Lyk recited it from memory:
“The Raven chases the piece that shines
The Gavor avoids the trap that binds
The Fear covets what he takes
The Artist regrets what she makes
Without the shine, there is only the dark
But will they be able to undue His mark?”
Ally leaned back, lost in thought. “You’re obviously the Raven, and you think I’m the Gavor. But who is Fear?”
Lyk considered his answer. “Dredd. The big guy who helped kidnap your sister. He’s the Seeker that can make you see your worst fear.”
“That’s what happened,” Ally whispered. “That’s why I saw Evie collapse. But it turned out to be an illusion.”
Lyk nodded. “That just leaves the Artist.”
“That’s Evie!” Ally shouted, jumping to her feet. “She’s always drawing and sketching. She’s very talented.”
At last, they were making progress. “If we follow the logic of what’s happened so far, the poem says that I was chasing the necklace, which I was, sort of. And that means that you ‘avoid the trap that binds.’” He scratched his head. “You seem to avoid any sort of binding, if that’s a metaphor for restricting your freedom.”
“Stupid poems with their stupid metaphors,” Ally grumbled. “Why can’t they just come out and say what they mean?!”
Lyk shared her frustration in this instance. “The next line is about Fear coveting what he takes. Do you think this means Dredd is going to try and claim the necklace for himself?”
Ally shrugged. “I don’t know what good it would do him or any of the demons.”
“And the next line is that your sister regrets what she makes. Has she made anything lately? Drawn anything of consequence?”
Ally shook her head. “She just sketches little things, random drawings of everyday life. I don’t know why she’d regret drawing them.”
Lyk sat, his excitement starting to fade. “It still makes no sense.”
Ally stared at the viewscreen. “What are we waiting for?” she asked, and he could sense that her frustration was starting to rise again.
Lyk was just about to respond, to give her some platitude to try and calm her down and teach her some patience, but before he could get a word out, the viewscreen shifted, replacing an image of outside the ship with the visage of his second-in-command. “You’re waiting for me.”
Lyk turned to the cyborg. “What’s going on, Celdrake? Have you readied the men for landing on Vartik yet?”
The cyborg shook his head. “No need. We aren’t going to Vartik.”
“What do you mean?” A chill flashed over his nerve endings.
“We’re about to break away from the rest of the fleet and haul ass back to the wormhole. They won’t know which exit we took, and we’ll find a way to maximize this information, likely by selling it to the highest bidder.” The cyborg laughed, causing a couple members of the crew who were visible behind him to chuckle as well.
“Very funny, Celdrake.”
“I’m not joking, Captain. Or should I say Vartik King?” He spit out the last two words. “All this time, we thought you were like us. Coming from nothing, making something out of yourself, living life on your own terms. But no, it turns out you were just running away from a mean daddy.”
“You son of a bitch,” Lyk spit, approaching the viewscreen. “That’s my ship and my crew.”
“What do you care? You can always buy a new ship and a new crew. Your family rules an entire planet of super beings apparently.” The depth of his bitterness was shocking. “Some of us have to beg, steal, and kill to get the kind of abilities you were born with.”
Celdrake indicated his own body, scowling as he continued. “Do you know how many surgeries it took? How many credits? How many days spent in pain while I adjusted to each new addition?”
