“We just found a column of armored chameleons heading to Alixxor,” one of the initiates exclaimed in a worried voice.
A strong roar came from the crowd. Yet, not a single tarji broke ranks; on the contrary, they tightened their lines to sustain one another.
The hologram focused on a magneto-highway leading to the city, clogged by thousands of magneto-jets abandoned on the exit lanes. The security column was riding through an acajaa crop growing along the road. Because their camouflage was activated, the trail of orange-colored juice left behind was the only clue betraying their presence.
“I don’t get it,” exclaimed Gill, puzzled. “They don’t realize they’re being followed from the air? Why isn’t anyone shooting the air-jet?”
“Gill, the Security Tower’s burning! They can’t shoot anything while their tail’s on fire!”
The speedy column approached the first circle. Are they going to ram through? the worried Antyrans from the three inhabited worlds asked themselves.
The chameleons reached the chain of bodies and apparently decided to charge through it, but the tarjis held their stance together without backing away a single inch.
“Stop, on Zhan’s eye!” they shouted, fluttering their rikanes in the air in a threatening manner. “You shall not pass!”
The vehicles arrived in front of the tarjis… and stopped.
The troops had neural inductors designed to control the motor centers of the Antyrans. At least in theory, they could order the unshielded tarjis to move out of their way if they wanted to. But the inductors remained silent, along with the other nonlethal weapons installed on the chameleons. The Shindam’s army had no intention of confronting the prophet and incurring Zhan’s wrath by hitting his sons.
“The armors stopped,” Gill sighed. “Baila won!”
He could easily tell that some of the defenders were no ordinary tarjis. Their ranks were swelled by the assassins of the “Zhan’s Children”31 coria, who were much better armed and eager to die for the prophet. But that wasn’t all. The temples brought soldiers wearing reflective exoskeletons, positioned now on the tallest buildings. They had trained and armed a whole army right under the Shindam’s tail, without arousing the slightest suspicion! How hated was the Shindam’s Council, how angry became the Antyrans with their abuses if no one jumped to rescue them, if their own army abandoned them so quickly!
The law of change… the threats hid in small changes, too small to trigger a reaction. For hundreds of years, the temples made some invisible steps; they planted myths—like the one of the red clothes. They sowed them and waited patiently to reap the benefits. After all, when did the story of the sacred garments emerge? No matter how hard he squeezed his prodigious archivist memory, he couldn’t remember any reference older than four hundred years. Baila XIV ruled on the “Meaning of Colors” during the Sixth Council of Mordavia. He sowed a seed, knowing all too well that a day would come when a whole army would be stopped by a simple color! Who knew what other things they had planted? No wonder the Shindam was annihilated so easily. The only remarkable thing was that it took them so long to do it. They wanted to be sure about the victory, and Tadeo offered them the perfect gift for that.
Everything revolved around Arghail and the secret base. If Baila could convince the Antyrans that the Shindam was guilty of “supreme heresy,” the war would end before it even began. Surely the acronte Regisulben would like to stop the tarjis from entering the buildings of the training base. Unfortunately, after the prophet’s incendiary speeches, all the Antyrans trained their eyes on the holograms of the collapsed tunnels. Baila XXI himself was holding his speeches perched in a large air-jet floating nearby.
The Shindam still controlled several holofluxes from other cities. But although the Antyrans expected a response from the council, they were quiet. What further proof was needed to convince everyone they were indeed guilty?
Inside the security base, the underground fires started to die, starved of oxygen. Here and there, waves of soot and black smoke still burst from large cracks opened in the plastoceramic tiles paving the yard, resembling the fumaroles of a volcano about to erupt.
There was a great bustle in the courtyard, which was filled with the twisted debris of the buildings destroyed by the shock wave. The initiates were carrying pieces of debris, mangled bodies, and bits of equipment while the magneto-bulldozers were clearing a path to what seemed to be a secondary fire exit.
Gill’s hearts skipped a couple of beats when he recognized the door: Baila’s agents found a way that could lead them to the Sigian skeleton crushed under the rock! He was now happy he had the precaution to take the bracelet—a few broken bones wouldn’t provide eloquent proof on the holofluxes, especially if most of the skeleton was turned into powder by the weight of the rock fallen on it…
The red air-jet carrying Baila XXI “the Great”32 drifted over the heads of the tarjis gathered around the secret base. When it stopped, the prophet rushed triumphantly onto the floating platform, his face radiating joy and certainty, the likes of which the tarjis had never seen before.
“My sons, I bring you the news you are all waiting for,” the prophet shouted through the holophone. “Our fighters have found the children of Arghail in the underground base!”
The tarjis roared so loudly they forced him to interrupt his speech.
“Soon, they’ll bring them to the surface. You have to be prepared,” Baila warned them.
Instinctively, the tarjis looked anxiously at one another to see if they were ready for the Battle of the World-Ending. They knew that as soon as the initiates brought the children of Arghail under the starlight, the corruption would touch anyone who saw them, and if they proved too weak to oppose it, they’d become slaves of the evil god for eternity.
“But before you see your enemy, I have to put you to a test,” Baila said, sighing. “Zhan left us the symbol of darkness for safekeeping. My children! I hid the heavy burden from your eyes to protect you, but from now on, I can do it no more. You may thank the Shindam for this!” he screamed.
And then, without delay, he jerked his hands up to raise a large flexi-display over his head: it was a black star with three curved rays—identical to the one painted on Gill’s bracelet. Crying out in horror, hundreds of thousands of Antyrans dropped to the ground, bowing their heads in the dust to shield their eyes. And so did the ones watching the holofluxes from the comfort of their domes. The corrupting power of the symbol was equally strong, regardless of the distance.
“Don’t hide,” shouted Baila. “It’s your burden, and you have to face it!”
They slowly raised their terrified eyes to look at the frightening symbol, whispering Zhan’s name to protect them from the terrible ordeal.
How could they find them so fast? thought Gill, stunned by the news. It defied any trace of logic.
The prophet touched his ear, listening to a hidden microphone.
“Our sons found the chariot of Arghail,” he said, laughing and in good spirits. “They also found fourteen abominations and six bracelets tainted by the touch of darkness.”
“Six bracelets?” exclaimed Gill, confused.
And then he understood. Tadeo said he found six bracelets… and one was on Gill’s arm. The prophet had no way of finding all of them! When he realized the truth, he burst into convulsive laughter until he ran out of air.
Once he regained his breath, he exclaimed, “What a stinky lie! He didn’t find anything!”
“How can you be sure about that?” Alala asked, surprised. “You know something no one else does, to say such things?”
“I was there!”
“You told me the blast got you at the surface,” she said, frowning. “At least now will you tell me what really happened?”