Damon Ich (The Wheel of Eight Book 2)

by Aaron D. Key

  “I tried!” He paused. He stood up violently, turned his back to me, and continued in a quieter tone. “But they would not believe in me, and I always knew what thoughts were in their minds.”

  He had not yet learned to control his temper. I knew that anger could be a dangerous thing when one had a little power, and even more so with great power. Damage done in anger could be hard to repair. I imagined too, in his defence, that fear had set in …

  I kept an open mind. I wanted to be horrified, justifiably angry. I was not succeeding. The thought that came constantly to my mind was that Glant was the one man in the world still living that I had anything in common with. I considered that I was not morally perfect and that it was circumstance not principle that had enabled me to live so long without burdening my conscience.

  Because of that belief I could not be decisive. Who was I to judge a dictator accused of crimes beyond my imagination? I had no right, no will, and yet if I did nothing we might all be in danger and the city’s suffering would continue. If only I knew how to act.

  For so long we had remained two separate entities. I thought that he suffered in the accusations that were levelled against him. It was inevitable that we should fight, if only to determine the truth locked away in his mind.

  I dissolved the silver shield around me.

  “We shouldn’t fight,” he said. “We might destroy the world and everyone in it.”

  I was irrevocably set, but I could not fight when there was no one fighting back.

  Still on guard against his pacific façade, I said, “I want you to justify yourself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Two Sides of Glant

  In the world of thoughts, I looked upon Glant as he saw himself. He was a pale and formless ghost. Inside the memory, I settled my consciousness into his.

  We walked in the moonlight between arching trees. Crisp leaves lay shining beneath our feet. We were happy and we were content, as if we walked for a purpose and our destination was a happy one.

  In the distance, we saw it: a red glow from the darkness of a wooden enclosure. The red light dominated our mind so that the moonlight faded into insignificance. We did not know what the source of the light was although we had seen it before in the presence of Aeth.

  We felt an ache that I clearly recognised from my youth while being trained: a desire for the power. During that time, I had been lent the power and taught how to use it. Then I had been reduced to nothing until the next lesson. My ache was a hunger, an addiction. This ache was different because the person I felt it through had never possessed the power, never even been aware of its potential, but still the power pulled at our sinews and at the grey strands of our mind.

  We reached the light and called Aeth’s name but he was not there. The light became all-embracing, consumed our sight and thought. Red fire below, eight stars and a crescent moon above, we held a spot halfway between heaven and hell. Our head sank lower and lower as if dragged by an inexorable weight into the fire, and as our lips touched the light, it burned. Too intense to be called pain or pleasure, it racked our body and we knew that things could never be as they had been before. Something terrible had happened and we rejoiced because of it.

  We stood upright in the darkened room and we felt strong. The light came from us and we had forgotten why we were there. We looked out of the doorway and the night sky was clearer than it had ever been. As we looked at the stars they grew clearer and we could see the patterns of their solar systems, the outline of the land masses on their planets, and feel even the aeons of history that had passed there. In a few seconds we had learned more than a thousand scholars could from a lifetime of books. We were Great!

  There was a sound from the woods. We heard it amplified beyond nature, could even see the cause of it in the dark. We knew that it was Aeth and we longed for him to be with us, sharing in our glory. He walked cautiously until he stood at the doorway to the wooden hut and his expression gave us the first hint of doubt that all was well with the world. On his face was a mingled frown of anger and fear. We had expected something else and disappointment rose in our hearts – a cold dampener.

  Aeth began to shout, and from his mouth came such words of contempt, foul abuse, crushing torrents of pure rage. A frown was on our face and a stubborn lump rested in our stomach. We waited for him to use up his vigour but still his mouth poured forth atrocities.

  We spoke quiet words to try to calm him and yet they had no effect. We entreated, we implored. He struck us on the shoulder, as if to knock us to the floor. It did not hurt excessively and we were not unbalanced – with the power still roaring inside us. We were angry. We were angry with ourselves. We wanted to hit Aeth so that his body flew back into the air and landed lifeless, but a lifetime of control kept our hands by our sides. Still, the anger grew within us.

  He fell. He lay silent and we stood waiting for him to speak. We stood for a long time and we saw that a horrified expression had set upon his face as if he had become a stone carving. He was dead. We knelt beside him and felt no remorse, no pity. The red glow was around us. It followed us as we walked back through the forest.

  * * *

  One moment we walked on soft ground, the next I sat on cold stone. It was dark. Glant sat beside me. He hid his face in the material of his sleeves.

  “I don’t understand who you are,” I whispered.

  “But you understand what I am?” Glant said.

  “Not even that,” I said but I knew he was trying to explain he had meant no malice in the murder of Aeth. It was an accident, mostly caused by Aeth himself. I tried desperately to think. Who was Glant? How had he become entangled in the story? I had not felt like Glant when I walked in his footsteps. I felt like a woman. I might have been Elena.

