Simon Hawke: The Seeker

There was Screech, the beastlike entity who was capable of communication only with other wild creatures, and the Shade, a dark, grim, and frightening presence that resided deep within Sorak’s subconscious, emerging only when the tribe was facing a threat to its survival. And finally, there was Kether, the single greatest mystery of Sorak’s complicated multiplicity.

Ryana had encountered Kether only once, though she had discussed the strange entity with Sorak many times. The one time she had seen him, Kether had displayed powers that seemed almost magical, though they must have been psionic, for Sorak had never received any magical training. Still, that was merely a logical assumption, and when it came to Kether, Ryana was not sure that logic would apply. Even Sorak did not quite know what to make of Kether.

“Unlike the others, Kether is not truly a part of the inner tribe,” Sorak told her when she voiced her thoughts. He appeared nervous, attempting to explain the little he understood about the strange, ethereal entity called Kether. “At least, he somehow does not seem to be. The others know of him, but they do not communicate with him, and they do not know where he comes from.”

“You speak as if he comes from somewhere outside yourself,” Ryana said.

“Yes, I know. And yet, that is truly how it seems.”

“But... I do not understand. How can that be? How is it possible?”

“I simply do not know,” Sorak replied with a shrug—“I wish I could explain it better, but I cannot. It was Kether who came out when I was dying in the desert, sending forth a psionic call so powerful that it reached Elder Al’Kali at the very summit of the Dragon’s Tooth. Neither I nor any of the others have ever been able to duplicate that feat. We do not possess such power. Mistress Varanna always believed that the power was within me, but I suspect the power truly lies with Kether and that I am but a conduit through which it sometimes flows. Kether is by far the strongest of us, more powerful even than the Shade, yet he does not truly seem to be a part of us. I cannot feel him within me, as I can the others.”

“Perhaps you cannot feel him because he resides deep beneath your level of awareness, like the infant core of which you spoke,” Ryana said.

“Perhaps,” said Sorak, “though I am aware of the infant core, albeit very dimly. I am also aware of others that are deeply buried and do not come out... or at least have refrained from coming out thus far. I sense their presence; I can feel them through the Guardian. But with Kether, there is a very different feeling, one that is difficult to describe.”

“Try.”

“It is ...” He shook his head. “I do not know if I can properly convey it. There is a profound warmth that seems to spread throughout my entire body and a feeling of... dizziness, though perhaps that it not quite the right word. It is a sort of lightness, a spinning sensation, almost as if I am falling from a great height. . . and then I simply fade away. When I return, there is still that sensation of great warmth, which remains present for a while, then slowly fades. And for however long Kether possessed me, I can usually remember nothing.”

“When you speak of the others manifesting,” said Ryana, “you simply say they ‘come out.’ But when you speak of Kether, you speak of being possessed.”

“Yes, that is how it feels. It is not as if Kether comes out from within me, but as if he ... descends upon me somehow.”

“But from where?”

“I only wish I knew. From the spirit world, perhaps.”

“You think that Kether is a fiend?”

“No, fiends are merely creatures of legend. We know that they do not exist. We know that spirits do exist, however. They are the animating core of every living thing. The Way teaches us that the spirit never truly dies, that it survives corporeal death and unites with the greater life-force of the universe. We are taught that elementals are a lower form of spirit, entities of nature bound to the physical plane. But higher spirits exist upon a higher plane, one we cannot perceive, for our own spirits have not yet ascended to it.”

“And you think that Kether is a spirit that has found a way to bridge those planes through you?”

“Perhaps. I cannot say. I only know there is a sense of goodness about Kether, an aura of tranquility and strength. And he does not seem as if he is a part of me, somehow. More like a benevolent visitor, a force from without. I do not know him, but neither do I fear him. When he descends upon me, it is as if I fall asleep, then awake with a pervading sense of calm, and peacefulness, and strength. I cannot explain it any more than that. I truly wish I could.”

I have known him almost all my life, Ryana thought, and yet, there are ways in which I do not know him at all. For that matter, there are ways in which he does not even know himself.

“A copper for your thoughts,” Sorak said, abruptly bringing her back to the present from her reverie. She smiled. “Can you not read them?”

“The Guardian is the telepath among us,” he replied gently, “but she would not presume to read your thoughts unless you gave consent. At least, I do not think she would.”

“You mean you are not sure?”

“If she felt it was important to the welfare of the tribe, then perhaps she might do it and not tell me,” he said.

“I do not fear having my thoughts read by the Guardian. I have nothing to hide from you,” Ryana said. “From any of you. Just now, I was merely thinking how little I truly know you, even after ten years.”

“Perhaps because, in many ways, I do not truly know myself,” Sorak replied wistfully.

“That is just what I was thinking,” said Ryana. “You must have been reading my mind.”

“I told you, I would never knowingly consent to—”

“I was only joking, Sorak,” said Ryana.

“Ah, I see.”

“You really should ask Lyric to loan you his sense of humor. You have always been much too serious.”

She had meant it lightly, but Sorak nodded, taking it as a completely serious comment. “Lyric and Kivara seem to possess all of our humor. And also Eyron, I suppose, although his humor is of a somewhat caustic stripe. I have never been very good at being able to tell when people are joking with me. Not even you. It makes me feel... insufficient.”

Parts of what should have been a complete personality have been distributed among all of the others, thought Ryana with a touch of sadness. When they were younger, she had often played jokes on him because he was always such an easy victim. She wondered whether she should save her jests for Lyric, who could be tiresome because he seemed to have no serious side at all, or try to help Sorak develop the lighter side of his own nature.

“I have never felt that you were insufficient in any way,” she told him. “Merely different.” She sighed. “It’s strange. When we were younger, I simply accepted you the way you were. Now, I find myself struggling to understand you—all of you—more fully. Had I made the effort earlier, perhaps I would have never driven you away.”

He frowned. “You thought you drove me away from the convent?” He shook his head. “I had reasons of my own for leaving.”

“Can you say with honesty that I was not one of those reasons?” she asked directly.

He hesitated a moment, then replied, “No, I cannot,”

“So much for the duplicity of elves,” she said.

“I am only part elf,” Sorak replied. Then he realized she was teasing him a bit and smiled. “I had my own reasons for leaving, it is true, but I also did not wish to remain a source of emotional distress to you.”