Clarion

CLARION 107

William Greenleaf

106

immediately began speaking. His words rang out in choppy, high-pitched syllables that made no sense to Paul. Then he switched to Basic:

"Oh Great One, who comforts us,

King of all holy places,

Lord Tern the Almighty,

Come, we ask you, hear our prayers."

The elders repeated the chant in slow, somber tones. Then Brill spoke again:

"Hear this our song to thee,

Monarch of monarchs in whose name

Our enemies are slain.

We praise thee!"

This went on for a few more minutes, and it didn't take long for Paul to realize that the main thrust of the chants was the Holy Order's hope that if they were faithful to Lord Tern, he would strike their enemies dead. Lord Tern and the Holy Order did not hold peace and love in high regard. High Elder Brill reached to his throat, fumbled for a moment with a clasp and removed something that had been hanging around his neck. Paul's eye caught a dull, round gleam. A coin? Brill fondled it almost lovingly, then held it in front of a rod that protruded slightly from the side of the chauka. He leaned back, still on his knees, and lifted his hands to hold them out toward the dish of the chauka—

another motion that was somehow familiar to Paul. Brill began to chant again, and the elders behind him joined in:

"Holy One, Holy One, Holy One—"

Paul turned to look at Dorland, but a hint of motion above the chauka made him snap his head back. The air above the chauka began to take on a soft glow. Paul stared at it, and his blood went cold. He involuntarily moved back and bumped into Dorland. Something on the shelf beside him went clunk! and he froze. In the chamber. High Elder Brill and the other elders continued to chant. Paul released pent-up breath and again peered out through the crack between the wooden doors. The rhythm of the chant soaked into him. His muscles felt soft and sluggish. The glow hovered like a mist above the chauka.

High Elder Brill moved his hands above the dish in a weaving pattern as if he were a magician conjuring up something out of thin air. Then—

Paul blinked. The glow above the chauka separated into two distinct forms, then four. Ribbonlike streamers of color swirled together as if obeying the command of Brill's moving hands. Paul wished suddenly that he were anyplace but here. The swirling shapes darkened into a shadow, formless and full of motion. Paul fought down the urgent desire to push the door open and dash out of this room to the freedom of the night outside. He felt Borland's hand on his shoulder, a reassuring squeeze. The shadow spun and flickered. Paul stared at it. He began to feel disoriented, cut off from reality . . .

Something touched his mind.

He recoiled, and bumped into Dorland. The

touch came again, like probing fingers. He felt a bubbling panic. It came again, deeper this time. He could almost catch a thought that was certainly not his own. Something was inside him, probing

through the depths of his brain, uncovering dark memories, gaining form and substance in his mind as the shadow danced above the chauka. A clear thought emerged ...

His father: defeated and tired, always dreaming of something better but never quite able to find it. His mother—she spent half her time sleeping and the other half taking drugs. By the time Paul had left 108 William Greenleaf

home, her brain had been squeezed dry by yellow pills called lollipops.

He thought: What have I accomplished with my life? Washed out of the Guard after two years of pushing papers and punching computer keys on a hellhole planet in upstream Omega. Two more years wandering through the planets of the stream looking for God-knows-what, with the specter of his parents haunting him . . .

Paul made an effort to concentrate on what was happening in the chamber. Brill's chants grew in intensity. The elders repeated each chant in droning voices. The shadows above the chauka moved faster and faster—

The chanting stopped with unnerving abruptness, and something began to emerge above the chauka—a more solid substance writhing from the haze. A long, tubelike torso took shape. Spindly arms emerged like the limbs of a dead tree. An elongated head formed, and the creature was nearly complete. It was horribly inhuman, its sharp-edged face more reptilian than anything else. The eyes were black, multifaceted, bulging from under a bony shelf of brow.

High Elder Brill began to chant again, softly this time. The creature gained substance until it stood as a solid horror in the dish of the chauka. Paul stared, aware of a painful constriction across his chest and of the shadows still huddled inside his mind.

Brill spoke again in the strange, wavering language. The creature answered in high-pitched squeals. It moved constantly above the chauka, gesturing with its spindly arms, its head swaying back and forth.

Paul's hands came up to press on each side of his head in an effort to contain the growing pressure. The sense of loathing was an overpowering stench inside him. He opened his eyes, gasping, and forced