Of Fire and Night - Kevin J. Anderson [64]
Unless he could find the treeling that he sensed like the barest whisper at the edge of his imagination.
In telink, Kolker could always hear myriad voices in his head, a reassuring tapestry of minds and information, filled with thoughts the verdani had developed over thousands of years. He could exchange news with his fellow green priests, wherever they might be; even isolated aboard a cloud harvester, he had not been lonely. Kolker had never imagined he could lose it all. The touch of the worldtrees was infinitely far away. But if he could locate that treeling, he could restore contact, and his life would blossom again!
Sullivan Gold was concerned about Kolker's depression. "If it's within my power, I'll get us out of here. You know I'm trying." The facility manager's face sported gray beard stubble around his forced optimistic smile.
Kolker gave a sullen nod. Making Sullivan understand the loss of his connection to the verdani was like explaining to a man born blind the pain of never again seeing colors.
Sullivan went back to grumbling. "There's not even anything to read! Sure, parts of the Saga of Seven Suns are translated, but I don't enjoy heroic folktales about a race that stabbed us in the back." He picked up an Ildiran writing stylus and a thin sheet of diamondfilm to write another letter to his wife. Lydia was Sullivan's worldforest. He needed to share his experiences with her, even if the messages never found their way home.
A visitor appeared at the door--an old Ildiran with wattled, sagging skin even more grayish than that of most other kithmen. The man's thin limbs were like dry reeds; his head shook with a faint metronome of palsy. Finely spun robes hung like a tent over his fragile body. He was stooped, his hands extended forward as if ready to catch his balance should he fall. Frills of wispy gray hair dangled down from his high temples, covering the small streamlined ears. His brow seemed permanently furrowed as if in deep concentration.
"My name is Tery'l." The old man lifted a lovely reflective medallion at his throat; its circular face was etched with an interlinked design of circles and stylized solar symbols. "I am a lens kithman. Might I speak with your green priest? I think we may have some things in common."
"Things in common? You are held captive as well?" Kolker intentionally misunderstood. "You are cut off from the very thing that gives your life meaning, like I am?"
He had hoped the ancient lens kithman would bridle, but Tery'l only gave a placid shake of his head. "Lens kithmen are shepherds of the thism. It occurred to me that our bond might be similar to the link between green priests and the worldtrees. I would like to tell you about the Lightsource and the soul-threads that join us all. Perhaps they are manifestations of the same fabric that binds life and the universe."
Offended, Kolker stood up. "There are no similarities."
Sullivan intercepted Tery'l, also angry. "So now the Mage-Imperator sends missionaries to us? Are you trying to convert us into honorary Ildirans?"
The old man was befuddled. "No, that is not possible. Only our people belong to the thism web."
"Let me get this straight. You come here to spout your religion, and then tell us we can't possibly belong?"
"I was simply curious about your green priest." Tery'l fingered his reflective medallion. "I thought we would share an interesting discussion."
Kolker stepped through the door and past the lens kithman without a backward glance. He had no interest in comparisons between telink and thism.
As he strode away, easily outpacing the old man, Kolker felt as if he were walking down the gullet of a rainbow. Aimlessly, he passed fountains, waterfalls, crystal sculptures. Here inside the enormous Prism