The Vanity of Hope Page 8

  Progeny passed Tilas without slowing and the planet almost immediately turned black as Decay swooped on the defenseless sphere.

  Reuzk licked the burn off his lips and stared at the black dot and contemplated the terrible fate of the three billion Tilasians rebranded for genetic inquiry. What had befallen his hill tribes and the gentle monks of Rilla tucked away in their mountain monastery they’d sworn to protect?

  “Do you blame the Federation for bringing Decay to Tilas and the subsequent ruination?” Lauzen said.

  “Decay would’ve come for us one day.” What use were the hangars across the tarmac below against such an implacable foe? “Why unplug me on Heyre, pump me full of the Federation’s longevity technologies, and make me your military leader if I can’t win?” He rose from his seat. “Do you live above the Base because you have no faith in the Federation technology below?”

  “For the first time, we have allies and with your army we can save our lineage. Look outside. As beautiful as Nu’hieté is, thirty-seven million Colarians live in a hole in the ground because they have nowhere left to run. If we don’t take a stand and end this war that has cost countless billions of lives and left too many planets in ruin, then every life-supporting planet in the galaxy will fall.”

  “The end of all we are.” Reuzk turned from the harsh light as the tint line lifted. “You think the psychoSphere holds the key to defeating Decay, but I do not have the luxury of placing my faith in the untested and unseen.”

  Progeny passed Heyre and faded away as Gukre grew to fill the lightMatrix.

  “General Reuzk, do you think it purely coincidental you were on Gukre when the pirate ship appeared, or the fact Jbir’s ship had a point of arrival? The Négus is beyond your imagining.”

  “Is that the name of the swamp creature? Even Amie has no record of the footprints.”

  “As a precaution, such matters have been kept from her. All our previous AIs have ended up corrupted. We cannot afford that to happen again. There are no second chances after Heyre.”

  “You think knowledge of the Négus is too important to trust her with?”

  “She deals with data—through logic and algorithms. The Négus is a lord of the psychoSphere and does not lend itself to rational calculation. Amie has everything she needs to carry out her purpose to an unbelievable accuracy, and nothing more.” Lauzen laid his pipe on the table and moved into the rainbow reflected on the rug from a hanging crystal. “The Négus has a very specific plan in mind. The alien it has brought to Gukre must be special in a way that we are not.”

  “That’s why I want to search the monastery.”

  “No. Retrieve the pirate ship after winter. Find out all you can from what’s inside—fight paths, crew recordings—and other things.”

  “That’s wasting time.”

  “Not when you’ve been waiting for as long as I have.”

  “We must act now.”

  “The Négus protects the alien. Despite your talents, you cannot possibly out-think, out-maneuver, or in any way interfere with its plan. Tell me, general, what happened to the Vipers you sent into the Great Forest after the Négus, which was burdened down with a Federation bioPod?”

  “The soldiers came up empty.”

  “What happened, exactly?”

  “You must be very familiar with the whole operation.”

  “Your Vipr, general?”

  “The Vipr vanished from my channel. I ordered the Viper team to divert to the last known location, but by the time the team got there the Vipr’s skull and spine had been ripped from its body.”

  “The Négus rendered the Vipr inert and unable to communicate with you and skinned it.”

  He avoided Lauzen’s mocking gaze.

  “Amie tells me this Vipr was incorporated with the Federation’s latest anti-penetration technologies and possessed an ambient cloaking field that mimicked the surrounding environment to such an extent it would be totally invisible to us. Now that makes me very curious, and I hope that you are, too, general. What would a creature that can evade our systems want with a Vipr skin?”

  “I can only think it was to hide the bioPod from the Citadel.”

  “Eight Vipers went into the forest and the Négus escaped unharmed, but not unsupplied. General Reuzk, we have an invaluable ally and Decay has a worthy foe. Tread carefully.”

  Reuzk sipped on his Still and gestured towards the crater. “You live apart from us. You talk as someone who’s outside the Federation and have a deep knowledge of the earliest days on Colaris.”

