Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) (13 page)

14

Klane slunk through the darkness of the city streets as a riot of emotions filled him. He knew fear. This was the place of evilest legends. But more than fear, he knew an avenging sense of justice and righteousness.

He passed one of the towers with its fluted bridge high above him. He kept in the shadows, and he observed men and women on the demon city streets. They wore strange garments and hurried as if on important business. Ah, there, with the clash of its talons, a demon strode toward a big domed structure.

None paid him the slightest heed. He had borrowed a cloak spun from strange material and he wore a hat over his head. He moved purposefully, trying to mimic how the others acted.

He dared the demon city. He was the Tash-Toi avenger as told in the old tales. He had a knife, and he would slay any who stood in his path. More important, spells seethed in his mind, ready to leap out and do his bidding.

Now he needed to find the seeker. Now he must dare to cast spells in the most magic-filled place on Jassac. He darted into an alcove and peered upward. Windows glistened with artificial light. The smells, the sights—

Klane shook his head. He must focus. He must gather his resolve. The demons had raided the uplands. He now would raid the lowlands and teach the vile ones that men would not lie supine to them forever.

I fight. I strike in the name of justice.

He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and roved outward with a Far-Calling Spell.

With the utmost caution, taught to him in the caves of the singing gods, Klane’s mind searched for the seeker. He felt the feathery thoughts of other wizards, the demon tools in human guise. He avoided them, acting like a shadow, a whispery ghost seeking . . .

Klane’s thoughts whirled around. He sensed an old familiar mind.

Klane.

Seeker?

Klane, you must flee. They are weaving a trap for you. They know. They know you are here.

I have come for you.

You are in the valley?

Caution slowed Klane’s answer. Something was amiss. He might not have caught it before, but the laughter of the singing gods had tuned his mind into something much sharper. Others trickled thoughts or invaded the seeker’s mind.

Have they drugged you, old friend?
Klane asked.

I cannot climb out of slumber.

I sense them.

Klane, you must flee. You must wait for the transfer some other time.

You’ve spoken about that before, old friend. What is the transfer?

No, no, do not ask me that, Klane. I mustn’t let them know.

Who? Let who know?

There is a watcher, a demon with sinister ways. He seeks you, Klane. He waits
—

Klane retreated with his Far-Calling Spell. There was trickery abroad tonight. He felt the demons. He felt their devious natures. With a start, he realized that the singing gods had taught him more than he’d realized.

Transfer, the seeker had spoken about a transfer. It was vitally important—to humanity.

Looking up, Klane realized the seeker was near. Should he attack and attempt a rescue? What had the seeker said? That he could not arise from slumber? The demons had drugged him.

Klane grinned. He had plucked many puffer pods earlier. Upon waking tonight, he’d used his thumbnails and pried each one apart. The tiny green seeds had potency. He would trickle three down the seeker’s throat. That would wake up the dead.

Yes, he must strike now, and he must strike fast, ruthlessly. The demons might try to stop him. They had demon weapons—

With a flap of his borrowed cloak, Klane strode out of the alcove. He moved purposefully and with speed. He followed a faint mind trail. In a manner of minutes, he crossed several city blocks. It was hard not breaking into a sprint.

He took a deep breath. The air was so moisture rich. It was hard getting used to it. Craning his neck, he looked up. In this tower, near the very top—

Klane had to make a swift decision. How would he ascend the demon tower? If he entered it to climb the stairs, he would have to pass each demon trap. He suspected they knew he had arrived. The seeker had implied as much.

Grinning, Klane decided it was time to use his full powers. Reaching behind him, he gripped the cloak with two hands. He kept searching the windows and their shining night-lights. That window to the left, one down from the top and two over from the skylight: the seeker was in that room.

Klane squeezed his eyes shut, then he opened them wide. His feet lifted off the ground in a Levitation Spell.

“Higher,” he whispered.

Just like the time in the caves, he rose. The speed of his ascent quickened the longer he levitated. The cloaked flapped even though he held the edges. He kept his neck craned and his eyes locked on the targeted window. He moved so fast that it almost felt as if he flew. He was the avenger. He was the knife of the Tash-Toi, to cut the heart out of the demons.

