TWENTY-TWO

I decide to introduce Umara honestly to the Cradle, even though I know Brutran and her people will eventually hear about it. I can only imagine the Wicked Witch’s shock when she hears that the insignificant chick Freddy’s been hanging out with is actually the oldest person on the planet.

In reality, I have no choice but to be honest with the Cradle. The moment we link, they will know there’s something unusual about Umara. Also, the way I introduce her is designed to give the kids confidence.

“Umara has fought the Telar for thousands of years. She’s the one who supplied us with the blood we’re using to lock onto their oldest members. She’s had centuries of experience with Links. We’re going to need that experience this time around. More important she’s the strongest natural psychic on earth. In a single stroke, she’ll double our power.”

For the most part, the kids, on both floors, mutter their approval. But Lark has to stand and take the floor. He has changed his clothes and wiped away his blood but he’s still looking shaky.

“Everything Alisa says sounds impressive. But she fails to mention several important points. Umara isn’t a member of the Cradle. She hasn’t been initiated. She hasn’t made a sacrifice to the powers who stand behind us. Even you, Alisa, didn’t try to avoid these requirements. Surely Umara can’t be treated any differently.”

Before I can answer, Umara stands and speaks in a strong voice. “I’m ready to abide by your initiation requirements. Let’s begin and I’ll offer you a sacrifice none of you will forget.”

The lights are dimmed, the candle is lit, the prayers are intoned. The power in the room is immense and we have hardly begun. With Umara on my left instead of Lark, and Shanti sitting out of sight in the room directly above, I feel almost no head pressure. Nevertheless, the room begins to spin as the etheric tornado enters and I feel the usual separation from my body. I am still a little dizzy when Lark stops and demands that Umara provide a blood sample of the person she intends to offer to the Familiars.

I have to struggle to open my eyes.

“How innocent does my victim have to be?” Umara asks.

Lark snickers. “Not as innocent as Alisa’s victim.”

Umara plays dumb. “Excuse me, what does that mean?”

“No one is truly innocent,” Lark says impatiently. “Give the person’s blood to Jolie and let’s continue.”

“As you wish.” Suddenly twisting her left hand counterclockwise, Umara snaps Lark’s wrist so violently that his bone pierces his skin. With her other hand, she makes a fist and strikes him on top of the head, stunning him, probably with the intention of keeping him in place. Reaching past me to Jolie, she gives the girl a healthy sample of Lark’s blood. The little girl licks it off Umara’s hand and holds it in her mouth. Umara looks to me as if to say, You better take over.

I’m still reeling from the brilliance of Umara’s choice.

Although Lark believed that he led the Cradle, it was obvious he was a cocky bastard with no friends. Furthermore, his refusal to obey my simple instruction during our last attack led to the most painful blow the Cradle had ever suffered. As the children settle down and prepare for the final battle, I don’t sense a single thread of regret or sympathy in either room.

“Now let’s close our eyes and join hands,” I say.

I repeat the original invocation and then concentrate on the three key phrases. “Enter us now and forever so that we may do thy will. We invoke the power that destroys. For we are one with thy power.”

Soon I’m repeating them in my mind.

Yet I manage to say aloud one last line.

“We invoke the power that destroys against Lark.”

The pressure at the back of my skull suddenly arrives. I feel myself sucked straight up through a tiny hole at the top of my head. I have popped out of my body. I see us sitting below. My eyes are tightly shut but I see the Familiars standing behind the kids. I don’t perceive one behind Umara, however, and when I try to catch a glimpse of my own, my vision grows cloudy.

Lark stirs to life as the might of the Cradle focuses on him. It’s as if he’s suddenly covered with bees or wasps because he begins to fight them off. But there’s nothing there and I’m confused because I have not given the Cradle a suggestion as to how to attack him.

Then I realize no direction is necessary. Lark has murdered so many, his own mind is fully capable of inventing a nightmare worse than any of us could supply. His subconscious provides the form his death will take, the Cradle merely supplies the electricity.

Red welts appear on his face and he screams.

The rest of the kids don’t seem to mind.

They act like they welcome the sacrifice.

Poor Lark. He definitely wasn’t popular.

It takes a while for him to die. It’s not a pretty sight.

Still, I don’t see a Familiar appear behind Umara.

With that business out of the way, I instruct the Cradle to pick up the vials that contain the diluted blood of the remaining members of the Source. There are eight different samples in our individual vials and I’m not surprised when its touch transports us across land and sea to a lifeless desert burning beneath a blazing sun.

