Red Queen (47 page)

I
believe
I saw a blue light extend from Kendor and Herme toward Syn. The light was both hot and cold, and it appeared to be made of a fabric more real than a chair or table. It was like a living light projected from the hearts and souls of men and women who cared for nothing but the well-being of mankind. Pure selflessness allowed so many minds to join together so powerfully, and it was a fact that although the source of the blue light was sacred, it was capable of destroying almost anything in its path.

But opposing it, halting the blue light like a wall of psychic bricks cemented across the center of the room, was an expanding red sphere. It was also more palpable than any physical object, and the larger it grew in size, the farther Syn appeared to move away from the blue light.

In a flash I realized this was the key to bafflement, and it was suddenly obvious why it was impenetrable. For Syn did not only escape into the distance, she entered another realm where there was no blue light, no Council, not even a world known as earth. If the real world was a reflection of witch world, then this sphere was the opposite of life. Yet there was a paradox here because it seemed as if the denizens of this dimension could only exist by feeding off the living. And there were creatures inside this world, besides Syn. They called to me.

I tried not to respond, but a wave of sheer agony shot through my mind and body, and it was as if every fiber in my nervous system and every feeling and thought in my mind was being singed by flames that had been burning since the beginning of time. The pain was so great I would have made a deal with the devil himself to make it stop.

That desire alone was enough.

It was like a secret wish, a special password, that allowed me to respond to the beings of the realm Syn coveted. Before I knew it, I was standing beside her inside the red sphere. But its shape and color had changed and taken on the form of a battlefield.

“DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?”
Syn asked, standing nearby, beside a tree that stood at the edge of a huge field where two armies were killing each other with a fury that only emerged during a last stand. The army on my left was Roman. I recognized the broad shields, the long spears, the iron helmets. On the right were the Huns, masters of their horses, and their bows and arrows. In the distance was the prize, the city of Rome.

What the fuck is going on?
I asked myself.

Did I have a body? I don't think so, not there, not then. I don't think physical bodies could exist inside the red sphere. I drew in no breaths, I did not feel my heart beat in my chest. Yet, it was a paradox, I had hands, I could see my hands. I was a spirit with shape. I was even clothed; I wore the same red robe as Syn.

“I'm not religious,” I said, answering her question. “But I believe in God.”

Syn quietly mocked me. “If that's true, you should be able to answer the question all atheists ask. If there's a God, why did he create so much suffering?”

“I don't know. Maybe to—”

“Stop,” Syn interrupted. “You have said the only thing that matters. Add one word to ‘I don't know' and you'll be babbling. You can't know because there's no answer to that question. No reasonable god would create suffering. Therefore, there can be no God. Do you understand?”

It seemed important to her that I immediately relinquish my faith, before she proceeded to the next step. “I don't know,” I repeated. “Your reasoning seems no more valid than that of those who believe in God.”

“Come on, Jessica, you don't believe that.”

“Why does my belief matter to you?”

She nodded to the nearby tree. “Because of what's about to happen. You won't be able to experience it if you allow your human beliefs to get in the way.”

Suddenly a Hun on horseback raced around the tree and halted his horse in midstride and took aim with his bow. He did not appear to see us. His target was three Roman soldiers racing toward the tree. The Hun let fly an arrow, dropping the soldier on the left. Another arrow killed the man on the right.

But the Hun couldn't take down the soldier in the middle.
This soldier knew how to use his shield and run at the same time. He was skilled with his sword as well. As he closed on his prey, the Hun drew his own blade and tried to run the Roman soldier down. The Roman didn't try to dodge his opponent by leaping away from the horse. He did the opposite—he leaped directly into the side of the animal, with the side of his body, as if to tackle it. The move was risky but it brought him inside the swing of the Hun's sword. As a result the Roman soldier was able to stab the Hun cleanly in the chest.

The Hun fell to the ground, dead.

The Roman allowed himself a moment to cheer.

