by West, Shay
Brok nodded, a smile growing on his face.
–The liquid will flow out more quickly. Marvelous!
--We haven't actually tried to make more of the threads yet. It might not work at all.
--The only way to know is to try.
The twins nodded and turned to the telepaths.
--Do you agree to this? We cannot guarantee this won't have some long-lasting effects.
--We agree.
--We will attempt this on ourselves first.
The twins clasped hands. A slight glow surrounded the two as they combined their power. They faced telepath Number 1, the little hairs on their bodies beating rapidly, holding their places in the water. No one dared breathe. After what seemed an eternity, the glow winked out and the two put their hands to their faces.
“Well, were you successful?” Brok asked aloud.
Saemus and Kaelin grinned and said in unison, “You tell us!”
“Dear Spirits, it worked!” Brok was so excited he reverted to the commonly used Astran exclamation. “Can you do this to everyone?”
“Not all in one day. It takes a lot of power to create the threads and to keep them in place while the telepath sends the information across.”
“Do as many as you can today. The sooner we can all directly communicate with one another, the better,” Master Brok ordered.
“Do you know what this means? These two can help implant the knowledge of all the languages of the Chosen.” Mirka's eyes shone with excitement. “I think we are seeing exactly why fate has chosen these young people. I wonder what other extraordinary powers or talents will manifest themselves in the days to come.”
A servant of the head Master swam to the four Guardians. He stopped and glanced about, making sure none of the Chosen were within earshot.
“Master Ferrok needs to see all of you at the home of the prophets immediately.”
Gerok spoke. “If he is at the prophets' home, perhaps one of them has written something concerning the battle.”
“Something that does not bode well,” Brok said.
Brok and the three others swam past the Chosen. They arrived at the home of the prophets, darting through the doorway and into a large foyer that had three exits, two leading to living quarters and the other leading to the library. The library was in the center of the building with the living quarters wrapping around it. The largest of the rooms were located on the outermost edge of the building and were reserved for the cardinals and bishops. Servants shared their master's quarters. These rooms also had large windows that offered a spectacular view of the Gentran landscape.
The smallest housed novices, deacons and acolytes. They bordered the large vent and had no windows. The young ones were here to learn and to absorb knowledge and they were kept away from as many distractions as possible, which included large windows perfect for gazing out of while lost in a daydream.
The library was a wonder. The room was large and well lit with glow rods. There were rows upon rows of tables and rolls of parchment covering every inch of the tables. Novices could be found studying or gliding silently past the mammoth shelves that held a multitude of scrolls.
Not so today. The library was silent and empty, save for Master Ferrok, who hovered near a table. His hand came down and gently touched the latest scroll the prophets had written. His hand trembled slightly. I mustn't let them see me unnerved.
The Guardians arrived moments before the other Masters. They made their way to Ferrok, who moved aside and silently pointed at the scroll on the table. It was held down by rocks at the very edges of the corners so as not to obscure the writing scrawled on every inch of the pale yellow parchment. The yellow and green of Ferrok's body had faded, a sign of his distress.
“This cannot be!” Forka's voice shook as he read the words on the scroll. It is all my fault! He moved away from the table. The others did not speak, just stared at the jumble of words jutting in all different directions, some words written one on top of another, many things written which could not be deciphered. The prophet who wrote this had pushed so hard in some areas the pen had actually punched through the parchment.
The circle is broken; failure; death; doom is upon us; the fight is lost; despair; death is coming.
“One of the prophets wrote this?” Brok's voice broke the silence.
Ferrok nodded. “One of the deacons actually. He woke from the trance blind and deaf. He drifts now, gibbering in a senseless tongue. He no longer responds to anyone or anything. He is kept under close watch in case he writes something else.”
Ferrok barked a sharp laugh, devoid of humor. Is this what we have become? That we will keep a crippled Gentran alive, for the faint hope he may write some bit of cryptic prophecy?
“Are the Chosen to be told of this?” Druska asked.
“Of course not! If they saw this, they would lose hope,” Ferrok snapped.
“They must be told of this scroll and the others as well,” Hok said. He knew the Guardians had not been told of the other scrolls, the ones that no Gentran could read.
“Others? You mean there are other scrolls like this one?” Brok asked, his temper rising.
“We don't know. They are not written in Gentran so we have no way of knowing what they say,” Ferrok answered.
Forka hovered away from the others. He was only distantly aware of the argument occurring. I have failed them all. He could not face them. It had been his duty to protect the Chosen of Earth and he had let Tess Golden die. He could see her face, dirty blonde hair in its accustomed disheveled braid, serious hazel eyes in her plain face.
He blinked and her face changed. Her eyes were glazed in death, face pasty and cold, the raw, red wound opening her throat from ear to ear.
“Forka, what say you?” Brok asked.
Forka turned to face his friend. There was no blame or anger in those calm, violet eyes, only compassion. And underneath that, a steely strength saying he would continue to fight, though things seemed doomed to fail.
I can do no less. We may yet prevail. “I think the Chosen should be told. We cannot ask them to fight to protect all life and yet keep this knowledge from them. They may find a way to end the threat despite Tess' death.”
