“Were those the hotspots?” I said. “Were they the lights on Loki’s map? Are those the same places the Mythers are bringing all those people?”
“Light,” Revik spoke up.
I turned, looking at him.
Uye and Kali looked at him, too.
Revik frowned, his gaze turned inward, his eyes focused on the table without seeing it. Still staring at nothing, he shook his head.
“That’s why they need all those fucking people,” he muttered.
His narrow mouth curled in a frown. He took a drag of the hiri without his eyes changing focus.
“They’re light. Batteries for his army of telekinetics. The Dreng need them to power this…” He waved vaguely with a hand. “Whatever this is. They need a huge amount of living light to power whatever it is they’re going to do. That thing we saw with the sun… the doors.”
He looked at me, his expression grim, his eyes worried.
I watched his face, frowning.
He exhaled sweet-smelling hiri smoke, waving it away from me and looking away. Studying his face, I got the sense he was looking at Kali’s vision from the higher areas of his light.
I saw a harder look forming there.
When he didn’t go on after another few seconds, I focused back on my parents.
“Why?” I said. “Why would they want to destroy the sun?” I looked between them. “That’s what they’re doing in the vision, right? That’s what it looked like.”
Uye frowned faintly, glancing at Kali.
Kali’s expression continued to look concerned for me. She also gave Revik a worried glance, but I saw the agreement in her eyes, even before she nodded perceptibly.
“Not exactly,” Kali amended, again glancing at Uye, clasping his fingers on top of the table. “I suspect that is more a side-effect of what it is they are really trying to do. They need people to power the telekinetics, like your husband says. But they need the power of the sun to power something much greater, and much more difficult.”
I frowned, looking between them.
I already understood, though. I remembered that feeling of the doors, the vortices.
“Opening the doors,” I muttered.
When neither of them spoke, I looked at Revik.
“So what are those doors?” I said.
Some part of me knew already––although I didn’t know how I knew, or why they felt so damned familiar to me. I knew those doors though. As weird as it is to say, I remembered them. I remembered that feeling of them opening.
Revik gave me a sharp look.
From his eyes, he’d definitely heard me. He looked at me, a dawning understanding in his gaze, despite the harder look that remained.
“They’re your doors, Allie,” he said. “That’s why they’re familiar to you.”
I frowned, about to ask him what he meant, but he’d already looked away. He didn’t look over when I continued to stare at him. He gazed out over the ocean instead, his mouth set in a hard line except when he took a drag of the hiri.
I looked around at all of them.
“What’s the point of destroying the Earth?” I said, my own voice harder. “Of leaving? Why did they make all of those bunkers, if all they meant to do was destroy the Earth and take off? And if they’re ‘my’ doors, then why are the Dreng opening them at all?”
“I’m not sure we are seeing a total success for them in this possible future, daughter,” Kali said, gentle. “I suspect the Dreng hope to gain mastery over those doors, to control them, perhaps even to use Earth as a kind of way-station between worlds. Those bunkers are likely meant to house the next generation of humans––humans designated to be caretakers. They would need to leave someone here, if only to provide light for the telekinetics.”
“So they fail?” I frowned, looking around at all of them. “That was a vision of the Dreng failing? Because it didn’t feel like failure. It felt like they got exactly what they wanted.”
Uye made a concessionary gesture.
“It is possible it is both, daughter,” he said, cautious. “Your mother and I discussed this, and we believe their primary goal is to open the doors for themselves to pass through. It is possible the Dreng currently believe they can do this using the cloned telekinetics and the light of their human slaves alone.”
Uye flipped his hand in a noncommittal gesture.
“…It may be that they try this and it doesn’t work,” he added. “Or perhaps they obtain additional information about the doors and how they operate. In either event, at some point, the Dreng will likely instruct their telekinetics to draw power directly from the sun. It is possible they would see this as an acceptable secondary scenario, if it permits them to pass through the doors and leave the destroyed Earth behind.”
Revik’s eyes clicked into focus.
His lips curled into a frown as he looked first at Uye, then at Kali.
After a pause, I felt another flicker of understanding leave his light.
“The doors,” he said. “I read it a hundred times. Hundreds and hundreds of times, probably. I read the commentary on the doors, all of the things they were said to symbolize. The heavens. This world among many worlds. Different planes of existence.”
He looked at me. His narrow mouth curled in a frown.
“What if they weren’t symbolic doors at all? What if the ancestors were talking about real doors? What if they were talking about real worlds?”
I frowned back at him, confused.
I knew he was referencing something in the Myths, or the commentaries perhaps, but I wasn’t familiar enough with any of the texts to know exactly what he meant.
Looking to Uye and Kali, I saw them watching Revik, a thread of agreement, possibly even encouragement in their eyes. Whatever Revik was talking about fell along the lines of whatever conclusions they’d drawn, as well.
My eyes returned to my husband.
