So—we seven Dyonari and three former Hands set ourselves against the most brilliant intelligence and the most powerful military in the galaxy. For many years we barely accomplished a thing, barely escaped the enemy’s traps, barely survived. But then the three former Hands delivered to us a bit of data that turned the tide. We struck at the Machine directly, and we struck it hard. Somehow, against all odds—and though it cost the life of one of our number— we succeeded. The Machine was knocked offline and its links to the Hands became inactive. In the time immediately afterward, now cut off from their master and from one another, most of the Hands were tracked down by vengeful rebels and insurrectionists, cornered, and eliminated.
That is how my people came to dominate the galaxy, despite our drastically reduced numbers and despite our exile to the great artificial star-cities that drift along the spaceways. That was how we remaining nine of the Cabal—the Immortals—came to secretly manipulate and direct the actions and the fates of the Dyonari and so many other races. And that was the state of affairs at the galactic level at the time when your people, the humans, emerged from your planetary cradle and began to expand onto your Seven Worlds.
For five hundred years, we Immortals allowed that expansion. We saw opportunities and advantages in having the human race become involved in the greater galactic milieu. But then my eight associates changed their minds. They concluded that your species represented a greater danger than we had imagined. They determined to stop your expansion in its tracks—and furthermore, to set you back. I disagreed. I felt your kind could bring a desperately needed energy and vitality back into the greater galaxy. My dissent was noted and ignored, my opinions dismissed. And so, as they moved against your people, I moved against them. I rebelled. I attempted to stop them. For this I was captured, imprisoned, and tortured, just as you found me on—
+ + +
“Hold on a second,” I said, interrupting him. “What is that supposed to mean? The nine of you ‘moved against’ us?”
“The eight of them,” he corrected. “I did not take part.”
“In what?” I reined in Comet and we waited there, unmoving, until Istari had to stop and turn his mount around to face us or else leave us behind. “You did not take part in what?”
He regarded me with an expression of annoyance. “Later,” he said. “Time is of the essence.”
“Now,” I countered. “Full disclosure is currently even more of the essence.”
He glared at me for several endless seconds, then inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and said, “Very well. If you must know...”
“I must.”
He nodded. “The Cabal of Immortals—minus myself—determined to pit you all against one another in a suicidal civil war. Better, it was felt, to allow you to expend your violent tendencies and your stockpiles of armaments upon one another than upon the other races of the galaxy.” He spread his hands in a sort of shrugging gesture. “And so the ancient interstellar wormholes we had originally made available to your people were shut down, isolating the populations of each of your worlds from all the others.”
I nearly fell off my horse. “The Gates, you mean?” I was staggered. “You—you ‘Immortals’—were responsible for the Gates closing?”
“We were responsible for you having access to them in the first place. What the Immortals gave, they could take away. And they did.”
I ran my hand through my hair, processing this information. I’m sure my eyes were wide as saucers. “Were your associates responsible for their recent reopening, also?”
“They were.”
“Why?”
“That was the heart of their plan: Divide your worlds from one another, then manipulate the governments and the populations of each in the direction of maximum suspicion and hostility toward all the others. With that accomplished, reopen the Gates, and...” He trailed off, looked at me and smiled.
“War,” I said.
“Just so.”
“A war in which the human race wipes itself out,” I said, my fists bunching subconsciously, “while your people sit on high and observe it all happening, like gods, laughing as we slaughter one another.”
He looked at me strangely, his brows furrowed. “You have heard me state repeatedly that I was not involved in that portion of their plans, and that I disavow such actions. You understand this—yes?”
I nodded impatiently. I had no idea how much of that was the truth and frankly, at that moment in time, I didn’t care. Istari was still useful to me. If at some later point I learned that he was lying—that he had participated in the disaster for humanity that he was describing—I vowed I would do everything in my power to make him pay.
And then I understood something more. I gazed at Istari and studied his reactions as I spoke the words: “The Church.”
He said nothing in response to that, but I thought I could see him squirm just the tiniest bit.
“When we visited Sarmata,” I elaborated, “they had a Church just as we did. The outfits their priests wore were the same; their ranks and emblems were the same. How likely is that over such a long time in isolation?”
Still he said nothing.
“I’ll bet all of the Seven Worlds of Man have the exact same organizations, and have had them all along.”
His expression remained neutral for another second. Then he smiled; that same sly, evil-looking smile he’d shown me numerous times before.
“Indeed,” he said. “You surprise me with your perceptiveness.”
If he sought to mollify me with compliments, it wasn’t going to work. I continued to glare at him, waiting.
“The Church,” he said at length, “was indeed our instrument.”
“You infiltrated it?”
“We created it.”
I thought about that, nodded. I wasn’t surprised, now that I could see it.
