Unfortunately, Alyson caught on to that fact faster than he would have credited her, especially given that her mate still hadn’t resurfaced.
He dragged himself to his feet, stretching his back as he fumbled in his shirt pocket for a hiri––a sweet-smelling, faint-high-inducing wrap of dark weed. Hiri had been cultivated by Sarks for millennia before being mass-produced in more generic forms by humans.
Lighting the end, he sucked at it for a few seconds, letting the resin calm him as he stared around at the mess on the floor.
He had been so sure he’d find something here.
This had been the building where they trained Dehgoies, years ago.
Galaith’s mountain home served many purposes back then. Training grounds, interrogation center, vacation spot. Galaith entertained Third Reich bigwigs with extravagant parties up here, staged to pay off the Gestapo.
Mostly, Galaith needed them to look the other way as he exported seers through Asia. It had also been a place of negotiation when the Allies passed through these mountains, and later, the site of that final treaty between the Rooks and the antiquated Council of Seven.
The thing was, Terian knew they’d learned things about Dehgoies during his training. In every seer training, such insights were the foundation for all that came after, no matter who the seer, no matter what their eventual role.
Yet, in Dehgoies’ case, Terian couldn’t for the life of him remember what any of those things were. It was a fairly telling detail, that absence.
The first rule of infiltration was to start with what one had.
Right now, what Terian had was that giant hole in his memory.
The training would have begun with an extremely thorough scan. That scan would have debilitated the trainee for days, if not weeks.
Copious records would have been kept. Those records might have been destroyed following the advent of electronic storage––if it were anyone other than Galaith. The mere fact that Terian couldn’t remember told him they’d indeed found something in Dehgoies’ past worth keeping, which meant originals.
Unfortunately, after six days of looking in every nook and cranny and storage box in the place, even ripping up floorboards and doing sonar readings of the basement foundations, he still had nothing.
Well… practically nothing.
He’d found a yellowed receipt that indicated the three of them had, at one point, ordered several cases of single-malt Scotch.
Terian’s eyes drifted to the fireplace.
Pushing aside a stack of worn papers, he stepped up to the mantle. A funnel-shaped edifice of river stones and blackened elm, the fireplace wore the face of an old-fashioned clock embedded in the chipped mortar. He scanned it with his aleimi, but felt nothing.
Inert matter yielded little in a scan anyway, unless it contained an energetic imprint of some kind, and he didn’t get that kind of ping.
He began feeling over the river stones.
He came upon a loose one, rubbed smooth by countless washings, robin’s egg blue in color. He jiggled it a little, working it out of its indentation in the mortar.
Once he could get a real grip, he tugged it the rest of the way out with his fingers.
As he did, the stone next to it came loose as well. Then the next.
Terian stacked them on the mantle, removing stones and mortar until he found himself looking at a hole about seven inches in height and a foot wide that stretched far back into the mortar and stone. He felt around inside with his hand.
Seconds later, he pulled out a leather notebook a few inches thick, tied together with a frayed leather thong.
Terian unwound the cord from around the cover.
He moved closer to the fire, thumbing the book open carefully.
The neat, square lettering filling each page didn’t come from Galaith. Terian knew his old boss’s sprawling, calligraphy-style handwriting on sight.
Yet, the style of these characters, he knew also.
The block letters with their quirks in spelling and punctuation, the odd letter in cursive, unmistakably belonged to Dehgoies Revik.
Terian flipped through more pages and found more of the same even pen strokes.
He glimpsed illustrations, what looked like mathematical formulae. Dehgoies had always been spatial in his thinking. Back in the day, he’d draw diagrams on bar napkins to illustrate points, even when drunk. Galaith called him his “multi-dimensionist” due to his fascination for stretching dimensional rules between the Barrier and the physical.
It was a no-brainer, really, to set Dehgoies to the task of making the network secure to outside infiltration.
Feeling a shiver of excitement, Terian flipped through page after page, turning each with care, until he found it.
Staring down at the meticulously-drawn blueprints for the original Pyramid, Terian felt another shiver go down his spine. He’d always suspected Dehgoies had created it. He’d known, somehow, in some part of his mind, even back then.
Still, to have it here, in his hands.
Dehgoies’s first sketches, drawn by his own hand.
From what Terian could tell, studying the meticulous lines, the final hadn’t deviated much from these initial drawings, at least at its core. He traced the details lovingly with a finger, marveling again at his old partner’s genius. The Pyramid had been Revi’s creation, after all––not Galaith’s. And it had worked flawlessly.
Until a few months ago, that was.
Forcing back the whiny, irritating part of himself that wanted to make the memory maudlin, Terian read the text on the page before the first drawing. He hoped the book contained at least some clue as to the step-by-step building of the Barrier edifice.
But the words were about something different entirely.
…The boy unnerves me.
Terian frowned. Dehgoies’s block script continued on the line below.
It is weeks now, and I still cannot reach him. Honestly, I do not understand why we cannot simply kill him, and risk whatever result, but Galaith says that is impossible. It is something to do with the stasis, with what that doctor, the seer female with the face of a reptile, did to him. Despite who and what he is, I find everything about him disquieting. He looks at me as if he would kill me. I hope Galaith knows what he is doing, letting him live.
