The Fourth Guardian Read online

  The president drew in a breath and cursed. “Listen, you dolt. I want that said in such a manner I can understand its full implications."

  "Very well, sir. It appears that for a guardian class individual to have been genetically augmented it's a little like poking a hole in a dike. Once that hole is made it's only a matter of time before the dike goes, and when that happens, Regis Tregarath will not be the same person he was when he went. The simple matter of heightening his intuitive faculties will do far more than anticipated. Far more than I, you, or anyone else would have wanted."

  Amaron swallowed with difficulty. “All right, now put that in simpler terms."

  "He'll become a super being."

  "So, bringing an errant child back here in twenty years or so..."

  "Would be a mistake,” the other summed it up tightly. “A bad mistake."

  Amaron rubbed his eyes and pinched at the base of his nose. Having recently lost a share in his black market accounts, now seemed the least of his problems. He looked out a window at a passing hydroliner cruise ship, encased entirely in a globe of water with oxygen-equipped swimmers floating around its hull, and wondered if there were any more disagreeable surprises.

  In any event, he knew he would have to deal with what he could.

  Two days later, an announcement was made concerning a freakish accident. One that took the lives of both a bio-scientist, and a presidential assistant councilor, when the lift tube they shared suddenly failed. Thankfully, each died instantly.

  While that happened, deep in the hollowed out caverns beneath the science center's inner complex, a few key contact personnel found themselves transferred to other duties and other stations. That was followed by several control staff given raises in salary and responsibility and moved to other areas. At the time, no one understood the implications.

  * * * *

  The man known as Regis Tregarath spent his recovery getting used to the way the language he used rolled off his tongue. He thought it was probably part of the conditioning he'd been put through while muddled about in the gene lab. He strolled across the grounds, peered down mountain passes, spied the little village that lay at the base of the mountain the temple perched on, and wished he were home. Everything here was so primitive.

  But, he argued with himself, this world was home now, and there were lessons to learn if he didn't wish to stand out. He needed to read history, the sciences, and he needed to know what level these people were on. Since the library was at his disposal, he began his studies diligently.

  "Tell me something,” he asked the High Lama one day.

  The Lama looked up smiling. “If I can."

  "That library of yours down there."

  "Yes?"

  "I mean the hidden one, the one under the floor of the main temple."

  The other's smile slipped. “Yes?"

  "Why is it forbidden? The one above it has a good many scholars who come and go, studying the texts and so forth, but not the one below."

  The young-old face frowned. “I'm afraid it's a hold-over when our temple needed protection from bandits. Besides, it's hidden from prying eyes. If you didn't know it was there it would be impossible to find.” He looked into the other's eyes. “How did you?"

  A shrug of the shoulders. “I just knew. But the exact entryway? How does one enter?"

  "Its entrance is a stairwell at the base of the central pillar. But, my friend let me tell you that everything there is useless."

  "Why?"

  "Because what was written so long ago by those mystical historians concern matters no longer understood. Reading them is like reading a curious passage of poetry without having reference to what it means. And without those references...” He shrugged.

  "I would like to see them anyway."

  The High Lama nodded. “If that is what you wish. But for the moment, allow me to warn you of a certain evil."

  "What is it?"

  "It is something called the stock market. A place where people go to gamble on the lives of others. It encroaches upon every way of life."

  Eventually, Reg-I-Nald escaped his lesson in primitive economics and was shown the way to the forbidden library. A counterweight lifted a great stone shelf, and a hidden door opened inward. A torch lit, and with several monks leading and following, he made his way down spiral stairs and into a vast honeycombed chamber.

  Another torch lit the gloom, and before the spreading glow, there opened before them rows of scrolls, leather-bound tombs and pictographs in their own nooks and niches, the mass of which was enormous.

  He stared at the endless shelves up to the ceiling and shook his head in wonder. “Unbelievable,” he whispered in his own language. When asked by one of the monks what he'd said, he explained, and they nodded in agreement.

  "Yes,” said his guide. “It is unbelievable. This land was once embroiled in a great turmoil. Lives were cheapened. Knowledge was thought a hindrance. So it became necessary to hide all this, else it went the way of Alexandria."

  "What is that word?"

  In the depths of this ancient library, Regis learned of another library, in a far off time, when the careless mistake of a Roman general caused incalculable damage.

  "So,” concluded his guide, “when I pass above, and know what lies below, I am honored and saddened. So much has been lost. And now, even though we have preserved its physical essence, the information remains lost still. In a way, this strengthens our faith. Knowledge is fragile, and must be protected at all times."

  He was supplied with cushions, stools, tables, lamps and writing materials. Then, without wasting time, he set out to learn what was in the ancient texts.

  "High One?"

  The Lama turned to see one of the younger monks hovering in a doorway. He smiled and nodded. “Yes, my son?"

  "High One, the Lord of the Stars is reading from the AmaCultis."

  "Yes, well, that's nice. Thank you.” He turned to work over another section of economics he was preparing to teach their visitor, when what the young monk said suddenly registered. He swung back.

  "Did you say the AmaCultis? Are you sure? It's in Aramaic."

