The boy felt sick to his stomach as he imagined what was to come. Many people would be injured, maimed, and killed, all in the name of Teon—a man who taught nonviolence and peace. And yet, the same Teon had said, “ . . . To witness evil, yet raise no hand against it, is to perpetrate an even greater crime.” And Lee was convinced that much of the dark sect’s leadership was intent on the acquisition of power rather than the furtherance of Teon’s teachings.
But was his perception correct? Or was he about to become the unwitting tool of a hierarchy that had raised him to believe that they were superior?
“It’s tough to be a leader,” Rebo observed, as he arrived at the boy’s side. “That’s why I strive to avoid it. Here, Bo sent this over.”
Steam rose from the mug of hot tea as Lee wrapped his fingers around it. “Thank you . . . And yes, it is.”
There was a moment of silence during which Lee took a sip of the scalding liquid. “Jak . . .”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Rebo smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“And Jak . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to need my knives.”
The runner removed a small bundle from under his right arm. “Here they are.”
Lee looked up at his protector. “So you knew what I would decide to do?”
Rebo nodded solemnly. “Yes. I knew.”
Though not especially amazing by ancient standards, the steel-arch bridge over the Ree Ree River was not only regarded as one of the twelve wonders of Thara, but was critical to commerce, and therefore guarded both day and night lest the voracious metal scavengers attack and destroy it. But the relatively small group of guards had been easily swept aside by a force of three hundred black-clad Dib Wa warriors under the leadership of an up-and-coming officer named Bitu Neor.
Now, as the insistent sun acted to burn the early-morning mist away, the soldier stood atop the southern abutment and stared through the brass telescope that had been presented to him by his superiors in recognition of his success in battling local bandits. What Neor saw surprised him. Rather than the massed rabble the officer expected to confront it appeared as though the red hats knew what they were doing. The leading element of the column consisted of about a hundred Dib Wa warriors, backed by ranks of stave-wielding monks, and a large number of hardy-looking farmers. The rabble, which was to say the noncombatants, were farther back. But there were lots of them, and now that they were in motion, the mob would be hard to stop. They had passed through Noko Ree by that time—and were a quarter mile from the bridge.
Which brought Neor back to the purpose of the impending conflict, which was to deny the red hat pretender access to CaCanth and thereby ensure that the real Nom Maa could ascend the throne. Surprisingly, from the Dib Wa’s perspective at least, it appeared that the pretender had chosen to lead his followers from the front. He was mounted on a brutish-looking heavy who was armed with a gigantic war hammer. The pair of them marched only five ranks back and were flanked by a norm and a female sensitive. Bodyguards perhaps? Well, it would make very little difference, since all of them were going to wind up in unmarked graves. A boon to the plants that would sink roots into their skulls and the worms which would consume their flesh. The thought pleased Neor, who smiled as he lowered himself down to the ground.
Lee felt his heart beat in time with each step that the heavy took. Because he was riding high on the variant’s back his followers could see him. Of course that meant the enemy could see him, too, something that troubled Rebo, but couldn’t be avoided. Because if Lee was going to precipitate a battle, then he felt obliged to participate in it and take the same chances that everyone else did.
The position high atop Hoggles’s back meant that the boy had an excellent view, one that allowed him to see not only the rust-encrusted bridge, but the rush of black-clad warriors and the mechanical monster that followed along behind. The simulacrum was at least two feet taller than the heavy and, like most images of the ascended being, had six fully articulated arms. Each arm terminated in a hand, and each hand clutched a weapon. Even though the youth had been expecting to see it, the reality of what confronted him was worse than he had imagined, and he wasn’t the only person who felt that way.
Upon spotting the simulacrum, the front row of red hats paused, the next rank collided with them, and that was the moment when Bitu Neor ordered his forces to attack. And, had it not been for the fact that they were being pushed forward from behind, the very sight of the mechanical Teon might have been sufficient to turn the red warriors. Partly because the simulacrum was so imposing, but mostly because the machine’s presence conveyed the impression that the ascended master had chosen to ally himself with the black hats and sought to destroy their opponents.
Lee saw their hesitancy, understood the moment for what it was, and stood in the homemade stirrups. The voice that had once been high and shrill was deeper now. “Follow me!” the boy shouted, and the very sight of the being they believed to be the reincarnation of Nom Maa put heart into the assembled red hats. A cheer went up as Hoggles charged the enemy. Up ahead, perhaps fifty yards away, the simulacrum could be seen, the sun rippling across its gold alloy skin as it lurched forward.
Metal flashed as swords came into play, wooden staves clattered as they met, and the variant’s war hammer made a dull thumping sound as it made contact with enemy heads. People on both sides screamed as they went down, cheers went up as one sect or the other gained a few feet of hotly contested ground, and the steady boom of the drums made for a predictable counterpoint to the more erratic pop, pop, pop of gunfire and a throaty boom! as a homemade bomb went off and red hats were hurled in every direction.