  “Only what I’ve been told… nothing original.”

  “You ambassadors are all the same. Your Real is hiding away on Progeny somewhere beyond the moon of Trinae and I’m left to deal with is a Persona.” Lauzen’s youthful face didn’t balance with his knowledge of ancient matters. “Who are you?”

  “Who am I, truly? Well, I’m not hiding away on Progeny. Quite the opposite.”

  Lauzen turned cold, unsmiling, and a dark menace shaded his benign face. “Play time is over, General Reuzk. The war that is upon us will take no prisoners. The end times are here, and we must carefully feel the ground beneath every step before applying our full weight. Once you’ve interrogated StarTripper you’ll be better prepared to invade the monastery and test the strength of your mettle.”

  Reuzk collected his beret and turned to leave. “When I stood beside the footprint the Négus left in the mud a shiver ran over me. For some strange reason, Tilas came to mind. Mean anything to you?”

  “It can’t possibly mean anything,” Lauzen said, with a half-smile. “After all, you don’t believe in God.”

  Chapter 8

  The Huriut mountain range jealously guarded their snow and ice against the spring thaw below. The skies were again soft blue. The grasses on the lower slopes had changed to the lighter green of new growth and buds blossomed over the trees of the Great Northern Forest.

  The gathering heat of the outside world warmed the cold lingering in the monastery’s stone walls. Springtime blooms filled the courtyard with swirling, intoxicating smells.

  Tom sat on a bench, wrapped in his thick, winter robe, intrigued by the colorful conclusion to the monks’ celebration of spring. Their brightly colored garments and fancy headdresses and beating drums were at odds with their religious zeal for a quiet, regular life. Did they perform a midsummer ceremony, like in Alice Holt? The last monk dressed up and painted to symbolize a giant bird, left the courtyard and brown-robed monks rushed in with straw brooms to sweep away the messy footprints in the sand.

  As far as he could tell, the monks were evenly divided between scholars, devotees, and fighters. Inner mind and outer action bound together by an iron willed determination that left no middle ground for indecision or half-hearted measures.

  The hypnotic sweep of the straw brooms soothed the tight worries of the outside world. Much had changed since his arrival at the start of winter one hundred and twenty-two days ago, yet the same mysteries remained. How did he end up here? Why? Did the pirates capture Sarra, too? If so, was she alive and well somewhere else, close by? It made sense—they were a breeding pair. Whatever it took, wherever the trail led, he’d find and rescue her. He’d promised to take care of her and while that hope remained, he would pursue her to the ends of the world—whichever world that might be.

  He turned over the new walking staff Choen had given him and tapped the heavy wood. The staff must have taken Choen a hundred hours of eye-straining work, only for him to selflessly give it away. Its power and weighted balance reminded him of the longbow he used against the beast—a weapon crafted by an artisan from the first hack to the final polish with a single, definite aim in mind.

  The intricate designs carved into the densely-packed growth rings told the story of the Rilla Order of monks and the core Teachings of their founder, Goral. At the bottom of the staff, three figures of Goral sat back to back with their arms locked at the elbows to symbolize that everything good begins from a strong moral
foundation. The monkey wearing a crown at the top of the staff was to keep him humble. It was a reminder that no matter how high he climbed it was vanity to think he was anyone extra special.

  The fighting scenes carved into epic landscapes in the middle of the staff conveyed the struggles to overcome the weaknesses of the body and mind. He shut his eyes and ran his fingertips over the hardest wood he’d ever felt. The longer and more intimately he held the staff, the more it seemed capable of holding magic. He dismissed the notion as childish but promised to know the meanings one day behind even the subtlest lines.

  Etched with a pin-sharp chisel and guided by a steady heart and mind, the hieroglyphs and animal symbols arranged in a secret code along the snaking river drew him inwards with each pass and the outside world fell silent.

  Reuzk. Soldier.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Choen said, sitting on the bench.

  He sat upright with a jolt, catching the staff before it slipped away. “I wasn’t asleep. I was…”

  “Distracted? The undisciplined mind is a cunning and relentless enemy.”

