Mind Over Psyche (12 page)

Joshua cleared his throat.
“Hey, language—communication—has also prevented a lot of wars, you know. And it's fun to play with words—and with music. It boggles my mind that you don't have music.”

“No, we do,” Tasmae corrected. “The Bondfriends have something similar, but not as complex. I think it is more language than your music, but music, our real music, is so different from yours. I'm not sure I could explain.” Again, she took on that look of fierce concentration, but this time it pointed inside as she tried to find the right alien words. “It is…spiritual? But not as your hymns. It is of our spirits. The song is always sung; how we sing depends on what we are doing, our talents, our mood. It is sometimes audible, usually psychic—I'm not explaining well. Your words
are hard!”

“Why don't you demonstrate? Sing s
omething.”

She hesitated, suddenly reluctant, even ready to bolt. Joshua leaned back, giving her some physical space, but Deryl took
her hands.

“It's all right. We're not Kanaan. Sing for us
, please?”

She gazed into Deryl's eyes, and Joshua bit back the urge to groan. Had anyone else noticed? Maybe that was the real reason she was being occupied with the Re
membrance.

He wanted to snatch their wrists and pull them apart, but he remembered how Rique's trying to separate him and LaTisha just drove him to her all the more. Deryl was even more willful and stubborn than he was.
Just keep it together, Josh. A few more days and we're out of here. You can help him control himself for a
few days.

Her hands still in Deryl's, Tasmae closed her eyes. A slight grin lightened her expression. Around them, the wind rustled in the trees, and birds broke into song. Then Tasmae joined them, her voice mimicking them, then moving into some kind of harmony, low notes, almost coyote- or whale-like. Deryl relaxed, and Joshua noticed how lightly his hands clasped Tasmae's.
Maybe this music has a touch component, then?
It was different, kind of interesting, but not what Joshua would call music. What he knew as music had patterns: time scales, beat and rhythm, sections that repeated. Even the healing power, which he likened to music, had pattern. Tasmae's song more resembled the wind in the trees, or a field overrun with wildflowers and weeds—lovely, even beautiful in some places, but without clear logic. His mind struggled to find an underlying melody, then gave up. If there was one, it was too big for him
to grasp.

He looked at Deryl. The young man swayed, thoroughly caught up in Tasmae's “song,” his mouth open and smiling slightly. His pupils had contracted so that they were mere dots in a se
a of blue.

So there is a heavy psychic element.
Suppressing a sigh, Joshua leaned back against a tree and shut his eyes, trying to release his preconceptions about music and enjoy what he could hear. The wind seemed to have picked up slightly and with his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that its light touch against his skin was part of
the song.

Abruptly, Tasmae stopped singing. The wind died down. Even the birds silenced. Joshua opened his eyes in surprise at the sudden
stillness.

Deryl, too, broke from his half-trance, delight shining in his eyes. “That was magical,” he whispered, and Tasmae smiled. He turned to Joshua, a faint smile on his face, and Tasmae also turned to him ex
pectantly.

Joshua shrugged. “It was…interesting. Really. I guess it loses something without the telepathic
element.”

Tasmae nodded, but Deryl cried in disappointment, “You didn't get a
ny of it?”

“It was just sounds to me,” Joshua half-apologized. “Don't worry
about it.”

Deryl continued to scowl. “It's not fair. It was so—it was just—amazing! What if I tr
anslated?”

Joshua sat up.
“Tell me.”

“I mean, what if I could help you, um, experience the song like, well, li
ke I did?”

“You can't make me telepathic.” Or could he? Joshua suppressed a shudder at the thought. Even as a kid, he'd never thought telepathy would be cool, and after having worked with Deryl and all the problems his telepathy had caused him, he liked the idea
even less.

“No, of course not, but I can get into your mind and give you the experiences. I did it with Isaac all the time,
didn't I?”

“Yeah, well, that was a pretty special case…” Isaac had been an Alzheimer's patient at SK-Mental—a rotten place for him to be, in the opinion of Joshua and most of the staff, but his grandson was on the board of directors, and they hadn't been able to turn him down. Isaac had survived Auschwitz, and Deryl had “protected” Isaac from reliving those horrors (and himself from sharing them) by impressing upon him the illusion that he had been rescued by the underground. In the end, had Isaac known which memories
were real?