Lee had become a prime target by then, as was Hoggles. A hailstorm of bullets, arrows, and rocks came their way. The variant swore as an arrow penetrated his left shoulder, and staggered under the impact of two musket balls, but kept on going. Rebo had assigned himself the task of covering the heavy’s left flank, while Norr had responsibility for the right, and two burly monks were protecting the variant’s back.
Having fought off half a dozen black-clad Dib Wa, the runner had just slammed a fresh magazine into the Crosser when a new threat emerged. The black-clad mob parted long enough to let a team of four men through. They carried what amounted to a twelve-foot-long battering ram and hoped to attack Hoggles with it.
Rebo shot the lead men. They fell, the others tripped on them, and went down as well. Both rose, and were attempting to draw their swords, when the heavy took two steps forward, The already bloodied hammer fell, then fell again, as the variant put them down.
Meanwhile, off to the right, Norr parried a blow from a pike before pulling the vibro blade from its wooden sheath and pushing the thumb switch. The weapon hummed as it sliced through a wooden staff and sank into the skull beyond. Lee saw the black hats fall back, waved his followers forward, and heard them cheer as they set foot on the bridge deck.
Seeing that, and realizing that the red hats had started to gain the upper hand, Bitu Neor sent his reserves forward. They were civilians mostly, armed with little more than farm implements but led by fanatical monks. The officer hoped that they would add weight to a counterattack and help turn the red tide.
Norr felt the newest assault rather than saw it and fought to block out at least some of the pain, fear, and hatred that swirled around her. That was when the simulacrum and the heavy collided. Lee was forced to duck as two of the machine’s six hands swung swords at him, even as the rest grappled with Hoggles, and sought to get a grip on the giant. The machine was taller, and heavier, but slower than the variant was.
Lee took advantage of the Teon’s clumsy movements to free himself from the saddle. He scrambled up over Hoggles’s right shoulder, nearly lost his balance, and threw himself onto the simulacrum’s head. The unintended but nonetheless beneficial result of the youth’s attack was to blind the behemoth, which let go of both swords in an attempt to remove t
he boy.
A communal wail went up as the red hats saw the machine grab Tra Lee, lift the youth up, and prepare to throw him down. That was when all sorts of things began to happen. Steel flashed as Lee used one of his knives to stab at the monster’s face, there was a loud report as Rebo fired the Hogger into the simulacrum’s torso, and sparks flew as Norr cut into one of the machine’s legs. Lee’s assault left the Teon half-blind, while Rebo’s bullet nicked the sensitive inside the machine, and Norr’s blade severed two critical cables. The results were spectacular.
The machine was in the process of squeezing the life out of Lee’s body when the simulacrum stumbled, and the boy was forced to hang on as the golden machine began to topple. Screams were heard, two of the black hat soldiers were crushed as the likeness collapsed on top of them, and the boy rolled free.
And then, as if to confirm the red hat victory, a breeze came out of nowhere. The sky grew momentarily dark, rain began to fall, and the bridge deck ran red with diluted blood. “It’s the Divine Wind!” a monk shouted, and the faithful surged forward.
Bitu Neor ordered his troops to hold, and they tried, but were literally trampled to death by the scarlet-clad mob. The road to CaCanth was clear.
Three days had passed since the battle at the bridge. Once across, and determined to complete their journey before black hat reinforcements could arrive, the red hats surged ahead. Those who could walk did so. Those who couldn’t were carried. Fearing that they might encounter some sort of ambush, Lee urged his followers to form ranks, but it was difficult to convince them of the need, and his efforts came to naught.
But even though the strictures against sectarian violence were often ignored out in the countryside, they were scrupulously observed within the vicinity of CaCanth and had been for thousands of years. Because of that there were no further attempts to stop Lee, and there was little that the black hat hierarchy could do but stand on their various balconies and fume as the red hat candidate and his rabble passed between gates that hadn’t been closed in centuries.
The holy city of CaCanth was huge. Though little more than a remote settlement some two thousand years before, it was widely believed to be the place where Teon’s last incarnation had begun, a fact that made it symbolically significant. And, back during the machine ages, when people could travel to the civilized planets by ship or star gate, millions made the pilgrimage to Thara, and the city had been enlarged to accommodate them. And, since both sects had influenced construction, the result was a vast layering of domes, towers, gates, balconies, walls, halls, gardens, vaults, crypts, walkways, aqueducts, stables, and now-antiquated landing platforms.
The city had been described as both beautiful and ugly, depending on the eye of the beholder, but one thing was for sure: It was complex. In fact, it was said that many monks lived entire lifetimes within the sturdy walls without having the opportunity or reason to visit all of the city’s many rooms, chambers, and halls. Which was why a guide was assigned to strangers like Lee, Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles. The nun led them from their quarters through a maze of busy passageways and into the Hall of Deliberation, which was an enormous room boasting a vaulted ceiling, walls that were hung with intricately woven tapestries, and marble floors so glossy it was possible to see one’s reflection in them.
Lee had chosen to wear a green, rather than red robe, just as Nom Maa had hundreds of years before. Regardless of which side they were on, none of the monks could openly criticize such an obvious call for unity. But was the act sincere? Or a cynical attempt to influence the council? That was open to interpretation, and squabbles broke out all over the room.
