Something touched his mind.
He recoiled, and bumped into Dorland. The
touch came again, like probing fingers. He felt a bubbling panic. It came again, deeper this time. He could almost catch a thought that was certainly not his own. Something was inside him, probing
through the depths of his brain, uncovering dark memories, gaining form and substance in his mind as the shadow danced above the chauka. A clear thought emerged ...
His father: defeated and tired, always dreaming of something better but never quite able to find it. His mother—she spent half her time sleeping and the other half taking drugs. By the time Paul had left 108 William Greenleaf
home, her brain had been squeezed dry by yellow pills called lollipops.
He thought: What have I accomplished with my life? Washed out of the Guard after two years of pushing papers and punching computer keys on a hellhole planet in upstream Omega. Two more years wandering through the planets of the stream looking for God-knows-what, with the specter of his parents haunting him . . .
Paul made an effort to concentrate on what was happening in the chamber. Brill's chants grew in intensity. The elders repeated each chant in droning voices. The shadows above the chauka moved faster and faster—
The chanting stopped with unnerving abruptness, and something began to emerge above the chauka—a more solid substance writhing from the haze. A long, tubelike torso took shape. Spindly arms emerged like the limbs of a dead tree. An elongated head formed, and the creature was nearly complete. It was horribly inhuman, its sharp-edged face more reptilian than anything else. The eyes were black, multifaceted, bulging from under a bony shelf of brow.
High Elder Brill began to chant again, softly this time. The creature gained substance until it stood as a solid horror in the dish of the chauka. Paul stared, aware of a painful constriction across his chest and of the shadows still huddled inside his mind.
Brill spoke again in the strange, wavering language. The creature answered in high-pitched squeals. It moved constantly above the chauka, gesturing with its spindly arms, its head swaying back and forth.
Paul's hands came up to press on each side of his head in an effort to contain the growing pressure. The sense of loathing was an overpowering stench inside him. He opened his eyes, gasping, and forced
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himself to look at the creature. Something like a vest covered the creature's upper body; a gray breechclout hung below its waist. The bulbous head came around in short, jerky movements, and the glittering eyes fastened on the cabinet. Paul had time for a panicky thought: It knows we're in here\
He pressed his knuckles against the rough wood of the cabinet wall and tried to keep reality from slipping away. He was aware of Dorland's shallow breathing behind him, and of the hand that still gripped his shoulder. The creature was motionless above the chauka now, and its eyes were still turned toward the cabinet. From its mouth came the strange sounds.
It knows we're in here! It'll come—
Easy, came a soothing voice inside him.
Brill spoke to the creature, and Paul expected at any moment that the deacons would rush to the cabinet and drag out him and Dorland. But the minutes wore on and nothing like that happened. The creature still looked from time to time toward the cabinet, and each time Paul felt the pressure building inside his head. But the creature showed no inclination to leave the chauka.
Then he felt something else stirring in his mind. Shari was only six years old. She was a gentle child who would not think of hurting anyone. What did she do to deserve such a bloody death7
Rage and nausea boiled up, and the sour taste of terror. The terror was primitive, from that deep, reptile part of his brain that was untouched by higher logic centers that fought to control it. Daddy, Daddy...
Paul opened his eyes again and saw the creature's head sway toward him, the black eyes gleaming. He felt it again in his mind, and a new wave of panic crept over him. The walls of the cabinet were too close. He felt Dorland's hand on his shoulder. Steady.
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He pushed against the alien presence and felt Dorland pushing with him. The creature above the chauka continued to stare at the cabinet while Brill and the elders chanted. The presence inside Paul grew. It was alien, unlike anything he had ever felt. The only thing familiar about it was the hatred, and that emotion was stronger than Paul would have believed possible. It was a focus of his existence. Together he and Dorland created a fragile barrier. A young girl appeared in his mind—golden curls framing an angel face. Shari . . .
He felt a silent prayer emerge from the darkness: Shari, give me the courage and wisdom to fight this horror.
Sudden warmth washed through him, bringing a sensation of strength and confidence. He felt small, strong arms around him, comforting.
The people of Clarion may have their god, but I have mine as well. The strength of the child. A soft hue took shape inside him, and a sound built up like a two-toned hum. Its meaning was vague and unreachable, but he grasped the comfort it offered and pulled it close. He turned his head. Was that a soft strain of music he heard? He listened, brought it back and moved it around and into the glow of color. He felt Dorland with him and knew that nothing could touch them with that shield in place. He felt the power of Shari, her youth—a godlike quality . . .
Then something Selmer had said came back to him:
The young were special to the Tal Tahir.
Chapter Ten
TIME CREPT IMMEASURABLY PAST.
The pressure eased inside Paul's head. Reality returned slowly. He realized that the chamber was silent. He became aware of a cramp in his leg, and his hand pressed against the wood of the cabinet wall.
Silence.
He opened his eyes. High Elder Brill and the others had left the chamber. Mercifully, the creature above the chauka also had gone. Paul stared at the chauka and forced himself to remain still for a few minutes longer. Behind him he could hear Dorland's breathing. Another moment passed.
"Are you all right?" Dorland asked quietly. Paul slowly straightened the cramp out of his leg.
"I think so. We have to get out of here."
"Yes."
He was there, too, Paul thought. We were connected—
Dorland reached past him to push open the
wooden door. Paul stepped out of the cabinet, feeling rubbery in the legs.
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112 William Greenleaf
Daddy, Daddy . . .
He stumbled slightly over the doorframe and felt Borland's hand on his shoulder.
"We're out of it," Dorland said.
Cleve saw something that made him lose his
mind.
Paul felt again the doubts and insecurities, the dark memories of his past—and the sensation of warmth and reassurance that had washed them away. He felt the alien cold flushing through his veins, and Doriand's reassuring touch. We are hopeful that Doriand's training will protect him. A battle had been silently waged inside that chamber, but High Elder Brill and the other elders and deacons had been completely unaware of it. Diana and Shari—
But that didn't make sense, either. Diana and Shari were dead, and whatever else Dorland and Lord Tern had done, Paul was sure they had not contacted the dead.
He shook his head. Later, he could analyze what had happened. For now, he wanted only to get out of this place.
Keeping his eyes averted from the chauka, Paul followed Dorland past the odd pedestals and out through the wide doorway. There they stopped to listen.
Paul signaled Dorland to stay where he was, then moved cautiously to the open archway. He drew in a breath of cool air to steady his nerves. There was no sound except the bleating of insects from the darkened courtyard. He moved close enough to the archway to give himself a view outside. As far as he could see, the courtyard was empty.