Allie! Don’t wait for me!
I throw myself in the direction of his voice, but another wall separates us. I crash into that one, too, end up bathed in stinging threads. Silver eyes surround me, shimmering hands and torsos. Dozens of them hook into my light, but Galaith’s is the only presence I feel.
Let us go! Please! Let him go! Please!
I know how futile my words sound, how meaningless.
Galaith’s face appears, alone. The silver bodies and eyes recede.
I focus on him as the grayish space around me grows silent.
Galaith’s features flicker like candlelight. His dark eyes meet mine, without precise color or form, yet I see hints of teeth, stretched lips and facial creases.
He is smiling.
Hello, Liego, he says.
48
GALAITH
GALAITH WAITS PATIENTLY as I study his silver-white form.
I stall for time in a timeless space, looking for a way out of this featureless box. In the Barrier’s shifting dark, Galaith doesn’t look like a seer. He looks even less alike to the blurred, sheep-like lights with which I now associate humans.
Watching liquid currents move through his hands, face, neck and legs, I don’t know how to feel. An odd sensation of familiarity lives in our stares back and forth. I know I am being influenced by the silver light in this, but it is different than when Ivy had me.
Here, the influence is easy instead of fascinating.
The normality of him, of being here, is almost cloying. Calm seeps in, the desire to entwine with the silver strands––or, rather, the lack of desire to fight them. The landscape looks different to me, almost serene. I know I am being influenced, but I can’t seem to—
You worry yourself needlessly, he says to me.
He waves a fluid hand, breathing out that same soft indifference.
Every construct carries its own flavor, Liego.
I feel the part of me that slides down that path with him.
I try to come at it logically and fail.
What do you want? I say finally.
His light body changes from pure aleimi to the semblance of matter. In a heartbeat he stands at perfect ease, a faceless, tailored blue suit, elegant on a muscular form. I guess middle-aged, from the shape of his torso, but he’s in very good shape. Dark hair grows sparsely on hands with manicured nails, interspersed with a few strands of gray. He wears a ring bearing an iron cross.
What do you want? I say again. …Haldren?
I feel his smile at my childish attempt to even the playing field. My pretense of knowing as much as he does is meaningless. I have no cards here. Inside his world, my mind is laid bare. He knows I don’t really remember.
Ah, he says. But I do remember, Liego. I remember it all so well.
His voice pulls at me, the coax of mutual dialogue, but that familiarity just irritates me.
When I fold my arms, I am distracted.
My hands are now gloved in cream-colored satin at the end of bare upper arms. I wear an emerald ball gown with thin straps, similar to what Revik’s wife wore at a party in Berlin, only dyed green to match my eyes. A wedding ring adorns one gloved finger. It affects me to see it, which I’m sure is his intention––or maybe a Rook’s attempt at humor.
I look to one side and see myself in a wall-length mirror.
My hair is piled on top of my head in elaborate curls, studded with diamond pins and peacock feathers. The reflection shows a cavernous room behind me. High, carved ceilings arc over pillars that stretch off into the distance, diminishing into darkness.
Only the swastikas are absent.
Hmm, I say. Seems a bit overdone. Or did you bring me here to critique my wardrobe?
Galaith laughs. Strangely, it sounds genuine.
I have missed you, Liego, he says fondly.
I look down the cavernous hall. Paved now in black volcanic glass, the corridor is draped in thick curtains of purple and green vines. Water drips down from a cracking ceiling above a rectangular reflecting pool. Ancient, cypress-like trees grow through one of the walls. I see a bird alight on a massive root. It sings a song that stirs something in my memory. At the nudge of Galaith’s mind, I look up. A high, blue sky is visible through the crumbling stone.
He wants me to remember.
But I don’t remember, not really.
I frown. What do you want? I say again.
He shrugs with a manicured hand, seer-fashion. I want to relieve you of the burden of your so-called destiny. He smiles. I am trying to stop a war, Liego. A war you seem as determined as ever to bring.
