Chapter IX
Was he dead?
Since every definition Tarlac had ever heard referred to the physical body, and since his was undoubtedly a corpse, he supposed the answer would have to be yes.
But he didn't feel dead. He wasn't in that body any longer; he was a good two meters above it, held there by an immensely powerful, immensely benevolent presence. In the normal course of events, he somehow knew, he'd go elsewhere—to wherever his self found most comfortable or fitting—but for some reason he was supposed to remain here.
Traiti took leave of a clanmate as they greeted a new one, by touching—in his case, touching forehead and wounds as Hovan had, to show respect for one who had died in the Ordeal. Tarlac wanted to tell them that no farewell was necessary, that he was still there and he'd help them survive the coming defeat.
The presence wouldn't let him; the time was not yet right. Instead, he was drawn away, out of Ch'kara's gathering hall and through some kind of interface, to what looked almost like a grove of oak trees on Terra.
It wasn't; the light was wrong. No, he corrected himself, that wasn't it. Everything was too right. What he could see wasn't brighter as much as clearer, and his surroundings—the trees, the grass, even the sky—seemed to have a vibrant internal luminance. This was beauty of a kind no planet could hold, pure and utterly serene.
He might not know what was going on, Tarlac decided, but if this was death, there was a lot to be said for it. He'd have liked to have a body, though, to let him feel and smell as he could somehow see.
There was a feeling of amused agreement, and he did have a body. So did the eleven Traiti now in the grove with him, three females and seven n'Cor'naya, all of whom shared the luminance of the grove. He knew without looking that he did too, and that he was dressed as his original body was, in open-shirted uniform. He also knew by now who these people were; their images stood on the upper tier of every Traiti altar.
"Welcome, Ruhar," said the one Tarlac recognized as the presence which had brought him here. The voice was as clear and pure as the light. "And welcome to your place in the Circle of Lords."
Tarlac recognized him from the statuettes and from his Vision. He took a deep breath of the sweet, vital air before he spoke. "My place, Lord Kranath? I'm human, not Traiti."
"In body," Kranath agreed, smiling. "In mind you are both, and have been since your conception. We insured that. The human body on Ch'kara's altar means nothing. Here you—and we—can be either. Think of yourself as Traiti, Ruhar."
Remembering his Vision of being Kranath, and before that the time at the altar when he'd felt as much Traiti as human, Tarlac did as he was told. There was a brief indescribable sensation, and when he ran his tongue over sharp triangular teeth, he realized that his experience as Kranath, impressive as it had been, was only a shadow of this— seeming?—reality. He touched his face, ran fingertips along the scars on his chest, extended and retracted powerful claws … yes, this body felt as appropriate as his own. And the grove's other occupants were now in human bodies.
His place, Tarlac thought bemusedly. He didn't think he quite liked that idea, and for a moment he let himself indulge in a fantasy that he hadn't died but was in the middle of a hypoxia-induced hallucination. It didn't last; he knew that what he was experiencing was quite real. He was in a Traiti body that fit him perfectly well, though he'd prefer the familiarity of his human form.
He felt the sensation of change again, and the glade's Traiti and human Lords returned to the bodies they'd first had. "One's original form is usually best," Kranath agreed calmly.
"You have accepted that we exist," Sepol—Lord of the Ordeal—put in. "And you have accepted the abilities of those who went before. Why, then, are you so reluctant to accept the fact that we have called you to join us?"
Tarlac shrugged. "The same reason, I guess, that I don't like the idea of gods who interfere in mortal affairs. It goes against my grain."
"Relax, Steve," Lord Carle—Tarlac would have said Lady, in English—advised him. "What we do is less different from your earlier work than you can yet realize. And you have time to ease your mind before you absorb the knowledge and powers you are heir to. Sit and drink, Ruhar."
When a tall, cold glass of green liquid appeared in his hand, Tarlac accepted it and sipped. The taste of authentic mint julep recalled the only Kentucky Derby he'd seen in person, shortly before the war; a magnificent chestnut filly named Lady Jess had won.
He let himself enjoy the drink in peace, relaxing his mind as Carle had suggested. If she was right, and he had no reason to think otherwise, he'd know everything soon. He sat crosslegged on the grass, thinking. Now he knew what the First Speaker had meant when she called him "child of two worlds"—and he remembered that before his adoption, Arjen had accepted that Daria's telling Yarra about him had been no breach of security. The Lords, as Traiti clearly knew, told their Speakers far more than the Speakers passed on. But it seemed odd—
"No," Kranath interrupted the forming thought, "neither bodies nor refreshment are truly necessary. They are pleasant, though, and we often create them." He smiled again, and Tarlac could feel his amusement. "Those who went before left us Godhome, which gave us awesome power, but we remain, if you will excuse the expression, human. We see no reason to deny ourselves such things. Since mind is the architect of reality, we construct what pleases us."
"Mind is the architect of reality." Tarlac took another sip of his julep, then thought about it becoming a mug of coffee. It responded to his will, and he drank; it was the best coffee he'd ever tasted.
"You see?" Sepol said gently. "You are one of us, Lord Esteban, and that fact no longer disturbs you."
Tarlac started to contradict him, then he realized Sepol was right. He did accept what he was—and what he was to become. He still wished they'd explain a few things, though. Why they'd taught him Language, why he'd really had to take the Ordeal, why he'd been rushed through it, and most importantly, why he had been called to the Circle.
"To complete it," Kranath said, sitting beside him and materializing a mug of chovas. "I ended the clan wars, to begin the current cycle of history; a human must end this war, with our help, to begin the next."
The rest of the Lords, except for Sepol and Carle, vanished. "It all ties together, Steve," Carle said. "I taught you Language so you could complete the Ordeal quickly, and so you could communicate easily with your n'ruhar. We did not teach you forestcraft, because there was something you had to learn for yourself while Hovan taught you that."
