The Severed Tower (42 page)

As it yanked free, a slight flickering line of flame burst to life down the seam where it had been ripped loose. Almost instantly, another page rematerialized in its place, flashing to life in a similar brief flicker of fire.

Before Mira could see more, Gideon shut the notebook, replaced the pen, and reattached all of it to the clip on his chest.

As he spoke, he began folding the piece of paper. Small, specific folds, over and over, blending the corners into seams in the middle, working them with his hands. “Once long ago, there was a demon named Asegai. He was vile and terrible, and there was none more feared. One day, Asegai was traveling through the villages of the countryside with his attendants. In one of these villages, they witnessed a man performing walking meditation. Nothing uncommon on its own, but as they watched, the man’s face suddenly lighted up in wonder. For he had just discovered something amazing on the ground.”

Mira watched the old man’s hands move over the piece of paper, folding and blending it into some complex shape.

“Asegai’s attendants asked what the man had found,” Gideon continued, “and Asegai simply replied, ‘A piece of truth.’”

“‘Doesn’t this bother you when someone finds a piece of truth, Evil One?’ his attendants asked. ‘No,’ answered Asegai. ‘Right after this they often make a
belief
out of it.’”

Mira tried not to roll her eyes at the parable. “If something’s true, it’s true,” she retorted.

“Yes, but it is
we
who determine what is
true,
” Gideon countered, still folding the paper. With each fold it became smaller as a whole, and more complex. “We are what we
think
we are. You—you think you are afraid … and incapable. And so that is what you are.”

Mira sighed. “Okay. Fine. I think you’re probably right, and my rational self believes it, too, but, for whatever reason … the rest of me doesn’t.”

“You have spent much energy running from your fear. What has it gotten you?”

“Nothing,” Mira said in exasperation, “but what do I do?”

“Understand that fear is a part of your experience, yet something separate from who you
are.
See that having fear is irrelevant. It simply
is.
” His hands stopped moving, but Mira couldn’t see the final result. It was now clutched mysteriously within a double fist.

Mira looked at him in frustration. “And how the hell do I do all that?”

“Normally? With years of study and meditation.”

Mira sighed and looked away.

“But there are alternatives, assuming you are willing to accept a small amount of pain.” His fists uncurled, he held the paper out to her. It had been folded into the shape of what looked like a dragon.

“Origami?” Mira asked skeptically.

Gideon smiled almost sheepishly. “A childhood skill, one I never enjoyed then, but the folds are more beautiful to me now that I can only
feel
them. I’m not sure why that is.” The last part he said musingly, as if examining a riddle; but it only distracted him a moment. “The energy of the ‘idea’ must be stored on the paper of the notebook, and folded before it releases. It need only be folded once, but … I indulge myself.”

Mira smiled. She liked Gideon, and understood now why his followers were so devoted. He was another reminder of what the world had lost. There were no great teachers anymore.

Something occurred to her about what he had just said. “An … idea?”

Gideon nodded. “A single idea. One I believe will help you, if only you can recognize it.”

“Why not just tell me, then? Why use the artifact at all?”

“Learning an idea is just as difficult as learning a skill,” Gideon answered. “Hearing me explain how to use a Lancet is not the same as practicing it with discipline. In the same way,
hearing
an idea is not the same as
accepting
it. Simply telling you to believe in yourself … will not make you believe.”

Mira said nothing. She couldn’t argue the point.

“You will accept it this way, it will take root,” Gideon continued, “but it is not without its price.”

Mira looked down at the folded dragon in her hands. “How?”

“Unfold it and read. The power of the artifact will do the rest.”

Mira studied the paper dragon. What if Gideon could do what he said? What if she could overcome her fears by simply unfolding a piece of paper? But she was still unsure. “There’s … pain?”

Gideon nodded. “Nothing of value is ever without pain, Mira.”

Mira stared down at the folded dragon a second longer, then made up her mind. She began pulling it apart, undoing the shape Gideon had meticulously crafted. More and more it unfolded, an unending series of bends and twists, unwinding back to its original shape, until there was only one fold left. The initial one, the fold that had cut it in half.

