Reaching the outer edge of a glen of trees, he stopped and knelt down, then leaned back his head and closed his eyes. I watched this transpiring with no small amount of puzzlement. A few seconds later he opened his eyes, smiled, and returned his head to its proper angle.
The horse burst through the brush with such a suddenness that I nearly fell over backwards.
The strange being reached out his right hand, palm open and facing upward, and the horse came to him immediately, sniffing at him. It was black as night and beautiful as a new dawn, and it was not the one the other alien had ridden on the way here. It looked at me briefly, showed no apparent interest, and returned its attention to him. He stroked its nose and spoke a few words I couldn’t understand to it.
“You have a horse?” I asked, taken aback. “An Earth horse?”
“I do.”
“Where did you get it?”
He shrugged, his attention remaining on the horse. He stroked its nose and smiled wanly at it.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but I have to reacquaint myself with him. I’ve been held here quite a while.” He looked the horse over, then smiled again. “At least it appears they have been taking care of him during my incarceration.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. You are aliens. Why would you keep horses from Earth?”
“We have no beasts of this sort on any of our worlds. And we have found them to be perfectly suited for our needs— for walking the Paths. In addition to generally traveling at the quickest rate we prefer for transitioning through dimensions, they seem to possess an unerring sense of sudden danger along the way. Far better, and with much better reaction speed, than any mechanical device we could construct and carry along. Eddies and sudden twists and vortices in the dimensional currents; weak spots in the walls of the cosmic passages; hidden traps. When it comes to the Paths, they have a natural nose for danger, and a talent for avoiding it. And so we keep them, and we breed them for better and better senses of this sort.”
I just stared back at him and at his black beauty and I shook my head again. “Horses. Huh.”
At that, and in defiance of his previous infirmity, he fairly leapt onto its back, in a move almost identical to what I’d seen the other do, back on Victoria. Again the horse scarcely appeared to notice.
“Shall I summon one for you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Mine’s over here somewhere...”
I retrieved Comet—I hadn’t been gone long enough for him to get grouchy towards me—and mounted. “Where to?” I asked.
“To a place where you can find some of the answers you seek,” he replied. With that, the dark horse set out across the grass.
Comet trotted ahead. I encouraged him and soon enough we rode along just behind and to the alien’s right.
“What is your name?” I called to him.
“I no longer have a name. My name was stripped from me by my fellows. All I retain now is the term of scorn they bestowed upon me: Renegade.”
I frowned. “That won’t do. What was your name before?”
He looked away for a moment, as if considering whether he wanted to answer me at all. At last, in a barely audible voice, he said, “Istari.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Istari,” I said formally. “I am—”
“As I indicated before,” he snapped, “I know precisely who you are.”
I bit my tongue and said nothing, instead looking around at the landscape through which we passed. And I frowned. More grassy slopes, more odd trees, and now a narrow glen—but no fog, no swirling lights. None of the strange indicators I’d encountered and passed through on my previous journey. Though I fully expected a sharp, non-informative reply, I started to question him about this. Before I could do so, however, he brought his horse to a halt and raised a hand. I drew up beside him and reined in Comet.
“There,” he said, nodding to his left.
I looked and there beheld something I had not noticed from when we’d entered the glen until that moment: a tree, gnarled and obviously ancient, with long, low-hanging branches. Just beyond it, nearly hidden amid rocks and bushes, I could make out the dark entrance to a cave.
I looked back at him and saw that he was pointing directly at the cave mouth.
“That’s not the way I came here,” I said.
“It is not,” he replied. He continued to point. “Yet it is where you must now go.”
I blinked. “Why? What will I find in there?”
“Answers.”
I frowned. “Answers? To who is responsible for killing my father?” I squinted at the cave mouth, but couldn’t make out a thing beyond its opening. “I’ll find answers in there?”
He smiled at me and the smile was sly, almost mischievous. “Perhaps. All sorts of answers may be found within that cave. It may be that the ones you seek are among them.” He shrugged slightly. “Or not. There is only one way to know.”
I continued to regard him for another few seconds. Then I climbed down from Comet, led him over to the ancient tree, and tethered him.
What did I have to lose? My world was upside down. My uncles and aunts were busy leading an interplanetary war against our enemies and obviously had little use for me in that. My father was dead. Along with him, I realized then for perhaps the first time and with a shock, I’d also lost my purpose in life up to this point. For in truth my career till then had consisted of assisting him, serving him. What did I have now?
The answer, at least in the short term, was clear: I had my mission. I sought retribution. Call it justice or call it revenge. Whatever. I didn’t care. All that mattered to me now was finding the reason for his murder and exacting rough payment from those who had ordered it. This lead—this alien and whatever he was involved with— represented my final remaining avenue of investigation before I would have to simply give up. I resolved to pursue it even at the risk of my own death.
I looked at the alien, Istari, once more. He continued to stare at the cave while utterly ignoring me. It was as if I didn’t exist, other than as a piece on the game board, to be manipulated. Perhaps that was all that I was to him.
