by Lou Hoffmann
Han had walked to the other end of the long room where three more of the ten slabs in the house were also occupied, but these faces were not covered, and the bodies were clearly human. He was standing near one of them, gazing at the face of the dead woman. Lucky quietly walked over to stand next to him.
Han turned his head to glance at him and give him a quick, sad smile, then turned back. “I knew this woman,” he said in thought. “She was a very good soldier. One of the fastest and most accurate archers I’ve ever seen. And she was kind. She had little family, so she spent a lot of her earnings taking care of the old couple who’d lived next door to her while she was growing up. Her death is a loss, lad.”
“I’m sorry, Han.”
Han didn’t respond but slowly walked over to the next corpse, a man whose head had been bashed in during the fight. It was ugly, but it wasn’t a horror like what Lucky had recently experienced, so he followed Han’s example and stayed calm.
“And this man? A Drakha. A cousin I talked with over an ale a time or two.”
Lucky didn’t respond directly but wondered to himself how Han could even recognize him. Little of his face remained undamaged.
“You’re forgetting to shield again, Luccan. I can see his face well enough, but if I couldn’t, I’d know him by the mark on his arm. It’s a scar left from an accident with a boat hook.”
Lucky tried to shield his thoughts then, as Han suggested, mostly because he didn’t want to disturb Han’s memories as he paid his respects. Privately, though, he thought this was an awful kind of thing for a man to have to do—view the bodies of people he’d known and thought well of.
“This one,” Han thought to Luccan, “she was a beauty! So full of joy, even on the eve of battle. But a fierce warrior, when that’s what was called for.”
Lucky was confused, and without considering, he blurted, “That’s a man, Han.”
Han looked at him again, this time settling his surprised gaze to meet Luccan’s. “Don’t you know that the shape of the body doesn’t always dictate the shape of the soul occupying it? Jehrine may have had a body like a man’s, but she knew herself to be a woman.” He paused for a moment, looked away as if watching a memory replay. He smiled lightly when he turned back to Lucky. He whispered, “You should have seen her dance, Luccan. Heard her sing and laugh and comfort her little brothers and sisters. Watched the way she navigated the world every day. You would have known what a strong example she was of the best a woman can be.”
Together they walked away from the three fallen soldiers to where Thurlock still stood between the other, stranger bodies.
“Olana told Thurlock she thinks one of them—the small one—is alive,” Lucky thought to Han.
“I heard. Not sure how it could be true, though.”
“I….”
Lucky’s thought drifted off as Olana locked gazes with him, her eyes jetting forth a needle-fine blaze of white light. Lucky expected the light to hurt his eyes like too-bright sun, but it didn’t. It touched Lucky’s thoughts and asked permission to enter, a respectful request from an energy that seemed at least benign if not benevolent. Instinct guided him to allow it, and when it entered, any doubt he had as to the intrinsic “goodness” of that power was washed away on a slow, gentle tide of pure light. He smiled at Olana and waited to discover her purpose. Instead, the light only showed his conscious mind what his intuition already knew.
“There is life, there,” Luccan told Han.
AS SILENCE took deep root in the Night House, Lucky’s thoughts fell still.
Then, for the first time ever, he experienced what Thurlock had tried time and again to help him find—pure intention. Without concentration or instruction, plea or wish or words at all, magic moved from within him to the world outside his mind.
Ciarrah responded instantly with a low hum. She was attached by his sandal straps to the outside of his right leg, and in the corner of his right eye he began to see her faint violet glow. Next, energy started to flow from Ciarrah up the right side of his body like a slow current until it reached the center of his chest, where the Key of Behliseth hung on its chain. The Key began to hum, adding a new pitch to Ciarrah’s, the two together so low in volume as to be nearly, but not quite, inaudible. The Key’s glow was golden, as usual, and it hovered at the bottom of Lucky’s field of vision Where the two lights met—Ciarrah’s violet and the Key’s gold, they made a band of pure white, it’s edges shimmering palest pink and soft green.
