The Dark Path

by Walter H Hunt

  "No offense was taken, sir."

  "Will you agree to abide by the honor and custom of the People during the Ordeal?"

  "Upon my oath as an officer, to the best of my ability, sir."

  "Very well," he replied. "Let us proceed."

  ***

  The servant who had admitted Jackie to the Chamberlain's presence touched her softly on her left arm and beckoned to her. She followed into a side-chamber, lit for humans rather than zor. The small room held a low table and two chairs. One of the chairs contained a human. He rose as she approached; the young zor withdrew.

  "Commodore? I'm Martin Boyd, from the Envoy's Office." He extended his hand and she took it. They sat at the table. "It was felt that I should make you aware of certain matters prior to the start of the Ritual."

  "A briefing."

  "Quite so." She took a moment to look him over. Martin Boyd was a middle-aged man of small proportions. Her first impression was that Boyd was officious like a bureaucrat. Still, he seemed to be at ease with formality, like a well-trained ambassador.

  "Will you be participating in the Ritual?" She realized offhandedly that she had capitalized the word, almost as if she understood its meaning.

  "Participate? No, of course not. It's unusual—in fact, it's quite remarkable—for a human to be allowed at all."

  "se T'te'e made that issue quite clear."

  "The High Chamberlain is . . . conservative. Nonetheless, the arrangement has been agreed upon, and I am here—"

  "To assure that I don't make an ass of myself."

  "—I am here," Boyd continued, patiently, "to assist you in any way I can and to apprise you of events from a different perspective."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The Admiralty, especially His Grace the First Lord, is rather skeptical of your account. Isn't that correct?"

  "Yes, sir. Their Lordships seem to be having a difficult time with it."

  "Yet you are certain that the things you describe did happen."

  "More certain than of anything I have ever known. What's your point?"

  "My point, Commodore, is that the High Nest knows and has known for some time that there are hostile aliens beyond the boundaries of the Solar Empire. The source of this knowledge is the prescient dreaming of a High Lord whose sanity comes more and more into doubt. The ever-rational humans—and even a number of the People—have discounted hi Ke'erl's visions, in some cases dismissing them entirely.

  "The People have learned skepticism from humans about the rule and guide that has directed them for millennia. The gift of esLi, the gift of prophecy—of prescience—is a bright and terrible burden that has been the sorrow and the joy of the High Lord since the Zor'a was united thousands of years ago. Sometimes, including this time, the awful knowledge of what is to happen brings about madness. But this makes the truth no less true.

  "Almost a year ago, the Council of Eleven presented their fears and concerns to the Solar Emperor and asked that the Imperial Navy be put on war alert. The naval forces of the People have been partially mobilized for the whole time, even though the majority of worlds under the authority of the High Nest are on the opposite side of the Empire from its present threat. Needless to say, the emperor declined. He was gracious and polite; he offered to take the matter under advisement, but he declined nonetheless."

  He paused to let it sink in, or perhaps just to gauge her reaction. She kept her face impassive, betraying nothing, not even fear. Inside, though, her mind was racing.

  The High Nest knew about the vuhls, at least a year ago—and no one acted, she thought.

  "Do not judge your admirals too harshly, Commodore. Consider what you would have done with the news: not now, but before your recent experience. You may be ready to believe now. Would you have believed then?"

  She looked away at her hands folded in her lap, pale against the crimson of the ceremonial robe.

  Am I that different? she asked herself. Have I changed that much?

  The mighty river flows from a hidden source, the voice in her mind said to her.

  She must have looked alarmed. Boyd reached out and touched her arm. She jerked away at the touch, turning to look at the far wall. It was adorned with a multihued tapestry depicting some scene from zor legend: a warrior, glowing chya in hand, climbing a steep road toward a distant tower crowned with lightnings.

  "Commodore?"

  "I'm sorry; you startled me. Please go on."

