LotS/The Story/Between Heaven and Hell/The Man in Black (1)

The Man in Black (1)

Alexa Haelia moved to the door with halting, hesitating steps. The metal portal slid aside with a soft hiss. She leapt back as though it were an animal's yawning maw.

It was a trap... She'd step outside the door, and they'd be there. Her captors. It was a lie. A trick to give her hope.

But even as those thoughts crossed her mind, she realized how absurd they sounded. What purpose would deception serve? She was already their prisoner. They could have left her shackled to the soft slab, naked, fastened to the machines. Instead she was standing in front of an open doorway, clad in a cyan jumpsuit Emera Tresc had given her.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave. Not yet. But you're free to wander this place as you will."

The words, the warm, kind voice, whispered in her mind. Alexa took a deep breath and stepped out into the brightly lit corridor. It stretched away in both directions, expanses of wall decorated with azure and cyan patterns. Untenanted save for her.

She walked down the passage, her eyes roaming across the doors she passed. None of them opened to her presence or her touch. So she continued onward, turning from one corridor into another. And there she was no longer alone.

Alexa froze. A man in a jumpsuit just like hers was approaching, his face angled over the screen of the datapad he held in his hands. He glanced up as he drew near.

"I-" She didn't know what she was about to blurt out. But he forestalled her.

"Kalaxia watch over you."

The man smiled, nodded his head, and walked past her -- returning his attention to the datapad. Alexa stared after him until he disappeared round the corner.

She continued on her way, confused but emboldened. Rooms lined the passage on either side, and these ones stood open. They were large chambers, where men and women chatted, watched holo-screens, read, and whiled away the time. Some of them looked up at Alexa, but no one made a move to stop her or demanded to know who she was, what she was doing. In one room there were even children. Children! Playing their little games. Playing in this building that had seemed a horrific prison only weeks... No. Days? Hours? That was impossible... It had to have been...

She shook her head. That wasn't important.

Deep within, her flames mumbled in their sleep, offering somnolent approval. Their return had helped a great deal. They still hadn't spoken. But she could feel them resting within her, loyal dogs slumbering before a fireplace. In time they'd awaken, just as she'd awakened.

Alexa kept walking. She didn't know where she was going, or what she intended to do. When Emera had first told her of this, said she'd be allowed to roam the facility, Alexa had thought of escape -- of finding an exit and fleeing out into whatever settlement or landscape waited beyond. But now she wasn't so sure.

A heavyset man stepped out into the corridor ahead. His face lit up as his gaze fell on her.

"Ah, Ms. Haelia!" His broad smile made his big jowls wobble. "I'm so pleased to see you. There's so much I would enjoy discussing."

"I... I don't..."

"Ah, but of course. How rude of me. All that can wait until you're more settled."

He bowed and strode into a chamber on the opposite side of the passage. Alexa glanced into it as she passed, before the door slid closed behind him. And her heart thudded. The old woman was inside, sat at a table, staring at her with those hideous cyan gem-eyes.

Alexa hurried down the corridor, and the next, and the next. She had to get away from those eyes...

But now there were no more corridors before her. She'd come to a dead end, where a sealed doorway stood in lieu of an adjoining passage. It crossed her mind to retrace her steps. Yet that would mean going back towards the desiccated face and multifaceted glare. So she crept up to the door instead.

It slid open.

And once again Alexia Haelia's heart pounded against her ribs.

The room was dark, its walls clad in shadow. But the light from the corridor thrust a luminescent spear across the floor. And its tip illuminated the raised circular platform where a man sat cross-legged. A man dressed in black, his face hidden behind a featureless mask. Two burning azure slits stared at her.

Him...

Every fiber of Alexa's being told her to run. To flee from the brute who'd invaded her dressing room, strode through her flames, slaughtered the security guards, kicked her protector through a window...

But she couldn't. Those azure eyes transfixed her. And there was no escape. Not from this one. She knew how fast he could move...

