Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Great Migration 02 - Crystal Dragon

VIP免费
2024-12-20 0 0 722.89KB 171 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Prologue
In the Hall of the Mountain Kings
THE ZALJAZA PINWHEELED across the aetherium, painting the void with bright strokes of energy. Rapt,
she moved closer to the barrier—and closer still, until the weaving of the containment forces flared.
She retreated until the barrier faded from her awareness, and once again only the zahata were visible. Power
and grace. Unimaginable power, for these were zahata at the height of their considerable abilities, captured,
contained, and exploited by the Iloheen—and no concern of hers.
Despite this—and the fact that it was... theoretically... impossible for those who wore flawed and fallible flesh
to behold the sacred servants without the intermediary sight of an instructor, she came as often as she might
to the aetherium, the folded space at the edge of what was, to watch the play and the power of the wild ones,
the rebels; those who had contended as equals against the Iloheen
And lost.
Of course, they had lost. No one and nothing could stand against the Iloheen. So she had been taught, and
so she believed. But knowing that each zahata contained within the aetherium had striven, flame to ice,
against one of the Iloheen—that knowledge excited a brilliant emotion in her, as the beauty of their gyrations
dazzled her senses, leaving her
There!
There it was—her favorite of the wild dancers: Not so large as some, but densely structured, the pattern of its
emanations controlled, it colors deep and cunning, resonating through every spectrum she was able to
sense, and surely well beyond. It suited her fancy to style this one noheen-baUel—Lord of Chance—in all
ways fit to serve the Masters of Unmaking. Indeed, when she had not seen it at once, she had supposed that
its master had required it elsewhere. That it was free and dancing—pleased her.
Not that her puny pleasure was to be set against the necessities of the Iloheen. Surely not. The whole
purpose of her existence was to serve the Iloheen as they instructed her, for while they were invincible, their
numbers were not limitless, and so they required servants to perform certain of the lesser tasks of conquest.
She was herself scarcely trained, and, according to her teachers, barely trainable. Yet she had passed living
through the first two Dooms, while others of her cohort had not, and even now a vessel formed from her DNA
and shaped by her skill grew in the birthing room. Soon, it would be ready to receive a download. And, oh,
she thought, her eyes on the hoheen-ballet as it tumbled and shone in its dance through the clusters of its
fellows, if only
But such was not for her.
Putting away longing and regret alike, she watched the zahata dance, taking comfort from the intricate,
subtle patterns that
emerged—and suddenly came to full attention, all her senses a-tingle, as she sought to analyze those
so-subtle movements.
The hoheen-bahel was feigning random action, but close analysis revealed that it was passing near each and
every one of the dancers in the aetherium, mingling its energies with those others in the way of zahata
communication. There was nothing overtly wrong in this—if the Iloheen had not wished their servants to
communicate, they would simply have forbidden it. But the attempt to conceal the communication engaged
her interest—as did the fact that the others were becoming _Agitated, condensing their essences until they
were nearly as dense as the hoheen-bahel, their auras held close and studious.
Engrossed in her study, she again came too near the containment field, and for an instant the dancers were
hidden from her.
When her senses cleared, she saw that the seven strongest of the captives now danced in pattern near the
center of the aetherium, while the rest kept orbit about them, tumbling with abandon, energies bright and
zealous.
Rapt, she observed them, her entire attention on the double dances—the inner pattern formal, laden—laden
with intent; the outer heedless and dazzling. She ached; her senses so tightly engaged that she did not
perceive the approach of the Iloheen until its very Shadow fell across the aetherium.
Poor student she might be, but she had not survived two Dooms because she was a fool—nor because she
lacked resources or awareness. She had once come to the attention of the Iloheen; twice was more than any
student might survive.
Immediately, she damped her output, coalesced, and plummeted through the levels to the physical plane,
gritting her teeth to keep the cry locked in her mouth as the dancers, the aetherium, the Shadow
itself—vanished from her perceptions.
She breathed, deep and deliberate, and slowly increased her heartbeat, keeping herself centered on the
physical plane. Her envelope had become chilled; she warmed it, uncurled and sat up. At the last, she
opened her eyes upon the stone-walled dormitory, the ceiling black and secret. Curled naked on the rocky
floor were five identical sleepers, which was all that was left of her cohort.
Carefully, she allowed her senses to expand, reading emanations left upon the air by the immediate
past—and found nothing but the sleeping auras of her sisters.
Satisfied that her absence had not been noted, she curled down on the cold, sharp rock, closed her eyes and
willed her body into slumber—and found resistance, though not from her pliant vessel. Memory it was that
would keep her wakeful, and different, and thus subject to scrutiny.
