Nihala

by Scott Burdick

  “Do you know the significance of this room?” Tem asked.

  “It doesn’t look much different than many of the natural caves formed from the lava tubes.”

  “Ohg didn’t mention it to you when he learned your history?” Tem stared at her with a strange intensity.

  “Why would he?”

  Tem led her into the shadow of the twisted monolith. His dark eyes, black braids, and Mongolian features made him seem an ancient statue come to life. In many ways, that was exactly what he was.

  Puck scurried down her clothes and dashed through the maze of holes like a miniature explorer. The mouse paused at the round rock in the center and sniffed it, then continued his survey.

  Tem’s brow furrowed. “I find it hard to believe Ohg didn’t tell you the story of the artist who created this place three centuries ago.”

  “Someone carved that as a work of art?”

  “The rock itself formed naturally aeons before Ohg ever found these volcanic caverns.”

  “How can it be the work of an artist, then?”

  “Her name was Vadarsha,” Tem said. “In Sanskrit it means one who perceives truth. Vadarsha had been genetically engineered with the artistic, intuitive, and conceptual centers of her brain enhanced to an extent never seen in a human mind.

  “Oftentimes in genetic engineering, the alteration of one series of genes affects others in unexpected ways. At the birth of what they predicted would be the greatest artist in human history, the scientists realized the child was not only blind, but lacked normal sex organs, though the absence of a Y chromosome made her technically female. Still, they hoped for something special, for hadn’t the Iliad and Odyssey been written by a blind poet?

  “As the years passed, Vadarsha failed to speak or respond in any way. Two genetically engineered nurses served the potential prodigy with a total selflessness impossible for a natural human. In some ways, they formed three parts of one individual.”

  “Like worker ants in a colony?” Kayla asked.

  “Very similar. The nurses led the hoped-for artist through the halls of the laboratory like a brain-dead invalid. Days turned to months, and then to years with no change. Vadarsha’s legs moved when the nurses took a hand and led the way—her jaw muscles worked when sensing food inside her mouth—and she even experienced a sleep cycle.

  “The scientists nearly abandoned the project, but scans of their creation’s brain found it awash in activity. The creative centers expanded to five times the size of a normal artist. The neurons communicated so actively amongst themselves that the scientists remained convinced something must be happening—something wondrous.

  “They tried everything to make contact, even mapping the electrical activity with sophisticated computers in attempts at translation. Nothing worked. When the child reached sixteen years old, they gave up. Minimal funding kept Vadarsha alive year after year in the slim hope of a future technological breakthrough.”

  “Until the Gene Purification Laws,” Kayla said.

  Tem nodded. “When the Purification squad arrived, they found the entire ‘Genetic Modification’ wing empty of everything, Vadarsha included.” Tem took her hand and led her around the contorted rock at the center of the cave. The warmth of his hand spread through her with its intimacy.

  “The nurses continued Vadarsha’s daily walks through the expanding bounds of Middilgard as it filled with those Ohg rescued in the world above. One day, they came to this chamber.” Tem laid his hand on the volcanic monolith at the center. “Vadarsha’s fingers grazed this outcrop, and, for the first time, she stopped moving on her own. Then her hand rose unaided and slid along the surface of the rock.

  “For several days, Vadarsha examined every hole, crevice, and curve of the monolith, as if mapping it within her mind. She continued outward in an ever-expanding circle along the floor, fingers caressing the smooth surface as one might a precious artifact.

  “When she reached the walls, her painstaking survey continued around in ever higher circles. When her arms reached their limit, the nurses strapped her to one of the floating discs so she could continue.”

  Tem gazed at the ceiling. “The spirals narrowed to a point at the peak, and all of us wondered what would happen when the obsessive-compulsive task ended.”

  “Were you there?” Kayla asked.

  “A group of us watched the artist’s fingers explore the final surface of stone and then stop.”

  Tem led Kayla to one of the walls and placed her hand against its surface.