“Bah! We have interfered enough! What good can come of this?” Ferrok waved his arms disgustedly. “We should never have gotten involved.”
“It's a little late for regrets.” Druska's eyes tightened in anger.”You were the one who insisted on training the Guardians, you insisted on sending them early, you thought it best to have them in contact with the Chosen, to watch over them until they could be taken to the portals. We said back then this decision might be the wrong one. If Forka had not gone to Earth, he wouldn't have been forced to kill the family of the one who ultimately took his revenge….”
“It is possible Tess would have died whether Forka went to the planet or not. We cannot change the past so we need to focus on the future.” Briska came to Ferrok's defense. She had been his biggest supporter and firmly believed they had done the right thing.
“Guardians, go and retrieve your Chosen and bring them here. Masters, bring the other scrolls,” Ferrok said woodenly. Every fiber of his being screamed out that this was wrong, that they shouldn't tell the Chosen, that they should be kept in ignorant bliss. They will know my failure. Perhaps Druska is right; we should never have tried to interfere.
GENTRA
“I wonder why they all left so suddenly?” Saemus asked. It felt good to be able to speak Gentran. The change was almost instantaneous; one minute he had no knowledge of the Gentran language, and the next he did.
“I don't know. But it must be something important to cause them to swim out of here as quickly as they did,” Kaelin said.
A small female Gentran swam up to Saemus carrying plates piled with food. He screwed up his face as he took in the sight of the strange fare. The colorful seaweed and grass salad did not look in any way appetizing and the scrago steak looked like a chunk of raw meat. There w
ere also some sort of whitish-yellow tubers.
The young Gentran spoke up. “The kitchen staff prepared this specially for you and the others. It will renew your strength.” She seemed confused by his reluctance.
Saemus smiled and tried to keep from grimacing as he took the large bite of the salad. The look, taste, and texture were all so foreign that it was hard to force himself to eat. The only ones who did not seem to mind the Gentran food were the Volgons. They wolfed down every morsel that was handed to them.
The telepath, Number 2, conveyed:
--The Guardians and the Masters were worried when they left.
“Do you know why they were worried?” Saemus asked.
--Unknown. We try not to intercept thoughts meant to be private.
--They were trying to keep something from us? Now that I don't like.
Kyron swam up to Saemus and Kaelin. He and the other Volgons dwarfed every Gentran. Even the girls were large and intimidating. All of the Volgons had an aura of power and strength about them. They were quick to anger and did not spend time in small talk. The Volgon Chosen felt agitated at all of the sitting and learning.
“Do you think whatever drove the Guardians and Masters from this room has something to do with us?” Jon asked. As one of the ones who had been implanted, he could speak in the Gentran language.
--According to them, their whole lives have been dedicated to us. Why should this incident be about anything else?
Kyron spoke as if stating the obvious.
“There are many things that could call them away. An accident of some sort, perhaps there are visitors, or an impending eruption…” Jon stopped short. “None of those things have need of secrecy.”
Jon turned at a commotion from behind him. The Chosen who had yet to be implanted were gesturing and squeaking, urging the telepaths to translate what Jon and the others had been discussing.
Number 5 communicated:
--The others wish to be included in the conversation. We must translate.
Jon clenched his teeth. Blast Master Brok! I could do the implanting for everyone. He glanced around surreptitiously. Master Brok isn't here at the moment.
He did not remember much of the rituals he participated in that allowed him to draw on the life force of living things around him. Before each, he was given a chalice of some foul-smelling liquid to drink. It hit his tongue like a nauseating punch, and then changed to something dark, sultry, smoldering, like he was drinking the coals of a hot fire.
The concoction smoldered in his belly and spread like flames, racing up his torso and down his legs. His breath came in gasps. Jon was sure he would see fire shoot from his open mouth.
As the brew hit his brain, he began to lose touch with reality and enter a world of darkness and torches, formless masses writhing around him, guttural grunts and howls, muttering in some strange tongue, seeming to come from everywhere, screams and cries of pain and ecstasy.
The next morning he would wake with a queasy stomach, and a head full of knowledge of new and dark spells.
At first, Jon was afraid of the strange experiences, but as he began to explore this new magic, it became as obsession. He was doing things he never thought possible. And now he was a match for any of the others. I may even be stronger than Saemus and Kaelin when they are linked. Jon wanted desperately to touch the dark magic again, to pit his power against the rest of them to have them all gasp in wonder and admit that he was the strongest.
Jon shook his head, trying to clear the memories. Using the dark magic is forbidden!
But you can use it for good! Surely that must be okay?
Jon wrung his hands, his mind at war between the good Spirit on one shoulder and the dark Spirit on the other. Their voices drowned out coherent thought.
I can pull a little life force from everyone and they won't even know.
He called to the nearest telepath, Number 4, and brought it off to the side. “Begin bringing me the Chosen who have yet to be implanted. I am going to help.”