Thurlock had taken the blanket from the tall, slender form, and he blanched upon seeing the strange body lying there. “It’s as I thought. This is the type of… being I saw in that other world, moving and working among the children without any evident compassion. Ethran children, Earthborn children—not their own kind. Of all the things that Behl has ever seen fit to show me, that was by far the hardest to bear.”
Lucky, directed by something inside which simply knew what to do, moved to the slab with the other unknown being, sat beside its still form on the slab, and folded back the blanket. He felt, rather than saw or heard, Thurlock’s and Han’s gasps of surprise—or more likely shock. Lucky understood the reaction, for the being lying before him was not only a strangely misshapen memory of a humanoid form, it almost couldn’t be seen. That is, the solid form seemed to be there one instant and not the next, and from moment to moment the shape seemed to shift. Near the apex, what Lucky perceived to be the creature’s head seemed at times to hold the vestiges of a chubby-cheeked face much like a newborn infant’s, but this was no child. Again, Lucky knew that, and didn’t question how.
In the back of his mind, Lucky kept track of the other three people in the room as he reached out to put his hands, as much as he could, on the creature’s temples. Olana sat in her trance, just as she had before their shared instant. Han and Thurlock both stepped closer to him as if to stop him, but they weren’t fast enough, and Lucky made contact. The flesh he held seemed at first no more solid to the touch than it had looked, but as the light of Lucky’s magic—focused through the Key of Behliseth—and Ciarrah’s light flowed together into the small body, it took a more definite shape, if still not quite distinct and steady. In a moment, pink and green bars of mixed light began to glow in the center of the body, pulsing in the rhythm of a slow heartbeat.
Once again, Lucky began to see things that weren’t part of the world he was standing in. He was fully awake this time, though, and he supposed that if he tried, he could pull away. But he let it happen, and sensed another mind was pulling him into its memories. He saw a world full of life, vibrantly green, with flowing waters and shining stars. There were people in that world. At first they seemed human, but Lucky had a sense of time lapse, and over what must have been many, many years they began to change. Lucky’s vision shifted back outward to the great expanses of the world, and he saw the evidence of life begin to fade. Green land went slowly gray. Stars winked out. He understood; he was watching a world die. He heard a whisper.
“Terrathia.”
Then, Lucky began to speak in a waxing and waning whispered voice not his own.
“They are our only hope…. We were wrong, so wrong… our world fades… cannot sustain… not real and cannot last…. Not a place that can last! We are dying….” Lucky went quiet, but his rapport with this strange being remained. Did she have more to say?
Han’s shock seemed to give way and, apparently afraid for Lucky, he stepped over to him and took him by the shoulders, trying to pull him away. Lucky resisted, and the words came again, this time clearer, stronger, not to be denied.
“Evil came in our weakness. We are sorry! But the children, they are our only hope.”
Chapter Nineteen: One Crazy World
LUCKY ALLOWED Han to pull him away then, letting go of the connection with the alien being—for he understood now she’d come from another world. He dropped his hands to his sides, and the magic of Ciarrah and the Key of Behliseth continued to warm him for a brief moment as they faded. He wo
ndered, when he became conscious of his own thoughts again, if he’d just had a dead being speak through him, but when he looked again, he realized the twin lights that had taken shape within her, green and pink, continued to pulse their heartbeat rhythm.
“She’s alive,” he said, and then all the energy drained away from him at once. He slumped to sit on the floor with his back against the pedestal under the slab.
Thurlock said, “Yes.”
Olana stood, touched Lucky’s head, then left the Night House without a word.
Han’s inquiry came to Lucky’s mind: “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Lucky said it aloud, because he was just too tired for the extra effort required to send a thought.
“What…. Oh, never mind. He was talking to you, I take it, Han?”
“Yes, sir. I asked him if he was all right.”
“Well, then ‘yes’ is a perfectly fine answer, but from the looks of you, Luccan, you need to rest. You need to sleep.”