Frowning, Terian flipped forward in the book, looking for an earlier passage that might give him a clue as to who or what Dehgoies was referring. Stopping at random, he read aloud, hearing Dehgoies’ cadences even in his own voice.
They wiped my mind almost entirely, perhaps not long after I came to live in the Pamir. From what Galaith and I have been able to piece together, I was maybe eight or nine solar years when the memories just stop.
And yet, there is no way to be sure. These games of the Seven add layer upon layer. There is no way of knowing where false begins and truth ends.
I remember my parents’ deaths. But as to whatever brought me to that dismal prison in Sikkim, I have no memory whatsoever. I have vague memories of the first world war, but I must have been too young to fight. Everything is blurred through this period, only starting up again when I began training under Vash in my twenties.
Terian flipped forward a few more pages.
For now, Galaith wants the other one in the dark about this. He didn’t seem too happy about being sent away. He’s an odd one, Terian. I don’t know if he’s simply crazy, or the smartest seer I have ever met. Galaith tells me it is a mixture of the two.
Terian reread the last line, frowning harder.
He flipped forward then back in the crinkled pages. The dates spanned those weeks of Galaith and Terian’s first sessions with Dehgoies to entries written in the 1950s, long after he’d been a fully functioning member of the Rooks’ network of seers.
So who brought the journal back here?
Throwing a few more split logs on the fire, Terian sat cross-legged in front of the blaze.
Turning the crinkled pages all the way back to the front
of the book, he settled himself in to read.
4
LEADER
“BRIDGE! HEY, BRIDGE!” The seer in the doorway waved excitedly to his friend. “Over there! She’s over there. Do you see her? She’s right there!”
His voice rose over the babble of words in the poolroom, pulling me out of my head long enough to stare numbly at where he stood.
We sat in one of the out-of-the-way bars in Seertown, on an edge of hillside overlooking a section of valley with a human monastery and a school. The bottom floor was an internet café and a store that sold everything from toilet paper to chocolate-covered biscuits and T-shirts with sayings written in Prexci for the tourists.
A lot of them also had Vash’s––and now, regrettably, my––face on them.
The upper floor was pretty sparse, which meant mostly locals and ex-pats came here, not tourists so much. I’d taken to hanging out here with Jon and Cass when we just wanted to sit somewhere and drink a beer. There was no alcohol in Vash’s compound, and most of the other bars were usually crowded enough that I’d be mobbed the second I walked in the door.
Someone had long ago painted the walls of the upstairs bar lemon yellow.
Mercifully, the color had since faded, and now sported water damage down part of the back wall, to the right of the antique-looking bar. The bar itself looked vaguely European, and may once have been expensive. Made of pine, it had a warped mantle covered in bottles and an elaborately etched mirror worn through to metal at the edges.
Dips in the floor made the pool tables a little squirrel-y to play on, but locals staked out the two tables anyway. Posters of the Dalai Lama and a painting of the sun and sword covered the two main walls.
A picture of me stood on the bar itself, but it was small enough that it didn’t bother me.
Tin lamps swung in lazy circles overhead every time someone slammed the door to the espresso bar below.
“Bridge! Hey, Miss Bridge! Esteemed Holy One!”
Before I could stop myself, I faced the man by the door.
My looking in his direction only made him beam wider––and anyway, it was already too late. Every seer and human in the place was staring at me. Those who hadn’t noticed me in my hoodie and jeans did a double-take, looking surprised, as well.
Glancing at Jon and Cass, who sat with me at the bar, I sighed inwardly, even as Jon laughed.
“He’s subtle,” Cass said, sipping her beer. “Like a ninja, really.”
Jon grinned, leaning towards me. “Do you think he wants your autograph, Al? Or maybe just to touch you? Get some of that Bridge mojo?”
“Yeah,” Cass said. “I hear ‘end of the world’ is very in this year.”
“Maybe you could just sneeze on him?” Jon suggested.
“Or fart,” Cass added. “Given all the momo you ate this morning, that might knock him out cold.”
I snorted, in spite of myself. “You’re a friggin’ riot, both of you.”
I took a drink of the beer I’d been nursing for over an hour. Glancing at the beaming seer heading rapidly in our direction, I moved my glass around in a slow circle, then made up my mind and slid off the stool.
I was about to stand up when the Seven’s security detail headed the guy off, escorting him back out the door firmly, one hand on his shoulder.
The seer looked confused but compliant.
At least Maygar wasn’t there. He would have thrown the guy into a wall by now.
“Well,” I said. “I guess that’s my cue.”
“No, stay.” Cass put a hand on my arm. “You never just hang anymore. You have time to be the Great Leader later.”
I glanced at Jon, and he nodded.
Chandre stood up, on Cass's other side. She steadied herself by placing a hand on Cass's shoulder.
“Yes!” she said, and I nearly laughed again, realizing she was actually tipsy. “Stay, Bridge! It is a holiday today!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, fighting not to roll my eyes. “I know.”
