The Dark Path

by Walter H Hunt

  "How very arrogant," the zor gasped, "for you to believe that you are so different than I. Tossing away wing-men like that, Qu'u, for no apparent purpose. There are only six of your paltry illusions left." Though somewhat hindered by his injured shoulder, the zor was still skilled and quick, and she was almost unable to react as he feinted toward one of her images and then slashed viciously at another; like the others, it burst and vanished.

  A burning pain struck her breasts. She looked down reflexively—

  Another illusion was struck and destroyed. The pain lancing through her right leg was so sharp and sudden that she staggered. Without any movement on her part, the four remaining images stepped closer.

  The two zor that were approaching—she could almost see Ch'k'te's wing-markings now—had apparently seen the fight. They held their chya'i in hand and were beginning to dive toward the parapets.

  "I will rend your wings and shred your feathers," the enemy said, his voice a snarling whisper. "I will peck out your eyes and divide your heart with my e'chya. You will be carrion for my Nest, a sumptuous meal for my Master." The light in his eyes had changed now and was even more frightening than it had been before.

  Jackie was breathing hard, trying to keep her feet. It seemed that her images now moved of their own accord. The other's movements had become exaggerated; he swung wildly, locking blades with one of her remaining illusions. However, as she slowly moved to block his next movements, one of the other images moved forward and swung for the zor's head. As two images engaged the enemy, the other two assumed positions to her left and right.

  "You—have—presumed too much, mighty Qu'u," the zor gasped out, retreating toward the cliff. "You have chosen again to fight the Crawler's battles." T'te'e and Ch'k'te had almost reached the cliffside now; she could see the warrior's-gleam in their eyes as they prepared to do battle. Before they could hover for a single blow, the enemy zor leapt to the top of the parapet, still fending off blows. He raised his wings in a posture she did not recognize, but knew—somehow—it was offensive or obscene.

  "esGa'u'Canya'e'e!" he shouted; then he hurled himself backward and fell screaming, wings outstretched, over the side. Several seconds later there was a terrible crunching sound of bones breaking against rock.

  The remaining four images turned toward her and bowed and then vanished.

  Chapter 15

  Two days after his first meeting with Damien Abbas at the Shield, Owen Garrett began to have dreams.

  He was unprepared for them at first, but he'd been at something of a loss since that first morning when he'd met Rafe Rodriguez. The dreams had an awful familiarity during the time he was asleep but seemed completely alien when they were over and he was lying awake, shivering at the memory.

  He was in his fighter. He could see the impossibly huge bulk of the alien ship blotting out much of the starry backdrop. His attitude control, his comm, and of course his weapons were disabled as his craft was being pulled toward an opening that hadn't been there a minute ago. Unable to control anything on his ship, he laid his hand on the grip of the pistol holstered to the left of his instrument panel. A terrible lassitude gripped him, making him want to do nothing but sleep.

  He grit his teeth, forcing his hand to hold the gun. These are the things that killed my friends, he told himself.

  The fighter was pulled to a halt inside a small compartment, perhaps a meter higher than the plane itself. His interior cameras showed the entrance sealing itself behind, leaving no evidence that he'd entered that way.

  He pulled a helmet over his vacc suit and secured it with a touch, then gestured the canopy open. It hissed as the pressure equalized; he clambered out of the cockpit, his pistol in his hand.

  There was no welcoming committee. There were also no doors, just a glowing opalescent patch on the wall, a meter wide and a meter off the floor.

  As he stood there, he felt the same pressure in his mind, probing, looking for a weak spot. Lower your weapon, it said. You need a nice rest.

  He felt anger rising in him again as he fought the impulse to lie down on the soft, slightly spongy deck. He shot the glowing patch on the wall.

  ***

  The first time he had the dream, that action had awoken him with a splitting headache, pain like he'd never felt in his life. He'd staggered to the 'fresher and run his head under the shower until it finally subsided.

  The dream had had the ring of truth. He had been pulled in side the alien ship. All of his fellow pilots were dead, controlled by some alien intelligence that made them fire on each other. But he'd . . . he'd—

  The next night the same dream came again. It was like an episode of a 3-V action hero, one he'd seen a hundred times before; he was drawn toward the ship, forced into the landing chamber. He climbed out of Green Five, this time giving it a friendly pat right on the sword and sun and saying, "Thanks, old girl. Hope we see each other again."

