Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  They began studying together every night, a practice which immeasurably improved Neelix’s grades. They swam in the pond between their homes, and went to concerts together or in the company of their parents.

  His father had acquired a small, knowing smile which appeared whenever Vaxi’s name was mentioned, and his mother seemed serenely happy about the relationship. He knew they were anticipating the eventual acquisition of yet another daughter into their large and loving family.

  He never got around to taking Vaxi to his hut in the woods.

  He never even mentioned it. It seemed childish now, and he was embarrassed to reveal the detritus of his youth to her. She would undoubtedly think it was foolish and immature behavior, this retreat to an isolated hut for the purpose of living a fantasy life. She would find it strange, aberrant. He couldn’t risk that.

  Yet he felt vaguely guilty, as though he’d abandoned a childhood friend without ever saying good-bye. He pictured his hut, standing alone and forlorn in the woods, insects once again draping it with webs, voracious undergrowth creeping toward it across the clearing, vines climbing its walls and obscuring its windows.

  These thoughts made him disturbingly uncomfortable, and each night he vowed he’d go tomorrow and clean the place up, restoring it to its pristine state.

  And each day he’d spend every moment he could with Vaxi.

  It was also during this time that the dark specter of conflict began rumbling through Talax. People began speaking more and more about the Haakonians. Neelix had learned that the Talaxians had successfully battled this warlike species more than a century before. The rulers of Haakon, after a decades-long attempt to subjugate Talax and its moon, had withdrawn in ignominy and chosen to vent their aggressions against other, less tenacious people. For generations, Talax had known only peace.

  Now there were disquieting rumors that Haakon planned to move once again against Talax. Neelix had heard these murmurings for the first time when his father had taken him to the weapons range three years before; now, the murmurs had become a constant babble. Haakon was arming a huge fleet. Haakon would mount a surprise attack against Rinax. Haakon wanted to turn Talax into a huge penal colony. The specifics differed, but no one seemed to disagree that something dire was looming.

  What to do about that something dire was another matter entirely. There was sharp disagreement among the members of government—and among the citizenry—about the proper way to deal with the prospect of invasion. Some favored an immediate aggressive stance, the creation of armed forces, and the conversion to a military society.

  Others felt that only the maintenance of a peaceful and nonthreatening posture could dissuade the Haakonians. And there were moderates—among whom was Neelix’s father—who felt that Talax should adopt no overt or militant strategy, but must quietly develop armed forces for defensive purposes.

  Neelix found the entire prospect unsavory. He knew he should take a position, as a man was expected to do, but he found himself recoiling from the hideous idea of war. He had never experienced it, but in his readings on weaponry he had learned enough about it to know he wanted no part of it. And yet, if Talax were invaded, would it not be his responsibility to help defend their way of life?

  He thought longingly of his childhood, when such decisions weren’t called for and his fantasies of the exploits of Prince Morax were as close as he ever needed to come to warfare. He began to wish he were still a child, protected from harsh reality and nestled in the bosom of love.

  He decided to visit his hut.

  He packed a hamper with trove bars and iced neth, recalling wistfully the excursions he used to take with Alixia. Alixia was mated now, as were Raxel and Mixin; all three had chosen partners within the same year, and then decided to join in a triple mating ceremony. He missed Alixia deeply, but when he thought of Vaxi, he understood her happiness and didn’t begrudge her.

  He took his hovercraft into the woods and immediately felt a sense of well-being settle over him. The dusky aroma of damp leaves was perfume to him, and made him feel eight years old again, tagging along behind Alixia as they explored.

  He drove slowly, savoring the woodlands, the hovercraft skimming silently over the forest floor, a moist breeze cooling his skin. He would refurbish the hut and begin visiting it once more. Next year he would have to attend school on Talax, so he’d best get some use out of his old retreat before then. The prospect was calming.

  In his vehicle, he covered the terrain quickly. Why hadn’t he bothered to come here since he’d gotten the craft? Neelix shook his head ruefully. As soon as he had the means to travel swiftly—which was why he’d wanted the vehicle in the first place—he’d stopped exploring.

  He’d begun exploring Vaxi, instead, and while he certainly had no regrets about that adventure, he was sorry he’d given up his sorties into the woods. There was continuity here, a pattern that comforted. These woods were devoid of uncertainty.

  Ahead, he spotted the clearing. As he neared it, he realized his vision of the neglected hut was accurate: brushy growth had overtaken the clearing and surrounded the small structure; copious vines had crept up its walls and laced an errant design on the roof. The windows were all but covered with leafy shades, and a mossy fungus encrusted any exposed surface.

  It looked as a structure would that had been unused for three years.

  And yet—something was off. He couldn’t decide quite what it was . . . certainly nothing that caught the eye. But something, something, didn’t feel right.

  Neelix climbed out of the vehicle carefully, senses alert, fingertips tingling with wariness. Someone had been here, been here recently. But how did he know that?

  He inspected the hut from a distance. The undergrowth looked undisturbed, and he could hear nothing except for the hum of insects and the occasional call of a yute bird.

  Quietly, slowly, he approached the door. He could almost hear his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing sounded loud and raspy. What was causing this apprehension?