  "Without cooperation from the Admiralty," Boyd continued, "the High Lord sent the Gyaryu'har to Cicero. His reasons were twofold: first, as se Torrijos is a former military officer, his assessment of the situation would be valuable to the Council of Eleven; second, because he was presumed to be safe as long as the gyaryu was on his person protecting him. It had been dreamed that the talon of state would be able to guard against the esGa'uYal.

  "Just before the Gyaryu'har began his journey, the Admiralty relented and prepared an inspection tour for Admiral Tolliver to coincide with se Torrijos' itinerary. Less than a month before they arrived at Cicero, the first of the two exploratory vessels disappeared.

  "Several weeks ago, the High Lord sent a message to the emperor informing him that the esGa'uYal were beginning to stir. He sent this message just after Admiral Tolliver jumped from Cicero.

  "The rest I believe you know."

  She took a few deep breaths. "The . . . Gyaryu'har alluded to his mission. What I didn't realize was that the inspection tour was his, and not really Admiral Tolliver's at all."

  "As I am sure the Admiralty wanted."

  "I have a question for you, sir. Why are you telling me all of this now—just before the—just before whatever it is happens?"

  "It may help to clarify matters for you somewhat. To the People, you see, every person and every thing has a role, a place that esLi has arranged. The mystical nature that the 'rational' human perceives as chaotic is actually based on the trust in that harmonic arrangement, and the security that one's role will somehow be made clear. It is the reason for the code of honor—for the dreaming of the High Lord—and for the Dsen'yen'ch'a."

  "My role is as an Imperial naval officer, Mr. Boyd. Nothing less will suit, or satisfy."

  "Your point is taken, Commodore. But you underestimate yourself."

  "What do you mean?"

  A gong sounded in the outer chamber and Boyd stood. "We must go. The High Chamberlain is ready to begin."

  "What do you mean, dammit?" She grabbed his arm and nearly pulled him back into his seat.

  "I—I may have spoken out of place. Please, Commodore, we must attend the High Chamberlain." He loosened his arm from her grasp and walked away. Not knowing what else to do, she rose and followed.

  ***

  Ch'k'te stood perched in a torus that hung near the rear wall of the chamber. His eyes were shut, but they opened as Jackie and the Chamberlain approached; he stepped from the torus and fluttered gently to the floor. He reached out and gently grasped Jackie's forearms.

  "Thank you for coming," he said, as the Chamberlain stood at a respectful distance.

  "I keep my promises. I'll do my best."

  "More than enough," he replied, giving her a gentle squeeze | on one forearm and then letting go. "Did the Chamberlain say something to trouble you?"

  "He tried to suggest that I should not be here."

  Ch'k'te turned to look at the Chamberlain, and Jackie felt the I tension increase. "I set him straight," she added hastily, half expecting to see claws unsheathed.

  "Did he—touch your honor?"

  "No. And he apologized afterward. He's consented to my participation, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

  Ch'k'te held the High Chamberlain's gaze for another moment and then looked back at Jackie. "esLiHeYar," he said at last. To the everlasting glory of esLi.

  "I do not know what form this Ordeal will take," he said quietly to Jackie, looking down at the deck. "The Chamberlain is obliged to satisfy himself and therefore the High Nest that I h
ave not transgressed and made myself idju—No, please let me finish," he said, as she tried to protest. "You have been willing to give up anything, even control of your own hsi, on my behalf. I believe you to be a truly exemplary human because of it.

  "But you still are not cognizant of our culture, and I assure you that I may have transgressed in a way you can not understand. If the Chamberlain finds me to be wanting, I must submit to his, and esLi's, judgment." He looked over his shoulder at the torus. "Regardless of your feelings on the matter, you must surrender to their wisdom if this is the case."

  "I . . . understand."

  "Do you? They will not condemn me to life if I am idju, se Jackie. I will transcend the Outer Peace, and you must let me."

  "How could they find you at fault?"

  His eyes were full of emotion as he looked up at her once more. "I . . . do not know."

  ***

  It was still difficult to lower her barriers and to expose her hsi to another: The first tendrils of the High Chamberlain's mind felt alien and hostile, despite being gentle. A matter of trust, she told herself: he's as afraid as you are.