  “The blind artist returned to this spot and started tearing at it with her fingernails until blood soaked the stone. The nurses restrained her, and Vadarsha fought them for the first time in her life, scratching and striking in her desperation to return to this specific place on the wall. Nothing calmed her until Ohg placed the tools of a sculptor in her hands. Vadarsha instantly deduced their purpose.”

  Kayla ran her fingers over the stone. “I can feel the variations and marks of the tools.”

  “Unaccustomed to labor,” Tem said, “the artist’s body collapsed after a few hours, going into a restorative sleep before her mind drove it onward once more. Day after day, she worked. Over time, her muscles hardened and fingers calloused.

  “For sixteen years, Vadarsha sculpted the walls, floor, and ceiling. When complete, the blind artist turned to the rock at the room’s center and spent another twelve years on it, this time working with miniature files and chisels so small the marks become nearly invisible. The final piece she crafted was this.”

  Tem lifted the marble from the sculpture and handed it to Kayla.

  “After setting it in the center of her masterwork, Vadarsha stopped. The chisel and hammer slipped from the blind artist’s hands and clanged to the floor. The two nurses alone witnessed the event, but Ohg later recorded their memories.”

  Tem’s gaze roamed the room. “Then Vadarsha smiled—a full, unrestrained expression of relief, pride, and joy. Only a poet, painter, inventor, or composer could probably understand that moment, when the vision is realized.”

  Tem’s eyes met Kayla’s. “Then Vadarsha died.”

  “How could she die?” Kayla asked. “With all the technology…”

  “The medi-bots found nothing physically wrong. The electrical activity in Vadarsha’s mind had simply ceased.”

  Kayla’s eyes widened. “The ghost left the machine behind.”

  “Both nurses requested permission to end their lives as well. They didn’t seem depressed, just … finished, their purpose fulfilled. Ohg mapped their memories and then allowed them to take a painless dose of a medicine he synthesized for this purpose, respecting their right to control their own destiny.”

  “Why tell me such a depressing story?” Kayla gazed at the marble in her hand. “What possible connection could it have to me?”

  “An hour ago, I’d have said there was no connection.” Tem gestured at the walls. “Most assumed these scrapings were nothing but the obsessive marks of insanity. Then, a hundred years after her death, one of Middilgard’s children made an accidental discovery.” Tem pulled a braided rope from around his neck with a small crystal attached to the end. She recognized it as the same device Ohg and Ganesh had used to light their way through the dark passages underneath the abandoned city.

  The lights of the room dimmed as the crystal in Tem’s hand glowed to life. He placed it within the pockmarked mound of volcanic rock in the spot where the marble had sat.

  Kayla gasped as beams of light shot from the hundreds of gaps in the monolith like a starburst.

  “It’s beautiful!” Kayla said. Puck sat atop the rock and emitted a series of squeaks.

  “Yes, it is,” Tem said, “but look at the walls…”

  Kayla’s eyes followed one of the beams of light to a section of the cavern’s wall. The various outcroppings and indentations of the wall molded the projected light into subtle half-tones. Together, they rendered an image of hundreds of figures bowing before a woman on a
hill. A free-standing archway rose around her. The sun hovered behind the woman and cast beams of light in all directions like a halo. Her silhouetted features obscured her face, but Kayla had the impression of an ancient priestess or saint.

  “It’s unbelievable,” Kayla whispered. The design of the scene, the sense of light, composition, and the sublime rendition of form; all marked it one of the greatest masterpieces ever created. “But I still don’t understand what this has to do with me?”

  “Look around at the rest.”

  Kayla’s eyes wandered across the wall, through a mural of faces, animals, and winged figures. Then a jolt of fear shot through every nerve.

  The scene portrayed a forest with towering trees bent over a mother sprawled on the ground. A newborn child lay between her legs. The infant slumped to the side with its umbilical cord still attached, one of its feet horribly twisted, and the newborn’s face…

  “My God,” Kayla whispered. “It looks like … me.”

