The Return of Kavin (15 page)

“Have these rebels come so far, then?” Gwynna asked. “Surely they can never reach the Imperial City, can they?”

“Quite impossible,” Izzanash said. “The Imperial forces are advancing against them daily. And a great fleet is fitting out, even now. Lord Barazan would have taken great joy in those fine ships.” He sighed.

“Then we are agreed on the whole matter,” Gwynna said, and rose. She gave him a final melting look. “I am sure all will be well, in your hands, my lord.”

Descending to the street level, she entered the litter in which she had come; the bearers picked up the shafts and trotted away toward the palace of the late Lord Barazan.
Gwynna, her hand cupping her chin, sat, thinking hard.

There was no way to tell when Thuramon and the others would arrive… if they could reach the city at all, she reflected. She knew much more than she had allowed Izzanash to guess; more than he did himself, probably.
Half the Empire was now in the hands of various rebel forces; all of the southern coasts of Quenda.

All the sea between Mazain and the other coast was a hunting ground now; ships of the Empire and rebels contending, and pirates roving freely to seize such merchants as dared to venture through. It might be difficult to find passage to the city… and difficult for foreigners to enter.

But the magician Thuramon had
promised,
Gwynna thought. Promised the one thing she desired above all else, when he had completed the secret work he intended, to give Gwynna back the homeland she had cast away.

She stared through the curtains of the litter, as the bearers thrust their way through the crowded streets; her red mouth curved in a wry, bitter smile. Thuramon and his party would never come, she thought; and if they did, they would not succeed. Thuramon’s promise meant nothing; it was beyond any magic to give back the years that had passed, to change what the Weavers had knotted into the web of time. Not even the gods could do that, she thought.

But… if they came… she would help them. Why not, Gwynna thought. Both of those men were young, strong, and… her red tongue darted out suddenly and moistened her lips. Which would I choose
,
if I chose at all? The strong one, with the skin like jet… he would be a lover to remember, that one. Or the clever one, with the wise hands and the way of looking at a woman that…

The stench of the city drifted through the curtains, and she wrinkled her nose. No, she thought. I chose this, all of it, Mazain and its crowds and smells, the court and the fawning lords, and that madman, the Emperor. She thought of Sharamash and shuddered, slightly, remembering that she was to appear soon at the court, to present herself formally upon her new status.

Ess, in the place where he was, stirred.
Thoughts moved in his mind…
an awareness
came to him, and memory images shifted in that unhuman brain.

The biped that was called Kavin.
He had other names, Ess thought, and other lives. Odd, that these bipeds should be so unpredictable, so dangerously clever. This one, the Kavin, was linked to Ess by a strange bond forged when Ess had been hurled out of space and time in a spasm of pain… by the Kavin thing’s act. The link remained; even in the place where he was now, Ess was aware of Kavin.

The biped lived, impossibly, though the life span of his kind was usually much shorter. Lived, and moved… toward the Gate, the Gate that Ess had caused to be built, with so much effort, the Gate which would release him.

The mind of Ess reached out, searching, desperately, feeling into that darkness that was more than darkness… there were biped minds to be reached, here and there. Few were right for his use; such a mind must be bent, twisted out of the normal shape, before he could send a touch into it. There were madmen who could feel his questing touch, and who shrieked at it; and here and there one whose mind was poisoned by disease or a drug… but these were men who were often ready to die, or otherwise useless. He needed another mind that belonged to one who held some power, as the Emperor’s did.

And he found it.
A mind that glowed with deep scarlet fire, asleep… as he wished it to be.
Ess touched that mind, and held it, sending visions.

My name is…
Gann.

Cold, bitter cold, and the memory of his name; the mind had slept for a very long time, but now it woke, very slowly. The dreams that Ess created floated in the mind of Gann, dreams that were partly memory of real events, and partly the distorted images that were bent to the advantage of the thing called Ess.

