by Frankie Rose
Jass’ smile broadens, though I can tell he’s irritated by my response. “Time’s up, Reza,” he tells me. “But don’t worry. We’ll see each other again soon.”
“No. No more. I either need to remember what happens here when we meet, or we don’t do it anymore. I swear, I won’t be calling you to me anymore. I mean it.”
Jass laughs—a deep, dangerous, carnal sound. “Okay. If that’s what you want. But I’m not the one hiding these interactions from you, Reza. Have you ever considered that maybe you’re the one hiding them from yourself?”
I’m about to answer him, to call him crazy, to fling every cruel word I know at him, but suddenly my breath is sucked away from me. I haven’t noticed how quickly the tornado of dirt and sand has closed in on us. I haven’t noticed how somehow we became enclosed in it, and that we were sitting at the very eye of it’s swirling, raging mass. The walls of the storm close in, faster than I could have imagined, and I’m ripped from the dune, sand flying and pelting my body like a million shards of glass. For a second I am weightless, and then it feels as if I’m being torn apart, a crushing force pulling me in every direction. Below, Jass stands in the center of the storm, his arms raised, a mad conductor directing his symphony…and then, in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.
SIXTEEN
JASS
THE RECKONING HALL
The dream was different this time. Hard to initiate, and then out of control. The storm wasn’t even my doing. I tried to hold it back for as long as possible before it consumed us. I sat there, drinking her in, my blood roaring in my ears, desperate to pick her up and take her in my arms, but there was no time. I was forced to let the dream collapse. I’m strong, that’s true, but like every single other source of power in the galaxy, I am forced to recognize my limitations. I would have liked to stay longer, but her retreat made it impossible to hold the strands of the dream state together without my own mind buckling under the strain. Now that we’re in such close proximity, she’s much stronger than she knows. She’s stronger than I’ll ever admit to her, and it makes me seriously fucking nervous.
I lie in the dark for an hour or more, listening to the dreams of all the people sleeping close by, marveling at how obliviously they traipse through the experience, barely even participating in the journey their subconscious takes them on. Things could be so different for them, with a tweak here and a tiny edit there. Revenge could be won. Success could be achieved. Anger could be assuaged. Sexual desires could be fulfilled. And yet none of these people are aware that they can take the reins and control their nighttime misadventures, if only they tried a little.
Pathetic, really.
After a while, I sense an irregularity amongst all of the slumbering minds: a sharp point of clarity, burning brightly in amongst all the muted background noise. Someone else is awake. It’s not Reza. I know the signature pattern of her mind almost as well as I know my own at this point, and this new, awake mind is nothing like hers. Nothing like hers at all. I throw the sheets back on my cot, trying not to shiver against the cold too violently as I pull my clothes on and shove my feet inside my boots. Once again, I marvel at the sheer madness of these people as I let myself out of my room and I enter the giant maze of tunnel ways that comprise the sub city. The Construct would never allow one of their prisoners access to their ship. They would be tortured (sometimes by me) and then restrained in the most painful manner possible until they cracked and gave up whatever information they possessed, and then they would be killed (sometimes by me) and summarily ejected out of the nearest air lock.
These seers, with their strange, ridged foreheads, and their strange, black eyes, mustn’t have an ounce of common sense between them. What do they honestly think will happen here? Do they think I’ll witness their peaceful way of life, living like rosticks, borrowing their way around below the ground, and I’ll somehow decide I want to be one of them? I can sense their hope. I felt a tall, shining pillar of it burning through in the heart of that woman, Erika, and it filled me with pity. They don’t even know what they’re hoping for. They have no idea what’s coming. Reza’s very existence has blinded them, obscuring the truth of what will happen in the coming future. It took me a moment to figure that one out. Every mind I’ve entered since I arrived here on Pirius has been shielded by this blank, weird void. I wasn’t able to discern how they were all, to a last man, hiding their thoughts from me, until I realized they weren’t hiding anything at all. Their hazy visions ceased the moment Reza appeared on their doorstep.