  Tom pulled his hood back. The fragile heat bathed his shaven scalp and his arms rested heavy in his lap. Choen was the smallest monk, but he wasn’t one for small talk and his steadfast nature demanded respect. “Change is coming. I can feel it in my bones.” He turned his hands over and studied his calloused knuckles. A panic gripped him. He’d been so absorbed in the ceremony he’d forgotten the morning’s fight session. “Silak. I was meant to…”

  “I have spoken to him and he understands you have much on your mind. But maybe tomorrow will be double the work for you.”

  For an awkward moment, they stared in silence across the courtyard.

  “Have you given any more thought to the Teachings of Goral?” Choen asked.

  “I cannot understand why you believe it’s important to not think. I love to think; the more the better.”

  “You told me you need to live in peace.”

  “That will come when I’ve worked out my place in the world—where I fit in.” He crossed his arms and peered around the high walls. “And it’s not here.”

  “Our teachings are a call to undertake the greatest adventure one can try. The rewards are beyond words to describe and thoughts to color. Sublime and powerful are our ways.”

  “I believe you when you say Goral’s ways lead somewhere grand, or else your monks wouldn’t devote their life to the cause, but such a difficult and uncertain path isn’t for me.”

  “Have faith. The way is clear and true. Goral found the way of Light and showed us very precisely how to get there.” Choen drew closer. “Over time, your body grows weak and causes you suffering, but a properly trained mind grows strong as you age and bestows unlimited joy. The state of your mind is the difference between your short life being a blessing or a curse.”

  Tom studied Choen’s brown eyes. “You have shown only compassion towards me and I am grateful for that, but I need to find my own way.”

  “Without a path or a purpose dear to your heart, you are certain to fall under the spell of greater agendas.” Choen briefly looked to the sky. “Your very own mind will turn against you and then you’ll never find peace.”

  “That cannot be true.”

  “Search your heart. When you tried to stop thinking, you couldn’t. You do not have the free will you think you have. You are a slave to your desires; a prisoner of the mind you worship.”

  He chuckled. ‘Prison of the mind,’ was monk talk and not meant for normal people. The mind was everything? How could he be a prisoner of himself?

  “You are stuck between the desire to know and the need to be at rest,” Choen said. “Restless to the very end you will be until you pass from this realm. Heyre is full of this malady. There is little need for quick muscles with the technologies of the Federation; even less the need for a quick mind.”

  There was sadness in Choen’s voice. “Much has changed that you wish hadn’t?” Tom asked.

  “Everything changes. If I have regrets it is because I have known a better Age than this one.”

  “As I have,” Tom said, burying the pain of loss deeper.

  “Whichever path you choose to take in life do so with an open heart and a clear mind. Be the best you can be, that is the purpose.” Choen’s voice firmed. “It takes little effort to be better, but it requires all you can summon from your body and mind to be your best.” He put his hand under Tom’s elbow and gestured inside. “Come with me. It’s time for you to visit our Archives. They are ancient documents about the Rilla Order on Tilas, but most importantly for you, they contain the Teachings of Goral.”

  He followed Choen through the narrow passageways, barely noticing the meditation caves as he tried to second guess what Choen had in mind for him. A golden light from the largest cave shone upon Choen’s robe as he passed in front. Inside, a hundred candles burned in a carefully arranged steeple that rose up to a cradle holding a spiraled spike on two stands. The golden needle-sharp tip hinted of a deadly purpose.

  “Come—that’s for another time.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Not something you need to think about.”

  Choen opened the wooden door and they stepped out onto a ledge. The snow beneath the recently removed winter shutters piled up against the cold stone. A wooden slat bridge swayed in the angry side-draft between the mountain and the cave entrance in the rocky monolith on the other side of the precipitous gorge. Mist from the thin waterfall sprayed over the handrails.

  Tom peered down the waterfall, down, and down to an explosion of mist in a dark pool thousands of feet below. “There’s no way I’m going on that bridge,” he said. “I’m not afraid of heights, but…”

  Choen stepped onto the bridge and bounced lightly on the first slat. “It’s quite safe—we use it every day.”