“I'm not going to mess with your head. You'll know what's going on all the time. You'll just be able to understand the psychic part, that's all. I
promise.”

“Why is this so importan
t to you?”

“Because!” Deryl almost shouted. “Come on, Josh, I dragged you halfway across the universe; and I know I didn't intend to, but here you are, and you're stuck until I figure out how to get you back, and you've been so great about it for the most part. This is probably the most incredible, alien, thing we've come across so far and it's music, which you love. I just—I want to share it
with you!”

Joshua's resistance weakened under his earnest gaze. “That gr
eat, huh?”

“Better!”

“All right—but I want to be able to stop if it gets t
oo weird.”

“Absolutely!” Deryl promised and clamped a hand on his wrist. On cue Tasmae began to sing. Joshua felt the win
d pick up—

—And he was caught up in the wind, lifted and tossed gently like a fall leaf in a soft breeze. There was joy in the movement, and the joy was given to God
as praise.

—He was a budding plant, opening itself to the nourishing sun, uncoiling blossom and leaves. There was beauty in the simple act of converting light into food and the beauty was a song
of praise.

—A field of flowers, the wind playing over them. He was the flower and the wind and the grass and earth and song. The pattern was there, deep and complex. His human mind could never grasp it but his soul gloried in it and it was the Glory of
the Lord.

—He was the wind
, swirling

—Spinning

—Rotating around an axis as he described a near-circular ellipse around a brilliantly burning star. As he turned, he felt the heat of the sun and the cold of space wash over him. Around he danced, others circling him in his path. Friendly partners, the attraction between them strong, but comfortable. He felt their pulls upon him like gentle caresses. It was part of the dance, more of the song. It
was good.

But another approached their path, tried to interfere with the dance. It pulled upon them. It brought discord, shattered the pattern, broke the verse. It yanked upon him. Something in
side tore—

“Whoa! Stop!” Joshua snapped back into reality. He opened his eyes and saw Deryl and Tasmae watching him ex
pectantly.

“What was that?” He demanded. The incredible joy had been destroyed by the final images, and with it, the peace he'd been feeling all day. His ribs ached with the memory of phantom pain, and he rubbed
his side.

“A simple song of morning,” Tasmae said, though her eyes darkened as she understood his e
xpression.

“Simple?” Now that he was out of it, the pattern was again too complex for him to comprehend, though he felt he could just catch the verse of the wind if he listened hard enough. He'd never be able to listen to the wind in the same way again. “Simple?” He repeated, still slightly breathless. “What does being a planet have to do with
morning?”

Tasmae looked at him with alarm. “What do
you mean?”

He felt a little alarmed himself. “I'm telling you, I felt like I was a planet—literally. I was circling a sun,
I
had moons
, and I felt like my ribs were pulling apart.” He realized he sounded ridiculous.
“It hurt!”

“That was not the song,” Tasmae whispered, her face pale. “That wa
s Kanaan.”

Both she and Joshua turned to Deryl i
n askance.

He squirmed, but didn't say anything—to Joshua, at least. He kept throwing glances at Tasmae. Joshua's temper flared. Something bizarro had just happened, had just happened to
him
, and he was not going to sit idly while they discussed it telepathically. “
Excuse
me! You want to tell me what's going on? In English? And don't you start rocking—I'm not doing therap
y on you!”

Deryl had wrapped his arms around himself, straitjacket style, and had begun to move back and forth. With effort, he stopped, though his arms remained wrapped around his waist. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn't realize I'd…” He shut his eyes, shook
his head.

Tasmae took up the explanation, though she was no more enlightening than he was. “There was an earthquake this
morning.”

“So?” He demanded, then something clicked. “Wait a minute—you mean that pain was
the ea
rthquake
?”

She shook her head. “You must have sensed the aftershock from just a few min
utes ago.”

“Oh, come
on
! That doesn't make sense. You said you were singing about the morning. It's mid-a
fternoon.”