Fine. I wasn’t terribly concerned with what he thought of me, as long as cooperating with him led me to the information I sought.
I reached down, loosened my blast pistol in its holster and strode forth, passing through the opening and into the darkness of the cave.
+ + +
Scarcely had I passed through the opening before complete darkness surrounded me and swallowed me up. The entrance itself didn’t entirely vanish, but as I glanced back over my shoulder it seemed to recede to the point that it was now far away in the distance, as though it would take quite a bit of a walk to reach it and leave the cave. This made me feel extremely uncomfortable and I turned, facing back in that direction. I contemplated leaving immediately.
Then a warm breeze blew past me, gravel crunched, and a voice echoed out of the void at my back: “Greetings.”
“Who’s there?” I called, turning. My pistol was out and in my hand.
Only darkness, all about me.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “What do you want?”
“You have a strange manner,” the voice said after a few seconds. It was smooth and low, deep and rich, and it held an unmistakable edge of menace. “You come uninvited into my home and seek to interrogate me. Is this what passes for civilized behavior among your kind?”
The warm air wafted by again, as from the bellows of some mighty forge. It smelled sour. I began to suspect that it might be breath.
“You are quite right,” I said, still searching the darkness, hoping my eyes would adjust faster and give me any indication of who—or what—I was dealing with. “My apologies. I did not intend to intrude or trespass.”
“Then why came you here, if not intentionally?”
“I was directed here by a—by an acquaintance,” I said. “I was told I might find answers.”
“Ah,” the voice said.
“Yes. That is entirely possible. Or,” it added after a brief pause, “you might find something else. Other things entirely.”
“Perhaps I am supposed to ask you my questions?” I said.
The warm air again, pungent and moist. My nose wrinkled involuntarily and I turned my head slightly to one side, seeking to avoid breathing it in.
“You could,” the voice said. “I would not object in principle.” A pause, and then, “Of course, understand that if I do not like your questions, you will not be leaving my domain, my world. You will be… consumed.”
This took me aback. Not the threat—that seemed almost de rigeur. But—”Your world? This world I’ve come to—it belongs to you?”
“This world. Here. This pocket universe, as I believe the Dyonari call such things. It is my world.”
I had no idea what any of that meant. I looked around and could see nothing but darkness. Even the cave mouth had now vanished. “Ah, yes.” I nodded, and I’m afraid the sarcasm was clear in my voice as I added, “And a lovely world it is.”
“Talk like that will lead to the consumption I referenced in my previous utterance.”
“Sorry.”
“Yes, yes. Now—the questions, eh? I will allow... two, to start. More if I feel so inclined after those. And if you have not yet been consumed.”
What was this creature? How could it possibly answer the questions that plagued me? It all seemed ludicrous. And yet, so did everything else that had occurred in the time since I’d taken Comet and ridden into the night. Again—in truth, what had I to lose?
I nodded in the darkness. “Very well.” I kept the blast pistol ready as I searched my mind for the most efficient way to ask my single question. But—what was my single question? Could I whittle everything that plagued me about Dad’s demise down into a lone query? For a moment my thoughts were a jumble, and I could hear impatient-sounding gravel-crunching from a short distance away. Then my thoughts snapped almost miraculously into clear focus, and I decided upon the single thing I felt I most needed to know—the one question that could hold the key to unlocking all the others. I looked up into the darkness and said, “Why was my father killed?”
I anticipated counter-questions such as, “Who exactly was your father?” or “How the hell should I know? I’m just a creature living in a cave-slash-pocket universe.” But the voice uttered neither of those things. Instead it issued no sounds whatsoever, for a time long enough that I began to suspect it had slunk back into the depths of its cave—its mini-universe, if it was to be believed. I was just about to give up and begin walking in the direction I hoped led back to the entrance, when it at last broke the silence.
“I cannot say with absolute certainty, but in all likelihood it was because he might actually have succeeded.”
I believe I took an involuntary step backwards; certainly my jaw dropped open. Blinking rapidly, I closed my mouth and sought words. At last I found a few.
“Succeeded in what?”
The creature—if creature it was—issued a sort of groan. “Are you sure you want that to be your second question? Because I find it boring, and it will probably be your last.”
“No—no, not at all,” I said quickly. “I was simply musing out loud. I have a better second question, of course.”
“Ah. Excellent.”
“Just give me a moment, if you please.”
“By all means.”
And then I faltered and mentally cast about—for of course at that moment my mind became a blank canvas and I an artist bereft of all paints and brushes.
+ + +
“Who was responsible for my father’s death?”
I blurted it out quickly, without putting a great deal of thought into it. Simply put, it was the single question I most wanted answered, whether by some faceless creature in the dark or anyone else. If asking it cost me my life, then so be it.
Even as I was speaking the words aloud I could hear the crunching of gravel underfoot drawing closer and smell the rancid breath of my host, now almost overpowering. I aimed my gun in the direction of the sounds and prepared to fire.