  He was only a few steps from the door when he realized it was something he smelled. The scent of the forest was strong and familiar, a combination of decaying leaves, wild blossoms, and dank moistness. But there was a tiny vein of something else lacing that pungent odor, no more than a hint of something, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed. But to Neelix, the fragrance of the forest was a part of him. He could detect any deviant element.

  Something had burned. He couldn’t be sure what, but the whiff of acridity seemed to become more pronounced as he identified it. He glanced around the clearing for signs of a cooking fire, but saw none. He turned back toward the hut, realizing that the odor must be coming from inside.

  He could turn around, walk back to his craft, and return to the sanctuary of home. It would have been easy. And, in retrospect, the wise thing to do.

  But he felt an ineffable sense of violation. Someone had been using his hut, his retreat. He knew he had no legitimate claim of ownership to it, but his proprietary feelings were no less intense because of that. He’d put hours of work into this place. He’d invested it with literally years of his young life. It belonged to him, and he deeply resented anyone else using it.

  So it was with indignation that he opened the door.

  And with horror and revulsion that he recoiled at what he saw.

  A man—something like a man—was sitting on a chair . . . his chair . . . slumped over. He was prevented from falling because he was tied into the chair.

  His face, if it could be called that, was a pulpy mass, purple and bloated. It had distended into a grotesque mask, like the ones children wore on the Day of the Specters. Neelix could barely see the eyes, which had swollen closed.

  Someone had beaten him hideously.

  Neelix stood at the door, transfixed, uncertain what to do. He didn’t want to walk closer to this monstrosity, but he felt compelled to determine whether the man was alive.

  He hoped he was not.

  Forcing a calm
he didn’t feel, Neelix stepped toward the man, and realized his chest was rising and falling imperceptibly. He was alive.

  But then Neelix made another, more horrible observation: the source of the burnt odor.

  Beating was not the only thing this man had endured. Parts of him were charred and black . . . feet, ankles, legs . . . He had been cruelly used, flesh roasted from the bottom up. Neelix began shuddering, and was afraid for a moment he would throw up. The smell had become powerful, assaulting his nostrils and lungs until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

  He stood frozen for what seemed like hours, trying to control himself. Finally he gasped as he realized the man’s eyes were open, looking right at him.

  Open, that is, as far as they could in that puffy face. Dreadful, milky eyes, shot with blood, staring dully at Neelix.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll . . . I’m . . . going to get you out of here,” stammered Neelix. He hadn’t intended to say that; the words came out unbidden.

  A husky rasp emerged from the bound man’s throat, but Neelix had no idea what he was trying to say, and he didn’t want to draw nearer in order to hear him. But the man rasped at him again, more urgently.

  “What? I can’t hear you . . .” said Neelix. His mind was trying to figure out how he could get this horribly injured man into his vehicle. He couldn’t walk, not on those charred feet. And he was too heavy for Neelix to carry. How was he to accomplish his promised act of rescue?

  The hoarse whisper escaped the man’s lips once more, lips that were caked with dried blood. Neelix watched in horrible fascination as flakes of the brown crust fell from his tumid lips and onto the floor, where they settled softly onto the dust that had accumulated there. The sound was more urgent still, and Neelix realized he would have to move closer to this monstrosity if he were to hear.

  He forced himself to take a few steps forward, then leaned down and looked away from the man’s face, placing his ear close to the bloated brown mouth. This time the words took a crude shape. “They . . . will . . . find . . . you . . .”

  The horror this struck in Neelix was unimaginable. What did this mean? Who? Would they do to him what they’d done to this wretched man? He fought panic, and turned to face the hideous face once more. “I can’t get you out alone. I’m going for help. I promise I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

  There was no response. The man’s chin had fallen once more onto his chest, as though uttering those few words had drained every vestige of energy he had left.

  Neelix backed away, toward the door, and then sprinted across the clearing toward the hovercraft. Later, as he sped through the forest, he wondered if he should have taken steps to erase evidence of his visit. He hadn’t even closed the door. Then he realized there could have been someone in the woods, watching him, someone who saw him enter the hut and then come dashing out.

  Someone who could identify him.

  Shaking off these terrifying feelings, Neelix raced into his house calling for his father. And not an hour later they were both with a kindly civil defender named Tixil, and several of his men, plunging in an official vehicle through the forest. It didn’t matter that the hut’s existence would no longer be a secret. His sanctuary had been violated in an unspeakable manner already.

  He led the group to the clearing, and emerged from the hovercraft in dread. He didn’t want to see the man again. He’d already described him to the authorities, and he wanted them to take over now, so he could go about the business of trying to erase the awful sight from his memory.

  But the first thing he noticed was that the door to the hut was closed.

  He’d left it open, he was sure of that. He had worried about it during his headlong flight through the woods. That meant someone had been here after he left, and closed it.

  He stopped short. Tixil looked at him. “What is it, Neelix?” he asked.

  “The door was open when I left. Someone’s been here.”

  Tixil nodded and drew his weapon. The sight of it comforted Neelix. Here was a person in authority, a powerful person with a powerful weapon. He would restore stability to Neelix’s world, would somehow right this distorted, careening reality.

