Chains of Mist (10 page)

Shaking his head, he stood. The world spun before his eyes.
Now
this
feeling I recognize. Definitely hit my head. The next few days are
not
going to be fun.

As he gathered his bearings, a raindrop splashed against his left arm. And it
hurt
.

Gasping, he clutched at the limb. What he saw made him forget the pain, stopping him dead in his tracks. Open slashes crisscrossed his forearm, oozing something green and viscous. As he watched, the wounds closed over and the ichorous discharge vanished, leaving not even a single scar.

Fires of Muntûrek…Could it have been…real?

Roger felt a cold knot of unease in his chest. This whole endeavor was quickly becoming far more bizarre and
real
than he had bargained for.
Whatever path I’m headed down, it’s a good bet that I’m gonna run into whatever that shadow thing was again—and next time, I doubt I’ll be lucky enough to get off so easy. That place it sent me to—that was a warning…and a damn effective one.

So now what?

Once again, Roger weighed his options. He could turn around right now and leave this whole business behind; he could get on his new ship and head for the other side of the galaxy. There were worlds he could go to that were beyond the reach or interest of both the Federation and the Coalition, where he could settle down and live…not in peace, maybe, but at least in
less
danger. He didn’t need his memories; at this point, surely he could be content with what he had, and not dwell on what he didn’t have. He could scrape out a life for himself and just forget this whole crazy business.

Sounds nice. Safe. But also…
boring
…

Let’s face it, if that was really the life I wanted I’d be a farmer right now on some remote rock near the Wilds. It’s not like there weren’t opportunities—I coulda played dead after the massacre at Athol’s Point, or when that explosion on Ellsain blew the city half to hell. No one woulda come looking—I coulda gotten out clean and free with no one any the wiser.

But I didn’t. Because that would be giving up. Abandoning the search that has driven me all these years, the only purpose that I have ever known. I’m not the kind of guy who could ever be happy by just…living. I need more. I need to know the truth about myself…and, like it or not, dangerous or not, this is the place I’m going to find it.

Whatever destiny Roger had stumbled upon, it was becoming increasingly clear that it was far larger and more dangerous than anything he had ever known. Even if he jumped onto the nearest ship and put a few thousand parsecs between himself and Pattagax, he had a feeling that his fate would still find him. After all, what were the odds that that shadow creature worried about such petty matters as interstellar distance when it tracked its prey?
Sooner or later, it or something like it would decide that Roger had to die, and if he fled without learning
why
all this was happening to him he might as well be a blind kalasa-hawk against his hunter.
Maybe if I cut off my finger and left that damned ring here on Pattagax I might be safe…but that’s a big if.

I came here for answers. Time to get some.

And he strode into the ruins.

* * * *

The body of the alien Fa’ix looked barely larger than a child’s, lying mangled and broken among the fire-scorched rubble. Her triangular head had collapsed in on itself like an overripe ara fruit, the prominent frontal bone a shattered ruin. Scales were sprinkled all around her like dead flowers, and puddles of blue liquid had welled up all along the alien’s pale skin. Her arms and legs, which before had been frail as sticks, had been reduced to bloody fragments of withered bone.

Gazing upon the tiny, broken creature, Roger felt a wave of sadness sweep over him. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of this ancient being, already bent and battered by the toll of time, making a final heroic stand against the behemoth of shadow. She must have known that she would lose, yet she had met her enemy in battle nonetheless. One couldn’t help but mourn the passing of anyone with that kind of bravery.
Roger knelt beside the fallen warrior, head bowed in somber silence.

A hiss of air rattled from shattered lungs, and one of Fa’ix’s large, tawny eyes cracked open. Upon seeing Roger, she gave a feeble cough that might have been a laugh. “Greetings again, Roger Warbanks,” she gasped. “I am glad…to see you here—” Her voice broke down, and she spat up blue blood, her entire body shaking from that tiny exertion.

Roger wasn’t sure what to say, and so he said nothing.
Hell, what words could possibly be adequate at a moment like this?

