Fires of Man Page 15

  “Do you think God should punish your cousin?” Tiberian asked.

  “How should I know?” Aaron snapped. “It’s not my job to judge people! It’s not anybody’s job! ’Cause . . . how’s anybody supposed to know what God thinks, really? My dad’s always saying ‘God said this’ and ‘God said that’ but it’s all just words somebody wrote down thousands of years ago. When’s the last time someone talked to God?”

  “Anyone can talk to God,” Tiberian said. “Just don’t expect Him to talk back.”

  Aaron looked at Tiberian sharply.

  Then, he laughed.

  It was the first real laughter he’d enjoyed in days. It felt so good. He felt all the stress and tension begin to melt away; his shoulders loosened; his hands unclenched. He laughed long and hard, until his belly hurt, and tears ran down his cheeks.

  He didn’t know where John Black had gone, but he hoped that man never returned.

  Once he calmed, a question occurred to him. One that had crossed his mind many times, but he’d been too afraid to ask Black. “Why me? Why am I getting all this attention? What’s so important about me?”

  “They want to hone you into a powerful weapon. The way John Black is a weapon. So they decided to erase your past, make your loved ones think you’re dead. Now you’re a blank slate, to do with as they please. You’re special, Aaron,” Tiberian said. “We have technology that looks out for people like us, and your readings were off the charts.”

  “People . . . like us?” Aaron asked.

  “Those who do what we do,” Tiberian said. “Black really didn’t explain anything, did he? I heard how you blew a hole in the roof of your cell. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. And I’m going to tell you all about it very soon.”

  Aaron thought about pressing him for more details. He’d been kept in the dark long enough already. But . . .

  He wanted to be able to trust Tiberian. So he decided to wait and see if the man would follow through. He had enough on his mind already, anyway—like the thought of becoming a weapon. That didn’t sound good to him at all. “Why do you work for them?” he asked.

  “It’s where fate has brought me,” Tiberian said. He paused, weighing his words. “A sea change is coming. Where I stand today is where I need to be for what’s to come.” He leaned in. “I think you’re a kindred spirit, Aaron. I think you might stand with me, someday.”

  What was that supposed to mean? A chill ran through Aaron.

  Before he could question further, Tiberian barked a laugh, this one devoid of mirth. “Listen to me, going on. I’m supposed to be training you. Meditation practice, right? You stay right where you are. Close your eyes. Let’s begin.”

  Aaron did as instructed. He pictured the river. His thoughts were debris that floated along with the current. A patchwork array of half-formed words and images threatened to intrude on the stillness of his mind. Every time Aaron’s concentration lapsed, Tiberian seemed to know. The commander brought Aaron back to attentiveness with a nudge or a sound instead of John Black’s sharp stings. Eventually Aaron found an equilibrium in which he was able to let the wayward thoughts drift by without latching on to them. The river swept him deeper and deeper into the void of emptiness. There he found a strange joy, a contentedness, a satisfaction that existed within, independent of the trappings of the world around him. And wrapped in that serenity, he sensed something else there. A spark. A light.

  If only I could touch it, he thought.

  Each time Aaron reached for the spark, it darted away. Then Tiberian would grunt to let Aaron know he had fallen off track. What was even odder to Aaron, however, was the feeling of being watched. Not by Tiberian; Aaron knew the commander was there, of course. No, it was a sensation Aaron could not explain, as if unseen eyes lurked in a forgotten corner of his psyche, appraising him with a cold, alien intellect. Like the spark, every time Aaron sought it out, it retreated. He could sooner capture a breeze.

  Aaron’s training continued over days, and then a week, and more. He spent the hours in the morning and afternoon with Tiberian, and his evenings reading, in either his room or the library. Tiberian didn’t speak again of religion, or of “what was to come.” The commander didn’t speak of anything except the business at hand.

  Meditation grew easier with practice. Soon it actually became pleasurable. The sense of calm allowed Aaron to put his fears and misgivings aside. Whatever he was being trained for, he would take it in stride.

  It was on the eleventh day that everything changed.

  Aaron was in the midst of deep concentration. Emptiness pervaded every inch of his consciousness; the emptiness became his consciousness, expanding and growing. In the furthest reaches of that emptiness, the spark was there waiting for him. Again he was tempted to reach for it, but he resisted. Instead he sat in contemplation of it. It was a thing of beauty. Silently, it shed its light in the core of his being. Was this his spirit, his soul? Maybe. Whether it was or not, Aaron was content enough to bask in its radiance. The longer he sat there with it, the bigger it seemed to grow. Soon it was all around him, filling him; an endless source of energy; a nuclear furnace; a thousand suns and more. Aaron felt that odd other watching him, but did not care. Every inch of him felt deliciously alive! There was a dim notion that it was the same as the time in the cell with John Black, but the thought slid off the surface of the void around him.

  Then a voice crept into the darkness. It took Aaron a while to register it. The voice belonged to Tiberian.

  For a moment, Aaron was surprised. He had been expecting a different voice, though he didn’t know why. As he considered this, the light wavered; the emptiness shook, threatening to collapse. Quickly, Aaron let his thoughts dissipate. Thinking could come later; for now, all was ecstasy.

