Fellowship & Fairydust

The priests of Yanash crowded around the infirmary bed where Simon lay while T’Prinka rested in a comfortable chair beside him. The story of their ordeal came as a complete shock, since everyone had assumed that Spock and his party were still at Baruk.

After having heard the details, Marek felt compelled to speak. Turning to Sorel, he said, “As we have not heard from Sparn or Spock, we must assume they also were captured. The words of Dekin seem to confirm this. If they are being held by the kolinahru at Gol, we must act at once.” He glanced Simon’s way. It was not his intention to frighten the boy, so he merely said, “The disciples of Rokar are not to be trusted.”

Clearly understanding the gravity of the situation, Sorel asked, “What do you propose?”

“I propose immediately contacting Rokar to inform him that T’Prinka and Simon are here. Knowing that their treachery has been exposed should make them cautious. We should not even wait for the police, but go to Gol at once—as a group, in a show of solidarity and force.” And with deep humility he added, “I am least among these priests, yet the kolinahru have been trained to view me as their ultimate authority. I understand the workings of their minds. It may be to our advantage if I assume the role of leader in their presence, but the decision rests with you, Sorel. I accept your word as from the mouth of Yanash.”

“Very well,” Sorel said. “While you call to Gol, I shall contact the police. Considering the authorities’ attitude, help may be slow in coming, and it will take additional time for them to record T’Prinka and Simon’s statements. You are right. We cannot wait.”

A moment later Marek sat facing Rokar’s image on a phone screen. The Master of Gol seemed as impervious at stone. Rather than lie, he responded to Marek’s questioning with the cool silence for which Vulcans were famous.

Marek assumed a superior air. “You forget, Rokar, that I hold the lifelong right to demand even your thoughts. No mental barrier can withstand the Grand Master of Kolinahr. I warn you, let no harm befall your guests. Keep them very well, for T’Prinka and Simon are about to file a criminal complaint. It would be most illogical for you to risk more serious charges.” In conclusion he said, “I am coming to Gol to collect my companions. Have Sparn and Spock ready.”

Ten priests transported. Led by Marek, they approached the Hall’s main doors, dwarfed beneath the towering red legs of an ancient statue. A lone guardian in ceremonial robes stood watch at the entrance.

“Stand aside,” Marek ordered.

The Vulcan inclined his shaved head respectfully and let them pass.

Beyond the doors, they entered a reception area. A kolinahru was quietly helping a visitor locate his deceased ancestor in a computer bank. The visitor would be directed to the appropriate vrekatra, where he would sit in silent veneration by the containment globe.

Before encountering Yanash, Marek had all but worshipped these depositories of Vulcan katras. He had valued emotional detachment even above logic, but now the disgust he was experiencing made him want to shout at these foolish people and awaken them to the Truth. Like all Yanashites, he was still learning how to experience positive emotion while keeping the negative at bay. This present situation called for perfect control.

Rokar and Delak arrived and graciously led them into an office furnished with Vulcan antiquities. When the door closed, Rokar inclined his head and said, “Priests of Yanash.”

Marek met his cold, empty eyes. “I told you to have Sparn and Spock ready. Where are they?”

Rokar’s expression remained bland. “I have not said they are here.”

“You have not said they are not here, Marek countered. “I have no time for your evasions.” He extended his hand in the manner of a kolinahr Master to an underling. “Rokar, give me your thoughts.”

Rokar’s chin lifted; his dark gaze narrowed to defiant slits. “I will not kneel to you, Marek of Yanash. You have betrayed the principles of kolinahr; therefore I no longer recognize your authority.”

“Then recognize God,” Marek said. “Do you not know that He is The Source of all authority and power?”

With a sweep of his arm, Rokar indicated the great complex that ran deep into the mountain. “Knowledge is the only power, and herein lies the depository of all Vulcan knowledge. You left here a great man, yet now you pledge allegiance to the very renegade you once denounced. It is you, Marek, and your dead ‘master’, who has become as nothing. Now leave.”

Marek reached beyond himself for the strength to contain his rising anger. It was not a matter of wounded pride, for he readily acknowledged that he was of little worth, but he could not bear to hear the Shiav abused.

Levelly he said, “You are corrupt, and for that you and your accomplice Dalek will be brought to your knees.”

Rokar raised a languid brow. “You weary me with your threats. I fear neither you nor the police. If in fact I were keeping your two comrades, no one would ever find them in this sensor-resistant maze.”

