Pathways - Jeri Taylor [230]
No sooner had he made that decision than the ground beneath him trembled slightly. It was a mild quiver, nothing more, and though he paused for a full minute after that, uncertain whether to proceed, there was nothing more. He stepped forward once again, his eyes trained on T’Khut, which seemed to foam in the dark sky, fiery volcanoes spewing fire. He felt it was appropriate that T’Khut be visible on this, the last leg of his journey; it brought his pilgrimage full circle.
The ground shuddered again, this time more emphatically, and the sands shifted uneasily beneath his feet. Tuvok stopped, recognizing the tremor as a small earthquake. What other phenomenon of nature would this barren wasteland produce for him? Drought, wind, rainstorm, and now temblors. He glanced up at Seleya, as though its snowy summit might suddenly erupt with volcanic activity.
Another quake, and Tuvok half crouched, unable to keep his balance on the moving sand. He realized with some disquiet that there was no solidity, no permanence to sand; it was quite possibly the worst place to be during a series of earthquakes. If the tremors became violent enough, great sinkholes could develop, yawning chasms which could suck him into their depths and bury him beneath thousands of kilograms of sand. He looked for the sehlat and saw it standing, frozen and alert, dark fur standing on end.
Now the ground was shaking violently, and he fell to it, unable to keep his balance. He spread his arms and legs wide, to reduce the risk of his being swallowed by the now heaving sand. A great roar ensued, a sound that reminded him of the fierce howl of the Winds, but infinitely lower, deeper, as though a thousand tympanums were resonating. The rocking of the earth was now violent, and for perhaps the dozenth time since he began his journey, Tuvok anticipated his demise.
Then a strange darkness descended and the frenzied vibrations subsided. Tuvok dared to look up from his spread-eagled position on the now quiet sands.
T’Khut had disappeared, as had Seleya.
Confusion clawed at his mind. The earthquakes might have toppled Seleya, but how could they have affected T’Khut, who sailed majestically in orbit, unassailable by planet-based temblors?
Gingerly, he came to his hands and knees, looking upward, searching for an answer to this latest mystery. He saw only darkness above him.
And then the darkness spoke. With a searing assault, images invaded his mind, tumbling, overwhelming, drowning him in visions. He gasped from the impact of it, and then drew desperate, ragged breaths of air into suddenly oxygen-starved lungs. He saw sights he could not have imagined, strange, swirling worlds awash in color and blood, songs that he saw rather than heard, except that he heard them too, a cacophony of dissonant melodies, exotic and overpowering.
Then, with startling clarity, he understood what was happening, and he stared up at the Underlier which had risen from beneath the sands, its immensity blocking the night sky and obliterating the sight of Seleya and T’Khut. Its huge mass arched above him, gargantuan, and in its roar was contained the knowledge of the ages. Into Tuvok’s head vaulted images of enormous scope: he saw the births and deaths of civilizations, he witnessed the great events of history on every settled planet; he was both an observer and a participant in the great battles of all time, from the ancient to the future; he created poetry and music and lived a million lifetimes, until he was a witness to the end of the universe, the entropy that consumed everything in the great heat death, and then he saw the form of the Other and knew he was able to grasp infinite truth, it was just beyond him, a fingertip away . . .
. . . and then with stunning intensity he possessed it: the answers to all questions ever asked, the revelation of the wisdom of the universe, the secrets of starbirth, insight into the infinite. It was a glorious, dazzling, joyous sensation,