  Tiberian’s voice sounded again. This time Aaron could make out the words. “Stay with your power and open your eyes.”

  Aaron blinked. The room came into focus. Tiberian was in front of him, surrounded by some sort of halo. When Aaron glanced down at his own hands, he saw that the very same halo surrounded him.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” Tiberian asked. “Not everyone like us can, though all sense it to a certain degree.”

  “What is this?” Aaron sputtered. The power in him flickered again, but now that it was in his grasp it became easier to maintain. It was like riding a bike; he had a feel for it, and he would not forget.

  “Psionic energy,” Tiberian said. “That’s what we call it these days. I believe it’s gone by different names since the beginning of time. Magic. Chi. Spiritual power. The name doesn’t matter; the result is the same. It can be used to manipulate reality.” Tiberian smiled. “Humans are evolving. Or re-evolving, maybe. These abilities are becoming more common in the world. Those who use them are called psions. We are psions, you and I.”

  Aaron struggled to his feet. Moving while maintaining his grip on the power was a challenge at first. He realized that he was covered in sweat. His throat was bone dry.

  “Manipulate reality?” he asked. “How?” He was scared now. A part of him wanted to let go of this dreadful potency, but another part felt like the pure sweetness of it was something he couldn’t bear to relinquish.

  “Say I imagine a rose,” Tiberian said. A shimmering rose appeared, its stem tucked between two of his fingers. Aaron could see the flower was not altogether solid. It sparkled in a way no real rose could; it was too vivid—a shade of ruby red with unparalleled vibrancy, twinkling with nonexistent dew. “This rose is not permanent. It exists only so long as I think on it.”

  Abruptly, the rose vanished as if it had never been there.

  Then, before Aaron could bat an eye, it was back. Tiberian let his hand fall away. The flower remained floating in air, twirling slowly. “My subconscious imbues it with the properties I know a rose possesses, but if I choose, I can change it to my liking.” A pungent stench drifted toward Aaron and made his eyes water. “When this flower touches the ground, I can decide whethe
r it lies there as a real flower should, or wilts or melts or bursts into flame or even explodes.” On cue, the flower dropped to the floor and shattered into a thousand glittering motes that promptly dissipated.

  Tiberian settled his legs into a wide stance. “I can also use this power to enhance myself physically. To become stronger and faster.” He jumped, catapulting himself seven or eight feet into the air. His head brushed the ceiling. When he landed, the room shuddered. “And all of this only scratches the surface of what I, what we, are capable of,” he said. “For example.”

  Aaron became dimly aware of tendrils of energy snaking out from Tiberian and then he was suddenly airborne, his feet kicking feebly at the floor. He was not being held tightly, but he was bound all the same.

  “I want you to break free,” Tiberian said.

  Aaron was stupefied. It took him a moment to realize he had lost his grip on the psionic energy. His stomach lurched in dismay, but now, even outside of meditative calm, his power was waiting for him. He let it fill him until the hairs on his arms stood on end. He tried chopping at the air around him, but it was no good.

  “Don’t use your hands,” Tiberian told him. “Use your mind.”

  His mind? How was he supposed to do that?

  He pictured himself back on solid ground, but nothing happened. Unsure, he drew on more and more of the energy until he thought he would burst. He lashed out with his thoughts, trying to sever the power that held him.

  Suddenly, a loud crack split the air, and Aaron fell to the ground. He landed on his back with a jolt that drove the air from his lungs.

  He lay there a few seconds, stunned. Then he groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position. He noticed Tiberian doing the same; the man had been thrown back several feet, and he looked at Aaron with an expression both approving and wary.

  “The recoil,” he said. “I told you that you were stronger than the others. Especially for someone without training. Stronger than I expected.” His expression grew serious. “You have to be careful not to draw in too much. It’s dangerous. You can hurt yourself or those around you. Understand?”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said. He swallowed.

  “Then that does it for today. Questions for me?”

  “About a million,” Aaron said. He grinned sheepishly. “Um.” He felt woozy all of a sudden. He swayed on his feet.

  “You all right?” Tiberian asked.

  “I don’t feel so . . .”

  Strange light bulbs illuminated a long, dark corridor made of huge limestone blocks. In front of Aaron was a red-robed figure. Though Aaron couldn’t be certain, something inside told him that it was the same man from his strange dream.

  I’m sleeping, Aaron reasoned. If he was aware of that, he should be able to wake.

  He pinched himself. Nothing happened.

  The robed man kept walking, and despite the light fixtures that stretched down the corridor, the man seemed to meld into the gloom. Aaron followed him down a gentle slope. As they descended deeper and deeper, the air grew warm, then hot. Soon, perspiration coated Aaron from head to toe, but he did not see a hint of dampness on the robed man—no spots beneath his arms or along his back. It was only then that Aaron noticed the halo around the man, and the subtle crepitation of psionic current. Aaron didn’t know if the energy had just appeared, or if he’d failed to see it before, but the aura was there.

  Curious, Aaron reached out for his own power and found it waiting for him.

  He imagined the air around him was cool, and it became so.

