Karilyne- Heart Cold as Ice

by Van Allen Plexico

  And then we reached the little house.

  * * *

  The gray giant filled the doorway to such a degree that I could see nothing of the interior beyond him. Somber-faced, he stared down at us in grim silence. We in turn stared back up at him.

  “Who are you,” he demanded in a rumbling voice, “and what are you doing here?”

  He was tall indeed; at least a full meter taller than the tallest of us—which was me. His skin was rough and slate-colored and he wore a simple, cream-colored tunic and pants with dark leather boots. His eyes were narrow and dark and a sort of pale light flickered deep within them.

  “Davos,” Mirana said with a slight bow, “we come seeking your assistance.”

  The giant looked back at Mirana for a long moment, his brow wrinkling as if he were attempting to take in her statement but finding it hard to understand. Meanwhile she gazed up at him—and, being only slightly shorter than me, it was rare to see anyone cause her to have to look upward.

  “I haven’t done business with the Dyonari in years,” he rumbled. “And if I ever knew you, I don’t remember.”

  “We remember you,” Mirana stated. “Your wisdom and your might are both still whispered of in hushed tones in the highest circles of the star-cities.”

  He stared back at her for several seconds, his heavy brows furrowed in thought. Then, “Dalen-Shala,” he muttered.

  Mirana smiled. “Just so,” she said. “That was my home.”

  His frown deepened. “I never trusted the people of the star-cities,” he said. ‘And especially not that lot.”

  Mirana’s eyes widened in surprise, but then a look of acceptance came over her and she nodded slowly. “Most of my affection for the people of my city has long since evaporated,” she told him. “They forfeited it.”

  “Hmm,” he said to her, and nothing more. Her head bowed now, she merely stared at her feet.

  After a few seconds he turned away from her and looked briefly at the two human women and he grunted in a way that seemed to me to indicate acknowledgment of their existence but disinterest in it.

  His eyes moved to me next and he studied me for a moment and pursed his lips. “Hmm,” he intoned again. “I feel I should know you.”

  I bowed my head in reply.

  He continued to stare at me.

  “I do not know you,” I said to him after several long and increasingly uncomfortable moments of silence had passed.

  He snorted at this.

  “But my apprentice here tells me I should change that,” I added, nodding toward Mirana. “She believes you are someone worth knowing.”

  A smile slowly spread across his craggy countenance. “Perhaps,” he muttered.

  Then he looked down at Binari, and I realized that our little Rao companion had pulled his black hood up over his head. He was currently holding the front of it as close to closed as possible, entirely obscuring his features.

  “You,” the gray giant rumbled. “Little one. Show yourself.”

  Binari yet hesitated. The giant growled something unintelligible at him. At that, the smaller alien reached up and pulled back his hood. He looked up—way up—at the giant and offered him a friendly smile.

  The giant started, his eyes wide now, and he stumbled back a step, back into the building. “A Builder,” he exclaimed. “You’ve brought a Builder to my home.”

  I frowned at this unexpected and incomprehensible reaction. “He is a Rao,” I stated, puzzled. “A Technologist. He is with us—one of our party.” And though it seemed utterly absurd to have to say it about someone a fraction of Davos’ size, I added, “He means you no harm.”

  “He’s a bloody Builder,” Davos said again, forcefully, jabbing a big, blunt, gray finger towards the Rao. Given his sudden change of demeanor, I would not have been surprised if the giant had attacked Binari then and there—though I had no idea as to the cause.

  “What does that mean?” I demanded. And when no answer was forthcoming from Davos, I looked to Binari and repeated the query.

  For his part, our Rao companion appeared puzzled if not shocked. Frowning, he turned to me and shook his head.

  “He deceives you. He knows very well what I mean,” Davos stated menacingly. “It was because of his kind that so many of my kind were rendered slaves for so very long.”

  “Slaves?” I was perplexed.

