41. ANAGNORISIS
ANAGNORISIS
JACEN
In the old Zal religion, god was a concept too vast to be embodied in a singular entity.
Their word was Asal, and it encompassed three aspects: the Source—creation.
The demon—destruction. The host—balance.
To step through the Source was to step across the mind of the divine, traversing space and time as easily as a thought.
Jacen had read the words before, gleaned from forbidden texts he’d perused behind Brother Marez’s back, but as he walked through the Gate, he finally understood.
He barely felt the lesser demon’s appendages dig into him before it fell away.
He saw stars and the space between them.
Beings with too many eyes, all watching him.
He knew their language but moved too quickly to understand what they said.
When he emerged on the other side, the taste of Ysira’s lips still lingered on his tongue.
His head spun. He couldn’t focus, there in the presence of pure extradimensional energy, so concentrated, it was visible to the naked eye.
This was Zal Fel—the center of the network, the very heartbeat of the canyon.
The uneven stone vibrated with a low, bone-shuddering thrum.
It pulsed through Jacen’s consciousness, unrelenting as the desert heat.
The next thing he noticed was the light. He had to shield his eyes.
After the Otavok temple’s dim-lit interior, it was blinding.
Soldiers of the Firstborn Empire surrounded them.
They numbered at least a dozen, wearing suits and masks that obscured their features—a mercy.
Jacen did not want to look too closely at any more of these strangers who were his kin, or to recognize pieces of himself in their faces before he condemned them to death.
They clutched their weapons, all pointed at the Gate. Jacen held his breath. Nines shivered anxiously beside him. Neri was unsteady on his feet, disoriented and clutching his head.
“That’s him,” said a soldier. “Don’t shoot.”
Though the Gate made it difficult, Jacen scanned the vicinity. He found scattered others out of sight, buzzing with anticipation, weapons at the ready.
“You. Firstborn.” Another soldier, who appeared to be in command, addressed Urien. “What’s your clearance?”
“I am a vassal of the great house Manengol,” Urien said smoothly. “I have been positioned undercover with the Zal insurgency for the last thirty years. I’ve broken my cover to bring back vital intelligence, and—”
“How did you get through the Gate?” the commander demanded.
Seth vomited. Unsuccessfully, Neri tried to stop him from stumbling to his knees. Several weapons clicked, raised higher.
“Don’t shoot!” Urien pointed at Seth, careful not to move too suddenly.
“This is Lady Turil’s current host. Her presence has not agreed with him, especially since one of our captors attempted excision.
I’m escorting her to the station before he expires.
” He gestured at Neri. “The boy is his nephew. He will not use his demon’s power against you. We’re unarmed.”
Neri, still trying to haul Seth to his feet, nodded rapidly. “I’m cooperating.”
“Who’s this?” The commander pointed his weapon at Jacen, then Nines.
“Agents of the Church,” said Urien. “They provided us with keys and facilitated our escape through the Gate.”
The commander didn’t budge. “Talk fast. Make it good.”
“Test him.” Urien nodded at Jacen. “You’ll see his genetic profile corresponds to that of a great house.
I’ve shared this information with him. He’s motivated to help us.
” A meaningful pause. “You would be wise to let us pass, unless you’d like me to inform my lady of your obstruction when she’s well again.
She will not take kindly to this delay.” “I serve the gods,” Jacen said.
The words still came to him too easily. “This is not the first time I’ve turned in a false prophet. And I am a scion of House Eregost.”
“Are you, now?” The commander barked out a laugh. “Not much family resemblance.” But the tension in his posture had evolved into something more cautious, almost wary.
“I need to make contact with my handlers on the station and summon a transport,” Urien said.
“Direct me to the communications center.” He looked around.
“It’s been far too long since I’ve been among civilized people.
Even in a cesspit like this.” His lip curled as he said it, and this seemed to relax the soldiers.
After an interminable delay, the commander signaled a squad of four.
“Take them up. Get them into comms range and make some calls, make sure this story checks out. Keep your eyes on the kid, weapons ready. The rest of you, stay on guard. Assume this is a trap. Next thing that comes through the Gate, whatever it is, you open fire.”
The way he spoke was so ordinary. If Jacen hadn’t known better, he might have mistaken these soldiers for short-statured Zivorans with odd accents.