My feeling of unreality worsens. You think I want war?
Galaith’s eyes remain serious through the shifting mosaic of his face.
I think you will bring it, regardless of whatever you think you want, he says. I realize it likely would not be intentional, Liego. Probably more than anyone, I understand this. I know it tears you up, each and every time. I know you dread coming here.
His eyes flicker through the moving panes of his face.
I can help you, Liego. You can live life outside that singular role. You could be married. Really married. Without having to worry that your mate or children will be tortured or killed simply because of who you are…
My light seizes around a vision of Revik, one I realize Galaith is providing me, but one so recent I flinch at how real it appears. I see Revik’s neck, the clothes hanging on his long frame, the slight limp in his walk as he crosses the study floor.
The image morphs.
I see my mother’s graying, staring eye, lost in a face covered in blood. I see the scar bisecting Cass’s beautiful face. I see Jon’s bandaged hand.
My silk-clad arms fold tighter, cutting off air I don’t even need in this place.
There is a moment where I hear only the distant trickling of water on volcanic stone.
Galaith refrains from smiling out of politeness.
Do not worry about your mate, he says. He will not judge you for taking this stance. He has seen too many wars to welcome another.
The scene shifts.
I am in a dim room.
A single hanging lamp sways above dirt floors. The room lives underground, smelling of decaying plant matter and blood. White-washed walls like pale skin bleed dark rivulets of mud leaking from badly patched cracks. It is hot. Insects flicker over sweated flesh near a metal table.
The dead body of a young Asian man slumps in a chair.
I don’t see him at first, but I am not surprised when he is there. Revik’s arms lay folded across a broader, more muscular chest. His black hair is longer, and he wears a Rolling Stones T-shirt and jeans with motorcycle boots.
Terian, the same Terian I know from San Francisco, is there, too. Hunched over the body of the dead Asian boy, he is trying to saw off one of his ears. Cursing, he tosses aside the knife, which is rusted where not covered in blood.
“Damn it, Revi’. Hand me that razor, will you?”
The taller seer takes his weight off the wall.
Picking up a sling blade from a nearby table, he flips it open and hands it to Terian wordlessly. Revik doesn’t move away but continues to watch Terian work, tugging a hand-rolled hiri out of his pocket and lighting it after a few tries with a silver lighter. Exhaling sweet-smelling smoke, he doesn’t change expression as Terian saws determinedly through skin and cartilage to remove the dead man’s ear.
Terian grumbles at him as he works.
“You could have let him live long enough to give me a turn,” he says. “What, did he remind you of someone?”
Revik shrugs. “The maggot wanted to die.”
Terian glances up, chuckles. “So this was a humanitarian gesture, then?” He turns his concentration back to the ear. “I hate to tell you, my friend… but most humans who meet you grow to feel that way in time.”
Terian straightens an instant later, a triumphant look on his face. He shows Revik the mutilated ear. Already the blood coagulates, bare
ly a trickle from the stopped heart.
Revik’s voice holds a thread of disgust.
“Why do you keep those?”
“Are you kidding? The press eats this shit up. ‘Vietnam’s own Jack the Ripper’… or hadn’t you heard?” Reaching into a coat pocket, Terian pulls out a playing card, the Jack of Spades. Flipping it over in his fingers, he sticks it in the dead man’s mouth.
“That’s you?” Revik shakes his head. “Jesus, Terry.”
At the grin on Terian’s face, Revik snorts a half-laugh.
“We need to get you a pet.”
“Yeah, speaking of that.” Terian cocks an eyebrow at him. “Remember that jaguar you picked up for me in Brazil?”
Revik grunts another laugh. “I don’t want to know.”
“Anyway,” Terian says, as he raises the ear to the light. “It’s not only me. Galaith wants me to plant this stuff.”
“Why?” Revik says.
I hear only curiosity in his voice. His eyes rest empty, flat. I barely recognize him. Yet, oddly, he carries a kind of easy male confidence that makes him look almost handsome, despite his angular features.
