Runner

by William C. Dietz

  And, making the problem that much more difficult, was the fact that the only temple in Zand belonged to black hat monks. A fact that didn’t bother Lee, who swore he could go there without being recognized, but worried Rebo no end. All those factors accounted for the tension in the room where the group was gathered. A table had been pulled out away from a wall, chairs had been brought in so that everyone could sit, and a curtain had been drawn in front of the single horizontal slit-style window that local architects favored. While that ensured their privacy, it was necessary to light candles in order to see. The hotel’s owner claimed that later, when the power came on, the disk-shaped fixture mounted on the ceiling would start to glow, but Rebo had his doubts and made a mental note to request an oil lamp.

  Norr, who had a tendency to become moody when surrounded by large groups of people and their emotions, was even more so immediately after one of Lysander’s invasions. She sat with the newly acquired metal sphere balanced on her fingertips. The hair-thin lines that zigzagged across the object’s surface seemed to suggest that it could be opened somehow, but no amount of twisting and turning had been sufficient to make it do so. The metal housing felt warm, and that suggested some sort of internal power source, as well as a purpose. The sensitive frowned. “What did Lysander call this thing?”

  Rebo sighed. He had already answered that question half a dozen times. But Norr had a tendency to gnaw at things, especially when depressed, and wasn’t aware of how annoying that could be. “He called it a ‘gate seed.’ ”

  Not to be left out, Lee, who had voiced the same possibility before, did so again. “We could grow a star gate!”

  “Or trigger some sort of disaster,” Rebo said darkly, as he fingered the amulet that hung round his neck.

  Hoggles, who hadn’t commented on the subject until then, broke his silence. “Maybe you should give it back. Otherwise, they’re going to come after you.”

  Rebo looked at Norr. “Bo has a point . . . Why keep it? Kane is alive. Once the bastard recovers, he’ll be after you with a vengeance.”

  Candlelight reflected off the ball as the sensitive continued to rotate the sphere with her fingertips. She knew that both men were correct. If she kept the seed, both Kane and Lysander would come after her. The latter was the worst in some ways.

  But, just as she had resisted their efforts as Princess Cara, Norr found herself unwilling to give in to either one of them now. Not without a full understanding of what such a surrender would mean. “You’re right, Jak. I know that . . . But, what if the seed could make a difference? There’s so much suffering. I can feel it everywhere we go. A system of star gates could bring back the days when scientific knowledge flowed back and forth between the planets. Just think what that would mean to the field of medicine alone!”

  “Yes,” Rebo agreed somberly. “But only if the system is used for good. So, who do you trust? The man who was so tyrannical that you were forced to murder him? Or the man who wants to enslave you?”

  Norr sighed. “That’s the problem. The potential for good is there, but I can’t trust either one of them. Not yet anyway.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means,” Norr replied, as she stared into her own badly distorted reflection, “that the gate seed will stay with me.”

  NINE

  The Planet Ning

  The schism between black and red stems from disagreements regarding the relative merits of mind versus emotion as paths to enlightenment. Such considerations are a waste of nas (spiritual energy), and equivalent to debating which is more valuable, the left hand or the right hand. Both come together to pray, work or play.

  —The tenth Nom Maa

  In spite of the fact that the overhead light had been extinguished as Lee was put to bed, not even the curtain that Norr had pulled across the window could block the ghostly green glow produced by the streetlamp outside, and all manner of shadows populated the walls. Time seemed to creep by as the boy waited for Hoggles, then Rebo, to enter the room and go to bed. Finally, once the heavy had started to snore, and the runner was breathing evenly, Lee made his move.

