He’d almost grown accustomed to the trauma of the Parietal Suppressor and the transition into his ancestor’s memories. Almost. But it was over quickly, and it had become both easy and natural for him to synchronize with the familiar currents of Styrbjörn’s mind.
He sat in the hall of Harald Bluetooth, at a table with the Dane-king. Styrbjörn’s sister, Gyrid, sat next to them, and it seemed she had settled well into her title as queen. But before she was Harald’s wife, she was a princess of the Svear, as wise and cunning as Styrbjörn was strong.
“You must sail the fleet up the coast of Götaland,” she said. “Then west through the lake of Mälaren. There are many who loved our father, and some of them silently oppose Eric, even now. If our allies see you sailing along the coast and through the very heart of Svealand, they will be emboldened to join the battle in the name of Styrbjörn the Strong.”
“The Strong?” Styrbjörn asked.
“Have you not heard?” Gyrid looked from her brother to Harald, whose face had reddened. “Word of your battle with my husband has spread. They say you possess the strength of ten men—”
Harald slammed his mug of ale on the table. “This plan is too risky. My men and my ships are yours to command, but I won’t let you send them to the bottom of the sea. Mälaren is a trap. There is only one way in and out of that lake, and if Eric orders it blocked—”
“You speak as if you are already planning your retreat,” Styrbjörn said.
“I plan how I enter my battles,” Harald said. “And I plan how I leave them.”
“Perhaps that is why you lose,” Gyrid said, and the Dane-king flushed even deeper.
“I like the queen’s plan,” Styrbjörn said. “We’ll sail through Mälaren, then up the Fyriswater, and then march on Uppsala.”
Harald shook his head, his jaw grinding hard enough, it seemed, to crush rocks. But he said nothing in objection, for what could he say? He had lost the battle to Styrbjörn and surrendered in front of his men. But Styrbjörn saw fire in his brother-in-law’s eyes, and noted the way his hand was never far from the curious dagger he wore at his side. Sean noted it, too, as the memory swept him along, but until that prong of the Trident came into Styrbjörn’s possession, noting it was all Sean could do.
Harald’s anger amused Styrbjörn, and he decided to blow across its embers. “Something vexes you, Harald?”
The Dane-king stared at Styrbjörn for a moment, and then smiled, revealing his rotten tooth. “To what god are you devoted?”
“To no god,” Styrbjörn said. “They are all the same to me.”
“Do you not fear them?”
“No.”
“To what are you devoted, then? To a woman?”
“Not until I have my crown, for I would marry a queen.”
“Have you found no woman worthy of you?” Harald asked. “There is a shield-maiden in my hall named Thyra. She is both beautiful and strong. Perhaps—”
“No,” Styrbjörn said.
Harald pulled at a loose thread in the embroidery of his tunic. “You are devoted to your men, surely.”
“I am glad to fight alongside the Jomsvikings, but I have not sworn to them, nor they to me. They follow Palnatoke, who met me at the crossroads in single combat, with honor, even in defeat.” His statement was intended to shame Harald for his quick surrender.
“The old rituals are coming to an end,” Harald said. “Their honor is fading.”
Styrbjörn shrugged. “Among the Danes, perhaps. After all, it would seem your men remain devoted to you.”
“There is much more to a king than his victories.” Harald paused a moment, and then looked over at Gyrid. “You are devoted to your sister, perhaps?”
Styrbjörn had once been devoted to his sister, and she to him. But she had come into her power, and now possessed her own crown. Harald Bluetooth would never rule her, for she was the master of both her fate and her honor. Now it was Styrbjörn’s time.
“I am devoted to myself,” he said, “and none other.”
Harald’s eyebrows went up, and he nodded, as though he had just realized something. “I think I understand.”
“I doubt that.” Styrbjörn drained the last of the ale from his mug. “The matter is settled. We sail through Mälaren. Word will spread. Men will flock to my banner. Eric will fall.” He spoke as if his words had the power to reshape the world by their utterance.
