Mythik Imagination #1, Page 2

He even liked the sound of her name. He had never known the name of a Torjal before. I am Zinj.

  They both struggled with unknown feelings for a moment as they stared at each other.

  Zinj looked up at the darkening sky. It will be nightfall soon. You must be able to get back to your cell before then. Can you walk?

  She nodded, and he helped her up.

  He made sure that she could in fact walk, and thought, We must part for now. Meet me here tomorrow.

  Oh, no! I could never—

  Please. I’ll be waiting.

  She shook her head as he turned and walked away. He looked over his shoulder and thought, Tomorrow.

  Zinj had an even tougher time falling asleep that night. Thoughts were doing somersaults in his mind. He didn’t want to sleep, except that would make the next day come more quickly. He must be crazy. He couldn’t possibly have anticipation for another coming day of misery. But somehow, for some reason, he thought there would be no misery. He sighed and turned over on his hard sleeping mat. There was too much to think about.

  Kila. He almost said her name out loud. A Torjal. It didn’t matter now, though. None of his past experiences mattered. He had found something new. He didn’t know what it was, but he had found it, and would desperately cling to it.

  * * *

  In the morning, The Old One wanted to talk to him. Zinj could hardly bear the delay, but saw no way around it. He was also extremely worried that Kila wouldn’t show up at their rendezvous. On top of all this, he made another startling discovery: there was much less pain from the mind attacks of the Torjals. He could still feel it, and it was awful, but not nearly as bad as before.

  The Old One met him in her decrepit hut.

  “I didn’t see you very much yesterday,” She said. “I thought the Torjals may have gotten you.”

  Zinj swallowed. “I was off by myself. Thinking.”

  “Thinking is dangerous in here, boy. You should know that. It lowers the defenses. What was so important that required your scholarly thought?”

  Zinj knew he was being made fun of. “Oh, nothing really.” He didn’t want to reveal the truth, yet The Old One was the closest thing to a friend he had here, and he needed somebody to talk to.

  A dizzy spell hit him abruptly. He leaned against the wall of the hut and there was an unfamiliar tugging at his mind.

  “Are you all right?” She asked.

  Zinj steadied himself. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The dizziness passed as quickly as it came. “Do you think,” he said, “that it would ever be possible for Arilans and Torjalians to get along?”

  The Old One smiled grimly. “Get along? This isn’t some school playground. We get along fine now. As long as we’re on different worlds and/or they’re dead.”

  “But maybe they’re not really all that different from us . . .”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that we can contact them with our minds? We can’t even do that with our own people.”

  “Concentrated emotion is a very powerful force. Especially hate. It develops the mind.”

  “Yes, exactly. Emotions are powerful. But what if other emotions were used instead of hate? Perhaps if we didn’t hate the Torjals, they wouldn’t hate us. And, if we even went so far as to think kindly of them, maybe they would reciprocate the feeling.” It seemed almost too naïve to consider, even as he was saying it.

  The Old One blinked, uncomprehending.

  Zinj continued anyway, “We hate each other because we don’t understand one another and think we’re so different. Maybe there even are significant differences, but so what? We could learn from one another if we could live together. If only we stopped hating and—” And what, he thought to himself. Started loving? That sounded as ridiculous to him as it must seem to The Old One.

  She grabbed him by the arm with surprising strength. “Don’t you know your history? All that was tried before the signing of the No Contact Treaty. It just made things worse. What’s gotten into you?” She studied him carefully.

  Zinj thought quickly. Eons of war was hardly his idea of cultural exchange. The only difference now was an uneasy truce that showed it was far safer to hate from a distance than up close. He realized The Old One was watching him intently. He regretted saying anything, but it was too late.

  “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “You’re right, of course. I guess the tension is just getting to me. I don’t know what came over me.” He smiled.

  The Old One nodded and watched Zinj slowly walk away. He was such a bad liar. That naïve moron was growing less amusing by the day and could even become a liability. In the past, she’d seen weak minds get twisted to the point where they could even harm their own kind. At this rate, she’d have to get rid of him soon.

