Runner (45 page)

The Hogger was in Rebo's pack, but the Crosser was available, and the runner went for it. The Dib Wa warriors were armed with long double-barreled flintlock pistols, but the weapons were difficult to draw, and the semiautomatic handgun barked twice. Two of the soldiers fell, but Rebo knew the others would have time to bring their weapons into play, or would have if it hadn't been for Norr. For rather than simply stand there, as the warriors had assumed that she would, the female produced a strange-looking blade. It made a sizzling sound as it passed through the air and sank into flesh. One of the surviving black hats screamed while the other had the good sense to drop his pistol and back away. The monk did likewise.

Rebo raised the Crosser as if to fire, but Lee grabbed his arm. “No! Let them go.”

“They'll bring more black hats down on us.”

“It would happen anyway,” Lee said philosophically. “Besides, it's one thing to kill in self-defense, and another to shoot an unarmed man.”

Rebo wasn't so sure, but knew it would be a waste of time to trade words with the boy and waggled the pistol instead. “You heard Nom Maa . . . This is your lucky day. Run while you still can.”

The black hats turned and ran. Lee took a moment to
watch them go before turning to his protector. “My name continues to be Tra Lee until such time as I prove otherwise.”

“Sure,” the runner replied, as Hoggles arrived on the scene. “Whatever you say.”

“Come on,” Norr said, as she eyed the road ahead. “It will take at least twelve hours to reach the temple. More if we take back roads. We'd better get moving.”

Norr's words made sense, but the group soon discovered that there
weren't
any back roads, just a tangle of footpaths that led from field to field, home to home, and village to village. And without a map, or signs to guide them, the travelers soon lost their way.

That was when Lee sauntered up to what he assured his companions was a red hat house, rang the ornamental bell that hung out front, and spoke with the wizened little woman who appeared in the cloth-hung doorway. Then, once the woman had agreed to help, a child was dispatched to fetch her grown son. He arrived about ten minutes later. His baggy trousers were still wet from his work in the family's tas paddy. A rapid-fire exchange of Tilisi ensued. Finally, his questions having been answered, the farmer bowed to Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles. The next words were in standard. “My name is Twi. Come . . . I will take you to the Nocar Rebu (Red Temple), but we must hurry, or the black hats will cut us off.”

The local took off at a ground-eating jog, which left the off-worlders with little choice but to do likewise. Though he was in good shape after weeks of arduous travel, Rebo's head continued to hurt, and the pounding did nothing to lessen the pain. Still, there was some satisfaction to be found in the fact that Twi's knowledge of the countryside would not only cut hours off the journey, but help ensure their safety. Because, like so much of Thara's surface, the area they
were traveling through had long been divided into a patchwork quilt of black-hat- and red-hat-dominated fiefdoms.

The locals lived in peace most of the time, but there had been an increasing amount of friction as the time of choosing drew near. Especially since word had filtered out of CaCanth that, while the black hat boy had arrived weeks earlier, and continued to prepare for his test, the red hat equivalent had yet to appear.

A miserable state of affairs from a red hat point of view, but one that the black hats took considerable pleasure in, especially since the lack of a qualified candidate would provide their sect with an effortless victory. That was why the farmer was careful to lead his charges
around
certain villages—and straight through those he knew to be friendly.

Finally, after only two short breaks, and with darkness settling all around them, the fugitives turned onto the path that led up a statue-flanked path to the Red Temple. Iron oxide had been mixed into the plaster that covered the structure's gently curved dome, and it appeared to glow as the last rays of the quickly setting sun caressed it.

But no sooner had the travelers spotted the temple than they were spotted in return. A Dib Wa officer appeared up ahead and shadowlike warriors detached themselves from the surrounding gloom. Twenty minutes later Lee was deep inside the Nocar Rebu standing before the local abbot. The whitewashed room was bare except for a bas-relief likeness of Teon that occupied most of one wall, the incense burner that crouched in one corner, and the mat on which the elderly monk sat. No less than three pretenders had arrived on Thara over the last seven months—so the holy man was somewhat skeptical at first. However, unlike those who had arrived before him,
this
boy knew every single one of the code phrases that had been received two years earlier.

Upon hearing the last of them it was the abbot who rose, came forward, and knelt even as tears of joy ran down his cheeks. “Welcome to Thara, Excellency. We are truly blessed.”

Lee smiled and bent to assist the old man. “Yes, we are, because life provides us with the opportunity to grow. I need to reach CaCanth, and the black hats are determined to stop me. Will you help?”

When the sun rose the next morning and bathed the countryside in golden light, the abbot's answer was plain to see. A force of a hundred heavily armed Dib Wa warriors stood waiting as Lee and his companions arrived to inspect them. They were backed by thirty red hat monks equipped with wooden staves, and roughly the same number of farmers armed with shovels, hoes, and axes. It was a veritable army by local standards and Lee was grateful. He told the abbot as much, and when asked for a blessing, gave the same one that
any
other member of the order could have bestowed. “May the great Teon watch over and guide you to the truth within.”

Then, with a vanguard of warriors leading the way, the entire force set out for CaCanth. Things went well at first, and the miles seemed to melt away as the column snaked through a succession of small villages. But not all of them were friendly, as evidenced by the hostile stares and obscene gestures directed at the travelers.

Of more concern, however, were the reports that civilian scouts brought back. The reports went straight to Lee who, in spite of his age, was assumed to be none other than the great Nom Maa. Eventually, after repeated efforts to realign the command structure had failed, the boy effected what amounted to a compromise by insisting that both the senior
Dib Wa
and
his traveling companions be included when the scouts came in.

