Worldwielder, page 12
Melissa gulped, a painful knot forming in her throat, the weight of her accidental almost-murder of a dozen men heavy on her. She looked to Ringo. “That's why you told me not to say anything… odd.”
“It's also why,” Psu-Tem continued, “every known wielder was hunted down and killed a thousand years ago. If anyone else in this city knew what I know about you, you would be shot on sight. However undeveloped your vim, however innocent your intentions, however blameless you are, they won't care. The memory of past atrocities committed at the hands of wielders still lingers, bitter and pungent.” She appeared to be enjoying making Melissa squirm, drawing out each word.
For her part, Melissa was beginning to feel sick. “Atrocities? What did they do?”
“Everything you can imagine. And more. Tayvl Shlekht made his prisoners tear their own skin off and eat it. Azat Erastyl built a city out of stacks and stacks of bodies… living bodies. Ayaulym Ife walked through the world of V'lar and made every man, woman, and child sodomize each other as she watched. Then she killed them.”
Melissa was so disturbed she couldn't speak. She just stood there, mouth hanging open.
Psu-Tem went on. “I may not call it mind control, but that makes it no better. Worse, perhaps, because the effort, the creativity, required to actualize such horrors is much greater. After all, to make someone eat their own skin, you must pull on their mind with the right balance of worlds—hunger, self-hatred, desperation, rabidity, a dozen more. You must make them want to do it.”
“Why?” Melissa blurted.
“Why what? Why do men do evil?”
Melissa shook her head.
“Then speak, child, if you yet retain the ability.”
She did, just barely. “Why… do wielders exist?”
“No one can answer that. But I will tell you a story, for what it's worth. It is the story of the Mind-Rending.” She returned to her seat behind the table and took a moment to gather her thoughts. The flicker of the candles, the room's only light source, turned her face into a carved half-silhouette, as much a relic of the past as the tale she was about to tell. She took a deep breath and began.
“In those days, there was only one world, what we now call Prota. It was formed out of the threads by Ohlem, who gave to each man a mind as strong and powerful as a million of ours today. They were super minds. Men could create things by thought alone, experience heights of feeling we can only imagine, realize any dream they set themselves to. There was nothing they could not accomplish.
“But did they choose to accomplish good? No. The men of this age grew arrogant and wicked. They used their minds to devise evil—torture and persecution and pain.
“When Ohlem saw this, his anger was kindled against them. But rather than destroy the people of Prota, he cursed them. Do you know what he did? He rent their minds into a million pieces and scattered them across a million worlds, each piece retaining but a fraction of the whole's power. It is said this is why the pulls of the worlds are connected, because they are formed out of mind-shards that were once joined and retain faint threads.
“Now, to back up, there was one man in all of Prota who did good instead of evil—Emir Vi Makeh. So Ohlem told him to build a box out of pure lyconium and seal himself inside it, and he alone would be spared from the Mind-Rending.
“Emir built the box, but he was claustrophobic, and in his fear, he left a hole the size of a pinhead in its side so he might look upon the world outside. Because of this, his mind was also rent, though not as thoroughly as the others. He retained a vestige of his former power, which enabled him to alter the pull of the worlds on other minds. He was the first wielder.
“After the Mind-Rending, Ohlem made the Gallery, and charged Emir to protect it and the worlds from great evil. But, alas, in time Emir's power and influence over other men destroyed him, and he did evil. He enslaved worlds to build him temples and palaces, worlds to worship him and call him their god. It is said there remains a statue of Emir so large it spans ten worlds. Billions still worship him today.
“But as many as worshipped him hated him, wishing his power destroyed. It was only a matter of time before one of their assassination attempts succeeded. Even a wielder is not invincible. But Emir had raised many children, each of them possessing the power to wield, so his death accomplished nothing. When the children were grown, they did no differently than their father. They fought against each other, they enslaved, they tortured, they killed. In turn, they were killed, and other wielders rose up. And on, and on, and on. The Mind-Rending changed nothing, really. Men do as much evil as their minds allow them to.”
Melissa, who had collapsed cross-legged on the floor at some point during the story, now frowned. A glimmer of hope had just entered her mind, hope that the fiction of all this might yet be revealed. “That's just a story, isn't it? That can’t be true.”
Psu-Tem shrugged. “Perhaps not. Perhaps there was no Ohlem. Perhaps there was no Mind-Rending. But there was an Emir, and what he did is what the vast majority of wielders since him have done. You see the point, child. This is why wielders were killed.”
“If that's true, how do I exist?”
“Some must have escaped the purge, born children, and passed down the trait.”
“Does that mean… my parents are wielders?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. It is a recessive trait. But the odds of two people with the trait meeting, let alone having a child, are staggeringly low. It reeks of intervention.”
Melissa shook her head, thinking of her mother, who she guessed would throw herself off a bridge if she started seeing strange colors over people's heads. But she also thought of the father she'd never met, wondering who he was and where he came from… and if he was like her. She might never know.
“Or perhaps it was an accident of chance,” Psu-Tem went on. “A solitary accident, let us hope. If another wielder existed and were to develop their vim…” She shuddered.