  There was the same mind probe—the same searing pain in his head as he shot the patch on the wall. This time he forced himself to wait until the pain subsided, holding on to the dream with all his might.

  This time the wall collapsed and melted, revealing another chamber beyond. He lurched toward it, pistol in hand, and stepped through the opening. Two aliens were standing there; they had black, four-legged insectoid bodies. Past their midsection, the aliens stood upright, with two more limbs that seemed to serve as arms. Their heads were rounded cones with eyestalks; their faces had fanged mouths with sharp mandibles, surrounded by wiggling tentacles that waved like streamers. They were clearly afraid of him; violent confrontation didn't seem to be what they bargained for. He trained his weapon on them, but before he could open fire they scuttled backward through a seam in the wall which closed behind them.

  Now it was quiet. Not exactly quiet, actually—he could hear background music, whirling and clicking, faint squeaks and a sound like a pump filling and discharging. The walls themselves, as well as the floor and ceiling, were in constant motion, gradually undulating along their length.

  Owen Garrett, he heard in his mind. Lower your weapon. We mean you no harm.

  "Nothing doing. I'll shoot every wall and every bug in this place until I run out of juice." His anger was a palpable thing now. "I want some answers."

  There was no response. He looked around the room for a target; evidently that got their attention. What are your questions?

  "What do you want from me? Why am I aboard?"

  We wish to learn about your fleet dispositions.

  That was direct. He'd expected some dissembling, but there it was. "I can't tell you that."

  Of course you will, came the reply.

  "Of course I won't. I'm not about to—"

  Of course you will.

  The pressure in his mind increased from annoyance level to intrusive to excruciating. He fired his pistol in some direction, but before he could take another step the dream evaporated, leaving him awake and shivering, not knowing what happened next.

  ***

  The remaining four images turned toward her and bowed, then vanished. Jackie fell to her hands and knees, gulping in air.

  Both the High Chamberlain and Ch'k'te landed beside her and helped her to her feet. She grasped Ch'k'te's arm and stood straight, shrugging off the elder zor.

  "May I be of assistance?" the Chamberlain asked, and she shot a glance at him so powerful that he stepped backward with seeming alarm.

  "Yes, you can." She tucked the chya back in the sash of her robe and wiped her sweaty palms on the crimson cloth. "You certainly can. I'm tired of surprises, se T'te'e. I agreed to 'stand by' my colleague and friend during this Ordeal, not stand out in the middle of—on top of—and get into a fight with—"

  "A servant of esGa'u," the Chamberlain offered. "Shrnu'u HeGa'u. He of the Dancing Blade."

  Ch'k'te looked up in alarm. "You knew she would be attacked?" He turned to Jackie. "se Jackie, I—"

  "Belay it, Commander," she said. "I want some answers, se T'te'e
. This is the Dsen'yen'ch'a, correct?"

  "Yes, se Commodore, it is."

  "But it wasn't meant for Ch'k'te, was it? It was intended for me all along. Am I correct?"

  "That is . . . essentially correct, se Commodore."

  "Who is Qu'u?"

  The Chamberlain did not reply.

  "He was a great hero of legend," Ch'k'te offered, looking from Jackie to the Chamberlain back to Jackie. "How do you know that name?"

  "This Shrnu'u called me Qu'u. Several times during the battle he addressed me as 'mighty Qu'u' and he referred to my"—she pointed to herself—"appearance as a 'guise.' He seemed convinced that I was Qu'u. Why did he believe this, se T'te'e?"

  "It is your hsi, se Commodore Laperriere. You have certain qualities that distinguish you. It is these qualities that make you sufficiently important to warrant such a test."

  "Qualities like—"

  "Qu'u was a hero of the Unification," Ch'k'te said. "He was—"

  "se Ch'k'te, my brother—"

  "She must know, ha T'te'e. With all respect, Honored One, and with eight thousand pardons, I am bound by oath of brotherhood to explain to se Jackie what I believe you intend."