  “But you’re half my weight.”

  “It’s best for you to use both rails,” Choen said, moving further onto the bridge. “Leave the staff behind so as to free your hands.”

  He grabbed the damp handrail and gave it a good rattle. “I’ll bring the staff.”

  “It’s only a stick.”

  He shuffled forwards without lifting his feet clear of the slats and not daring to look into the precipice that Choen seemed oblivious to. What possessed the monks to construct the bridge? How? He hopped off the bridge with an extra-long step and flexed his knees. The pressure on the soles of his feet through the soft moccasins had never felt so good.

  “Watch your step down the stairs,” Choen said, handing Tom a fire torch from the wall and heading down the first level.

  The torches burned bright in the cold, dry air and cast dancing shadows on the walls of the cave. He lowered his torch at the steps cut sharply into the rock where the natural path was too steep. Did the monks rely on bloody-mindedness to overcome every obstacle?

  At the bottom of the stairs, he lifted his torch and looked up at the huge rock figure in the middle of the chamber of Goral sitting inside a twenty-foot tall shrine, arms resting on his crossed legs. With perfect timing they had arrived the moment a golden ray of sunlight fell upon Goral’s face. He circled the shrine. The monks’ devotion to their sage, and their past worked its way into every crack in the rock like lichen.

  An opaque door shimmered in the fired floor torches.

  “What is it?” Tom asked, putting his hand on the cold, impossibly smooth surface. He’d never seen anything comparably beautiful in his life, other than the small diamond a London sailor let him briefly hold to the sky.

  “Tylinite,” Choen said as he stood on an inscribed stone in front of the door. “Cerdi mon opeli.”

  A blue line shimmered down to the floor and the vault door turned clear and clicked open. Thousands of books filled the vault that wasn’t a cave as he’d expected, but a cube made entirely of Tylinite blocks. The stone sculpture of a life-sized monk guarded each row, arms folded across his chest, with eye sockets that were
dark pits in the dim torchlight. He stayed outside the holy ground, holding the torches.

  Choen bowed to a statue and removed a book from the shelf then returned holding the book to his chest. Tom slotted the torches in the tableside holders as Choen laid the heavy book onto a wooden study table. He stared at the oversized book’s embroidered, golden cloth cover smoothed to a dull sheen by the sweaty oils from countless generations of reverent hands. The monks took their religion seriously; maybe he should give it the respect of his full attention. It couldn’t do any harm, and it would help pass the time. God knows he had plenty of that.

  “Many thousands of years ago,” Choen began, “Goral wrote the Book of Light. He inscribed the words, but their eternal wisdom comes from God.”

  “God,” Tom repeated. “Are you sure?”

  “In the beginning, the world was a dark place. Our minds were full of greed and hate and we lacked the wisdom to look beyond our senses. One day, a Messenger from God told Goral the Truth about the true nature of the universe and the way to live a good life. Goral wrote down the words that formed in his mind, for the Messenger spoke with neither lips nor tongue.” He placed his hand on the cover and mumbled a short devotion, then reverently turned the first, yellowed page.

  Choen read selected passages aloud from the book and Tom listened spellbound. The words lifted his weary soul, for no mortal could have invented such perfect understanding. Somehow, the words gave him hope.

  “These words are as true now as when first discoursed. The perfection of God does not change with time.”

  “It’s enjoy listening to how the world really is,” Tom said, unable to hide his child-like wonder. “I am sorry for what I said about the Teachings of Goral.”

  “Outsiders cannot understand. Your mistake is a common one. To fully believe you must do, otherwise, you have only knowledge.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Does this mean you’ll reconsider and undertake our ways?”

  Tom leaned back from the table and rolled the staff back and forth between his palms. “I’m sorry, but it’s too long a bow to draw. I cannot accept the idea that thinking leads to suffering. However,” he added, as Choen’s eyelids drooped and his old neck bent lower, “I promise to learn more about Goral.”