I find my way through the network of tunnels without a problem, honing in on the bright, sharp consciousness out there in the dark. I allow my own mind to wander. As always, Reza was at ease in the dreamscape. She didn’t quail at my presence until we spoke of death. She probably doesn’t believe me when I tell her that I want her to remember our nighttime adventures together, but it’s the truth. If she remembered, she wouldn’t have been afraid of me during our first, real in-person meeting. I normally don’t give a shit if people are afraid of me—it’s actually very useful on Archimedes if everyone is crapping their pants when I’m around—but it’s different with her. I didn’t like the hesitation that flooded down our bond. I definitely didn’t like the way her adrenalin spiked. I saw her pulse racing at her throat. I saw how wide her pupils dilated. She was the very embodiment of fear, and it stung more than it should have.
Eventually my walk leads me to a dark, dry cavern. I’m momentarily surprise by the immense size of the place. The air is cool and smells vaguely of incense. Just like the old chapel back on The Nexus, this place feels sacred. I can hear the echoes of a thousand ancient prayers being lifted up here, but not prayers constructed of words. These prayers were formed from battle. I can hear the cries of victory vibrating through the air, and feel the burning sting of defeat still ringing off the rough-hewn walls. The floor of the cavern is arranged like that of a gladiator’s ring, but there are no galleries for spectators. The men and women who entered this cavern over the ages did not come to prove themselves to others. They came only to prove their worth to themselves. My head spins as I soak in the atmosphere, until I feel drunk on it. Blinded by it. I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel each and every individual voice that exists here in this silent place.
“They called this the Reckoning Hall,” a voice says, issuing out of the shadows. I’m unsurprised; I knew the man was there, sitting in the dark, waiting for me. “Many cycles ago,” he continues, “when an apprentice first came into their sight, they’d come here to be tested against their master. If the apprentice could outwit their master by foretelling what he or she would do before they did it, they’d earn their robes.”
“Sounds like a game of cat and mouse to me.” I keep my eyes closed. I can see it, though. The masters, clearing their minds, and then the young wards, fierce and resolute, ready to prove their mettle, reaching out, groping for what might come next. “I wonder if any of them were good enough to see themselves failing,” I whisper.
“Many of them were. Many of them didn’t even step foot inside this place for cycles, because every time they tried they saw themselves defeated and humiliated,” the man answers. “Tell me. Can you see what is to come? When you’re on Archimedes, hidden away on that black, glittering moon, can you divine a person’s future from looking into their hearts?”
I huff out a sharp breath down my nose. He shouldn’t know about Archimedes. The Construct’s research facility isn’t exactly advertised. Neither is my position there. “No. I haven’t been cursed with that specific burden,” I answer.
There’s a long pause. A rustling of robes. The man who’s been waiting for me steps into vision, a long staff propped gracefully over his shoulder. Unlike the other seers I’ve encountered so far with their dusty, colorless hair, this guy’s head is shaved, revealing a number of ridges that travel all the way up onto his skull. His skin is smooth like a mask, making it difficult to tell how old he is. There’s something age-worn about him, but at
the same time something equally sharp and youthful.
“I’m Darius,” he says, spinning his staff around. The length of wood could be a walking aid, but that isn’t the case. The way he handles the weapon with ease and expertise speaks of many long cycles of training. “I thought I might run into you tonight,” Darius says. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing before me, and there’s barely more than a few feet of space between us.
The man blinks at me, as if trying to free his eyes of grit, the ridges in his forehead deepening as he concentrates. After a long time, he says, “You’re sick.”
“I thought you people couldn’t read me.”
Darius shrugs, smiling broadly as he looks down at his feet. “We can’t. I can’t. But I can still use my eyes to see what is standing right in front of me. I’m a healer. I take note of these things. You’re sweating. Your hands are shaking, Jass. The pulse at your throat is throbbing out of control. So, yes, you’re sick. Even a blind man could see that.”