I tell myself I knew what he was.
He’d been a Nazi before this.
But even working for the Germans, feeling lived in his eyes, something with which I could relate, even sympathize. I’d been told by the rest of them––Maygar, Vash, Chandre, the seers training me in India––that what Revik had done under the Rooks was exponentially worse than anything he did as a Nazi.
Even so, it unnerves me beyond what my mind can articulate, seeing him this way.
It also occurs to me that I cannot un-see it.
Terian shrugs as he answers him.
“Why?” he says. “How should I know why? Why does Galaith want us to do anything? Recruitment? Fear? Shits and giggles?” Wrapping the ear in a clean, white handkerchief, Terian shoves the whole thing in a pocket and claps Revik on the shoulder. “Let's get a drink. I need a fuck before we do the next bunch, and I know you do.”
The dark, blood-smelling room fades.
I find myself back in Revik’s London study once it has.
Galaith sits before me on the worn leather couch, drumming his fingers on a creased arm. The picture of my parents still sits on the marble mantlepiece. One of my sketches stands next to it, a charcoal drawing I did of Revik while he was still showing up at the diner every day in San Francisco. More of my drawings spill out of an open drawer in the nearby desk, spread out on the floor in a fan position.
I see more images of Revik, my brother, Cass, the Pyramid.
I recognize all of them.
I was kind, Galaith says. You must know I could have shown you far worse.
Yeah, I say dryly. Very kind. If you’d shown me anything too over the top, I could have dismissed it as pure insanity. Instead you show me a rational version, knowing I’ll never forget it.
Galaith chuckles in genuine pleasure, slapping the end of the couch. Very good, Alyson! Perhaps you have some intelligence in this life, after all.
My light clenches, knowing this is a jab, too.
He knows I am aware of the gap between me and the other seers, and especially between me and Revik. I know how slow I seem to all of them, how little I can do with my light. I remember playing chess with Revik in Seattle, day after day, without winning a single match. I remember him showing me how to drive, how to shoot, how to talk to machines, how to eat seer food.
As I think about him, his presence grows stronger.
I also feel what Galaith’s show and tell has done to my light’s ability to find his.
Reluctance hovers there, doubt. I focus back on Galaith, find him watching me carefully. I fold my arms tighter around my light body.
I thought Terian was the one who liked to play games. Aren’t you supposed to be the grown-up here, Haldren? The beloved and benevolent leader?
Galaith makes a dismissive gesture with one hand.
These are not games, Liego, he says. And you are wrong. I do not judge you for your newness. Nor do I confuse this for lack of intelligence. Nor does your mate.
I don’t argue with him. I don’t fully believe him, either.
So where is Terian? I say. Out torturing more people in your name?
Galaith’s countenance darkens, changing the shifting planes of his face.
Terian is dead, he says. An unfortunate necessity. He was out of control. His thoughts grow warning. But there will be others like him, Liego. They will do the same and worse to get to you. I won’t be able to reach them all in time.
Drumming his fingers, he lets out a long breath.
Do you honestly believe you owe allegiance to the Seven? he says. Or to that seven-hundred-year-old seer, Vash? You barely know him… you barely know any of them. Their myths and superstitions mean nothing to you. Do not lie to me or to him by pretending otherwise.
I feel the pull of silver light behind his words.
If you think Vash will keep you and yours safe, Liego, you should speak to your husband. He could tell you a few things about the Seven’s willingness to sacrifice the loved ones of others for their precious Code.
The eyes inside that endlessly moving face meet mine. Don’t you ever wonder how he was able to work for the Nazis and also be a member of their nonviolent club? Hasn’t this ever struck you as a bit hypocritical, Liego?
It has.
Galaith smiles, but I feel no humor there. Well, then. Perhaps this will give you more reason to forgive your mate for what I showed you before.
An image appears out of the dark.