It was the day before they celebrated Syrimne’s birthday. I had to get used to the fact that the guy I’d grown up believing was the greatest mass murderer of all time was, in the world of the seers, a kind of folk hero.
“So?” Cass gave me a not-so-subtle smile, raising an eyebrow along with her fruity-looking drink.
With her red lipstick and the low-cut T-shirt, she almost looked like herself, or how I remembered her in San Francisco. She was still a little on the thin side, though.
“Revik’s coming back soon, right?” she said.
“He’s been delayed again,” I said.
I didn’t want to talk about that, either.
“What’s with all the delays?” Jon muttered.
“Beats me,” I said. But I’d wondered, too, of course.
“Maybe he’s worried about hurting his new bride,” Chan said, grinning, hanging over Cass's shoulder. “You being human-raised and all.”
I gave her a hard look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Her voice grew mock-serious. “It’s just he’s probably learning meditative techniques to keep himself calm. You know… so he doesn’t permanently damage you when he finally gets your clothes off.”
I gave her an incredulous look. “Jesus. What is with you?”
Chan leaned further over Cass's shoulder, laughing. “You sure you ready for him, Bridge? We seers like some violence in our sex. If he’s been faithful, he’s going to be hungry. Hungry seers are dangerous.” She laughed again. “…Even the males.”
She took a drink of her beer, squeezing Cass's shoulder.
Cass shrugged at me with a mock apologetic look.
“I can’t take her anywhere,” she said.
“What the hell have you two been feeding Chan?” I complained.
I glanced at Jon, who just smiled, waving me off. “Don’t look at me.”
Chandre rested her chin on Cass's shoulder, still grinning. “You ever been with a seer yet, Bridge? Not just Dehgoies. Any of us?”
Feeling my face redden, I gave her a bare glance. “Piss off, Chan.”
The seer laughed. “You’re in for a surprise. He’s going to have to be careful when he pops your cherry… you being the Bridge and all.”
“Chan!” I turned on her, angry for real. “Put a sock in it, okay?”
Seeing her stroking Cass's arm brought me up short.
I realized for the first time I’d been blind to all the affection going on there and swiveled my head, cocking an eyebrow at Cass.
Rolling her eyes up subtly, she gave me an impatient look before she shrugged, the equivalent of, “Well, duh.” Her face, still delicate on the parts untouched by the thick scar, quirked in a small smile.
I saw Chandre look between us, then grip Cass's shoulder more tightly with her fingers. I couldn’t fail to miss the possessiveness in the gesture, or the affectionate look Cass gave the dark-skinned seer when she glanced up.
“Huh,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Not trying to offend you, Bridge,” Chandre said. “Just teasing. It’s a tradition you know, to give crap to newlyweds.”
“Well, lay off the––” I began, but someone else yelled from the door.
“Bridge! Look, it is the Bridge! I told you! There she is!”
I sighed internally.
“Hey, Bridge!” Another excited voice. “That’s her, see! Wave to her! She is raised human, wave! Yes… like this…”
I tried not to notice the enthusiastic hand-waving coming from the direction of the red-painted door. When I smiled, nodding back with a short wave, more excited murmurings erupted from the other end of the room.
I glanced around subtly, but my guard seemed to have disappeared.
“I’ll get rid of him, Bridge,” Chandre said, businesslike. “They should not be here, bothering you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved her off. “Just what I need… a drunk infiltrator with a gun. It’s okay. You guys stay here, I need to find
Yerin anyway. Supposedly the rest of the Adhipan are getting here today. I’m should be at the compound to greet them. Do the leader thing.”
Jon glanced up. “Want me to come?”
I snorted. “So you can check out all the cute seer boys from China? No. I don’t think so.”
I was totally kidding, but Jon colored a little anyway.
He was the last one on earth to go out on the open prowl like that. Seeming to realize I was teasing him then, he raised his eyebrows a few times in quick succession.
“Is it my fault I’m ridiculously good-looking?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not. But someone has to bear that burden.” Rolling my eyes then, I called his bluff. “I wish you would hit on someone. Jeez Louise, Jon. You’re thirty-two years old. You’ve been propositioned by half of the unattached male seers in Seertown and you still spend all your time hanging out with those monks, reading books covered in chicken-scratches and staring at blank walls.”
“I’m learning.” He flushed a little. “I’m not really in the mood to be chatted up by a bunch of horny seers. Give me some credit, sis.”
“I give you credit. I give you loads of credit. What about that Garend guy? He seemed cool. And he’s cute.”
“Seers are too promiscuous.” He glanced at Chan, then, seeming to remember, back at me. “…No offense. I just mean the unattached ones. I don’t really want to be the curiosity of the week. They’re only interested because I keep saying no, anyway.”
“No,” Chan said, shaking her finger at him, seer-fashion. “No, they are interested because you are indecently cute, and horny as hell under all your fake human monk airy-fairy bullshit.” She took another swig of beer. “You are being stupid, worm. Why turn down perfectly good sex? It is a waste.”
I laughed. “See? I don’t even have to lecture you anymore. You’ve got Chan here.” I made a face. “Only I hope I don’t sound so… crass.”
Shield (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #2): Bridge & Sword World Page 3