“You have them,” Marek said with certainty. “I give you one last opportunity to bring Sparn and Spock here. And I advise you to act quickly.”

Rokar folded his arms across his chest and gazed at him in placid rebellion.

Marek looked hard at Dalek until the former High Priest of Seleya averted his eyes.

“So be it,” Marek said, and it was as if the horrific consequences of Rokar’s disobedience had been whispered into his mind. He turned, and meeting Sorel’s eyes, found a tacit understanding.  

“So be it,” Sorel repeated. Stepping forward, he stretched out his arms and said, “In the presence of my fellow priests, I call down God’s judgment upon you and your kolinahru.”

***

Spock was standing quite close to the force field, re-examining it for some weakness that he might exploit, when the energy flow surged. The lights overhead and in the passageway flared with sudden blinding intensity.
In the next instant there was total darkness.

“Power failure!” Sparn’s voice exclaimed. “I wonder if the whole complex is down?”

“Most unlikely,” Spock said. In his years as a kolinahr initiate, he had become acquainted with the Hall’s dilithium power source and its complex backup systems. Thousands upon thousands of ancient katras depended upon the force fields servicing their globes. A moment of electrical interruption would destroy centuries of accumulated knowledge.

Yet for the first time since his arrival, Spock felt free of mental oppression. He turned his thoughts toward escape.
“Come this way,” he told Sparn. “Take my hand and we will step into the passage while the field is down.”

Sparn reached him. Using his free hand, Spock began groping his way along the stone wall of the passage. The area was not familiar to him. After only a few steps, his hand suddenly extended out into empty air. A side tunnel? A chamber? He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Like Seleya, there were miles of shafts cut into this mountain. They could wander in the dark for days and never find their way out.

Sparn began to talk. “Spock…I must ask pardon for the way I spoke to you about your son. You were right to rebuke me. My faith was weak.”

Unseen, Spock gave a knowing nod. “That is a state with which I have had some personal experience, my uncle. Tell me, have you noticed that the air seems to be growing cooler…and a bit stale? The climate controls must also be inoperative.”

“I smell something burning,” Sparn said.

Now Spock also detected a charred odor, though very faint. “It seems to be coming through this opening.”

His every instinct warned him to move away from the danger of smoke and continue along the original passage. Reaching out with his right hand, he edged along, feeling for a far rim. He had not yet found it when a light appeared directly in front of him, revealing a chamber.

A lone Vulcan wearing a white robe walked toward him, torch in hand.

Sparn crowded closer and peered at the approaching figure. “It’s him!” he exclaimed.

“Yes.” Spock barely managed a whisper. The Vulcan of his dream, the mysterious advisor, the messenger of Yanash.
The Vulcan reached them and simply said, “Come with me.”

Spock and Sparn obeyed without question. The Vulcan led them through an intersecting maze of passageways until they arrived at last in the great Hall of Ancient Thought.

Stunned, Spock stopped in his tracks and looked upon the grim scene before them. Vrekatras that had once glowed like moons, now lay charred and shrunken in their niches. Wisps of smoke drifted in the air, stirred here and there by kolinahru who rushed about holding flashlights.

“Come,” the torchbearer said firmly.

As they worked their way through the devastation, Spock found himself pitying these Hall guardians whose entire lives had been centered upon these ruined globes. What would become of them now? He thought of his beloved grandfather’s vrekatra and could not help but regret its loss.

The Vulcan guide brought them to an exit door and said, “Children of Yanash, do not be saddened by these fallen idols. You serve a greater God. Go now, into the light. Your son and your wife are well and await you on Mount Seleya.”

Greatly relieved by the news, Spock opened the door and Sparn followed him into a large room awash with portable lights. Police were in the process of arresting Rokar and Dalek while ten priests from Mount Seleya looked on. Dalek was loudly accusing the Yanashites of sabotage, but Rokar appeared to be in shock.

Sorel caught sight of Spock standing in the shadows with Sparn. Openly smiling, Sorel rushed over and was immediately followed by the others. As they embraced one another, a police officer was heard to remark, “Those Yanashites not only speak of love…they are unafraid to show it.”

“Yes…and how distasteful,” spoke his female comrade, her lip curling in disdain.

With a hand to Spock’s back, Marek urged Spock toward the main doors and said, “Come and see what else has happened.”

Spock stepped outside. The great lava god had fallen. The statue lay on the ground, broken into huge, red pieces.

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