Betrayer's Bane, Page 3

  For the trees the difference was less important, for they all felt, and the meaning contained within their worldwide community was deeper than mere thought.

  They had conquered their first foes, disease and predators, but though they reshaped their world to better suit them, it never lost its intense beauty, just the danger. The five races that would later become what they now called the She’Har lived in harmony and the animals that became their kianthi were as much a part of them as their branches and roots.

  Their science grew, and with it came knowledge of things far beyond their simple world. With knowledge came increased safety and prosperity, but it also brought its own dangers. As they learned of the greater universe beyond their small part of it they began to crave more, and none knew more than the Illeniels, for their minds saw farther than any of their kin.

  Eventually they found the means to go beyond, and the universe was opened to them. They spread to new worlds and new places, though none ever matched their original home.

  But opening the door proved to be a dangerous mistake. There were others in the void. Those they met at first proved peaceful, but others were not, and the She’Har learned to make war. Even at that they were successful, until the ANSIS found them. Machine-like beings, they had none of the weaknesses of the She’Har’s previous foes, and slowly, inexorably, they began to lose.

  Against other opponents, retreat might have been possible, but although the ANSIS had no aythar, they also had the key to traveling between dimensions. Non-living, they showed no remorse or respite to the She’Har. They hunted them, finding every hidden plane and quiet sanctuary. The ANSIS would not be satisfied until the She’Har were no more.

  The She’Har fought, and lost, and grew cold in their desperate struggle for survival. When the first world was taken, they lost their kianthi, and with them, their heart. They had changed themselves many times to adapt to new worlds, but without the kianthi, existence became almost meaningless. To survive they became more like their enemy, but it was never enough.

  A desperate plan was created to save the five groves and find a new world to use for their final refuge. The race that lived there was intelligent, but possessed no soul, no aythar or true awareness. They were more like the ANSIS than a true sapient species.

  The Illeniels wrapped the new world in an artificial dimension, sustained by the immortal creations of the Centyr Grove, the Kionthara. The god-like kionthara would guard the new dimension, sealing it against any intrusion from beyond, and within it, their new world would be safe.

  And then they made the new place their home.

  The initial invasion went unnoticed while the She’Har quickly built their strength. Once they were discovered, it was already too late. The soul-dead animals that defended that world proved to be more powerful than expected, but their science was still new. The She’Har had tools and weapons at their disposal that were beyond the ability of the younger and mechanistic animals.

  In particular, the She’Har were masters of genetics and biology. They grew their soldiers and modified them endlessly to meet the needs of any situation. The machines of the baratti were unable to keep up.

  When the humans grew desperate, they began using weapons that would destroy their own world. They poisoned the land with chemicals and destroyed large regions with devastating bombs that left the land ruined by radiation.

  The She’Har no longer had time for patience and slow warfare. Turning once more to their finest mastery, they fashioned a new type of krytek, a biological horror that would devour their flesh and bone opponents from within. A microscopic creature that could multiply on its own, their new weapon took the form of a parasitic disease that spread rapidly through their enemies.

  Even the cold-hearted She’Har were dismayed by the result. Unable to respond rapidly to the tailor-made plague, the human resistance dissolved, but even the She’Har could not stop their new creation. The parasitic krytek devoured their hosts until there were none remaining, and then it finally starved.

  When all was finally over only, a few isolated groups of humanity remained, but they were a shadow of their former selves. Their society devolved with a speed even the She’Har could hardly fathom, and within a short span of years most of their science and knowledge was lost.

  The She’Har had won victory and discovered shame. In the course of the short war they had begun to doubt the soul-less nature of their enemy, but once it was over they could not face such a realization. Some experimented, trying to revive the intelligence their enemy had once displayed, but the humans who were left only grew more savage and primitive. Even giving them the ability to sense and manipulate aythar did nothing to alleviate their brutality and stupidity.

  It was easier, morally and pragmatically, to assume that their first assumption had been correct. The humans were little more than biological machines, intelligent once, but not truly aware. Perhaps as a tribute to their fallen enemy, the She’Har gave their children human forms, although it might also have been because the humans somewhat resembled their long lost kianthi.

  “But that was not all!” screamed Tyrion. He knew there was more, so much more. The indignities heaped upon humankind didn’t end with the war.

  He felt weak. It was hopeless, and he was starving, mentally and physically. The ground was hard and gave him no water, while the sun seemed to be completely absent. He was dying.

  His roots, stunted by the rocky ground, could find no others to communicate with. He was alone and his leaves shriveled for lack of sun and water. Tyrion was a prisoner, trapped in a dead place that offered no hope of survival—just as the She’Har still were.

  “The Illeniels knew!” he screamed again, but his roots could find no audience, no one could hear him.

  “They foresaw it all. They knew the kionthara couldn’t last forever. It would eventually come tumbling down around them.” He saw it then, in a blaze of enlightenment. “They knew I was coming, long before I was born.”