Mira’s fingers trembled. She steeled herself—and then opened the final fold.

Inside the paper was writing, and Mira stared at it, confused. It was written in Asian characters, each a blocky mass of jagged lines. Japanese, she assumed. Whatever it was, it made no sense to her.

Angry and frustrated, she looked away from the paper …

… and gasped as a searing, burning agony flooded every nerve in her body. It was like being set ablaze.

“Release the note and the pain will end,” Gideon’s voice echoed in her head, “but you will learn
nothing.
”

Mira almost did exactly that—the pain was too much, too horrible—she felt her fingers loosen, about to drop the terrible piece of—

An image flared to life in her mind. It did nothing to cloud or obstruct the pain, but it did give her something to focus on.

The image was a mirror. In the mirror she saw herself, and she didn’t look as she expected. She didn’t look frightened. Or weak. She looked—

The pain continued to build and Mira groaned, crushing the unfolded dragon in her fists; but she had to hold on, had to see what it was showing her.

The mirror again, the image of her in it. She looked confident and strong, capable, resourceful. She looked like the person she wanted to be.

And with that realization, the pain ended. The world rushed back and Mira fell to her knees.

A slight tingling in her hand made her look down, and she saw the paper burning into cinders, drifting away in the breeze. The dragon was gone, the experience was over. Mira swallowed. Her clothes were damp from sweat. A chill ran through her at the memory of the pain, but had she really learned anything from it?

“What did you see?” Gideon’s voice brought her the rest of the way back. He had kneeled down before her, his empty gaze glancing just to the left.

“A … reflection,” Mira said, her voice raspy.

“A reflection of what?”

“Myself.”

“And what did your reflection look like?”

Mira shook her head. “Strong. Confident. But I don’t
feel
that way!”

“I never said you would
feel
any differently,” Gideon replied, and offered his hand to her. Mira took it and stood up. “I only gave you an idea. You must now make sense of it.”

“How?” Mira asked in frustration. “It was just me in a mirror. That’s
it.
”

Gideon studied her patiently. “Perhaps you are focusing on the wrong thing. Perhaps the reflection is irrelevant. Perhaps what you should truly be considering, is the
mirror.
”

“The mirror?” He was making less and less sense.

“We all have mirrors,” he answered. “Things that reflect ourselves so that we can see. Some show what we really are. But some produce only distorted images. Yet, sadly—we accept them. Blindly.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gideon nodded. “I believe you will. When the time is right.”

Mira shook her head and looked away. At least
he
was optimistic. Then something occurred to her.

“The notebook,” she said. “Is it how you teach the
Helix?
” It made sense, actually. If the White Helix learned what they knew from Gideon, the only way they could become so skilled so quickly would be the use of something like the notebook. If it could really do what Gideon claimed, then the Helix, Avril, Dane, all of them, would be able to learn directly from Gideon’s knowledge, absorbing it like memories.

“Yes,” Gideon answered, “but it is no easy road. You felt the pain yourself, and that was for one simple idea, now growing in your subconscious. Imagine the pain involved for the
mastery
of a skill. Then consider all the skills my pupils possess.”

Mira shuddered. If she’d had to learn how to be a Freebooter that way, she wasn’t sure she could have done it. She suddenly had a new respect for the White Helix.

“Many do not survive the learning,” Gideon continued in a low voice, “but the Strange Lands is like a forge. It hones and shapes us, makes us
strong.
In that way, we use it against itself.”

Mira shook her head. Gideon was an enigma, but a fascinating one. “Gideon doesn’t sound like a very Asian name.”

“No.” He chuckled lightly. “I was once called something different, but that is a story for another day. A long one. I have done many things in my life I would prefer not to think on.” The mirth in his voice slowly dissipated. “I have always thought it odd. It was not until the Assembly came that I lost my sight; and it was not until I found this place that I truly learned to
see.
I would not be who I am now, in that other world—but none of us would, I suppose.”

“I guess not.” Something else occurred to her. Something she had been curious about. “The Reflection Box. It’s a powerful artifact, I get it, but—why is it so important to you?”