She everted her will, and sleep she did, though the memory lingered.
SHE WAS CONTEMPLATING ley lines, their shapes and patterns, attempting to gauge the magnitude of
force required to effect a branching off a main avenue of event. She was, of herself, powerless to shift the
lines, or to cross them, or to affect a branching. However, it was necessary that she understand the art and
the consequences of its use. If she survived the Three Dooms, thereby proving herself worthy to engender life.
If the life she engendered was fit. If she enforced her dominion. If
Attend me.
The order rang inside her head, bright orange and tasting of manganese—the thought signature of the Anjo
Valee dominant, their biology tutor. Obedient, she withdrew her attention from the glittering, seductive lines of
possibility and power, rose from her crouch and, with the eleven of her cohort who had survived the First
Doom, walked—naked, silent, and identical—down the rough stone hall to the biology lab.
Their tutor awaited them on the raised platform at the center of the room, the dominant standing with thin
arms crossed over her breast, her face bearing its usual expression of impatient irritation. The submissive
towered behind her, his face round and blank, eyes staring deep into the vasty mysteries of time and space.
The twelve of them knelt in a half-ring before the dies, their faces tipped up to their tutor, eyes open and
focused on her face. As one, they neutralized their protections, and composed themselves to learn.
When they were all equally calm and receptive, the dominant smiled, showing small pointed teeth, closed her
eyes and broadcast the lesson.
As usual, it struck the mind hard, its many angles and tiny sharp details seeming to cut the brain tissue
itself. Kneeling, she received the thing, taking care to keep her eyes open and steady, and to allow no
shadow of pain to disturb her aura as the knowledge sank into the depths of her mind, flowered with a
thousand daggered points—and was gone.
You huff now practice the technique, the dominant projected. Ano.
On the tile floor before each appeared a lab dish bearing a quiescent portion of protolife.
Animate your subject, the order came.
That was easy enough; engendering a nervous system was elementary biology. She extended her thought
and probed the clay, teasing out filaments, weaving them into a network. When the weaving was done, she
subjected the whole to a deep scrutiny, being certain there were no missed synapses, before releasing a
carefully gauged jolt of energy. The protolife twitched, the network of nerves glowed, and she withdrew into her
envelope, her hands laying loose on her thighs.
She must have been slower than the rest at her work, for no sooner had she re-entered the physical plane
than the order rang inside her head: Render your subject aware.
Once again, she brought her attention to the protolife and the steady glow of the nervous system she had
created. Awareness—that was more difficult. They had been given the theory in philosophy, but this would be
the first opportunity to bring theory into practice.
Carefully, she made her adjustments, and when she was satisfied, she withdrew to her envelope.
Kneeling, she waited, long enough for the sweat to dry on her face; long enough to begin to wonder if she had
made some foolish error, which had allowed her to finish so far ahead of the—
Render your subject sell-aware.
Self-aware? Almost, she allowed the thought to take form, but wisdom won out. One did not question the
Anjo Valee dominant lightly. Nor was one stupid or slow in completing one's lesson.
She returned to the second plane, where she contemplated the pulsing protolife with puzzlement. Sell-aware.
This went beyond what theory the philosophy tutor had granted them. However, if it were but a simple
progression—animation, awareness, self-awareness...
Gingerly, and not at all certain that her instinct was good, she exerted her will once more, fashioning a
chamber of pure energy, which enclosed and oversaw the central autonomous system. When it was fully
formed and integrated, glowing in her perceptions like an impossibly tiny sahata, she breathed upon it, and
projected a single thought.
The energy construct twitched, glowed, dimmed—and flared. Rudimentary thought reached her, barely more
than an inarticulate mumble. The mumble grew as it accepted data from the central nervous system and
began assessing its situation. Its unique situation.
Shaken in spirit, she returned to her sweat-drenched envelope. It took all of her will to leave her shields down;
and every erg of her strength to keep her eyes open, modestly contemplating the lab dish and the creature
which was beginning to cast about for data regarding its environment and itself.
Her envelope was beginning to shiver. Irritated, she encouraged certain molecules to increase their dance
briefly and dried her sweat-slicked dermis. She did not smile, nor avert her eyes from the lab dish. It was too
much to hope that her action had escaped the notice of their tutor, the submissive unit of whom was attuned
to the ebb and flow of power, from small flares of warmth to the death and birth of star systems.
