Allie's War Season One (136 page)

“Hello, nephew.”

He stiffened, turning towards the voice.

A figure rose from the shadows by one set of padded benches.

The Sark’s dark robe blended perfectly with the wall. He had been sitting so still and silent that Revik hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t felt him in the Barrier, either, even un-collared and sharing the same construct.

Revik’s heart beat faster as the other’s features emerged.

The long, gaunt face had an ageless quality; its color and shape cut into the darker rock, smooth and white, perhaps from too many years underground. Revik could sense immediately that the seer was very old. Yet all that gave away his years was his light...and his eyes, which had sunken somewhat into his head.

Revik’s heartbeat continued to accelerate as he looked at the emaciated face. His heart hurt, grew heavy in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He felt cold and hot all at once...claustrophobic.

He reached for Allie in reflex, panicked when he couldn’t find her.

He didn’t realize he’d taken a step backwards until his back connected with an outcropping of rock by the organic door. He fought to control himself, to pull back his light...realizing dimly he was having what amounted to a panic attack. He clutched his chest. His heart hurt, his lungs. He wanted desperately to run, but couldn’t breathe well enough to move.

He watched the Sark cross the room, realized the other seer was taller than him, by at least a few inches. The difference stretched, grew into feet in his mind. He saw concern in those clouded, pale eyes, and felt about fifteen seasons old.

“Get away from me,” he managed.

He watched helplessly as everything around him began to gray.

Consciousness slid from him so quickly that he didn’t have time to reach for the door, or even to send out a final call for help.

22

FALLING

REVIK OPENED HIS eyes. He stared up at a gaunt face, sure he was dreaming. As he met the dark, yellow-tinted gaze, all he could think was that those irises were the color of urine...only the urine of someone sick, or extremely dehydrated.

Then his vision clicked back into focus...and the eyes above him were an opaque white, the color of bleached bones.

The Sark reached for his arm. His smooth voice held concern.

“Nephew...nephew, are you all right? Breathe, my son. Breathe...”

Revik fought to work his tongue. He pushed the wasted hands back, not wanting to touch them, struggling to pull himself off the floor.

The Sark immediately got out of his way.

He watched Revik with those ghost-like, white-irised eyes, unmoving as Revik pulled himself to a seated position. He clasped long fingers in front of his robe, as though waiting.

Revik leaned against the rock wall, not looking at the Sark as he brought his breathing under control. Pulling his body upright, he slid his back up the stone wall to get himself off the floor.

Then he just stood there, supporting his weight on the wall as he tested his balance.

He forced his expression flat.

What came out of his mouth still sounded aggressive.

“Are you Salinse?”

The gaunt seer tilted his head in assent. He continued studying Revik’s face. Whispers of concern flickered around Revik’s light, but he avoided them, fighting the impulse to cringe from the old man’s aleimic touch.

Salinse said, “Do you remember me, nephew?”

Revik’s throat tried to close. The familiar manner in which the old seer spoke to him...even the dialect he spoke hit him strangely. It was Prexci, but unlike any Prexci he had a conscious memory of hearing. He assumed it was from when he’d been a Rook, but, looking around, doubt tugged at him.

“No,” he said. “I don’t remember you.”

The Sark surveyed his appearance.

Revik felt the silver light touch him again and recoiled...even as parts of him responded to that touch.

“You don’t look well, nephew,” Salinse said. “Even apart from the leg. Have you been ill?”

“No.” Revik stepped sideways, putting more distance between them. “If we have some familial tie, you have a hell of a way of renewing acquaintanceship...”

He started to say it, then couldn’t bring himself to call the old seer ‘uncle,’ even though it was the correct form of address given his age and the fact that Revik was technically a guest in his home.

“...Salinse.”

The old Sark exuded mild distress. Letting out a purr that amounted to a sigh, he turned on his heel and walked back towards the fire pit.

Revik stayed where he was.

He noticed for the first time that the old man was barefoot. He watched as Salinse sank gracefully to one of the padded benches around the fire, then motioned for Revik to join him at a opposite bench. Hesitant, Revik stepped deeper into the room, conscious of the limp, of how slow he was moving.

He’d just passed out cold. Jesus.

Wiping sweat off his forehead, he scanned every corner, looked for more doors...not only in the walls, but in the floors and ceiling. He noticed a trapdoor in one wall and put himself between it and the old Sark. He contemplated a bench nearer to the trap door, then decided it didn’t matter. He couldn’t move fast enough anyway.

He sat stiffly across from the old seer and stretched out his leg.

Salinse smiled. His cultured voice grew almost kindly.

“I understand your caution...Revik, is it?” When he received no response, he went on as though he had. “...And I apologize for how you were brought here. I regret that I could not afford the usual courtesies, and that I was forced to rely on Wvercian...how you say...‘the muscle.’” He smiled, but the milky eyes remained still. “...There was no time. I heard about the attack on Seertown, and immediately suspected they might be after your mate.”