  * * *

  Zinj reached the secluded woods after making sure he wasn’t followed. His conversation with The Old One was suddenly forgotten, and he began to panic as he realized Kila wasn’t here. Or maybe she had already come and gone. That would be even worse, because then she would think he had failed her. No, he was a fool, just like The Old One said. She hadn’t come and never would. She hated him. She had said so. He was crazy. His mind was filled with nonsense. Everything was so confusing. Love—the word crashed into his mind like a burning hammer. Love, here? With a Torjal woman? Impossible! It went against everything he had ever believed, everything he had ever been taught. What he had told The Old One about the tension had been true, after all. The tension had cracked him. This was the onset of insanity. Delusions of—

  Zinj?

  The thought jolted him. He turned and saw her standing there.

  I shouldn't have come, he felt her think. I knew desperately that I shouldn’t. But I did . . .

  His heart and soul rushed out to her. He was almost overwhelmed by the same feeling that returned. Yes, he thought. You did.

  They met every day at first. They forced themselves to keep the meetings short, however, to avoid arousing the suspicions of the others. Zinj found himself growing stronger; he was becoming immune to the hatred of the Torjals. His love for Kila seemed to cancel out everything else. He even became a model prisoner, much to the displeasure of the guards. He kept to himself and ignored the occasional strange looks from the other prisoners.

  He almost couldn’t believe how amazing she was. They talked, or thought, about everything. They shared every part of their lives, hopes and dreams. Or almost everything. Every once in a while, he sensed there was something he was missing, but each time he tried to grasp its meaning, he would be overwhelmed by the joy of some new discovery about her.

  As their bond grew stronger, Zinj discovered he and Kila could communicate over greater distances. Finally, they were in contact even at night, in their own cells. They no longer had to risk being seen together, and Zinj was nearly content, although he still desperately wanted to be with her.

  It was this desperation that caused him to make the mistake of being followed to the meeting place with Kila. The Old One peered at them from behind a gnarled tree. She watched with a surprisingly blank expression. She had suspected as much. Quietly, she scurried away.

  That night Balakon visited The Old One’s comparatively luxurious cell. The prisoner had a special relationship with the guards, and it was because of this, in no small part, that she had survived Prison for so long.

  Balakon was already somewhat irritated. After all, he had only one last long day to endure before his tour was over, and he was in no mood for a boot-licking prisoner.

  “What is it, old crone?”

  The Old One smiled. “I have some information about one of the prisoners you might be interested in. . . .”

  * * *

  Zinj walked into the Yard, eager for the new day. He was thinking with Kila and barely took note of the absence of The Old One and her morning insults. As a matter of fact, he’d hardly seen her lately. For an instant, unease tugged at his mind, but he brushed the feeling aside. He wandered around casually,
but couldn’t seem to get away by himself. There always seemed to be a few other prisoners nearby. He was beginning to get frustrated; no matter where he tried to go, they wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Suddenly his head burst with an agonizing cry for help from Kila.

  “No!” he shouted out loud and started to run.

  A motley group of prisoners converged on him immediately. There were a half dozen or more and they pinned his arms and legs before he could react. He tried to fight free, and two of them threatened him with crude stone clubs. He struggled, but was helpless.

  There were no more thoughts from Kila, and he feared the worst. He expected the prisoners with the clubs to try to kill him any second, but they seemed content to wait.

  Then the Old One appeared. She showed her true strength, and carried the limp body of Kila roughly. Worry and anger surged through Zinj.

  “I have a present for you, boy,” The Old One said as she dropped Kila to the ground at his feet.

  Zinj strained to get free again and one of the prisoners cracked him on the skull with a club.

  The Old One swore and knocked the club out of the prisoner’s hands. “Not yet!”

  She rose to her full height, which was even taller than Zinj. She examined him. Blood was running down from his forehead, and he was apparently conscious enough to satisfy her.

