Shadow Hunters (13 page)

Kortanul nodded to one of the Khalen’ri who stood immobile as a statue by the oval doorway. The guard bowed deeply, and then a moment later returned with one of the heretics.

Jake had been expecting a raving lunatic, a madman, powerful, perhaps not actually thrashing about but at least posing an obvious danger. When they brought in the adolescent girl, her body slender and frail-looking but her head held high, Jake was hard put to conceal his astonishment.

Her skin was pallid, and the unhealthy hue told Jake that she had been imprisoned too far away from the life-giving rays of the sun, moon, or stars. The Conclave would not have let her starve to death, of course. But they clearly had permitted her the barest minimum of nourishment. Her mind was shuttered from Jake’s, but he imagined she had to be experiencing some level of fear as she was brought out, her slender wrists shackled with glowing, charged crystals, before the executor.

Adun was on his feet, staring raptly at the girl. She met his gaze coolly.

“This is the heretic?” Adun asked.

“Do not let her appearance fool you, Executor,” Kortanul said. “She is stronger than she seems.”

Adun nodded absently, his powerful attention completely focused on the girl.

“Speak, child,” he said gently. “I would hear what you have to say.”

She responded with a thought of annoyance so great that Jake blinked. “You will hear, but you will not listen. You will not understand.”

“There is nothing to understand about lies and heresy!” snapped one of the Conclave, unable or, more likely, unwilling to conceal his thoughts.

Adun held up a hand. “You asked me to speak with her. Let me do so.”

The girl kept her thoughts and feelings well masked. She had great control, for one so young and so … ill-treated. Reluctantly Jake discovered a sneaking admiration for her, despite the fact that she was a heretic and, worse, a fool. The Khala was the way of survival for the protoss. In unity, there was strength. In unity, there was compassion. To espouse or worse yet to actually believe anything other than that would be tantamount to wishing to doom the entire race. Was that what this was about then? Was this some kind of—of strange organization that found solace in the thought of the race’s extinction? He would have to ask Adun, when he was done speaking with the girl.

Adun lifted his hands and turned the palms out. The girl didn’t move for a long moment, and then, finally, slowly, she mirrored the executor’s gesture. A glow formed between their hands, and they stood unmoving for a surprisingly long time. At last, Adun lowered his hands and nodded. One of the guards came and silently took the girl away. She left the vast, intimidating chamber the same way she had entered it, head high, dignity intact.

“Now, you understand the full depths of the dangers we face, Executor,” Kortanul said. Adun nodded. His thoughts were hidden, even from Jake.

“What they believe cannot be permitted to spread,” Adun said.

The Conclave looked at one another and Jake knew they were communicating quickly and privately. Kortanul turned back to Adun.

“Our past is rich and beautiful in many respects. There is much to be proud of. And … much not to be,” he said quietly.
“It is through the unity of the Khala, staying on the path Khas showed us without wavering, that we can continue to have a beautiful and rich future. There is nothing that can be permitted to damage that. Not even other protoss.”

Adun waited expectantly.

“This is a threat, like any other threat. It is worse in a way, for it is not a hungry omhara, or a strange, hostile alien being, but one of our own I am asking you to fight. But ideas are sometimes more deadly than blades. This idea is a sickness that must be vigorously cut out, lest it poison the whole. There are more than a handful who feel this way, but thus far, only those of us in this room know of their existence. It must remain so. Your task, Executor, is for you and your templar to find them. And when you find them—”

He hesitated. “When you find them, you must destroy them.”

For a moment Jake was stunned, and then he spoke out. “Kill fellow protoss? Judicator, we have not done such a thing since Khas gave us the Khala! We know it to be the wrong path. It was Khas who taught us that hating or slaying another was akin to hating or slaying ourselves.”

“Exactly!” Jake exclaimed to Zamara. “Good for you, Vetraas. That’s exactly what the Khala’s all about. Even if they’re not preservers, even if they don’t have the actual memories of how awful the Aeon of Strife was, they must know that they came close to killing themselves. And … I felt it. Even with humans. That closeness—how can they ask Adun to do that? He’s a good person. He’s going to refuse. Isn’t he?”