Klane reached the window and concentrated, hurling a hard knot of telekinesis. He sank a moment. The glass shattered and shards tinkled onto the inner floor.

Curling himself into a fetal ball, Klane levitated through the broken window and shot down the hall. He landed running on his feet.

His mind pulsed and sweat slicked his ribs. It took great concentration to do this. He didn’t realize he’d drawn his knife until he saw it in his hand.

A door opened, and a man in red and blue garments stared at him. He was a tall human, with a long face and high forehead. A metal band encircled his head. The man thought of himself as a Bo Taw, a creature of Zama Dee.

“You are Klane,” the tall humanoid said. “We knew you would come here tonight—”

The humanoid quit speaking as he gasped in pain. Klane plunged the metal dagger into the man’s belly. He’d aimed the point upward like a crafty Tash-Toi warrior. He shoved the blade and shifted the sharp metal from side to side, slicing organs. Then the tip reached the Bo Taw’s heart.

“No,” the tall one groaned. “You don’t understand.”

Klane jerked the knife free. He understood perfectly. He was the Tash-Toi avenger. He had descended into hell in order to free his friend. It was the Bo Taw who didn’t understand.

The man sank onto the floor and blood gushed from his mouth.

Klane broke into a sprint. In a raid, one must keep moving. He needed to use the element of surprise. He had listened for years at the war-fires, when the champions and veteran warriors told about their greatest feats.

“I am Tash-Toi,” Klane whispered to himself.

Another door opened, this time on the other side of the hall. Another tall human regarded him. “Listen to me,” the man said.

The man spoke as if he were a friend. At the same ti
me, the demon-leagued man cast a mental spell at Klane.

Klane laughed. He was primed for anything, and he expected trickery. He deflected the mind bolt and used levitation to gain height. With a slash of his knife, he opened the man’s throat. Blood jetted. Some of it splashed against Klane’s shoulder. The man toppled, and Klane alighted to the floor, heading straight for the end door.

He didn’t wait to see if someone had locked it. The door was thicker and heavier than the others were, with a keyhole instead of a handle. Klane raised his free hand and held his palm toward the door. He cast another Telekinetic Spell. With a splinter of wood along the sides and a crumbling of the metal door, it tore free of its hinges and crashed open. The door thumped onto the floor, and Klane stepped into a large domed chamber.

Several things caught his attention at once. The seeker, naked as a baby, lay strapped to a table. His eyes were closed. He was asleep or drugged. A thin man dressed in white sat near the seeker. The man stared at him in wonder.

“It’s him,” the man said—his name was Niens. “It’s the one who destroyed the sky vehicle. I recognize the face from the old man’s memory.”

Klane’s heart beat faster. The last thing he noticed was a demon. It regarded him. The demon wore metallic streamers and it held a flat device in its clawed hand.

“Are you the Anointed One?” the demon asked.

Klane’s eyes narrowed. He released his knife and took hold of it with telekinetic magic. “Fly,” he whispered. The knife did exactly that. With a hiss of sound, it shot at the demon and plunged into the creature’s leathery hide.

The demon roared with agony, staggering backward.

Klane laughed, and he eyed the man in white. That one backed away. Klane raised his hand. The man fell prostrate on the floor, trembling, pleading for his life through his actions.

In three swift strides, Klane reached the seeker, his old friend. The man’s helplessness enraged Klane.

The demon roared again, and it clawed at its belt. Klane concentrated. The blade jerked out of the monster’s hide, and blood dripped onto the floor. The knife backed up, backed up, and it plunged at the demon again, sinking into vile flesh another time.

The roar was louder and filled with greater pain.

“As you give us, I give you!” Klane shouted. “Your magic tricks will not help you tonight, demon.”

Klane leaped onto the table, and he ripped the leads and tape off his friend’s flesh. He removed the iron hat, and with a mental bolt, he forced the old one rudely awake. He had no more time for niceties, and he risked damaging the seeker’s mind.