Unfortunately, the brief ceremony distracted him from another Hun who had come up at his back. This Hun was on his feet and carried a javelin. At the last second the Roman heard him, but it was already too late. The Hun had let fly the javelin, and it caught the Roman in the abdomen, pinning him to the trunk of the tree.

“Robere,” I heard Syn whisper, and the scene suddenly changed. It was late in the evening, the armies were gone, and a lone woman clothed in a gray robe was weeping as she gripped the end of a bloody javelin and pulled it free of the tree and the man's body. As he toppled into the woman's arms, I saw that it was Syn from sixteen hundred years ago. She sobbed as she dropped to her knees and held her only son in her arms.

Syn pointed to her earlier incarnation. “Do you believe in God?” she asked again.

“Why should what happened to you change my beliefs?”

“Touch her.”

“Why?”

“Touch her or the pain will return. You know the pain, don't you, Jessica?”

She had me. I would never forget that pain.

I touched the woman with what I assumed were spirit hands and was immediately engulfed in her sorrow. It was total, capable of shattering my soul, equal in every way to the pain that Syn had just threatened me with. More than anything I wanted it to stop. I went to take my hand away.

“Stop!” Syn commanded before I could let go.

Tears rolled over my face. “Please. I can't bear it.”

“Because you have forgotten the lesson you learned in the sewer. Pain, pleasure, power. The three ingredients that create the triangle that forms the circle that manifests the red sphere.” She paused. “Should I recite it for you?”

“Yes! If you'll let me take my hand away when you're done!”

Syn spoke in a solemn tone. “Pain becomes a pleasure when power creates pain.” She paused. “Do you understand?”

I did not understand, not with my mind, but the instant she recited the words, the pain flowing up my arm and into my heart turned to pleasure. It was remarkable. It was as if every nerve in my body were bathed in ecstasy. Now the last thing I wanted to do was to remove my hand. Syn nodded as if reading my mind.

“I didn't discover the reality of this world the day I went
searching for my son's body,” she said. “I didn't even learn of it when the Justinian plague struck Sicily and took away my family. So much agony and still I could not see what was right in front of me. It was only when Herme had left for the colonies—and was dead, I thought—that I understood the purpose of suffering.”

“That's when the Alchemist came to you,” I said.

Syn appeared annoyed that I knew of the man, that Kendor had shared such a secret with me. She spoke quickly. “I was ripe for the truth. I would have discovered it on my own. He merely pointed me in the right direction.”

“In the direction of hell, where demons feed on the pain of others?” I asked.

“Phrase it that way if you wish. Or call them gods who are capable of transforming the greatest evil into the greatest good.”

“Pleasure?” I asked.

“Pleasure. Ecstasy. Bliss. Different words for the same goal.” Syn paused. “Remove your hand from my younger self.”

I hesitated. “Why?”

Syn chuckled. “The believer in God asks why? Did you know that the atheist who has realized that the only salvation in life is pleasure usually asks why not? Why shouldn't your pain be used to generate joy?”

“Because you create it at another's expense,” I replied.

“Then remove your hand. The longer you touch her, the greater her pain will last.”

“That's a lie. Your son died sixteen centuries ago. This is just a play. We can't change the past.”

Syn grew more serious. “Maybe it can't be changed, no one knows. But I do know I saw you right after I found Robere. You stood above me as you stand now. I thought you were a demon, come to mock me in my grief.” She paused. “Remove your hand from my shoulder. Stop the pleasure from entering your heart.”

With a tremendous act of will, I managed to withdraw my hand. The pleasure stopped. Not even the satisfaction of letting the old Syn go prevented the loss from crashing down on me. I felt buried beneath a mountain of blandness, where there was neither pleasure nor pain, only emptiness. It was amazing how dreadful it was. That quick, I feared I was already addicted to the pleasure.

“I did it,” I taunted her. “It wasn't so hard.”