  “How else would you describe being forced to serve as foot soldiers in an alien army? To do battle endlessly, all across the galaxy, against our will?”

  “I did no such thing,” Binari said quickly.

  “Your kind?” I interjected, facing the big gray figure. “What exactly is your kind?”

  The giant ignored my query. Instead he simply jabbed a finger down at the Rao. “He knows.”

  Binari shook his head again, acting befuddled. I might have been taken in by his performance, but I’d seen him wearing his hood as if to camouflage his appearance. He knew more than he was letting on. Of that I had no doubt.

  But whatever ancient offense his people had likely caused those of Davos’ race, we scarcely had time to revisit it now.

  I gestured toward Mirana. “My apprentice here assures me you can help us,” I stated, moving forward, separating the two. “If that is true, we need to be about it now, for time is of the essence.”

  The giant very reluctantly turned his attention from Binari to me. “What assistance am I expected to render?”

  I nodded to Mirana and she took up the tale.

  “We seek to gain admittance to the Spire,” she said, after a few words sketching a brief background.

  Davos frowned at her. He waited a moment but when she said nothing more, he shook his head. “I possess no special ways of gaining access to the Spire. It lies at the very center of the Mosaic City, is guarded by an army from across time and space, and is defended inside by four sorcerers of supreme power. Gaining entry is impossible, even for the most powerful of mortals.” He spread his massive, worn gray hands. “Certainly for a lowly farmer such as me.”

  I caught Mirana’s dubious look when Davos referred to himself as a “simple farmer,” but she was wise enough not to mention it aloud.

  “We will find our own way in,” she told him. “What we request from you is a way across the city, to its center—to the Spire’s immediate environs.” And as the giant started to protest again, she added, “I know you. I know who you are, and what you are. And I know that such a thing is not beyond your abilities.”

  Davos leaned toward her, grim but skeptical. “What do you know, little Dyonari?”

  “I know about the great artificial mind that once dominated the existence of you and your people,” she replied. “And of all others, too.” And as he frowned even more deeply at her, she moved a step closer and added, gravely, “I know what you can do.”

  Davos stared back at my apprentice for a long moment, seemingly sizing her up, studying her carefully—examining her face, and perhaps the soul behind it. He pursed his grey lips. At length he turned back to me and stated, as if he knew the answer, “You are the leader.”

  “I am,” I replied firmly, with no hesitation.

  He nodded at that. The lips were still pursed.

  “Just to the Spire, then?”

  “That would be helpful. Yes.”

  Davos chuckled. “You will need all the help you can get, to reach it safely. The city guard are no longer the only ones who patrol the various segments of the City. The Red Bands—Vorthan cultists, if you can conceive of such a thing—roam hither and yon.”

  “We are quite familiar with them,” I replied.

  “We defeated a group of them in combat,” Mirana declared, unable to help herself.

  “I see,” Davos said to her.

  He looked at her closely for a few seconds, then turned back to me. His gaze was penetrating and intense. It felt as if he were seeing beneath my outer layer to my innermost self. “Yes. I suppose what you say must be true.” He pursed his lips again.
“But the Red Bands, too, are not alone in their incessant patrols of the City. These new Hands of the Machine that have of late returned, for instance. The human ones. What make you of them?”

  “They won the Nightfall War,” I said. “They defeated the Skrazzi and the Phaedrons that invaded from beyond the rim of the galaxy. Why should the inhabitants of this galaxy feel anything but gratitude towards them?”

  “They remained in place after the war was over,” Davos rumbled. “With the conflict finished for some time now, they could have returned to their bases. Better yet, since they are no longer needed against an existential threat, these new Hands could have been freed entirely from service to their master, the Machine.” He frowned. “They have not been freed, though, have they? They have instead become ubiquitous. Their forces now sweep across every corner of the galaxy. And their patrols reach even to the Mosaic City. Even within its walls.”

  I said nothing to this. I merely waited.