In the lab dish, the self-aware protolife continued to gather data, its mutter limping toward coherence. The
facts of its existence were simple and straightforward, and because they were the facts of its existence,
unalarming. It did not miss the limbs it had never had, it did not repine for sight or for the ability to shape living
things from quiescent clay. It
Very well. Their tutors thought signature was shot with yellow, signaling that she was more than usually
impatient.
You huff now access the technique you have been given and use it to physically alter your subject. Be certain
that it remains conscious and aware during the change. This a the shape you win bestow—a quick
mind-picture of a bulbous body from which three equal tentacles protruded.
Proceed.
The technique was deceptively simple, and her first attempt produced two greater tentacles and a lesser. She
accessed the technique again in order to make the adjustment, and the creature in the lab dish screamed.
She watched it closely as it quivered, then rallied and began to collect the data on its new form, stretching
out its tentacles and
exploring far more of the lab dish than it had known existed. Its terror faded into excitement, into curiosity,
into
Again, the order came, and the shape this time included an ear.
Her creature's horror sublimated quickly into the eagerness of discovery. From somewhere—likely from the
Anjo Valee submissive—came sound, patternless and far into the range that she herself could perceive only
through her other senses. The creature tracked the noise, building processing space on its own initiative, its
muttering intelligible now as it formed theories regarding the sound, its purpose and its possible meaning for
itself.
An eye and a fine gripper were added. The creature scarcely felt horror at these newest developments; and
the pain of acquiring the alterations bled almost instantly away into greedy wonder. It created additional
processing space as it began to creep about the dish, testing the information brought to it through its eye. It
looked up, and she received a weird visual feedback—a smooth, lopsided blotch of gold, topped by a second
and smaller blotch...
Again
The image this time was sharply different—a bony carapace, six multi-jointed legs—three to a side—eyes
fore and aft, on flexible stalks. The creature marched forward, learning its strength and its range. The
muttering now took into account this state of constant change and accepted it as natural, for it knew nothing
else.
She withdrew ...mostly... into her envelope, while keeping the marching, measuring creature in one small
portion of her attention. It was doing well, taking stock, forming theories, testing and adjusting them to
accommodate new data. She was proud of it, the child born of her thought and desire.
As she watched, it discovered the dome over the dish, studied it with front eyes and back, stood on a pair of
back legs and used the front ones to gain a sensory impression, exerted pressure—pressure)—and learned
that it did not give.
The muttering was comprehensible now, the thought processes cogent and accessible. It considered the
dome in light of its earlier explorations of the floor of the dish, formed the hypothesis that the material was
one and the same. Settling back, it stamped its feet against the floor, verifying that the material was
unbreakable by the force it might bring to bear. The question of whether it was desirable to break the dome
arose and was put aside, pending further data.
The creature's eyes extended, and this time she recognized her face in the feedback, her eyes as round and
as clear as the dish itself.
So, we have given, her tutors thought intruded upon her observations. Now, we shall take away.
The image flashed—the very creature in her lab dish, minus the endmost set of legs.
This was fine work and took a good deal of concentration; she narrowed her perceptions to one, single foci,
and did what was required.
In the lab dish, the creature teetered and staggered, as the now unevenly distributed weight of its carapace
pulled it first to one side and then the other. Just as it achieved equilibrium, the tutor broadcast the next
template.
Biting her lip, she removed the foremost pair of legs.
Her creature wailed, staggered—fell, eye stalks whipping, then focusing. Focusing on the dome. Beyond the
dome. On her.
This time it was a front eye and a back; then, the order barely discernible in the din of the creature's horror,
pain and fear, another leg, then the ear.
Bit by bit, the creature was rendered back, until it was yet again a formless blot of protolife. Sentient protolife,
its once promising mental acuity crushed beneath the weight of its multiple losses. Its awareness screamed
continually, pain eroding the ability to reason, to form a theory, a response.
Even withdrawn entirely into her body, she could hear it; feel it. There was no word from the tutor, no query
from any of her cohort. In the dish, the creature's anguish spiked, the last of its reason spiraled into
chaos—and surely, she thought, that was the end of the lesson.
She extended her though, stilled the turmoil, blotted out the shredded unwove the nervous system, and
withdrew again to the quiet of her own mind.
Orange and yellow flames exploded across her perceptions.
You win stand! The tutors thought slashed at her. Explain what you have Lust done and your reasons tor
doing so! The order rang in her head, and no sooner had it formed than she was yanked upward and released.
She staggered, got her feet under her, and bowed to the tutor, where they stood on the dais, the dominant
allowing her anger to be seen; the submissive staring over her head, to the farthest corner of the room—and
beyond.