Jake did not at all like the idea that he was living in the body of a mass murderer’s best friend and trusted adviser.

“Hush, Jacob. It will unfold as it must.”

“That is a truth with which I do not argue,” said Kortanul. “But they have renounced the Khala. They have removed themselves from its dictates, its guidance, its protection. Worse, they seek to actively destroy it. They have chosen to withdraw from what it means to be protoss. They are the enemy, and they seek to undermine all that makes us what and who we are. They must be destroyed.”

Adun nodded. “I must protect my people,” he said. “You may trust that I will do everything I can to that end, Judicator. But how am I to go about this?”

“We have certain information we will share with you. Find them. Seek them out. That they exist at all is shocking. That they exist in such numbers is horrific. But they must and will die, one by one. Their ideology will not save them from the diligence of the templar.”

Adun inclined his head.
“En taro Khas,
Judicator.”

Kortanul was pleased.
“En taro Khas,
Executor.” Relief colored his thoughts. Jake realized now that Kortanul had been worried that Adun would refuse. But Jake was still concerned that this was not what Khas had envisioned those many centuries ago when he proposed complete unity and harmony among the protoss.

“The girl?” Jake could not help himself.

Kortanul turned to regard him. “What of her?”

Before Jake could reply, Adun spoke. “Send her to my citadel. I would have all the high templar understand what it is they are undertaking.”

“For a time,” Kortanul cautioned. “We would have word of her execution swiftly.”

Jake shuttered his thoughts quickly. He did not want Kortanul to see his pain at the thought of the young protoss, so proud and steady and vibrant, lying limp and lifeless. If the Conclave decreed it, it would happen. The templar were ever-obedient. The child would soon be the vanguard of slaughter, the first of these separatists to fall for their ideals.

“Oh damn it. Damn it. Zamara, must I really watch mass murder unfold? I get that it’s a dark time in pro-toss history, but—even the different tribes’ attacking each other was at least an honest mistake. This is …” Jake watched, his head aching even in his sleep, as Adun and Vetraas left the Khor-shakal.

“I show you nothing that is not necessary.” There was an edge to Zamara’s voice. “Be silent, Jacob.”

They walked in silence for a while. Finally, Adun said, “Even without our minds being linked, I know that this troubles you, my old friend.”

“It does. I am merely grateful the decision is not mine to make.”

“The girl … she was not evil. She was not even truly misguided. There was an odd … merit to what she believed, although it seems at first to be directly against all we know to
be right. I need to know more. We, the high templar, need to know more. The Conclave wishes the threat removed, and I agree with that. The Conclave truly believes this is the only way. But perhaps these heretics can be reasoned with. Perhaps they can be reminded of what it means to be protoss. If they have concerns, perhaps I can allay them.”

“What if you cannot?”

“It may come to that, Vetraas. It may come to eliminating them one by one, with my own hands, silently so that no one ever knows this threat. The Conclave is right about one thing: It is an alarming development and must be dealt with swiftly and quietly. We agree on that.”

He threw Jake a glance. “Never before have I disobeyed the Conclave. The Conclave need not fear that I will stay my hand for squeamishness. But before I act, I must know.

“Do you wish to accompany me, Vetraas?”

Jake blinked. “Do you wish to accompany us, Jacob?” Ladranix repeated in his mind. The powerful images that had filled Jake’s mind were gone. Rosemary nudged him and smothered a grin.

“I’m sorry,” Jake mumbled, “can you repeat that?” He wondered if Ladranix knew what had been going on in his dreams. His head throbbed, and he rubbed his temples. He was probably dehydrated, he thought as he gulped thirstily at the water Ladranix offered. It was, as always, metallic and warm, but it helped some. His stomach growled. Ladranix seemed startled. Rosemary laughed, and Jake blushed.

“It is cooler now. A better time for movement. We were able to find you some nourishment, though it is paltry. We are going to scout further, perhaps hunt some prey. If we supply you flesh, can you prepare it for consumption? Until then, this must suffice.” He extended his hands, each one holding something spherical and dark, with a ridged skin.