  “Why? Why did they give me this?” he asked, for he knew for certain now what the loshti meant. No one could steal from the Illeniels, because they would know before anything could be stolen. Every decision they made was planned with thousands of years of foresight helping to inform their choice.

  The knowledge would be there. It had to be. The decision to allow him to take the loshti, the reason behind it, must have been made long ago. He should already know the answer.

  But he didn’t.

  It was simply blank. He found nothing regarding it in his memories. There could be only one explanation for that. They had removed it.

  He had received the collected knowledge of ages of She’Har history and learning, but they had carefully edited out at least one thing, the reason for letting him acquire that knowledge. What else might they have removed?

  That was something he had no way of knowing, but he had at least one hint regarding the thing he knew was hidden. If he was allowed to see why they had given him the loshti, it would affect his choices; by denying it they were helping to ensure he would do what they needed.

  Reviewing what he had learned, that made some sense. The Illeniels couldn’t truly see the future, their gift went beyond that, they had the ability to see the infinite and endlessly different realities that lay side by side with their own. That was how they had been able to use their magic to transport the She’Har to new worlds, and it was how they saw the most likely future for the reality they were living in.

  They could never be sure, but they could be damn close, and what they relied on was the knowledge of what was probable. And the farther away it was, the more uncertain that probability was.

  Tyrion was dry, parched. He could feel himself dying, ever so slowly.

  He needed to see what the Illeniel elders had seen, but he didn’t have their gift. Perhaps I could gain it, he thought suddenly. The special gifts of each grove were the product of elaborate genetic calculating mechanisms. What did the humans call it? DNA computers. Hah! Li
ttle did they know, the She’Har took it to far greater heights than they ever imagined.

  The seed implanted in each of their children was the true She’Har offspring, like a second mind, living alongside that of their artificially created flesh host. It held the machinery required for spellweaving, but the intricate machinery required for the gifts that each grove gave to their children were housed in two places, both the seed and the host.

  If I can create that within myself, I could gain the gift that the Illeniels use, and then I could see for myself.

  But first he needed to know the code that was unique to constructing the Illeniel gift. And it wasn’t there.

  “Damn them!” Now he knew of two things they had hidden from him. The knowledge to create the gifts of the other groves were there, but not that of the Illeniels.

  It’s useless. I’m trying to outthink a thousand minds that have planned ahead for anything I might try long before I was even born. That thought brought another memory to the foreground of his mind.

  The slaves of the Groves were effectively sterile. The safeguards the She’Har had employed to prevent their gifts escaping into the wild human population were more complex than he had ever guessed, going far beyond the spellwoven collars. The male children of the She’Har could produce human children, but they were genetically flawed. Along with the gift they inherited from their She’Har parent, they also received two lethal mutations. In the male children of the She’Har they were inactivated, in the human children of the She’Har both were active, but they canceled each other out. But if a slave and a wild human produced a child, it would receive only one of the lethal genes, and that no longer held true, such offspring would die very young, if they even survived to be born.

  The coldly reasoned nature of their failsafe chilled him to the bone, but that lasted only a short while. After it had gone, he was filled with rage. The slaves of Ellentrea and the other camps would be useless to him. They could not help establish a new future for humanity, whether he civilized them or not.

  They could only produce dead children with their wild counterparts. Even among themselves, half of every generation would certainly die. Mating with the children of the She’Har would only prolong the problem for one more generation, not that the She’Har would agree to even that.

  Humankind was doomed, and even if he could keep the small population of free humans safe and growing, they would never share the special gifts of the She’Har.

  It might be possible to produce viable offspring with the female children of the She’Har, but they were sterile, well, voluntarily sterile anyway. Female She’Har had their menstrual cycle suppressed. They had to deliberately activate it before they could ovulate.

  “You are a rapist,” Lyralliantha had once told him, and now it made him want to laugh at the irony. The She’Har had planned against even that, long before he had ever come along.

  Tyrion could feel himself drying out. The sensation was so powerful that he at last began to turn his senses outward, to explore the world around him once more. He was still in the cave.

  How had he forgotten that? An animal was nearby, a human. His physical eyesight was absent, but his magesight remained; by her aythar he could tell it was Brigid. She seemed distraught and the enchanted blade tattoos on her arms were active as she paced back and forth near his—trunk?!

  The final realization struck home. I’m a fucking tree. I really did turn into one of them!

  He watched Brigid with fresh concern, and now my daughter is about to cut me down. He tried to speak to her, to tell her to wait, but of course he had no mouth.

  She was preparing to strike.

  His aythar felt sluggish and slow to respond, not that it would do much good against her enchanted arm blades, only his enchanted tattoo defenses had any chance of deflecting their strikes.

  But when he tried to activate them he failed. They were gone, along with his human skin.

  Time slowed, or perhaps his mind sped up. He remembered his tattoos, every inch of them. They had cost him days of pain and blood. They were etched within his mind just as much as they had been on his hide. He focused on their memory, and he felt something within him let go.