The crunching stopped.
“You don’t know? It was Corindar Jeras. I thought you were present at the event.”
Now I was growing frustrated. I wanted to ask him how he knew that—how he could possibly be privy to that information. But I dared not—he might take it as an official question and decide it violated his bizarre and inconsistent rules for our discourse. Still, I was too deep in it now to fall back on false politeness or feigned courtesy. “Well, yes, I know that he did the actual deed,” I said, my impatience clear in my tone. “But he was just the catspaw. Who was the mastermind? Who ordered him to do it?”
A long pause, silent save for the sound of heavy, labored breathing. Then, “I cannot answer that question specifically,” the rumbling voice said, “but I could tell you more than enough to set you on a direct path to those ultimately responsible. I really could.”
“That would be—”
“But I won’t.”
“What? You won’t?”
A slight chuckle that grew; the fetid wind wafting from his direction dissolved into staccato snorts. “No, I believe it would be far more amusing if you were to instead direct that question to your new friend outside.”
“My new friend—?”
“Quite right, my mistake. You called him ‘an acquaintance,’ I believe.”
A light in the darkness: I stared at it and saw that it was the cave opening, visible once more. As I watched it grew in size and in proximity. Soon it was only a few strides away. The green of the glen shone beyond.
“Wait,” I said, not moving. “That’s it? We’re done?”
“We are done. You may go.”
“But—”
“But? I expected you would be relieved. Most who venture within my realm never even get to utter a second question.”
I was frowning, and now the light from the cave mouth made that apparent. “Then why are you letting me go?” I asked, conscious that I had essentially been reduced to whining and not terribly concerned about that fact at the moment. I turned my back on the opening and gazed in the direction of that grating voice but, despite the light now trickling in from the outside, I still couldn’t see anything. Not a thing.
And then I realized I had just asked another question. I braced myself to be rushed.
“Because it gets very boring in here sometimes,” came the singsong answer, in lieu of violent death. “And while extending our conversation further might provide some small measure of entertainment, I’m not entirely convinced you’re up to it.”
“That’s very likely true,” I said.
“Yes. You do strike me as rather danger-prone. And, see, I think you’re sort of interesting and I’ve decided that I would feel bad about things if you were to get yourself consumed. Besides,” the voice added, “I think you hold the potential for greater entertainment value if I let you continue.”
“Entertainment value?” Now I grew angry. “You see me as merely an actor in some drama, staged purely for your amusement?”
“Of course,” He replied. “All of your kind. The Dyonari and the others as well. And I must say, you’ve been something of a disappointment thus far. Yet still, you may live. But try not to disappoint me again. I’ll be watching.”
I had no idea how to respond to that. I didn’t even understand it, for the most part. The desire to lash out violently, in words if not in actions, seized me, and I had to remind myself—forcefully—that this creature likely could slay me in an instant. At least, that was the impression he liked to create. I did not feel like testing that theory if I could avoid it. So I breathed in and out and said, “I appreciate the help. Or what little you have provided.”
“What did you expect? Most who enter this place leave by way of my digestive system. I have at least pointed you in the direction to find your answers.”
“But that’s what Istari said when he sent me
in here. He told me you could provide the answers.”
“That guy?” A snort. “He is a liar. A traitor. A renegade. I wouldn’t believe much of what he says.”
“But you would have me direct my questions to him. How can I believe his replies?”
“Believe him?” Another laugh. It was absolutely blood-chilling. “Oh no. I never said anything about believing him.”
“Then what—?”
“You don’t have to ask him anything point blank and I certainly wouldn’t believe anything he told me directly. But that doesn’t mean you cannot cause him to lead you to the truth. That’s a completely different thing.”
I took this in and thought about it. “And how exactly do I do that?”
“That constitutes a third question—at the very least—and I’ve already stated that you don’t get another. Fortunately for you I didn’t find it boring enough to make me reevaluate my position.”
I felt strongly at that moment that I should cut my losses, be grateful for my life and take my leave—before my temperamental host changed his mind again.
“Understood,” I said. “Thanks for everything. Sincerely. And goodbye.”
“You got it, kid,” came the deep, rumbling voice one last time. It was growing fainter as he spoke, as though he were moving away from me at rapidly increasing speed. Back down into the darkness. “Good luck. And hey– do try to make the rest of this thing entertaining, okay? I’ll be watching.”
+ + +
My new acquaintance might have been an alien, but there was no mistaking the expression on his face when I reemerged from the cave: surprise.
No—shock.
He recovered and covered quickly, but I’d seen it. It had been all too clear: he’d never expected me to come out of the cave again. He’d sent me in to die.
I briefly contemplated possible actions I might take in response to that fact, but ultimately discarded each of them. I still needed him to show me the way home, after all. And if the entity in the cave had told the truth, I also needed him alive to answer those questions that hadn’t been answered yet—in other words, nearly all of them.
Baranak: Storming the Gates (The Above Book 2) Page 9
