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.