“This is about the Myth,” I said. “Something to do with the different Displacements and races, on what happens at the end? That thing with the doors… is it also from one of the commentaries? Something Menlim taught you?” I hesitated. “Is that why you think these doors have something to do with me?”
Revik shook his head, but not really in a no.
“Not only commentaries,” he said, still frowning. “Not only the old scriptures, Allie, although it is there, too. It’s all over the texts that detail the mysteries of the Dragon. And the Bridge.” His eyes met mine, a frown toying at his lips. “I forget you weren’t steeped in all of this like the rest of us. You’ve heard the Myth, though, right? From beginning to end? You’re familiar with the original text?”
Before I could answer, he began to recite.
I’d never heard him speak the Myth before.
Somehow, him saying it, putting his light into the words, his deep, lyrical voice, affected me more than any number of times I’d heard it from Tarsi.
Love’s breath ignites in pools of gold, but it is not the first…
…Nor the last, nor even the beginning. A people swim the surface of Muuld, in a world marked garden for the chosen. We breach simple with flat tails and fingered toes, revel in the brightness of young light.
Numbers swell, our limbs extend, exiting gentle waves. We conquer worlds alarmingly fast. We cover creation with our works, both ugly and wondrous. As time brings new, as every cycle of birth and chaos has beginning…
It cannot last. The first race consumes itself inside itself. It calls to Death, and Death listens. But Death could not be left in his loneliness, nor the first in our pain. Compassion brings tears, a wondrous Bridge to touch the sky. They watch, afraid.
For with her, Death leaves bones to feed the new. Love softens Death, brings hope between them. The others come, to weave the next, and…
Those of us who stay must grow, or perish. We make magics beyond what any sees after. But the gods closed doors to those other worlds…
Revik looked at me, his mouth grim as he emphasized th
e words. Looking away, he continued to recite, his deep voice still infused with light.
…and they are left with only one, and it is alone. And in that one, there is Second race born, from trees and under rocks.
They grow to our likeness, yet believing they are alone. Their works cover that lone world, until they meet us and fear. Fires burn black a second time, a second life. Death listens as the Bridge spins down, illumines a path to the sky.
Love song beckons, leaves them alone. The gold ocean covers all wounds.
Second race follows the path of the first, and those left behind, fated to watch the fires burn yet again. For time speeds up, and all histories fold inside themselves.
As for the first, the youngest and most foolish, most magicked and most childlike, the gods call us from the stone. And a great wail rose when the gods spoke, for the door to that other place must need be lost, and those on the other side forgotten.
For when Third Race comes, they bring with them the stars. We leave them, our Guardians of the Middle. And the Bridge spins her light…
…Until we come to live here no more.
He barely paused before he went on, a sharper light in his voice.
“You see, Allie?” he said. “What if that was never meant to be entirely symbolic? What if it wasn’t meant to only be religion, or some means of understanding our relationship to the other races? What if it’s fucking history? What if they brought it with them so they’d remember?”
At what must have been a blank look from me, he went on.
“A people swim the surface of Muuld, in a world marked garden for the chosen,” he recited. “Do you see? The Myth isn’t talking about here… about this Earth. ‘Muuld’ isn’t just another name for this planet. It’s a whole other world, Allie.”
Shaking his head, he stared at the table, his gaze shifting inward once more.
“There was always controversy about what some of those lines meant,” he said. “About conquering many worlds… about the different stars and constellations seen from the various memory imprints from those earlier times. There were always theories that the original races may have been space travelers, that the old technology could have been lost. Really though, no one knew for certain what it meant. It was all speculation.”
Without waiting for me to comment, he went on, reciting.
“…But the gods closed doors to those other worlds, and they are left with only one, and it is alone. And in that one, there is Second race born, from trees and under rocks.”
Revik looked at me, then at Uye and Kali.
“Do you see? That may not be figurative either. What if they really went to a second world? What if Sarks were born of a different world than Elaerian? What if they traveled to a different world at the end of their own Displacement?”
He looked at me, mouth pursed.
“Remember? On that cruise ship? That world we saw in those imprints Vash showed us? How different it looked? Everything about it was different, except the beings themselves, which still looked mostly like us. Remember how different the sky was? Remember how the sun was a different color? It was blue, Allie. It was a blue-white sun, like the one from the original symbol of Syrimne d’Gaos.”
I swallowed, thinking about his words.
I remembered that vision.
I remembered everything about what he was talking about.
Revik continued to speak, his voice still holding that thread of discovery.
“It explains everything. I’d wondered why the sky was so different. I wondered at the plants, even compared to fossil records here. I wondered how the timelines fit with what we know of the history of this world… of the dinosaurs, of the different time periods mapped by geologists. I wondered about the strange technology those Elaerian had. The way they built, which is nothing like the anthropological records here, even from ancient civilizations.”