“That's because you've just begun.”

I should have known what was to follow.

Suddenly we were in Sicily with the Syn and Kendor of that time, who were attending to their daughter, Era, a grown woman with two children, Anna and Theo, all of whom were sick with the bubonic plague. Anna was the sickest of the three, and Syn stayed with her night and day in both worlds.

It helped their offspring that Syn and Kendor had healing abilities, but the disease possessed the power of a demon's curse. It was too virulent for any form of psychic healing. Over a
week—which I experienced as compressed moments—Anna's face and throat swelled a terrible black-blue as the bubonic bacteria multiplied in her veins. Every breath was a nightmare. As the girl neared death, Syn insisted I touch her, and the weary Syn of that time. I protested, but she grabbed my hands and placed them where she wanted.

The emotional grief, the physical pain, it was all a horrible blur. I couldn't stand it. Indeed, I refused to take it, and although I knew I was once again falling for Syn's seduction, I repeated the line from the litany in my mind:
Pain becomes a pleasure when power creates pain.

Instantly the pain stopped as a tidal wave of pleasure rocked me to the core. The euphoria was like a gift. Yes, I thought, that was exactly what it was. A gift from the denizens of the red realm.

“Naturally they reward those who reward them,” Syn whispered in my ear, in Anna's room, as the girl began to choke and ancient Syn wept. “All you have to do is bring them suffering, yours or another's, and the pleasure will be there. Not only that, but they'll grant you great power.”

“Why?” I asked.

“So you'll have the ability to create more pain.”

Her remark explained the last line of the litany, the one I had been reciting.

“That's how you discovered bafflement. During World War Two,” I said. “It was given to you because you helped the Nazis.”

“You strike near the truth. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. But you forget how much the Americans contributed with their firebombing of millions of Japanese, and the final two blows that gave me full access to this realm, the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In those two instants I felt a thrill you cannot imagine.” Syn seemed to lean closer, although she was already on top of me. “From my perspective, it was the most God-fearing nation on earth that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that there can be no God.”

“The afterimage of those thrills never left you,” I said. “Hiroshima and Nagasaki got burned into your soul. You're forever trying to re-create them.”

“So I am. So what?” Syn mocked me. “If you don't approve, then release Anna and let her die. Oh, wait, I see you hesitate. Are you afraid your pleasure might stop?”

It was harder this time to let go. Syn's grief was greater than before, and as a result, so was the pleasure the inhabitants of the red realm were bestowing on me. It seemed perverse to drink nectar because the person beside me was sweating blood. Yet so it was. Anna was dying in her grandmother's hands, and Syn's daughter, Era, and her grandson, Theo, were coughing in the next room. The Syn of my vision knew it was only a matter of time before she lost all her offspring. Yet her pain only magnified my delight. It was as if every cell in my body were having an orgasm.

Somehow, though, I managed to let go. The sight of Syn's
agony gave me the strength. I was too disgusted with myself to hold on.

I expected red-robed Syn to react with anger.

She only laughed. It was like she knew she had me.

Syn took me forward in time to the Syn of the eighteenth century, to the days when she ran every morning to the letter box to see if there was a message from Herme from the New World. But Herme never wrote, and every day she read in the papers how the war between England and the colonies was causing more casualties. She knew in her heart her son must be one of them.

Red-robed Syn forced me to fix on a vision of her younger self as she knelt, weeping, beside the empty letter box. Once more, with the pain came the pleasure, because I instinctively redirected her suffering toward those who inhabited the red realm. It was as if I offered it to them, like a sacrifice.

In my vision I saw a tall man with a long white beard appear beside the weeping Syn. He looked like a wizard and I didn't have to be told that I was gazing at the infamous Alchemist. So he was alive during those days, even though Kendor swore he had killed him more than two thousand years earlier.

This time Syn pulled my hands away.

The pleasure ceased. The vision faded.

“You're not ready to know what he taught me,” Syn said.