  Slowly, so as to generate as little noise as possible, the youth threw his covers back and swung his feet out onto the cold floor. He was already dressed, so it was a simple matter to pick up his boots and tiptoe over to the door. Lee knew Rebo was a light sleeper and likely to wake at the slightest sound, which was why the boy exercised great care as he removed the chair that the runner had propped up against the door. Not in an attempt to block the entrance, but to serve as an alarm, should someone with a key attempt to open it. Once that was accomplished it was a simple matter to unlock the door, retrieve his boots, and tiptoe into the corridor. Having gained the hall successfully, the youngster closed the door so gently that there was no more than the faintest click, as the spring-loaded bolt found its well-worn hole and slid home.

  After that it was a simple matter to pull on his boots, lace them up, and slip out of the hotel. The power was on, the streets were crowded with people, and it was easy for Lee to assume the persona that he had prepared for himself. If he were stopped, which seemed unlikely given all of the children out on the streets, the youngster would say that he was running an errand for his father, a claim he would substantiate with a shopping list prepared earlier in the day. And, if attacked, Lee had both of his knives. Those, combined with his speed, would get him out of trouble. Or so the youth hoped.

  But there were no signs of trouble as Lee made his way down a street that switchbacked down the hillside. Just the opposite, in fact, as shoppers paused to look through shop windows, street vendors hawked their wares, and a metal man took a moment to explain the benefits of technology to a hungry dog.

  Lee gave the robot a wide berth and continued on his way. Rebo had taught the youth a great deal about how to move around in a strange environment without attracting the wrong sort of attention, so the youngster knew better than to ask strangers for directions, and was relieved when he saw a black hat initiate pass by. Could the nun be headed for a place other than the local monastery? Yes, but given the fully loaded shopping bags the girl carried, Lee felt reasonably sure that the initiate had been sent to do some shopping and was on her way back to the temple.

  The theory soon proved to be correct as the nun led Lee through a maze of passageways, across an open plaza, and up to the monastery beyond. Unlike the soft, often curving lines that red hat architects favored, the black-hat-inspired structure was a study in hard angles, flat planes, and geometric shapes. It was a design esthetic intended to emphasize mind over emotion, control over chance, and man’s ultimate ascendancy over nature.

  Lee didn’t care for it, but knew that people tend to be most comfortable with familiar forms and forced himself to consider the structure’s virtues. The long, slanting roofline, for example, which pointed up toward god consciousness, as well as a line of eight triangular entrances, each representing one of the eight paths to enlightenment and full mastery of the way. All of which combined to help focus the mind.

  The nun entered the building through door five, the entrance that symbolized skillful livelihood, leaving Lee to choose an entrance of his own. Given the nature of his journey, the youth decided it would be appropriate to pass through portal one, which stood for skillful understanding.

  The interior was well lit, and the walls were intentionally bare, lest the faithful be distracted by gratuitous decorations. Still another element of the black hat mind-set that made logical sense but didn’t appeal to Lee, who enjoyed religious art.

  No matter which door an aspirant chose, he or she wound up in a single hall, or “way,” which was symbolic of the manner in which each individual had to walk all eight of the major paths before achieving self-mastery. The hallway gave access to a large rectangular room and a fifteen-foot-tall likeness of Teon that sat with its back to a white wall. The ascended master had golden skin, and the symbols that he held in each of his eight hands seemed to glow as if lit from withi
n. The boy paused to bow respectfully before turning into one of the aisles and seeking a place in which to kneel. He had never been allowed to enter a black hat temple before, and while part of him was afraid, the rest was at ease. For there, surrounded by those intent on traveling the same path that he had chosen, Lee knew he could meditate in peace.

  Meanwhile, at the rear of the chamber, Abbot Hico Marth stood watching those at prayer. Having completed some of the bureaucratic chores that plagued his days, and having granted himself a bowl of sweet berries by way of a reward, the monk carried them into the temple proper. And it was there, while leaning against the back wall, that the black hat noticed the little boy. First, because the youth was alone, second, because there something special about the way that the youngster held himself, and third, because he brought his palms together as he bowed. A small thing, but just one of many small things that distinguished red hats from black hats, who always kept their hands at their sides when they bowed.