I look down, and he’s right. My hands are trembling. My mind has been so filled with thoughts of Reza that it’s been relatively easy to put aside my body’s increasing need for Light. I won’t be able to ignore it soon, though. My addiction will come calling, and I’ll have to pay heed to it. I close my hands into fists at my sides. “I’m fine,” I answer. “It’s hot down here. There’s nothing else to it.”
Darius smirks—he clearly doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. He points the end of his staff at me, circling me, a puzzled look on his face. “Would you consider yourself a man of honor, Jass?” he asks.
“The Construct doesn’t care for honor. Only obedience.”
“But what about you? Do you consider yourself a man of your word?”
I hesitate. I’ve never had to consider such a thing. He wants to know if I keep my promises. The thing is, before agreeing to Reza’s terms, I can’t remember ever having made one. “I suppose so,” I say. “Whatever that’s worth.”
Darius makes a low clicking sound at the back of his throat. “It’s worth a lot down here. Your word, your honor, is your only currency. Cultivate an excellent reputation and you’ll be a wealthy, influential man. Earn yourself a bad name, the name of a liar and a cheat, and you’ll become the poorest of the poor.”
“I don’t need currency down here, stranger. I can take whatever I want.”
Again, Darius shrugs. “In most instances, that might be the case. But there are some things that can’t be taken.”
“Such as?”
“Friendship. Compassion. Understanding. Kindness. Love. None of these things can be taken from another person without their consent. They have to be offered freely. You can certainly take things that look like those traits, but they’re false. Based in fear. Worthless pandering from those who would run from you the moment they got the chance.”
I fight off the urge to laugh. This seer must be crazy. Absolutely insane. “I don’t need friendship. I don’t need kindness. I sure as hell don’t need love.”
“Even the blackest, most corrupt soul desires love,” Darius counters. “He just refuses to believe it, for fear that accepting it will weaken him. And it would, because love makes bad people do good things all the time.”
“You’re rambling.” I imagine grabbing that staff from him and wrapping it around his head. It would make a pretty satisfying splintering sound as the thing cracked in two over the top of his skull. As if he senses what I’m thinking, Darius laughs, tossing the staff at me so I have to snatch it out of the air. The wood is unbelievably smooth, worn by cycles of handling and spinning. It’s perfectly weighted—a thing of beauty, really, though undeniably simple. It wouldn’t stand a chance against a Construct issue phase rifle, but I admire the feel of it in my hand all the same. Now, Darius the seer is completely unarmed against me. He has been all along; my mind is faster than his staff could ever be. I could tear his body in two by simply imagining it, and then it would be all over for him. Most men in Darius’ position like to cling to their rifles and their pitchforks, and whatever else they have at hand, because it makes them feel like they have a fighting chance of defending themselves, even though they know it isn’t true. Darius appears to be much smarter than the average, terrified farmer I usually meet on my travels, however. I can’t decide whether this information makes me respect him, or dislike him. What an unusual position; I can’t recall the last time I’ve analyzed how I feel about a stranger. For the longest time there has just been me, and then everyone else. One man versus a galaxy full of plotting, conniving, treacherous, self-serving bastards. And in point of fact, I have been the biggest plotting, conniving, self-serving bastard out of the lot of them.
I plant the end of the staff down into the dirt at my feet, and I use the polished length of wood to lean my weight against. It’s an odd stance. My back is so used to remaining ramrod straight at all times that it actually takes effort to relax against the staff. I make my movement look as natural as I can, but there’s a reason why I’m leaning. I am unwell. I am growing sicker and sicker by the hour, and with no hope of obtaining any Light, I’m only going to get sicker. With withdrawal sickness comes anger and unpredictability. These people aren’t going to know what hit them when I really start crashing. Perhaps I should warn them. Tell them all to go. To hand over the girl already, and allow me to leave with her so they can preserve their wretched way of life. A very large part of me doesn’t want to do that, though. Why should I, when they’ve lead me on such a merry chase the past few days? They’ve hidden the truth from me, made me comply to their wishes, and then refused to give me what I have demanded of them. They deserve everything they have coming to them.