The body of Gann still slept, but now it was aware of a little of the world around it; the cold, most of air. It could not awaken completely; the body was too badly damaged to bear the currents of life, as yet. But Gann dreamed, now, and thoughts moved in the mind that had been so long frozen into stasis.

Ess saw, as no human mind or eye could ever see; he regarded Gann’s brain, and touched certain parts of it, delicately. There were cells, frozen… and they warmed, and lived again. Control was established; repair began.

To Ess, the mechanisms of simple creatures of this world and time were no puzzle; they could be manipulated quite easily, under the right circumstances. This one, Gann, was a somewhat special case, but without real difficulties.

The body had been placed in deep sleep and intense cold, just after the infliction of the injuries that had “killed” it. The part that was its true identity was gone, of course, as Ess knew only too well; but there was quite enough left. Under the direction of Ess’s mind, cell after cell grew into place; the ancient wound healed. And the part-mind dreamed slow scarlet dreams.

I am Gann.

I will NOT die.

“All men must die, Noble Gann,” the priest said in the scarlet-tinted dream.

He stood at a window, staring out over a milky sea of fog that lay below. Out of the mist, the towers of the city thrust up, like the arrogant spears of a hidden army, their tips glittering in the sun. In the distance, a great ship drifted across the sky, a mere dot of light at this distance.

“Mystical nonsense,” Gann
said,
his back to the priest.

“In former ages, Noble One, it was only a hope and a belief,” the priest said quietly. “For a thousand years, men thought that the soul lived again, through life after life, as the Mysteries taught. But now, we
know
that it does, as the men of science have shown us. Yet, to live again, a man must suffer death. Only thus may he continue to ascend the long stairway…

“Ascend?” Gann turned and stared at the priest. “For me, ascend? I have done so, priest.
In this life, not another.
I have turned away from pleasure; I’ve eaten bitterness, toiled like a slave…” His voice grew harsher. “I have betrayed friends and caused good men to die… but I build something that will stand, and now that I have come to a time when I may taste life, it is to be taken away from me. I will die, and be reborn a slave, a peasant, with none of the knowledge I bought at such a price… no. No! I will not die, priest.”

“There is no cure for the disease you have, Noble One,” the priest said. “The surgeons have said it.”

“Then they shall work till they have a cure,” Gann said. “And I shall wait, till then.”

“Noble One, it may not be,” the priest said.

Gann stared at the robed man, and the priest grew pale, but did not move.

“I know what your order teaches,” Gann said at last. “At the moment of death, my… soul, as you call it… flies free, to seek rebirth. Even though I command that my body be instantly plunged into the cold, to be preserved thus till the men of science discover how I may be cured… yet, according to you, I will already have entered the darkness, possibly already reborn. Your order says that this is true.” Gann’s eyes, fever-bright, held the priest’s. “We have already proved it a lie.”

“The subjects that your men of science have placed in the great cold have returned,” the priest said.
“To a seeming life.
But not completely.”

“Not completely?” Gann said, and laughed. “Five, so far… and each man walks, speaks, and is alive as he was.”

“No,” the priest said, stubbornly. “In each of those five, the true self fled into the darkness and seeks rebirth. We have the means of reaching such, as you know. What remains is only a part. And this is the true evil, Noble One…” His voice grew earnest. “A man should not be thus divided, a part in the world of the living and another in the darkness. Always, the divided parts will seek reunion… and think. Should the soul of such a man find rebirth, while another body still lives, what then? Listen, Noble One. Love and hate are closely allied, desire and repulsion, destruction and creation. In those two bodies with but a single soul, the forces of the universal power will cause a dreadful desire and a great hate. They will seek each other…”

“Babbling mysticism,” Gann said.
“Without proof.
And without logic, even in your own terms, priest.
Look you, if there were two of me, on the day I wake from the cold, one would be a child.” His eyes were grim. “And I would be as I am now. Need I fear a child?”

“How long will that cold sleep be?” the priest countered.