I have
Speak against the an, the dominant snapped, and her thought burned.
She cooled the burn site, bowed once more, and straightened, her hands flat against her thighs.
"I returned the protolife to its quiescent state," she said, her voice thin and one dimensional. They seldom
communicated so, amongst themselves. Lower forms spoke against the air, and by placing this demand
upon her the tutor illustrated that she—a student and unpaired—was lower—weaker—than a full dramhza
unit.
As if that point required illustration.
Upon what order did you undertake this action? Her tutors thought fairly crackled, throwing out sparks of
yellow and orange. She bowed. "Upon my own initiative," she said steadily.
It is your LEARNED opinion that the remainder ot the lesson was ot no benefit to you?
The rest ot the lesson? The thought took shape before she could prevent it. She bent forward in a bow—and
found herself gripped in a vise of energy, unable to straighten, unable to continue the bow, unable to move her
legs, or her arms, scarcely able to breathe.
So, you were unaware that there was more? the dominant purred, her thought now showing gleams and
glimmers of pleased violet.
"I was," she whispered against the air, staring perforce at the tile floor.
Then you nun stand in place ot your construct, and finish the lesson out, the dominant stated. ANo.
Abruptly, she was released. She gasped in a great lungful of air as she collapsed, tile gritting against her
cheek, her limbs weak and tingling unpleasantly with the renewed flow of blood.
She set her hands against the tile, pushed herself up—and fell flat on her face as her left arm dissolved in a
blare of pain so encompassing she scarcely felt it.
Panting, she rocked back to her knees, to her feet—and down again, cracking her head against the floor, the
place where her right leg had been an agony beyond belief.
Grimly, she got up onto her remaining knee and hand, pain warring with horror as she understood that the
tutor meant to
One eye was gone, its empty socket a cup of fire burning into her skull. She screamed, then, the sound high
and wild—and cut off abruptly as her ears were taken.
Observe closely, the tutor was addressing the rest of her cohort, the pattern of her thought weaving like a
violet ribbon through the pain. Lesser beings may be governed by a system ot punishment and reward.
Acid ate her right arm.
Judicious reward and implacable punishment ...
Her left leg evaporated in a sheet of fire.
unfailing service...
The biology lab vanished as her remaining eye was plucked out.
...and win enforce both your dominion and your superiority.
The pain increased as the tutor exerted her will on nerve endings and receptors. She could feel the pressure
of that terrible regard, as her thoughts skittered and scrambled. She tried to hide from the pain, all her
perceptions obscured by it, so that she was blind in truth, and the pain, the pain...
We have taken away much, as is our right, according to our ability.
She was ablaze; the skin crisping on her bones; her reason spiraling toward chaos. Just like
We shall now bestow a small reward.
Just like her poor creature, which had done so well, for a lower order, built to be dominated, manipulated
and—Monitor the thni ot the emotion 'gratitude.'
She was not a base construct. She was not. She would fight. She would
She would dominate.
Atom by atom, she scraped together her shattered will and focused on the roaring source of energy obscuring
her perceptions. Pain. Pain could be used.
Beyond the inferno, she felt the weight of her tutor's regard increase.
She thrust her will into the howling depth of the pain
The tutor's regard altered, sparked
Using raw power and no finesse whatsoever, she created shields and threw them into place.
There was an orange and yellow detonation as the tutors will slammed into her barriers—but she had no time
for that, now. The tutor launched another assault, but her protections held. Of course they held. Had she not
survived the First Doom? Her shields had withstood the stare of one of the Iloheen; they would hold against a
mere dramhza.
For a time.
Working with rapid care, she bled off the pain, sublimating it into working energy, using it to rebuild her
depleted strength. As she dominated the pain, her focus returned and she was able to survey the wreckage of
her envelope.
Tentatively at first, then more swiftly as she began to integrate the fine points of the interrupted lesson, she
rebuilt her body.
Arms, legs, eyes, ears, nerves, dermis... As she worked, she considered making alterations—and regretfully
decided not to do so. Alterations made in haste and in unstable conditions might later be revealed as errors.
Best to wait.
She did, however, strengthen her shields.
Then, she opened her eyes.
Carefully, cocooned in total silence on all perceptual levels, she came to her feet, and raised her eyes to the
instructor's dies. Lower your protections. The characteristic bright orange thought was shading toward a
dangerously bland beige, and the taste of manganese was very strong.
Bith all respect, she answered—no.
You may lower them or An o win destroy them.
