The Dark Ascent

by Walter H Hunt

  "Anger. Hatred. I remember—at Cicero . . . I remember the others from my squadron, how they were forced to—"

  "I remember it, too." Barbara reached for the bottle now and carefully poured another small amount of the fiery stuff into each glass. "But I can't see aliens in human suits."

  "But you haven't been aboard a bug ship, and you haven't walked through jump on a rainbow path."

  "I don't know why the bugs—the vuhls—would give you the ability to see through their disguise."

  "They wouldn't. But there's another player—someone else. Some others. Bands of color. What the zor would call . . . esGa'uYal."

  "I thought the vuhls were the esGa'uYal. That's what Commodore Laperriere and the zor from the High Nest called them when we were at Adrianople."

  "No." Owen took up his own glass again, admiring the crystal, letting the light play off the amber liquid within. "'Fair winds,'" he said—a sailor's toast—and drank, feeling it burn down his throat. "No, the bugs aren't the ones who gave me this power . . . this ability. This is a weapon that is aimed at them, and they want me to teach it."

  "To whom?"

  "I don't know. Maybe to you." Owen smiled. "No offense meant, ma'am, but I could imagine teaching you to use anger to fight the aliens."

  Barbara's eyes flashed with fierce emotion for a moment. Owen tensed, waiting for the famous MacEwan temper to lay into him; but instead she laughed. "You've got guts, Garrett, I have to admit that," she said, drinking off her whiskey. "You've earned another drink," she added, "if you want it."

  He'd wanted it. Several hours later, when he'd been grilled by Admiral Hsien aboard Gibraltar, he wanted a few more. But the orders had come while he had still been aboard the admiral's flagship. Owen's gear was transferred from cold storage on Duc to Counselor Rrith, and off he went.

  Behind him was everything he'd ever known since he'd entered Officer Candidate School; ahead was a place he'd never seen—a zor place called Sanctuary. Somewhere beyond the end of this jump was the person, or people, who he was supposed to teach . . . what? How to be angry? How to hate—and how to be able to recognize bugs disguised as humans?

  He wished he knew. Whatever Owen was headed for—however he was being aimed at the bugs—it was out of his control. It was out of Captain MacEwan's control, out of Admiral Hsien's control . . . and the same was true for the emperor, the High Lord . . . everyone and everything except six bands of color he'd only seen and heard in his dreams.

  The esGa'uYal.

  He hoped like hell that "Sanctuary" would be able to explain it.

  Chapter 11

  THE LEGEND OF QU'U (continued)

  the gyaryu was a fine sword made of some black

  metal, chased with intricate hrin'i that qu'u

  could not read; it seemed to be drawing all of the

  light in the room into it, so that it glowed with

  obsidian light. from within his mind, qu'u—who

  had never shown a hint of sensitive power—heard

  the gyary calling to him.

  "it calls to you," said a voice. qu'u was drawn

  away from the sword to the sound of the voice,

  which was coming from the shrouded perch.

  the voice was deep and [turning away from esLi]

  sonorous, yet compelling and strong.

  he knew it to be the voice of esga'u, though he

  was not sure how he knew.

  "i have come to receive the dark understanding,"

  qu'u said. "i am ready to use my chya to obtain it."

  "you do not need a chya," the deceiver said

  to him, still without revealing himself from the

  shrouded place where he perched. "it is thre for

  you to take up, mighty one. no one is stopping you."

  "you have trapped it, lord of despite," qu'u said

  carefully.

  "it is not of my work," esga'u replied. "you have

  come for the dark understanding, warrior qu'u; i

  have watched you as you tresspassed in my domain,

  as you touched your

  crawler-blessed talons in the mountains [Plain of Despite]

  of night, as you descended the perilous stair. Why

  would i place a trap upon the blade? your coming

  is no surprise."

  "i do not understand."

  "take up the sword and understand."

  The aircar fought her for several kilometers. The fuel gauge showed near empty, even though the vehicle had only reached the foothills. There'd been a malfunction—perhaps as a result of the lightning strike, perhaps not.