  The world snapped into focus and time sped up as they blazed up protectively inside his mind. They were there! Throwing his will and aythar into them he raised his defensive shield, and then he opened his eyes.

  Brigid stood stock still in front of him, an expression of shock on her face. “Is this a trick?” Her former resolve had disappeared, and now her hands had begun to tremble, sending shivers through the magical force sheathing her arms. “Answer me!”

  Raising his arms in a placating gesture he tried to speak, though his lips and tongue felt strange and unfamiliar, “Wait.” When did my arms come back?

  “Wait?! I’ve been waiting! It’s been months! Are you still Tyrion? What have you become?” Her voice had risen, becoming strident.

  “I am—I think. Give me a moment to adjust,” he told her. Waving one hand around his head in a chaotic swirling motion he added, “It’s all strange—in here. Let me think.”

  Her eyes narrowed, “Who was my mother?”

  “The one who raped me,” he said without pausing to think. “Brenda.”

  Brigid’s mouth gaped slightly.

  “You already knew that.”

  “But, you, you never said it, not like that,” she replied. “You were always too proud, even after I figured it out.”

  “Proud?” he laughed. “Ashamed more like it, afraid to admit to my own weakness.”

  “You don’t sound like yourself. You don’t sound like my father,” accused Brigid. “How do I know if I can trust you?”

  Tyrion searched her face, thinking hard. Finally, he answered, “You don’t, but you don’t have any other choice. Killing me now would only bring an abrupt end to your dream, whether I’ve turned against you or not, assuming you could even manage it.”

  Her enchanted chains rustled where they lay a few feet away on the cave floor and Brigid’s features grew more animated, as though the challenge excited her. “Perhaps I should try.”

  He gave her a feral grin, “I’d hate to lose such a fine weapon.”

  ***

  Tyrion was hungry, and thirsty. Thirstier than he could ever remember being. He drank all the water he could hold, not bothering to dip it from the pool at the back of the cave. Instead he put his face directly in the water and drank.

  Later, after he had eaten, he felt better, but it was not enough. The dried meat and hard bread they had brought with them was thoroughly unsatisfying and did little to fill his belly. It was an effort of will to keep himself from eating everything that remained of their rations.

  Glancing up at his daughter he voiced a question, “You said months, how long has it been?”

  “Nine weeks.”

  “And I was like that, the entire time?”

  Brigid shook her head, “No. You moved and babbled a lot the first few days, like a man having a nightmare, then you settled down and grew peaceful. The third morning I woke up and found you had transformed.”

  Tyrion stared at the ground, thinking hard. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t have the Gaelyn gift. How did I change like that?”

  She gave him a confused look and shrugged at the same time.

  “I wasn’t really asking you,” he told her, but then he had another thought. “Wait, did you sense any aythar moving either time?”

  “I was asleep the first time, but definitely not the second time. What does it mean?”

  He gave her an empty stare, “I don’t know.”

  “What should we do then?”

  Tyrion stood, a calm resolve had replaced his earlier uncertainty, “We go home.” A wave of dizziness threatened to take him from his feet, and the room began to spin. He sat abruptly to avoid falling, and then he eased himself to the floor. “After a good rest—I think…”

  Chapter 5

  Something has changed
. The future is shifting.

  The Illeniel elders were meeting, but that was nothing new. They were always meeting. Indeed the majority of their existences were spent in continual communion with one another. What was new was the sense of fear that had entered the conversation.

  We knew this was a possibility, answered another.

  But it was not the most likely, now it has risen to the second most probable outcome.

  The third voice was calm, We have always been prepared to accept it if necessary. Even if it is not our preferred outcome, at least we will survive. In every other scenario everything is lost.

  The most palatable resolution is still more likely.

  The Illeniel Grove had been planning for a long time. Their vision extended over millennia, and while their predictions were more uncertain the farther out in time they extended, they had been forced to make a terrible gamble.

  They had examined a thousand choices since coming to their new home, possibly their last home. In almost all of them they were eventually found. For one reason or another, the kionthara would fail, and the enemy would find them. Only one choice offered hope and even that had been slim. One mistake and disaster would find them much sooner, and even if they succeeded, there was a strong chance that their solution would be almost too dark even for them, cold and calculating She’Har to accept.

  That darker hope had just become more likely.

  It should not be shifting so soon, nothing has occurred. Could one of the other Groves have discovered our plan?

  No, answered the first voice. This can only be the result of some internal choice he has made.

  Perhaps he has decided to share information with one of the other Groves? suggested another.

  Lyralliantha is here, we must instruct her carefully.

  The first elder spoke then, Agreed. Too much knowledge and she could upset the plan.

  A new mind entered their presence. Lyralliantha sent a silent feeling of inquiry outward.

  He will return soon, daughter. You must guide him, advised the second elder.