She looked to the submissive, and found his pale eyes open and focused on her face, with ...interest...
I win not, she made answer to the dominant. And Ano shall not.
Upon what order do you undertake this action?
Upon my own initiative.
Ah. The dominant extended her will to the submissive—and froze in time and space as a long Shadow fell
across the room and the perceptions of all within.
The air grew chill and the tile took on a glaze of ice before the Iloheen deigned to speak.
Discipline has been meted and met. It goes no further.
Edonai the Anjo Valee dominant answered, her thought warm against the Shadow's chill. On the dais, the
dramhza bowed low. Those who yet knelt before their lab dishes threw themselves upon their faces on the
ice-slicked floor.
She—she bowed until her head touched her knees, and held it, as the Shadow fell full upon her
And was gone.
Abruptly, the room warmed. Behind her, she heard small noises as her cohort straightened and stilled. She
unbent slowly, and looked up to the dais. The dominant did not meet her eyes.
You ma return the specimen to As original state, the tutor ordered the class entire. When that is done, you
nun wait upon the philosophy tutor.
THE DOWNLOAD WAS about to take place.
She, with those of her cohort who had survived the Second Doom, watched from a distance, thought stilled
and vital energies shielded, to insure that the tumzahat would not perceive, and thus seek to attach, their
essences.
In the birthing room, the vessel was readied. Its arms were spread, held thus by chains woven of alternating
links of metal and force, the ends melded with the smooth tile floor. Similar chains around each ankle pulled
the legs wide. Its head was gripped in a metal claw; a metal staple over its waist held it firm and flat.
On the plane from which they observed, the vessel was nothing more than a smear of pink, which was the
glow of the autonomous systems. The hopeful dominant showed not even as much as that, so closely did
she hold herself.
Within the lesser aetherium, the tumzahat pursued their small, simple dances, which were so much less
than the intricate movements of rebellion and abandon performed by their wild kin, the zahata. Those such as
she—and the cadet preparing herself below—they were fit only to exercise dominion over tumzahat and so
forge a working dtamhza unit, to thereby accomplish the will of the Iloheen as it was expressed to them.
They were, after all, nothing more than embodiment of the vast wills of the Iloheen, without which they would
have no existence. So the philosophy tutor taught.
In the birthing room, all was ready.
The cadet knelt beside the vessel and took the autonomous system under her control. This was necessary to
prevent the tumzahat from sabotaging the vessel, or, as was more likely, damaging it through terror and
ignorance.
Control established, the cadet entered the lesser aetherium, cloaked and dim against the brilliant broil of the
tumzahat.
Cloaked and dim, the cadet drifted, while the heedless tumzahat frolicked, melding their energies and
dashing off at angles that seemed random until one considered the ley lines that passed through the lesser
aetherium. The tumzahat followed the ley lines, feeding on them—perhaps. Seeking to influence them,
certainly. But the Iloheen had constructed the aetheriums in such a way that the ley lines which intersected
there were rendered sluggish. They could, so said the engineering tutor, be manipulated, though not by a
mere tumzahat. Once downloaded, dominated, and fully integrated into a dtamhza unit, then—perhaps—a
tumzahat might have access to sufficient power and focus to manipulate the ley lines from within the
aetherium.
But, by then, it would no longer wish to do so.
The cadet had, by stealth and by craft, managed to separate one particular tumzahat from the rest. She had
not yet fully revealed herself, though she was now shedding a small—and unavoidable—amount of energy.
The chosen tumzahat was large, its energies brilliant. Its cohesion was perhaps not all that could be desired,
and it showed a
tendency to flare in an unappealing manner. But it was well enough. For a tumzahat.
The chosen abruptly rolled, as if suddenly realizing its vulnerable position on the outer edge of the tumbling
pod. It flared and changed trajectory, seeking to rejoin the others
And spun hard as the cadet revealed herself in a blaze of complex energies, cutting it off from the group,
crowding it toward the containment field.
It was a bold move, for tumzahat rightly feared the field, and the danger was that it would bolt and break
through the cadet's wall of energy, with catastrophic results for both.
The creature hesitated, confusion dulling its output. The cadet pushed her advantage, herding it, pushing
closer to the containment field and the egress port. The tumzahat took its decision, feinted and reversed,
diving for the fiery fringe of the cadet's wall, gambling, so it seemed to those observing, that it could survive
the passage through the lesser energies.
It was over quickly, then.
The cadet allowed the tumzahat to approach quite near, allowed it to believe its gamble was about to
succeed. At the penultimate instant, the tumzahat gaining momentum, its emanations coalesced to an
astonishing degree—the cadet released the greater portion of her energies.