In memories like this, Sean felt almost overpowered by the strength of Styrbjörn’s mind, and that to synchronize with his ancestor’s fearlessness and force of will, he needed to become stronger himself. He had experienced something similar in New York City and London as he had followed the memories of another ancestor, Tommy Greyling.
“My ships are yours to command, Styrbjörn,” Harald said. “As are my men. I will await news of your victory—”
“Await?” Styrbjörn glanced at Gyrid.
She looked hard at Harald. “Surely, husband, you will fight at my brother’s side.”
It was obvious to Styrbjörn, and likely to Gyrid, that Harald had not intended to sail to Svealand. In truth, Styrbjörn didn’t want Harald to sail with him, but he knew the Danes would fight better if led by their king, even though their king took his orders from a Svear who had defeated him in battle.
Harald Bluetooth touched his dagger again, the Piece of Eden, fixing his stare upon Sean’s ancestor for several moments. Then he looked away, appearing both frustrated and perplexed.
“I will sail with you,” Harald said.
Styrbjörn nodded, but Sean had become aware of something. He was pretty sure that Harald had just tried to use the power of the dagger on Styrbjörn, and upon reflection, he realized this was the second time it had happened. Sean raised his head above the waterline of Styrbjörn’s mind and spoke to Isaiah.
“Harald knows what he has.”
That makes sense, Isaiah said. Sources from this time period tell us that Harald managed to unite all of Denmark and Norway under his rule. He was a very powerful man.
“If that’s true, then why didn’t the dagger work on Styrbjörn?” Sean asked.
Harald attempted to use it?
“Yeah.”
Are you certain?
“I think so.”
If your ancestor was able to resist the power of a Piece of Eden, it is essential that I understand how. Did Styrbjörn do something to shield himself?
“No. It seemed automatic. Like he was immune.”
Stand by, Isaiah said. I’m going to terminate the simulation so I can analyze the—
“No.”
Isaiah paused. What did you say?
“Do not terminate. Leave me in here.” Sean sounded more forceful than he meant to, which surprised him, but he wasn’t ready to return to his own body and mind yet.
I make those decisions, Sean. Isaiah spoke with a low and even voice. You do not tell me what to do.
“Then I’m asking. Leave me in the simulation. Please.”
No. I have other priorities—
“What about my priorities?”
Your priorities?
“Yes.” Sean didn’t know where this confrontation was coming from.
Sean, my priorities are your priorities. You don’t have priorities of your own.
“Yes, I do.”
If that is the case, I would suggest you rid yourself of them quickly. Principles and priorities come at a price that I doubt you are prepared to pay.
“I think I can judge that for myself.” Sean felt as if he were in a simulation of his own mind, listening to another person talk, wanting to shut them up. Almost as though Styrbjörn were speaking through him. “This is my simulation, and if I want to stay in it, then I—”
Something smashed through Sean’s skull, seized his mind with its fist, and then wrenched it from his body. The simulation shredded around him, and he felt himself shredding, strips and layers of him torn away by the raking of claws until there was almost nothing left that he recognized as
himself. He was but a single thought floating in an endless nothing. Then a blinding light replaced the nothing, and he opened his scorched eyes.
A tall man with green eyes stood in front of him. Sean blinked, and then recognized him.
Isaiah held a bucket up to Sean’s face. “Vomit,” he said.
Sean obeyed, hanging like a doll from the Animus framework, his mind still reeling.
“That was foolish of you.”
“Which part?” Sean asked. He thought back to what he had said, and still couldn’t explain where it had come from. He also wasn’t sure he regretted it, in spite of the violent desynchronization.
“It is foolish to provoke me, Sean.” Isaiah leaned in closer. “I know you want the Animus. You want it desperately, but I think you’ve forgotten that I control your access to the Animus, as I have just demonstrated.”