“We appeared to its highest leaders on each world in the form of prophets, working miracles and speaking profound words of warning and of guidance,” he explained, though I was only half-listening now. “Occasionally we even came to them in the form of the ancient gods of the Burning Stars themselves. From the very beginning, before the majority of our Cabal turned against humanity, we were helping the leaders of the faith. We gave them advice, shared bits of advanced technology with them, and generally shaped their doctrine and encouraged their expansion. They were to be the levers with which we moved your entire race in the direction we desired.”
My mind was spinning. So much to take in, to process. I could see it all now. We—the human race—had always been pieces on the board, pieces moved by higher powers with their own agendas. Our free will, our perceived destiny as a people, as preached for a thousand years by the Church of the Burning Stars—all of it was an illusion. I understood that now and it sickened me.
And then the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, and I nearly tumbled from Comet’s back.
Istari was still talking but I heard not a word of it. Thoughts were racing through my mind with the force of a stampede. Almost in a daze I climbed down from my mount and approached him. His voice trailed off as he saw me coming. He frowned, puzzled.
I reached up, grasped him with both hands, and wrenched him off his mount before he could fully react. He fell to the ground with a startled exclamation and lay there in the dirt, stunned. Less than a second later I was upon him. My first swing impacted his jaw and he cried out. I raised my fist to swing a second time.
“Wait! Stop! What are you—”
Down came my fist. Pale blood splattered from his nose.
“Control yourself, Gaius,” he gasped once he could speak again.
I raised my fist a third time.
His eyes flared orange. “You will stop this now,” he hissed.
My fist hesitated in midair, against my will. I growled in my throat, gritted my teeth, felt the anger and frustration and rage sweeping through me, and brought the fist down hard again.
He cried out, as much in sh
ock and surprise as in pain, I think.
I raised my fist yet again. I was lost in my fury.
His eyes focused on mine, and now they flared brilliant orange.
“Stop!”
His telepathic power seized my body. I was flipped head over heels through the air, a ragdoll caught in a storm. I landed hard at Comet’s feet; he whinnied and stepped back. He nudged me with his nose but I ignored it.
“Calm yourself and listen.”
That last bit came to me not vocally but through his psychic mental voice. It carried with it sufficient force to freeze me momentarily. Istari took advantage of that opportunity and scrambled to his feet ahead of me. As I got back up again and squared off, crouching low, ready to fight, he raised both hands to fend me off. “Stop,” he said again, and, “Wait.” He scowled, then added, “Please.”
I hesitated, surprised. I’d expected a lot of different things from him, but not a polite request, complete with “please.”
“What?” I growled, impatient and burning inside. “I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“My father,” I snapped back at him. “I remember what the thing in the cave told me. I asked it why my father was killed, and it said, ‘because he might actually have succeeded.’ I didn’t know what the thing meant at the time, but now I think I see.” I took a step toward him but he held his ground, waiting.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“If my father and his armies had accomplished what he planned, the human race would’ve been reunited under one single, powerful government. That’s pretty much the opposite of what your Cabal wanted, isn’t it?”
Istari didn’t reply. His gaze dipped down so that he was staring now at the ground instead of at me.
“So now I know.”
I waited, but he said nothing. I found his silence infuriating.
“Are you going to tell me again that it wasn’t you?” I demanded. “That you hate the terrible things your associates have done? Because that line is growing thin.”
“It’s true,” he said in a quiet voice. “The Immortals used Constantine as a pawn, and discovered almost too late that he was far more formidable than they had guessed. They took action accordingly.”
My eyes could have burned holes in him. I felt the impulse to charge at him again, but I resisted it and waited.
He was silent for a moment, then looked up at me. “But set that out of the way for a moment and think. The past aside, we still need one another.”
“The past aside?” I snorted. “You want me to just forget what happened to my father?” I glared back at him. “Everything I’ve done since he was killed was to find his murderer and—”
“And what? And gain justice? Or simple revenge?” He shook his head. “Both of those might make you feel better for a brief time, but they will do nothing to advance his cause, his legacy.”
“What would you suggest I do, then?”
“I suggest that you win,” he stated, his sly smile reappearing, then morphing into a broader grin. “I suggest that you carry on that legacy, and see that it prevails.”
I took this in and considered it. There was a certain amount of appeal there, I had to admit to myself. Still— “Me? I am no general,” I pointed out. “How can I defeat all the enemies of my world? Not to mention your Cabal friends?”
“You do not have to be some great general or warrior yourself,” Istari replied. He came up out of his fighting crouch and spread his arms wide as he explained. “Your family and your world already possess the resources and capabilities necessary for victory, even without Constantine commanding them. Your role is different—but every bit as vital, if not more.” He moved closer, and all sense of hostility between us melted away. “Your task is to identify and remove the elements that even now seek to bring down your family and your armies—from within.”