  It was nothing really, and the abbot would have dismissed the boy as a convert, had it not been for the battle that had taken place just days before—a strange conflict in which a force of metal men attacked a group of newly arrived travelers. Of particular interest was the fact that four red hats had been killed—and a little boy had been seen riding high on a heavy’s shoulders.

  Marth surveyed the room, assured himself that it was empty of both metal men and variants, and turned his attention back to his berries. What did the incident at the landing pad mean? Nothing probably, except that among the papers that had arrived along with the latest ship, was a letter from a monk who identified himself as Brother Fiva, alerting all of the monasteries that lay along the route between Anafa and Thara that a ten-year-old pretender might pass their way. Could that boy, and this boy, be one and the same? It didn’t seem likely, but there was no way to be sure.

  Unaware of the extent to which he was being scrutinized, Lee visualized each of the fallen warriors, apologized for his role in cutting their incarnations short, and said prayers for them. It wasn’t much, but the youth had faith his thoughts would reach the red hats, and the knowledge made him feel better.

  Spiritually refreshed, and eager to make his way back to the hotel lest his absence be discovered, Lee rose and bowed. Other worshipers were both arriving and leaving. The boy fell in behind a family of four, and was just about to exit the chamber, when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. The unexpected contact startled the boy, and he looked to his right to discover that a rather imposing monk was staring down at him. The top of the cleric’s head was obscured by a round hat, but those portions of his scalp that remained visible had been shaved, leaving only a haze of black stubble. His cheeks were gaunt, his skin was pitted as if by a childhood disease, and the smile belied the look in his eyes. “And why, if I may be so bold as to ask, would a red hat deign to visit our humble temple?”

  The comment, which was intended to shock, had the desired effect. Lee felt a heavy weight hit the bottom of his stomach and knew that an expression of fear had already registered on his face. He had given himself away somehow, and rather than offer denials that the black hat was unlikely to believe, Lee knew that his best chance lay in providing the monk with an opportunity to reach the wrong conclusion. For, as the great Teon once said, “Errors occur not by chance, but through choice, which was god’s second gift to humanity.”

  “I meant no disrespect,” Lee stammered in Tilisi, “but it was my desire to communicate with the being within, and I was told that yours is the only temple in Zand.”

  Not only had the boy offered an honest reply, but he had done so in a respectful manner, and Marth allowed his demeanor to soften. “You are a stranger to the city then?”

  “Yes,” Lee answered truthfully. “We arrived a few days ago. We came a long ways, the journey was difficult, and some of our companions were killed. I wanted to pray for them.”

  “And you felt comfortable coming here?”

  “No, I was scared,” Lee admitted. “But I remembered what Brother Qwa taught me.”

  The abbot raised a dark eyebrow. “Which was?”

  “Brother Qwa said that while those who follow the way think with two heads, they have but a single heart, and that belongs to god.”

  Even though Marth had been fully prepared to dislike the youth, especially if he appeared to be the pretender, he felt his heart soften instead. Still, while he was inclined to accept the lad as a harmless traveler, some further questioning wouldn’t hurt. Besides, the boy looked a lot like someone else, which while not important in and of itself, was a matter of some curiosity. “Brother Qwa is a wise man. Come, we shall have tea and speak from the heart.”

  The invitation was phrased as an order, and in spite of all the misgivings that he felt, Lee had no choice but to accept. “Thank you, Excellency,” the youth responded humbly. “To do so would be an honor.”

  Pleased by the extent of his own perceptiveness, and having been charmed by the youngster’s unassuming manner, Marth introduced himself and learned that the boy’s name was Lee. A short trip through a series of sterile passageways brought the pair to a generously proportioned office. The entirety of the back wall was obscured by floor-to-ceiling cubbyholes, all filled to capacity with rolled manuscripts. The broad desk, which had been made out of the dark ebony-like wood native to Ning’s southern jungles, sat no more than a foot off the reed mat that covered the floor and was ringed by red, gold, and green cushions. “Please,” the abbot said, “take a seat. There’s something I’d like you to see.”

