Worldwielder, page 26
“It would seem a rescue operation will necessitate assistance of some kind.”
Quite without warning, the shadow of a grin appeared on Melissa's face. An idea had come to her. “And I know where to get it! Brock, hold on tight.”
He interpreted this as an invitation to wrap his arms around her, but she wasn't about to split hairs. Holding her breath to prevent death by body odor, she plunged her hand into Tibor's locutor and the world of Cynn vanished.
THIRTY
“You out of you foopeeng mind eef you theenk we agree to thees, pleeska.”
“I know.”
“Thees… eensane! Besides, we no let pleeskas eescape. Ever.”
“You've let me escape twice already. What's once more?”
“You— Thees— I no answer thees queestion. Why you theenk we want Uneety, anyway?”
“Oh, I just thought the Gs' mission was to, you know, capture all the rezuers. Silly of me.”
“You a rezeur, pleeska. Tell me why I shood not take you to Vereetas thees eenstant.”
“Yeah, why would you want all of Unity when you could have one pleeska instead? Makes perfect sense.”
“You tryeeing to treek me, pleeska. It weel not work.”
“What do you want, Dez?”
“I want you een a cell, pleeska.”
“No. You want to be a supervisor.”
“Thees not true.”
“Eet ees true. She does.”
“Shut eet, Dulce! You a pest, pleeska.”
“Think of how happy Zusman will be if you give him Unity.”
“Zusman ees a foop.”
“But he's a foop who can give promotions, right?”
“I… ees posseeble… but—”
“There's one more thing you should know.”
“What ees thees?”
“Unity has a wielder.”
The sisters, standing in nearly the exact same spot in Pugh's basement as when Melissa had last seen them, paled and staggered back. It had been no difficulty finding them, since they were still searching Melton for any clues as to her whereabouts. The hard part had been convincing them, but by the look of things, this last revelation had done the trick.
A thin smile crept across Melissa's lips to see them so flummoxed. From her shoulder, Fink gave her a congratulatory nod. At her side, Brock watched with curious eyes. Despite her limited strength, she'd kept his mind partially in the pull of Cynn to prevent any negative effects from Melton. And she wasn't ready to find out what would happen if he realized, in his right mind, that he'd been locked up for six months, all on her account.
He'll hate me, she thought with a pang of guilt. The cost of her quest had reached an amount she knew she never would have chosen to pay at its start. So it was a good thing, she reflected, that she hadn't been given the choice.
But as the Gs' reactions testified, the significance of her quest had also mounted. Its success or failure no longer affected her life alone. It wasn't even about Kyle anymore. It was about the entirety of the Gallery, the millions of worlds and trillions or quadrillions or quintillions of lives inhabiting them. Everything depended on it.
“Ees thees true?” Dez whispered finally.
Melissa nodded. She expected some further doubt, a demand for proof perhaps, but none came. Instead, moving like a ghost, Dez withdrew her locutor and nodded. “We get thee others. We meet at Ceenn een one hour.”
Then she and her sister vanished in a swirl of blue, and Melissa sighed in relief and sank to the floor for a moment of respite. A day of sleep in the cell hadn't left her much rested, and she knew whatever was about to happen would require every fiber of her energy and then some.
“Melissa,” Fink said, limping down her side to the floor. “If you don't mind, I think I'll deactivate for a few minutes to speed up my repair processes.”
She nodded to him, and within seconds, he'd gone still.
“Yo, Melissa, check it out. This statue is rad!” Brock called from nearby, inspecting one of Pugh's stolen relics. “Oh dang. What do you think, is this a magic flying rug? Whoa, it's a chalice! Like the one from…”
He went on. And on. And on. Melissa watched him, her guilt growing worse with every second. She'd put it off long enough. Now was as good a time as any to let him loose from Cynn.
“Brock,” she said. “Come here.”
He obeyed without question, staring at her expectantly. “What's up?”
“Uh… just shut your eyes for a second.”
She had no idea what he was about to experience, but it couldn't be good, and her mind-sensing would force her to watch it in full color. She took his hand, causing his mind to go yellow. Good. A moment of calm before the storm.
