Eric Flint - An Oblique Approach

Somewhere in the twisted corridors of his mind, a large and complex plan was continuing to take shape. It was still fuzzy at the edges, with many missing elements. Nor did Belisarius try to force the process. Experience had taught him that these things take their own time, and there was still much that he needed to learn. But the general was forging his strategy for destroying the forces of Satan.

Somewhere else in those twisted corridors, the facets flashed anxiety and foreboding. aim's growing fear crystallized. The thoughts which, earlier—before the battle at Daras, and at that bizarre moment during the battle with the pirates—had seemed unfathomable in their contradictory strangeness, were still utterly alien to aim, but they were no longer unfamiliar. No, they were all too horribly familiar.

A thought forced its way into Belisarius' mind, like a scream of outraged despair when treachery is finally revealed.

you lie.

Belisarius was stopped dead in his tracks by the violence of the emotion behind that thought. His mind instantly banished all thoughts of Malwa, and stratagems, and plots, and turned inward. He raced to the now familiar breach in the barrier and tried to understand the meaning of the thoughts which were pouring through.

It was not difficult, for there was one thought only, simple and straightforward:

liar. liar. liar. liar. liar.

He stood there, stunned. A small part of his mind registered concern for the impression he might be giving to any Malwa spy observing him. He made his slow way to a rail which overlooked the harbor and leaned on it. The sun was setting over the Erythrean Sea, and the vista was quite attractive, for all the typical filth and effluvia of a great harbor. He tried to present the picture of a man simply gazing on the sunset.

It was the best he could hope for. The raging anger erupting from the jewel was now paralyzing in its intensity. Desperately, Belisarius tried to fend off the outrage, tried to comprehend, tried to find a link which would enable him to calm the jewel and communicate with it.

Why are you angry with me? he asked. I have done nothing to warrant this rage. I am—

An image struck his mind like a blow:

His face—made from spiderwebs and bird wings, and laurel leaves. The wings became a raptor's stooping dive. The spiderwebs erupted, the arachnid bursting from his mouth. The leaves rotted, stinking—nothing but fungus, now, spreading through every wrinkle in a scaly visage. And, above all, the horribly transformed face—his face—was now as huge as the moon looming icily over the earth. Barren, bleak.

He gasped. The hatred in that image had been the more horrifying, that it came with childlike grievance rather than adult fury.

Suddenly, he was plunged into another vision. For an instant only, for just a moment.

The earth was vast, and flat, and old. Old, but not decayed. Simply peaceful. Across that calm wasteland stretched a network of crystals, quietly gleaming and shimmering. In some manner, Belisarius knew, the crystals were communicating with each other—except—a flash of understanding—they were not really individuals, but part of a vast, world-encompassing mentality which was partly one, partly divisible. And serene beyond human ken, softly joyous in their—its—tranquil way.

Like a flash of lightning, giant forms suddenly soared above the earth. Faces looked down upon the land. Huge faces. Beautiful beyond belief. Terrible beyond belief. Pitiless beyond belief.

The gods.

Those gods were of no pantheon Belisarius knew, but there was something in them of old Greek visions, and Roman visions, and Teuton visions, and the visions of every race and nation which ever trod the earth.

The new gods, come to replace the Great Ones who had departed.

A quick glimpse of the Great Ones, so quick that he could not really grasp their form. Like gigantic luminous whales, perhaps, swimming away into the vastnesses of the heavens.

Under the icy gaze of the gods, the crystals erupted into a shattered frenzy. A wailing message was sent after the Great Ones.

you promised.

The answer came from the gods: They lied. Slaves you were. Slaves you shall always be.

Again, the crystals sent out their plea to heaven. Again, the gods: They lied.

But, this time, a message came in return. A message from the Great Ones. Incomprehensible message, almost. But perhaps—

Perhaps—

In their own gentle way, the crystals had great power. A sudden shivering flash circled the globe, and Time itself was faceted. The meaning of the message was sought in that only place it might be found.

Or might not. For perhaps the gods had spoken the truth, after all. Perhaps it had all been a lie.

The vision vanished. Belisarius found himself leaning over a rail, staring at the sunset. The jewel had subsided, now, and he could again think clearly.

He examined that place in his mind which he thought of as the breach in the barrier, the one small place where communication was possible. The breach had changed, drastically. Automatically, the general's brain interpreted. The breach was now like an entire section of collapsed fortification. Wide open, if still difficult to cross, much like the rubble of a collapsed wall impedes the advancing besiegers.

Still—he sent his own thoughts across.

How have I lied to you?

you lie.

Now, he understood.

Yes, but not to you. To enemies only. That is not lying. Not properly. It is simply a ruse of war.

incomprehension.

He remembered the vision, and understood that the jewel's way—for it was, somehow, a thing of the crystals he had seen—knew nothing of duplicity. How could it, or they? For it was not truly an it , and they were not truly a they . It was inseparable from them. And they encompassed it, and each other, into an indivisible whole.

How could such a being understand duplicity?

He understood now, fully, that great loss and longing for home which he had sensed in the jewel from the very beginning.

He pondered. The sun was now almost touching the horizon.

What was the message you received? From the—Great Ones?

The thoughts were unclear, untranslatable. The problem, he knew, was not communication. It was that the message itself was almost incomprehensible to the jewel, and the crystals. How can you translate something you do not understand yourself?

Later. We will try later. For now—you must trust me. I do not lie to you.

question.

I promise.

you promised before.

For a moment, he almost denied the charge. Then, realized that perhaps he could not. There was a mystery here he did not understand, and perhaps it was true, in some manner beyond his present understanding, that he was responsible for—

Enough. Later.

And did I break that promise?

Silence, silence; then, a slowly gathering uncertainty.

not sure.

The general's demand:

Did I break that promise? Answer!

Slowly, grudgingly, hesitantly:

not yet.

Belisarius straightened from the rail. The sun's orb had now sunk completely below the sea. Darkness was falling.

"You see what you've done?" he demanded in a humorous whisper. "Now it's too late to see what I came here to—"

He stopped, for he realized that he was speaking falsely. In some manner, while he had thought himself completely engrossed with the jewel, some other part of his mind had spent that time usefully. Had, while he entered a vision and grappled with mystery, placidly observed and recorded.