  Tixil paused at the door, then flung it open and stepped in, weapon trained before him. After he’d scanned the room, he turned and beckoned to the others.

  Neelix and his father walked into the hut, Neelix just behind his father, hoping his tall presence would shield him from the sight of the tortured man.

  He wasn’t there.

  The chair he’d sat in was back in its usual place near the small table. The room looked as though no one had been there in years. Dust covered the floor, and there were no footprints, no markings in the dust, no indication that a chair had been dragged across the room.

  No flakes of crusted blood on the floor.

  Neelix realized that several pairs of eyes were fastened on him, including his father’s and Tixil’s. They were silent.

  “I . . . I . . .” Neelix heard his voice crack, and took a breath. “He was here. Right here. Tied into that chair, only the chair was here, in the middle of the floor.” His voice sounded hollow in his own ears.

  Tixil inspected the room carefully, looking at windows and cupboards, scrutinizing the dust-laden floor. Neelix realized miserably that their own presence had made indelible prints on the floor. It was impossible that someone could have been here and not disturbed this layer of dust.

  Neelix glanced up at his father, who was watching carefully as Tixil completed his examination of the room. Finally Tixil turned toward them, eyes troubled. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “I don’t know what to say, Neelix. I can’t see any indication that anyone’s been here in a long time.” He paused uncomfortably. “I don’t know if you’re a young man with a vivid imagination—”

  “I saw him. He was here,” retorted Neelix firmly. Tixil nodded as though trying to give credence to this improbable statement. He glanced at Neelix’s father, then looked down at the floor, with some embarrassment.

  “I apologize for bringing this up,” he began, clearly uneasy with the topic, “but I feel I must.” He hesitated, then continued. “Rhuludian crystals have become popular with a number of young people these days . . .”

  Neelix heard his father gasp, and hated Tixil for raising this awful possibility. He stepped right toward his father. “I have never . . . never . . . touched those things. And I never would.”

  Papa nodded solemnly, and looked up at Tixil in vindication, but Tixil made no comment. Finally he drew a deep breath. “I’ll have my men make a thorough search of the woods. See if they can turn up anything. I promise we’ll let you know the results.”

  Neelix’s father nodded as though that were acceptable, but Neelix felt betrayed. “You don’t believe me,” he accused Tixil. “You think I imagined it, or hallucinated. But I didn’t. There was a man here, who’d been tortured. Whoever did that is still . . . out there. Somewhere.” He felt a chill at that last statement. The tortured man’s hoarse prophecy seared his mind. Someone was out there who would find him. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

  And smelled the tiniest whiff of burnt meat.

  “There—do you smell that?” Tixil and his father looked somewhat startled. “It’s like something burnt. That’s what they did to him, to his feet and legs.”

  Tixil and his father obligingly turned their noses upward, sniffing carefully. But clearly they didn’t detect the acrid odor. Neelix wasn’t sure if he would’ve, either, had he not smelled it so strongly when he was here before. Both men looked somewhat embarrassed, and acknowledged that they smelled nothing.

  His father put an arm around his shoulder and led him from the hut. Tixil followed, eyes carefully sweeping the room one last time.

  It was in complete silence that they made their way back through the woods to home.

  Tixil deposited them at their door and promised to contact them tomorrow. Neelix stared after him, as his power and authority receded in the dista
nce.

  Neelix felt alone and vulnerable. He had no appetite for dinner, and excused himself. He went to his room and got in bed, where he huddled like a small child, fearful of unknown monsters in the dark.

  The smell of burnt flesh assailed him. He knew it wasn’t really there, that he was simply remembering its awful odor—he did know the difference between imagination and reality—but it made him faintly queasy nonetheless. Even here, in the bed of his childhood, there was no sanctuary.

  He had no idea how long he’d been there when he heard a tap at his door. Night had fallen, and he was in some indistinct stage between sleep and wakefulness. At the sound of the knock, he was alert and tense.

  “Neelix?” It was his father’s voice. Neelix got out of bed and padded to the door, opening it.

  His father stood there with a man who looked vaguely familiar, but whom he couldn’t immediately identify.

  “Do you remember Uxxin?” asked his father. “You met him at the weapons range the first time we went there.”

  The memory registered in Neelix’s mind. The tall, erect man, spots black with age, tufts elaborately arranged. He was the one who’d spoken of the need for an armed citizenry.

  But the tale he brought tonight was far more frightening than the as-yet-unfounded threat of the Haakonians.

  Neelix sat with the two of them at their dining table—the scene of so much mirth and pleasure over the years. It would never recall good times again; from this night on, the dining table would remind him only of the awful things Uxxin was telling them.

  “The boy must leave Rinax tonight. If he’s here tomorrow when Tixil comes back, you’ll never see him again. I’ve made arrangements to get him to Talax, where we have friends who will hide him.”

  Neelix’s head was spinning with disbelief. What was Uxxin talking about? Why did he have to leave his home?

  His father looked at him solemnly. “Uxxin is part of a group who are trying to avoid war with Haakon. But there are strong factions that want the war, and who consider the moderates a threat. The whole thing has turned ugly.”