Then she released him from Cynn.
In an instant, he was shivering and taking ragged breaths, mind green. His eyes shot open, probing her with shock and wonder. Then tears appeared in them. He turned away, wiping his face on a sleeve. Crying wasn't cool, after all. But as the tears kept coming, he soon gave up his efforts and turned back.
“Melissa, thank you,” he whimpered, pulling her into a great big Brock-sized hug.
“What?” she stammered. “Thank you? But I—”
“You saved me,” he blubbered. “I was gonna die in there, wasn't I?”
She couldn't bring herself to agree, though she knew what he'd said was true. “It's okay now. I'll get you home.”
She thought she felt him shake his head. Sure she was mistaken, she pulled away from the embrace to look him in the eye. But he was still shaking it. “I'm going with you, Melissa. Gotta save Kyle, right?”
She sighed. “Brock, I know you like me, but that's no reason to—”
“That's not why. You saved me. I owe you.”
“You don't owe me anything, Brock. It's my fault you needed saving.”
He shrugged. “Whatever yo. It's too late. I made up my mind. I'm coming.”
“It's gonna be dangerous, you know.”
“Totes. Bring it!” He pumped a weak fist in the air.
Melissa was too overwhelmed to speak. She had no idea why this charitable gesture should so deeply strike a chord of her soul. But it had, and soon she was crying just as much as Brock. Ringo had offered her his help in much the same way, and in neither case had she felt at all deserving of such unsolicited generosity.
Brock was quick to pull her into another hug, murmuring something comforting. His stench was worse than ever, but she scarcely noticed it.
“Hey, I'm sorry I said you were good at telling lies,” she said when they parted.
Following a second of confusion, a smile broke out on Brock's face. “And I'm sorry I lied about having a date that night.”
She returned the smile. “It's all good.”
He raised a fist. She pounded it with her own, thinking that if nothing else went right today, at least she’d gained a friend.
***
The basement corridor flickered in the torchlight, a dozen marching shadows rippling across its walls. The smells of earth and stone hung rancid in the air. The group made no effort at silence as it stormed along, weapons at the ready. Its destination was a door. A door beyond which was a room. A room within which were rows of candles set upon a dais. And a painting.
Melissa, Fink, and Brock led the pack. Dez and Dulce followed. Eight more Gs made up the remainder of the contingent. A larger force of more than a hundred waited in the heart of the Gallery, since the Mizoart made for a dangerous bottleneck. They would be alerted as soon as the location of the tree world's painting had been determined, at which point they would swarm the place. The battle would be over as soon as it began.
Or so Melissa hoped.
Kyle was a wildcard. Maybe a whole deck of wildcards. Melissa had no clue how powerful he was against large groups of minds. He could affect millions, maybe billions, by pulling on the mind of the tree, but she hoped that wasn't the same as pulling on so many individually. If it were, the battle would be over for a different reason.
However, if her plan worked, the Gs would never see Kyle, and thus he'd never have a chance to use his vim against them. More importantly, they'd never have a chance to blast him to oblivion. She'd bargained for his life, but she didn't expect them to keep their word if they found out he was the wielder she'd spoken of.
So far, things had gone well. Almost too well. Mrs. Lamb apparently thought her Mizoart safe, having left only two Crumholtzian guards at the entrance to the basement. They were dealt with swiftly by blasts from the Gs' guns. Melissa could sense no additional guards waiting below, but she avoided mentioning this to the Gs, of course.
Brock scratched at his new aegis as he walked, much to the chagrin of Fink, who told him the itching would stop soon if he gave it a rest. This had little effect, but at least he wasn't trying to pull it out, which Melissa thought would be any sane person's reaction to having a multi-tentacled monster embedded in their skull. He'd taken this fright with his typical sang-froid, aided only a pinch by the pull of Cynn. He'd taken to locuting even better, learning how to alight without falling over in a matter of minutes. Melissa had rolled her eyes and shaken her head, remembering her months of agony. Brock did have basketball coordination, she reminded herself. And now he was a bona fide rezeur, replete with a borrowed Gs uniform and his own locutor.