Sammuro fruit.

Jake stared at it. He recalled Ethan’s comment, recalled tasting the sorbet made from its juice. His tongue tingled at the memory, and over that memory, his own, was that of a protoss who had died long ago—the memory of holding the fruit and slicing it open, to give as an offering. But now here one was, in reality. It was not as large or as attractive as the one he “remembered.” Nothing here was as clean, as verdant, as it had been in the past. Everything that lived here was hanging on by its fingernails, and this little piece of fruit was no exception. Hungry as his growling stomach had proclaimed him to be, he took a moment to run his fingers over the knobby surface of the fruit, the skin thick and hard like an avocado’s. He took the knife Ladranix handed him and began to peel the sammuro. The scent was just as he … remembered … it, and his mouth watered. The flesh of the fruit was shiny and purple and dripped with juice, and he bit deep.

“Wow, these are good,” Rosemary said beside him, peeling and eating her own sammuro fruit. Jake ate in reverent silence, deeply aware that this act connected
the past and the present in a profound way. Inside him, he knew Zamara approved.

“I am sorry there is not more,” Ladranix apologized. “It is dangerous to venture too far without a great deal of preparation. We risk drawing the attention of the zerg if we do. But later, we will mount a foraging party for you.”

“We have lots of rations,” Jake said. “We’ll be all right.”

He sensed unhappiness from the protoss, something deeper than a host’s regret at not being able to supply more food for hungry guests. Jake frowned at Ladranix. “What’s wrong?”

“Three more of our number are gone.”

“Dead?” Rosemary asked, taking another bite.

“Not dead. They have deserted.”

Rosemary paused in mid-chew. “Where the hell are they going to run? This is the only game in town.”

“No, it is not. There are the Tal’darim. This … has happened before. The safety they offer against zerg attacks is much greater than anything we can provide. And before we disagreed, Felanis and Alzadar were well respected.” The unhappiness Jake was sensing from Ladranix grew. “Our numbers were far greater in the beginning. The Forged were initially a few malcontents speaking out against our established way of life out of fear. But over time it has become apparent that we were losing more to the zerg than they.”

“Why didn’t you all go down to the chambers right away?” Rosemary asked.

“It has traditionally been forbidden to us. So the Conclave declared it, and we obeyed. And truly, it is not our first instinct, to be hidden away in the earth, away from the life-giving rays of the cosmos. It was not the first thing we thought of when we were seeking shelter. Our homes, our cities—what was left of them; what was left of being protoss—that is where my mind turned. I … was foolish. Now not only do we not have the safety of this underground place, but our numbers are dwindling.”

“Let’s roust the Forged then,” R. M. said, brutally practical. “Kill them, get to whatever technology Zamara’s dragged us out here to find, and kill two birds with one stone: We get what we came here for and you get a safer spot to escape the zerg. Then I guess we try to figure out how to get out of here.”

Ladranix shook his head. “Even if they did not have the superior numbers, Rosemary, we would not do such a thing. Protoss has not attacked protoss in a long, long time.”

Jake thought of Temlaa, lithe and feral and powerful, running through the prehistoric forests of this world. And he thought of Adun, ordered to slaughter every dark templar he could find, and balking at the order even as he seemed to be agreeing with it. It was obvious that Ladranix believed what he said. It was equally obvious that while the protoss history was not quite as bloody in the past millennium as terran history, it wasn’t as idealistic as the templar liked to think.

That understanding must be a hard burden for you to bear, Zamara … you and the other preservers.

… It is. But we bear it, because it is our duty. There are many things we must do because it is our duty.

“Can they be reasoned with?” Jake asked, feeling Zamara’s sorrow as his own although he didn’t quite understand it.

Ladranix shook his head. “No. We have tried. I had hoped to be able to reach a fellow templar, but … they shutter their thoughts against us and turn away. They are unreachable, determined to stay apart from their brothers and sisters. They even sound mad sometimes, when they hurl mental attacks at us, speaking of new power and mysterious benefactors. They have no wish to rejoin the fold.”