“It is important, not for this moment, but for others,” Gideon answered. “If what I fear does come to pass, then it will be an integral part of what follows. It is my hope that you will not need it, but, if you do, you will know why when the time comes.” Gideon and Mira considered each other a moment more, and then Gideon began to walk back toward where they had started. “Come. You are as prepared as you can be.”

Mira followed after him. “Prepared for what?”

“For all that is left.”

They walked the rest of the way of in silence.

38.
SHIFT

ZOEY WALKED IN BETWEEN MIRA AND HOLT,
holding their hands. Max was in front and Ambassador stomped behind them, its green laser light taking away as much pain as it could. Together, they slowly moved into the canyon, and as they did, Zoey saw that Sanctum had been completely disbanded. The infinite stretch of glowing tents was gone, leaving only darkness—but it was by no means abandoned. When they reached where the meeting had taken place earlier, the multitudes of the White Helix were there, filling the canyon walls in flickering spots of color, awaiting her arrival. The old phone booth was closed, the strange, swirling storm of gray light once again trapped inside, and everything was eerily silent.

“Kiddo,” Holt said, glancing down at her. “You don’t have to do any of this, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

She could sense his sincerity, his concern, and she smiled through the pain. “I know.”

The strange group, human, canine, and machine, moved into the center of the canyon, and as they did cheers erupted, drowning out everything. Colored sparks shot from the walls and the ground, flashing in the air like lightning.

“Strength! Strength! Strength!”
the Helix chanted as Zoey moved, and she pushed against Holt instinctively.

In the middle, another group waited. Zoey could see White Helix and Menagerie, two dozen of each, glaring with distrust at one another. Avril, Dane, Masyn, and Castor were among them, while Ravan stood with her men impatiently. Out in front, by himself, was Gideon.

When they reached the center, Zoey and the others stopped, waiting, unsure, listening to the chants. Then Gideon held his hands up—and everything went silent again. He turned slowly where he stood, as if looking at the thousands of students that filled the canyons, waiting eagerly for his words. But, of course, he wasn’t “looking” at anything.

“The Pattern has honed us. Made us sharp. Forced us to grow strong.” His voice echoed against the dark, painted walls. “I have asked much of you, I know, and you have never questioned it, but in your hearts you wonder what the intent of all this is. You wonder why we have made ourselves the way we have. You wonder about your purpose, about who you really are. I promise you that soon, all too soon … you will have your answers. For the dawn we have waited for is approaching, and it will wipe away
everything
.”

Max whined underneath Zoey. She reached out and scratched his head.

“What is the first Keystone?” Gideon asked.

The Helix instantly responded, filling the canyon with their voice.
“We are what we think we are!”

“We are what we think we are,” Gideon responded, and it seemed, just for a moment, that his blind eyes looked toward Mira. Zoey felt a sudden sense of trepidation from her. Those words had some meaning to Mira, though Zoey was unsure what. “When the day comes that I am no longer with you, whenever you question yourself or what you must do, remember the first Keystone. Remembering
it
 … is remembering
me.
You are all my children. You are all my equals—and you each give me great pride.”

From the thousands of White Helix that surrounded them, Zoey sensed a flood of overwhelming emotion. Excitement, anticipation—and love. They
loved
Gideon. He had made them something special. He had taught and nurtured them. He had been a father, something that the vast majority in the world now never experienced or knew.

“Form the caravan,” he continued. “Make all speed to the Tower. When you reach it—you will know then
who
you are.” His sightless gaze passed over the multitude one last time, then he spoke his final command. “Go.”

Immediately, the White Helix began to move, leaping from the walls, either to the ground, or to the top of the canyon—droves of them, a massive wave of sparkling color and gray shadows that blended into the darkened landscape. Half a dozen tipped over the phone booth and grabbed the lengths of metallic poles on either side, carrying it between them, blending into the crowd. Zoey watched as they became strobic silhouettes against the flashing Antimatter Lightning in the distance, heading north toward where she and the others, hopefully, would be very soon.