  After another extended moment of staring back at me, Davos humphed, gave Binari one more suspicious glance, then shrugged his massive shoulders.

  “I will not ask why you seek entry to the Spire. I can only assume anyone wishing to do such a thing would have the best of reasons.”

  I nodded. “Suffice to say that our adversaries are gathering objects of great power, with what I believe to be nefarious purposes in mind. We wish to acquire those items first.”

  “And the Spire would be a logical place to look for such things,” Davos said. “But how will you gain entry? Surely you understand it is not possible.”

  “We will find a way.”

  “You will fail. In failing, you will be annihilated. And your failure might endanger me as well.”

  I raised my right hand before him and pale blue light shimmered in the air around it. The light was weak; nothing like what I normally could generate, when the Power flowed through me in its raw fullness. Nevertheless I managed something of a visual display, accompanied by a sudden drop in temperature around us.

  Davos’ eyes widened ever so slightly and he stared back at me, then slowly he smiled. “Ah,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “So I do know you, after all.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He appeared to think for another few moments, at one point eyeing Binari again and with continuing hostility. But he must have been able to set this mysterious grudge aside, for a second later his eyes flicked back over to me and slowly he nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “You being who you are. Perhaps it is possible.”

  “It is,” I said.

  “And I assume it is important. Very important.”

  “It is,” I repeated.

  He nodded his huge gray head again. “Very well,” he rumbled. “I will lead you to the Spire.”

  “You will have my thanks,” I said.

  “I would value that,” he said. He raised a cautioning finger. “Be aware, however,” he added, “if we are discovered, I will not hesitate to sacrifice the rest of you to ensure my own survival and escape.”

  I gazed back at him and actually laughed at this. “At least we all know where one another stands,” I replied.

  At that, he invited us inside and we sat down to draw up our plans.

  * * *

  Tunnels. I had expected it would involve tunnels, in order to avoid being seen by the public or by the city watch. And it did.

  But the tunnels he led us through were not the kind I’d imagined.

  We were not underground but hundreds of meters in the air, moving along walkways that ran inside tubes of glass and steel and connected tall towers built of the same materials.

  The first thing Davos had done was lead us to a different gate back into the city. We had walked a long distance from his farm before coming upon it, and it turned out to be so far that it had let us into a different sector of the city. Where the previous one had been very low tech, however, this one was high tech.

  Through the transparent walls of the tubes we could see flying vehicles buzzing past all around us. Beyond them, the Mosaic City—one of the high-tech sectors of it—loomed, with sunlight glinting off of mile-high skyscrapers and tethered, floating palaces that filled the view. Beyond all of that, of course, was the fuzziness, the fraying at the edges. No one else had mentioned it, and I had begun to wonder if, after all, I was the only one who could perceive it. Truly it vexed me.

  “It’s hard to imagine so many people existing side by side in such varied conditions,” Lydia observed as we strode along yet another of the skywalks. “From Medieval to modern to things I will admit I have never seen or imagined before. Every era of time must be present here.”

  “The Mosaic City is unique in the multiverse,” Mirana stated. “Though I am puzzled why some would choose to live in a low-tech sector when more advanced ones are adjacent or nearby.”

  “Different individuals prefer different things,” I said offhandedly, as I continued to focus most of my attention on watching for enemies.

  “It is also more difficult than you might think to move from one sector to another if one is a native,” Davos added. “Those born into one of the sectors are somehow anchored to that place and time, in a physical and psychic way. They do not enjoy the same liberty to cross over the frontiers that we outsiders, we visitors do.”

  “They are restrained somehow?” Binari asked. “By the city watch, you mean?”

  “Not in that way, no,” Davos replied, being civil for once with the Rao. “They are not accosted by other people.” He spread his hands as we all walked. “In some sectors, an invisible force of some kind exists along the frontiers, preventing inhabitants from crossing over. No one knows the source of it. In others, transferal is possible, but those who venture forth experience increasing mental and physical discomfort until they return to their home zone.”

