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Chapter 7

Malaki awoke quickly, laying on his back and staring up at clear blue skies. The soft rumble of waves made his broad ears tense as it intruded upon his rest. The minotaur slowly rolled on his side and realized he had been sleeping on hot sand. Hot and gray sand.

Where am I? he asked as he suddenly leapt to his feet. Not one of his muscles seemed the least bit worn, and his mind was sharp and ready. Instead of his KCS he wore pants and a tunic wrought of black leather.

He would have been comfortable if he had his matrix, but all his fingers found was a hairless patch where it should have been.

He stood on a stretch of beach that extended as far as the eye could see in both directions. The sand was a dark gray, peppered with smooth black stones. To one side loomed cliffs whose bare faces were made of solid black stone. To the other lay the dark blue waters of the ocean. And down the beach, at the very edge of his perception, was a dark mountain that looked as though it had been wrought of black glass.

For a moment Malaki stared at it, before he sauntered down to the water's edge and plunged his hands in. It was pleasantly cool, and at the bottom he found rough dirt that crackled in his hands as he ran his fingers through it. Pulling his hands back up, it became evident that the ocean floor was made of tiny chips of black stone. This was ground obsidian, all of it. The sand, the ocean sediment... it tinted the water dark and clung to him as though it did not want him to leave it behind when he moved along. For a moment he stared out to sea and saw that instead of a sand bar mounds of obsidian rose out of the water, their surfaces having been worn perfectly smooth by the gentle lapping of the waves against them.

Is this Psion? he asked himself. No... this was too perfect, too simple. This was Ciara's Psion, this was how she had described it. He was walking upon what she dreamed the planet would be like... a pleasant world where literally everything was carved out of the precious black stone.

"Enjoying yourself?" someone asked from behind him.

Malaki spun around to see a man in a pastel blue robe perched upon a black boulder. He was bald and his wrinkled skin was beginning to show the signs of age. But his eyes were incredibly sharp, as though they took in everything at once and understood all of it perfectly.

"I am Ke'Laot," he introduced, "You might recognize me as a Tar-Thul monk, or not, given that our art has been forgotten in your world."

"I'm imagining all this," Malaki asked, "Aren't I?"

"That depends on your definition," Ke'Laot explained. "You are indeed within your own mind but what happens here today will change you forever, as surely as if it had truly happened. In that way, it is real."

"What will happen?"

"You must come to understand, Malaki. There is a great deal that you do not yet realize, and many things have been hidden from you. I intend to open your eyes to the nature of things, to awaken you, and set you upon the proper path."

What was he talking about? This was a dream, Malaki was certain, so how could this imaginary tutor show him anything that he did not already know? Or was it like Ynok had said, that he was tapping into some unconscious memories... things that all men knew but none possessed the ability to call upon?

Ke'Laot smiled. "You're already beginning to understand, Malaki. Just as a baby is born knowing certain things about the world by instinct, there are certain things all humans know about the psionic realm. But since we never perceive these things in practice, we never have an opportunity to call upon this knowledge. Nothing is ever forgotten, Malaki, even though we might believe we have. We humans delude ourselves in many ways."

"And you're going to show me these things?"

"You still err. I am not going to show you these things so much as remind you of them." The monk rose and walked across the obsidian sand until he stood next to Malaki, the top of his head barely reaching the minotaur's shoulder.

Bending over, Ke'Laot took a handful of dark mud and scooped up a dollop of it on two fingers. He proceeded to smear it over Malaki's face. The minotaur waited patiently as the monk drew stripes and zigzags over his muzzle as though it were some kind of war paint. He ran a stripe down between Malaki's eyes, made three chevrons across his muzzle, and pressed some into the hairless patch beneath his eye where his matrix should have been.

"This will be your companion stone today," the monk said, before turning and walking away.

Malaki followed close behind. Until he blinked, that was. He was now standing on smooth stone, and as he looked up he found himself in a temple lined with marble columns. The setting sun in the distance had dyed the world orange and drew dark shadows across the floor. The minotaur stared out over this alien world, seeing an endless expanse of jungle bathed in amber light. It looked as though the temple had been set atop a mountain.

There was no furniture here, and no decoration. The only interruption in the bare floor was a deep pool, full of dark water with a flight of steps leading down into it. For a moment Malaki stared at his reflection before his gaze traveled up to meet Ke'Laot's. The monk beckoned him to follow before walking out of the temple to a small porch. It had been built ten meters off the ground and overlooked the entire countryside, a forest that did not stop until it met the seashore.

"This is how you imagined a Tar-Thul temple?" Ke'Laot asked.

Malaki nodded. A Tar-Thul temple overlooking Ciara's dream of Psion... It was simple and Spartan, like everything Malaki thought of, but its placement allowed him to behold the majesty Ciara had imagined in her private vision.

