Lightning (18 page)

From behind, a pair of hands clasped Selah's. Cleon. Relief flooded her stomach. She released the weapon to him and scrambled away from the fallen guard, charging out the door with Cleon close behind.

As he exited, Cleon spun and trained the weapon on the door until it closed. He fired several rounds at the palm pad. It exploded, the fried circuits black and crackling.

“Will that blast disable the door permanently?” Selah asked as they ran.

“I don't know, but it will buy us time,” Cleon said.

Selah charged to a door opening. “In here! I think the color of this hall is familiar.” Her exceptional memory matched the colors with the configuration of door openings. Every time she stopped to think
how
she was doing it, it stopped working. Another novarium trait surfacing. She kept her concentration until they reached the city street. She snatched the pulse rifle from Cleon, shoved it under her tunic, then tightened her belt to keep it in place.

Relief flooded her. She knew the way to Treva's from here.

Cleon pulled on her arm. “Hold it. Are we going to Treva's? She hates us.”

“Where else can we go? Answer fast before we draw attention or the guards catch up.”

“Ganston's office. Maybe that skinny guy Jax is still there. He can find Mojica.” Cleon was looking more confident now. Selah wanted to argue Jax probably wouldn't have the job anymore, but she couldn't say for sure.

“Do you remember the way? I recall several instances of the same color hall and same number of doorways, just different configurations. It might take too long to figure out the right one.”

“Yes, I know the way.” Cleon navigated the halls like a rat Selah had once seen in a maze race. Or maybe she was projecting how crisscrossed her brain felt. In any case, he executed every turn perfectly, and in less than a minute they stood before Charles Ganston's office.

Selah lifted her fingers to the door pad. Her hand lingered just out of sensor range. Should they trust another person from the Mountain? Cleon smacked the panel, pushed her inside, and waved the door closed behind them. Jax averted his eyes from the large wall monitor and turned to glance in their direction. His eyes widened.

Selah leaned over the front of the desk. “Do you remember me, Jax? Treva and Mr. Charles helped me get my father out the last time I was here.”

Jax's head bobbed up and down. He backed away as his lips pressed to a thin line. “Yes, I remember you troubled children. It caused quite a stir here, yes sir, quite a stir.”

“Where or how can I find Mojica? We need her help right away,” Selah said.

“Yes, yes, I know exactly how to help. You hide in the inner office, out of sight, and I'll make the call,” Jax said. He ushered them into Ganston's office and closed the door.

“What are you doing? How do you know we can trust him?” Cleon pulled the pulse rifle from the back of Selah's tunic.

“It was your idea to come here. Why did you suggest it if you weren't sure?”

Cleon laid the rifle across Ganston's desk and raised both hands to his head, running sweat back across his hair. “I don't know. I panicked. After seeing Father . . .”

Selah shook her head. Her knees started to tremble as she began to weep. “That wasn't real. There's a reasonable explanation. They must be holding Mother and Dane hostage to make Father act like that. They must—”

Cleon grabbed her by both arms. “Stop. Listen to me!” The pressure of his fingers made her wince. She wanted to pull away but he wouldn't let go. “I tried to tell you that day with Raza. What you saw today was my real father.”

“No! I don't believe you. He was mean and cruel and—”

“That's the man he's always been. I've watched you since we were young, trying to make him acknowledge you as a daughter.” Cleon hung his head. “When he swore me and Raza to secrecy about you not being his child, I felt a certain smugness, probably some stupid sibling rivalry, because he said he could never love a child not his own. I'm sorry. I've always known your love for every one of us had no such conditions.”

It had been one thing to listen to Raza's outburst before his death, but she never believed the picture he'd painted of Father. In her mind, anything could be fixed. Reality didn't agree. “I thought if I just explained—”

“Nothing you could say to him would help. I often thought he was only nice as a gesture for Mother's sake. The man I saw today, that's who he is.”

Selah slumped against the desk, dazed.
It can't be fixed.
She'd seen him and pleaded with him, and his countenance had never changed. “What happened to Mother and Dane?”