  The robed man paid Aaron no heed. It was exactly like the first dream. Aaron could hear the soft footfalls, smell and taste the dusty air, touch the rough surface of the stone around him, yet he could not interact with anything. He was a bystander in his own mind.

  At last, the hallway opened into a large, elliptical chamber. More of the antiquated light bulbs dotted the walls—bright enough to see dimly, but no more. In the center of the room was a hot spring, steam billowing from its surface.

  The man disrobed, revealing a muscular, light-skinned body and a shock of dark hair. The man knelt naked before the pool, whispering what sounded like a prayer. It was so soft that Aaron could not make out the words. When the man was finished, Aaron fully expected him to step into the water. Instead the man took a seat at the edge of the pool, legs folded, hands resting on his knees, the thumbs of each hand lightly touching his forefingers.

  A meditation, Aaron noted. He waited a minute, then two, and then five. The man remained still as the surface of the water in front of him, his only movement the rhythmic rise and fall of his back as he breathed deeply.

  Aaron circled around to see the man’s face. It was definitely the same gaunt person from his dream, and this time the man’s countenance showed no indication of transforming into Aaron’s own visage. That was a relief.

  With nothing else to do, Aaron took a seat next to the man.

  The room suddenly snapped into focus. It was as if his surroundings had been hazy before, in a way he hadn’t even noticed. Now he could see clearly. There were images carved along the wall beyond the pool—a series of circles which contained jagged shapes in myriad configurations.

  Aaron gasped.

  They were maps. Maps of the world. The last one in the sequence depicted the globe as it was today, but the ones before showed arrangements of land masses he had never seen before. What could it all mean?

  He began to commit the murals to memory, but a sharp jolt ran through him, disrupting his concentration.

  A voice made the walls shake. “Aaron? Wake up. Aaron!”

  “Are you okay?”

  Aaron’s eyelids fluttered. Tiberian’s face loomed over him.

  “Can you hear me?” Tiberian asked.

  “Yes.” Aaron’s voice felt hoarse. He cleared his throat. “How long was I out?”

  “Only a minute,” Tiberian said.

  A minute? Impossible. The dream had felt so long and detailed. It had to have been more than a minute.

  “Are you sure?” Aaron asked. He pushed himself up, then toppled again.

  “Take it easy,” Tiberian said. A psionic halo appeared around the man. Aaron found himself being gently lifted to his feet. “Let’s get you to your room.”

  “I’m okay,” Aaron said. “Really.” He took a step, and then another. He still felt Tiberian’s power buoying him, and could actually see the flow of it.

  “You overexerted yourself,” Tiberian said. “Too much, too fast. You can do plenty with a fraction of the power you used.”

  “I’ll do better next time,” Aaron said. His room sounded like a great idea, if only because he wanted to return to that mysterious chamber. He hadn’t finished exploring. There was something about a map. Unlike the first dream, he couldn’t quite recall the details.

  “You do that,” Tiberian said.

  In spite of Aaron’s protestations, Tiberian helped Aaron all the way back to his bed. It was just as well, because Aaron didn’t know whether he could have made it on his own. It was all he could do to remain upright.

  Tiberian insisted that Aaron stay awake long enough to eat something, but Aaron fell into a deep slumber almost as soon as Tiberian left the room. In the seconds before sleep took him, Aaron tried to picture the strange room with the pool and the man in the robe, the odd images on the walls, but the more he tried to summon up a memory, the more fleeting it became.

  He drifted off to comforting thoughts of home.

  He remembered waking to the rooster’s crow, remembered the cinnamon smell of his mother’s French toast. He remembered sunrise over the farm, how the glorious rays paraded across the land, turning everything they touched to gold.

  17

  KAY

  Kay was at breakfast when she realized something was amiss. As she sipped her coffee, she noticed wayward looks, and chatter half-concealed behind cupped hands.

  Kay ignored it at first. She should have expected it. She was certain Nyne had told Crasz a
bout her blowout at Hearth. And Crasz had a huge mouth. It must have taken a day or so to make the rounds, and now it was probably common knowledge. People would move on as soon as a juicier piece of gossip came their way, she thought.

  Still, the reminder of Nyne left her feeling uneasy. Had she really done the right thing? Since their fight, and her ultimatum, she hadn’t been so sure. It had nagged at her, and more than once she’d thought about seeking him out and taking back what she’d said.

  But she hadn’t.

  As the day went on, she continued to receive strange, almost pitying stares. Why would anyone pity her? And where the hell was Nyne, anyway? She hadn’t seen him all day.

  Not that she wanted to.

  She absolutely didn’t.

  She maintained her veneer of disregard through the morning, until the end of PT. Even in the middle of their exertions, her subordinates gave her the same odd looks as everyone else. She decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s going on?” she asked them, during post-workout stretching.

  Her squad shared a worried glance.

  “Seriously. Let’s hear it,” Kay said.

  Again there was a pause. Then Turner cleared her throat. “We’re sorry about your, uh, Captain Blondie, Sarge,” she said.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “That he just up and ditched you like that,” Maddick chimed in. “Not cool.”