Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (37 page)

Jhata is now a young woman, beautiful and powerful. Dressed in her signature red kimono, she stands on a high platform made of gold and floating above a multitude of people. On an open plain behind them, the remains of twisted steel, broken concrete and shattered glass spreads out like a massive wound. Black smoke rises from the debris as if from a funeral pyre.

“I own you now.” The shrill voice of a younger Jhata fills the void between her and the people below. “Expect nothing from me. Abandon your hopes and dreams. They will only torment you. From this moment on, you live only to serve my whims. My happiness will be your sole reason for existence.”

As he moves through the jungle of her memories, Ryzaard runs his fingers over all of it and absorbs the arc of her centuries of domination, divided into chapters by the capture of each new Stone and the worlds destroyed in her pursuit of power. Lies and deception and carnage mark her ascent.

The more Ryzaard sees and senses, the faster he moves. At some point, he falls into a drunken trance and shoots through the delicate world of Jhata’s memories, touching, pushing, ripping and tearing with such speed and abandon that he leaves a wake of destruction behind him. The sights and sounds of her life, her very thoughts, all of it is recorded indelibly in his own mind.

When he has seen all there is to see, he drops down another level onto a city street. It’s a darker place of misshapen statues, half-finished buildings, and chaotic howling and moaning that comes from all directions. Everywhere he turns, there are faces of people from Jhata’s past etched into the walls and pavement. As he enters narrow alleys or peeks through broken windows, shadows move away like spiders stirred up by the glare of a sudden light in a cellar.

It’s a place of doubt, regret, guilt, forgotten dreams, sacrificed ideals.

Many more levels of darkness lie below. Ryzaard senses their presence as he drops down as if through a mine shaft into the heart of a mountain.

And then he stops at the lowest level and finds himself in a strange room.

It’s unusually well-lit and barely large enough for two people. The faint sound of a drum-beat with a steady slow rhythm comes through the wall as if from another room. A thin pink ribbon of flesh stretches from floor to ceiling like a rubber band. Ryzaard runs his fingers along its surface. It’s warm to the touch. Alive.

This must be the
Core
.

Until now, he hasn’t thought of speaking to Jhata. Perhaps she will not hear him. Perhaps she will refuse to answer even if she can. But the seed of an idea begins to grow as he stands in the small room. It causes such a thrill that he can no longer keep it a secret. He has to share it with her.

“Can you hear me, Jhata?”

No answer. He absent-mindedly runs his finger along the pink membrane marveling at how something so delicate can be stretched so thin.

“I’ve enjoyed this odyssey through your mind.” Ryzaard leans against the uneven wall and feels its warmth. There is a definite increase in the tempo and volume of the beating drums. “You’ve taught me so much, and I want to thank you for your kindness. More than that, I want to thank you for
trusting
me. It’s very touching.”

Please leave.

The sound of her voice comes as a surprise.

“So you
can
hear me.” Ryzaard sits and stretches out his legs. “Then you’ll be interested to hear that I’ve got a great idea. Simple, yet effective. It will solve
all
my problems. And you’ll be pleased to know that I got it from you.”

I trusted you.

“Yes, I know.” He digs the heels into the soft floor and senses it give way, like pliable clay. The drum beating grows louder. “I’ve seen what you’ve done in your life. Quite amazing. And I must say that your view of power coincides exactly with mine. At least on that point, we are in perfect agreement.”

Please. I beg you.

Ryzaard brings a finger and thumb up to his chin and strokes the dark stubble. “You’ve given many lectures in your long life. Most of them dealing with power. Most of them delivered to conquered people. Do you recall any of them?”

I can help you. I can teach you about the Stones, things you could never guess or learn on your own. I can give you anything you want.

“There was an especially memorable moment a few hundred years ago. I saw it in your memories. You had just slaughtered 99% of the humanoid population of a planet called
Argaath
.” Ryzaard’s eyes drift up to the ceiling. “They had developed computing technology a hundred years before and recently launched a program for interplanetary travel within their solar system. With the help of a few thousand well-placed nuclear detonations, you destroyed all that their civilization had achieved and sent them back to the Stone Age. I wonder if you can remember.”

So many worlds destroyed. So many lives taken. Hard to remember them all.

“Yes, I don’t blame you if it’s all a blur now.” He reaches an index finger up to the membrane and gently pokes a hole in it as one might put his finger through wet tissue paper. The tear opens and spreads to half the width of the stretched flesh. “You were floating above them on a golden platform, delivering a lecture on power. Do you recall what you said?”

There is only silence from Jhata and the sound of drums. Her heartbeat. Loud enough for Ryzaard to feel in his bones.

Ryzaard’s hand comes up to his forehead. “Let me refresh your memory. This is what you said.” Closing his eyes, he recites as if from memory. “There is no wrong or right. No evil. No good. There is only power and weakness. Power is its own justification. It has no foundation, no justification, and needs none. It is neither above the law nor below the law. It
is
the law. It needs nothing and asks for nothing. It relies on nothing. It simply
is
or
is not
.”

Ryzaard laughs and pokes another hole in the ribbon of flesh. It widens and spreads. The beating sound vibrates on its thin veneer.