He should not have been so surprised, considering the same could be said of Urien, but part of him hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Perhaps if they were all monsters, it would be easier to understand what they’d done.
Jacen helped Neri get Seth up, then beckoned to Nines—still terrified but holding steady. The soldiers escorted them down the hall. From Turil, Jacen sensed nothing.
They entered a small circular chamber that seemed to be made of glass. Jacen peered up through the transparent ceiling to a sort of rough-hewn vertical tube in the sandstone, rigged with cables stretching up farther than the eye could see.
An elevator? Indeed, the chamber shot upward, much faster than the one at Otavok. It was a wonder Jacen managed not to shout. He clung to the metal handrail as they rose, the Gate’s presence beneath them receding. Still, the whole fortress resonated with its energy.
When they stopped and the door scrolled open, they were nowhere near the top of the tower. Judging by the lack of windows, they were still underground. Jacen scanned the vicinity and found two presences waiting around the corner. Four more in the space beyond.
Too many witnesses. He had to act now. He noted a utility knife at the commander’s hip—something he knew how to use, though his heart had begun to pound.
He said, “This isn’t the communications center.”
“Correct,” said the commander. “This is the holding block, where you’ll remain until we’ve made contact with our forces at Otavok.
Be honored I’m not having you thrown in the deepriver pits.
” When Urien began to protest, he said, “Our lords will forgive an excess of caution and even a minor indignity. They will not forgive carelessness.”
He unclipped a slim metal device from his belt and lifted it to his lips, like he meant to speak into it.
“You don’t want to do that,” Jacen told him. He imbued his words with the tiniest of psychic nudges, not enough for most to perceive.
“You’re right.” The commander’s voice had gone faint, his manner disoriented. He put away the device.
His fellows noticed. Jacen should have anticipated that, considering theirs was a society ruled by telepaths who exercised no restraint.
One soldier focused on Jacen, putting it together. “Wait a min—”
Jacen advanced on the still-disoriented commander, seized the knife from his belt, and jammed it up under his mask.
He wrenched it out, red blood spurting against his fingers, and did the same to one more before the others could even get their weapons up.
Urien fumbled with the wall panel. The elevator doors scrolled shut, trapping them all inside.
Jacen had been told the Firstborn, in close combat, would be no match for him. He hadn’t truly believed it until now. He was sloppy, a poor excuse for a warrior, but technique that would have gotten him killed against the likes of Seth or Ysira proved too much for these opponents.
A thrum sounded from behind him, followed by a flash of yellow light. The fourth soldier dropped. Jacen turned to see Urien holding a weapon taken from one of the dead. He held it with both hands, trembling as he lowered it.
The last soldier had the sense to drop his weapon and put his hands in the air. Jacen had hoped for this. A man who surrendered tended to lack the conviction of his peers who fought to the death; he would be easier to compel.
Jacen seized the soldier by the neck and pressed two fingers to his face, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You never saw me.” He pushed the words deep into the man’s defenseless, all-too human mind and made them true.
“You never saw the boy. Your comrades are downstairs with the rest. It’s only the host, the girl, and the spy here.
” He pointed at Seth, then Nines, then Urien.
“They came through the Gate to negotiate a trade—a goddess for the right to keep Neri Semira. Now tell me what you’re going to do. ”
“I’m going to help the spy call a transport,” the man said dully. “So that Lady Turil might be returned to a more suitable vessel.” He paused. “It’s my honor to serve.”
Jacen let himself breathe again. Tentatively, he reached out to Nines. Everything all right?
Fine, she said. Neri seemed to have heard too and nodded, albeit somewhat frantically. Jacen told Urien, “Take us back down.”
They’d kept the mess to a minimum, confined to the elevator, and were able to do a fair-enough job of cleaning it up. Jacen compelled the surviving soldier to help them drag the bodies to an unfinished room nearby—unlit, unhewn stone, an untouched part of the original ruin.
When that was done, Urien said, “Wait here. We shouldn’t be long.” He glanced at Nines. “She’ll reach out when I’ve disabled the alarm system.”
He guided Seth and the dazed soldier back to the elevator, Nines silently following. If all went according to plan, word would not reach the orbital station—or Otavok—of anything that transpired in this fortress.
Turil wasn’t stupid, of course. She would expect them to be plotting.
She would sense from inside Seth’s body that something had changed and might even guess she had traveled through the Source.