“I know,” Lucky said, and hoped Thurlock would drop it for the time being, as he was too tired to move or explain.
After silence—more or less of the “considering things” variety—Thurlock said. “As to this being, here, she seems to have a heartbeat. I suppose we should try to keep it going, if for no other reason than simple humanity.”
Han nodded, but then his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips as he considered. “What Luccan said—I mean what she said through Luccan—about the children, and evil? She’s part of what’s going wrong.”
“I agree that’s likely, but we don’t know the degree of her involvement personally. And if we can keep her alive, we might be able to get more information from her. Could be useful.”
Han sighed. “Right, I suppose. Perhaps we should move her to the infirmary?”
Thurlock engaged in some wizardly beard-scratching, then wrapped the blanket around her as one would a child and picked her up in his arms.
Lucky rose laboriously.
Thurlock turned to him and said, “Luccan, I’ll have Han walk you back to my house. Please, do us all a favor and sleep. You’ll be okay. Han can wait with you until I get there, and then I’ll be with you myself.”
“’Kay,” Lucky said, far too tired to object, and followed Thurlock toward the door.
When Thurlock stopped suddenly, Lucky ran smack into him.
Thurlock hardly seemed to notice. “Look at the… let’s call it a ‘heart light,’ like in that movie we saw when we were in Earth, Han, remember?”
“E.T.,” Lucky and Han said together.
“Yes, E.T. Look,” he said again.
The lights, which had been pulsing slowly but evenly, now flashed rapidly and weakly, their rhythm erratic. Lucky, alarmed, drew in a breath to speak, but before he did, Thurlock stepped back toward where she had been lying, and the rhythm of the lights immediately began to resolve.
Thurlock grunted a speculative “Hm” and stepped toward the door again.
The lights went crazy again.
“Han,” Thurlock said. “Can you pick up the other…?”
“Alien,” Lucky said into the pause.
“Yes, good. Can you pick up the other alien and bring it along?”
Carrying the taller alien figure was a bigger job, and Lucky wondered how Han was going to do it. But Han didn’t hesitate, simply stooping, pulling the big creature’s arms over his shoulder, and standing up with the alien on his back—exactly the same as the “fireman’s carry” Henry had once shown Lucky.
This time Thurlock walked close behind Han as they exited the Night House, and the heart lights remained steady.
“Hold on a second, Han,” Thurlock said and then turned to Lucky. “Can you make it back to my house on your own? Han will be there shortly, and Henry’s already there—Maizie too.”
Instead of answering, Lucky, his voice rough with the need to sleep, asked, “Is the other one alive too, do you think?”
Thurlock asked, “What do you think?”
Lucky started to get annoyed that the wizard had answered a question with a question, but then he realized he’d done the same thing. He stopped to consider. “I… don’t think so, sir. I don’t think the big one is alive.”
Thurlock nodded in agreement. “I don’t think so either, but it seems there’s a… what did the scientists in Earth call it? Oh yes, a symbiosis, between the two. As if they were a pair that could only exist while in proximity to each other, and this little one, now, clings to life only as long as she’s close to the other—even though the other is dead. An interesting phenomenon—”
“I’m sure it is, sir,” Han said. “But this one is heavier than it looks.”
“Ah! Yes. Sorry, Han, I was rambling. Luccan,” he asked again, “will you be all right to go to my house alone?”
Lucky felt suddenly far too exhausted at this point to worry about anything at all, so he mumbled an affirmative “uh-huh” and set off across the Sisterhold grounds.
He made it with only a few stumbles all the way to the wizard’s threshold, then, just as he was about to push the door open, someone shouted, “Hey!” from not very far away. Something like fear came over Lucky like a wave. He was already throwing a fist as he turned and launched another punch and a savage kick in quick succession.
