The Yanti

by Christopher Pike

  “This is Ali Warner,” she said. “How are you, Mike? I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I was just sitting here watching a little TV. Or I should say I was listening to a favorite show. Few people realize how much the blind can get out of a program just by listening, although it helps to have a buddy nearby to describe the action sequences.”

  “Do you have a buddy with you now?”

  “No, I’m alone, Ali.”

  It was silent at the top of the mountain, the wind still, and there was a two-thirds full moon high in the sky, casting a soft white radiance over the snowy peak. Overall, Ali felt the spot peaceful, yet there was a troubling undercurrent in Mike Havor’s voice.

  “You told me after the meeting that you wanted to talk about what was going on at work,” she said.

  “I did mention that, didn’t I.” He paused, acted torn over what he should reveal. “Can I ask that what we discuss now remain between the two of us?”

  “Of course. But may I ask a question before you confide in me?”

  “Yes.”

  “The first time I met you, I lied to you about my name. Why do you feel that you can trust me? I mean, what have I done to earn your trust? To you I must be some crazy thirteen-year-old chick running around with an overactive imagination and a big mouth.”

  “An excellent question, and frankly, I’ve been sitting here asking myself if I should even talk to you at all about what has been going on at Omega. I don’t know you, not really, and I’ve known Ms. Smith a long time.” He paused. “Yet your allegations this morning—and Cindy’s—that murder has been committed at Ms. Smith’s home—these things have reinforced certain doubts I’ve been having.” He added, “I thought we should talk.”

  Ali heard truthfulness in his voice. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “For the last few months my boss has been taking sudden trips to Washington, D.C., and to Edwards Air Force Base, in Southern California. Each time before she left, she spoke to a certain man, a general, named James Kabrosh. When we first met, you said you played Omega Overlord a lot, and I’m sure you’re familiar with the character from the game. When Ms. Smith and I were perfecting the software for the game—that was six years ago—she insisted I name our hero after the general. At the time she didn’t tell me he was a real person. She just said, ‘I want this name used.’ She was adamant about it, if I remember correctly, but at the time I didn’t care. But later I learned, from fans who wrote in, that he was a real person. Do you follow me so far?”

  “Yes. What troubles you about General Kabrosh?”

  “This is hard to admit, but when I heard he was for real, curiosity got the best of me, and I began to do a background check on him. I discovered that besides working at the Pentagon and at Edwards, he was in charge of dismantling a lot of this country’s nuclear arsenal. A pretty sensitive job, to say the least.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Ali agreed.

  “Then I discovered something even more disturbing. He did not come from money, nor was his wife’s family wealthy. Yet, in just the last year, he’s bought two expensive homes. One in Switzerland, the other on an island in the Fijis.”

  “How were you able to obtain this information?”

  “I’m a computer expert. Not to brag, but I’m a master hacker.”

  “But, with your handicap, you must have someone assist you when you hack.”

  “Yes. But I would rather leave his identity out of it for the time being.”

  “Fine. Are you saying that what you know about General Kabrosh, the U. S. government doesn’t know?”

  “Yes. He was very careful not to list the homes under his name.”

  “Do you think Sheri Smith bought him these houses?”

  Mike Havor hesitated. “I don’t know. I hate to think so. He would have had to do her an awfully huge favor for her to pay out so much money. She’s a billionaire, but she’s tight with her funds.”

  “Ever met General Kabrosh in person?”

  “No. An employee of ours did. A young man named Freddy Degear. He was only sixteen, but I hired him myself, he had a lot of energy. He came from out of town, but he was obsessed with the computer game business, and he hoped to learn about it at Omega. But we mainly used him as a gofer—having him run errands for whoever needed them. Fred not only met General Kabrosh, he overheard a conversation between him and my boss. Afterward, he came to me about it, very upset.”

  “Why?”

  “He said the general and Ms. Smith had a detailed conversation about the destructive effect of different sized bombs.”

  “Did he hear her talk about buying a bomb?”

  “No. However, a general from the Pentagon talking about what obviously must be highly classified information—it disturbed both Freddy and me.”

  “Then Freddy died all of a sudden?”

  “Yes. You know about that. You were in Toule the day he died. That was the day I met you.” Havor paused. “I’ve been wondering if that was a coincidence.”

  “Is that another reason you’re worried about it?”

  “Yes. For some reason, when you showed up in our town, it spurred Ms. Smith to act.” Act, like in killing Freddy Degear.

  “Like you say, you’ve known her a long time. Do you really think she’s bought a bomb from the general?”

  “Ordinarily, I would say the idea was utterly ridiculous. But now . . .” He did not finish.

  “You think my arrival in Toule spurred her to act. What else do you think she did—besides kill Freddy?”

  “There’ve been a few times, over the years, when I’ve walked into her office and caught her talking to a person online, and she always stops the second I appear. Now you might wonder how I can tell who anyone is talking to online, since I can’t see. But I have voice-boxes hooked up to my own systems—at home and at the office—that translate typed words into vocal sounds. With a microphone in my ear, I can hear what everyone in the entire building is typing.” He paused. “That sounds like I spy on everyone. Trust me, I don’t ordinarily use my hacking talents for such a lowly pursuit. But since I learned that Ms. Smith was spending so much time in the company of such a questionable general, I felt an obligation to keep tabs on her.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Who’s this other person she talks to?”