"Not much, is it? It serves our purpose, though, and that is all that matters to you. You've always been rather practical, haven't you? Get to the point, cut to the chase... A flaw, as I see it. Ciara... now she is the one who has learned to appreciate the little details." For a moment the monk smiled. "You're doing it right now. You want me to get on with what I'm here to say. I warn you, impatience will get you nowhere. There are many things to be explained."

Ke'Laot crossed his legs beneath him and sat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "I represent everything that you do not know. There is an inner mind within you that you rarely touch... a pool of knowledge that some people have labeled your 'morphic resonance.' It is your racial memory: It is how creatures know things by instinct. It is why we have archetypes and why the same myths repeat throughout time. It is why the same emotions are recognizable among all intelligent animals, regardless of time, place, species, or culture. You yourself look more like a human than you know."

"But," he continued as Malaki sat before him, "It is not a single burst of insight that we get when we are young carry with us. We are all connected, and when a person knows how you can speak to them through the network. The more intimate you are, and I do not mean that in the sexual sense, the more readily two people can speak thus."

"Now, Ynok must be evaluated carefully. Some of the things he has told you are very true, and some of them are falsehoods. One of them is this: Though you were created by science, Malaki, you are every bit as human as anyone else. As a Knight, your echo is much stronger than most. In his blind rashness, he has unwittingly given you the key to unlocking these latent memories. That is to our advantage. We will make the most of this time."

"What did he say that was true?" Malaki asked.

"That the Diktat teaches a bastardized version of the Tar-Thul ways. This is something you have felt, Malaki. You know inside you that the Diktat is in error and at times you can sense the hollowness of their teachings. I will show you the true way, and teach you the reason behind the motions."

"Rise," Ke'Laot commanded, bringing himself to his own feet. He brought his hands above his head and slowly swung them out in sweeping arcs. He drew them in and out, slid them around each other, cupped them together and closed them into fists... "This is familiar to you."

"Tar-Thul meditation."

"Yes... You've done it yourself." Ke'Laot imitated Malaki, drawing his hands up, clenching them tightly, and bringing them down to his gut. "It is a form of psychic focus... your hands move in time with the flow of energy around you. They are an allegory, letting you visualize what is happening in the realm you are only dimly aware of. Do you know the origin of this?"

"No."

"The first monks did this in the water. They expanded their sphere of influence... that shell of self you call your PPF... and they used it to push the water away from them. Then they did this... moved their hands through it and watched how it shaped the water. In time, they learned to control the water..." He kept going for a moment, shifting his entire body with careful grace and rhythm, before abruptly asking, "Do you play an instrument?"

Malaki was a bit surprised at the question, but shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's an example. Take the piano... When you first begin you must focus, read music off paper, and concentrate on striking the right keys at the right time. But as you grow and learn, it becomes more natural. Eventually you need no papers or even conscious thought... All you do is imagine the music and your fingers make it so." He paused, glancing at Malaki and inviting him to engage in his exercise.

The minotaur followed suit, letting his hands flow slowly around him although not with nearly the practiced grace of the monk.

"That sense of one-ness... the way it becomes a natural part of you... applies to all things. In any art it is the mark of mastery... when you can work without thought or focus or conscious effort. Painting... writing... dance... Thul-ki, as we are doing now... fighting... and especially psychic focus."

"That, Malaki, is the true purpose of Thul-ki meditation. It allows one to practice his focus to the point where it is no longer a conscious act. The student knows where the water will go before it moves... he need not think about his barrier... all he does is move at his own rhythm and become more and more familiar with his power and his own body in the process."

Malaki was apparently lacking in the latter regard, as he occasionally made an uncomfortable move, having one arm block the other or having to adjust his stance.

"And once a student knows everything about himself, he explores the world around him... twists the hidden threads to warp reality... rearranges it to his liking. And so he continues, becoming familiar with another path before moving on to the next, always building upon his knowledge as he sees fit."

"This is why it is called the Tar-Thul arts and not the 'way.' A 'way' is one thing, one path. The spirit world is all around us, its threads open for us to weave in any way we desire. Thus it is everything, and at the same time nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"The psychic threads are all around us, Malaki. They've always been there... everything exists in five dimensions. There are the three that measure volume as you are accustomed to, there is time, and then there is spirit. Everything has a material and a spiritual existence. Things change when something acts on one or the other. The Tar-Thul arts are not something you memorize or acquire. It is nothing that was not already there. There is resonance in everything around us, but most people never see it and assume it does not exist."

"So why the matrixes?"

Ke'Laot shot him another grin. "I will show you. Have you ever seen hyperspace?"

"You can't."

"Why? Because it is harmful or forbidden?"

"Harmful."

"A lie. The Source has forbidden you to gaze upon hyperspace because it shows you what he does not want you to see."

Malaki blinked again, and found the temple to be floating in void. It was completely black and starless, the only material being ribbons of twisting blue energy that floated past his terrace. Occasionally lightning leapt between them. There was no scent here and no noise. There was no air to carry them on. There was no temperature, either... just colors with mass... clouds of pure color with dimensionless stripes of hue connecting them.

"This is hyperspace?"