The tumzahat tumbled into an oblique trajectory, now running parallel to the cadet's weaving of power. She
contracted the field, as if she meant to embrace the fleeing creature in her energies.
Again, it changed trajectory, hurtling back toward the containment field with undiminished momentum.
Perhaps it had some thought of immolating itself. It was of no matter. The cadet extended a tendril of energy,
slipping it between the tumzahat and the containment field, at the same instant contracting the field.
The force of the contraction threw the tumzahat into the egress port. In one smooth maneuver, the cadet
triggered the port and withdrew the tendril separating the tumzahat from the containment field. Emanations
sparking in terror, the tumzahat tumbled into the port, bracketed and contained now only by the funnel of the
cadet's energies, guiding it, forcing it
The port closed.
In the birthing room, the readied vessel flared, the glow lingering as the nervous system accepted and
imprisoned the tumzahat's energies. The cadet's envelope flared less brightly as it accepted her return. She
raised her head, and a small tremor of satisfaction escaped her.
On the floor beside her, the vessel spasmed against its restraints. The chest heaved, mouth gaping, and the
birth scream echoed against the air. Quickly, the cadet straddled the vessel and lowered herself onto its
erection, bonding herself with it on the biologic plane. Beneath her, the vessel screamed again—and again.
"Nalitob Orn, the cadet crooned against the air. She extended her will and plucked at the tumzahat's
captured essence, weaving the syllables into the fabric of its frenzied consciousness. The vessel would
already have been seeded at the cellular level with those same syllables, which would now and henceforth be
its—his—name, binding it to the body and to his dominant.
The submissive drew breath for another scream; his dominant extended her will and disallowed it. Carefully,
caressingly, she relaxed the straining, fear-poisoned muscles, and released sleep endorphins.
Only when Nalitob Orn was entirely and deeply asleep did she rise. With a thought, she cleaned herself, and
with another clad herself in the blue robe of a dramhza-undertraining. For of course the work just completed
had been only the first and the simplest of
the bondings required before this nascent pair become a functioning unit.
The new-made dominant turned toward her sleeping and receptive submissive—and turned back, bowing low
as the Shadow fell over the birthing room, excluding the observers from whatever passed between the Iloheen
and the daughter of its intent, the Nalitob Orn dominant.
iv.
ATTEND ME IN the testing chamber.
Their philosophy tutors thought was a steady silken mauve, lightly flavored with copper.
With the five others of her cohort she rose and walked down the stone hallway—naked, silent, but no longer
identical. They had some time since been instructed to adjust their physical seemings. This was—so the
philosophy tutor explained—to allow them to grow mor easily apart, to sluff off the small ties that bound
sister-students, and to make themselves ready for that bond which would define theire futures and their
service to the Iloheen.
As it was also necessary to seem to be one of those who continued to defy the Iloheen, among whom she
would of necessity walk, she considered it well to appear both harmless and unable to defend herself. Thus,
her stature was small, her bones delicate, her breasts petite. She sharpened her facial features and added
amber pigment to her eyes. Her hair was red, short and silky; her ears shell-like and close to her head. She
would appear, to one of those enemies of the Iloheen, to be young, her skin unlined and tinged with gold.
With these changes she was content, though she was the least altered of her cohort. Neither their tutors nor
any of the Iloheen who increasingly oversaw their progress instructed her to make further alterations, so she
accepted it as her full and final physical form. Attend me, the philosophy tutor sent again.
The thought was no less serene, the tang of copper no more pronounced than ever it had been. There was
nothing to differentiate this from countless thousands of previous summons.
Saving that the philosophy tutor never summoned them twice to the same lesson.
It was then that she knew they were being summoned, not for a mere philosophy test, but to the Third Doom,
the last they would face as students.
The others must have also perceived the warning in that second summons and drawn their conclusions.
Indeed, the two boldest quickened their steps, eager to meet the challenge, while the three most thoughtful
dared to slow somewhat.
Being neither bold nor thoughtful, she kept to her own pace, and withdrew slightly from her envelope,
centering herself and unfurling what she might of her protections. It was, of course, beyond her ability to know
what test the Iloheen would bring to them this time. Experience of two previous Dooms, however, indicated
that it was well-done to hold oneself both aloof and prepared upon all planes.
Behind two sisters and leading three, she turned the corner into the hall. The stones were slick and frigid
beneath her bare feet, the air thick with ice. Ahead, the entrance to the testing chamber was black; empty, to
her perceptions, of all energy. A state of no-energy was impossible, so her tutors had taught, each in their
own way. To which the philosophy tutor had added,
Bith the hoheen, all things are possible.