“But you won’t cut me off,” Sean said, not quite as confidently as he had spoken in the Animus. “You need me to find the dagger.”
Isaiah leaned away from him. “You still don’t understand.”
Sean noticed then that all the other Abstergo technicians had left the chapel. He and Isaiah were alone, their voices echoing against the stone.
“What don’t I understand?” Sean asked.
Isaiah walked away from the light, into the dark recesses at the far end of the chapel. A few moments later, he returned, carrying something long and thin, like a spear.
No. Not a spear.
It was a trident with two prongs, its third prong missing. Until now, Sean had only seen the relics as daggers, but with their leather grips removed, they now looked like what they were: two parts of a larger deadly weapon. Isaiah had combined them and mounted them on the head of a staff.
The Trident of Eden.
He carried it toward Sean with authority. “Now,” he said, “I will make you understand.”
Owen followed Monroe and Natalya back down the hallway to the lab, and Monroe led them into an adjacent room with three different Animus rings that looked similar to what he’d seen elsewhere in the Aerie, but not as polished. They seemed more industrial and skeletal, with exposed wires and components.
“Will these do the job?” Owen asked.
“Of course.” Monroe walked over to one of them and gave it a solid pat. “These are mostly used for research. They were built as workhorses. They’re not as pretty as the others, but they’ll perform.”
Owen glanced at Natalya and shrugged. “If you say so.”
Monroe looked at both of them, sighed, and nodded. “Let’s get you situated.”
“You seem nervous,” Natalya said.
“I’ve been researching the collective unconscious for a long time,” Monroe said, “hoping to one day get a look at it. But now that it’s here, I … Just try to be safe in there, okay?”
Owen would have liked more reassurance than that. “Okay.”
Monroe directed him and Natalya toward two of the Animus rings that he had networked together, allowing them to share the simulation. Owen stepped inside his ring and climbed up into the framework of his exosuit, which did feel more sturdy and solid than it looked. Monroe helped Natalya buckle in, then did the same for Owen, and they were ready to go inside.
“Another couple of notes,” Monroe said. “First, I’ve been looking at the Animus code for this simulation, and it’s significantly atypical. This isn’t a memory of an experience in the way you’re used to. It’s not a sequence of events, with cause and effect. It’s more holistic than that. More organized. Almost like it was written with the end in mind.”
“That should make synchronization easier, right?” Owen asked. “We won’t be tied to a certain memory. We don’t have to worry about making the right choices.”
“Maybe,” Monroe said. “But that’s the other thing. This simulation is old. The data is intact, but we’re talking dawn of humanity here. This is actually an incredible moment. I mean, I know we’re doing this to stop Isaiah, but it’s so much more than that. You two are about to step inside a place that makes us who we are as human beings.”
“We’ll take notes,” Owen said.
“You’d better.” Monroe pulled Owen’s helmet over his head, and after a few moments of complete silence, he heard Monroe’s voice in his ear. Are you both reading me?
“Yes,” Natalya said.
“Yes,” Owen said.
Excellent. Are you ready to begin?
They both said yes.
Hold tight. Initiating Parietal Suppressor in three, two, one …
Owen grimaced through the intense pressure, the sensation of his skull bones grinding together, until the weight lifted away, and he opened his eyes upon the boundless gray. Natalya stood next to him, rubbing her temples, and she appeared as herself. He looked around, waiting for shapes to materialize out of the nothing.
How are you two doing?
“Good,” Owen said. He was wearing his favorite jeans, the comfortable ones with holes in them that he pulled out on lazy Sundays, and a T-shirt. Somehow the Animus must have pulled that from his own memories. Natalya wore jeans and a loose, button-down navy blouse.
“I’m fine,” Natalya said, her eyelids pinched shut.
You ready for the next step? This is the big one. Neil Armstrong big.
Owen watched Natalya and waited until she opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and then gave him a nod.
“I think we’re ready,” he said.