“It is not part of
the song.”

“Then why did I
feel it?”

Again, they looked to Deryl, who shook his head, b
ewildered.

She looked from him to Joshua, her eyes wild and frightened. “This was a bad idea.” She stood up and ran down
the field.

“Taz!” Joshua called, not sure what he planned to say next. It didn't matter: A unicorn galloped up to her and in an easy motion, she swung onto his back and
rode off.

Joshua rounded on Deryl. “Very smooth,” he snarled. “How is she supposed to trus
t us now?”

But Deryl just stared
after her.

Deryl whirled in circles
through a star-strewn sky. Although he knew he was moving thousands of miles an hour, he did not feel the speed. It was a natural movement, a dance that brought coolness and warmth, darkness and light, night and day to those that made their home on him. It was good.

A grand menagerie of creatures called his body home. Sometimes, he felt the effects of their actions, mere tickles upon his skin. One, however, knew his needs and kept balance between them and the needs of those upon him. He knew her as Miscria. And it was
also good.

But there were others, from the Intruder, the one who would pull him out of his perfect dance. They had killed their world—or had it already been dead? He did not know. He did know that they now sought him, like a virus seeks a new host. It was
not good.

His Miscria and her kind fought to stop them. He felt their struggles, experienced the changes, mostly through his Miscria. His Miscria changed, too, though he did not understand why. It mattered not. As long as they kept the contagion at bay, he could concentrate on the dance, and on the ones that danced with him. Together they moved about the source of light. The interplay of distance and attraction between them flowed over him like a lover's caress. It was
very good.

—Deryl danced with Tasmae, his hand on the small of her back, moving in slow circles. The attraction between them tingled through every nerve of his body. There was distance between them, too. The barriers that protected him from the minds of others, even from the memories of the lunatic ravings that had often invaded his mind while at the asylum, also kept Tasmae at bay. It was comfortable and safe, yet the attraction between them was strong and, at the moment, it was more exciting than fr
ightening.

He pulled her closer. To his body. To his mind. Like a ghostly spirit, she flowed through his
barriers.

In his sleep he hummed with
pleasure.

Then the vo
ices came.

Ten or twelve, he couldn't tell for certain. More than voices. Memories. Fantasies. Each lost in its own pain and delusion, unaware of him. Oh, but he was aware of them! They pulled at him, tearing him away from Tasmae, dragging him from sanity. He felt Tasmae pull back, lurch closer, then get swept away by the
confusion.

—The Intruder comes too near. It pulls at Kanaan and the moons. The moons jerk away, lurch closer, wobble in their paths. Balance is lost. Where once there was comfort and caresses, now comes pain. He feels himself tearing from the inside
. Miscria!

—Tasmae! He searched for Tasmae as the fears, desires, and needs of a legion pressed upon him. Then one thought sliced through them all, like a powerful spotlight in the murky dark. It caught Deryl, pinning him in its pain
ful light.

DERYL. YOU DID NOT FOLLO
W THROUGH.

The Master! He froze, transfixed with fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tasmae caught in a similar beam. He wanted to scream for her to run, but his throat constricted, and all he could manage was a brea
thy whine.

WHY DO YOU FEAR ME, DERYL? I AM YOUR TEACHER. YOU ONCE T
RUSTED ME.

Deryl couldn't move. Where could he run? Outside the light, the insanities of others waited to devour him a
nd Tasmae.

—Kanaan is pulled out of its path, struggles to regain balance. Deep beneath the ocean, its
skin rips.

WHY ARE YOU IN SUCH FEAR, DERYL? DID I NOT TEACH YOU HOW TO DEAL WITH THESE CREATURES? WHY DO YOU HIDE BEHIND BARRIERS WHEN THE PERMANENT SOLUTION IS
SO SIMPLE?

The insanities hissed at his mind, formed a new barrier between Tasmae and him. A sword lay at his feet, but he didn't need it. He could cut a path to her with the power of his mind. With his thoughts, he could remove their threat permanently. Never again have anything, anyone, come between him and Tasmae, between him and anything
he wanted.

