Twelve Days

by Steven Barnes

  She caressed the statue. “Are you familiar with the story of Shiva and Shakti?”

  “A little.” Actually, no, he hadn’t the slightest idea.

  She nodded as if she’d expected that answer. “The Tantrikas believe that the universe was created and nurtured by two fundamental forces, which are permanently in a perfect, indestructible union.”

  “I’ve heard that, I think.”

  “The tradition has assigned to these principles the forms of masculine and feminine deities. Accordingly, Shiva represents the basic building blocks of the universe, while Shakti is the dynamic potency, which makes these elements spring to life and action.”

  “What kind of actions?” He was compelled to shake his head. She was entrancing him, deliberately he was sure. It felt as if someone was injecting Freon into his brain, shutting down one cranial fold at a time.

  Her voice had become a metronomic pulse, a rhythm with what Father Geek might have described as a “fork”: dry information on one level, and a seductive call on another. His mind could focus on one or the other, but not both. Wherever he directed his attention, the other tine lanced home. “… from a metaphysical point of view, the divine couple corresponds to two essential aspects of the One: the masculine principle, which represents the abiding aspect of God, and the feminine principle, which represents its energy, the force that acts in the manifested world, life itself considered at a cosmic level.”

  “So it isn’t just an energy. It is also a position,” he mumbled. His lips felt thick, unresponsive.

  “Yes,” Gupta said, eyes vast. “From this point of view, Shakti represents active participation in the act of creation. Maybe exactly this Tantric view of the feminine in creation contributed to the orientation of the human being toward the active principles of the universe, rather than toward those of pure transcendence.”

  He shook his head sharply, trying to clear it. “What does this have to do with me?”

  She held up her flat palm. Silence. “Therefore, Shiva defines the traits specific to pure transcendence and is normally associated, from this point of view, to a manifestation of Shakti, who is terrible indeed. Kali and Yama are the worldly aspects of Shakti and Shiva. They seem to be death, but are actually life itself.”

  He heard himself say it again: “What do you want with me?”

  She was closer now. And then closer still.

  He felt his conscious mind shutting down, a tunnel swirling with darkness at the edges, the only light that which danced in her eyes.

  Those eyes consumed him. And then the eight hands of Kali were upon him, everywhere at once.

  * * *

  Entering the dance of flesh and spirit was the single most glorious moment of his existence, driving away all other thought, all history, all ego, all identity. He saw his future, his reality, his hopes and dreams as nothing compared to the energy that had created and birthed him, let alone his glorious potential.

  Her body might have been made for this, every touch, taste, warmth, and wetness, every motion intertwining their hearts and ganglia so that they were one striving creature, and without speaking she seemed always to be whispering to him thou art a god until, when the paroxysm rocked him, there was nothing within him strong enough to deny.

  And in that fevered moment was lost, and found.

  And where normally he would slide down into satiation and the desire for rest, through some wizardry beyond his ken she caught him and guided him back up again, into another dizzying loop, and then another …

  Until he could not remember his name, or who he had been, or anything except the universe of exploding stars he held so tightly in his arms …

  And Indra was the sun.

  * * *

  Afterward, they lay together quietly, her arm draped across his chest. An utterly asinine phrase danced through his mind, something concerning a child’s toy. Some assembly required. That was him, right now.

  “Feel that,” Gupta said, running her fingers over the ridges of his abdomen. “Feel the connection. It goes back to the beginning of life. Forward to the end of the universe. We are made of the same stuff as the stars.”

  “I don’t know who I am,” he said finally. It was a calm statement, but the truth was that at that instant he could not even remember his name, or any of his history. He was merely content to … be.

  Yes. Just be.

  “I do,” Gupta said. “Come with me. Be my consort. Grow to be my emperor, my king. I offer what no one else in the world can give you. I will set you free.”

  He felt the pull of her words, heard their truth. There were no rules. No limits. No ultimate reality. Only a search for meaning, a search to answer twin questions:

  Who am I?

  And: what is true?

  And in that moment, he knew that the answer was that he was the man who would, in this moment, say yes.

  * * *

  Terry walked at Indra Gupta’s side as if he had been there, her sacred warrior, since before the wheel of time commenced its spinning. Together they walked the deserted pathways of the Sanctuary, north to the concrete-tiered crescent of the amphitheater, deserted now save for the Dorseys, bracketed by a half-dozen guards. Yes. He remembered them, the family who lived across the street. The boy and girl, and the woman with whom he had dallied. Now, they needed to yield to Her will, and all would be well.

  The girl spoke first. She was a pretty thing, heart-shaped face framed with soft dark ringlets of hair, her pouting lips turned down in a frown.

  There was no need for frowns. All was well.

  “What’s going on?” the girl asked. Nicki. That was her name, Nicki. It didn’t matter, but it was nice to remember it.

  “I don’t know, baby,” the woman said. Olympia said. Yes, that was her name. Olympia. A good name. She was a good woman. He hoped that she would be sensible. The time for resistance had passed.

  Olympia was terrified, that much was clear in her voice, her eyes, her posture. All is well, he wanted to say to her. If you cooperate, you and your family live. If not, your life will end and we will convince the boy to act by other means. But no matter what may happen … all is well.