Tarlac nodded almost immediately. "How to open up," he said. "Even . . . that I could open up, to love a whole clan and not be ashamed of it."
Kranath nodded. "Yes, and you learned it quickly, despite your human conditioning. I had to learn to be alone, you to be close—even the most minor of gods must know both.
"Someone subject to external limitations, as a Ranger or ruler is, should have no bias. We are limited only by our own feelings, though; everything we do must be tempered by love for our charges."
"External limitations?" Tarlac chuckled. "I'd say I didn't have many!"
"You had the ultimate limitation, Steve. Mortality."
"Huh?" Tarlac found that his coffee had remained at the perfect drinking temperature, and took another swallow.
"You could give almost any order and have it obeyed, granted. But if someone disliked what you did or commanded intensely enough— You have a saying that nobody is safe from a truly determined assassin, not true?"
"I hadn't thought of it like that, but you're right. And you—no, we—can't be killed." Then Tarlac frowned. "Godhome gave you a choice, Kranath. It said you had to be willing—why didn't I get that option?"
"Did you need it?"
"I don't understand."
"Did you need it?" Kranath repeated. "It seems to me that you had already made the choice."
"Ruhar," Carle said gently, "you have been both Ranger and Cor'naya, earning high status in both societies, and Daria was right when she told you that was vital to peace. Tell me, though: would that have been enough? Were you persuasive enough to convince two star-spanning civilizations to cease ten years of hostility just with words? Is any mortal?"
Tarlac shook his head. "I'm an operator, not much of a diplomat— Linda's the expert at that, and I don't think even she could bring that one off." He looked at them speculatively, then nodded. "I guess I do understand, at that. I did choose this, didn't I? Twice, and without realizing it."
The three other Lords smiled proudly at him. "Yes," Kranath said. "Once when you accepted Ranger Ellman's invitation, once when you accepted the Ordeal. That you were persuaded into both decisions is irrelevant; none of us chose this without persuasion, neither I nor any of the others."
"And I think I know why you need a human Lord, too. We're going to have to work on both sides to end the war. The Imperials would hardly listen to one of you—in your own form, anyway—where they will listen to a Ranger."
Kranath smiled. "Exactly. And as you have correctly surmised, we do not take on each other's forms. Not only would it be dishonorable, it would be unwise; those who hold great power, those to whom we usually need to appear when Speakers' words are insufficient, have enough psionic ability to tell us apart." Kranath projected mild amusement. "Humans included, though they have not as yet developed that ability consciously."
"Which means I'll have to go back to my body. That's the only way to keep intervention to a minimum." Tarlac thought for a moment. "With any luck at all, I won't have to do anything obvious enough for humans to notice. The Empire doesn't need a new human religion to cope with at the same time it acquires a new Sector—if things work out the way I'm hoping."
"You will allow the respective rulers to make the final choice, then."
"I'll give them the information they need to choose intelligently, but I won't tell them what to do." Tarlac sensed approval, and this time knew where it came from; he smiled. "Thanks."
"None necessary, Ruhar," Sepol said. "We are merely pleased that you grasp the necessities, even before your full maturity. Go on."
"Well, I won't be able to avoid open intervention with the Traiti; I'll have to tell all of them what I saw in Kranath's Vision. I don't like showing off like that, but at least they're accustomed to Lords manifesting from time to time."
"I did not like it either," Kranath agreed, "when I had to intervene so to end the clan wars. We all do what must be done, though." He put an arm around the man. "If you are ready, Brother, we should begin." Brother, not ruhar. Tarlac smiled at that human touch. "Yeah. Let's not waste time." Then he remembered. "Hey, what about Jim? The Empire can't afford to lose two Rangers at once—now less than ever."
"No," Kranath agreed. "He is still in critical condition, but Ranger Medart will recover fully."
"Thank God!" Tarlac exclaimed reflexively.
Then he realized what he'd said, and what he was; he laughed at the irony. "Thanks, Kranath. All right, I guess I'm ready. Go ahead."
With that, he felt the Supreme Lord's immense power enter his mind and begin work. What he'd experienced in the Vision was only a shadow of this reality, but it had prepared him as nothing had prepared Kranath. Despite what he could only think of as having his innermost mind forcibly stretched, then stuffed to near-capacity before being stretched again into what felt like hyperdimensions, he was in absolutely no pain. Instead, he felt…
Exaltation.
He'd been made into what a number of humans and Traiti would be in time. That he could know such glory while others were still so restricted was something that was, with his new knowledge, as inevitable as it was regrettable. Yet, since it was inevitable, his regret was of necessity dispassionate. Others would achieve this state, and he would greet them with joy. In the millennia before then, he had a job to do, helping to guide this galaxy's intelligences as those who went before had intended.
He felt an amusement like Kranath's, but this time it was his own. Humans had established the Empire and thought themselves and their vitality supreme; but the Traiti supplied the gods, the subtle guidance. And, he now realized, the Irschchans provided—or rather, would provide—ritual to bring those together. The cloudcats, the only race to remember the Others who went before as a vital part of their history, were the observers and reporters. None of them yet knew their parts of the whole, or could be allowed to know until they reached maturity.
For them it would be a natural process. He was the last to be forced to his full potential, to complete the Circle of Lords. He could see now how he'd been quite literally molded, as Kranath had said, from the moment of his conception—and he'd had a mostly-pleasant life. Since he could understand and appreciate the necessity, he could feel no resentment at the manipulation. It was as inevitable, historically, as the Traiti war itself.
Now he had almost total free will, but his mental patterns were long established. He would use his new powers as he had been intended to.