Totarakh lowered his fist and gave a rasping chuckle. "Yes, it is I. However, I am far more than I once was. I am become Siath's wrath, his anger, given form."
The Siathrak dropped to his knees in obeisance. "We feared that the invaders had slain you in the assault yesterday, my lord."
"They tried and failed." Totarakh made a claw of his hand, and a diseased green light flickered between his fingers. "Now they shall pay dearly for the attempt. What is your purpose within the Holy Army? Why have you come here?"
"My lord, I am of the garrison of Fayn. We arrived in the camp at Ilinar last eve. Fully three thousand warriors of Siath have gathered. My orders were to use the smaller gate here to scout out the site for our next assault." The soldier paused and looked up worriedly at his master. "Is it true that the Holy City was razed by these infidels?"
Totarakh's lips curled in a sneer. "The cowards called down unholy magics to ravage our home. They shall be utterly destroyed for their desecration."
The soldier's eyes gleamed with fervor. "Yes, my lord."
"Deliver these words to Sarolkh. Tell him that I live, and will lead the Holy Army against the invaders. He is to send our full strength into the black gate. By Siath's will."
The Siathrak scout trembled and bowed his head. "By Siath's will, Holiness." He leapt to his feet and dashed back through the portal.
When he was gone, Totarakh stepped forward. He could clearly see the peaceful beauty of Analath beyond the gateway. A light breeze stirred a kalneth's dangling leaves. The pain within him nearly quieted at the peaceful sight, and he stretched out his hand.
A powerful force repelled his touch just outside of the doorway. Totarakh staggered back and clenched his fist, unbearable pain lancing up his arm. He had suspected as much. He had not yet completed his mission, and his home would be beyond his reach until he did. A growl built in his throat as the sickly light blazed around him. The infidels had tried to claim his world, so he would destroy theirs.
Chapter 25
Clyde dashed around a corner and erected a null-field around himself. It wouldn't stop a deep scan, but it would make him invisible to the naked eye. His pursuers appeared in the hallway an instant later, patrol bots following them and sweeping their scans back and forth. He held his breath as they passed, refusing to budge until they had rounded the next corner and their footsteps died away.
Swaying on his feet, Clyde dropped the field. He'd obviously done something serious to piss the V-Cops off this badly. They'd been chasing him for nearly a day, rotating squads in and keeping the pressure on. His body was well rested back in his link chair, but inside the system, mental fatigue was slowly crippling him. Using the null-field had burned up much of his remaining energy reserves, and the latest chase had pushed him even farther from a safe zone. The V-Cops would be locking down all logouts within the network. He had to get outside of their reach to escape back to reality. Gritting his teeth, he moved back into the hallway and turned another corridor.
A three-man squad charged into view down the alley. "There," one yelled, pointing Clyde's way. A D-gun blast sailed in his direction. He ducked and ran back the way he came, swearing up a storm. He could hear them calling in his location; within minutes they would all converge, cutting off his escape routes.
Another blast slammed against Clyde's shield as he turned the corner, and his legs collapsed beneath him. A fading buzz indicated that his defenses had failed. "Shit, not now." He scrambled back to his feet, and the world spun around him.
Clyde felt someone grab him as he started to fall. He vaguely saw the outline of a glowing doorway as he was pulled through. The V-Cops' voices faded away.
"Are you all right?"
Shaking his head to clear his swimming vision, Clyde found himself staring straight into Mierva's eyes. She looked at him worriedly, one hand still bracing against his shoulder.
"Fine," he answered numbly. Clyde's brain tried to fill in the gaps of what he had just missed. He stepped away from Mierva and looked around. The back alleys and the V-Cops had vanished. The walls here were a plain white, with blue seams of energy connecting them together. "What just happened?"
"You were about to be captured," Mierva said. "I did not wish for that to happen."
Clyde turned and gave her a dry look. "Why is that?"
"You did not wish to be captured."
It was not the reply he'd been expecting. He found her gaze discomforting, but also strangely compelling. There was an earnestness to her that he didn't understand. Why was she looking at him that way?
Clyde cleared his throat. "You're more than a beneficent rescue protocol, aren't you?" His confusion turned the question into an accusation. "Why do you keep helping me? What is it that you want?"
Mierva shrugged and looked away. "I can not put it into words."
There was a faint trace of sadness in her face again, and Clyde finally let himself relax. She wasn't a mere program, that was sure. Programs couldn't feel sadness like that. Was she another hacker? Someone with deep system access? Whoever she actually was, she'd saved his ass twice.
"The system is in danger," Mierva told him. "And I think you may
be one of the few who can save it."
The irony made Clyde snort. "I have no desire to 'save' the system. I'd just as soon let the whole thing burn."
"Why?"
Clyde shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"
Mierva's gaze pierced him uncomfortably. "You are nothing if not logical. How can you reconcile logic with your stated intent?"
"Because mankind was not meant to be ruled by a machine!" The answer came out in a shout. "For hundreds of years, VERA has controlled every aspect of our lives. She only gave us the system so we wouldn't go mad from boredom. We play around in it as if we have some modicum of say in our fate, but outside, freedom does not exist. We have nothing to struggle for, nothing to gain, no reason to live. She decides everything!" Clyde drew a deep breath, surprised by his own outburst. Mierva had been the first person to ever push him about what he felt, and it had broken a dam inside of him. "My parents believed the world could be better if humans had real freedom, and VERA destroyed them for that belief. She's a computer. How could she possibly understand what freedom means?"
For a long moment, Mierva said nothing. Clyde could see something stirring in her eyes, but he couldn't recognize it. The look passed, and she took his hand. Her skin was neither warm nor cool, but very soft. He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Law binds us all in its chains. Perhaps our freedom will only come when we know which laws to obey, and which to fight."
Pondering what she'd said, Clyde shook his head. "I don't understand."
Mierva smiled at him. "Neither do I. I must hope that will change someday." She took a step forward and tugged on his arm. "This way. I will show you the path."
Clyde let her guide him down the hallway. Somewhere along the way he realized that he felt rested, as if he hadn't just spent the last day fleeing from pursuit. He didn't know exactly where they were, but the blue junctions indicated that it was in the network core. If he could get away from Mierva and find an access port…
No. There would be another time for that.
The walls suddenly groaned, and the floor rocked beneath their feet. Mierva's hand clenched Clyde's wrist like a vice and she screamed, dropping to her knees. Clyde heard a tearing sound as great cracks opened within the walls. Blue seams turned a dark and sickly green. Fearing the ceiling was going to collapse, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned over her protectively.