“The traitor,” I said.
“Precisely.” He nodded. “You must root out the treasonous element within your family. And you must help me defeat the remaining members of the Cabal of Immortals before they decide to take stronger measures against all your people—against the human race as a whole.”
For several moments I simply stood there, allowing the remaining waves of anger toward my alien companion to wash away. At last I felt I could think clearly again. I considered everything he had said and, almost reluctantly, I nodded. “Very well,” I said. “We will do as you have suggested.” I pointed a finger at him. “But do not think I am absolving you entirely from your role in all of this. By your own account, you spent centuries working closely with these others, doing who knows what sorts of damage.”
“I have done much in my time that I am not proud of, human,” Istari said. “I seek to redeem myself as well as to help save you and your world.”
“We shall see,” I told him, before climbing back atop Comet.
He mounted his dark horse and together we rode for home.
EIGHT
The grassy slopes of the eastern side of the palace on Victoria materialized before us as we emerged from the tunnel of mists. One last flash of lighting, one last crazed rainbow swirling overhead, and we were there, home, the dimensional portal of the Paths vanishing in our wake.
It looked to be mid-morning—about what I’d expected based on how long I’d been away. I exhaled heavily. My eyes were barely remaining open now. Above all other things, I desperately needed sleep. Even identifying the traitor might have to be deferred for a few hours while I got at least an extended nap.
Istari, however, seemed capable of going on and on with no thought of rest whatsoever. And he’d scarcely shut up since we’d remounted and continued on our way back.
“You know your family far better than I do. Have you experienced any revelations as to who might be the traitor?” he asked as we reined in our mounts and I gazed up at the tall towers and gray ramparts of the palace. We had discussed that issue a bit along the way, and determined that while Istari had known of the Cabal’s interest in my relatives, he had never been privy to the identity of our target. As far as he could tell, he’d been a prisoner and cut off from all information well before his former associates had managed to subvert a member of my family. I chose to believe him, at least for now. I certainly didn’t trust him, though.
That meant we had nothing to go on whatsoever. We would have to investigate beginning at square one.
I thought of my relatives all side-by-side then, and went down the row, considering the possible motives and likelihood of each of them being involved.
“We can go in order from oldest to youngest, and begin with Justinian,” I said. “If he’s the traitor, we’re all done. Finished. Because he’s the only true military commander we have left.”
“Wouldn’t he have the most to gain, though, by seeing your father killed?”
I thought about that. “True,” I said. “He took over the family and the military with scarcely any real objections.” I thought back to the conversation in the library before my departure. “But he could have gained the same things without falling in with enemy powers.”
“Possibly. Who is next?”
“Aurelia. She is very religious—very connected to the Church.”
“That would be a mark against her, I should think.”
I nodded. “She’s always been the most mysterious of the bunch. I wouldn’t put it past her to be involved. She might even see herself as being the only one of us doing the right thing—if that’s what the Church told her to do, or to think.”
Istari grunted. “Next?”
“Aunt Octavia,” I said. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in quite some time. She wasn’t at our family meeting before I left.”
“That seems suspicious,” he said.
“But if one of your Cabal was indeed here to meet with the traitor that night, and Octavia was that traitor,” I pointed out, “it wouldn’t make sense for her to be absent.”
He frowned at this but nodded. “A fair po
int. Next.”
“The twins— Jerome and Alexius.” I scratched at my goatee. “I can’t see what they would have to gain from—”
“You consider them together,” Istari noted, interrupting me.
I was taken aback by this, but realized quickly that he was right. “Yes—I suppose I’ve always thought of them as a pair—as a set.”
“Need that be the case in this instance?”
“No,” I said after a moment’s reflection. “No, I suppose that one of them could be the traitor and the other innocent. But it’s hard to imagine one being that involved in nefarious dealings and the other not knowing about it at all.”
He nodded. “Anyone else? Isn’t there a young one—?”
“Stephanie,” I said. “Youngest by far—younger even than me, though she’s technically another aunt. I can’t imagine Stephanie being involved in anything like what we’re talking about. She wouldn’t have the slightest clue, or the wherewithal to—” I trailed off as I recalled her uncharacteristic talkativeness at our family meeting. Could little Stephanie be mixed up in all of this? Surely not, I told myself. And yet...
Istari gave me a curious look as I stood there, thinking. I came back to myself and shook my head. “No—not her.”
“It has to be one of them,” he reminded me.
I yawned again and stretched. “There’s no way I’m figuring it out right now,” I told him. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“If not for me,” he said, “you wouldn’t have made it this far.”
I blinked as this statement penetrated my gauzy brain. “What?”
“I have subtly stimulated your mind for the past few hours. It was plain to see you were fading.”
I whirled on him, anger flaring past the walls of sleep. “I warned you about messing with my mind.”
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