Melissa went cold. “I think one has,” she said numbly.
Ringo, who'd been gazing without focus at the floor as he smoked, looked up. “Friend you're looking for?”
She nodded.
Psu-Tem was on her feet in an instant, her mind returning to its earlier verdant shade. “What's this?! What do you know, young one?! Tell me!”
So Melissa did, starting with finding Kyle's message and ending with her escape from Luud, reliving each event as she spoke of it. But now they had taken on a macabre bent, colored by her new knowledge. Kyle had not simply been kidnapped by madmen. He had been kidnapped by madmen who might have designs to end the world. The graying was not simply a horrific incident; it could be a harbinger of the apocalypse.
By the time Melissa finished speaking, Psu-Tem was clutching the wall in support and may as well have been told she had hours left to live. Ringo remained calm enough, but the shake in his hand was back.
Stumbling forward and crouching before Melissa, the woman reached out with a tentative hand. “Your friend—Kyle—he was there, wasn't he? When this mind-graying happened? He was there, yes?”
“No. I would have sensed him if he were anywhere nearby.”
The last trace of color drained from Psu-Tem's face, and she pulled away. Stood. Began muttering to herself like a crazy person. “Oh, Ohlem. How many are there? What have we done to deserve this? What have we done?”
“What is it?” Melissa asked, sensing there was another disturbing piece of information she was about to wish she hadn't learned.
Psu-Tem paused her muttering. “Listen to me, girl. Wielders can only pull on minds within a short distance of themselves. If it were otherwise, every living thing on every world in the Gallery would have been destroyed a hundred times over by the plots of wielders gone mad. So there had to have been a wielder there in this garden of recreation or in this indoor marketplace, do you hear me? It couldn't have been your friend.”
“The only other person whose mind wasn't gray was… Luud. Could he be a—?”
“No. Impossible,” Psu-Tem said severely. “If he were a wielder, he would have killed you with the pull. No need for the knife.”
“But my mind isn't affected by the pull, right?”
The woman shook her head. “Wrong. Your mind is affected by the pull, the same as any other mind. But because you are a wielder, your latent vim counteracts it, pushes against it, keeping your mind always in the pull of the world it knows as home. In this case, Prota, which is neutral. A trained wielder, however, would have no trouble overcoming your feeble mental defenses and killing you. So no, I think this Luud is not one. But… of course.” She froze, her eyes widening in the dawn of comprehension. Slowly, she raised a withered finger, which found its mark in Melissa. “You were there,” she hissed. An accusation.
Melissa was too startled to speak at first, and when words did come to her, she couldn't think of a defense. “No, I—It wasn't—I couldn't have.”
“You don't remember, perhaps, but—”
Ringo, so long silent, cut her off. “The kid would know if she did it, Psu. Besides, there's the schedule she found.”
It took only a moment for Psu-Tem to round on him, her bottled terror turned to fury. “But there had to have been a wielder there! There is no other way. Otherwise, if-if someone found a way to-to—wield from another world… we're doomed! WE'RE DOOMED!”
At that point, she collapsed back into her chair, resuming her muttering. Ringo took another puff of his cigarette, giving no outward sign of his own concern.
“It's over,” Psu-Tem mumbled. “Ohlem save us.”
Seeing the woman in such a state returned Melissa to right sorts, and she stood and shook her head. “It's not over, because I'm going to rescue Kyle.”
She thought she'd pulled off sounding confident, but Psu-Tem's gag cast a shadow on that notion.
Melissa took an involuntary step back, her stunned face asking a question that Psu-Tem answered a moment later.
“You don't understand. You would stand no chance. They have a trained wielder.”
“Who happens to be my best friend.”
“And you imagine they care? Don't for one moment think he's not under their complete control. They would be witless not to keep him drugged, or hypnotized, or worse. He wouldn't have a choice about what he did to you. In their hands, you would be another weapon.” Her tone was desperate, imploring.
Any other day, Melissa would have caved under it, but not today. “I have to try.”
“You fool. You would give yourself to them. You would precipitate what calamity they have in store for the worlds.”
“But I can't let my friend die. I have to—”
Before another word escaped Melissa's mouth, Psu-Tem's mind had blossomed a vivid red. Melissa had pushed her too far, hadn't considered how fragile a state she was in. She saw the emotional fireball coming just in time to step back as Psu-Tem lunged for her, screaming, “I won’t let you!”
Papers and candles flew everywhere as the table was upended by the woman crashing into it when she missed Melissa in her dive. Miraculously, nothing caught fire. But Psu-Tem was back on her feet with a speed Melissa would have thought impossible for someone her age.
It wasn't her speed that scared Melissa so much, though. It was the look in her eyes. A hungry hatred. A deranged malice. She stalked closer, preparing to pounce. Melissa retreated.
I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have trusted Ringo. Shouldn't have thought anyone would help me.
She wasted no time. She thrust her hand into the locutor at her hip.
And… nothing happened.
A sick laugh escaped Psu-Tem. “It won't work here. The city's shielded!”