Number 4 turned and rounded up nine who had yet to be implanted. The Chosen floated in front of Jon and Number 4, curious and unafraid.
“I need to find out if I can see the threads. Link with one of them.” Jon reached out rather than inward and drew on the life force he sensed all around him. The telepath made a connection with one of the Chosen from Earth. Jon's heart sped up as he saw the faint silvery threads. I can see now how the twins did it.
“What are you doing? Master Brok forbade you using the dark magic.” Kaelin swam in front of Jon, breaking his concentration.
“I can help the two of you get this job done.”
“What you do is wrong!”
“You just want to keep all the glory for yourself. You always did like being the center of attention,” Jon lashed out.
Kaelin's jaw clenched in anger and her face turned red. “How dare you? What Saemus and I did had nothing to do with glory.”
“And I can't help that I have the knowledge of dark magic. If by using it I can help with this task, or any other, why should I not? You may be begging for my power to save you before the end.”
Kaelin opened her mouth to say something, then closed it with a snap.
--If he can help with the implanting, let him do it. We must soon fight a common enemy and the sooner we can all speak to one another, the better. Feeror did not understand the reluctance of the ones from Astra. All of them should do whatever was necessary to move the training forward.
“He can't,” Gwen said, exasperated. “The power we wield is supposed to come from within.” She pointed to her chest with one arm. “Jon has forbidden knowledge allowing him to take the life force of living things around him and use it to do magic. It is akin to rape.” She blushed at the slight exaggeration. “Wielding dark magic gives the person a tremendous amount of power.
“But it changes you.” Gwen gazed at Jon, sadness plain on her face. “The desire to touch the power becomes too great to resist. The dark magic begins to take control, and the user begins to do terrible things, evil things.” Her voice ended in a whisper.
--And if Jon were to use this magic, then he would be taking something from us to do it? Martha Stevens asked. She felt more than a little uncomfortable at the thought of someone being able to take some element of herself, something she could not even see or touch.
“I only take a miniscule amount from each life form I detect. The more life there is around, the smaller the bit I have to take.” Desperation made his words pour forth. “I combine what I take with my own inner power. If I can finish what Saemus and Kaelin started, then isn't it worth it? None of you will even be aware of what I am doing.”
The Chosen glanced around at each other. The ones who could not communicate leaned toward letting Jon try is idea. Even those who could speak Gentran thought it best to let Jon use the magic.
--I say let him try.
Sloan had hardly spoken two words since coming to this world. He knew the importance of being able to speak with one another. He had also grasped the big picture of what the implantation of the languages meant; like Mirka, he realized the Astrans could implant the knowledge of all their languages.
“He cannot. It is forbidden.” Kaelin put her hands on her hips.
Sloan snapped:
--Can you finish the job?
“Saemus and I might be able to do a few more today….”
--So the answer is no.
Sloan turned to Jon.
--Can you do the rest of them today?
Jon bit his lip. There were more for him to do than Saemus and Kaelin had done. He thought his new powers surpassed the twins' but he had never put it to the test.
“Yes, I can.” He would do what he promised, somehow.
Sloan spoke, violet eyes hard:
--Then do it.
One by one, the un-implanted Chosen lined up next to Jon and telepath Number 4.
Jon was nervous, and though he tried to hide it, the rapidly changing c
olors of his body gave it away. This was his greatest challenge yet and he did not want to fail. Not just because failure meant it would take much longer for the Chosen to be able to communicate but because it would mean he wasn't strongest in the power.
“Jon, please reconsider.”
He looked and saw Gwen hovering near, eyes showing her worry.
“Why should I? I am the one that can get this done and done quickly. It will take the twins many more days to get through everyone.”
“I just….” She bit her lip and whispered. “I just don't want to lose you.”
“I can handle it.” He turned away, completely unaware of the deeper meaning behind her words.
Jon nodded to the telepath and beckoned the first Chosen forward. He took a deep breath and opened himself to the power. He was careful to draw only the tiniest fraction from all those in the room, unwilling to steal from his fellow Chosen when the landscape of Gentra was teeming with life.
He gasped as the power flooded his body, his soul. It seeped into every fiber of his being, making him feel more alive than he could remember. His skin was warm and tingly. The blood pulsed through his veins with every beat of his heart. He felt full to bursting, like the power would soon punch through his skin and escape. Holding the power now became painful. It needed to be released.
I could level the mountains here with only a fraction of the power I now hold. The thought terrified and delighted him.
Jon forced his mind to the task at hand. The implantation was a delicate process and he did not want to risk harming the Chosen or the telepath because he was acting giddy as a young lad at his first dance. He created more of the fine threads and sent them into the mind of the Chosen before him.
The clone sent the language information across the threads. Even though there were more threads, the process still took a little time. Jon had to maintain the flow of magic or else the threads he created would be lost, unable to sustain themselves without the power.
In short order, he had most of the Chosen completed. A steady babble of Gentran met his ears. Saemus and Kaelin hovered with Keera and Gwen, gesturing wildly toward the door. It was obvious to Jon they wanted to go and find Master Brok and the two girls were trying calm the twins down.