I see Vash and Revik sitting on a sandy floor, inside what looks like a high-ceilinged cave. They are talking seriously, hunched together over food and drink, with papers strewn about them on the sand. I cannot hear their words, but Revik wears a German infantry uniform, a swastika band around his arm. A third seer is with them, a middle-aged male with sharp, gray eyes, chestnut hair and chiseled features. He is handsome, almost startlingly so.
It was all planned, Galaith says. Vash and the Adhipan deliberately planted Dehgoies in Germany. They encouraged him to work for the Nazis… to fight for them, even if it meant watching his own people be put to death.
The mirage disappears, to be replaced by the image of a gothic church.
My light reacts, flinching as Revik appears in the doorway of that church. He is wearing a tuxedo, smiling, holding the hand of Elise, who wears a wedding dress so stunning she looks like a living doll. Her hair is sleek and filled with what look like tiny diamonds.
They both look so happy it is difficult to look at their faces for long.
Revik raises a hand, waving at a crowd throwing flower petals.
He was placed there to be recruited by me, Galaith continues. To infiltrate my burgeoning network. But then the Seven stood by while his wife was killed…
The image of Revik and Elise fades, leaving Galaith and I in the dark.
As a result, your husband rethought his allegiances, and who could blame him? The Seven could have intervened. They did not, believing interference to be “immoral.” Dehgoies realized that no matter what the method, it is better to try and make things better. To not stand idly by while atrocities are committed…
I am fighting my own emotions, staring at Galaith’s morphing face.
He shrugs with one hand, and I feel sadness on him.
Something happened to make him want to return to them, he says. I do not know what. I even considered sabotage by the Seven themselves. What I do know is this: by then, I thought of Dehgoies as a son. I was devastated when he left me.
The image of Revik in that tux won’t leave me. He just looked so… happy. I’ve never seen him happy like that, not in person. Not even in the Barrier.
Galaith pats my light arm. He shakes his head in sympathy, clicking his tongue.
Vash and I made a pact. After we separated your mate from that part of his life, we each agreed to leave his mind alone. His voice sharp
ens. You broke that promise, Liego. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to give him back some portion of what he lost.
His voice turns grim. …I sincerely hope you have not hurt him more than helped him in this, Liego.
Looking up, I glimpse the dark clouds of the Barrier.
I ask for a nudge in one direction or the other, something to tell me what to do, what will do the least harm. I feel lost in all of this, buried in too many things I only partly understand.
Revik was right. I would never be smart enough to beat these people.
But I still cannot bring myself to give in.
I know I’ve been wrong about nearly everything so far, even back to who I believed I was. It doesn’t make any difference. I cannot surrender to this. I cannot give in.
I realize this, and it is almost a relief.
Briefly, the light around me flickers, alters.
Then… I am somewhere else.
It is not where I would have hoped.
No great flash of insight or understanding greets me. Instead, it is ordinary, mundane memory. I stand before a leaking espresso machine. Wet coffee grounds decorate part of my waitressing uniform as Revik watches me and Cass talk from a corner booth. He looks tired; I know him now, so I see it in him.
Still, he is watching me, and I see other things there, too.
He watches me minutely, I realize.
I make him nervous, fascinate him, but he feels he knows me, too. He contemplates how to approach me. He wishes he could just tell me who he is. I still manage to embarrass him. Hearing me and Cass speak to one another, he feels foolish for watching me so openly. He thinks now it was a mistake, that it will only cause me to trust him less. He is embarrassed by how socially dysfunctional he seems to me, by the bet around learning his name.
Something in feeling him this way touches me deeper than I can express.
Over me, news feeds play on the monitor, the sound muted.
Suddenly, I know what I am supposed to see.
The image vanishes.
A stone holding cell morphs around me in its place.
Dark and dirty, it feels mundane to me now, as if I am there in a less emotional reality, one that lives outside of Revik’s subjective mind. Two men enter that dank-smelling space, pausing at the door to stare at the prisoner chained inside. One of them has no face.
Rook (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #1): Bridge & Sword World Page 46