Melissa knew she should have suspected something of the sort. There had to be a reason Ringo alighted with her outside the city. It was probably a security measure to keep the Gs from finding the place. But it wasn't doing her any good now.
She turned and sprinted through the curtain of beads and out the shop. She heard what she thought was Ringo moving to restrain Psu-Tem from pursuing, but she didn't stop to look. In her panic, she could only think of getting as far away from here as possible.
As she bolted through the shop door, she heard Psu-Tem scream at her one last time. “They'll never let you out! You're a menace! I'll tell them what you are! They'll kill you!”
She wasn't lying.
FIFTEEN
Melissa sprinted down street after street, blind to where she went, dodging purple aliens and flying fish, passing shops selling pet monsters and bottomless supply crates and virtual-reality vacations and anything else a person could dream of. But there was no shop that sold what she wanted—a way to get to Kyle. Or maybe a lobotomy.
If only the Gs could wipe my memory now, she caught herself thinking. How much easier everything would be if she could just start over with a blank mind. She wanted, above all, to unlearn everything she had just learned in Psu-Tem's shop, to go back to her state of well-meaning ignorance. Because Psu-Tem was right.
Her whole life, she'd been playing with fire and not even known it. How many times had she come within an inch of using her vim? Of killing someone? One memory in particular sprung to mind, an argument with her parents after Kyle disappeared. Her brothers had caught her snooping on his old house again and snitched on her to the household authorities. She'd been yelled at and accused of acting far younger than her age. Disparaging remarks about Kyle had been made, followed by even more disparaging ones about her.
She could still remember with eerie precision how she'd felt, the air around her thick with the heat of her anger, every fiber of her being urging her to scream back at them. She nearly had. Probably would have, if she hadn't blacked out. She'd woken up to find everything as it had been, and given the episode no further consideration. But she now saw just how close she'd come to using her vim, with violent and life-altering consequences. Shivers coursed through her.
I am a menace. Mom and Harold knew it from the beginning. They just didn't know why.
Kyle would have disagreed with her, as he always did whenever she expressed a desire to be normal. But she realized that by now he might feel the same as she did. If his captors hadn't told him the reason for his abduction, he must have figured it out on his own soon enough.
But why had only he been captured and not both of them? Perhaps only a miracle of chance had saved her from sharing his fate. It was little consolation, though. She didn't think she was in a strikingly better situation at present.
Nor did she think she ought to be.
As she ran through the streets, through the swarms of people, she thought of the potential power she possessed. She could, in theory, kill everyone in the city in a second if she wished. They were right to hunt down and kill wielders. Maybe I should just turn myself in and end it.
She knew she could never bring herself to do that, though, so on she ran. Her flight brought her to the base of a rusted metal water tower shaped like a bomb on stilts. She thought it fitting, since she felt a bit like a bomb right now, so she climbed the ladder in its side. Ordinarily, she would have been terrified of doing such a thing. The tower was fifty feet high, at least. But she was too numb to feel fear.
She sat in a depression in the tower's peak and looked out at the city of Fazaar. The place she was going to die. It was also the most beautiful place she'd ever seen, but she had trouble appreciating it now, even as a light show in a far-off sector formed hypnotic patterns of color on the cavern's ceiling, and massive flying jellyfish and dragons circled overhead. It wouldn't be a bad place to die, really. If only Kyle were here with her, she could accept it.
It wasn't long before something fluffy and white appeared over the lip of the ladder and shuffled towards her. She said nothing as the stoat sat down beside her. He was hardly larger than her foot.
A minute passed in silence. She closed her eyes at one point, and was surprised to see him still there when she opened them. She'd been sure he followed her only to report back to Psu-Tem as to her whereabouts, but he was just sitting there licking his paws.
Him. It was still hard thinking of something that had no mind as a person. Perhaps it was a good thing, though. She had no desire to talk to a person right now, but Fink? That she could abide.
“Did you hear all of it?” she asked.
He didn't look up from his paw-cleansing. “Of course I heard it. We bionics have excellent hearing.”
“Then hadn't you better turn me in? Don't you know how dangerous I am?”
He seemed taken aback, though she was still a novice at reading expressions without a mind to complement them. “Nonsense,” he said. “Not everyone wants to kill wielders, you know. There were good ones. Some of the greatest leaders and humanitarians in history were wielders. Petro the Prudent. Kirils Arturs of Limbia. The Viveka Sisters. Psu knows as well as anyone. She spent her younger years advocating for awareness about their… better natures.”
“But?”
“Well, I suppose what brought her around to the traditional view was discovering the story of her homeworld, V'lar. She mentioned it to you. Only one person in the whole world was spared the wrath of the wielder. A distant ancestor of hers, I expect. After she learned that, she couldn't think of wielders the same.”
“Of course.” She was right to give up, Melissa thought. The wonder is why she bothered standing up for monsters to begin with.
Fink gazed at her askance, perhaps surprised by her jaded tone. “You wouldn't be a bad wielder,” he said. “I may not know you well, but I know that much.”
She shook her head. “You're wrong. I almost killed twelve men already.”
“So? I do believe it was an accident, yes? Anyone could shoot or stab someone by accident. It doesn't make you a monster.”