There were fifty rows of low bench-style seats, which had it not been for the back support they provided, would have been little different from sitting on the floor. There were cushions, however, which Rebo welcomed, although many monks tossed them aside. Thanks to their official capacity as Lee’s bodyguards, his companions had not only been allowed to keep their weapons but given seats in the very front row. The heavy, who was still recovering from multiple wounds, sat with one leg resting on a footstool.
And there, on the opposite side of the aisle, was the flesh-and-blood version of the black hat teenager pictured in the drawing that Lee had been shown in the temple on Ning. In fact, now that Lee could see what Yanak actually looked like, he felt a new sense of respect for the artist who had so ably captured the other youth’s thick brows, brooding eyes, and slightly petulant mouth.
Meanwhile, others had noticed the extent to which the boys resembled each other and the buzz went up a notch as a variety of theories were advanced. Some believed that the boys were related by blood, others suggested some sort of spiritual connection, while a third group believed the similarity was little more than a coincidence.
Lee bowed, Yanak rose to do likewise, and the tension in the hall increased. There was a great deal at stake because if Yanak and his sect were to take power, the black hat emphasis on intellectual concerns would percolate down through the religion to color everything from the sermons that local monks gave to the way that altars were configured. And, if the spiritual approach favored by the red hats were to gain ascendancy, then that too would have a profound effect. Not just on the direction of the religion, but on careers and which projects would be funded.
The council, seven members in all, were seated in a semicircle on a platform at the front of the room. There was a prayer, followed by a description of the selection process and a request for both candidates to stand.
The first monk, an individual named Brother Caspas, had a broad forehead, sunken cheeks, and a wispy white beard. His red robe appeared to be at least three sizes too large for him and puddled around the cushion he sat on. Slightly rheumy eyes sought Yanak and held him. “As our Inwa you will have tremendous power—how will your decisions be made?”
It was a question that Yanak was not only prepared to answer but had hoped for. Norr noticed that his words had a singsong quality, as if they had been written for the adolescent and rehearsed many times. “I will seek to govern wisely, always considering that which will be best for the majority, before arriving at a final decision.”
It was a good if not especially deep answer but one likely to satisfy most of those in attendance. The monk with the wispy beard inclined his head respectfully and directed his gaze to Lee. “And you? How would your decisions be made?”
Rebo noticed that Lee’s eyes were focused on a point above the old man’s head. His voice was calm. “I will drop a stone into a pond, observe how the ripples expand, and note the way they touch the opposite shore. Then, mindful of stone, water, and shore, I will decide.”
Outside of the fact that it was cast in more mystical terms—Lee’s answer wasn’t that much different from the one that Yanak had given. Subtleties such as that were important, however, especially in light of the fact that some felt the black hats had strayed from Teon’s path and had a dangerous tendency to emphasize mind over spirit. So, while interesting, neither answer was clearly superior to the other.
The second monk had a round face, slanted eyes, and ears so prominent that some of his peers referred to him as “Brother Jug” behind his back. He wore a black hat, an immaculate robe, and a gold ring on his right pinkie finger. Never one to squander words, or any other form of energy for that matter, his question was limited to three parsimonious words. “What is money?”
Yanak responded with confidence. “Money is a medium of exchange—or a measure of value.” The teenager was aware of the fact that his responses were being evaluated on brevity, clarity, and content. Yanak was confident that his reply met or exceeded all three criteria and allowed himself a momentary smirk.
Lee waited for some sort of prompt, and when none was forthcoming, gave his answer. It was inspired by memories of Omar, the way the back of his wagon smelled, and the loaves of bread kept there. “Money symbolizes the energy required to harvest grain, process it, and turn it into bread. It is therefore spiritual rather than material
in nature and should be used accordingly.”
It was clearly a much deeper and more thoughtful response than the one that Yanak had put forward, and even the black hats recognized it. Hoggles heard the murmurs and smiled.
The third council member was a nun. She wore a blue robe to symbolize the fact that, while loyal to Nom Maa, her order had thus far refused to align itself with either of the major sects. She was beautiful, so much so that many of her male peers had spent hundreds of hours trying to cleanse themselves of the fantasies she unknowingly stimulated, many without success. Her voice was like music, and the words seemed to float through the air. “Teon said that attachment equals suffering. What did he mean?”
Yanak was well aware of the fact that Lee’s last answer had been superior to his and had no intention of letting that happen again. His brows came together and formed a single line. “In order to achieve true enlightenment, and therefore happiness, we must let go of our attachments to ideas, things, and people.”
It was almost an exact quote from the Path, and for those who were content to simply to follow Teon’s recipe for enlightenment, completely satisfactory. But, while no expert at such things, Rebo couldn’t help but notice that Yanak’s answer didn’t really address the question. The nun tried again. “Lee? Teon said that attachment equals suffering. What did he mean?”
Lee remembered Abbot Marth and the black hat temple in the city of Zand. “Everything will eventually pass away, so to the extent that we remain attached to it, we must eventually suffer. For some, even Teon’s teachings can become an attachment that clouds their minds and bars the path to enlightenment.”
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