Tara is going to die.
I keep seeing that horrible vision over and over again. Then I can’t see anything. I realize that my hands are covering my face, and my eyes are streaming with tears.
Tara is going to die.
I can’t afford to waste any more time. I have to focus. I have to stop it.
Why? If the danger was so apparent, then why wasn’t I warned immediately? Both Axel and Quennel were born with a fair amount of innate knowledge. Why was I cut off, left in the dark?
The answer is too appalling to face, appalling enough that I’m not allowed any connection with the others.
Ashtara wants Tara to die.
This is bullshit, and I’m not going to allow it. I don’t care if it means fighting against “God.” I don’t care if Dermot and Davy tried that once before and failed.
If Ashtara wanted an emanation that would willingly allow Tara to go to her death, then he picked the wrong one.
He picked the wrong one anyway. If the problem was n’aashet n’aaverti, then why choose the emanation that is the embodiment of that principle? Considering the “spiritual virtues” as determined by Wynne, wouldn’t fortune have been a better choice?
It doesn’t make any sense.
Tara comes out of one of the buildings and hops into a hovertransport. A number of military personnel join her; a K’ntasari takes the wheel. Soon, they’re speeding across the flat plains, back to the flagship. I run behind, as fast as I can, but there will be no catching her. I could, of course, change into the mothman if I wanted speed and didn’t care if anyone saw.
Ha. As afraid as I am of letting her out of my sight, I’m afraid of allowing Ashtara to have control again. Once he knows I won’t go along with his plan…
I stop running. The completed thought is, “He won’t allow me to emanate again.” But he could switch emanations now, couldn’t he? There’s plenty of nul-energy here. And unlike most Cu’enashti, he can produce new emanations at will. In fact, it’s easy because Ashvattha already has ten branches. The other emanations even have names.
At any moment, I could be replaced with another poor boob, a puppet with no memories, killing time until the unspeakable occurred.
I drop to the ground, sitting in the barren field with my head between my knees. It’s the same thing that happened to Dermot and Davy. This is all a part of Ashtara’s plan. Even my resistance must be a part of his plan. There’s absolutely nothing I can do.
It’s then I see it. I don’t see the device itself – of Terran make, so cleverly concealed inside the transport’s engine that my eyes would spot it only if I were searching for it deliberately. No, I see the minute chemical reactions approximately 49 seconds in the future that will lead to the explosion.
I leap to my feet and start running, but it’s no use. I can’t catch up to them on foot. And no matter how I concentrate, the detonator is tiny, and it’s moving away from me.
But Ashtara – the mothman – sabotaged the entire Terran fleet while the ships were moving with incredible velocities. Stopping one explosion on one hovertransport would be nothing to him.
Why doesn’t he transform? Why doesn’t he take me over and save her?
I can feel the tears stinging my eyes even as I run faster, run until I feel my lungs will burst. I can’t do this on my own. I have to trust him. Even if I don’t trust him, he has the power to stop this, and I don’t.
I thrust my arms forward, leaping into the air, praying with all the force of my n’aashet n’aaverti to the only God I’ll ever know. Or perhaps I’m praying against him, cursing his obsession with a destiny that will allow her to die. My love, my will, beseeching him, pummeling him all at once.
There’s a pulse of energy rippling through my body. It feels different than the others described, different than they remember. Then I’m seeing through Ashtara’s vision, a vision without sight, without eyes, without a face. I’m flying, and it’s glorious. I’m flying, but not too fast because I don’t want them to notice me behind them. I could fly faster than the fastest space ship, but not as fast as light because nul-energy isn’t quite light.
It takes the merest thought for him to grasp it, the way I might pluck a flower with my hand. He grasps and twists and the explosive turns to dust.
No sooner is it done than he lands, arms folded, but suddenly there are legs that run, my legs running. I slow myself, gasping for air.
What just happened? I don’t understand.
Tara is waiting for me in her quarters. She must see the confusion, the pain in my expression because she immediately rises and puts her arms around me.
“Tara.” I can go no further. My voice breaks. All I can do is sob against her shoulder. Not dead. Not yet, at least.
She helps me to the bed. We sit on the edge, side-by-side. “Ash,” she whispers.
“No!” I cry. “He’s going to…he’s…”
“Rand? What is Ash up to this time?”
“What Lens saw…he saw…” I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating. I have to control myself.
Every iota of will is marshaled into keeping my voice steady. “Lens saw your death,” I gasp.
Tara looks at me blankly. “I know,” she says.
An instant later, a look of sheer horror crosses her face. “But you didn’t! Rand!” She throws her arms around my head, cradling me to her breasts. “It must’ve upset you so.”
“How can you be so calm? How can you be so calm when…”
“I’m all right. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“For now maybe. But…”
“Rand,” she says sharply. “Rand, listen to me. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry because it already happened.”
“What?” I say uncomprehendingly.
“I already died.”