  She raised her voice dramatically. “You have been accused of fraternizing with this dirty, stinking, horrid Torjalian animal here.” She kicked Kila. Zinj sagged in despair.

  The Old One continued, “But we all know that’s impossible. It’s unthinkable, isn’t it? So I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself innocent.” She looked to the Wall.

  Through the blood dripping over his eyes, Zinj could see Balakon watching from an open portal. He was with several other guards who were all enjoying the show. They were also armed to the teeth. They were nothing if not bravely cautious.

  The Old One screamed, “I am going to kill this—this thing!”

  She looked from Kila to Zinj. “If you try to help her, you too will be killed. If not, then your innocence will be proved.”

  Zinj tensed his muscles, ready for one last desperate, hopeless attempt to do something.

  No! Kila’s thought echoed in his mind. You cannot do it that way. We must overcome them with our minds. My love, I need your strength to do it. It is our only chance!

  A strange calmness overcame Zinj. He put his faith into her. He spoke softly while at the same pouring all the power of his will into Kila.

  “It is not I who is on trial here. It is you.” He spat at The Old One and then twisted his gaze to Balakon and the guards, “And you!” He was speaking to give Kila time, and thought quickly. They wanted a show.

  “You who know nothing but hate and fear and see only the past . . .”

  He could feel Kila’s power grow. To his eyes she seemed to almost glow. But nobody was looking at her. All eyes were on him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on sending her all the love and energy possible from the very depths of his being. The air grew hot and electrically charged around him. He could feel the throb of energy pulsing everywhere.

  “Your eyes see only yesterday . . .” he continued.

  Somebody had handed The Old One a stone axe. She lifted it above Kila in a wide, dramatic arc and grinned with blood lust. “Foolish boy!”

  She grunted and swung the axe with all her strength.

  An explosive force seemed to whirl past Zinj like a hurricane. The men holding him convulsed violently and he was thrown to the ground. His vision turned red, then black. His ears were pounded by a deafening roar, and his skin seemed to sizzle with incredible energy. There was a strange sound that he would never be able to describe.

  Then there was nothing but a gentle, warm breeze, softly blowing by him. He opened his eyes and saw Kila looking down at him with a smile.

  We did it, she said.

  He struggled to his feet and put his arms around her, just glad and thankful that she was still alive. Suddenly he turned around, wondering just what had happened. But the guards— he began. Then he saw them. Everyone: Balakon, The Old One, the other guards and prisoners—all of them—were crumpled on the ground where they had been standing. They looked like gruesome, twisted corpses, with blood gushing from nostrils, ears and mouths.

  They are all stunned, Kila thought. I could not—would not!—kill them. There has been enough of that in this place.

  Zinj squeezed her hand. We had better get out of here, he thought, before the Torjals come.

  You could do this to the Torjals, too. I can give you the power the way you just did for me . . .

  Not if I can avoid it.

  They were both suddenly startled by another strange thought:

  The Torjals will not be coming.

  Over here, came another thought from another mind.

  They turned to see a couple standing in the open portal over the bodies of Balakon and the other guards. The man and woman were middle aged and radiated a calm and easy feeling. They wore simple, colorful robes that contrasted with the dark, dreary Prison background. The man was Torjalian, the woman Arilan. They both smiled gently.

  I am Darian, the man smiled with his thought.

  And I am Shanda. We have heard you and have come to help you escape. We also escaped Prison long ago.

  Where did you come from? Zinj asked.

  Shanda’s smile grew. I know you have many questions. All will be answered eventually. We live on the other side of this moon. There is a settlement of people like yourselves who have discovered what you have discovered.

  The other side of the moon? Kila thought. How did you get here?

  Darian tapped the side of his head. With the mind. As you are finding out, it has many powers, most of which you haven’t even dreamed of yet . . . .

  We must leave now, though, Shanda thought.

  Kila looked at all the bodies of the prisoners and guards. What about them?