“I don't know, but I think I made a mistake bringing us here. There's just something I didn't like about the way Jax looked at us.”

“I was too numb to concentrate on his—”

The door to the outer office slid open.

Selah snatched up the pulse rifle and turned. Two guards rushed in to take up positions on either side of the door. Bethany strolled into the room. Cleon grabbed the weapon from Selah and aimed.

Bethany raised a hand. “Don't bother, I had the pulse deactivated by remote as soon as you left my building.”

Cleon pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He hit the charger and pulled on the trigger again. Nothing. He raised it by the barrel as a club.

Bethany shook her head as she motioned a guard to retrieve the weapon. “Turn it over. I'm sure Pasha and Dane will thank you.”

Selah gasped. Where were they holding her mother and little brother? She had to get them someplace safe.

Cleon slowly lowered the weapon and handed it over. His shoulders slumped.

“Check them for other weapons.” Bethany walked toward the outer room.

Selah stood for the search, noting Bethany's change in attitude. She hoped Treva had hidden the files she carried rather than trust Bethany.

Jax rushed over to Bethany. “I hope you'll continue to consider me for this position, especially after I've proven to be of additional value to you.”

“I do believe you're correct. Telling me of Charles Ganston's original treachery was not worthy of such a lofty position as head of Historical Archaeology, but this new information does give you a boost beyond the threshold I desire of my candidates.” Bethany continued out the front door. “Our decision will be finalized when Ganston dies.”

B
odhi spent most of the trip from Baltimore to Stone Braide trying to figure out how to keep Selah safe when he returned home. He had also learned a lot about Glade's life. It had kept him tossing and turning on one of those chair loungers last night. Granted, having unauthorized weapons discharging at all hours, accompanied by screaming and loud music, probably contributed to his discomfort this morning. Bodhi didn't want to feel sorry for Glade's chaotic failure at life . . . but he did. And that, in turn, muddled his perception of whether Glade was really doing him a favor or keeping him from Selah out of spite.

“You've been especially quiet this trip. I prepared for your arguing the whole way,” Glade said. He sat erect. Bodhi noticed he rarely presented himself as slumped or defeated in public.

Bodhi still needed to think without lying. He avoided
the question. “If you're correct in your translation of those documents, and the key is discovered here, then the trip was worthwhile.” Suddenly Bodhi's chest felt strange. He took a deep breath to relieve the pressure. Was he feeling excitement or dread? After listening to him for a full two days, he realized Glade's true dedication was beginning to sink in among his doubts.

The land wagons stopped at a deserted site of several partially erected buildings. The sandy, scorched earth showed little vegetation with barely a living tree in sight. Bodhi took a long, concentrated look. Was this the right place? Impossible. He left here a few months ago, passing through a living, vibrant forest.

Taraji hopped down first, slowly moving away from the caravan with her pack slung over one shoulder and her other hand resting on her holstered weapon.

Bodhi slowly stepped down from the wagon and grabbed his bag. Glade spoke to a few seated travelers before hopping down, then watched as the land wagons pulled away and the three security units flying guard flew by.

Glade joined Bodhi and Taraji. He pointed at the dead trees. “Do you see what I see?”

“Yes, but what—”

“That's pulse and laser damage,” Taraji said.

Glade shook his head. “We may be too late. If only I'd caught on earlier. I should have known. My years buried under Noah Everling's drugs have dulled my senses and made me forget important facts.”

Bodhi felt like adding,
That happens when you're 150.
But he didn't think Glade would appreciate the humor, so he just nodded.

Off to the left, closest to the mountains, a cave entrance with a flash of colored cloth caught Bodhi's attention. He motioned Glade and darted for the opening.

An old man strolled from the cave sporting disheveled silver-gray hair and a multicolored tattered robe. He stopped in front of the opening and crossed his arms over his chest. “You come seeking the wisdom of the ages.”

Bodhi looked to Glade, who dipped his head in thought. Taraji held her ground.