  "You are risking the High Nest, little brother. I warn you that if she—"

  Jackie held up her hand. "Stop talking about me as if I weren't here. Ch'k'te, proceed." She glared at T'te'e.

  The Chamberlain's mouth opened, shut, opened again as he considered another reply, and shut again.

  "Qu'u," Ch'k'te said, "was the great Champion of the very first High Lord, A'alu HeYen, the unifier of our people. He is said to have descended onto the Plain of Despite and taken the sword that was reforged into the gyaryu. In the Lordship of A'alu, Qu'u was the Gyaryu'har."

  "What does that mean to me?"

  "It is very simple," the Chamberlain said. "The High Lord has need of the Gyaryu'har, but he lies in a coma without his guardian blade. I have examined him carefully and have come to the conclusion that without the gyaryu, he will never recover . . . yet we do not possess it. Even if we did, there are few who can even hold it, much less protect it from the esGa'uYal. It must be recovered."

  "Why don't you recover it?"

  "I cannot, se Jackie."

  "You're telling me that you can't—and I can?"

  "That is correct."

  "What about—What about Ch'k'te?"

  "Though the High Chamberlain has not found me idju, se Jackie, he knows—as I know—that I am not worthy of the Talon of State. While he . . . while you were being tested, he performed the Ritual of Guard and was satisfied." His wings altered their configuration slightly. "It is you who are capable of doing this deed, and I would be honored to serve you, mighty Qu'u."

  "Don't you start, too! I'm not—I'm not this Qu'u, I'm just an Imperial officer."

  Your point is taken, the voice in her mind said. But you underestimate yourself.

  "No, se Commodore Laperriere," said the High Chamberlain. "You are something more. In a very real sense, you are Qu'u, and you will journey onto the Plain of Despite to recover the stolen gyaryu. With your intimate knowledge of the esGa'uYal and the power of your aura, you represent our best hope for its recovery."

  "What if I choose not to do this?"

  The High Chamberlain placed his wings in a position of deference to esLi. From far in the distance a gong sounded: once, twice, three, four times.

  ***

  "Then, I regret to say, se Commodore," the High Chamberlain said from somewhere far away, "both the People and the na-Zora'i are doomed to fall to the esGa'uYal. With it we may yet fail if esLi's face is turned from us, but without it, that matter is a certainty."

  Her eyes were still closed. Nearby she sensed the presence of esLi, and felt, rather than heard, the gentle fluttering of zor wings.

  "The High Nest could command the obedience of one of the People, se Commodore. In truth, one of our race with a destiny such as yours would eagerly take up the sacred burden of recovering the gyaryu. That you are not one of the People is undeniable. It is a source of great consternation to me. I was prepared to forbid the testing, as you know; that you chose to persevere despite my objections is a testimony to your integrity and honor. I have no means to command you; I must rely solely on entreaty.

  "I . . . sense that my words will do little to change your attitude," the High Chamberlain continued after a moment. "The testing of the Dsen'yen'ch'a is logical and quite proper for one of the People. Yet to you, without preparation or total understanding, it might seem arbitrary and unfair. I ask eight thousand pardons if that will assuage you at all."

  Jackie considered her responses. She opened her eyes slightly to see the meditation chamber bathed in dim vermilion light. She was reclining on a sofa of some kind, with Ch'k'te and the Chamberlain standing nearby on slightly elevated perches. The torus of esLi hung behind them, silhouetted against the far wall of the chamber.

  Her muscles were tense and sore, as if she had truly been engaged in vigorous exercise.

  Like fighting for my life, she told herself.

  "I'll—I'll have to think about it," she said at last, her voice coming out in a whisper.

  The Chamberlain seemed to have expected that response. He fluttered down from his perch. "If you will excuse me, the Ordeal has left me greatly fatigued, se Ch'k'te, would you escort the Commodore back to her billet?"

  "Honored One," Ch'k'te responded formally and bowed. He settled down on the deck beside Jackie and helped her to her feet; without a word he accompanied her out of the Chamberlain's rooms.