It was weird—he’d always been more of a flight, not fight, kind of guy, disliking violence and only resorting to it when unavoidable. Somewhere in Lucky’s mind he already regretted his reaction even before he realized that the person he’d attacked was Zhevi. Fortunately, Zhevi was fast enough the punches missed his head; he’d turned quickly to take them on his back. The kick then took him in the back of his knee, and he went down. He was bruised and not a little pissed, but nothing was broken.
“Crap, Luccan! When did you start hating me?”
But the energy that had exploded in Lucky with an infusion of adrenaline had drained away as quickly as it had come, and he sank to the porch floor beside Zhevi, muttering, “Sorry… sorry… I’m so sorry, Zhevi… really sorry….”
Finally Zhevi said, “Okay fine! Stop apologizing. I’m glad you’re awake and alive and everything, but damn, you need to calm down. Why are you here?”
“What?”
“Here, at Thurlock’s house? Why?”
All Lucky had energy for by way of explanation was “He wants me here.”
“Whatever,” Zhevi said, still sounding annoyed, but he apparently had things on his mind he thought were more important. “Where is Thurlock? I need to talk to him.” He hesitated and then added, “L’Aria’s gone, Luccan. I can’t find her.”
Lucky blinked hard, trying to wake up enough to respond. Finally he said, “She leaves all the time, though, right?”
“No! Yes. Never mind. Where’s Thurlock?”
“Infirmary.”
“What? He’s hurt? Sick?”
“No, the aliens…,” Lucky said, but he was drifting off even as he sat on the hard floorboards of the porch with his back to the door, and he never finished the statement.
The door behind Lucky opened, suddenly, but he was so tired he simply took the opportunity to lie down, and he was half-asleep as he heard the ensuing conversation.
“Who are you?” Zhevi asked.
“I’m Henry. What’s wrong with Lucky?”
“He’s sleeping. I’m looking for Thurlock.”
“He doesn’t seem to be here.”
“Bye, then,” Zhevi said. “I need to find him.”
Apparently he hadn’t waited around for an answer, because Henry didn’t give him one. He crouched down and got an arm under Lucky’s shoulders, helping him to stand up. “Come on, kiddo, I’ll help you up to your bed.” Before he got to the stairs, he said, “But just between you and me? This is one crazy world.”
PART THREE: Missions and Prophecy
Chapter Twenty: Elephants in the Room
LUCKY ROLLED out of bed when the morning was still young, gray, and cool. That meant he hadn�
��t slept long, but he had slept, and he felt wonderful for it, although a little disoriented and kind of stiff. He probably hadn’t even turned over in his sleep enough to keep his muscles limber. Maizie licked his face first thing—which was both wonderful and icky—and he decided to get up rather than let her carry on like that. After he ducked into the bathroom for morning ablutions, he exchanged the wizard’s PJs for the sort of thing one wore in the Sunlands on an ordinary day, and headed downstairs, hoping to find somebody home.
At the bottom of the stairs, a note—bold letters made of purple shadow hanging in a curtain of light….
Luccan, go to the manor for breakfast, then find me.
Th. O’K, PWotS
Lucky considered what thok pwots, might be, decided Th. O’K stood for Thurlock Ol’Karrigh, and wondered why the wizard had found it necessary to include the letters representing his credentials—Premier Wizard of the Sunlands. He did appreciate the note but hoped “find me” didn’t prove too difficult. The old man got around. It could be hard to track him down.
The note was large, and it was in the way, and Lucky was pretty sure he couldn’t get around, over, or under it. He felt a little nervous about walking through the letters, but he needn’t have worried. The instant he stepped into it, the whole assemblage simply vanished. It all seemed a little strange but, compared to recent events, not too far from normal, which was a scary idea.
Right. Normal.
He shook his head, called Maizie to follow him, and headed for the manor house. He gave her a pet and a good-natured warning not to dig as she headed in the direction of the garden, and then he went in through the manor’s kitchen door—partly because it was the closest entrance, and partly because he loved the kitchen and hadn’t yet had a chance to say hi to Cook. He found Cook all excited, because Henry had been there really early and showed him how to make hash browns.