WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (36 page)

Jeeha scanned the group. Every face was turned toward her, interested, wanting more — except for the Trueborn. Was he thoughtful? Or brooding? Either way, it was time to finish. “We shall continue this most fruitful forum tomorrow. I am here for another half hour if anyone needs to see me. Please, all of you, know this: In this world there is nothing that should not or cannot be viewed, looked at, questioned and discussed.
Nothing.”

The students clapped and rose, then trailed out for midday meal. Jeeha was alone when Dorian, who had been well hidden behind a plant and a thick curtain, suddenly appeared behind her.

“By the Goddess Dorian! What are you doing?” Jeeha said, jumping in surprise. She took a calming breath, marveling at her reaction. What was it about this strange boy? Why did Dorian at times frighten her?

“Sorry,” he said.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Jeeha admonished, annoyed at finding him listening in to a class out of bounds to those under eighteen. Dorian, at thirteen, was an exceptionally devious child. He seemed to be aware of everything that went on at the Temple.

“I was searching Icom about male circumcision,” he said, and unaccountably blushed. “Anyway, it appears to me that the reason that people practiced it was because they lived in a desert back then. Perhaps sand, combined with a lack of water for cleansing, caused problems. They might have figured out that if men were circumcised it would prevent infections. I thought maybe that was how the cultural acceptance started, so it once was a normal thing to do.”

Jeeha smiled. The Temple maintained that there was no monopoly on understanding. Genius struck unexpectedly and took many forms. Dorian, an intelligent child, was an example of that. She said, “An astute observation, Dorian. I think you’ll find a definitive answer if you research under cultural strings. Shall I forward you a list of suggestions?” If he could ask the question, he also had the ability to answer it.

“Yes, thank you.”

She nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

“Good. You should be somewhere, I suspect. At work, perhaps?”

Dorian gave her a charming boyish grin and his green eyes flashed. “I’m going,” he said and left.

Jeeha wondered what had caused Dorian’s question. She knew of no one who had actually been circumcised. It wasn’t practiced anymore on any world that she was aware of. He had been interfered with as a child and no doubt that is where he had seen a circumcised man. He would have been a backward, ignorant man, brought up by backward, ignorant people. A momentary flare of anguish rose up within her, on Dorian’s behalf, for such subjection and destruction of his will.

Jeeha bit her lower lip and wondered what was behind Dorian’s practiced charm, for there was definitely something dark about the boy. Childhood abuse had damaged him in some unseen, unknown way. Never mind. With time, Jeeha felt certain that Dorian would fully recover.

Software Theory can be summed up thus: Humans act according to their programming — responses and interactions are automatic and culturally conditioned. There are few self-aware, conscious people as most humans are not there at all. Infrequently in this universe does one actual person interact with another actual person.

— Icompedia, Prof. A.R.C.
Real People

“C
atch!”

Ash turned just in time to catch a cabbage thrown his way.

Dorian gave him an irreverent laugh. “You’re like a cat, always landing on your feet. If I had thrown that at Anton it would have landed dead center on the back of his head.” He moved out from behind the trellis-work, where he had been hiding.

Ash gave him a wicked grin that intentionally projected subtle menace. “You’re going to have to pay for that, Dorian. I’m going to count to three, then I’m coming for you.”

The two friends had been for a walk in the Temple gardens. Dorian, to all appearances a boisterous, irreverent prankster, was actually a dark and secretive soul. No one really knew him at all as he was quick to respond to all personal queries with deflection or humor. Dorian had serious trust issues.

At Ash’s threat, thirteen-year-old Dorian gave a high-pitched adolescent scream and started running. Ash counted and then began to chase him down. Dorian wove in and out through hedges, flowering plants and gravel paths, leaping through a pergola and past a number of statues and fountains.

Ash let him run for a while, but caught him easily, taking him to the ground and pinning his arms with his knees. He then set about tickling him. Dorian couldn’t stop laughing, but his laughter had a brittle edge.

Ash noticed the change in tone and immediately let him up. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Ash didn’t need mind-touch to sense what Dorian was feeling.

“What?”

“You were afraid of me, Dorian.”

“Well, duh. You’re bigger and stronger than me.”

Ash walked to a nearby bench that was placed under a deep blue Bay tree. He tilted his head, studying Dorian for a moment. Then he sat down, hands relaxed on his thighs, and waited. The air was warm and made fragrant by a nearby trellis covered in blooming pink and brown toffee vines. A number of tiny red-beaked, yellow wrens darted in and out of the vines and bushes, calling softly to each other. A stream flowed along a white stone path beside him. Ash contemplated the clear, jade green waters, lost in thought.