Okay. One giant leap for mankind in three, two, one …
Instead of resolving itself into shapes, the Memory Corridor darkened. It turned from gray to black, as black as the inside of the Animus helmet. For a moment, Owen wondered if something had gone wrong, and he was about to ask Monroe, but then a faint speck of light flickered ahead. At first, it only sparkled weakly, like a distant star, but gradually it grew brighter, and nearer, until it caused Owen to squint.
“What is that?” he asked Natalya. “Some kind of—”
Then the light slowly diminished, but as it shrank it also changed, gaining hard, square edges. When it finally settled firmly into place, Owen realized they were now standing in a tunnel, and the light had become an open doorway at the far end of it. Behind them lay only blackness, which left them one direction in which to go.
“Did you hear that?” Natalya asked.
“Yes,” Owen said.
Is everything okay? Monroe asked. The Animus is having a really hard time converting this data into an image on my end. You’re going to have to tell me what you see.
“There was a light,” Natalya said.
“A talking light,” Owen added. “Now we’re in a tunnel.”
A talking light? What did it say?
“The way of the path is through fear, devotion, and faith,” Natalya said. “And something about waiting for us at the summit.”
Well, that is certainly interesting. It means we’re on the right track.
“How so?” Owen asked.
Because the prongs of the Trident each have a different effect on human minds. One causes fear, one causes devotion, and one causes faith. That can’t be coincidence, which means the simulation you’re in is connected to the Trident somehow, just like we’d hoped.
“I guess we keep going,” Natalya said. “To the summit.”
Owen nodded. “I guess so.”
They set off toward the distant doorway, the echoes of their footsteps filling the tunnel. The walls to either side seemed to be made of dry stone, hewn rough and uneven, and the air smelled of dust. Eventually, they reached a point where the light coming in through the doorway no longer blinded Owen’s view of what lay beyond, and he caught glimpses of huge tree trunks.
“It’s a forest,” Natalya said.
A forest? Monroe asked.
“We’re almost there,” Owen said.
They approached the end of the tunnel, but stopped and stood at the threshold for a moment, peering out into the deep, dark woodland, very different from the one th
at surrounded the Aerie. These trees were unlike any Owen knew of. They stood close together, with wide trunks, worm-eaten bark, expansive branches, and exposed roots that seemed ready to pull up so the trees could go walking. Very little sunlight made it down through the dense canopy of leaves and needles, but where it fell, fine grass grew like hair, and where the sunlight could not reach, a soft black soil covered the ground.
“You could get lost in there,” Natalya said.
Owen agreed. Not too deep into the woods, a hazy and impenetrable shadow consumed everything. But more than that, just at the edge of that darkness, where the forest swallowed itself, the trees appeared to be distorted, or moving. Owen blinked and squinted, wondering if he only imagined it, along with the faint and distant sounds of wood cracking and groaning. It was almost like the simulation had glitches.
“Monroe?”
Yeah?
“Is the simulation stable?”
Yeah, it looks good.
“Are you sure?” Natalya asked, which meant that she had noticed it, too.
Hang on.
Owen and Natalya both breathed in at the same time.
“I don’t want to go in there,” she said.
“I don’t, either.”
But if they didn’t enter the forest, where else were they supposed to go? They couldn’t go back through the tunnel. Owen saw no light at the other end.
Okay. Monroe had returned. I’ve checked everything. The simulation is stable, so whatever you’re seeing, that’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s the memory.
“That’s disconcerting,” Natalya said.
Maybe not. I told you, this DNA is different. It’s not going to behave like a normal simulation. It’s more … primordial.
“It’s the forest that’s disconcerting,” Owen said. “The only way forward is through it.”
Maybe it—maybe it’s not a normal forest.
Owen peered again at the shifting woods. “Uh, yeah, it’s definitely not a normal forest.”
No, I mean, maybe it’s not just a forest. Maybe it’s the forest. The archetypal Forest.
Fate of the Gods Page 7
