Branegate (3 page)

They held hands. “Source of all energy,” intoned Father, “bless this food for our nourishment so we may serve all your creation. Amen.”

They ate silently for a few minutes, then Father spoke. “Petyr called to tell us where you were, but we were getting worried when you finally came home.”

“Sorry,” said Trae. “Where’s Petyr?”

“He’ll be here soon,” said Mother.

Trae felt anxiety welling. “We have some things to talk about.”

Father still didn’t look at him. “I know, Trae. Try to finish your meal.”

Trae ground his teeth together, put down his utensils and waited nervously for his parents to finish eating. Mother only glanced at him once. Finally they were finished. Trae hadn’t eaten a bite. Mother gathered up the plates and took them into the kitchen. Father rubbed his face with his hand, and looked saddened. He looked at the clock on the wall as Mother came back to the table. “Any minute,” he said.

There were tears in Mother’s eyes as she took away Trae’s plate filled with food.

A single chime announced a visitor at the front door.

Father went to the door. Mother came back from the kitchen, wiping her hands vigorously on a towel. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Petyr Vlasok came into the room, and with him was an older man in the orange flowing robe of a Lyraen priest in meditation. He held up a hand in benediction. “Blessings of The Source are on this house,” he said, and looked at Trae with cold blue eyes.

Trae experienced an involuntary shiver. The priest held out his arms, and Mother rushed to him. He embraced her, and she sobbed into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“There is no evil in a good heart filled with love,” said the priest, and stroked her head in comfort. “Now, let’s see this young man.” He looked at Trae again.

What was going on? This was supposed to be a meeting with Petyr. Trae bit his lip and glared at the man.

Petyr smiled back at him. “This visit’s all about you, Trae. We can sit at the table, or you can come in here and get comfortable.”

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” said Trae.

“I know,” said Petyr, He gestured at the priest standing beside him. “This is Proctor Riven, Trae. He’s a member of the Lyraen Council of Elders, and also an historian for The Church. He has some things to tell you about yourself.”

The old priest smiled, and motioned for Trae to sit by him on a cushion.

“Please, Trae,” said Mother. The sadness in her voice prompted him to move. He sat down by the priest, Petyr and his parents sitting close on cushioned chairs. His hands were sweaty, and there was a tightness in his throat that wouldn’t go away.

“Well, here we are,” said Proctor Riven kindly. “The Council felt it best to keep this as private as possible. The specialized treatment we’ve been giving to Trae has already drawn unwanted attention to him.” He turned to Trae. “I hope you realize you’ve been receiving much education and watchful guidance that other young people never get.”

“Extra classes and a bodyguard, if that’s what you mean,” Trae said. “Why am I so special?”

Riven smiled. “Some are blessed more than others, but your blessings are truly unique, Trae. There is no one else like you here.”

“You mean the Immortality thing,” asked Trae. “From the time I was little I’ve been told I’m supposed to live a lot longer than other people. Well, I don’t see it yet. I’m growing up as fast as anyone else I know.”

The old priest laughed. “By all appearances you’ll grow old like anyone else, Trae. The difference is that while others die, you will not. We really don’t know your lifespan. Our experience is limited because there have only been a few like you on planet Gan, and as far as we know you’re the only one left here. And very soon, it will be time for you to leave us.”

Mother let out a little sob. Trae was totally confused, and the statement about his leaving hit him like a hammer.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean, I’m leaving?” He looked at his parents, but their heads were bowed. Even Petyr looked away from him.

“Not right away, but within a year or two, depending on how fast your studies progress,” said Proctor Riven, and leaned over to pat Trae reassuringly on the shoulder. “We thought you’d be reclaimed when you were born, and fifteen years later it still hasn’t happened. We can’t remain in these caverns much longer. Spies and informers have infiltrated our ranks, and we know who only a few of them are. We have to leave this planet soon, but we have no defined place to go to, and nobody to lead us there.” The old priest’s tone of voice was rising with emotion.

Trae shook his head slowly in confusion, and the man sighed. “I don’t know how to tell this without hurting someone,” he said.

“Then I’ll say it,” said Mother suddenly, and startled everyone. She stood up, came over to Trae and kneeled in front of him, taking his hands in hers. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her hands were like ice. “Trae, I know we haven’t been the best parents. We haven’t been home as much as we should be for you, but your father and I love you with all our hearts. Do you believe that?”