Turning to me, he added,
“It also explains why it’s so hard for regular seers to see those imprints, Allie. It’s because those historical records aren’t from Earth at all. Elaerian carry the memory of that first world. Possibly the second world, as well. A few masters, like Vash, could see it. But most seers can’t. It was a different world entirely, do you see? A different history. A totally different civilization. The parallels exist because we’re here. The parallels exist in whatever genetic material we brought here with us… but the planet itself isn’t the same.”
I swallowed, seeing the same images that flickered behind his eyes.
I remembered seeing Kardek, and Haldran.
I remembered the weapons the people wore, the unusual clothes, that blue-white sun in the vastness of a darker sky––a smaller, hotter sun than the one that lived here.
Even the darkness felt different there.
The beings I’d assumed to be the Dreng, they felt different, too.
I’d been able to hack Galaith’s network because we shared a common memory from a whole other world. I’d been able to bypass all the Pyramid’s security because the thing we shared lived in a different reality entirely, a whole other galaxy, maybe even a whole other dimension.
I understood exactly what Revik was saying.
I also understood something else.
“The Bridge.” I cleared my throat. “The Bridge opens this door? That’s why you said they were my doors? Because I open them?”
Revik paused, looking at me.
I saw him thinking about my words, replaying the Myth in his head.
After another few seconds, he nodded slowly, his voice cautious.
“I think so, yes. The Myth definitely suggests as much.”
He frowned, still thinking as he stared down at his feet.
His voice grew reluctant when he next spoke.
“If we’re going to take the Myth at face value… as more roadmap and history than symbol and religious verse, it makes sense that somehow the Bridge is the one to link the previous generation with the next, the old world with the new. Maybe that’s how she saves each race, so it can evolve to its next form. She sends them to their new home, where the Dreng don’t yet exist. Where they can start anew. When a new race comes up later, that race is likely indigenous to the world in some way. Perhaps that new race is even what calls the Dreng to the planet, once they reach a certain stage of their evolution.”
Still frowning, he continued to stare down at the deck.
“It’s even possible it’s some version of the same world, over and over, but in some kind of pre-historical period. So they’re related genetically, but the older generation operates almost as time-travelers. They come to an alternate version of their own world, repopulating that which they left behind… only in the distant past, with a different historical stream.”
Still thinking aloud, he recited,
“…the Bridge spins down, illumines a path to the sky.” Shaking his head, he met my gaze, his mouth grim. “I don’t fully get it, Allie. I don’t fully get what the doors are, or how you fit in, or what these other worlds really entail. But something about what we’re saying feels right. It fits, Allie. It makes sense that you have to be the one to open the door.”
His eyes grew worried as he continued to think.
“If we’re to take the Myth at face value, not everyone makes it through. The Myth implies they leave some behind, either accidentally or on purpose. That makes it sound like the door or doors are only open for a limited amount of time.”
Thinking about this, I grunted, folding my arms.
Giving him a flat look, I hardened my voice.
“You mean like six hundred and forty-eight humans?” I said. “And two hundred and twenty-nine seers? Maybe a handful of intermediaries to spice things up?”
There was a silence.
I’d just quoted him the exact number of humans and seers on the Displacement Lists.
Revik sat back in his chair. Exhaling, he combed his fingers through his black hair. Still looking at me, he picked up his rocks glass, t
aking a drink before he nodded.
“Maybe,” he admitted, swallowing his mouthful of bourbon.
I frowned. Looking at my parents, who had been watching and listening to all of this silently, it struck me that they’d likely had a similar discussion of their own about this, not long after Kali had the vision. Still watching my parents look at us, worried expressions on their faces, I picked up my glass, taking another few swallows of wine.
“Gaos,” I muttered after I’d swallowed.
That time, I didn’t put down the wine.
Still thinking, I felt my frown deepen.
“What about the Dreng?” I said. “This still doesn’t fully explain what they’re doing. Or why they were so happy about it at the end. If they exist in some form on all these worlds, what’s the big deal about them being able to pass through the doors?”
I looked at Revik, then back at Kali and Uye.
“Why would they risk destroying the sun? Controlling the doors, I get. Killing me, I get. But why not just keep the rest of the humans here? Why destroy the planet altogether? What does that win them, exactly?”
There was a silence after I spoke.
Uye broke it, his voice as careful as Revik’s had been.
“You are here,” he said simply.
I looked at him, frowning, and he exhaled in a sigh.
“I just mean,” he said. “You are a risk to them, are you not? Your husband and you… the Four as a whole. You brought down their network once already. Twice, if you count Galaith’s. If you are about to open the doors, to send a percentage of humans and seers from this world to some other, new world, leaving them behind, this is a risk to them, is it not?”
I frowned, glancing at Revik before I looked back at him.
“How?” I say. “They must know I can’t take all of them through. Perhaps only certain people can even pass through it… the List seers and humans, for example. Why not just let us go? They could stay here, breed the humans and seers they have left, continue the world that way. They don’t need us.”
Sun Page 24