“Klane,” the old man whispered, as drool spilled from his mouth. It seemed as if his eyes had trouble focusing. He seemed disoriented. “Klane . . . it’s a . . . a trap.”

Klane held out his hand. He noticed that the man on the floor—Niens—crawled away. He let him go; good riddance to the mentalist. He waited, and watched the seeker. Understanding struggled against disorientation on the old man’s features and in his eyes. Finally, feebly, the seeker reached up and took hold with his dry, leathery fingers. Effortlessly, using a smattering of levitation, Klane lifted the seeker onto his feet.

“You’ve changed,” the seeker whispered.

The demon no longer sagged against a wall. The monster staggered closer, and he aimed a weapon at them. Klane noticed the device, and his eyes tightened. The talon clicked a switch, but nothing happened. Klane had disabled the demon weapon.

With a roar, the demon hurled the useless weapon from him. Then he charged across the room, heavy tail balancing his forward thrust.

Klane jumped down on the other side of the table and pulled the seeker with him. At the same time, the stool Niens had been sitting on moved. With telekinesis, Klane hurled the stool under the demon. The creature tripped over it, and the demon crashed against the table, breaking it with a splintering sound.

“We’re trapped,” the seeker wheezed.

Klane felt both exhilarated and tired. He’d never expected it could be like this. He had become something out of legend. He had found his friend, and he had hurt a demon.

I am the demonslayer
. It was the hope of every Tash-Toi to slaughter the great enemy.

“Grab my neck,” Klane said.

Withered old arms clamped onto him. He felt the tremor of weakened muscles. Klane jumped and levitated once more. He flew up and over the sprawled demon, landing lightly on his feet behind it.

“Let us run,” Klane said, as he pried the arms off his neck. He led the way toward the door.

The demon hissed with malice, and it thrashed against the broken table as it freed itself from the wreckage.

“They are very fast on their feet,” the seeker wheezed.

Klane glanced back at his friend. The old man had sunken cheeks and feverish eyes. Now that he had a moment, Klane noticed the ribs showing and the frailty of the seeker. He would not last much longer.

Behind them, the demon lurched to its feet. Its arms waved and the talons snapped with anger. The device the creatures usually wore against magic had ripped free. It lay glittering on the floor.

Klane whirled fully around, facing the demon. This was a golden opportunity. He raised his arms and spread his fingers. “Creature of the pit, your time has come.”

The nine-foot monster crouched. Its large tail lashed, snapping wood, and it made ready to leap after them.

Klane laughed in a voice he didn’t recognize. In the back of his mind, he thought he could hear the singing gods’ mockery, their laughter. Could they be guiding him? No. He ran his own thoughts, and he practiced these spells himself.

With his magic, his mind, he pulled the largest table splinters into the air. He made them levitate and back away from the demon.

The creature noticed and its eyes bulged outward. “You cannot do this. I am Kresh. I am your superior. Lie on your face and worship me.”

Klane laughed again, in a much uglier way than before.

“I am Chengal Ras the 109th,” the demon said. “I am your superior. You will obey me or face the consequences.”

“I am the demonslayer,” Klane said in an abnormally loud voice. “I am the doom of the Kresh. Prepare to meet the Creator, Chengal Ras. Prepare to die the death of a hundred stabs.”

Chengal Ras looked right and left at the wood splinters surrounding him.

“Stab,” Klane said, and he brought his arms down.

The circling splinters of table wood hovering around the demon moved. They flashed inward like spears. Some broke apart against the demon’s tough hide. Some pierced the leathery skin. Enough slid deeper into the creature, reaching organs and other vitals.

The demon opened its monstrous jaws. It roared in agony, and its arms flailed. How many humans had it slain in its day? How many people had it tormented? The demons plagued the Tash-Toi, tortured all the clans of the uplands.

Klane clenched his hands into fists. With a blast of magic power, he caused the wood inside the demon to explode into tiny particles. It was enough. The monster staggered several lurching steps. It blinked, and blood wept from its eyes. Then Chengal Ras the 109th crashed onto the tiles, dead.