  Aeth had killed himself in his own fury, either with self-inflicted rage or by taunting one newly versed in the power. He should have known better, should have remembered the hours he spent in learning to understand his own emotions before Rael had trusted him with the power to destroy.

  Even with this training, I thought that Rael had been unwise to have trusted Aeth. To have walked abroad knowing that Rael’s constellation was ripe and that his own control over the source of power was weakening was worse than stupid. I knew why he had done it. He wanted to have sex without the numbing effect that the power would have had on his desire. I understood that, but to have arranged a meeting on an evening he should have spent consolidating his own strength was foolish. Still, he was dead. There was no doubt that he had paid for his own foolishness.

  “Have you learned yet how to control the power?” I asked.

  “I think so.”

  I did not believe it because I had proof, and yet I knew that he believed it and that I was the only one who could help him.

  I said, “I suggest that you leave these people to rule themselves, that you restore to them their forgotten lives and that you return with me to Herron.”

  “Will they let me leave?”

  “I believe so. I believe they owe me that and they will be grateful to you for releasing them. We do need to talk about the pain to which all around you are subjected. Why is this happening?”

  “I am not well, Damon Ich. I need to be cured. I wanted you to cure me but I was afraid that you would kill me. I would say take the power away from me, except that I know nothing else keeps me alive. I should have died a long time ago and yet I hang on because something tells me I am here to do something else.”

  I sat still and thought. There was much work to be done, and only Glant’s agreement gave me hope that it could be done. The enormity of the task made me fear that it was not possible, that I would still fail – perhaps subject everyone in Herron to the torture that had been commonplace here.

  Also I could not ignore Glant’s premonition that he was destined to do something else before his death. The power would not have
told him this if it had not been important.

  “For now,” I said with deliberation, “I will teach you how to wrap your thoughts up tight. If you learn well, this will hold until we return home. Then we can explore and find out why this is happening.”

  I looked in his direction. He looked hopeful but helpless.

  “Now,” I said, “I know that you have your own defences for your thoughts. I intend to force my way into your most secret thoughts and dreams. I intend that you will stop me.”

  It was with real intent that I directed my thoughts into that part of his mind I knew to contain the truth and memories of his tyranny. I fell into a pit of memory so deep that I was afraid. I knew no parts of my memory were so deep: so deep I could not see the end. Then I crashed into a wall of impenetrable hatred, anger, and fear.

  “Is this how you always protect yourself?” I asked as I lightly dropped the search and returned to reality.

  He did not reply straight away. It pleased me to think that my interrogation had caused him effort from which he had not yet recovered. I needed to imagine that in some ways I was strong to make up for all the weakness I felt.

  “It is the only way I know how,” he eventually answered.

  “Would you have been able to counter the attack? I mean, could you have defended your own thoughts and yet searched for mine?”

  He grunted. It was almost a laugh and I knew it meant he thought the question was a foolish one. Of course, he had had no hope. He had been like a wounded animal fighting for his life.

  “This is the basis of what I’m trying to teach you. When you create a shield to defend your own thoughts from others, it should be the same shield that defends you from the intrusions of thoughts lurking in other peoples’ minds.”

  “But I can’t walk around creating a shield of that intensity. I should not have strength to eat or walk or move.”

  “That is because the shield you are creating is too large for the task. It is only your own mind that you are trying to defend and yet you fight back with energy sufficient to shield the whole world from interrogation. I think it’s because you have not yet worked out which of the crowd of distorted images that surround your mind is you. This is difficult to do until you are told how.”

  “What do you suggest?” he said with a hint of irritation in his voice. I triumphed in it, for I knew that it was his own reluctance to be taught that rebelled in him.

  “Although we are dealing with your consciousness, which in no way adheres to the boundaries of your flesh, it is possible to define the boundaries of your mind by using the outline of your body. If your physical body is sealed then your consciousness is also defended. I have never understood why this should be so unless it is that the body and soul are linked in a subtle way.”

  “I don’t need to understand,” he said impatiently. “How do I do it?”

  “Try to force a way into my thoughts,” I said, “and tell me what you feel.” I tensed myself, expecting to feel a torrent of energy, but it seemed as though he was learning already. All I felt was a slight alertness that someone was trying to tug open the barrier of my thoughts.

  “It is like a bright light at the end of a black tunnel,” Glant said. “I feel my whole vision taken up with intense silver light. Yet the light does not resist me, it merely occupies me, absorbs me. I try to read your thoughts as you ask of me, but this light takes away all other desires and leaves only peace.”

  “Yes, I see that,” I said. “That is what I try to create: a band of silver light that surrounds me, created not out of hate or fear but out of peace and security. Do you think you could create something like that?”

  “I could try.”

  “Well,” I said. “Begin at your feet and drag the light up and around you. Wrap yourself in the silver light. Leave no gaps, for they will render the whole thing useless. Don’t rush to do the thing. This is not for a sudden self-defence. This is a light to be carried with you all day and all night, if you need it. It pays to take time over its creation.”