Trae looked around, embarrassed. “Yeah, I suppose,” he mumbled, and Mother squeezed his hands hard.

“There’s something we should have told you a long time ago, but we couldn’t because you might have told someone and then you wouldn’t be safe. I wanted to, I really did, but sometimes I didn’t want to admit it to myself—when I first held you—knowing how brief it could be—”

“Tina,” said Father softly.

Mother swallowed hard, head bowed. Trae’s fingers were beginning to go numb.

“You’re not our son, Trae,” said Mother. “We weren’t able to have children of our own, and when you were born the Lyraen Council honored us with an appointment as your guardians and foster parents. I’ve been selfish. Maybe I’ve spoiled you—maybe I don’t want him to come back and claim you again—but it looks like I’m losing you anyway—oh, Trae!”

Mother pressed her forehead against Trae’s numbed hands, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Trae shuddered. It was as if a hot flame had passed near his face.

“You used to tell me about your dreams,” said Petyr. “You still have them. The dreams of fire.”

“Not as often,” said Trae.

“And in your dreams you see the face of Leonid Zylak.”

“Not when I was little, but more recently. Sometimes a woman is with him when the fire is gone and I’m close to awakening. It isn’t Mother, but the woman is beautiful. She has red hair and skin like porcelain. She smiles at me and talks, but I know it’s a dream.”

“The woman is Tatjana Zylak, Trae. She’s your true mother, and Leonid is your father. You were taken from them by an act of terrible treachery and deceit, and now you’ve returned,” said Petyr.

It was getting silly. “You’re the one who taught me the history of the Zylaks, Petyr. Leonid Zylak left here over fifty years ago, and he had no children.”

“Leonid disappeared shortly after the Emperor’s secret police set his house on fire. His wife and child were trapped in the house and were presumed dead; their bones were found the morning after the fire. The child was only four. His name was Anton. The dreams you have are dreams from a childhood, Trae. You were murdered by the secret police of Emperor Osman over fifty years ago. You are the reincarnation of Anton Zylak, and sole heir to a fortune that is likely spread over several planets.”

Mother looked up at him pleadingly, and finally released his hands. Trae’s fingers tingled.

“Reincarnation? I don’t believe any of this,” he said.

“You’ll have to, young man, or all of us are doomed, not just on this planet, but in all the systems scattered light years from here,” said Proctor Riven. “There’s more to this than reclaiming a vast fortune. You might be the last remnant of a line of Immortals brought to us by the Zylaks, but we believe there are others, scattered—well, elsewhere. We don’t know where the Immortal ones have come from, but it’s far beyond our systems. Zylak is quoted as saying their technology is vast, and beyond our limited imagination. Even so, his race believes in peace, freedom and self-determination. They have spread their ideas wherever they go. They were attracted to our planet by the tyranny of the Emperors’ League. Your father was left here to achieve a democratic revolution. He failed, and fled, leaving loyal followers in great danger. We thought he would return soon with the power to save us, or lead us to a better place. He hasn’t come back, and we don’t know why.”

“The boy you met today,” said Petyr, “only fifteen, but his father was an officer in the secret police. We didn’t know it until recently, yet that family has been with us for ten years. Any day we’ll wake up to find the Emperor’s troops in these caverns, and there will be no prison for us, but death. They know we’re here. They’re only waiting patiently to get a lead to the identity and location of all The Immortals that are their real enemy. We have to get you out of here, and into the outside world. Other planets. We need to find your father, or other Immortals, and fulfill their promise to take us to freedom. If we can’t do it, Trae, then it’ll be up to you. Only you, as an Immortal, can bring together the wealth and connections externally to give us release from two centuries of tyranny.”

Mother squeezed his hands again. “We’ve done what we can, Trae. You are Leonid Zylak’s son, and only you can fulfill his promise to us.”

“Petyr will go with you,” said Proctor Riven. “He is a soldier of The Church, and will guard you with his life.”

“And you will be the savior of the Lyraen people, wherever they are,” said Father softly.

Trae swiveled his head, staring at each of them with an expression of total disbelief. His mind was telling him it was all a lie, but his heart was saying it was true. He looked at their faces, and saw expressions of priests in prayer, awaiting a benediction.