  So she forced herself to let him enter her consciousness, and slowly she felt herself beginning to drift, as if she were rocking gently in a wide ocean, the waves moving her slowly up and down, up and down . . .

  She felt Ch'k'te's familiar presence nearby, along with the strong pattern of the High Chamberlain; and there was one other, somewhere beyond or above, only barely showing his/her/its presence: a powerful, all-encompassing one, some where beyond the torus that hung several meters away . . .

  esLi? she asked quietly.

  esLi, the Chamberlain said. esLi commands that the journey begin. esLi commands that the ordeal commence.

  esLiHeYar, said Ch'k'te.

  I am the glaive of the High Nest.

  The gong sounded again, somewhere very far away now, echoing through Jackie's consciousness as her eyes swam.

  I am the gyu'u of the Lord esLi.

  Gong.

  I raise my head toward the orb of the Sun and survey the land of my clan-fathers. I scan the horizon and watch for the legions of esGa'u. Though the searing heat burn away my skin— Gong.

  Though it singe my wings until, blackened, they drop away—

  Gong.

  Though the madness-of-daylight comes upon me, I shall not swerve from my duty.

  Gong.

  I am the glaive.

  Gong.

  I am the talon.

  Gong.

  I am

  Gong.

  I

  Gonggggggggggggg . . .

  ***

  Something made her open her eyes. Even in the instant before she did, she knew she wouldn't be in the High Chamberlain's rooms aboard Adrianople Starbase; Ch'k'te had prepared her well for the constructs a Sensitive created to house the inner conflicts and meetings of minds.

  What she saw, however, was so vivid and breathtaking that she closed her eyes and opened them again to make sure she really saw it. It was even more beautiful than the structure Th'an'ya had imposed upon their link back on Cicero.

  She stood at the edge of a great tiled circle set in the stone of a clifftop lookout. It offered a stunning view of rocky country, etched in incredibly realistic detail and bathed in the glow of an orange-red sun. When she compared it to the pastel and crystalline images of her mental link with Ch'k'te and Th'an'ya, it was like comparing the work of a master artist with the drawing of a talented but unskilled child.

  She assumed it was drawn from memory; even so, the in credible detail of the scene—from the articulated stonework of the parapets to the carefully defined angles of the distant peaks to the patterns on each individual tile in the pavement beneath her boots—showed a craftsmanship that was almost too skillful to imagine.

  It was then she realized that she was alone.

  A chill of fear crept through her; she instinctively reached for a weapon at her belt—and felt her hand close around a sword-hilt.

  "What the hell?" she said, and her voice echoed oddly in the alien place. She looked at the sash of her robe and saw her hand holding the hilt of an ornately carved sword. She looked at the blade tucked into the sash without a scabbard and felt it also, pulsing almost as if it were alive.

  A chya—at her belt?

  She walked to the parapet on one side of the lookout and looked over the side. She saw a dizzying drop onto what looked like sharp rock fangs hundreds of meters below.

  "I guess I'm stuck here for the duration," she said.

  "Such a pity to be without wings," a zor voice said behind her. She whirled, her hand reaching for the chya.

  A zor stood in the center of the tiled circle, carefully arranging his wings. From his point of balance, it seemed to Jackie that he had just landed.

  "They leave you here while they perform the Ritual of Guard. It would be hard for a naZora'e to participate, chained to the ground, wingless." The zor examined his talons, an almost human gesture. "Such a pity," he repeated.

  She didn't reply. Where the hell is the High Chamberlain? she thought to herself. What am I doing here?

  "So like a human," the zor said, not looking at her. "A military sort, I would guess: honor-bound, dashing into things with out the least consideration of the consequences. Is this your first visit to Sanctuary, hm? Perhaps even your first mind-link, little naZora 'e?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "Attack and riposte. Excellent. I cannot read a hint of fear, either; really, quite extraordinary."

