WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (4 page)

A familiar sensation pulled Ash out of the darkness

His wolfhound, Tynan, put a large paw on Ash’s chest and licked his face, with one long, rough, doggy kiss.
Such a terrible feeling of loss.
Ash woke up on the floor of the lower deck with tears in his eyes. He knew Tynan had not been there, but it felt as though the ghostly presence of his friend had come to say goodbye. What was going on? He put his hand on his chest where he could still feel the familiar coarse padding and long nails of Tynan’s paw.

An alarm was shrilling continuously. Sitting up, Ash was promptly and repeatedly sick. Despite being a veteran of chronic illness, he could never remember feeling so unwell. Uncharacteristically, Ash wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater. Such vulgar behavior didn’t matter. Something terrible had occurred, and, child that he was, Ash’s first thought was that he wanted his mother.

“Mother?” Ash called. Too unsteady to stand, he crawled off to search. He found her in navigation. Sartha’s trim figure lay on the grooved flooring, eyes closed, skin clammy and white. Her shoulder length, golden blonde hair fanned around her face; she was dressed in an elegant off-white blouse and tan pant-skirt, her concession for being in space. As always with his mother, nothing appeared out of place. Had she intentionally lain down? Still on his knees, Ash bent over her and shook her with mounting fear.

“Mother!” he shouted.

Sartha’s bright blue eyes opened, first with a look of confusion and then with pain. They focused on her son.

“I thought you were dead,” Ash whispered. The din of the alarm intruded and Ash’s relief vanished. “That sound … will the illness come again?”

His mother sat up and her hands gripped his shoulders. “You felt it?”

“Of course.”

Her face flared with surprise and her hands tightened upon him. Eyes wild with anxiety she said, “Did you lose consciousness?”

“Yes.”

She came to her knees then, her desperate hands feeling all over his body for injuries. “Are you sick? Are you injured?” Her tone was frantic.

Ash’s mother’s concern over his physical health was so frequent an occurrence that this severe reaction on her part neither disturbed nor surprised him. Ash shrugged, minimizing any illness, as he had done all his life. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, mother. You don’t look so good yourself.”

She expelled a relieved breath. “Thank Jana you’re all right.” She stood up, bringing him to his feet, one arm clutching him above the elbow. Ash’s heart jumped in alarm and shock. What Sartha’s distracted grip communicated was almost as disconcerting as the feel of his wolfhound’s paw. His mother
needed
to hold him. It was as if she would be utterly lost and alone without that contact. Why should she feel this way? His mother was strong and independent. She didn’t need him. It was he that needed her.

A gridded holovid map was projected at eye level. A transparent bluish screen, it projected the known galaxy and
Assurance’s
position within it. Sartha leaned over
Assurance’s
instruments. Her complexion, already white, paled further. She dropped both hands to the console and exclaimed in a shaky voice, “Forsaken Worlds, we’ve entered normal space, Ash. I must have hit emergency purge when — ” she paused and licked dry lips “ — when the illness came.” An expression came over his mother’s face, a blank, long-distance stare. Ash couldn’t recall ever seeing her look that way before. She wasn’t here; she appeared to be somewhere else altogether.

Ash touched her hand, wanting her back. Sartha took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She opened them once more. “I’ve work to do, son,” she said. “Get us a hot drink and something sweet to settle our stomachs.”

Ash left and soon returned with two large mugs of sweetened herbal tisanes and a plate of honey cakes. The ship’s small bot had already cleaned where he had been sick. “Mother, what’s going on?”

She gave him a graceful shrug.

“But why …”

Sartha pressed a finger to his lips, preventing the flood of questions that were forming. “I can’t tell you more,” she said, with just a hint of warning in her voice.

Ash thought his mother looked sad and lost. He felt a bit that way, too. He wanted to tell her about Tynan, the feel of his tongue, and the sensation of his large paw on his chest, but he couldn’t speak of it. The memory was too raw. Instead he asked, “What was that terrible feeling?”

“I don’t know, Ash,” she replied, her eyes sliding away from his own.