Fa’ix must have seen the sorrow in Roger’s eyes, for her mouth twitched in a painful smile. “Prophecy, Roger Warbanks…can act in strange ways… It gives…and takes…” Once again, her voice faded, and her ruined body shivered as her final breaths sighed out. “I pass the torch…of fate…to you…Roger Warbanks…I pass—” A violent spasm shook the alien, and her eyes opened wide with pain as she more blood dribbled through her cracked lips.

“Don’t talk,” said Roger. His words sounded callous and crude in his ears, but he could think of none better. “Just—rest.”

As if somehow freed by the sound of Roger’s voice, the alien’s coughing subsided, and she seemed to relax. A final whispering breath eased from shattered lungs.

Then her eyes slipped closed, and she died.

Frigid rain beat down, biting through Roger’s tough, well-worn spacer’s jacket. But he did not move, unable to tear his eyes away from the lifeless body beside him. Fa’ix looked surprisingly peaceful for a creature that must have died in agonizing pain, the stubs of her arms folded across her body like one of the ancient mummified rulers that Roger had seen in countless museums and temples across the galaxy. Her thin mouth was curled into the faintest hint of a contented smile.

A crackle of lightning split the rain, followed by a rippling peal of thunder. Roger, shuddering from something that had nothing to do with the weather, lowered the lifeless form to the ground. It seemed almost blasphemous for her final resting place to be an abandoned street, surrounded by nothing but shattered stones and piles of trash and other debris; surely such a warrior deserved a better funeral than this. But at the same time, something about it felt right, as if it shouldn’t be any other way.
A fighter laid to rest at the site of her final battle, surrounded by the markers of that struggle. This whole place is a memorial of what has happened, immortalizing forever what has transpired tonight.

Rest in peace.

Shaking rain from his hair, Roger stood and turned around.

And sensed that he was not alone.

* * * *

The presence Roger felt was benevolent, as day to the night of the shadow creature that had attacked him.
Good thing, too, ‘cuz it definitely caught me with my guard down. Stupid!
he berated himself. Benign or not, this arrival was still an unknown quantity, and Roger’s instincts took over. Like lightning, he flashed over to the single standing wall, pressing his back against it. Staying low, he brought the par-gun that he had drawn without conscious thought around in a wide arc, sweeping over the overlapping shadows.
Not that a gun will probably do me much good here, but old habits die hard, after all.
“Show yourself!”

The voice that came back was gentle and soothing, like a quiet stream flowing through a peaceful field. “Calm yourself, friend. Lower your weapon, and let us speak face to face, like civilized men.”

Yeah right, pal. Not on your life.
“I think I’ll keep my gun right where it is, thanks.”

There was a moment of silence. Then: “Very well.”

And a man emerged from the shadows.

The newcomer was aged and wizened, his sparse form wrapped in a brown traveler’s cloak. Iron-gray hair that reached to his shoulders framed his wrinkled face, and his skin was like weathered parchment. Eyes of silver regarded Roger with a kindly yet stern gaze, and Roger saw power in those eyes.
Power…but also weariness. Time’s taken its toll, that’s for sure.
Still, he would wager even money that the old man was still strong enough to take on E’turol D’mact’s whole organization by himself.

The old man spoke again, his gaze unblinking. “My name is Talan. You are wise to be cautious, friend. Evil hunts us, and it can take many guises. Rarely will our foes be as…overt…as they were tonight.”

Roger forced himself to fight through the calming power of the old man’s voice.
For all his fine talk and grandfatherly appearance, he’s still a wild card. You should never turn your back on someone with that much power.
“You knew her?” he asked, nodding at the body.

“As well as allowed,” replied Talan. “I wish it could have turned out otherwise; I wish that the Keeper here could have lived longer…there will come times when we will sorely need her counsel. Alas, our paths were only meant to cross briefly…and I was unable to save her from the creatures of the enemy.”

Roger shuddered at the memory. “Yeah, that thing looked like it could tear through a whole army without stopping to think about it.”