A high breathy laugh escaped his lips
. If only.

IT CAN BE, the Master hissed. LISTEN TO MY TEACHINGS. FOLLOW THROUGH. WIPE THEM OUT. HIDE NO LONGER. THEY ARE INSIGNIFICANT, AND THEY ARE BETWEEN YOU AND WHAT
YOU WANT.

He focused. He knew them, knew each one's weakness. The Master
was right.

No!

—Kanaan resists the Intrud
er's pull.

THEY ARE NOTHING, DERYL. THEY ARE THE MONSTERS. REMEMBER THE MONSTE
RS, DERYL?

Fighting in the Netherworld, hideous creatures coming at him, tearing at him. They hurt him again and again. He had to fight. He reached out with
his mind.

The voices surged t
oward him.

No! I wo
n't do it!

—The Intruder tears at Kanaan. Brilliant flashes dot its surface. The contag
ion comes.

STOP THEM, DERYL. STOP THEM ALL. FOLLO
W THROUGH.

Follo
w through.

Follo
w through.

—He was thirteen. He stood in the hallway outside the counselor's office, betrayed, humiliated. Perry's friends laughed at him while the high school senior spoke in reasona
ble tones.

“You didn't think I'd let you get away with telling the counselor all those things, did you, Deryl? I had to defen
d myself.”

All Deryl wanted was for the teasing and the hurtful practical jokes to stop. How could Perry tell all those lies? How could the counselor be
lieve him?

How? Why not? Perry was the charismatic senior, the good student, the leader. Deryl was the one with “psychosocial
problems.”

The boys snickered. They'd keep at him. It'd be even worse now. His last chance for help had failed. The Master's voice rang in his head, di
sparaging.

YOU NEED NO HELP. DEFEND YOURSELF. THEY ARE THE MONSTERS. THEY ARE DEMONS. THEY AR
E NOTHING.

He glared at Perry through tears of anger. It woul
d be easy…

DO
IT. KILL.

Perry's face, wide with shock, gasping, clutching at his chest
, falling.

—A brilliant flash. Barin explodes into a million par
ts, falls.

—The voices and insanities between him and Tasmae are suddenly blown away by the force of his
thoughts.

YES. FOLLO
W THROUGH.

—A thousand meteors bombard Kanaan as the remains of Barin
strike it.

—“Perry! Omigod! Is
he dead?”

—Tasmae blown away with t
he demons.

no

NO!

NOOOO!

“No!”

Deryl bolted upright in his bed, his scream still tearing from his throat. The suddenness of his awakening had chased the dream away; it lay hidden from his conscious mind, though he still felt its effects. His heart hammered in his chest, and he trembled with fright and excess adrenalin. He flopped back against the pillow, fighting to control his breathing while frantically trying to remember what had terrified him so. It was important! He sat up, rested his head against his knees and willed himself to concentrate, despite the dread that coursed through him and made even his skin tremble. Something about Tasmae—and planets—and the voices—more th
an voices…

People out of control of their own minds. He could feel them, the pressure of a dozen personalities, some real and pleasing; others, imagined and desperate for dominance. Of them. Of him. They'd closed in, and he hadn't been able
to fight—

When he came back to himself, he was backed into the corner of his room. He remembered cowering this same way in the padded room of the high-intensity treatment ward at SK-Mental. With a cry of anguish, he stood and paced the room. Although it was large and sparsely furnished, he felt crowded and trapped. He ran to the window, shoved it open, and scrambled through it into
the night.

He crossed the compound and had gotten halfway to the gate before he caught hold of his panic and slowed to a stop. The dry, churned-up soil of the practice yard felt rough under his bare feet. He had on only loose sleeping pants, and the air cooled his panic-fevered skin. He inhaled deeply, the strange scents of alien night flowers tickling his nose. A musky odor permeated the scent, as if the ground still held the sweat of the warriors who had spent so many hours in practice there. The stars were again brilliant, yet Barin outshone them all. He heard the warbling call of some creature he did not recognize. Psychically, everything was quiet. The very differentness of it all comf
orted him.