The two at the lead faltered; one recovered in the next instant and strode ahead, energies blazing, entered the
void, and was gone— whether unmade or merely passed beyond the senses was not for such as they to
know.
Yet.
The second of the bold approached the void, her energies furled close and secret, and was in her turn
swallowed, vanishing as if she had never been.
She, the third, neither quick nor slow, continued onward, protections in place, her essence at a slight remove,
tethered by the slenderest of thoughts. The iced stones tore at the soles of her feet, her lungs labored in the
thick air. She thought, within her most private and protected self, of the Iloheen-bailel, beautiful and
subjugated, transforming the void with its dance.
Then, she passed into Shadow, and all her perception ended.
Awake.
She obeyed, opening her perceptions across all planes. On the dais before her stood the philosophy tutor,
the dominant with her hands folded into the sleeves of her gray gown, the submissive kneeling at her side,
head bowed, eyes closed.
There was no one else in the Hall of Testing.
The Blessed hoheen, Lords of Unmaking, are pleased that you have passed through this door. The
philosophy tutors thought was serene. You are to immediately remove to the birthing room and prepare the
vessel which you have nurtured.
x x x
THE VESSEL WAS ready. She had fashioned it neat and supple, with long, curling red hair, and a smooth,
gold-toned dermis. Its hands were long, its feet small, its form slender. Standing, it would overtop her only
slightly.
That, of course, was for later.
Now, it lay where she had placed it on the tile floor. She settled the head carefully into the restraint before
giving her attention to the other fetters, binding first the right wrist, then the left, melding the chain with the
floor. She bound the ankles in the same manner, and made the staple snug across the slim waist. Extending
her will, she touched each restraint in turn, making certain of her work, then knelt.
The tile was warm under her knees; in other perceptions, it was slickly reflective, deliberately crafted to foil
any attempt by an enterprising tumsahat to anchor a portion of itself outside of its prepared dwelling place.
Withdrawing slightly from her envelope, she looked deeply into the vessel, searching anxiously for any flaw.
The binding phrase had been imprinted at the cellular level; the biologics primed to accept the physical
bonding. The autonomous system functioned sweetly, fairly humming as she took it under her dominion.
It was time.
Energies furled, she triggered the access port, changed phase and entered the lesser aetherium.
Dark and secret she floated, the tumzahat frolicking heedlessly about her. As part of her preparations, she
had studied the inhabitants of the lesser aetherium and had settled upon one as suitable. To be sure, it was
no glorious wild zahata, but well enough, for a tumzahat. It was a bit less heedless than the others of its
cohort; its emanations pleasingly regular and its cohesion firm. A suitable tool for one such as herself.
She was patient; she was cunning as a tumzahat is not. And at last her intended danced near.
Swiftly, she unfurled her energies, sweeping out and around, imperative and firm. She did not toy with the
tumzahat, nor permit it to build false hopes of escape; she did not allow it to flirt with annihilation against the
containment field. Rather, she displayed her superiority, and offered no choice other than to acquiesce to her
will.
The tumzahat twisted, dodging close to the trailing edge of her field, testing. This show of boldness pleased
her even as she contracted the field, edging the captive inexorably toward the
There was a disruption of the energies within the aetherium; the sluggish ley lines heaved.
Within the vibrant strands of her net, the tumzahat twirled, energies flaring. Her perceptions slid, and she felt
the ley lines heat. She focused fiercely and flung her will out, forcing the tumzahat into the egress field. The
lines, she thought, were reacting to the attunement of her energies. It was best to be gone—and quickly.
There! Her chosen was within the egress field. She triggered the port; there was a flare and a confusion of
energies as the tumzahat seemed almost to hurl itself into the opening, so that she must needs extend her
field, thinner than she liked, scarcely guiding it, while the momentum pulled her out—and down.
Gasping a thought, she sealed the port behind her, plummeting into her envelope so quickly pain flared. She
batted it aside, clearing her senses.
Before her, the vessel showed the lingering glow of the tumzahat's essence. The autonomous system went
briefly ragged; she smoothed it absently as the vessel contorted, arching against the restraints. Its chest
expanded, its mouth formed a rictus—But the birth scream did not come forth.