  "Yes, High One. Before that he appeared to understand pan-Arabic and remarked how odd it was that such diverse languages as those used by Toltecs and Mayans were similar to Sanskrit in intent and style. I did not understand what he meant."

  "I see...” A chill grew at the base of his spine. “Well, keep an eye on him. Do what he asks of you. If you need assistance call upon your brothers."

  The cropped head bowed. “As you will, High One."

  "Yes ... yes, as I will.” But when the other left he got off the mat and sought Oompal on a far parapet, playing with a wild and willful hawk.

  "Oompal,” he scolded. “If I've told you once, I've told you at least a dozen times. You must not play with such creatures. I know they're beautiful, and they think you're beautiful too, but perhaps the wild things you play with may look more fondly upon you as a possible meal than as a friend."

  Laughing delightedly, she fluttered her hands, and the hawk glided down gracefully and landed, clasping his sharp claws about her dainty wrist. She kissed him on the beak, and with a graceful dignity, he ascended her arm until planted upon her shoulder and regarded the High One as a possible meal.

  "Oompal, can you sense what it is our friend from the stars is doing?"

  She closed her eyes, squinting, and looked up with an expression of astonishment.

  "He is reading from a text where the binding is of softened gut, and the pages are of animal skin, but High One, the writing—the writing was done in blood!"

  He hissed in dismay. “What kind of blood, child? Is it an evil thing he is reading?"

  "No.” She shook her head quickly. “That I do not sense. There is nothing evil about it. I think it was written with...” She smiled gratefully. “I see it now. Yak blood, High One. But the language he's speaking ... there are sounds I have never heard before."

  "He's t
ruly reading?"

  "Yes."

  "Not skimming the material, but reading?"

  "Yes. Reading."

  "I see."

  "What does it mean, High One?"

  "Where do you see him now, Oompal?"

  She looked down again, closing her eyes tightly, and something of her shock communicated itself to the bird on her shoulder as he screamed and lifted off her shoulder to fly away.

  Together they turned their attention to the predatory bird circling overhead, gaining height, building up speed, until it glided across the valley floor.

  "I see him in the main column of the forbidden library. The part forbidden to all. You gave your permission?"

  "I did."

  "Why, High One?"

  "It was necessary to see what he is becoming."

  "Then you have seen it too? That he is changing?"

  "He is growing. His curiosity is an interesting phenomenon. Not at first apparent, but when it lays like a seed in fertile soil, its growth is noted at once."

  "He possesses the mind key?"

  The High One sighed before answering. “I'm afraid, my child, that he does."

  * * * *

  Below them in the forbidden library, where the knowledge of the lost races had lain for centuries past, hidden from the eyes of mortal man, a visitor from afar read the seventh passage of the tome and stopped to catch his breath.

  "You, who have come from the stars, mark well what is written. I have seen the center of the universe, as had my kin before me, and as you will after me. And it is a mind of such vastness, such depths, and such horror, that power such as we possess is nothing. It is everywhere. It is life. It is death. It is heat. It is cold. And though we may touch it, never will we possess it. Ours is to learn, and in the learning do well for those kindred of spirit."

  Hurriedly, he turned a page of skin and continued. “What is written before you was written before me. Do not shame us for our effort. For we are of the same cloth."

  Eyes of purest blue narrowed, his concentration intense, his wonder acute and marveling. It was as if the writer had written to him.

  "Imagine the darkest of nights, where no star shines. You float upon a sea. It is warm, warm with the salt of the earth, and the souls of men. Though you feel free, you are yet a prisoner of the sea you float upon, and of the body you live in. You know this because the body stiffens and grows tired. The effort to remain afloat becomes agony, and you need to rest. Be warned: To rest is to die."

  He sat back a moment, considering. How can one continue without rest? He went back to the page and read on.

  "What does one do when the effort to survive is the cost of one's mind? You need to stay up, to breathe, and to scream as the body becomes rigid, and the will falls to nothing. Seek that which you fear, and confronting it, it will make floating no longer necessary. You may do what you wish, go where you please."

  He stared at this passage for a long time, reading, and re-reading it, not sure what to make of it. Do what one wishes? Go where one pleases? How can you do that if you're floating in the dark upon some sea? How can one escape such a fate?

  Then the truth dawned on him. The mind was the key, which made all possible. His eyes scanned the inset he'd underlined. Seek out that which you fear. What did he fear most? He looked within himself and shuddered. He feared what had been done to him. So, instead of fearing, what if he embraced the transformation?

  He threw his concentration into a first try and ended up thrown out of the chair on his face.

  He stared into the darkness of the entombed library and shook his head with astonishment.

  He'd banged mind-on into a brick wall huge and powerful ... and alive. The beast's name was Egon. Egon of the Sheresh Tribe. And Egon, like all his Yeti-kind, was a telepath.

  * * * *

  Oompal moved behind him, looking around the chamber as he stood on the balcony, gazing down into the valley.

  "What is it, child?” he asked softly, not bothering to turn, for he knew who it was.

  She folded herself to her knees, eyes filling with tears. “The Star Lord is gone from us."