  “How strange,” Binari observed.

  “It is a strange place,” Davos said. “But one I find useful from time to time—as long as I disguise myself, or keep to the sectors where someone of my appearance is accepted and not the cause of riots and revelations.” He held up a tiny metallic device and smiled. “Of course, for occasions such as this, it also proves useful to carry a distortion box.”

  Binari ooohed at this and asked for a closer look. Davos handed the object over. “Be certain not to accidentally turn it off,” he warned.

  The Rao Technologist sniffed at that perceived affront. He held the box up and turned it all around in his hands, peering at it closely. Then he looked at Davos with what seemed like genuine admiration.

  “Very impressive,” he said. “It doesn’t make us invisible—not precisely, at least—but it does mask our specific appearances from security cameras and scanners. In effect, it camouflages us; makes us appear generic and nondescript.”

  “Precisely.”

  On they went, discussing the particulars of the technology and from where Davos had acquired it. The conversation continued in this vein for some time, as we moved along the skywalks and through the upper floors of the buildings they connected. For the most part I ignored it, focusing instead on our objective: the tower at the heart of this world-city, this city of worlds. I was increasingly certain we would find one of the Cosmic Weapons there. As we walked, memories had been returning to me of conversations with my fellow gods back in the Golden City, ages earlier. At that time only two or three of the Weapons had been missing, but even then there had been speculation that the Spire at the center of the Mosaic City might be a good place to look.

  Spurred on by concern that our rivals might reach the tower before us, as they had the Tree, we paused only twice during our journey, to rest and to eat. Fortunately, as we were traveling through the more advanced areas, accommodations for both needs were readily available. We had eaten a small meal at Davos’s house before we set out, but with all the walking we had soon worked up an appetite again. And as Davos insisted that we stick to the pedestrian-only skywalks in order to be able to reach our destination without
attracting any undue attention, we were unable to use any of the multitude of vehicles we could see on the other side of the glass. Lacking underworld connections and unwilling to risk exposure to the authorities who surely still searched for us, we refrained from acquiring more advanced weaponry despite now being in a more high-tech sector. We would have to rely on what we carried with us if we came into conflict with anyone. Beyond that, we planned to rely on speed to get us to our destination before anyone that wished to battle us could catch up to us.

  Twice along the way we passed roaming groups of Red Bands, those Vorthan-worshiping cultists that appeared to have proliferated in startling numbers within the city and seemed to have the free run of it. This particularly offended the two Templars and both Lydia and Erin vowed that they would do all within their power to see such evil ripped out by the roots ere they departed the Mosaic City.

  Davos led us through areas filled with throngs of native peoples in colorful outfits and through areas utterly deserted, all along a constantly changing course. We turned first one way and then the other, doubling back upon ourselves at least three or four times. We passed through grand, cathedral-like spaces made all of glass, and down narrow, dark passageways doubtlessly intended only for maintenance crews or repair robots. After only a short while my sense of direction had become totally confused. Idly I wondered how Davos could possibly know where we were or where we were going, and yet his confidence in our route never seemed to waver. Eventually I had no choice but to place complete trust and confidence in him, that he was leading us where we needed to go and that he was not going to betray us to our foes.

  The closest call of all came just after the halfway point of our journey, though we did not realize we had only come halfway at the time. We were in a broad hall some fifty meters tall and just as broad, and hundreds of meters long, built all of silver and gray metal and panels of glass. Concrete or stone boxes taller than any of us were spaced out on either side of the main pathway we were following, with exotic plants the size of small trees growing in them. Again Davos had navigated us into an area that just happened to be deserted; he seemed to possess a knack for it, or else knew things the rest of us didn’t. In either case, we were alone there, marching along beneath the long rectangular windows with the futuristic part of the City spread out beyond on either side, when suddenly Davos raised his big gray hand and motioned for us to halt, then to hide.