“You come seeking the wisdom of the ages,” the old man repeated, his face contorted in a scowl.

A look of recognition passed over Glade's eyes. He raised a finger then dug into his backpack, pulling out a leather satchel of yellowed papers. He leafed through the pile and separated out the correct one. “And the wisdom of the ages is fleeting.”

“You're the one.” The old man's face lit with a pleasure that threatened to crack his wrinkles. “Please tell me you've gathered all the documents.”

Glade nodded. He dropped the backpack and held out the leather satchel. The old man reached out a shaky, leathered hand and touched it. He displayed a toothless grin and rushed into the cave with Glade following behind, both chattering like best friends.

Taraji looked at Bodhi. “Do we stay out here or go in?”

“I'm not sure what these two could do in a cave in the wilderness to help anything.” Bodhi's belief was still riddled
with doubt. Was Selah really going to fracture in nine months if they didn't find the key? No one had shown him any evidence of that, but maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part. There had never been anyone like Selah in his life, that much he remembered. He wanted to be the best for her.

He'd never known how to act around women, especially with love involved, but now he was learning. Until Glade said to end it. Agreeing to that demand tore at his heart in a way Glade should understand.

He wished he had stopped to see her before he left yesterday. She'd been so angry the last time they met. Still, he'd never admit he feared her father. Or did he fear more what he might become with the physical changes he was enduring?

“Bodhi, I need your help with these new data points he's added to our diagram.” Glade motioned them in.

Taraji let Bodhi go first and she brought up the rear.

Bodhi prepared for smoky lanterns and a bunch of cave-moldy maps and charts. He trudged behind Glade. After several seconds, it dawned on him that they were moving through an eastward maze of fresh-air tunnels. Glade had closed doors across several of the passageways they passed through. Where was the old guy? How would they find their way out of here? And how did Glade know where he was going? Just as Bodhi caught up to him, they walked into the opening.

It wasn't an overly tall cavern. Taraji could have jumped and hit the roof. One wall had several spherical grottos cut into the smooth, milled surface.

Bodhi took a quick look around. This was a solid lime
stone cave with some sort of illumination that appeared to be coming from the cave ceiling. He moved underneath one of the lit areas and looked up.

“Help me input our data. Between our two sets of documents, we have the full number of points. It's real this time,” Glade said. He seemed genuinely thrilled. That made Bodhi excited and scared at the same time. If Glade was right about the key, then he must also be right about Selah.

“Go ahead—I'll go back out to the mouth of the cave and keep watch in case we've got any tagalongs from the caravan.” Taraji nodded to Glade and retreated back into the tunnels.

“We have the three sets together—yours, mine, and the Keepers',” the old man said as he walked to the table and patted Glade on the back.

“Are you telling me that this key—this wonderful, great,
important
key—was counting on three old, worn papers to make it to the same spot at the same time?” Bodhi stared at the two men.

Glade and the old man looked at each other, then at Bodhi. “No matter how it got here, we have the way now,” Glade said.

Bodhi ran his hands through his hair. If all this data produced the key to the West, then the faster he could help them so Selah could live, but the faster she'd leave him forever to do whatever it was she had to do. Or if this wasn't the answer, then Selah would . . . He just couldn't think or say that word. Reality hit him like a bolt of lightning splitting a tree. Either way, his job—his reason for coming here—was completed, and there was no going back. Would he expire?
Bodhi shivered, brushing off the feeling as a reaction to the dampness in the caves.

The old man waved his hand over a long, flat stone and the wall in front of him lit with random dots creating a familiar pattern.

Bodhi moved closer and rolled the image over in his mind a few times. “With more points filled in, that could be a Stone Braide pattern.”

“You are correct,” Glade said. “Because we recognized the symbol, it gave us a good reference for where to place the rest of the points to complete the pattern. With the documents I had, the Keeper journals from Charles Ganston, and what this man has, we can fill in all of these points.” His smile radiated satisfaction.