“I’ll be eternally grateful to you for putting it so simply and succinctly. Those words will be my guiding light in all I do.” He reaches up and puts his finger through one of the two remaining strands above him. “In light of your deep knowledge of power, I’m sure you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

The beating sound rocks the room.

I’ll give you anything. Everything.

“Yes,” Ryzaard says. “I know. And now I’m going to take it. All of it.”

Please don’t.

With a swift chop of his hand, he breaks the remaining thread of flesh.

The room rushes past him in a blur. Darkness collapses inward. All is motion and chaos around him.

When he opens his eyes, the shriveled body of Jhata lies still on the ground beside him. Out of habit, he checks her neck for a pulse and finds none. Slipping a dagger from inside her kimono, he cuts a deep slit in the shape of a smile from ear to ear. Crimson blood flows out and mingles with dust, becoming warm red mud. Then he removes the belt of Stones that hangs down around her waist like tears of dark obsidian.

One by one, he cradles them in his hands and watches them light up.

P
lease don’t.

When the end comes, it’s painless. But there is a surprise.

It isn’t the end.

Overcome with sudden weightlessness, as if she is a bubble of air rising from the ocean floor, Jhata moves higher and higher, enveloped in light and colors.

The light grows stronger, brighter, warmer. Her body is drawn to it. It’s a pleasant sensation.

A single Voice calls out to her.

Come. Be One with us. Partake of all that we share.

As she moves closer to the Voice, it reaches out to her, pulling her. Profound love and warmth rise up and threaten to engulf her. If she does nothing, all that is uniquely her will be sucked away. She will become One with the Voice. One with
Them
. The Allehonen.

The realization dawns on Jhata that
They
want to steal her power.

Fear explodes inside her. In panic, she turns away.

A sensation like a multitude of hands and fingers plays over her body. They rip and claw at her skin. They are ravenous wolves, devouring all that she is. The light is scorching hot. It burns and blinds her. Love floods her mind, overwhelming, suffocating, drowning. She tries to fight back but is helpless.

You must choose. Be One with us. Or be alone.

She remembers the Stones. Ryzaard stole them from her and now possesses them all. All that she had worked for, all that she had built up over millennia, all of it is gone. He possesses the
power
that once belonged only to her. A cruel twist of circumstances has pried it from her fingers and delivered it to him. It isn’t fair. It can’t be allowed to stand. A gnawing pain grows inside as she thinks of all that could have been if she only had the
power
.

And now a fiery, scorching Voice is taking away all that remains of her, taking away her
power
.

Be One with us. Share all that we have.

She turns her face
away
from the Voice and finds that, by this simple action, she begins to move backward. The sense of invasion falls away. The hands and fingers slip off her body, and she is whole again.

All that she needs now is to get back her
power
.

The Voice recedes until it is no more than a single dot in a sea of blackness. No matter how far away she drifts, it never completely disappears. Always, it hangs in the distance, beckoning to her, a reminder of the pain and fear of becoming One with it. As it recedes, the hunger within her grows like a spreading contagion. It floods and consumes her mind, becoming a mantra that she repeats to herself, over and over.

I need the power.

In the cold darkness, other voices call to her, strangely familiar. Curiosity compels her to take a closer look.

She turns and moves in their direction.

As she enters into their midst, there is no blinding light or burning sensation. They make no effort to open her mind or negate her individuality. There is no stifling love, no pressure to make her become One. No one is in charge. They are leaderless, devoid of direction. They ask nothing of her.

It is comfortable.

Listening to the voices and mingling among them, she finds they are searching for the same thing, consumed by the same gnawing hunger. She drifts with them and repeats the same words.

Give us the power.

T
he claustrophobia slips off Matt like a glove.

As if coming back from a long journey, the world returns to him, full of warmth and fragrance. A light breeze carries the sweet smell of ripe fruit and fresh cut hay.

Opening his eyes, he drops his hands down to a lush carpet of green grass. The edge of a deep jungle is not far away, full of colorful flowers and ferns. An orange sun is just dropping below its canopy on the far horizon. He stands, turns and looks out on an open valley. Broad fields of cultivated rice stretch out for miles. In the distance, a range of snow-topped mountains rises out of the plain like the backbone of a mighty subterranean beast.

Familiar hands reach around his chest from behind. There is crying and rejoicing all around him.

Jessica’s lips nudge at his ears. “So this is the
Chimpotee
world?”

“She pulled it off.” Matt’s gaze turns to the left where Yarah listens to an excited Saatuk waving arms over the vast landscape and a multitude of a bowing, chanting people arranged in a neat circle around them. “Quite an achievement. She got all of them out of there and back to their home planet.”

Alexa wades through the sea of bodies with the pulse rifle still dangling from a shoulder. “Where the
hell
is this and when are
we
going home?”

“This is
their
home.” Matt points his jaw out over the valley. “And it might be ours for a while.”

Yarah comes running and throws her arms around Matt’s waist. “I even got them back to the right valley. Look over there.” She points off to the left just below the mountain range to a massive open pit of exposed earth the color of polished copper. “That’s where their village used to be. Saatuk says they’ll rebuild in time for harvest. She wants us to stay.”