The change in Dorian’s demeanor was striking. Dorian was anxious, preoccupied, distracted and afraid. His features had a dark countenance: It was the Dark Sankomin. Dorian could not be present
here and now
, not around men, and certainly not with men touching him. While Dorian was alone with Ash, consciously or unconsciously Dorian had one or more of the men he had previously known with him
right now
, solidly dammed in the river of his mind. Ash knew he would someday go mad from the Dark Sankomin, but at least Dorian wasn’t Delian and no such fate awaited him. Still, Ash wanted to help the boy. But how?

After a while Dorian sat beside Ash, not close enough to touch. They both lounged quietly for a few minutes while Ash waited for Dorian to regain his composure.

Ash took his time. Talking might help, but it would be difficult to get Dorian to
be here
and honestly communicate. Dorian’s defensive programming had already kicked in. He would brush Ash off. He had brushed him off already with the “you’re bigger than me” comment. Ash agreed with “Software Theory.” It was exceptional for an
actual person
to interact with another
actual person.

He would have to shock the truth out of Dorian. Surprise him into reacting to the moment: into being
here now
, with him.

After measuring and sifting his words, Ash said calmly, “I was thirteen when I had unwanted sex, Dorian, five years older than you were.”

“You’re kidding!”

“True story, Dorian. Messed me up for a long, long time. I felt like a bad person, soiled and guilty. I suspect you may be going through some of that yourself. Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

“No.”

“How about with Anton?”

“No.”

Ash looked at him doubtfully.

“What for? We were both there. We know what happened.”

They sat together in silence. Ash thought that when it came to relationships with men or sexual situations, the twins would eternally be in danger of the Dark Sankomin. Talking would help, but it wasn’t the same. Both boys would find their experiences difficult to talk about. They would hide and deny the most painful events from others, and even from themselves as Ash had. They needed the healing power of mind-touch, except Ash didn’t feel capable of giving it to him. Dorian was too young, Ash too inexperienced. Further, Ash was male. How could either of the boys be willing to trust men while stuck in those past betrayals by men? No. Ash didn’t want to make things worse.

“If you ever want to talk about it you can talk to me.”

Dorian swallowed. He gave a jerky nod with a nervous chin.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Both young men sat perfectly still, a thick tension surrounding them.

More silence; this time it was a sullen, uncomfortable silence.

Finally Dorian asked, “Who did you have sex with?”

“My mother.”

“Ewww!”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“That is so wrong.”

“You know what was worst of all?” Ash asked.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to, honestly. But I kind of got into it, and in the end I enjoyed it. That was the worst. I felt pretty bad about enjoying such an unnatural act.”

Dorian nodded and was quiet for a moment. He looked at Ash, and then looked away. Shifted his body, shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Then he looked up and looked away again. This tense uncomfortable behavior went on for some minutes.

Ash remained silent and still, watching him without expression. Dorian’s mouth opened, shut … then opened and shut again. He could see that Dorian wanted to tell him something and Ash wanted to hear it. Long Fang had taught him well: Ash was a patient hunter. Many times he had waited perfectly still all day for game to come out of hiding. Dorian would talk. It was obvious to Ash that the boy had a number of burdens, dark secrets that were weighing him down. Ash was content to share the load.

Eventually Dorian drew a shaky breath and said, “I was kind of curious at first. I didn’t like it either, but sometimes it felt good for me, too.” He paused for a bit, gazing down at his hands. After some long minutes, with an uncomfortable and timid expression, he looked up at Ash, his eyes searching for Ash’s reaction.

Ash’s face remained politely interested. He was not shocked. His face was quite impassive. Ash had been careful to have no visible response one way or another to Dorian’s disclosure.

Dorian shook his head. “So disgusting. I hated myself for that.”

Ash remained quiet. Dorian looked up once more. Ash smiled sardonically at him and said, “Welcome to the wonders of the male body.”

“Tell me about it,” Dorian agreed.

Ash nodded sympathetically. He understood.

Dorian’s tense posture relaxed slightly. Now that the subject was broached, he seemed to be able to keep speaking. It was as if a dam had broken. His face colored and Dorian said, all at once in a rush, “The men … well, a lot of times it really hurt and then when it hurt, I was glad when Anton was getting it rather than me. I didn’t like it, especially when it hurt. I felt bad about that, too.”

Ash drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “Wow. Real mental and moral dilemma there: protect your twin brother from pain or protect yourself. Talk about lose-lose. Was it always with men, Dorian?” Ash asked.

“Always.”

“Do you prefer men?”

“No way!”