The most recent report, which had been delivered by a long-legged girl with dark eyes, was especially worrisome. It seemed that before the red hat procession could start up the road that led to the holy city of CaCanth, it would first be necessary to cross the bridge at a place called Noko Ree, where a large group of black hats had begun to gather.

“Can we circumvent the bridge?” Lee inquired hopefully. “I would like to avoid bloodshed if possible.”

“No, Excellency,” the girl replied. “The ancients built the bridge so they could cross high above the Ree Ree River, which passes hundreds of feet below. It would take weeks to go around.”

But Lee didn't
have
weeks, not if he wanted to arrive in time to take the test. “So,” the boy said, as he turned to his advisors. “What do you think?”

Rebo was about to tell Lee that he should go for it but Norr spoke first. Except that it wasn't Norr, not really, since the voice clearly belonged to Lysander. “There's more,” the discarnate proclaimed. “Something the girl didn't see.”

The Dib Wa officer and the scout looked understandably surprised as a distinctly male voice issued from Norr's mouth. Rebo had heard the sound before, didn't want to hear it again, and shook his head in disgust. “Wonderful . . . Just what we needed. Citizen star gate.”

“I don't remember you objecting to star gates when your life was at stake,” Lysander observed tartly. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the simulacrum.”

Hoggles frowned. “The simu what?”

“A simulacrum is an image of something,” the scientist explained patiently. “In this case the image resembles the
personage once known as Teon. Except that this particular likeness can move around.”

“So it's a metal man,” Lee put in. “Like the ones the Techno Society has.”

“Yes, and no,” Lysander replied. “Yes, in that the simulacrum is a machine, but no, because it lacks the ability to make decisions for itself.”

“The black hats possess such a thing,” the Dib Wa officer confirmed. “A machine that
looks
like Teon—but is worn like a suit of armor. They keep it in the temple of Wat. The monks believe that the ancients built the device for use in processionals and festivals. It doesn't work though—so who cares?”

“
You
do,” the discarnate insisted, “or you should, because the black hats hired a sensitive. A person who, though ignorant of mechanical things himself, channeled a being who has the requisite knowledge.”

“Perfect,” Rebo said sarcastically. “Just what we need. Is this simulacrum armed?”

“No,” the scientist answered. “Not to my knowledge. But it's
big,
larger than a heavy, and that's dangerous enough. That's why I came . . . There's no point in proceeding farther. I recommend that you turn back.”

“Because of the danger?” the runner inquired cynically. “Or because you want Lanni to transport Logos to Socket?”

“Because of
both,
” the discarnate answered honestly. “If my daughter were to be injured or killed, who would reunite Logos with the equipment necessary to reestablish the gates?”

“I know
I
wouldn't,” Rebo confirmed sourly. “But Lanni can decide for herself. So go back to wherever you stay when you aren't bothering us and do whatever you do.”

There was a slight hesitation, as if Lysander was
considering what had been said, followed by a distinct change in Norr's demeanor as her chin fell, her shoulders slumped, and her head came back up. The locals looked on in wonder as the sensitive's eyes blinked, and her normal voice was restored. “Logos can wait. We have a boy to deliver.”

Rebo was surprised to discover that he had been holding his breath. Lee grinned, and Hoggles put an enormous hand on his shoulder. “The Divine Wind is not a boy,” the Dib Wa officer observed mildly, “but we are in agreement . . . The processional will continue.”

As the procession continued to wend its way through the
verdant countryside, word of its purpose spread like wildfire. As that occurred the column started to grow. Some people came because they were red hats, others came in hopes of obtaining a special blessing from Nom Maa, and still others came because they didn't want to miss the clash when red encountered black at Noko Ree.

But whatever their intentions, hopes, and desires, come they did until what had begun as a short, military-style formation, had grown into a column that was at least a mile long. Finally, by the time Lee called a halt, Rebo estimated that the processional included at least two thousand people. The number was so large that the monks, who had originally been sent along to support the Dib Wa, were forced to fill in as both policeman and healers as their engorged flock proceeded to squabble over campsites, give birth to babies, and die of natural causes.

Lee was stunned by the size of the crowd and watched from the top of a rise as a gentle rain began to fall, and hundreds of fires served to punctuate the gloom. He wasn't aware of Norr's presence until she hung a coat over his shoulders and looked out over field. “You must be very proud.”

“No,” Lee replied somberly. “I'm very, very, frightened. They believe in me . . . What if they're wrong?”

“But they
aren't
wrong,” Norr replied confidently. “The monks on Anafa were correct. You were born for this.”

“Maybe,” the boy allowed uncertainly. “What about you? What were
you
born for?”

Norr looked up toward the sky only to discover that clouds blocked the stars. “I don't know,” the sensitive replied softly. “Perhaps time will tell.”

The cold, gray light of dawn arrived slowly, as if reluctant
to begin a new day. Lee stood on the same rise he had the night before as his followers added fuel to their campfires, made tea, and exchanged ritual greetings. The faithful were in high spirits, but he was nervous,
very
nervous, knowing that the abandoned village of Noko Ree and a large force of black hats lay only a few miles ahead. Efforts had been made to provoke them during the night but without success. The bridge across the Ree Ree River was a natural choke point, and the black hat officers knew it. After all, why come out and battle the enemy on the plain if they could force them to attack what amounted to a well-defended funnel?

The boy felt sick to his stomach as he imagined what was to come. Many people would be injured, maimed, and killed, all in the name of Teon—a man who taught nonviolence and peace. And yet, the same Teon had said, “ . . . To witness evil, yet raise no hand against it, is to perpetrate an even greater crime.” And Lee was convinced that much of the dark sect's leadership was intent on the acquisition of power rather than the furtherance of Teon's teachings.