  ***

  By the time they reached Jackie's quarters she was almost too tired to walk. Wearily, she keyed open the door, walked into the front room and kicked off her boots, then went into the sleeping chamber and dropped onto the bed. Ch'k'te trailed behind and hesitated at the entrance to the room.

  "C'mon in."

  Ch'k'te waited a moment and scanned the room, then walked to the bed and took up a position near it.

  Jackie leaned up on one elbow. "What's wrong?"

  "I am disquieted, se Jackie. I feel as if I have betrayed you."

  "Did you know I would be tested in this way?"

  "No."

  "I didn't think so. This was the High Chamberlain's doing. These are very high stakes he's playing for; he's made you even more of a pawn than he's made me. Don't worry, Ch'k'te old friend, I—" She reached over to grasp his forearm but he shied away. She withdrew her hand and sat up. "What is it?"

  "I—Nothing. Nothing at all."

  "Spit it out. What are you keeping from me?"

  "The High Chamberlain . . . asked me many questions touching on my honor and my . . . propriety. He asked me if I was your lover."

  "Who the hell does he think—"

  Ch'k'te held his hand up. "I told him that I was not. As for why it is his concern, which I believe would be your next question, I should think that you already know the answer: I am a sept-brother of the High Nest. If you were one of the People—or I a human—the question would have a different meaning."

  "He's still a bastard for playing head-games with you, my friend. Of course, compared with what he's trying to do with me . . ."

  "He is trying to save the People, and humanity as well, from the esGa'uYal."

  " 'Better living through mythology.' "

  "I—Your pardon, se Jackie, but I do not—"

  "Never mind. It just seems that it'd make more sense if he were to choose a champion who actually believed in all of this—in Qu'u, in esLi and in esGa'u—"

  "You do not . . . believe in these things?"

  "Not as a zor does. Not really, no."

  "se Jackie, I . . ." Ch'k'te stood up and turned to her, his wings elevated. "After all that has happened, how can you not believe? Did you not feel esLi in the Chamber of Meditation? Did you not do combat against the minion of esGa'u at Sanctuary during the Dsen'yen'ch'a?"

  "It was an image from se T'te'e's mind, Ch'k'te. It wasn't real—it was . . .
imagination."

  "I beg your pardon, se Commodore, but it was very much real. Though we never physically left the Chamberlain's rooms, what we experienced was very real. esLi exists, as does esGa'u, as do his servants. The High Chamberlain did not . . . create the image of Shrnu'u but rather invited him into the mental link. He took a great risk by doing so, especially since you were not aware of the danger that Shrnu'u represented. You could have transcended the Outer Peace, as could all of us."

  "That was mortal combat." It was more of a statement than a question.

  "Yes. If you choose to take up the burden of Qu'u, se Jackie, there will be other such combats, some in the physical world and others—elsewhere. They are all real. I entreat you to believe me and to grasp this notion. You need a teacher and I hope that I am able to help you."

  "You'll do fine," she answered quietly.

  Ch'k'te's talons clenched. "I have sought to summon back my mate li Th'an'ya, but I have been unsuccessful. Her hsi is lost to me, wasted. I fear that she may be lost forever."

  "Don't be so sure of that," Jackie replied.

  Tentatively she thought: Th'an'ya?

  I am here, se Jackie. What do you wish of me?

  Please show yourself to Ch'k'te. I think he needs to know that you 're here.

  "le Ch'k'te."

  He turned away from Jackie to the sound of the voice. In the mirror stood Th'an'ya, dressed in a peach-colored robe with a tan sash, her right hand holding a polished staff.

  They spoke rapidly in the Highspeech. It was apparent from the tone of voice that Ch'k'te was deeply moved. Four times he took a step toward the mirror; each time he stepped back, as if he realized that Th'an'ya was only a projection.

  I am going now, Th'an'ya said at last. I thank you, se Jackie.

  "She dwells with you now," Ch'k'te said.

  "It was her choice. She wants to teach me."

  "She will do well at it," Ch'k'te answered, his voice sounding resigned, almost wooden. "She taught me."

  Jackie stood and walked over to Ch'k'te, and reached for his forearms again. "I'm sorry—" she began to say. But he backed away from her, his head lowered.