The silver eyes narrowed. “You…
saw
it?”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Roger said. “Worse, it saw me.”

“You must be mistaken,” said the old man, though Roger heard the hesitation in his voice and saw that he doubted his own words. “If it had seen you, it would have destroyed you.”

“Hey, I know what happened,” Roger shot back. “It jumped me, sent me to some weird tunnel of snakes and bones and moss, then I got attacked by something, woke up back here, and it was gone. You can believe me or not—I don’t really care. But that’s what happened.”

The old man considered this for a few moments. “Then you have just been the recipient of an extreme stroke of good fortune. I have never before heard of anyone surviving an encounter with that creature. I would suggest you do not squander this opportunity.”

“Oh, believe me, I don’t intend to,” Roger said. “So, uh—Talan, was it? Is there something I can help you with, or do you just like to watch people from the shadows?”

Talan raised his eyebrows, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “What do you think, Roger Warbanks?” he asked softly.

Roger found himself utterly unsurprised that Talan knew his name. At this point, he was beginning to wonder if
everyone
on Pattagax knew who he was. “I think you should start talking. The last time I was here, Fa’ix there was talking a whole lot about fate and destiny and ancient prophecies. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I’m starting to think she might’ve been on to something. And you look like the kind of guy who might know a thing or two about this. Since I can’t ask her, I guess that means you’re up. So, pal, what else can you tell me about this destiny of mine?”

Talan shook his head. “I am sorry, Roger Warbanks, but I cannot answer your questions now. Our time is short, and we must go at once.”

Immediately, Roger’s initial wariness returned in full force.
If he thinks that I’m gonna follow him like some blind kala dog, he’s got another thing coming.
“Keep talking, pal,” he said warningly. “Where are
you
going?” He laid extra emphasis on the word.
Not ‘we’—‘you’. My road is my own, and I travel alone.

“I have sensed an imminent burgeoning of power from the planet Espir, in the D’lai Sector,” said Talan. “I have felt a confrontation brewing in the planet’s depths, a convergence of powers whose outcome will be critical in determining the course of prophecy. You
must
be there, for it is here that your path will cross with another’s; your destiny is inextricably intertwined with his.”

Espir?
Roger felt like he should recognize the name for some reason, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what
.
“Never heard of it,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m not surprised. It is not part of the Federation, nor is it located along any major trade routes, which will make securing passage to it somewhat difficult. But I believe that we can—”

“Wait a moment—you don’t have a ship?”
Looks like I’ve finally found some leverage.
“That’s interesting.” And he purposefully left his statement unfinished.
Now,
I’m
the one giving vague answers—let’s see how he likes it.

But Talan seemed infuriatingly unperturbed. “I take it that you
do
have a ship?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a ship,” said Roger. “Well, at least I think I do. And here’s the way it’s gonna work. You go to Espir in whatever way seems best to you, and I take
my
ship and make my own path. Imminent burgeonings of power sound exactly like the kind of things I’d like to avoid.”

“You will not outrun your destiny, Roger Warbanks. But…that is not what you are doing, is it?” Talan’s eyes narrowed and light flared in his palm. Roger felt a sudden pressure on his temple. Images flashed before his eyes, moving so quickly that he could not distinguish them. He stood transfixed, held prisoner by the old man’s magic, and suddenly he realized that the images he saw were of his own life, working backwards from planet to planet. Anger swelled within him, but quickly faded. Instead, as his memories played back before his eyes, he felt suddenly very alone, remembering the despair and desperation that had marked his entire life. He saw the bounty hunters closing in on him in the rain of Melian II, and felt again the same terror he had felt that day, certain that his life was about to end, that he had finally run out of places to hide. He saw the space station Valkara, where he had gone after escaping the clutches of the Dark Star pirates, and the putrid stink of the sewers that he had been forced to live in for three days after they picked up his trail rose in his nostrils. He saw Denster and the mines of Nereen; Vellanite and Tertran and Vecral and many more. They jumbled together into a single, continuous montage, racing faster and faster and faster and then—