15

“Klane, Klane,” the seeker said. The old hands plucked at the youth’s garments.

Klane turned around as he touched the bridge of his nose. He felt lightheaded and woozy. He had slain a demon. Yet it had felt as if the singing gods—

“Men come,” the seeker wheezed.

Klane cocked his head, listening for the tramp of feet down the hall. He heard nothing but the wind stirring before the broken window at the end of the corridor.

“We must flee,” Klane said.

The old man glanced at the demon twitching on the floor. He nodded. “Can you lead us out of here?”

Klane felt mentally winded. He had expended a prodigious amount of magic. He would need time now in order to recuperate. He didn’t think he could levitate all the way down to the ground, especially not while carrying the seeker.

“Can you run?” he asked the old man.

“I am Tash-Toi,” the seeker said. “You lead, and I will follow.”

Klane wondered if he should give the seeker a puffer seed. It might be too much for the old one’s weakened body. He would have to trust the man’s stubborn pride. Taking a deep breath, holding it, Klane ranged outward with his magic. He wished he still had the junction-stone.
The path from this room—he saw the way, and he saw in his mind’s eye soldiers racing up the levels of the building.

“This way,” Klane said, as his eyes snapped open. “We’re going to have to time this perfectly. The demons have soldier-slaves to do their bidding.”

After that, neither of them talked as they ran, walked, hid at times, and crawled through the demon building, descending level by level. Men bearing guns tramped past. Tall humanoids with mind magic searched for them, but Klane had learned the art of blending into the surroundings, hiding from magical searches.

After a long descent, Klane eased open a door. He tasted the air, rich with moisture, and spied starry darkness.

“You must walk as I do, with your head erect and in a purposeful manner.”

The seeker wore stolen garments they had found in a room. They were woefully baggy on his sparse form. He gripped one of Klane’s triceps.

“You have made me proud, slayer. I always knew you had greatness in you, but I didn’t realize to what extent.”

The praise buoyed Klane. Yes, he had come a long way. But they were far from free of the evil city. He should have slain the demon in an easier manner. As he thought back to his exploits, he realized he had expended too much magic on unneeded flourishes. If he were going to survive to truly become the demon bane, he needed to learn how to kill quickly and with the least amount of effort. Levitating as he had all the way up the building—he had been showing off to himself. He must employ greater guile.

“Now,” Klane said. He strode out of the building. The seeker followed. A single glance showed Klane that the old man knew the trick of walking like a demon slave.

They passed several buildings. Then, in the distance, a loud alarm blared with noise.

“Keep walking,” Klane said.

“We must hide,” the seeker said.

“Not yet,” Klane said. “I want to escape the city and hide in the puffer fields.”

“No, Klane. You’ve done the impossible. You’re tired and you must regain your strength. I must perform the transfer now while I have time. I’ve already waited too long. You had to risk everything to reach me. I was foolish, but I cannot take any more chances.”

“What is the transfer?” Klane asked.

“You will know soon enough. We need a quiet spot.”

Klane heard the urgency in the old man’s tone, and he heard a sad remorse.

“Let it wait,” Klane said. “We must concentrate.”

The seeker clutched his right shoulder, and the old man breathed in his ear. “You have no idea how vital this is. We must transfer. It is everything. I think you’re the one, Klane. This is what all of us have been waiting for.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Find a hiding place.” The seeker turned as bright lights began to appear in the buildings. Loud booming noises accompanied the lights. The demon city went from a place of shadows to the full brightness of a sunny day. Behind the blazing lights shined stars. Under the lights—

“This way,” Klane said. He dared to run. He heard the seeker breathing hard behind him. He used finesse this time, breaking a lock instead of blowing a door down.

They entered another building, and they took stairs leading down into darkness.

“Perfect, my boy, this is the perfect place.” The seeker tugged at him. “Now sit, you must sit.”

Klane realized that something extraordinary was taking place. It put a knot in his stomach and tightened his throat. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this.