  “His name is Nemi. He has a website—Nemi.com. Again, the name is out of one of our games. Nemi stands for . . .”

  “I know what it stands for,” Ali whispered, feeling a knife go through her heart. Was it possible? Was Nemi working with Sheri? Was he not her father, but an impostor, making the biggest fool out of Queen Geea imaginable?

  “You still there, Ali?” Havor asked.

  “I’m here,” she mumbled. “Ah . . . can you tell me what the two of them talked about?”

  “No. When they do talk, it is always in some kind of code, as if they know they’re being watched. I’ve kept records of their online talks—and tried to break the code—but so far I’ve had no success. Yet the day you showed up in Toule, the day Freddy Degear died, and pretty much every day since then, Ms. Smith has spent at least an hour a day on the computer with this Nemi.”

  Ali was having trouble breathing. He loved her! She loved him!

  “Does she ever talk to him on the phone?” she mumbled.

  “Not to my knowledge. Once more I must apologize, but with my hacking skills, I’ve a record of every phone call my boss has made in the last two months.” He added, “It’s very odd that two people should talk so much online, when they can simply pick up the phone and talk to each other, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe Nemi is unable to talk to her—physically,” Ali muttered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just thinking aloud.” Ali forced herself to go on, to get as much information as she could while she was still in this world. But her heart was broken, and she realized how dangerous that made her next trip. All of a sudden, she didn’t care i
f she lived or died. In all her adventures, at the back of her mind, she had fought so hard to win because she had wanted to make Nemi proud of her. That wasn’t the only reason, of course, but it had been a huge motivation for her. Because her father could not know of her activities, Nemi had taken on the role of a surrogate father in her heart. The desire had been there from the very start, when she had hardly known him at all. And now it looked as if he were working for the other side . . .

  Yet was that true? A remark he said came back to haunt her.

  “Love is the best way to know. The only sure way.”

  The experience of love in his presence was always undeniable.

  Yet the truth in the blind man’s words was clear.

  How could both things be true?

  She didn’t know. She only knew how weak she felt, when she had felt so strong only minutes before.

  “Tell me what you think I should do,” Mike Havor said.

  “Why do you ask me? I’m only a kid you just met.”

  He was a long time answering. “I’ve been blind a long time, and what it’s done, it’s allowed me to develop senses most people don’t have. You asked today why I was not mad at you for lying to me at Omega, and the truth is, even without being able to see, I can sense you’re a special person. I’ve no eyes, not anymore, Ali, but there’s more to you than meets the eye. I know this in my heart.”

  “So you come to me for advice?”

  “Yes. I want your advice.”

  “Continue to spy on your boss. Keep tabs on everything she does. And never allow her to lead you to a place where you two are totally alone. She murdered my friend. If she finds out about your spying, she will not hesitate to do the same to you. I mean it, Mike.”

  “I’m beginning to believe you.” He paused. “This number you’re calling from—may I reach you there tomorrow?”

  “Let me call you. I might not be available tomorrow.”

  “Where will you be that we can’t talk?”

  “That’s a long story. But I want to thank you for what you’ve told me. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

  They exchanged goodbyes and Ali closed the phone and discovered her eyes were wet. Her whole face was damp. She had been silently crying since Havor had mentioned Nemi’s name.

  He had said he was her father . . .

  Maybe he had told her to go to the Isle of Greesh to die.

  Holding the phone in her hand, with its Internet hookup, she realized she could dial him in an instant. But that she would not do. If he was lying, then he would just tell her a fresh set of lies to assuage her fears. And if he was telling the truth, then she would disgrace herself by accusing him . . .

  Yet many of his actions had been suspicious. Answering her, he had typed faster than any fairy or human being was capable of. Plus he had admitted he had been the one to take Doren to the Isle of Greesh, where she had changed into the Shaktra . . .

  However, the fact that he had admitted the truth to her . . .

  “Stop!” Ali screamed aloud, her voice echoing off the silent peak. The invasion was too near, there was no time for internal debates. She had to act. She had to enter the green world and kick some butt.

  CHAPTER

  7

  After a hurried flight down the upper portion of the cave, Ali came to the open yellow door and passed through it into the cavern that held the other doors. All were arranged in a deep semicircle, were made of metal, had featureless handles in place of knobs, and finely shaped domes on top.

  Each door was a different color. Starting on the far left, there was a red door, followed by an orange one, a yellow one, a green one, a blue one, a violet one, and on the far right there was a white door.

  Previously, Ali had tried to scratch each door, to see if the paint would come off. Only now she realized how foolish the act had been. The colors reflected the vibration of the world beyond the door. In a sense, each door was a part of the world that lay behind it.