I'm not trapped
, he reassured himself.
I'm free. I can go anywhere I please. Do whatever I want. No one thinks I'm crazy, and no one has to k
now I was
.

Funny how the thought came so easily. It was immediately followed by the thought of how someone would react to seeing him walking around in his pajamas. Maybe they'd think he was nuts
after all.

I ought to change clothes.
He made no effort to move. He couldn't return to that room. Not yet.
Besides, they're not much different from sweats, and it's not like anyone's around to see me. Salgoud has all the warriors sleeping in the cliffs for practice
. The night was warm enough, and he was wide awake. He turned in a slow circle, trying to decide wh
ere to go.

He was equally distant from the perimeter wall as from the main building, but he hesitated to wander outside the gates. He didn't want to interfere with any nighttime exercises Salgoud might have planned, nor did he want to check. Even a psychic “peek” At the cliff area might alert Salgoud to him, and the general might invite him to
join them.

Nonetheless, staying in the compound with the walls in front of him and the building behind didn't appeal, either. Despite the differences, the closed-in courtyard reminded him of the one just outside his room at SK-Mental. Even now, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being imprisoned against
the world.

For a moment, he saw the familiar courtyard of SK-Mental, with its manicured lawns, resort-style umbrella'd tables and lawn chairs, and rows of trees and tall hedges that didn't quite hide the wall beyond. He remembered the building itself, two-story and brick, with five single-story wings radiating from the main building like splayed fingers. He'd met Joshua in one of those wings, at that depressing birthday party his aunt had thrown for him: a banner with his name misspelled (Aunt Kate, at his grandfather's urging, insisted it be spelled the conventional way), the disgusting chocolate cake that he'd choked down because “normal” people like chocolate, poor Isaac with him because he couldn't stand leaving the old man alone to his terrifying memories and had caught him up in another fantasy of rescue and safety, his aunt and uncle watching him nervously as he played the part of freedom fighter and Isaac's protector and thinking that he was just as crazy as Dr. Malachai had been tel
ling them.

No wonder I was so hostile to Joshua Lawson, Star Intern
. He'd circled him then, insulted him, sneered that Dr. Sellars had hired him to be Deryl's Summer Buddy as a birthday present, and tried to intimidate him. With one remark, Joshua had put him in his place. Then he'd helped him deal with his psychic problems, coached him on ways to show the others that he wasn't crazy, even told him that normal people could hate chocolate and put syrup in every hole of their waffle without being considered odd or
obsessive.

He's turned out to be a genuine friend
.
And what kind of friend have I been? I read his mind, snatched him away to a world where they don't build their homes so much as weave them out of living trees, and expect him to cure
an alien!

And he tried! Tried to talk to her, build a rapport—but I had to get too deep into her mind and ruin e
verything.

He wandered over to where the building branched out to a lookout tower. “Branch” Being literal in this case: a long, thick branch did stick out almost to the fence. Despite the low walls from which crouching archers could fire their arrows, it would feel more open than the large but high-walled courtyard. But how to get up? He couldn't bring himself to go inside the building even to get to th
e lookout.

Could I levitate, maybe?
He concentrated, thinking of his feet pushing away from t
he ground.

His feet slipped from under him and he fell hard on his behind. He rubbed it, hissing. It was still sore from the earlier insults o
f the day.

A vine dropped down in fro
nt of him.

Thanks,
he teleped to the branch as he climbed up. He clambered over the wall, then stretched himself out on the floor, looking at the incredible majesty of the night sky.
Wonder if Joshua has seen the stars? I should bring him, but not tonight,
he told himself. Even if the thought of going inside didn't give him the creeps, he had no desire to talk to his friend after the “counseling” He'd given him just before they'd go
ne to bed.

“If I were you, I'd be doing some serious apologizing to Tasmae for this afternoon,” he'd told him. “You knew how the thought of teleping scared her—knew it better than me—but you got into her mind
big time.”

I didn't consciously do it
, he thought.
I was just caught up in the music, in
the dance…

Bits of his dream returned: dancing with Tasmae, wanting her, longing to pull h
er closer.