“Hold my hands,” the seeker said. “We must be touching.”

Sitting cross-legged on tiles in pitch-blackness, Klane reached out and took the seeker’s hands. He realized the old one likewise sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Breathe, my boy. Fill your lungs with air.”

Klane breathed deeply. In the distance, sirens wailed and alarms rang with an incessant howl.

The seeker chuckled. “Let them search. We are safe for a few minutes, and that’s all we’re going to need.”

In the darkness, the old man licked chapped lips. He tightened his hold on Klane’s fingers. “You must listen carefully, Klane. I’m only going to be able to tell you this once.”

“Yes, seeker,” Klane said.

“You came to us from the demons,” the seeker said. “That was so long ago, so long. But I remember that moment well. Every day I watched you. It hurt to see the stronger boys pick on you. Three times, they broke your nose. Twice, others knocked out a tooth. It had to be that way, Klane. You had to accept the hard knocks of life. If you were too weak—

“Well, never mind that now,” the old man said, with hesitation in his voice. “What’s done is done. You were a product from the Kresh gene labs.”

“Kresh?” asked Klane.

“No, don’t ask me questions, my boy. Today, or tonight, you will learn much more than you want to know. You will absorb many lifetimes . . . you must listen to me,” the seeker said.

“I’m listening,” Klane said, wondering why the old man sounded harsh.

“I have loved you like a son, my boy, loved you more than you can know. I wondered if you would come for me, here in the demon city. Look at what you did. I don’t know how you learned so much—”

“The caves,” Klane said.

“What?” the seeker asked.

“I went to the caves of the singing gods.”

The seeker fell silent.

“Did I do wrong?” Klane asked.

“I should have realized that’s what happened,” the seeker said, sounding different from before, sounding resigned. “You did what you did. You cannot change that now. Remember one thing, my boy. You are ours. You belong to humanity. Take what the singing gods give you, but do not accept their warped judgments about the universe.”

“What are the singing gods?”

The seeker laughed harshly. “Pray you never truly discover that. I shouldn’t have taken you there, but I had become worried. You didn’t know how to use your powers properly. I thought—

“Listen to me, my boy. It is time for the transfer. Afterward, you must escape. You’ll know what to do in a few days. Remember, you must ignore the singing gods. Take the human path. Free us from the Kresh.”

“Where are you going?” Klane asked.

“Where I go, you cannot follow, at least not yet.”

“I want to follow.”

“No, not yet you don’t. You have to fulfill your destiny first.”

Klane wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

“The Kresh gene-warp us, seeking to fashion hybrids to serve their alien needs. The two most successful classes are the Vomags and the Bo Taw.”

“What are those?” Klane asked.

“You’re going to find out soon enough. Occasionally, the Kresh put psi-able genetic rejects into the uplands. The aliens are a strange race. It is hard to understand why they do this or do that. It is enough that they have enslaved humanity under them. We must rise up, Klane, and escape the shackles.”

The seeker sighed. “I have rambled long enough. I have sought for the courage to do this, but I am afraid. I’m very afraid. I don’t want to die.”

“Why would you say that?” Klane asked.

The seeker gripped his hands savagely. “It is time to transfer,” the old man whispered. “Remember, you are my son, and I have loved you more than anything in life. You have made me very proud. Now finish the task and free us from the Kresh.”

Klane wanted to cry out and tell the seeker to stop. He found himself speechless, and then it hit him. The seeker opened his mind to Klane, and he transferred memories into his brain. They flooded at a terrific rate. Faster and faster, flashes of thought poured from one mind to the other. It was a tidal wave, a tsunami, and it shorted Klane’s ability to process.

In that moment, Klane realized there were more than one man’s memories. Seekers before the seeker had done the same thing. They had transferred old knowledge to the seeker below him. Sights and unbelievable sounds thundered upon Klane’s conscious mind and seeped into his unconscious. Concepts, theories, and knowledge, more knowledge and accumulated wisdom rushed into his mind. He saw stars, oceans, books, buildings, Chirr, Kresh—

What about the singing gods? What are the singing gods?