Egypt. This is where it all began.

But where is the Nile? Where are the pyramids?

From Umara, I know the Telar started beside the great river.

Then I understand. The Nile has shifted drastically over the last twelve thousand years. We’re above the spot where Umara’s culture truly began. The pyramids of her youth are buried beneath the sand and it is to the last of those ancient monuments that Haru has gathered the remains of the Source.

The temple stands atop a rugged hill, a collection of broken pillars and slabs of marble and baked clay. At first glance it’s not very impressive, but then I realize what we are seeing is like the tip of an iceberg. Beneath the scattered ruins is a complex maze of tunnels and halls.

As a group, we plunge deeper into the ruins. I send out a mental message to the kids that Umara will know where to go even if we do not, and my faith in her is not unfounded. Soon we reach our goal, a vast black chamber whose dimensions cannot accurately be fathomed because the light cast by the Telar’s burning candles is too feeble. Immediately I sense this is where the Familiars were originally invoked by human beings.

We see Haru and seven other members of the Source. They sit on a dirt floor around a stone circle, their eyes closed. They appear to be aware of our arrival. Yet I don’t pick up any fear, which worries me.

Are they that confident in their Link?

There’s a stone seat at the head of the table. At first glance it appears unoccupied but then I see a glowing red figure. As it takes on shape and definition, I glimpse other similar figures standing behind Haru and his people. These Familiars are unlike any I’ve ever seen before.

They look more like human beings.

People who have been to hell and back.

Their skin is dark and crusty with roasted flesh. Their eyes shine red with hatred. Their every movement seems pained, yet a fire burns in them that cannot be easily extinguished. Except for the one who sits alone, they keep their palms on the shoulders of Haru and his people.

Bolts of flame continually flare above them.

That is their shield, the ultimate product of their Link.

I know without testing it that it’s impenetrable.

My despair in that instant is a terrible thing. To have come so far and to be stopped. My feeling of hopelessness leaves me wide open. At least to the one person in the Cradle I care about.

“Sita,” Umara says in my mind.

“I assume you see what I see.”

“Yes. I notice you haven’t given the order to strike.”

“I fear what will follow. Hundreds of gushing nosebleeds.”

“You’re wise to wait. The Source has forgotten much. How it began. How it gained immortality. How it was once mortal. But they have never lost the power to link. That’s how Haru and the others have managed to stay in control.”

“I can’t leave here without putting up a fight.”

“I know. We’re committed. If we flee they’ll attack.”

“Who sits at the head of the table? He doesn’t look human.”

“Maybe not now. But he was long ago. That’s Hatram.”

“The one who raped you?”

“Yes. The father of Haru.”

“That means we hold his blood as well.”

“In a sense.”

“He appears to wield the fire. Or is that my imagination?”

“He’s very powerful. He controls the fires of hell.”

“Is he really from hell?”

“Of course. Upon death, he was taken to where he belongs. Now he is a demon from the deep.”

“Has he risen because you’re here?”

“Perhaps. He died hating me, and wanting me. You might have had more luck today without my company.”

“We need more than luck. We’re not going to destroy the Source unless we get through his flames. There must be a way.”

Umara is a long time answering.

“There’s only one way.”

“How?”

“You must find his master.”

“Are you talking about . . .” I don’t want to finish.

“Yes.”

Now it is my turn to hesitate. “How do I find him?”

“The same way anyone does. You die.”

“Die? Is that a joke?”

“It would be for anyone else. But not for you.”

“Because I have already died.”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t go to hell. I was sure I went to Krishna.”

“Do you remember seeing Krishna?”

“No! That’s my problem. I can’t remember what happened.”

“You blocked it out.”

I freeze. “Are you saying I blocked it out because I couldn’t bear what I saw?”

“It’s time to go back, Sita. Time to remember.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“Die.”

“No.” I feel dizzy and I have no body. “Stop saying that.”

“You’ve died twice already. You can die a third time.”

“I don’t want to. I’m . . .”

I’m afraid. That’s why I can’t remember.

Suddenly there’s something wrong with my vision. I can’t see the Source anymore, not Haru, or the demons standing around them, not even Hatram. All I can see are the flames, growing brighter and hotter. I don’t know if I’ve dropped toward them or they’ve risen to catch me.

I don’t suppose it matters.

I feel myself burning. I feel myself dying.