"Yes. It is a world that is equal parts spirit and matter. The Source teaches that only men possess spirit and that spirit can impede matter. Not so. Spirit impedes and defeats spirit. When something has weak will, like a sword, it is easily moved. When something has strong will, like a person, it cannot easily be moved. When a person channels his spirit into a sword and it takes on his power, it cannot easily be moved either."

"You're talking about PPF and Channel Crystal swords... Bullets can't penetrate the PPF but a sword can because the user's power is being channeled through it."

"Precisely."

"And so what is the Source?"

"A man. He is by far the most powerful psychic in the universe. He spreads lies so that none will challenge him. A man who fights with spirit is far more powerful than one who fights with steel alone. The less you know of the true nature of things, the more powerful the Source becomes. He rules through fear and superstition."

"So what about obsidian? How does that fit into everything?"

"Look for yourself..." Ke'Laot said, and produced a mirror from his robe.

Malaki held it up to his face and saw that where the monk had put the lattice obsidian mud there was now complete void. It was as though his skin dropped away into utter nothingness. No... not completely... He saw swirling colors within the dark stripes of emptiness, indefinable shapes and beams of light... It was as though hyperspace had coalesced on his skin.

"It is a gate. Few mortal men can see into the spiritual realm without looking through the black stones. It is an aberration in your universe: a material that is equal parts spirit and matter... a tiny piece of hyperspace given shape. That is why no man will ever be able to synthesize it. You cannot shape something that you cannot touch."

"I don't understand."

"Imagine you're looking through a keyhole. Do you see the mechanism of the lock itself? No. You only get a tiny peek into the world beyond the door. Lattice Obsidian is the same way. We can look at it, and see that it is a rock. But this fact tells us nothing unless we put it on and use it. At that point we cannot look directly at it... only through it."

Malaki let his gaze linger on the monk for another moment. He still didn't understand.

"Few do," the monk consoled.

The minotaur looked down at his reflection again, and found that the obsidian on his face was once more caked gray dust. The empty darkness of hyperspace had been replaced once again by the warm amber glow of the setting sun. They had returned to his imaginary Psion, their terrace once more overlooking the forest that stretched unbroken to the seashore.

"Is Ynok one... the men who can tap the spirit without obsidian?"

"Ynok is a fraud. Remember that."

Again, he responded only with a slow nod before asking, "Can you tell me about Psion?"

"I can tell you the history of all Tar-Thul monks. Psion was indeed a planet, and the Tar-Thul found it. We lived on it undisturbed for several centuries, until the coming of the Paxian Jihad. The universe was embroiled in civil war, and a monk named Jorab offered to teach Paxus' warriors our art. It was these warriors who were the first Knights. As they centuries went on, the Knights became less and less Tar-Thul until they were barely recognizable as the monk's descendants."

"What about Psion?"

"It exists. It has more Lattice Obsidian than the universe has ever seen. The monks built their temples there, and they still stand. I will warn you, though, that it is not as Ciara imagines it. It is quite different."

"Where is it?"

"A much more important question is 'Are you ready to find it?' Make no mistake, Malaki... humanity has a great deal to learn before it is ready to open its eyes. Would the re-discovery of Psion be mankind's apotheosis or its doom?"

For a long time Malaki pondered that question, staring out into the distant ocean. He had certainly seen enough pain and misery... enough corruption... For a moment he stopped and mulled over Bishop Jable, and Kanyte. Then of course there was Ynok. And one could never forget the residents of the planet Septik, who were the worst scum on Korrus until exiled. But then again even among the Septikkians there were those who were truly repentant, such as Grakkus. Were there enough 'Grakkuses' in the world to outweigh the evil?

"That's a deep question, Malaki... The time you will spend pondering it is more time than we have here. Are you ready to learn something else?"

"Yes..."

"Resume your Thul-ki."

Malaki obeyed, raising his hands and moving into the dance like flow of the Thul-Ki meditation. He was still no good at it, his movements being too stiff and forced.

"Relax," Ke'Laot commanded, "Feel the energy around you... swim through it... and when you are ready, call it to you."

For a moment Malaki kept moving, trying to concentrate on the world around him. He could imagine the swirling currents of warmth as his hands pushed and swam through the hot afternoon air. Apparently the idea of the hands helping one's focus worked both ways... when he focused on feeling the currents of heat move around him his hands began to flow more smoothly as well.

"No, Malaki, chill the air."

The Knight obeyed, drawing the heat into him. He felt the currents of power flow down his arms and collecting in his chest, building up into a twisting ball of hot energy... a sphere of power that somehow tasted different than it usually did. It felt more natural, as though it were a part of him...

"It's different, isn't it?" Ke'Laot asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"Where are you, Malaki? Is that truly heat you are gathering? The air is not growing cold. Is it really a mass of spinning electrons? Are there any electrons here, in this world that exists only within your mind?"

"No," Malaki said, "Is it psychic energy?"

"Now you are beginning to understand," the monk said with a smile.