“How is this possible? How is any of this possible?” Bodhi swept his hand around the room. “Up the road, people live technologically superior lives in a biospheric Mountain, yet here in a cave, in a land where horses are used for transportation, the equipment is more advanced. How? How does this happen?”

The old man shuffled over to where Bodhi still stood under the illumination. “My boy, there were great technological societies 150 years ago. They were the cause of this mess in the first place. So there are many remnants that have survived—just some that shouldn't have.”

“I still don't understand—why now? How can you be sure that the way to the Third Protocol should be discovered at this very time and not fifty or a hundred years from now?” Bodhi was clutching at anything. Maybe Selah had more than
nine months. There had been novarium who left TicCity, and no one knew if they had fractured.

“Why do you think I was standing at the entrance expecting you? All the parts have arrived. The ancient documents say that shortly after the transition, the novarium will come and the key will bring the lightning that illuminates the future,” the old man said.

“That's not correct. The novarium isn't here,” Bodhi said.

“But she is. She went into the Mountain with the Keepers' child and another boy.” The old man sat down and started shuffling through the documents from Glade.

Glade and Bodhi spun to face him.

“When was my daughter here? Why didn't you say so before?” Glade stormed toward the old man, but Bodhi jostled his way in between and used an arm to restrain him.

“You can't stop this, or it will take another 150 years for the Mountain to complete the cycle again,” the old man said matter-of-factly.

Glade slumped into a chair. “I don't think I could endure that much more. I'm tired.”

Bodhi squeezed Glade's shoulder and backed toward the cavern opening. “Which way did she go? We've got to get her. After the things they did to Glade . . . That is a very evil place.”

“She has to be here.” Glade's voice sounded strangled.

Bodhi stopped. His fists clenched as his temper rose. Glade seemed old and resigned. Not at all like the fierce one who'd steered him from Selah just a few short months ago. “If that doctor catches her in there, we'll never see her again. Do you want to risk that?”

“No, I don't, but I also don't want to draw attention to the fact that she's in there. If they don't know, we may lead them straight to her,” Glade said. He seemed to be recovering from his initial shock.

“Neither of you seems to have read the Keepers' documents.” The old man threw up his hands, seeming exasperated. “The order of the cycle is very specific. Apparently you've stumbled upon the steps by some grace. But now you must retrieve her so that she is on time.”

“On time for what?” Bodhi and Glade asked in unison.

The old man shrugged and looked at Glade. “The end of the cycle you started when you began adding additional data to the map.”

“End of the cycle? Why didn't you tell me I would start a countdown?” Sweat popped out on Glade's upper lip. Bodhi felt more panic from seeing that than he did about the situation.

“Because I didn't think it was an accident that you all showed up at the same time. In twenty-four hours everything will be done.” The old man continued to look at the map.

“This could have been delayed—if I hadn't added data?” Glade's expression crashed.

“But then Selah would not have the key and she'd go mad,” Bodhi said, trying to center Glade.

The old man stood up. “Do you know what it's like to live in a cave for 150 years?” He looked at each of them, holding their gaze for several seconds. “No. I didn't think so. I'm tired. My job needs to be completed.”

“I only have twenty-four hours to get her back here.” Bodhi
looked to Glade. “I know you don't want me near her, but you're not going to stop me.”

Glade nodded once. Bodhi darted for the tunnel.

“Wait! Not that way.” The old man hurried to a limestone panel on the far side of the cave. “Use these tunnels. The distance is much shorter. Always stay to your right going there, and to your left on the way back.” He used a holographic keypad to swing the door open. “After being inside, she may act a little disoriented. Bring her back here to me and Glade.”

“This is your fault, old man. You knew she was the novarium and you let her go back in that Mountain to be captured. If she's harmed, I will haunt your dreams till the end of time.” Bodhi surprised even himself with the ferocity of his response.

The old man shrugged as though he didn't notice. “She had to go in there. The chemical compound she needs to inhale is the very thing that has been degrading the DNA in those people for the last 150 years. It's very ironic—what gives her life hastens their death.”