  I felt that he believed I was laughing at him. I could tell that he didn’t believe that something so important to him, something that could have transformed his life, could be so easy. Yet it was and I was serious. I waited for him to tell me it was done.

  “Well?” Glant said.

  “Have you finished?” I asked.

  “I think so.”

  “And?”

  “The world is silent,” he replied, and his voice throbbed with emotion, “as it has never been since that fateful day I walked through the forest, destined to be Aeth’s doom.”

  “Your own thoughts are also sealed,” I added. “We should be able to check that people no longer feel the pain of your intense thoughts.”

  I knew it had worked. I could feel a murmuring of disbelief among the guards outside, a ripple of joy and relief spreading out through the city.

  “No one can unconsciously interrupt your thoughts when the shield is surrounding you. You will know when it needs rebuilding. You will begin to hear the faint cries from outside.”

  “Thank you, Damon Ich.”

  With this last thought, he stood up and faced me. I had not told him the complete truth; it was still possible for me to break through his shield to read his thoughts while remaining unobserved, but I did not intend to do this unless it became apparent that my trust in him had been misplaced. In this eventuality I wanted to retain some strength or secret weapon for myself, even though the lie made me feel unclean.

  “Let me go and talk to my people, Damon Ich. You may trust me. I will explain that I am their tyrant no longer and that they must now find a way to rule themselves.”

  “I do trust you, Glant, but I think it would be wiser if you allow the city to start the process by finding its own voice. Let’s call Koa and get him to arrange it.”

  It was a test. I wanted to know whether he could accept his new status and I wanted to see Koa, to see if he was content.

  “That’s a good idea,” Glant said. He sounded like he was trying to humour me. “I will ask someone to call him.”

  I did really trust Glant, though I had no good reason for doing so except for the purity in my heart I had felt as I walked with him in memories. I felt no fear as he walked away.

  I sat back on the window ledge to wait. Had I done the job that Rael sent me to do? I was not sure. Glant’s surrender had been achieved very easily – almost too easily, as if it was all part of his plan. The thought put me on edge.

  “Damon Ich.” Koa had arrived. His hand upon my shoulder shook me from my thoughts. He sounded relieved to see me whole still. I imagined that he was pleased his dream of escaping the city and living in sunlight was within reach.

  “Koa,” Glant said. “I am returning the city back to the people. You can rule yourselves and I will return with Damon Ich to Herron to make whatever amends I can.”

  “I will tell them,” Koa said breathlessly. “I can hardly believe it.” He left quickly.

  Then Glant and I were alone again. I waited for him to talk, scarcely breathing.

  “I need to talk to you, Damon Ich,” Glant said. His voice sounded different.

  “I thought we had been talking.”

  “You saw how I acquired Aeth’s power. It looked like I killed him, but he didn’t die.”

  “Aeth is not dead,” I repeated to be sure.

  “No, Aeth is here.” Glant raised his voice in anger. I looked up, expecting Glant to hit me in his rage, but he looked like he was restraining himself with effort.

  “He wants to talk to you,” Glant said in his normal calm tone, and then as if talking to a child who had gone beyond the limits, “but not until I have finished.”

  These dramatic changes in his tone seemed like madness. Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation of the unexpected.

  He continued, “I
have had this man trapped inside my head for many years now. It has been infinitely worse than being trapped in a small dungeon with him, so you will understand me when I say he was such a maggot he couldn’t even die properly. When he is sulking or just distant, I believe I can be good, but now and again he tries to take control. He is driven by something I do not understand. It fills him with hate and spite. He is not sane.”

  “Can I talk to Aeth?” I asked. I knew that this would be a major part of the cure for Glant.

  “You could try. He is twisted; he will try and twist you too, like you are in a complicated dance. I do not know what you are capable of but try if you want,” Glant growled.

  I was unsure how to proceed. I had never encountered such a thing before: a snippet of a man trapped inside another mind for years and years. No wonder there was madness there.

  I needed to create a space that would exclude Glant, a safe space that Aeth would recognise. I closed my eyes and thought back to my time with Rael, of the unpleasant surroundings in which he had eaten lunch: the café with its unclean counter for ordering, a smoky haze in the air, the ugly metal table on the uninviting pavement.

  I sat myself at one of these tables and waited. A foul-smelling coffee appeared before me. I remembered Rael consuming one of these with no relish. With a sudden heave of nausea, cigarette smoke wafted into my lungs.

  * * *

  “A lovely place,” Aeth said. “This takes me back.”

  Aeth appeared before me as he would have looked then. Not completely unattractive but with fair eyelashes that made his eyes look like those of a pig. His voice was pleasant but I was prejudiced against him with Glant’s views still ringing in my ears. From his mouth drooped a cigarette. No matter how many times I had seen this it made me laugh, but only internally. It was too serious a situation for mirth.

  “Hello, Aeth,” I said tentatively.

  “Hello, Damon Ich. I didn’t know that you had been to my world but this is very accurate.”

  “I travelled with Rael when he visited us recently.”