Chains of Mist (42 page)

They burst out onto the open field. Free—safe. The cool night breeze was a salve to his parched skin and scorched longs, and he gasped in deep breaths of the clear, sweet air. Fresh energy surged through his muscles, and after he had caught his breath he ran for several more minutes, carrying them far away from the conflagration. Katrina still struggled in his arms, but only weakly, as her anger subsided into weary sadness. She was crying openly, her entire body shaking with her sobs. When Austin finally stopped, he tried to gently put her down, but she clung to him, small hands forming a viselike grip that he did not try or want to break.

Austin sat there, holding her in his arms, until finally she cried herself to sleep. He stayed awake, the whole night, and watched the fires slowly burn themselves out.

-20-

Roger existed in a daze. Time spun by, but it had no meaning for him. Nothing did anymore; it had slipped through his fingers like the water of dreams. Everything had been taken from him, and he was alone once more, like that moment five years ago when he had awoken with no memories.
No
, he realized bitterly,
the only thing taken from me was the veil hiding my eyes from the truth.

The truth: that I was
always
alone.

His entire world, his entire existence, which had allowed him to survive and endure these last five years, had been built on one central foundation.

A foundation which was a
lie.

Some part of me always knew that my memories had been
taken
, not lost. And that part was what kept me going through all the misery.
That part was fueled by revenge. On finding whoever took my past and making them suffer. Turns out, all I ever needed to do to find that person was look in the mirror.

All this time, it was me.

Five years of searching, fueled by righteous rage—gone, just like that. Cut through by a single stroke of a blade.

The scene replayed in his head in an endless loop of despair.

“You will not kill an unarmed man,” said the man about to die. “You’re better than that—I
know
you are. Don’t do this.”

And the cold reply: “If you will not fight me, then you will die.”

The blade rises, then suddenly falls—

“Good-bye, my friend.”

Around him, Roger heard voices, a low hum of camaraderie, of brotherhood.
That was me, once. That was my life. And I destroyed it. Willingly…

I brought this upon myself. It was me, not them. Me.

Roger forced himself to face the truth. To accept the punishment…the punishment that he had deserved.

“Don’t do this.”

“If you will not fight me, then you will die.”

A single strike, and the body falls to the ground.

“Good-bye, my friend.”

It was inescapable. He had wanted the truth, lived for the truth, been prepared to die for the truth. Now he had it.

And it was a curse.

“Why, Talan?” he whispered brokenly. “Why did you tell me?”

Five years of torment, five years of emptiness and despair, and I lived them with one hope, one dream, burning brightly against the darkness. Through it all, there was nothing else. Not because that was all I needed…but because it was all I had. The rest had been taken from me. And now that too is gone. Leaving…what?

Nothing.

Only more emptiness. Only more despair.

And the torment is worse now than it ever was before.

Roger lay there, the galaxy spinning on around him, while his world disintegrated.

* * * *

A sound broke into Roger’s torpor. It was sharp and insistent, and he wondered idly what it was.
A break in the fabric of the universe, perhaps
.

The sound came again, louder this time. Roger ignored it. One of the red-garbed members of the Blood Legion moved into his field of vision. The individual was a Valancian, a full meter taller than Roger, his scales a dark shade of purple. “The wizard has requested your presence,” the snake-headed alien said, the deep voice muffled through his breathing mask.

Roger’s brain sluggishly connected ‘wizard’ with ‘Talan.’
Sorry, pal—not interested.
He had glanced over when the Valancian entered, but now he turned his gaze back to the white nothingness of the ceiling.
Go away.

The Valancian gave a low hiss, a sign that the hulking serpentine being would turn hostile if Roger continued to disobey. “The wizard has requested your presence…
now
.”

Roger sighed.
Well, looks like this problem ain’t gonna go away. Might as well get it over with now—what the hell do I care?
“All right, all right,” he mumbled, getting slowly to his feet. “No need to get your scales mussed up over it.”

Facing the Valancian, Roger straightened to his full height…which meant his chin was level with the huge alien’s waist. The Valancian looked down at him, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat,
exile
? Is killing one of us not enough for you? How many of us must lie bleeding at your feet before you are satisfied?”

Roger heard the words in all their biting fury. There had been a time, mere days, mere
hours
ago, when he would have reacted in kind, and his taunter would quickly find himself in a world of suffering. But now he felt no anger, merely a new twist of pain. The Valancian only spoke the truth; it was a reproach that Roger had earned. He bowed his head slightly, surrendering beneath the force of the Valancian’s anger.

Roger followed the Valancian into the main hold, past more of the Blood Legion. They cast him looks ranging from disgust to open anger. The man whom Roger had struck, his cheek split with a thin line of dried blood, half-stood, but one of the others restrained him, whispering something in his ear. Roger couldn’t hear the words, but he could imagine what they were: “
He’s not worth it.
” Another indictment that once would have evoked instant retaliation, Roger now absorbed without flinching.
Say your worst,
he thought dully.
I deserve it all.

He walked on, through the main hold. The door to Talan’s cabin stood ajar, and Roger pushed it open. The old man stood facing the view of the mountain through the window. It was early morning outside, the faint sunlight soft as it kissed the world below.

Talan turned as Roger entered. “Greetings, Roger Warbanks,” he said.

Roger did not look at Talan. Moving mechanically, he found a chair and sat down. Only then did he speak. “Back on Pattagax, you told me you didn’t know why the Blood Legion erased my memories. But it was a lie. It was all a lie. You knew—you knew the truth all along.”

It wasn’t an accusation, not really. There wasn’t enough emotion left in Roger for that. No anger, no grief. It was just a statement, flat and empty.