  “When you spoke of your birth, I had the same thought. It seemed a remarkable coincidence. But as you told the rest of your story …”

  Kayla’s eyes crawled past images of demons, dragons, and heroic figures with swords marching in long columns.

  And then her eyes froze on another scene.

  In the center, the light portrayed the burnt remains of a man tied to a smoldering stake. Above a second execution pyre, hovered the naked figure of a woman. Fire flowed into her perfect ebony body, and symbols etched every inch of her skin. Two glowing eyes surveyed the fleeing crowd of terrified onlookers.

  “How is this possible?” Kayla asked.

  Tem shook his head. “Since the discovery of the images, the question has always been how someone blind from birth could have created a visual work of art, but now the mystery is far more profound.”

  Kayla faced the image of the woman beneath the archway. The beauty and mood of the scene contained a soothing power. A sense of hope and renewal similar to a religious icon.

  Her eyes drifted down the angelic figures, passed the prostrating bodies of her devotees, to the chamber floor itself. Etched in light, lay the crumpled form of a naked, black-skinned woman with glowing symbols covering her body. It had been rendered so perfectly in light and shadow, that it looked almost real. Hair obscured the face, but who else could it be but her?

  “Vadarsha foresaw my birth, resurrection, and death—hundreds of years ago.”

  Tem remained silent.

  Kayla shook her head as if waking from a dream. “When Ohg learned of my past, he knew of this room, and yet said nothing.”

  “I suspect Ohg didn’t want too many shocks all at once,” Tem said.

  “I know you don’t believe in the supernatural,” Kayla said, “but the proof is right in front of you.” She stilled, and the blood drained from her face. “Unless …”

  Kayla shielded her eyes from the mural. “I can’t stand the sight of them any longer.”

  Tem removed the crystal, and the images vanished. The globes in the ceiling blazed to life.

  Kayla lowered her eyes. “No doubt you’ve seen the obvious answer already.”

  Tem nodded. “Your memories could be crafted to match these images and make them appear miraculous.”

  “Like the virgin birth of Jesus could have been a story made up afterward to give the appearance of fulfilling an Old Testament prediction.”

  “So you’ve read the history books on Christianity.”

  Kayla nodded. “But only someone in Middilgard could have viewed these images. If my memories are nothing but an elaborate hoax, who could be behind it, and for what possible purpose? ”

  “We don’t know for certain that your memories are false,” he said.

  “Since either case seems impossible, then I must not exist at all.”

  Tem’s voice filled with concern. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

  Kayla silenced him with a kiss. The only thing I can trust is this moment.

  Tem hesitated, then kissed her in return.

  Ahti had called her the first of a new generation in Middilgard, and Tem remained the only Gene-Freak who could have children. The possibilities swirled through her mind as the passion flooded her body with the age-old demands of her genetic programming.

  Tem’s arms encircled her, then pulled her against his body.

  In an instant, Tem transformed into Elias, his chapped lips bruising her mouth, his calloused hands pinning her to the ground—and then the pain.

  Kayla screamed and shoved Tem away. She collapsed to her knees and retched.

  “I’m sorry,” Tem said. “I didn’t mean to …”

  “It’s not you. My memories torment me, whether or not they’re real.”

  “I think I understand,” he said.

  Kayla’s face twisted with emotion. “Will you help me find answers to who I am?”

  Tem gazed at her in silence. “What are you asking?”

  “Sangwa claimed that I’d been made by her creator. That could only mean one person—Reinhold Watts, the man who invented the first Artificially Intelligent computer algorithm. If anyone could invent the nanobots within my blood, it’s him.”

  “He vanished three and a half centuries ago,” Tem said.

  “Can you tell me where to start?”

  “The only place that might hold a clue is Ixtalia.”

  Kayla looked at him for a long moment. “Ohg might kick us both out of Middilgard if we defy him.”

  “It’s time to ask yourself which you value more. The safe shelter of Ohg and his rules, or your search for the truth of who you really are.”

  Words from the Book of Job echoed in her mind: I will fetch my knowledge from afar, and will ascribe righteousness to my Maker.