  A small part of Jackie's stomach felt sick thinking about Damien Abbas, whose body was slumped on the floor of the aircar, eyes open, expression unchanged. It was as if his part to play were done, and he had been discarded.

  Now she felt even more manipulated. It was clear there was only one way to go now—forward. She would force the aircar as far as she could.

  It wasn't very far. Her onboard comp showed a landing-platform in front of a small villa. The building was silhouetted against the backdrop of a high cliff that reminded her of the Icewall. She couldn't get the aircar above the cliff. In its lee, the wind at least abated, making the landing easier. Just as the aircar touched the platform, the engine quit.

  Pulling her jacket close around her, feeling the familiar bulge of the broken chya against her side, Jackie left the aircar behind and approached the open doorway of the villa.

  As she stood in the front hallway—dark but illuminated by lightning flashes—she could see a figure sitting in a side-room. He was looking directly at her.

  So much for stealth, Jackie thought.

  "You might as well come in and sit down," the seated figure said, gesturing toward a comfortable-looking armchair across from him. The gyaryu sat near him on a carved sword-rest. She could hear it calling to her in an almost audible voice.

  Despite the invitation, she remained in the doorway. Looking back toward the long, dimly lit hall, with its polished floors and vaulted ceilings, she could see hiding-places but no obvious avenues of escape. With her aircar disabled and the storm continuing to howl outside, it was obvious she was trapped.

  She couldn't even communicate with Th'an'ya, but she wouldn't have done so anyway, since the vuhl (she assumed him to be a vuhl, despite his human form) would surely detect it. There was an outside chance that they still didn't know about her spirit-guide, and Jackie didn't feel like giving that information away.

  Welcome to the end of the line, she thought to herself.

  "Allow me to pour a libation," the man said, totally at ease. He rose and walked to the sideboard near the window, where there was a carafe and a set of goblets. Lightning again split the sky and peals of thunder followed close behind: The storm was very nearly overhead.

  He turned, after a moment, holding two fluted glasses with pale-brown liquid in them. For an instant, as the lightning flashed behind, Jackie got a good look at him. He was not overly tall and had a spare frame, almost emaciated. He wore a uniform, though not one she recognized—it looked something like an Imperial naval uniform, but was a century out of style. There were no emblems or indications of rank.

  "What makes you think I'm going to drink that?"

  "Oh, really, madam. Don't be droll." His silky-smooth voice seemed designed to set her at ease, but instead it merely made her more edgy. "You are on a world controlled by powerful Sensitives, and you are here"—he made a sweeping motion with one hand—"because I have arranged for you to come. That should rule out the possibility that I have drugged or poisoned the contents of this glass.

  "I truly bear you very little ill will, considering the trouble that you and your kind have caused me. Indeed, though I imagine you would not possibly believe me, I have brought you here to help you."

  "To help me." She stepped into the room, still on edge, gauging the difference between herself and the other. "How do you propose 'to help'?"

/>   "Why, with the object of your quest, of course." He extended one hand, offering her a glass. She took it from him, careful not to touch his hand. He gestured with the now-empty hand toward the sword-rest holding the gyaryu. "You need not dissemble about that, either—the sword is the reason why you are here. It is also the reason I am here, though I expect to take my leave shortly.

  "You see"—he reached out with his glass and gently touched it to hers, producing a single, crystalline sound—"I am here to deliver it to you."

  "At what price?"

  "'Price'? You misunderstand me, dear lady. There is no cost involved, other than what you have already paid. The gyaryu is yours to take." He took a sip from his glass and seemed to contemplate her over it.

  "Who are you, to give the gyaryu to me! Are you with some rival to the Great Queen?"

  "Who am I?" He returned to his seat and settled back into it. He smiled up at her: two rows of perfect teeth, like some kind of predator. "You can call me Stone."

  The name didn't mean anything to her. "And what's your agenda, Mr. Stone?"

  "For quite some time I've been an advisor to the Great Queen, though she'll be getting along without my counsel from now on. And it would be extremely simplistic to call me her enemy, though it certainly wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of such a crime.