They’ve also fed you. Clothed you. Given you your freedom here amongst them. They’ve trusted you in their home, when everything told them they shouldn’t.
I don’t like the quiet, calm voice that speaks these words in the back of my head. I recognize the voice as my own, but I haven’t heard it in so long that it’s as if an unwelcome family member has shown up on my doorstep, wanting to give me advice after having abandoned me for cycles to fend for myself. I shove the voice down, shaking it off. My head swims, and I feel the sweat forming on my brow. I’m so queasy that it feels like the contents of my stomach are boiling. I could lean over and throw up into the dirt right now, but how would that look? Darius would tell everyone what he saw, and people would know how vulnerable I am. I clench my jaw until it feels like my teeth are going to crack, and eventually the nausea passes enough for me to take a deep breath and stand straight again.
“The reason why I ask if you’re a man of your word, Jass, is because I’d like to strike a deal. A deal that might be of interest to you in your current…position.”
“I’m in no position,” I snap back. “And I don’t need to make bargains with any of you people. I’m biding my time here. The moment I tire of this charade, I’ll take Reza and be done with all of this.”
Darius smiles in a knowing, awfully condescending manner. “And why haven’t you tired of this charade already, Jass? Why haven’t you destroyed the sub city and taken what you came here for?”
I open my mouth to reply, but there are no words on the tip of my tongue. I never find myself speechless, but right now I can’t think of a single thing to say to the man in the dusty robes standing opposite me. I should have killed everyone by now. I should have ended this folly before it even began, and yet…I haven’t. Even I can see how out of character that is for me. But when I think about laying this place to waste, lighting the entire underground city on fire and letting madness and anarchy take hold while I kidnap Reza and fly away...there’s something stopping me from taking action. Something holding me back.
“I don’t have to answer your riddles.” I affect boredom, but I know Darius sees right through the act. Infuriating. “You know, back on The Nexus, no one would dare look at me the way you’re looking at me right now,” I say. “It’d be more than their lives were worth.”
/> “That’s an odd statement.” Darius wags his finger at me, frowning. “Should I assume my life’s worth so little? That my existence is worth so much less than a few moments of open eye contact with a stranger. A stranger with a fierce reputation, of course, but still…just a man, all the same. What kind of groveling creature would I be if I couldn’t look you up and down and measure your worth, just as you’ve measured mine? I’d be a creature of the lowest order, and I assure you that isn’t the case. You’ll discover that in time, though.”
I’m taken aback by the way he speaks to me, like he’s chiding a child. Do I really look so sick? So weak? I must look like I’m hovering at death’s door if he thinks he can get away with condescending to me. I toss the staff at Darius’ feet, glowering up at him from beneath my banked brows. “Just say what you want to say. I’m tired of standing around, bickering with a man who makes no sense.”
Again, the other man smiles. He is full of smiles. It seems to be his natural response to any sign of confrontation—a politician’s defense. “I don’t know what substance you require to calm the need tearing through your veins right now, Jass, but I know you’re burning inside. There’s no smoke without fire, after all. And considering the smoke pouring off you, the fire must be considerable. I can help you. I’m an expert healer. There isn’t a compound in this galaxy I can’t cure you of. It’ll take a number of days, and you’ll have to be compliant, but it can be done. You’ll be free of the yoke hanging around your neck. And all I ask in return...”
I stand there waiting for him to continue with my eyes closed. His words have jarred me. Thrown me. Made me shut down. I don’t want his help. Don’t need it. I can handle this on my own. I don’t need him sticking his ridged nose in where it’s not wanted. And to tell me that his help demands my compliance? I should rip his head off his shoulders right where he stands. I’m vibrating, jittering out of control. The power that resides inside me is like a coiled cobra, rearing back, ready to strike.