The memories flooded as from a holo-vid drama at high speed, like a downloading computer.

“What?” Klane whispered in the darkness. “What are these things? I don’t understand.”

The seeker groaned, and for the first time his grip weakened.

Klane tried to part his lips. He wanted to speak. He wanted this to stop. It was too much. So many thoughts conflicted with each other. Demons, Kresh, magic, psi-power, and on and on it went.

The torrent slowed finally, and the seeker’s grip weakened even more. Suddenly, abruptly, it ended as the seeker’s hands dropped away. The old man sat still for a second. Then his heart gave way. It stopped beating. He stopped breathing, and he thumped onto the cold tiles.

Klane wanted to bend over him and hear a last word. He wanted to calm his friend. He wanted to weep. He could not. He was frozen, with his mind overloaded.

Time rolled on without meaning. The distant sounds didn’t matter anymore. Klane was in his own world, trying to sort things out.

“How . . .”

He found himself on his hands and knees, dry heaving.

“Why . . .”

In the darkness, he bumped into a wall. Only then did he realize that he’d climbed to his feet.

“Where . . .”

A man shouted at Klane, and he found himself on the street. He had come out of the basement, out of the building, and wandered like a fool.

Klane kept walking. The man shouted again and gave chase. Stopping, Klane turned. It was hard to think. He had so many memories, so many different ways of doing things tumbling in his mind.

At the last moment, Klane saw it was a Vomag hailing him. The soldier had a stun gun out, and he approached cautiously.

“What’s your name?” the soldier asked.

Klane tried to form a reply. He heard the hovers before he saw them in the air floating. In one of them sat a Kresh.

A grim smile stretched Klane’s lips. “What are you?” he asked.

“I’m asking the questions,” the soldier said.

“You’re a slave to an alien,” Klane told the Vomag.

“I’m a soldier, and I’m doing my task.”

“You’re helping to enslave your race, your people.”

The soldier pulled a communicator from his belt. “I’ve found him,” the man said.

Klane raised his hand. He would cause a valve in the soldier’s heart to stop, and that would give the Vomag a heart attack. As he tried just that, he felt blocking psi-minds.

Klane snarled, and he charged the Vomag. It didn’t do any good. The soldier pressed a stud, and a beam hit Klane. His knees crumpled under him, and he slammed against the ground.

With his mind, he sought to see what the ray had done to his body. Quickly, using bodily chemicals, he counteracted the stun. He let himself go limp, however, and stayed prone on the ground.

Ten different voices sought to give him advice. It was too many memories of doing things many different ways. He needed time to sort the memories into categories. To have all these new thoughts—

A hover—a sky vehicle—grounded nearby. A dome opened and Kresh talons clawed against the walkway. Beside the alien ran a man in a white smock.

“Turn him over,” the Kresh said.

Klane decided to wait, to play out the drama.

The Vomag rolled him over, letting Klane witness the new Kresh. He believed this one was called Zama Dee. The human was Mentalist Niens. Klane didn’t know how he knew these things.

“He’s faking stun paralysis,” Niens said.

Klane sat up before one of his memories could warn him in time not to do that.

The Kresh glanced sharply at Niens. “This is the one who slew Chengal Ras?”

“Yes, Revered One,” Niens said. “It was astonishing—I mean horrible, horrible, vile sacrilege.”

The Kresh’s lips peeled back. “Are you the Anointed One?” Zama Dee hissed at Klane.

Klane recognized the name “Anointed One.” “Who is to say?” he responded.

“You lack the proper deference,” the Kresh told him.

Klane could feel the many psi-minds shielding the Kresh from him. He was still tired and weak from the original ordeal. His head hurt and so did his heart. The seeker was dead. The transfer had been made. Now he was trapped in the demon city.

Am I the Anointed One of legend?

Klane lowered his head, and he would have thrown a mind bolt. But the Vomag shot him a second time, with a higher stun setting.

Before he could counteract it, Klane slid unconscious onto the cold ground. He had tried, but they’d caught him nonetheless.