“Thees plan ees stoopid,” Dez grumbled for the hundredth time in the last hour. “Why we not all go een at once?”
Melissa didn't bother to reply, knowing Dez grasped the answer perfectly well—the lyconium shielding. Unlike her sister, whose venting technique appeared to hinge on consuming calorie-dense foodstuffs, she was a stress-complainer.
Moments later, they arrived at the door to the Mizoart chamber. The Gs performed a perfunctory check for guards, while Melissa attempted to suppress her nagging anxiety as to why Mrs. Lamb would have left the portal to her base so exposed. Then she opened the door and found out exactly why.
The Mizoart was gone.
Fink groaned. Brock frowned. Dez snickered in satisfaction. “Hee. Leetle pleeska lies to us, I theenk.”
The wall, where the painting had been, was empty except for a painting-shaped area of dust-free stone. Of course Mrs. Lamb was no fool, and Melissa now felt one for letting herself suspect as much. Pacing, she racked her brains and tried to ignore the persistent stream of complaints, threats, and derisions coming from Dez.
In seconds, the racking had yielded an idea. “Brock, come with me,” she said. “The rest of you, wait here.”
Dez began to protest, but Melissa was out the door and down the hall before the woman had formed two words. At the staircase leading to the dungeon, she turned and descended.
Tibor was right where she'd left him in the cell, picking at another sore on his foot, looking as perturbed as any Crumholtzian had ever looked. Upon seeing Melissa, his mind went red and he sprang to his feet. “Zoo have escaped! How?!”
Melissa stormed to a halt before the door, hands on her hips. She entered her vim, pulled on his mind with Veritas, and returned. “Where's the world with the tree?” she demanded. “Where's your boss?”
A lie formed on his lips, dying before it could be spoken. A half-dozen more followed in its wake. Then his eyes widened and he stumbled into the wall behind him, as though another foot of distance would protect him. “Zoo are a… a…”
“Answer the question.”
Despite his terror, he shook his head. “I vill not tell zoo!”
Melissa wanted to scream back at him, but she knew it would do no good, nor would torture. Tibor was a Crumholtzian. He'd be accustomed to pain. And she had her doubts she could even muster the guts to inflict it. She needed another answer—a smarter one.
“Brock, unlock the cell,” she said, handing him the keys.
Tibor's face perked up for a half second, just until she pulled on his mind with Xech.
“Fink, go tell the Gs to clear the hallway to the Mizoart chamber.”
With a nod, he scampered down her back. In the last few hours, he'd repaired enough of his motor functions to get around passably, and in seconds was gone up the stairs.
Melissa walked to the bench in the dungeon courtyard and set Tibor's locutor on it. Brock, having finished with the cell door, joined her in crouching in front of the adjoining cell, just outside of Tibor's view. Then she released his mind from Xech.
It turned purple in confusion, followed an instant later by green. “She has escaped!” he howled, running from the cell. As soon as his feet were moving, Melissa began to pull on his mind with the gray world, such that when he stopped in the dungeon courtyard and directed a sweeping glance about the premises, he saw neither her nor Brock. Snarling in agitation, he snatched up his locutor and bolted up the stairs.
With a tug on Brock's wrist to drag him along, Melissa was up and after the angry Crumholtzian as fast as her legs would carry her. By the time she caught up, he was in the Mizoart chamber, reaching for the wall and the painting his mind's eye told him hung there.
So the decision to remove the Mizoart had been made without his knowledge. Having suspected as much, Melissa released his mind from the gray world's pull and withdrew from the doorway so he wouldn't see her.
She heard a squawk as he registered the empty wall, then a rustle as his hand reached for the locutor. With that, he was gone to the Gallery. Melissa couldn't restrain a stupid grin. This produced an expression of the opposite sort on Dez, who stood nearby with the other Gs. “What you theenk you—”
“Try to keep up,” Melissa said, snatching the woman's locutor and grabbing Brock's arm. She thrust her hand into the device just as Fink was mounting her shoulder.