“Just asking. Doesn’t matter either way to me.” He was quiet for a bit. “I was thinking that you and Anton should train in self defense.”

“Neat.”

They sat some more. This time the silence was companionable, the tension had gone. Dorian’s had unburdened himself in some small degree, and Ash had acknowledged and understood him. Dorian’s face was brighter. The Dark Sankomin had receded.

“Thank you for telling me, Dorian.” Ash stood up, resisting the urge to comfort the boy by ruffling his hair or patting his back. It would be a long time before Dorian would be at ease with a man’s touch. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

T
he room was warmer than normal, set to a temperature an older, thin-skinned person would enjoy. It was full of antiques, decorated in warm colors, reds, yellows, creams and browns. There were expensive crystal chandeliers, sculptures and golden ornaments, silverware. The woman’s space was an amazing cave of hidden valuables, each holding more than monetary value to the old Seer who inhabited these rooms. The spiritual was what was important, not the material, she reminded herself. But still, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, to ease one’s mind and spirit with these few comforts she had collected over the years. Her treasures had always delighted her soul.

Here, on the other side of Opan, in her desert isolation, the old crone had received the message via Icom from the Prefect. It said simply, “He has come.”

Narda, once “Nardha,” Temple Prefect herself, had retired from the Sisterhood. Like all retired Sisters, she was allowed to keep her stone. She had produced ten children, five through body births, and five through artificial wombs. All of her children were Temple Sisters themselves. The current Prefect, the Lady Lindha, was her granddaughter.

Narda had lived a full life and looked all of her one-hundred and fifty years. Her shoulders were rounded and her face was wrinkled — utterly wrinkled, each line a virtual crag, deeply etched into her features. Her skin hung in pouches, her body wasted with age. Her rheumy eyes watered constantly. It was quite irritating.

The suspensor chair she sat in reclined as she directed with an Icom command. She still walked, yes, but it was good to keep her legs elevated. She was old and soon she would travel to the Golden Lands: she had seen this. She had only been waiting for the Trueborn to arrive, for she knew he would come to this world. This she had seen as well.

She sighed, tired and exhausted by the burden of her visions. She would rest, soon, and stop having to drag this old carcass around with her. She would be free of it, finally. She had waited so long.

So many lives, so many journeys: each with a beginning, middle and an end. There was no speeding up the process. A person lived and learned at the pace that they were able. Humankind was evolving, mentally, physically, and most of all spiritually. She had played a part in that evolution. After her death she would no doubt play another part. A beginning, middle and end. Like all souls, she would go back to the beginning and struggle and learn again. She sighed. It seemed that nothing had really changed since the time of Pythagoras, almost 3,000 years ago. Pythagoras, an intelligent man, was well aware of the wheel: he also wanted to escape the cycle of birth and death.

Narda looked at the Icom holovid Lindha sent of Ash and smiled with real pleasure. That hair. Those cheekbones and jaw. The boy had the look of Jenkins in him. She wondered how the Trueborn would react to her. She imagined that he would probably like her. He would certainly be surprised to find that she had been waiting for him.

She frowned. Soon. Just a little longer; then the circle would close. Things must take their natural course; they could not be hurried. She had messaged back to the Prefect: “Not yet.”

Sitting up and moving her chair, Narda brought herself to the two books that lay in a transparent case upon her fine oak table. Both volumes were used by the Temple of Jana; both were in fact the foundations of their spiritual beliefs. The first was the Book of Jana; it was bound in dark blue genuine leather, with golden lettering and printed (
printed:
if one could imagine!) on treated paper. It was well over two-hundred years old. It contained basic truths, only a few of them. The main part of the work consisted of “The Parables”: simple, memorable stories that were created to convey a spiritual message.

The second was the Book of Taro; it was black-leather bound, again with gold lettering, and it also was printed on treated paper. It was the same age as Jana’s book and it contained many, many lies and its own parables: the Parables of evil, of self deceit.

The Temple taught that all thoughts
should
be viewed. An educated mind was able to entertain an idea without accepting it. Thus the book of the Deceiver was as important as the book of truth. An individual must know evil, to look it in the face in order to defeat it. The seeds of goodness and wickedness were present in all. Unless one could view such evil and recognize it, the mind could be attracted by it. In ignorance one could then inadvertently feed and water such malevolence, and allow it to grow.

She recalled the saying, “Goodness was simple, where evil was manifold.” Now who had said that? she wondered. Mangan? She didn’t bother to check Icom. Her own mind and memory were no longer what they were, but that hardly mattered at this point. However, it was also true that goodness arrived in infinite form and variety, while evil, although diverse, was similar to itself.