  They will recover soon. Darian thought. They will search, but find nothing. The incident will eventually be forgotten. As always.

  Will they learn? Zinj asked, looking at The Old One.

  Anyone can learn, Zinj. Shanda thought. There are always people like you who eventually discover the bond that the hatred disguises. But the Universe is very complex and it is not always easy. I think you will find it is worth the effort, however.

  A few seconds later, the four of them were gone, leaving Prison behind.

  * * *

  Zinj opened his eyes. He’d been dreaming. Well, more like a nightmare. A nightmare about a prison, death, and a hopeless life. Then he remembered.

  So it wasn’t a dream. He had lived it. He remembered leaving Prison with Kila, Darian and Shanda. They had all stood in a circle and closed their eyes. Then . . . Then, he woke up here.

  He looked around with blurry vision. His head throbbed with pain. Slowly, his surroundings came into focus. He was in a small, dimly lit room. There was an oddly familiar hum and barely perceptible vibration. He tried to move and found he was strapped to a chair. There were three other other chairs next to him in a row. In front of him was a dark metal wall.

  Part of the wall opened, and two people walked in. No, three people, since a shorter person was behind the first two. Now he recognized Shanda and Darian. They seemed different; Shanda especially so. They looked pleasant enough, but the smiles were gone. Instead of the colorful robes, they wore dark uniforms.

  “Zinj,” Shanda said. “Someone would like to say hello.”

  Kila squeezed between them.

  His heart beat faster. Thank god. Now he was sure it all wasn’t some horrible dream. Horrible, all right, but real and worth it.

  Kila smiled softly. “Hello, Zinj. Are you feeling okay?” She checked the bandage on his head with a frown.

  “I’m okay now that you’re here.”

  She blinked a couple of times and smiled weakly.

  “Kila is quite fond of y
ou, Zinj,” Darian said slowly.

  What the hell? “Fond?” Now he realized they had been speaking his language out loud. He quickly reached out with a thought. Nothing. He couldn’t find the mental connection with any of them.

  “There’s been a slight change in plans,” Shanda said. Yes, she did look very different. Now she had features similar to Darian, the same kind of hair and build. She looked like a Torjal.

  Zinj’s mind raced. “What’s going on? Where are we? Are we at the settlement?”

  Darian leaned forward a little bit. “About that. I’m afraid there is no settlement.”

  Zinj stared at them blankly.

  “It’s like this,” Darian continued. “You see, if it wasn’t for Agent Kila’s fondness for you, you wouldn’t even be alive right now.”

  “What?” Zinj struggled against the seat straps. Kila and Shanda watched silently.

  “Please don’t interrupt,” Darian said. “We’re on a ship headed for Torjal. We decided, for Kila’s sake, that you couldn’t do any harm there. And, after all, since you are now immune to Torjal minds, you can even live out a fairly normal life.”

  “Kila, no . . .” Zinj stared at her and tried to reach her mind like before. Nothing.

  “Please don’t make this any harder than necessary,” Shanda said.

  Kila’s eyes were moist, but her face was stoic. She nodded a goodbye, turned and left.

  “Wait!” Zinj called after her.

  Darian shook him. “Listen. We told you we’d answer all your questions, and as it turned out, that’s actually true. I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. While Arilan civilization has been crumbling, Torjal has been advancing. Ever since the No Contact Treaty, we’ve stopped worrying about you. While Arila has been wallowing in every desire to try to think of new ways to mentally attack us from a distance, we’ve been relearning technology. We haven’t taken that ridiculous Prison seriously for over a century. But we kept up the pretense. And it paid off, because every once in a while, we’d discover somebody like yourself. Somebody different . . .”

  Shanda took over. “And through each of those people, we were able to combine their minds with those of our agents which—”

  “—which gave them mental immunity,” Zinj finished.

  “Right,” Darian smiled. “And let me say, you did a splendid job. That bit about seeing with the eyes of yesterday, man that was splendid. You see, it takes that kind of feeling to make it work.”