  The Lama of Mount Kinji sighed. “Yes, child, that he is, though I rather doubt he was ever with us at all."

  "Will he return?"

  Hesitantly, he nodded. “Perhaps, in time. But such a man is not meant to be predictable. If he does, he does. If he won't, he never will again."

  "I can remember the first day I saw him,” she said, looking over the Lama's shoulder at the summit, sharing a moment with the freewheeling hawks that were her friends. “It was the day I awakened to the beauty of the world about me and all I had missed. And then, when I realized what had truly happened to you, my lord ... it was difficult to grasp."

  The High Lama motioned her to rise as he passed her going back into the apartments. There was work to be done yet, and the day was hardly begun. So much of the outer world he had to contend with now. He'd been shown secrets that could no longer be bottled up in an out of the way Lamasery, and moreover, he was sorry. Sorry for the world left behind. Sorry for innocence lost.

  He was sorry for what was to come, for it would be a strange world now that he and his brethren were awakened. Now that “he” was roaming the world and searching for his birthright, as a change in the course of humanity would naturally follow.

  "Are you certain, Oompal? As to what you said earlier? The sense of being watched is truly gone?"

  She nodded dutifully. “Yes, High One. A single day past his going, and the sense I had of being observed in the temple was gone."

  He sighed, seating himself at his desk. “So, either they're following him on their monitors elsewhere, or something has happened to change the situation."

  A monk hurried in and whispered in the Lama's ear. Looking apprehensively over his shoulder, he then disappeared down the passageway.

  "And that,” said he sourly, “is something else he's left us with!"

  "What's wrong?"

  "Egon and his brood! Ever since Reg-I-Nald began communicating with them, opening their hidden mountain passages to the underground entrances of the temple, getting them to share their knowledge of the gold deposits, not a single day goes by without a complaint!"

  A small sigh escaped her lips. “What is it this time?"

  "They want assurances that the Warrit Valley will be sectioned off this month."

  She shook her head. “I don't understand."

  "Oh!” He waved a hand in exasperation. “They're holding another one of their incessant gatherings!"

  "I think its wonderful. Don't you?"

  "Yes, yes, I suppose I do. Except whenever it happens, I get all these demands!"

  She advanced shyly with a twinkle in the eye. “You have to admit though, they are good for the tourist business. There have never been so many giant footprint sightings. The English and American anthropologists are going out of their minds trying to catch sight of one and they never do. It's funny how they run around in the robes of monks."

  "Do not applaud them for their cunning,” he scolded. “They have always been good at that, but since Reg-I-Nald recruited them like a bunch of runaway orphans, they've become nothing better than crooks.” He shook his head wearily. “I wish to Almighty Buddha he'd left that lot alone!"

  But the moment he said that, he knew he shouldn't have. Oompal loved the Yetis, and especially that incredible servant of hers. What was her name? In any event he knew he shouldn't have said it.

  "What are you thinking?” she asked after a strained moment.

  He looked up with a half-angry, half-amused grimace.

  "One time I thought our visitor from the other world was nothing less than the God-Light, the Destroyer come to wreak his vengeance. Instead, what do we get? A super alien who looks upon the world the same way a child looks upon a toy."

  From the balcony the valley stretched out to the mountains, and he wished he could fly as the hawks do, and get away for a while.

  "An
d perhaps that's what our human race needs most ... a bit of toying, if only to make it more subdued."

  "High One?"

  He grinned ruefully. “It's what's called a kick in the pants. I wished him good luck on his journey, but maybe I should pray for the planet and for their well-being instead."

  She smiled softly. “I remember he once said that to know how little one knows is the mark of a wise man. But in his case, he didn't know how much he had to learn to know how little he knew, and he wondered if this was the mark of a fool."

  The High Lama grumped as he turned back to his mountain office/apartment, and leaning over a desk, flipped a switch that turned it from a comfortable writing accommodation, to a high-end computer station.

  Oompal poured him a nice steaming cup from a Mr. Coffee unit on a side table.

  The monitor lit, and with a few taps on the keyboard, he was able to tune into a stock market report out of Calcutta by way of Bahrain, Madrid, and London. He snorted with disgust. There was still a loss of five seconds in transmission due to interference. He had to figure out a way to lift his signal over the mountain range without revealing their origin. Perhaps a satellite hookup?

  "Reg-I-Nald,” he groaned softly, fingers flying with a professional touch, “you've turned my entire Lamasery into a school for insurrectionists, and we're not even sure who we're training to overthrow!"

  A slim hand slipped over his shoulder and changed the screen format.

  "Sorry,” she murmured apologetically. “Forgot to put that in this morning's report. Window indexing is now automatically enhanced by format codes. Programming that into the system is one of the reasons it's taken longer to tap into web networks. Now access time should be increased about twenty-three percent."

  "The High Lama of Mount Kinji thanks you, child."

  "The Oompal of Mount Kinji bids her High Lama peace in a changing world,” she replied.

  He sighed and wondered aloud if peace would ever be the same with the price of everything so high, along with exorbitant costs to get their smuggled items delivered safely.