“Priest, we have learned this much in half a dozen generations,” Gann told him.
“All this.”
He thrust out an arm toward the mist-shrouded city. “We can tap the power of the sun. We can go out into that blackness to walk on other worlds… we can create, as man has never done before…”

“And destroy, too,” the priest said.

“Yes, and destroy,” Gann said. “We have no enemies any longer, have we? Priest, if my doctors have not learned the secret of this thing that destroys me, within a decade or two… ah, but they will. They must!” He turned to stare out the window again. “And then, I shall wake… and complete my work.”

The priest silently stared at his back for a moment. “Noble One, my order has charged me to tell you this,” the priest said, at last. “When we learned of this plan, we sought by means of our Art to discover its consequences. Listen. The great state you have built will not remain for the lifetime of a man. It will go down in fire and destruction, and the whole earth shall be laid waste for a thousand generations. The few men who live shall live as beasts, unremembering.”

Gann whirled and stared at the priest; then, harshly, he laughed.

“Prophecies of doom again?
I’ve heard this before,” he said. “What enemies have we to make this come about?”

“The enemy is here already,” the priest said. “All that is built by force contains the seed of death.”

“So your croakers have said, many times,” Gann said. “But we acted as we had to act. Should we have meekly surrendered to those others? You and those like you would have died under their knives long ago if we had not struck back… or been slaving under their whips, more likely. Now that their cities are ashes, you find it easy to preach, don’t you?”

“But we never said that we feared death, Noble One.”

Gann chuckled, and suddenly put a hand to his side, with a choked sound of pain.

“True,” he said. “And I do fear it, do I not?”

“There is a greater evil to fear,” the priest said. “I must tell you this. Your body will lie, sleeping and soulless, till a time generations from now. It will be taken to another world, for this one will be as I have told you, a desert and a wilderness. And in that world, your soul will already have found rebirth, while your body sleeps on.”

“I think these are lies, priest,” Gann said. “But go on. You amuse me, and I need amusement badly, now.”

“There are many worlds, folded one upon another,” the priest said.
“As your men of science already suspect.
In some, like this one, the gods are dead… as you would say it. In others, they live. In that one to which your sleeping body goes, the Great Goddess has decreed that man shall walk a different road…”

“We must have all the mystical claptrap revived then?” Gann asked, grinning ironically.
“That primitive Goddess as well?”

“I must tell you what I am charged to tell you,” the priest said. “It is not necessary that you believe me.”

“I do not.”

“Then let me say the rest,” the priest said. “In that newer world, you shall sleep; but those that brought you there will attempt to build, as you have built. They will seek aid from the End of Time itself, and call evil into that world. And in time, you may awaken and face your own soul in a new body. And this is the worst doom any man may have, Noble One.” The priest stared at him. “This is the time of your choosing, Gann, called Master of the World. If you choose to accept death, you will surrender wisdom and power, and gain much more than that. But if you take the other path, evil and dread will be your end.”

The words seemed to echo, oddly. The room was dimmer, and the priest’s face seemed obscure.

The dream shifted and
moved,
voices and images entangled.

Cold, cold…

“…
the
stasis. At least as successful as the others…” a voice, very distant, was saying. “According to the instruments, the life force remains…”
And swirling darkness again.

Scarlet spots of light, glowing against blackness.
Eyes.

“If we only dared awaken him,” a voice said. “He knew every phase of their science. He could teach us enough to finish this work in days, instead of months and years…”

“He would die,” another voice said.
“Almost as soon as the cold ceased.
At least we can reach his memories now, a little… enough to help. Ess will not heal him, because of the other…”

“So Ess tells us,” the first voice said. “It may be a lie. The idea is madness. That another lives…”

“In this primitive world, the other would be only a barbarian, without any weapon we need fear,” the second voice said. “But we cannot force Ess to do anything he doesn’t wish to do, can we?”

Darkness… and the scarlet eyes.

And then, for a brief, blinding moment… a face.
His own
face, younger, and somehow different… staring down at him with a look of amazement. There was a queer, terrific sense of drawing, a pull… and then it ceased. The face had vanished.