  “Stop here,” his love told him, and he did.

  Olympia stood so rigidly that her bones might have fused together without joints.

  “Oh, shit,” Nicki whispered.

  “Tell them.” Again, his love’s honeyed voice.

  Terry smiled at them as if he was looking down from some height so vast that they had no individual existence, as if they were a part of a vast crowd, not three people he loved, and knew, and had held. “I have made a choice, and it is the only one for all of us.”

  “Terry,” Olympia whispered. Her mouth had barely moved.

  “I’m not what you think I am.”

  “No one ever is,” she said, her face streaked with tears.

  “But it is the best, for all.” He saw now that she could not understand, and for that, he felt regret. Death comes to all, but she would experience great fear as that moment approached. A pity.

  “Take the woman away,” his love commanded.

  The early evening wind whistled around them. Christmas night. A time of miracles. Yes, he thought. This is all miraculous.

  “Terry,” Olympia begged. “Don’t let them do that. Don’t let them use Hani for whatever they are doing. They’ll kill me.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “You’ve never understood. But you will. Everything will be fine.”

  He balanced on some strange edge. What was a life? How could a single human life be important, more important than an ant or a star? The woman had twice rejected him, hadn’t she? She had made her choice, and chosen to be nothing to him. He had the right to his own happiness in the brief moments on earth that were allowed to human beings, and—

  And then, tears streaming down his rounded cheeks, Hannibal spoke.

  “Daddy. No.”

  Whispered words. Soft words. Their eyes locked. Hanni
bal reached his hand out. Small hand. He had done this before. When had that been? He could not remember. But as in that previous time Terry took Hannibal’s right hand. Soft hand.

  Teetering between worlds. All the worlds that might ever be on the one side, the boy’s small warm hand on the other.

  How could any man have walked away from this child? he thought. And with that thought, memories returned to him. I promised him I would not leave. Not because it is important. Just because.

  Terry sighed. And realized in that moment that somehow Gupta had led him perilously close to a pale, empty place where there was no meaning except her own radiance.

  The narrowest escape of his life. And what was strangest, and most terrible … was that even now, knowing the artifice, he yearned for her embrace.

  “I can’t,” he said to Gupta, voice leaden with grief. He was speaking his own death sentence.

  “I know,” she said, resigned. “I knew. But I had to try.”

  There was not even resentment in her gaze. The expression was more … a sadness. They laughed together, the music twined together with such genuine intimacy that both stopped for a moment, both by surprise.

  What a beautiful night, Terry thought. What a lovely, lovely night.

  She doffed her cloak. Beneath it she wore a clinging white pantsuit, something of ritual purity.

  “No man can kill a baboon his own size,” she declared, as if reciting a manifesto. “Even if you filed down the nails and blunted its teeth. The full capacity of the human body for strength and speed is limited by our civilized rules. Long ago, in another land and time, a way was discovered to unleash this full potential. Every martial art, no matter how fierce, is only a pale shadow of this truth. The approach to the animal is perilous. Morality exists to blind us to our true natures.”

  “Murderers always justify their actions,” Terry said. “Whatever war you’ve been fighting, these are innocent noncombatants. You’re over the line. And I swore to protect people just like these. I forgot that for a while. Thanks for helping me remember, Indra.”

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  Hannibal’s eyes wandered.

  Nicki was trembling, but managed to steady her voice. When she spoke, her voice dripped with caustic scorn, and a trace of the old Elizabethan accent. “I can’t believe this dissembling harlot is wasting perfectly good air.”

  Gupta’s answering smile was deadly cold. “You have spirit, girl, and if you are not cautious, that is all of you that will remain.”

  She turned back to Terry. “The only thing you have left me to do is to reveal unto Hannibal his true nature. And the only way I can do that is to render the man he respects most in all the world into meat. Animal draws animal. The sight will break him, and from that broken form I can rebuild. He will yield.”

  “Burn in hell,” Olympia said.

  Part of Terry wanted to warn her to silence. But most of him knew it was hopeless. They were all going to die.

  “Yes, as will we all,” Gupta replied, turning to her security men. “See!” Gupta screamed. “Witness what happens here.”

  Terry regarded her carefully. “Can I have a moment?”

  Gupta bowed, gracious to the last. If one hunger was not to be filled, there would be another. “Yes. Of course.”

  He approached Olympia. Her lips trembled as she spoke.

  “I’ve seen how you’ve changed,” she said. “Nicki told me what you can do. Maybe…”

  He shook his head. “Let’s not kid ourselves. If she had any doubt at all, she’d never give me the slightest chance.”

  She sagged, then pulled herself up again. “Oh, God. What do we do?”

  “Die well.”

  They kissed. There was a last time for everything. He went to Nicki. She peered up at him through her limp and ragged hair, tears streaking her face.

  “Damn it,” she muttered. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.”

  “If something happens to me,” Terry said. “If I don’t make it through this, and somehow you do…”

  The tears were streaming freely now, her face puffy and swollen.

  “Terry…”

  “Listen to me. I know what happened. That your father ran away from you, and Hannibal.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know?”