"You killed her!"

The words flew from her mouth with such swiftness that her horrified brain only realized she'd uttered them a few seconds later. Her face grew pale. He'd murder her for that! He'd-

"You are speaking of Durlin?" the man's strange voice asked, with its curious accent and underlying growl.

"She was trying to help me, and you... you..."

"Tell me, what do you know of this woman to whom you ran for aid?"

"She..."

Alexa's eyes widened. What had he called her? Durlin? Oh... Oh! That name, and that face -- the one which had emerged from a holographic shimmer as the punches and kicks flew. She hadn't recognized it in the bar. Things had been too crazy, too...

"I have killed men and women. She has slain entire worlds. Destroyed escape pods filled with children. This is the woman whose death concerns you?"

Alexa Haelia blinked. Strength and courage flowed back into her limbs. She stepped away from the entrance. The door slid shut. Alexa stared it at for several moments, but he didn't pursue her.

She turned around and followed a different path through the branching corridors. The man's voice echoed in her ears as she went.

Noir looked away from the closed door.

Durlin...

Such a disappointment. He had been looking forward to the encounter, to destroying a worthy enemy. But Durlin had been weak. Perhaps one day he would find a better opponent. A foe whose own might was equal to the power that flowed within him.

The man in black closed his eyes and returned to his introspection.

Love

He shouldn't remember this. No man's memory should stretch so far. But he does.

A woman holds him swaddled against her bosom. She gazes down at her child with the purest love ever conceived by gods, men, or nature. There's awe in her eyes as well. For even now she can't believe that she has brought another being into the universe, added a spark of life to the untold billions of man's sprawling diaspora.

The blanket she's wrapped him in is black. He notes this with both amusement and interest. How early the seeds of destiny are sown... But he should know that better than anyone.

A man smiles down at the infant too. A father who feels love, delight, and awe vying for supremacy in his breast as the mother does in hers. There's pride as well. He and his wife have brought forth a fine son, who will become part of the great celestial purpose that governs them.

Mother and father speak of this. The infant listens, though he won't understand the import of their words until many years later. They say a name as they talk. His name. But it's of no consequence. In time he will wear his true name, one far more fitting.

When the man brings out the medallion, the baby is curious. He reaches for it with his tiny, undexterous hands. It's shiny. He likes shiny things.

The man and woman are overjoyed. They laugh, smile, and call it a sign. Perhaps it is.

There's an image on the medallion, a fearsome visage that might scare a child some years older. But the baby isn't afraid. He stares at the dragon, his mouth open. His parents are as amused and captivated by this as he is by the wyrm's countenance.

The dragon's eyes flash cyan. He giggles and waves his arms. It's the most wonderful thing he's ever seen.

His father touches the object to his head. The metal is warm against the baby's brow.

"Hail Kalaxia," the parents say together.

The baby laughs.

Loyalty

The boy is older now. His body has grown in strength just as his brain has gained in wit and resolve.

Someone's knocking on the front door. A shrill woman's voice demands to know what's going on. The boy doesn't answer. He stands where he is, his mind considering what he's done and what he should do next. Fate and determination drip from the thing in his hand.

He wonders whether he should open the door and kill the woman. But her death would serve no purpose.

Soon another, larger fist is knocking. The voice that shouts is gruff, masculine. It's heavy with authority. Locks click and retract, cast aside by that same authority. The policeman kicks the door open. He comes into the room, brandishing his gun. His partner is behind him. She has her weapon drawn as well.

They stop when they see the boy. Their eyes fasten on the bloody blade in his hand. Two gazes track the crimson trail from his feet to a darkened doorway.

The policeman tells the boy to drop the knife.

The boy wonders if he should attack. But again, it would serve no purpose.

His weapon is snatched away. Soon there's shouting, fear and horror even from two seasoned cops. Questions fly at him. Why? Why did he kill his parents?