“No.” Talan’s reply was a whisper of broken sorrow. “I did not lie to you, Roger. If I had known, or even suspected, I would have told you. I would not have kept such a thing from you for even a single moment. Please believe me—I did not know.”

Roger heard the truth in the old man’s voice. The knowledge Talan had not betrayed him neither comforted nor angered him. It washed over him and receded with no effect. “Then how?”

“The Legion,” replied Talan. “After they…subdued you…they took me before their Admiralty Council. There they showed me a memory. It was
your
memory, Roger, but yet not yours. They pulled it from your mind at your trial, and have stored it in their records these past five years. I did not know the truth until I saw it with my own eyes. I could not have. The memory was no longer within your mind; it was no longer yours to give.”

Roger nodded dully. The word ‘trial’ echoed in his ears, sending the grim reality of the truth crashing home once again.
It was my fault. My crime—my punishment. And a just punishment, too.
“Why didn’t they kill me? I don’t mean back then—I mean when we first got to Espir. They stunned me and dumped me in the forest, but they could have easily killed me.
Should
have, even. But they didn’t. Why?”

“I cannot answer that,” replied Talan. “I hope that it is because the Legion feels that they have punished you enough. Or perhaps it was some kind of trial, to test your strength and fortitude in preparation for the events to come.” The old man paused, and the sorrow came back into his voice. “But it could be that I am wrong. Perhaps they wished merely to prolong your suffering. Perhaps this is part of their punishment to you, that you live on in torment unending. I do not know.”

Roger had no reply to that. Talan’s final words bit into his soul, and he knew in his heart that they were true.

Talan walked over and placed a hand on Roger’s arm. “I am sorry, Roger. Truly, truly sorry. If I could take back what I did, I would. I should have been more patient, instead of forcing such a terrible memory into a raw emotional wound.”

Roger shook off the old man’s grasp. “Yeah, well, what’s done is done,” he said. “Too late to take it back now.”

Talan was silent for a moment. “It is not too late,” he said quietly. “If you wish it, I can block the memory from you once again—”

“You can’t just solve a problem by pretending it never happened.” Roger’s voice was sharp but still without anger. “The fact is, it
did
happen, you
did
tell me—and no one’s gonna mess with my memory again, for any reason. You got that?”

Talan nodded. “Of course, Roger.”

“Good.” Roger settled back in his chair, his gaze drifting towards the soaring majesty of Nembane Mountain looming in the window. “Now, you called me here for a reason, so just say your piece and be done with it.”

Talan seemed taken aback, perhaps by the bluntness of Roger’s words or by the absolute indifference with which he spoke. “Certainly, Roger. I wished to speak with you because it is important that you know what is going to happen next.”

Roger barely heard Talan; the old man’s voice was like the rustling of the winds in his ears. “So talk,” he said. “And maybe I’ll listen.”

If Talan showed any reaction to this, Roger didn’t see it. But a definite pained note came into the old man’s voice. “You already know the essentials. Beneath Nembane Mountain are tunnels, and then finally a cavern. It is here that we must go. Others have already been drawn there—our enemy, the Heir, and four others whose identities I do not know and whose faces I cannot see. But those four are ultimately inconsequential. Our enemy has plans for the Heir—he will harness the latent energies of Espir for a ritual of ancient and devastating power. A ritual that he believes will disrupt the webs of prophecy and assure his victory.”

As Talan spoke, Roger wondered idly what would happen if someone ejected out of a ship that was traveling in u-space. Would they immediately fall back into realspace, or would they stay in u-space, continuing on for eternity, out beyond the farthest stars? He was sure that the scientists had an answer for that question. It was something he had never considered before, but right now it seemed a tempting proposition. The idea of just disconnecting from everything, and drifting onwards…forever…

“Roger, are you listening?” Talan raised his voice ever so slightly. “This is important.”

With an effort, Roger dragged his attention back to the old man. “Yeah, sure, I heard you. We go in, break up the ritual, and send this enemy back to the fires of Muntûrek. Terrific plan.”

Talan sighed, and his head drooped. “Ah, were that it were so simple. Were that we could simply end this all, right now, and prevent the war that will soon sweep through the galaxy and kill billions. Alas, it is not. If I could do that—if I could kill our enemy on Espir—I would do it in a heartbeat…but I cannot. The ritual cannot be stopped; the enemy cannot be killed.”

He sounded so sad, so tired, that for a moment a tattered remnant of empathy stirred within Roger, struggling to emerge. But its effort fell short; the malaise in Roger’s soul was too thick, too vast. “Then why bother?” he asked. “Seems like a waste of time.”

Talan looked up at Roger. “Because we
must
,” he said, his voice still soft but suddenly burning with fierce intensity. “Because
nothing
is a waste of time. The reasons are not always clear at first—sometimes they
never
become clear—but everything that everyone does is important. Especially for those few who have been chosen to shape the course of galaxies. Me. The Heir. But most importantly,
you
.
You
must be there for this confrontation; it is
your
presence that is essential.”

Roger was not surprised in the slightest.
All I ever wanted was to make my own path, but it looks like my lot in life is to be the scapegoat in everyone’s cosmic game.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “And why exactly is that?”

Talan paused, then said, “Unfortunately, I’m not sure.”

Even better.
“Even better.”

The tiniest hint of a smile turned at the old man’s lips. “I wish I could tell you more, Roger, but unfortunately prophecies are by nature vague. This particular prophecy is thus: ‘At the heart of G’Char, the Scions will meet. And from that moment, one will begin to lose himself, and the other will begin to find himself.’ It says nothing about
how
…but it is clear that it refers to the approaching confrontation.”