But she couldn’t know where Neri was, nor would she be able to do anything about it from beneath the sedative haze.
Jacen was determined to keep it that way. He gestured inside the dark room and muttered to Neri, “We should stay hidden.”
“With the bodies?” Neri looked like he might be sick.
“If anyone stumbles on them, we have to know about it.”
They posted up against the wall, out of sight of anyone who might walk past. In the interest of stealth, Jacen spoke into Neri’s mind: There are eighteen surrounding the Gate. He hesitated as Neri hugged his knees, stubbornly staring anywhere but at the corpses. Do you remember the plan?
Neri recited, We go back to the Gate area. Urien locks the exits and shuts off all the lights. The Firstborn can’t see in the dark. You nudge as many minds as you can and distract them while I run through the Gate and get the others from Otavok.
More gently, Jacen asked, Can you handle this?
Instead of answering, Neri said, You should stay as far away from me as possible.
If something goes wrong and they shoot at me, Naxal might just .
. . react. He added, as though he expected to be chastised, I know I have to save my energy, can’t make myself too sick before we get to the station. I’m getting better at controlling it.
That’s not what I meant, said Jacen.
I have to. I know how many must be dead by now in Zivora.
I saw what happened to Ogden. I know what happened to Ysira and what’s happening to Seth.
Neri’s breath hitched. I hear the voices in my mind, millions of them, everything whispered to the thing in the desert over the last five hundred years.
I . . . I feel it all. And I saw what’s on that station.
We’re not people to them. This won’t end today.
The truth hung between them, larger than worlds. Jacen could not fathom this responsibility, the unbearable weight of what Neri must be. It was a wonder it didn’t crush him to dust.
I know this would be easier if I integrated. The boy hugged his knees tighter. Ysira wants me to. She won’t say it, but she does.
We can win without that. Jacen attempted to reassure Neri, but it didn’t work. He hesitated. Everything your mother’s done, she’s done it to protect you.
Is that what you’re doing, too? Protecting me? Neri shifted his weight. I’m sorry. I just . . . There are things she doesn’t understand. She’s not a telepath, and . . . she doesn’t want to. I told her I can control this, but . . . A shudder ran through him. I need your help.
Of course, Jacen said without hesitation. I’ll help you control it. I’d be honored.
That’s not what I meant. Neri seemed to be trying to articulate something but didn’t quite know how. The depths of his mind—that universe inside his head—remained closed to Jacen, mired in a dark fog.
You’re scared, Jacen asserted.
Neri stared blankly ahead. You should be too.
I am, said Jacen. We all are. We’d be fools not to be.
Again, Neri was dissatisfied with his response. Not enough. Almost frustrated. You’ve been acting strangely.
I’ve had a lot on my mind, Jacen admitted.
That’s not it. The way you’ve been acting with me is strange. Neri’s next question was blunter than it might have been, had he spoken aloud: Do you think I’m a god?
One could not lie in psychic communication, only circumvent the truth. So, Jacen was honest. I don’t know.
What do you believe? Neri’s eyes, scarlet beacons in the dimness, never left him.
Jacen asked, What do you think a god is?
The question, first posed to him all those years ago by Brother Marez, was practical as much as existential.
Was a god unimaginable power incarnate? The standard for morality?
Existence in and of itself? The Source, perhaps?
Or was it as the Zal believed and god was too vast and inhuman a concept to be encompassed in just one thing?
Was a god an entity or an idea? A force for creation or destruction? Something to be loved or feared—or both? And wasn’t terror inherent in worship? For Zivora’s gods, it had certainly been so.
It was Neri’s turn to say, I don’t know.
You may not have the luxury of not knowing. Even as Jacen knew he spoke truth, his heart clenched. He thought of Artek Var Naxal’s last words before the Cataclysm, echoing through time: A god is sacrifice. Despite himself, Jacen shivered.
Think carefully how you answer, he said. The fate of this world might depend on what you decide.
At that moment, another mind brushed his—just a whisper, a signal from far above. It said, We’re ready.
It was time.
A tear slipped down Neri’s cheek. He wiped it away. No matter what happens . . . I’m responsible for this world. Realization dawned on him. I’m responsible for this world. He sounded very old and very tired—overwhelmed at the possibility and the horror of it.
I think that if there’s such a thing as a god, they must all go mad.