Hastily, she checked the autonomous system; looked deep within the vessel and ascertained that the time
was now, scream or none. She swung over the slim hips, looking down into the sealed, austere face
The eyes snapped open—cobalt blue and aware, the gaze met hers and did not waver, though the body was
panting now; trembling with the force of that unuttered cry. She could feel the tumzahat's confusion increase
to damaging levels as it failed to find its accustomed perceptions available, supplanted by alien input from
unfamiliar senses.
She smoothed the vessel's breathing, slowed the racing heart, and lowered herself onto its erection.
"Root Tiazan, she whispered against the air.
As foretold by the biology tutor, pleasure flooded her, and she moaned with satisfaction as the biologic link
formed. And all the while, the cobalt eyes stared into hers, narrowing as the bonding triggered pleasure
responses, then suddenly widening, as if the tumzahat had in some way understood
Beneath her, the hips tensed, twisting, as if to unseat her—and panic flared once more.
She extended her will, smoothed away the panic and triggered sleep; massaged the tight muscles into
relaxation, and bled off the fear toxins.
When she was certain the tumzahat, now Rool Tiazan, was at rest and in no danger of damaging himself,
she rose, cleaned herself, and donned the blue robe of a dramhza-undertraining.
That done, she turned back toward the sleeper, intending to transfer the language and motor modules, so that
the sleeping intelligence might
A Shadow fell across the birthing room. Immediately, she abased herself.
A successful translation, I apprehend. The Iloheens thought pierced her like a blade of ice.
Yes, Edonal, she sent humbly, and did not think of the twisting ley lines or of that instant of confusion, just
before her barely controlled dash through the port...
But the Iloheen did not pursue any of those possible errors. Why a it, the question came instead, that you did
not allow your submissive the birth scream?
To admit that Rool Tiazan had been out of her control was to admit that she was unfit to undertake the work
for which she had been created and trained.
To express an untruth to an Iloheen was—not quite unthinkable. They had drilled her well in deceit, that she
would succeed in those things they would require of her.
There was an infinitesimal flutter at the edge of her perceptions. She ignored it and formed her response with
care.
It was experiencing a great deal of contusion, Edon. Oudged the additional stress would do harm both to the
vessel and the inhabitant.
She breathed, eyes on the slick tile floor, and awaited annihilation.
The Judgment is not without precedent, the Iloheen stated.
The Shadow passed. She was alone and alive, having lied to one of the Masters of Unmaking.
Not ...quite... alone.
Perceptions wide, she considered the submissive Rool Tiazan as he lay sweetly sleeping in his bonds.
The ley lines, she thought. The ley lines had shifted within the lesser aetherium at the moment she triggered
the egress port to download her chosen tumzahat. They had shifted again, just a moment ago, moving them
to an all-but-unimaginable possibility where an Iloheen was fobbed off with a novice's lie.
You. She formed the thought gently, without imperative—and was not ...entirely... surprised to see the
delicate lashes flutter, and the fierce gaze seek hers.
His thought was a ripple of cool greens.
You are no tumzahat, she said.
He did not reply. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, and formed a question.
Why did you manipulate the ley lines?
His eyes narrowed, but this time he answered: Did you wish to be destroyed?
You manipulated the lines twice, she pursued.
I did not wish to be destroyed. He closed his eyes.
Roo/ Tiazan, she sent, sharply.
No reply.
She probed and found only a blank wall of exhaustion, as if he truly slept now, on every level. As well he
should— zahata, tumzahat, or mere biologic.
Briefly, she looked to herself, sublimated toxins into sugars, and replenished depleted cells.
The needs of her envelope answered, she sank to her knees on the tile beside her submissive, transferred the
possibly redundant communications module, and also the motor skills module, weaving them into the
sleeping consciousness.
That done, she considered her situation.
Impossible though she knew it to be, yet it seemed clear that she had bound a zahata to her poor vessel.
Only a zahata would have strength enough to manipulate the ley lines within the lesser aetherium, or the
boldness to manipulate them in the very presence of an Iloheen. How it might have happened that a zahata
had come into the lesser aetherium was something to discover from Rool Tiazan.
摘要：

PrologueIntheHalloftheMountainKingsTHEZALJAZAPINWHEELEDacrosstheaetherium,paintingthevoidwithbrightstrokesofenergy.Rapt,shemovedclosertothebarrier—andcloserstill,untiltheweavingofthecontainmentforcesflared.Sheretreateduntilthebarrierfadedfromherawareness,andonceagainonlythezahatawerevisible.Powerand...

展开>> 收起<<
Sharon Lee - Steve Miller - Great Migration 02 - Crystal Dragon.pdf

共171页,预览35页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：171 页 大小：722.89KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 171
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注