  "You can read emotions, can you? Well, read this." Impulsively she shot out a whip of anger and resentment: she was tired of being misled and confused, tired of mystery and half-truth—

  The mysterious zor stepped back as if struck, fire in his eyes. Continuing to follow her instincts she drew her chya and held it out in front of her—

  Almost too fast for her to see, the other had a blade in his hand extended toward her. Her chya snarled and her stomach lurched: There was something terribly wrong about the zor and his blade. It was glowing unpleasantly.

  This was no ordinary opponent; whatever the significance of her gesture had been, it was clear that she was locked in now, like a fencer after the "en garde" is given.

  "Qu'u," the zor said, holding his blade in sixte. "So, my fine friend. You choose the guise of a naZora'e and the battleground of Sanctuary to bring forth the ancient challenge." Lightning-swift, he attacked past her guard but she dodged out of the way, unwilling to let her blade touch his. She crouched, stepping onto the mosaic.

  "You are clever, but like the h'r'kka, you sometimes choose a guise which hampers you." Again the zor attacked, and again she dodged out of the way, bringing her blade close to her body by tucking her elbow. She edged into the center of the pattern—Suddenly she found herself surrounded by misty, half-ethereal images of herself, mimicking her movement. There were perhaps a dozen of them on all sides, following her steps and her sword-motions, like a gracefully choreographed dance.

  "Extraordinary," the zor said softly, surprise in his voice. "Your skill, and your boldness, grows. A-ei!" He whirled and sliced through one of the illusions: It burst into silent flame and disappeared. Jackie felt a searing pain in her chest for a moment, and then it passed.

  "But you exert yourself. When I am done with the other ten hsi-images, you will be weaker still."

  She was at the center of ten misty images of herself, a half-dozen meters from the zor. The illusions were somehow linked to her; she certainly felt their pain. One stood directly in front of her enemy—

  Again he attacked. She attempted to maneuver the illusion out of the way, holding her sword (and thus its sword) up to protect it, but it only partially blocked his swing. Again the illusion burst and vanished, sending a sharp stab into her shoulder where he struck. A spark of greenish light chased down the length of her crystal-blade and guttered there, giving off a foul smell.

  Before he moved again she performed a rapid bellestra,
thanking God she'd worked so hard at her fencing when she was a cadet, and drove a nearby illusion's blade at the enemy. He whirled out of the way, caught partially off-guard; but the illusory weapon sliced a ragged gash across his front and severed the dark green sash he wore across his chest. The sash dropped to the stone and writhed, then crumbled into dust and swirled away.

  The zor recovered quickly enough to slice through his assailant. "Eight hsi-images remain, mighty warrior Qu'u. No help in sight for you, is there?"

  Jackie stepped back, dodging another of her images around the zor. Suddenly she picked out two specks against the horizon, but she didn't take more than momentary notice; if she paused in her combat, there was a good chance her opponent would know that she'd seen something.

  "When fighting a superior opponent," her fencing-master had always said, "try to use the element of surprise."

  What the hell, she thought to herself. Here goes.

  Though it frightened her to do so, she whirled and turned her back to her opponent, sweeping her growling chya in a wide arc. Partway through the movement her blade met resistance; as she completed her swing, she saw the zor stagger, holding his weapon-side shoulder, and retreat toward the cliff-edge. His own chya—or whatever the hell it was—was still held out before him. As he retreated, he slashed at the nearest illusion, striking it roughly amidships. She felt suddenly short of breath; she, too, retreated a few steps, her illusions with her.

  "You have now," the zor said, between breaths, "seven images left, ge Qu'u. Your skill is even greater than my Master expected." She didn't know what the prenomen meant, but it had been delivered in a sneering voice that made it clear it was insulting, at least.

  The distant specks had become the size of fists, and she could make out wings on the figures. She hoped that it was the Chamberlain and Ch'k'te. There was no way to be sure.

  Before he could react, Jackie hurled herself forward, an image charging full-bore toward the crouching zor. In a single fluid movement, he executed a perfect stop-thrust and the illusion burst.