  The memory of the flesh peeling off her beloved monk’s skull flashed before her eyes. If she gave up, wouldn’t his death be meaningless?

  Kayla took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m grateful to Ohg, but I have to know who I am.” She straightened and looked into Tem’s eyes. “Take me to Ixtalia.”

  Chapter 22

  Kayla lay in Tem’s traditional Mongolian tent, far from the populated sections of Middilgard. Its spartan simplicity contrasted with the chaotic emotions swirling through her mind. Was she betraying Ohg’s kindness in going to Ixtalia against his wishes?

  “Close your eyes,” Tem said, lying down next to her.

  She settled back and shut her eyes. A pressure gradually built within her skull.

  “You’re feeling my consciousness seeking a link to your mind.” Tem’s voice came from nowhere and everywhere. The odd sensation of words bypassing her ears constricted her throat with panic. But the masculine scent of his body lying beside her in his tent grounded her. Tem’s words from their fist day together acted as a soothing mantra—As long as you’re with me, you’re safe.

  Her fingers unclenched, and her racing heart eased ever so slightly. I trust you. Still, the tether to the world of the atom remained. “Maybe I don’t have a Mind-Link after all?”

  “If you can hear me, you have one, since I’m speaking only with my thoughts.”

  Pain lanced through her skull and she gasped.

  Once again, Tem’s voice calmed her. “I’ve found the portal but am having a hard time connecting—there, I’ve got it!”

  Tem appeared in the darkness before her mind’s eye. “I’ve created a bond between us. All you have to do is follow my lead.” Tem reached forward, and his hand closed on emptiness. Then he leaned back and pulled. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest strained with enormous effort. Vertigo and nausea twisted through her.

  “It hurts!”

  “Your mind fights to maintain its connection to your body. Ignore it.”

  Agony knifed into her temples. For a moment, she resisted, but then she relaxed and let it wash over her. Something in her snapped—and then she stood beside Tem. Kayla gazed down at her own body lying next to his on the fur rug of his tent.

/>   Is this what it feels like to die?

  “Well done!” Tem’s proud smile filled her with warmth—and something more. Hope, or even love?

  She fingered the rough homespun dress hanging from her shoulders. Her twisted leg throbbed with the familiar pain that had been a constant companion for most of her life. Within Tem’s brown eyes hovered the reflection of her distorted face. She turned from him and pulled her hair over the left side of her face in an almost-forgotten gesture.

  “Your unconscious mind has reverted to its default self-image,” he said, “but our physical bodies are no more us than the clothing we wear.”

  The virtual Tem morphed into an old man, then a young woman, a tiger, a butterfly, and back into Tem.

  Kayla laughed at his display, but the intensity of the throbbing pain in her foot demanded notice. I’ve forgotten the pain of living as a cripple. “How do I change into a form … more comfortable.”

  “Visualize it.”

  Kayla raised all four of her arms wide. Her trunk waggled in front of her eyes.

  Tem laughed. “Hello, Ganesh.”

  Kayla cycled through a dozen bodies in quick succession. A peacock, Minister Coglin, and even a robot from the tournament, until returning to her normal physical form. “This is amazing!”

  “It’s time you learned where the rest of humanity resides.” He took her hand, and their surroundings transformed. Fractal skies flowed in hypnotic patterns above rivers of light twisting beneath bizarrely proportioned castles unbound from gravity. Up and down became meaningless in the infinity surrounding them.

  Tem swept his hand in an arc. “Welcome to Ixtalia.”

  A girl wearing a transparent gown flew past them and plunged into the mouth of a giant clown’s head. The painted face swallowed her, smacked its lips, and extended its mouth wide in invitation.

  Kayla gripped Tem’s hand.

  “This is called the Gateway.” Tem flew them past a series of doors hanging in mid-air. Some fronted signs or hawkers shouting spiels to entice them in, while others stood unadorned or padlocked. The multitude of portals stretched to an infinite vanishing point.