  Lee sat cross-legged on a cushion, while Marth rang a little bell and provided instructions to an aspirant who appeared as if by magic. Though careful to maintain a calm exterior, Lee wondered if his absence had been discovered and wrestled with the hindrance called worry. It had been wrong to sneak out, very wrong, and while he deserved whatever punishment the law of cause and effect might mete out to him, such was not the case for those who had so mistakenly placed their trust in him.

  “Here,” Marth said, as he dropped a roll of paper onto the surface of the desk. “Take a look at that.”

  Lee had to use both hands to pull the scroll open. What he saw was a charcoal drawing rather than the religious manuscript he had expected to see. The face that stared out at him was that of a teenaged male. Outside of the adolescent’s eyes, which seemed to reflect a brooding intelligence, there was nothing remarkable about the portrait, and Lee was at a loss to understand why Marth wanted him to look at it.

  “Do you see the likeness?” the abbot insisted, as he sat on one of the cushions. “Yanak is older, of course, but if it weren’t for the fact that I know his family so well, I would swear that you were his younger brother.”

  Lee took another look and, having done so, could see what the monk meant. The overall shape of the teenager’s face was similar to his own, even though the significance of that fact escaped him, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “Yes,” Lee said politely. “I see what you mean.”

  The tea arrived then, and even though Marth could tell that the boy had no idea who Yanak was, the abbot wasn’t ready to suspend his somewhat oblique investigation quite yet. While the odds were excellent that Lee was just what he appeared to be, a somewhat precocious youngster raised within the intellectual embrace of a red hat monk off to the east, it was his duty to make sure.

  Once the tea had been poured, and the aspirant had withdrawn, the subtle-yet-persistent interrogation continued. “In spite of the fact that Yanak’s physical body is only sixteen years old, we have reason to believe that the spirit of the great teacher Nom Maa dwells within it,” Marth said conversationally. “That’s why he is on his way to the central temple at CaCanth. Once he arrives Yanak will be tested and take his place on the throne. After that, well, who knows? Perhaps he will find a way to heal the rift that separates black from red.”

  Even though he knew that the black hats had a candidate of their own, Lee had never been told the other boy’s name or bee
n shown a likeness of his face. Not until now that is. While the monks on Anafa insisted that his was the spirit of Nom Maa, and there had been moments when he believed the assertion to be true, such was the veil between him and his past lives that Lee had never been entirely sure. Did that mean the teenager with the aloof stare was the real Nom Maa? And that he was little more than a pawn? Groomed by the red hats to serve their political ends? As he listened to Marth it seemed all too possible. And, rather than the disappointment that Lee might have expected to feel, the boy experienced a sense of exhilaration instead. Because if he was nobody other than himself, and wasn’t expected to take the throne, he could live his life any way he chose! “That would be a good thing,” Lee said, “I affirm whatever is for the highest and the best.”

  The abbot took a sip of tea. Had Lee been the red hat pretender, and been confronted with an image of his rival, the monk would have expected to see some sign of consternation on his face. Resentment perhaps, or even anger, but such was not the case. In fact, judging from appearances, the boy appeared to be anything but jealous. A good sign indeed. “Here,” Marth said, as he passed three incense sticks to the boy. “Please convey these to your parents. They have been blessed and will help all of you battle the hindrance known as doubt.”

  Lee knew a dismissal when he heard one, felt a tremendous sense of relief, and was careful to bow once he got to his feet. “Thank you, sasa (wise one). I will tell them.”

  Marth rang the tiny bell even as the youngster withdrew. The aspirant, who had been waiting only steps away, appeared immediately. “Yes, Excellency?”

  The abbot gestured toward the door. “Follow the boy. Don’t let him see you. Once you know where he is staying report to me. It’s my opinion that he is what he claims to be, but clouds can appear in an otherwise blue sky, and it is wise to remain vigilant.”