  Last time she had been to the cavern—in the company of Farble and Paddy, her troll and leprechaun pals—she had fought Radrine, with laser bolts and thrown boulders. Nevertheless, right now, the doors looked perfectly clean, showing not a trace of dust. As before, Ali found herself more drawn to the blue door, the fifth world—than she was to the green one, which led to the fourth world, the elemental kingdom. Stepping toward the blue door, she found it locked and was not surprised. Except for the yellow one, all the doors were locked. Indeed, she had cast such a strong spell on the red door that led to Radrine’s hell, she doubted any dark fairy would ever be able to open it.

  Even though the green world was her immediate destination, she could not free herself of the magnetism of the blue door. It called to her in many ways. She felt an actual physical tug inside her chest, and beneath that, in a realm of almost subconscious longing, she imagined what it would be like to open the door, to step through it, just for a few minutes, and feel the light that would sweep over her. For she had no doubt that the blue world was a place of everlasting joy . . .

  Almost without thinking about it, Ali withdrew the Yanti from beneath her shirt and placed it on her forehead, heart, and then on top of her head, in quick succession, while whispering the words: “Alosha, Alosha, Alosha.”

  And the blue door slowly opened.

  Ali took a step forward. Another one, maybe a dozen steps; she did not know for sure how far she traveled past the door. But what she saw and felt and became, was a thousand times more wonderful than her imagination could have conjured. No, it was a million times richer. For as she stepped forward, a light engulfed her, from all sides, dancing on her skin and within her eyes, like candles lit to warm and guide her on her way home. Yes, that was it, home . . . In an instant that stretched forever, she felt as if she had been lost her entire life, but now she had been rediscovered, by an ancient race of beings that not only knew her, but loved her as one of them, because she was one of them. It was true, beyond the blue door was where she belonged . . .

  Ali closed her eyes, opened them; it did not matter, the joy kept increasing. The intoxicating music she had occasionally heard on Earth, and in the green world, when she plunged deep inside her mind, began to sound in the blue light, and she realized it was as much a part of the dimension as it was a part of her heart—where the music had always seemed to originate before. Was it because the soul could be located in the heart? Where this sacred light forever shone?

  It came to her that this blue realm was where her soul had originally emerged from, not the green world. In that instant she realized why she had not been able to understand the mystery of the ice maidens when she had last explored the elemental world.

  Of course, Amma had explained to her that the ice maidens took care of the bodies of dead elementals, as they rested inside the kloudar, while their souls were born on Earth. Nevertheless, Ali had not understood what they were. The truth had been too close for her to see.

  She was one of them!

  Standing inside the glory of the blue light, she intuitively understood that she was an ice maiden, a being most people on Earth would have called an angel.

  With this realization numerous hands appeared to come out of the light. Only hands and arms, no faces or eyes, and they did not push her so much as prod her to go back. Yes, they said she must return, and she heard these words—as if they were a mantra in her mind—again and again . . .

  Serve the Worlds . . . Serve the Worlds . . . Serve the Worlds.

  Although it killed her to obey, she did as she was told. A moment later she was standing outside the blue door, and it was closed, and the chamber in which she stood was dark, and she was alone. And she knew she would always be that way, in a sense, until she could open the blue door again, and stay.

  Ali glanced at her watch. Six hours had elapsed!

  Outside the sun would be coming up. In the green world as well. Lord Vak’s army was coming. Stepping in front of the green door, taking hold of the Yanti, Ali repeate
d the mystical incantation, and the door opened, and she passed through it.

  She was on her way.

  The attack, as she exited the cave on the side of Mt. Tutor, and entered into the green dawn, was much worse than she had anticipated. This time there were no mere dark fairies to thwart her coming and going.

  There were dragons. A dozen fire-breathing dragons.

  Two stood guard directly outside the cave. Each had one triangular-shaped eye shut, the other open, red and glowing. They appeared to be dozing. Yet far overhead, another ten slowly circled the mountaintop, like gigantic flying demons, with steam for breath. Their vast beating wings seemed to be made of leather that had been soaked in lava. Worse, their bellies—and the rest of their hides for that matter—were like burnt metal, old but impenetrable armor. From their long snouts, their fiery nostrils bristled with flame, and she knew all too well how fast those small fires could swell into blazing clouds, and burn any human or fairy into ash.

  Beside the two sleeping dragons—near the cave opening—were the remains of the dark fairies she had previously killed. She had torn them apart with a deadly technique her father had taught her: voom. It involved taking in a deep breath, blowing forcibly on her palms, then smacking her hands together. Voom sent out a powerful sonic wave in all directions; her own field was required to protect her from it. The deadly wave was like the compressed air given off by an exploding bomb. Voom had a tendency to blow off limbs and heads . . .

  The two dragons opened both eyes. Their nostril-fire suddenly swelled.

  Quickly, expanding her protective field, Ali sucked in a breath, blew on her hands, clapped her palms together with great force. She was near both dragons—standing dead center between their huge lumbering heads, which couldn’t have been fifty feet apart. Her surprise appearance was a stroke of luck, she knew, and not likely to be repeated.

  Before the dragons could attack, the top of their huge skulls cracked, and blood splattered as their massive jaws tore loose, and sent forth a shower of jagged teeth over the rocky side of Tutor. With a thunderous noise that shook the gravel beneath her feet, their heads fell to the ground as the dragons instantly died.