Astonished, Ash stared at his mother.
She was lying. Why would she lie?
Ash wanted to confront her and demand the truth but the words wouldn’t come. The knowledge burned inside him, but he said nothing. He knew now that they were in terrible danger and that in leaving Delian they had been running away. He recalled the red dawn, that ominous portent. It still made no sense, but Ash knew his mother. She would say nothing more unless she chose to.

“Patience, son.” Sartha took a long drink of hot, sweet tea, and studied the holovid. “I need to establish our position and plot a way back to Omni. Tomorrow, once I have time, we’ll begin Trueborn instruction. Such training is never started before the sixteenth year, but you’ve proven your need for it.”

Ash was startled. Trueborn instruction? Knowing the mysteries of one’s gift was the goal of every child born on Delian.
But why now? Four years before tradition demanded?

“Ashton,” his mother said. She always used his full name when she was serious about something. “For now I want you to rest.”

“But I just woke up,” Ash protested, rebelling at the suggestion. He had been admonished to “rest” all his life.

“Son, the body is rested, but not the mind. Here, sit.”

They moved to the nearby dark blue lounge. It was a formfitting couch that could be guided by Icom for maximum ease, either by sitting, reclining or by delivering a massage. They both sat, neither directing Icom to provide further comfort. Ash sat in front of his mother and she held his hands, much as Mother Latnok had done. He frowned, disturbed by the sudden sharp memory of the Seer’s bony, cold grip.

“This is your first lesson, son. Shut your eyes. What do you feel?”

He closed his eyes and turned his mind inwards. After a moment he said, “I feel …” He bit his lip, trying to pinpoint the exact sensation. “I feel kind of sick, but not physically unwell,” he quickly assured her.

“Good. Tell me more.”

Ash took a deep breath. “I feel your grief, mother. You can’t mask it. You’re so sad. Why do we feel this way? It’s terrible.”

Sartha’s eyes widened slightly clearly surprised by his words, but she said, “You are burdened by the Dark Sankomin.”

“What’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

“The Dark Sankomin is all that has been and all that can be. If you were here, right now, it couldn’t touch you.” She shook her head at Ash’s puzzled expression. “This is so difficult to explain. Mind-touch can heal, but it’s not practical at your age. And yet the mind must rest.” She spoke almost to herself.

“What does this Dark Sankomin have to do with me?”

“The illness brought it to you.”

“I don’t want it!”

“All souls suffer the Dark Sankomin. You at least are Delian, and can have mind-touch to heal when you marry.” Sartha’s face darkened and her hand went to her heart.

“Mother?” Ash said. “Are you okay?”

“Give me a moment,” his mother said, turning away from him. A minute passed and she finally faced him with a forced smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am fine. Just a little tired.”

“What were you going to say?”

“I don’t recall.”

He frowned, studying her face.
More lies.
Ash knew he had missed something. He had been following the trail of conversation, but then it had unaccountably reached a dead end when she had mentioned marriage. What was she hiding now? His mother was acting so odd, so unlike herself. He remembered the illness and said, “So what do the off-worlders do? You know, since they can’t mind-touch.”

“Off-worlders don’t understand the Dark Sankomin. They call it melancholy or depression. It often leads to madness or suicide. They suppress it through drugs, alcohol or entertainment and it can be often diverted through powerful emotions such as love, revenge or rage. Some find sensation effective — physical activity, for example, or pleasure. Strong purpose can also be used. All of these will work on a temporary basis.”

“Will I have the Dark Sankomin for long? How do I get rid of it?”

“Go to the sports room, Ash. Listen to your favorite music. Exercise until your body is as exhausted as your mind — practice the Disciplines. If that is still not enough, watch something on Icom 3D. Distract yourself, then sleep. Sleep will free you in time. If necessary I’ll give you a draught. With effort the Dark Sankomin will recede.”

A
fter her son left, Sartha sat motionless for some time. The transparent bluish holovid remained on, but although she appeared to be looking she did not see. Numb with shock, Sartha was unable to take in the magnitude of her loss.
Her people, her love — all gone.

Ash, too, had felt them die.