  "No, I've got other employers. They've been watching this affair play itself out, Commodore, and it is their consensus opinion that it is best for their interests that the gyaryu be placed in your hands."

  "These . . . 'employers.' They believe in the Qu'u legend?"

  "They wrote it."

  She shrugged this off as bravado, although the offhand way in which Stone said it disturbed her. She came over to stand behind the other chair.

  "So, you're going to let me take the sword away, out from under the Great Queen's—"

  She had wanted to say "nose," but she couldn't remember if vuhls really had noses, in their natural form. Before she could finish the sentence, however, Stone smiled and cut through her train of thought.

  "Far more than that. It has been decided to place the gyaryu in your hands."

  "I don't understand the distinction."

  "Take up the sword and you will understand." He stood up and stepped away, allowing her to come close to where it lay. She knew how the legend ended: Qu'u found the gyaryu, unguarded, in the Fortress of Despite; he took it up and experienced something called the Dark Understanding . . .

  And then esGa'u destroyed him.

  And then esLi saved him.

  Would Stone play the part of esGa'u here? And was esLi standing by on comm, waiting to extend His Talon to rescue her?

  And what the hell was "the Dark Understanding"?

  She set the goblet, still untouched, on a side-table and reached out for the sword, keeping one eye on Stone.

  In a comfortably appointed room near the High Lord's Chamber of Meditation, the comatose form of the human Gyaryu'har lay in repose. It was constantly tended to by healers and functionaries looking for some sign that the old man might either recover from his terrible affliction, or transcend the Outer Peace and thus end his suffering.

  It came as a surprise to them when, suddenly, a broad, beatific smile spread across his face. Attempts were made to rouse him then, to no avail.

  "se Jackie."

  Sword in hand, Jackie turned toward the source of the voice and watched Stone and the villa room fade out like a 3-V that had just been switched off.

  A man was walking toward her out of the darkness. She didn't recognize the form or the gait, and held the gyaryu out in front of her. Instead of snarling, as a chya might do for an enemy esGa'uYe, it seemed to warm in welcoming.

  "Welcome, se Jackie," the man said, coming into view.

  "se Sergei?" She was shocked to see him: He was younger, perhaps seventy or so, and seemed strong and healthy. It almost seemed as if her memory of the old, old man that had come to Cicero was some sort of caricature of this person.

  "Not exactly in the flesh, but that's me. Welcome to the gyaryu."

  "Welcome to . . ."

  "You've visited a mental construct representing the Plain of Despite; this construct is very similar and almost as old. This is the gyaryu, the Talon of State of the People." Sergei smiled and came up alongside her. "Of course, you'll require a guide."

  "You."

  "Tradition. Or so I understand it." Sergei began to walk forward.

  She walked with him, still holding the sword in both hands.

  "What tradition is that?" she asked.

  "Do you know the history of this sword?" Sergei asked her, instead of replying. "Several thousand Standard years ago, it was used literally and symbolically to unite the People on the Homeworld under the leadership of the first High Lord, A'alu. It has been wielded—and carried—by hundreds of servants of the High Nest, each one epitomizing the ideal of esLi's servant in the World That Is."

  The place they were in seemed somewhat less dim now; she could make out the floor—a hard, black, unyielding surface covered with whorls and symbols; intricate hRni'i.

  "Eighty-five years ago, when we were poised to utterly destroy the People, the High Lord hi'i Sse'e HeYen placed the gyaryu in the hands of Admiral Ivan Marais, naming him both 'Dark Wing' and 'Bright Wing,' destroyer and renewer."

  She held the sword in a parry position ahead of her. She looked past its point and could see another figure walking toward them: a dignified older man, his hair graying at the temples. His face was startlingly familiar; it looked back at her with the hint of a smile and piercing gray eyes.

  "Admiral Marais," she whispered.

  "Admiral," Sergei said to the figure, as it came up to meet them. "May I present to you Jacqueline Laperriere of Dieron, commodore in His Majesty's Imperial Navy."