It made him angry.

CHAPTER 3

T
he day before Trae was scheduled to leave his home of sixteen years, Petyr took him to the clinic for another examination.

In the year since Trae had first learned his origin, Petyr had become his only teacher and constant companion. Trae had been taken out of school and away from the few friends he’d had. His classes, excursions, even exercise were private, and scheduled by the Lyraen Council. He had become invisible to the Lyraen community, outside of it, and lonely.

It was late evening. The clinic was closed, but Petyr had a keycard and got them inside. Doctor Gella, assigned to the care of Trae’s health, was a devout Lyraen, but not obnoxious about it. Trae liked him.

Gella met them in the clinic’s day surgery. He was short and plump, with black hair and dark eyes that always had a hint of amusement in them. He smiled when he saw Trae, and motioned for Petyr to sit down away from them a few paces. Petyr obeyed, which was not usual for him.

All was prepared: a large flat table with a thin slab of foam, a pillow resting between the poles of what looked like a huge magnet, racks of instruments on either side of the table. Gella patted the table with his hand. “Time flies. Here you are, ready to leave us and take on the universe.”

Trae hopped up to sit on the table, then swung his legs around and laid himself down, nestling his head into the pillow. “You have some new superpowers for me this time?”

Gella wiggled an eyebrow at him. “Anything special? Something for the ladies?”

Trae laughed, relaxing.

“I think we’ll stick to the standard stuff, and let nature do the rest,” said Gella. “Lift your head a bit, please.”

Trae lifted his head, and Gella slipped the sensor-laden cap on it. As usual, the thing made his head feel warm.

Gella patted his hand. “Let’s chat a bit before I shoot you full of new mysteries. Are you still having the dreams as often as before?”

“Pretty much the same. Not so intense, maybe.”

“Any other change in the dreams? Anything new happening?”

“No. I don’t think so—well, maybe. The faces are there more often now. Their lips are moving, but I still can’t remember what they’re saying.”

“You can’t hear
anything
? No names of planets, no talk about gates or portals?”

“I can’t understand anything they say, I said. What do you mean by gates or portals?”

Gella flipped a switch near Trae’s head, and a low humming sound filled the room. “Lyraen mythology, maybe. Immortals like your father gave birth to our species; they’ve been around a lot longer than us. Some of the old Lyraen writings say they originated far across our galaxy, or even another galaxy. They have a network of gates, or portals, places where space-time is folded so they can travel huge distances in no time at all.

“My hope was that in your dreams of past life your father might have told you where he was going. Part of the injection I’m giving you today should help you listen better, filter out parts of the dreams you’ve seen before.”

“How will we do this after tomorrow?” asked Trae. “Will I come back here?”

“No,” said Gella. “We can’t risk letting you return here. You’ll find Lyraens wherever you go, or they’ll find you.”

Gella turned to Petyr. “Every three months. I’ll leave it to you, and give you a list of healers on Gan. Off-planet I can’t help you.”

Petyr nodded. “The identity codes are likely the same everywhere. If not, I’ll still find them.”

The humming sound intensified, and Trae felt drowsy. “Seems like a lot of trouble. Can’t I just take a pill?” He closed his eyes, heard the doctor chuckle.

“One magic shot, coming up,” said Gella.

Trae felt the insect-like bite on his arm, but was already drifting away. The humming filled his head, and he let himself go, entering a place between consciousness and sleep, a place where his body might react to the slightest stimulus by jerking, and he would feel like he was falling.

He fell.

And awoke, waiting for the fire to come. He felt warm. He was lying on his back, hands at his sides. Something soft covered him up to his neck. He smelled wood-smoke, and knew he was not in the clinic, so he was back in the dream and the fire would come any moment.

He waited. The fire did not come, and he dared to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was an ornate ceiling with heavy beams of dark wood separated by frescos of tangled vines with roses in reds and white. He turned his head slowly to look around. The entire room was ornate, with wallpaper decorated in vines and rolling hills covered in green. There was a fireplace against one wall, and a small fire was flickering there, giving off a sweet smoke from flames in blue and green. He was lying in a huge, plush bed, his head enveloped in a pillow smelling of flowers, his body covered with a comforter inches thick in quilted fabric.