Sartha had been stunned by her son’s ability. Thank the Goddess his mind had disengaged. They both had lost consciousness, but not their lives. Appearances can be so deceiving. Her son’s slight, frail body held a powerful gift. Ash had felt the asphyxiating gas, the death of their people. At his age it was ordinarily impossible for one to achieve such a connection.

An alarm flashed, but she was already aware of the problem. Sartha reached over, and disabled it manually.
Assurance
had been built so that one person could fly her, but as advanced as the vessel was it had no tolerance for human error. When the people of her world were destroyed, Sartha’s impulse had been to stop. Without thought she had hit the purge button had taken them out of Omni. Now they needed to alter course to the nearest corridor, but that could take weeks to reach. Without Omni they would be forced to travel slowly in normal space.

At least she could use this time to begin her son’s Trueborn training. Ash would rebel at learning the Testimonials verbatim, she knew. Tradition held that he must memorize and recite the Testimonials before he could read the Interpretations. If the Seer’s casting was accurate, she would need to teach him quickly. It may be years or only months before she, too, passed.

She couldn’t tell him about his people, or his father. Not yet. Sartha frowned. It was true what she had told Ash that “All souls suffer the Dark Sankomin.” She had also told him that off-worlders call it melancholy or depression and that it can lead to madness or suicide. What she hadn’t told him was that those born on Delian were prone to extremes of madness and empty despair that off-worlders were not.

The first colonists from Earth had begun to go mad about twenty years after arrival on Delian. The histories spoke of that time, a dark age, three-hundred years in their past. Innate human powers were magnified upon their world. Passionate and psychically powerful, they could be heavily influenced by the Dark Sankomin. Delians had been given a great gift, and like all such gifts it was balanced by a flaw. No Delian could avoid insanity without healing mind-touch. Mass suicides, war and sudden homicidal violence had been frequent occurrences. It was Meg Kloekat, an unconventional anthropologist and sociologist who came up with the theory and concept of the Dark Sankomin. Soon after, her wife Jacque, a physician and therapist, discovered healing mind touch. Without this evolution the people of Delian would have destroyed themselves.

This was why the Testimonials and the Interpretations were so important for every Delian to understand. Studies had been made, and results published in the Interpretations. Without healing mind-touch, the Dark Sankomin closes in. First the individual becomes unable to sleep; their rest becomes filled with active, anxious dreams and then nightmares. They stop eating and drinking, and stop taking care of themselves. They become preoccupied by unnatural ideas and overpowering emotions. Passions rage up and down the scale, extremes of hate, guilt, anger and despair. Jealousy, envy … what may in small degrees be rational rapidly grew out of all proportion. Some Delians were able to hide this process, appearing quite normal, until without warning they took their own lives — or someone else’s.

“All become marred in time,” the Testimonial warned. And it was true. Once Ash was trained, he could mind-touch her and free the rivers of her mind, providing release from the Dark Sankomin. It could take years for him to learn, however. It would be difficult for her to wait for such mental and spiritual healing. It had only been a matter of hours and already she was so burdened that she found it difficult to think clearly. Worse, if she honestly faced the truth, she knew she would welcome her own death when the time came.

When she felt a bit better, with Ash’s permission she would at least be able to mind-touch him in order to clear his mind. But what would become of her son if she died?

She would have to teach him effective ways to suppress or divert the Dark Sankomin. Without healing mind-touch, Ash’s powerful gift would turn against him. Sartha trembled with dread at that thought. When she perished he would be the last Delian alive. Without a healing touch Ash would, in time, be condemned to madness and despair. Delian born, such an outcome was inevitable. Had it all been for naught? Had Ash been saved in order to suffer worse trials before he, too, died?

Her people, her love — all gone.

She recalled her thoughtless comment to her son,
“You at least are Delian, and can have mind-touch to heal when you marry.”
There would be no Delian bride for Ashton. He may know love, but he would never know the joy and completion of healing consummation. He would spend his life alone. It seemed impossible to comprehend. Desolate, Sartha went to bed but slept little, working to push her own Dark Sankomin away. Grief and despair overwhelmed her. Too many painful emotions were firmly blocked in the river of her mind. She thrashed restlessly in her sleep and ground her teeth. In her dreams she ran and ran, unable to escape.