The boy says nothing. Because he knows that he must say nothing. Nor does he speak to the doctors and psychologists when they add their questions. Even a psionic fails to elicit a response, cannot penetrate his young mind. This perturbs her. But the boy's will is strong. And his secrets aren't for the likes of these people to know.

Time flows on its inexorable path. Three years of questions and chemicals and therapy thwarted by his reticence. His lips remain sealed. He understands the value of secrecy.

And then a new psychiatrist comes. The one who waits till they're alone in her office before showing him a medallion emblazoned with a dragon's face. Cyan eyes shine at the boy.

"Hail Kalaxia," she says.

And when she asks why he killed his parents, he tells the truth. It's because they intended to betray the cult, and reveal its machinations. To betray Kalaxia. Their faith had grown weak, their loyalty rotten. The words and promises of investigators had proven an irresistible temptation. So the boy killed them.

The woman listens to all this. That night she takes the boy away. He has been tested, and now he has earned the right to join his true family.

Courage

The boy is strong, fast, cunning. His muscles and mind are becoming weapons worthy of his destiny.

Black still shrouds his limbs as it has from his earliest days. Even when the Kalaxians meet, hidden from uninitiated eyes, and the rest are clad in azure or cyan, he wears nothing else. Some questioned this. They said he should dress in the holy colors. The hues of allegiance and ceremony. But Lady Victoria Ashdown whispered words of the things she'd seen. And her voice quelled all others.

Greatness lies in the boy's future. But his present... His present is tiresome. He isn't yet entrusted with the cult's grand work, given the opportunity to do great things with his skills and abilities. So he finds his own diversions.

Another Kalaxian, a girl little older than he is, has been preyed upon by the dregs of society. A gang of lowly miscreants. If she tells the adults, justice will be done. But she has secrets she wishes kept, sins that brought her into their path and must not be laid bare before cyan eyes. The boy learns of this. And he decides to show the gang what becomes of those who make enemies of the Kalaxians.

He finds them where she said he would, in the wretched place they call their 'turf'. Rats in their warren. The first one opens a gold-toothed mouth, perhaps to utter a threat or demand, or else offer to sell him chems. But the words become a shower of blood and yellow metal. The boy's fist hurts, cut and bruised by the murderous force of the blow. It's a good pain. The pain of battle.

The next tries to reach for a weapon. But he's slow and stupid. A knee smashes his groin and an elbow breaks his jaw. The third provides more satisfaction. He's trained. A martial artist, all full of cries and kicks. The boy blocks his attacks, but their force bruises his forearms and rocks his body. It's exhilarating.

He counterattacks with a kick of his own, a powerful sideways thrust of his leg that smashes his enemy in the chest. Ribs crack. The enemy's martial shout becomes a wail. Then the boy is standing above three moaning, pleading, writhing forms.

No one will miss them. He knows this.

So he finishes them one by one.

Destiny

The boy has become a man. And he has done many great things for his family. The most important Kalaxians trust him, both for his deeds and for what Lady Ashdown has glimpsed with her far-seeing multifaceted eyes.

He has been chosen. The destiny which loomed above his footsteps for all the years of his life is now descending.

A dozen people stand before him, watching as he's fastened into the chair. Lady Victoria's old, severe face has twisted into a smile. Her gemstones shine. For all her visions and portents, she's excited. It twitches in every inch of her. Professor Bonderbrand's jowls quiver. He too can barely contain his delight, the child-like thrill of seeing this plan come to fruition after unnumbered generations. Multheru's alien face is less scrutable. But the young man reads enough in the twitching of those oral tentacles.

Yet though their gazes are locked on him, his rests on them for only a moment. Then it travels to the thing from the Jospur System that casts its shadow across the chamber.

There are many machines, attached to him by snaking cables. Marvels and miracles of technology. But science won't act alone. Chanting voices intone ancient prayers, ushering in the young man's fate.

Pain racks his body. His muscles convulse. Lashing tendrils flay the surface of his brain. And he laughs.

Master Hao