He paused at Revik’s flinch.

He added, “I hope you know...I do not myself have the same opinion of you as does Commander Wreg. While I am sympathetic to his passion, I understand very well the circumstances around which you left us.”

Revik tightened his hold on his light, feeling the Sark’s probe. The intensity and subtlety of the scan unnerved him.

It made him feel soft, out of practice.

Salinse’s eyes shimmered faintly.

“...You caused quite a stir, I hear,” he said. “Marrying the Bridge. Of course, I did not know who you were, when news of the happy event first reached me.”

He gestured delicately with one hand, crossing his ankles.

“...I had heard the name Dehgoies Revik, of course. You have a reputation even within your assumed identity. I knew the basics of your story, and your record as an infiltrator. But other than a fleeting thought that you might one day make an interesting recruitment opportunity, I had no reason to think about you beyond that.”

Revik didn’t speak. He found himself listening though, trying again to place the familiarity of the room, of the old Sark.

“An auspicious event,” Salinse said, smiling. “...The Bridge taking a mate. It could not help but be an occasion for gossip. And it is important who is chosen, certainly. I suppose they think she chose badly? Or that you forced her somehow?”

Revik felt his jaw harden. “Again. If this is a social call, I have to question your timing...and your tact, Salinse.”

The Sarhacienne inclined his head. “You are right of course. We must discuss business.”

Once again, he studied Revik’s face.

“This...Terian? He has a grudge against you that is personal, is that true? If grudge is really the word, with one so obviously insane...”

Revik made a ‘more or less’ gesture with one hand. “Yes. But that’s not the main reason he would have taken Allie.”

Salinse continued to study his eyes, as if lost there.

“Yes...of course,” he said then. He clicked softly, as though rousing himself back to the present. “Well, I suppose we cannot waste time.”

He turned that odd gaze back on Revik.

“What do you need? You are welcome to any amount of weaponry, of course...and air transport. We have intelligence we could share. But what do you think would be wise, in terms of numbers? You have dealt with him before. Is he likely to overreact?”

There was a silence.

Then Revik nodded, almost to himself. “I appreciate that,” he said, and meant it. “I think a moderate-sized group for the main assault, with an equal or larger force as backup. Maybe...” Out of habit, he asked for more than he thought he’d get. “...Forty?”

“Done.”

Revik blinked. “I’ll want to leave at once.”

“I assumed that, yes.”

Revik nodded again. “Fine. Do I need to agree to terms now...before we go, or can we settle that later?”

The old Sark smiled. “You do not wish to know what we want from you?”

“Not really, no,” Revik said. “Now that I’ve married the Bridge, everyone seems to want to recruit me for something. Whatever it is, it’s fine.”

He began to use his hands to push himself back to his feet, but Salinse signaled for him to remain where he was. It was the polite form of the gesture, but Revik felt the command behind it.

After a pause, he acceded reluctantly.

“You can do better than that, nephew,” Salinse said.

Revik felt his jaw harden. After another pause, he gestured assent.

“Fine,” he said. “...I’m assuming you still believe the Seven’s claim to leadership is ‘illegitimate’...ever since their treaty with the humans after the wars? So you want me to, what...swear off my allegiance to them and fight for your side? Provide intel, use my position as the Bridge’s mate to gain access to the Adhipan, recruit from their ranks...?”

His anger swelled, darkening when Allie’s face whispered past his sight. He let a pulse of light reach his eyes.

“...you’re probably thinking I married her to gain some kind of leverage, maybe even to get my penance revoked. You’d be wrong about that, but since I’m assuming that’s what most in the Seven think, I don’t hold it against you. If you think I’d turn on her, you’d be wrong about that, too. If you ever give me any reason to think you pose a threat to her in any way, I’ll kill you.”

He paused, then gestured in a conciliatory way.

“But I’m assuming you know that already,” he said. “...Or you wouldn’t be using her to get to me, and vice versa. If you know me as well as you pretend, you also know I don’t much care what you want, as long as you give me a gun first and let me go after my wife. I’ll accept any terms, as long as they don’t harm her in any way. I can’t speak for her, but I’ll relay any message you have.”

The Sark’s narrow lips formed a near-smile.

“Ah. Yes...I see you are still a pragmatist. You want your wife back. This is you ‘playing along,’ yes? You don’t much care about anyone else...or even whether our intentions are ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in the wider scale of things...?”

Revik bit his tongue to keep back a retort. Finally he shrugged with one hand. “Fine. I am playing along. Is it important to you that I seem to care? Fine.”

He nodded, once, gesturing politely with a hand.

“Salinse,” he said. “...what is it that you would like me to do to fulfill my end of the contract with you?”