Story Three
NOBODY'S POKER
Prologue
HE DIDN'T OFTEN DREAM.
And right now he wasn't even asleep. But even so, it was almost a dream, almost like one of those sweet visions in the instant before waking...
A light, pure vision, almost like a child's.
Scavenging engines... broaching... key to start position.
The silvery column of the rocket shrouded in light mist.
The flames dancing under the nozzles.
Every Russian child dreams of being a cosmonaut¡ªuntil he hears that question for the tenth time: "What do you want to be, a cosmonaut?"
Some stop dreaming about outer space when they become Others.
The Twilight is more interesting than other planets. The newly discovered Power has a stronger gravitational pull than the fame of a cosmonaut.
But now he was dreaming of a rocket¡ªan absurd, old-fashioned rocket rising up into the sky.
The earth floating beneath his feet or above his head.
The thick quartz glass of the porthole.
Strange dreams for an Other, surely?
The earth... a veil of clouds... the lights of the cities... people.
Millions of them. Billions.
And him¡ªwatching them from orbit.
An Other in space... what could be more ludicrous? Except maybe for Other versus Alien. He had watched a science fiction film once¡ªand suddenly found himself thinking that now was just the right moment for brave Ripley to slip into the Twilight¡ª and then strike out and smash those unwieldy, helpless monsters.
The thought had immediately made him laugh.
There weren't any Others up there.
But space was up there. Only he hadn't realized what it was for until now.
Now he understood.
He stood there with his eyes closed, dreaming about the small earth rotating slowly under his feet.
Every child dreams of being a giant¡ªuntil he starts to wonder what the point is.
Now he knew everything.
The parts of the jigsaw all fit together.
His own destiny as an Other.
And his absurd dream about space travel.
And the thin volume bound in human skin, its pages covered with neat cursive handwriting.
He picked up the book that was lying there on the floorboards.
Opened it to the first page.
The letters had not faded. They were protected by a light but effective magic spell.
This language had not been heard on earth for a long time. It would have reminded an Indologist of Sanskrit, only not many people would have realized it was Paishachi.
But Others can read any dead language.
May the Elephant-faced One preserve you, swaying his head first up, then down, like unto Shiva, swaying up and down on the Mind! May Ganapati fill me with the sweet moisture of wisdom!
My name is Fuaran, I am a woman of the glorious city of Kanakapuri.
The Fulfiller of Desires, husband of Parvati, rewarded me generously in the days of my youth, granting me the ability to walk in the world of phantoms. While in our world a petal swirls in the air as it falls from a blossoming tree, in that world a whole day passes¡ªsuch is its nature. And a great power lies concealed in that world.
He closed the Fuaran. His heart was pounding in his chest. A great power!
A power that had fallen from a witch's hands and disappeared almost two thousand years ago.
Owned by no one, concealed even from the Others. Nobody's Power.