  “I know. He was a weakling and a fool. If you make it out of here, no matter what happens to me, don’t let it stop you from loving someone else.”

  Tears dripped down her cheeks, silvered her face. “It hurts too much.”

  “That’s like saying we won’t eat tonight because we’ll only be hungry again tomorrow. Love is all that holds us together. You’re the strongest one in your family. Your mother and brother will need you.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “It’s not fair,” he said. “Or unfair. It just is.”

  She glared. “‘Take her away; for she hath lived too long.’”

  He had to smile a bit. Everyone finds their own defensive mechanisms in the face of oblivion, in the grip of fear. He had to admit that Nicki’s were better than most. “What?”

  “Kick that bitch’s ass,” she said.

  He nodded. “I’ll do my level best.”

  And finally, he went to Hannibal.

  “’Erry.” The man knelt before the boy.

  “I tried to protect you, little guy.” Terry’s eyes were misting, damn it. “I’m so sorry. I blew it. I don’t know why these people want you. What they think you can do for them. But … try to do it. Please. It’s going to be very, very bad if you don’t.”

  “Love you, ’Erry,” Hannibal said, and slipped something into Terry’s hand. Their eyes locked, some communication beyond or beneath words alive in that clandestine gesture.

  “Draw her a story,” Hannibal whispered. “Good story.”

  For just a moment, there was something else in his eyes, a darkness blooming in the light like a rogue shadow. Then gone again.

  He kissed Hannibal’s forehead. “I love you, too.”

  Then Terry stood, and in so standing, prepared to die.

  CHAPTER 50

  “Oh Yama,” asked Kali, “what are the limits placed on liberation?”

  Yama replied: “My dark-skinned one: there is no limit placed on liberation. If one understands this, then even one with great karmic burden, if they are willing to let the fruits of ego die, may achieve muksha (liberation from the wheel of reincarnation) with the last breath.”

  —The Yama Sutra

  Not an hour earlier, Pax had gone out into the snow. Where was the family? The girl? Pax liked the girl. Girl gave her treats, petted her, took care of her when the humans she lived with were gone. Played fetch with her even when the humans were there, but ignored Pax. Pax liked the girl better than she liked the humans whose house she usually slept in.

  She barked. Nothing. Traveled in larger circles, following footprints. Nothing.

  Then … she had cut across the original path of footprints Olympia and Hannibal had left fleeing from the Salvation Sanctuary. Smelled them both.

  The woman! The boy! Pax bounded up and down and up and down, barking happily.

  And she started following it. She was following the trail backward, because several men had cut across the trail in the other direction, obliterating it, and she was not a trained tracker. But she knew what she smelled, and what she smelled was the woman and the boy who lived with the girl. And that was good enough for Pax.

  * * *

  The Geekmobile had pulled up on the hillside north of the main road, from where they were able to look down upon the compound. Geek had reconned the area using Google Earth, letting them pick out this location. They were peering down on the amphitheater in the northernmost edge of the Salvation Sanctuary. “What’s going on down there?” Mark asked.

  Lee peered through his binoculars. “It looks like Terry is about to fight somebody.”

  Mark grunted. “That … should be entertaining.”

  “It’s
a woman.”

  Pat’s left eyebrow shot up. “That should be brief.”

  Geek chuckled. “A sexist bastard on top of everything else. Impressive.”

  “Just keeping it real.”

  “What do we do?” Lee asked.

  “It seems designed to be a spectacle of some kind,” Geek said, adjusting his binoculars. “Conveniently drawing all attention, one might say.”

  It was true: the guard staff was watching.

  “What’s our play?” Lee asked, and a bit of the old respect had returned to his voice.

  “If we’re going to do something,” Mark said, “it should be now. It might be time to infiltrate and see about liberating those books. Geek, do your magic.”

  Then a familiar shape down near the fence caught his attention. “What in the hell?” Mark said. “I do believe I have seen that mutt before.”

  “What dog?” Pat asked, snatching the binoculars and peering.

  “Big white spots…” Mark’s eyes widened. “Shit, that’s Pax!”

  “You know that big bastard?”

  “Big bitch, actually. Yeah, I’d know her anywhere. Don’t you remember her from the party? What in the hell…”

  “She belongs to the kid?” Geek asked.

  “Might as well. Belongs to their neighbors. Kids ended up taking care of her half the time. Loves those kids, especially the little girl.”

  “So … what’s she doing?”

  “Looking for a way in. I think she’s doing the same damned thing we’re doing.”

  At last, after many false starts, Pax came to the place where a heavy tree branch jutted over the wall. She ran back and forth, sniffed the ground, and pawed in frustration.

  “Why is the pooch stopping there?” Lee asked.

  “Because … there’s a tree near the fence. A branch. I can see it. I’m betting that’s where Olympia…” Mark said.

  “I think that’s where she got out,” Geek said. “Jumped down. And that means … that’s where we can get in.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mark said, “time to get hot. Geek, you stay up here with eyes on and stay on comms. Cover our egress. See if you can find us a different route out. Everyone, gear up and commo check. Roll in five.”