The fog of the Gallery hadn't yet settled from the recent passage of the Crumholtzian, its swirling unrest tracing a line towards the heart. With this and the scent of his mind as her guide, Melissa ran. Ran like her life depended on it.
She raced out of the DIEKDIKO corridor and past the assembled force of Gs who stood near its entrance, their stupefied looks telling her they'd just seen Tibor sprint by but hadn't managed to stop him. A good thing, too. Leaving them in the fog, she hurtled right. Past two more corridors. Down a third. PARATIRO, the arch read.
Tibor, she sensed, was well ahead, his bony legs propelling him with the speed of a bat out of hell. But she had to close the gap, and fast, or else he would disappear into a painting before she could even see which one it was.
Her tired legs ached as she ran. Even Brock couldn't keep up with her. Fink clutched to her shoulder, nearly swept off by the wind of passing air.
Just as when she'd chased Luud here a few days ago, Tibor's presence flickered in and out. When she next sensed him, he'd stopped moving. She dropped into her vim and wrenched on his mind with Xech.
Soon, his silhouette appeared ahead in the fog, its locutor-encased hand extended towards a painting it had been inches from touching. Another second and he would have been gone.
Panting, lightheaded, the lower half of her body screaming in pain, Melissa skidded to a stop on the obsidian beside him. She leaned on her knees and waited for her breath to return. Brock came wheezing from the fog, clutching at his chest. “Mel… issa… you're… fast.”
“Only… when I… need to be.”
Once able to breathe again, she straightened and turned to the painting Tibor's sprint had taken him to. It depicted a single leaf on black. Half was green and virile, while the other half was brown and wilted from disease. The plaque below read Arbul, a word Melissa thought could only mean tree.
Tibor had led her to the right place—Mrs. Lamb's lair.
She gulped, a flash of her last visit there playing in her thoughts. She didn't want to go back. But she knew it didn't matter anymore what she wanted.
The Gs arrived in another minute, all huffing and puffing and bulky, sweat-stained armor. Melissa prepared herself for an irate outburst from Dez, but none came. Instead, the woman just stared at the painting, wearing an uneasy demeanor shared by her comrades. The battle to come, in which some of them might die, now had a stage. It had become real.
After a moment of silent meditation, Dez approached Melissa to issue a few pleasant words of parting. “We geeve you twenty meenutes, pleeska. Then we come. Eef you lie to us and there ees no Uneety, we keel you.”
Melissa nodded. Whatever the Gs might do to her, it wouldn't be a tenth as bad as Mrs. Lamb's recompense, should things turn south. She looked to Brock. “You ready?”
“Totes!” Even without Cynn's aid, he didn't appear the least bit worried.
Oh, to be Brock, Melissa thought, taking his free arm. In his other, he carried a small black satchel the Gs had given him, within which were the items needed to take down the lyconium shielding. Melissa carried nothing but the locutor. For better or worse, she was trusting her mind to be her only weapon.
She turned to Arbul's painting and reached out. The Gallery vanished.
THIRTY-ONE
The gap into Arbul revealed the world to be an endless black expanse containing only the giant tree and the brainlike object its roots encircled, which Melissa guessed to be about a mile in diameter. Aside from Mrs. Lamb's domed base, there were no signs of life or civilization. With a stab of panic, Melissa wondered if the space outside the base might be some kind of uninhabitable, airless void. Or, even worse, if the structure was designed to be entered only via Mizoart, and had no exterior doors. If she were Mrs. Lamb, she thought she'd engineer that sort of thing. However, her fears turned out to be baseless.
Alighting atop a highway-wide tree root just beside the structure, her lungs were greeted with rich air carrying the same foresty scent she’d smelled inside the base. And a glance across the building's metal façade revealed a rectangular hatch and control panel some ten feet up. The wall was about thirty feet high and formed a cylinder atop which the glass dome rested. The whole of this extended, cantilevered, off the edges of the root to both sides, making for a precarious architectural achievement. Though Melissa couldn't see into the dome from her vantage point, she could sense more than a hundred and fifty people within—Kyle, Luud, and Mrs. Lamb among them.