  "A pleasure," Marais said, extending his hand.

  Jackie had no real choice but to lower the sword. Not knowing what to do with it, she sheathed it in a scabbard that hung at her belt. She shook the hand of the famous Admiral; it seemed warm and alive, though she knew the man had been dead more than sixty years.

  "Your reputation precedes you, sir," Jackie said, not sure just what to say.

  "That can be a curse or a blessing," the Admiral replied.

  They began to walk together: Jackie in the middle, flanked by Marais on her right and Sergei on her left. "For example, I know a great deal about you, madam, and yet I do not feel that I know you at all. There are some . . ." He smiled and stopped, looking Jackie up and down, seeming to look right through her. ". . . some that have already made a decision about you based entirely on your performance so far."

  "I didn't realize I was on trial."

  "The quest that has engaged your attention as you progressed here has been a trial." They began to walk again, and Jackie noticed they were approaching a place bathed in faded orange light. "Though your effort has been most special—given the circumstances—you are by no means the first to be tried thus. You are not even the first human."

  "Present company . . ."

  "You begin to understand." The light ahead was growing brighter; it appeared as if they were emerging from a dark tunnel into a spacious open area. In the entryway stood a zor warrior, chya in hand, his wings arranged in the Stance of Respectful Challenge.

  The chya and the sword hanging at Jackie's belt seemed to communicate with each other. At last the zor lowered his guard-weapon and sheathed it.

  "Kale'e m'Shan ehn HeRri'i," he said, placing his wings in the Posture of Reverence to the Warrior.

  Jackie inclined her head respectfully.

  "You would be Commodore Laperriere." Despite the difference in speaking apparatus, the older zor seemed to do fairly well with the name, as if he'd been practicing.

  "si Kale'e perished in a battle during the war," Admiral Marais explained. "He was the last one of the People to bear Qu'u's sword. When I met with the High Lord some days later, hi'i Sse'e presented the sword to me, rather tha
n settling it on another."

  "Now it is being settled on you," Kale'e said. "You will be the new Gyaryu'har."

  Jackie looked from Sergei to Marais to Kale'e. The wing-position of the zor, and the solemn, understanding expressions of the two humans, confirmed Kale'e's blunt assertion.

  "Now, wait a minute. I know how this legend turns out, and I'm not ready to check out yet. And I'm not in line for a job change. Besides, that tide belongs to you," she added, to Sergei.

  "Did. I am old, se Jackie; my predecessors are all dead, though some of their hsi remains here. Even the hsi of the Admiral, though he is human."

  "I thought hsi returned to esLi when its owner died."

  "Not always, se Jackie."

  Jackie whirled to see Th'an'ya approaching from out of the darkness. The humans and the other zor seemed to recognize her. They also seemed to be unsurprised at her appearance. "For example, I have not given all of my hsi over to the Golden Light of esLi, since it was needed to aid you in your quest." Then, as if in answer to her unasked question, Th'an'ya added, "Now that you have achieved it, I am able to emerge here.

  "Also, a warrior of the People surrenders the smallest part of his or her hsi so that the chya he or she bears, may function. That is why such blades must be ritually destroyed, since that hsi remains even after the warrior's death. As for the gyaryu"—she spread her wings in a posture conveying a revelation of understanding—"it is the hsi left behind by its hundreds of bearers through the centuries that gives the Gyaryu'har understanding and capabilities second only to those of the High Lord. The wisdom and knowledge of each bearer is available to the current one, to guide him—or her—on the proper path."

  "It was your path to fly all along, se Jackie," Kale'e said. "This was a path of revelation, and it needed to be flown so that the High Nest could have a new Gyaryu'har to combat the esGa'uYal."

  "The High Nest has a Gyaryu'har, damn it," she retorted, pointing a finger at Sergei. "I understand that you're old. I also understand you brought about the attack on Cicero specifically to put the sword into the hands of the aliens, so I'd come to the surface to go and get it. But I never intended anything but to return the sword to you, wherever the hell you are now."