The universe is populated and many worlds
are far-flung, forgotten. Until the day Gabryl, a man both alive and dead, his
body reposing in a sarcophagus, his spirit roaming as a shifting being, bellows
a call to arms. Eurue, as world and civilisation, after ages of isolation, will
now step into the ultimate arena.
Petunya
Frond
Northern
Coast
THE TWO
Centuar maintained their
humanoid guise for reconnaissance on Petunya’s southern continent. While their
usual forms would eat up distance, it didn’t allow for proper scrutiny of the
situation.
Assint and Mahler arrived where birdsong had
the upper hand. Despite the harmonies, never had a place felt so empty. Everywhere there was sign of
habitation, but no people. In this type of cold one expected to see smoke
rising from chimneys, but the air was dead and still.
“One plus about these daetal is that they
don’t leave bodies behind,” Assint grimaced. “This would be worse if we had to
stumble over the dead.”
Mahler nodded.
They walked inland. Most fields were fallow
for winter, ploughed, and sporting a thin layer of green, the winter wildflower
seeds that had sprouted before proper cold set in. Orchards awaited pruning
time, their branches leafless.
The farms were large, with only the occasional
house and barn dotting the landscape. It was agricultural territory,
fortunately. No animals were in sight. If it had been about husbandry, animals
would now be penned for winter, and that was a terrible state to contemplate.
Those animals would now be starving without their minders to feed them while
indoors.
“Maybe the daetal ate the animals,” Mahler
muttered after a few hours.
“Maybe,” Assint whispered.
There was no sign of even a dog, never mind a
fox or boar or something.
“Horrific,” Mahler said.
“Shut up.”
Eventually they came to a cluster of
buildings. It had to be what passed for a town or gathering centre, because
saddles were on display in one window, preserves in another. A small outdoor
area contained multiple tables and chairs, under a pergola. A vine clambered
the structure, as leafless as the trees surrounding the village.
The two Centuar investigated every building,
but found no signs of life. They moved on.
“We’re wasting our time,” Assint eventually
said.
“We need to sniff out the presence of life,”
Mahler agreed.
Glancing at each other, they shifted into
their Centuar forms.
And galloped through the landscape, swift as
the wind.
Southern
Frond
KILA, a farmer’s daughter in another life, paled markedly. She
and Prima had arrived in a stable to find a skeletal horse barely clinging to
life, and the affront of that nearly
undid her.
Prima was as horrified, but he clamped it
down, and moved to the poor animal, and swiftly put it out of its misery.
She sobbed, once, and then squared her
shoulders to exit the stable. Outside, nothing moved. When Prima joined her,
she said, “I aim to kill them … slowly.”
Prima was grim. “And I aim to help you do so.”
Together, of like mind, they set out.
IT WAS
A fertile land, and it was also a goddamned wasteland. Nothing
warm-blooded lived, anywhere. Trees were mute accusers. As midday approached,
having been through two villages, they rested alongside a fast-flowing river.
“I need to do
something,” Kila muttered.
Looking around, Prima agreed. “I am of the
opinion that these daetal keep Tristan and Alusin hostage somewhere. They no
longer roam the countryside, because, well …”
“… there is nothing left.”
“Precisely. I am also of the opinion that we
will find nothing to shed light on the conundrum we face in this aimless
wander.”
Kila’s red tresses swung his way. “What are
you saying?”
“We meet up with Assint and Mahler and
together bloody find Tristan and Alusin.” Prima never swore; he had clearly
reached a point where action, whatever the cost, was better than simply
walking.
“While I agree with you, shouldn’t we inform
Belun first?”
Prima was silent a time, thinking about that.
“I am of the opinion Belun is too protective of his brothers.”
Kila licked her lips. “He can, um, neigh
pretty loudly if crossed.”
Prima snorted. “You should have heard
Torrullin in the old days. Now that
scared me.”
Laughing, Kila stood. “Let’s do this.”
THE UNIVERSE IS populated, and many worlds are far-flung,
forgotten. Until the day Gabryl, a man both alive and dead, his body reposing
in a sarcophagus, his spirit roaming as a shifting being, bellows a call to
arms. Eurue, as world and civilisation, after ages of isolation, will now step
into the ultimate arena.
Meanwhile, as the spaces become frantic, a woman in a turret somewhere, elsewhere, plans her revenge. The schism between what went before and the reality of the present presents to her the power to control the fate of all.
It took a while to get this one out there, but EURUE is finally available 🏆💝
When I put EURUE up for narration, I'd decided to go with a different accent, rather than a 'proper' English one because a Forgotten World needed something 'other', in my opinion. so, I am beyond pleased that Chiquito came along!
Do have a listen 🎧
Now in the review and fixing stage! My narrator had a voice issue after an illness, which is why book 1 of Ancient Terra is a bit late, but we're getting there now - should be ready in a week or two :)
The universe is populated and many worlds are far-flung,
forgotten. Until the day Gabryl, a man both alive and dead, his body reposing
in a sarcophagus, his spirit roaming as a shifting being, bellows a call to
arms. Eurue, as world and civilisation, after ages of isolation, will now step
into the ultimate arena.
Who is the true enemy?
Meanwhile, as the spaces become frantic, a woman in a turret somewhere, elsewhere, plans her revenge. The schism between what went before and the reality of the present presents to her the power to control the fate of all.
Who will stop her?
CHAPTER 10
Old
books are a treasure.
Old
books are also outdated.
~ Tattle ~
Titania’s Library
TITANIA hosted the largest and most comprehensive collection of knowledge in the universe. The library claimed to have at least one copy of everything. The world itself was a strange one, filled with sponges, its atmosphere somewhat metallic, the heavens in hues from saffron to sickly green, but the library was state-of-the-art modernity. As time moved on, so did the monumental building refurbish, especially regarding technology and vehicles.
Tiny electric smart cars fetched patrons from
the entrance to whoosh them off to the required destination. The floor expanse
was astronomical; to walk to a particular shelf for a particular book could
literally take a week. Apparently, not so long ago, the library’s authorities
tested hovercraft amid the aisles, but that led to accidents, shelves toppled
into chaos, and thereafter the smart cars returned. Grounded, they caused less
mayhem.
Chaim and Jimini entered via the sliding doors
and found long lines already in place. Light filtered through the creepers
adorning the massive conservatory-like antechamber. Fifty men and women of
various ages, cultures and races manned stations at a long glass counter -
therefore the lines. To find something in this library meant asking for help.
Evidently, the database here was the largest in the universe as well. Jimini
groaned.
“Patience is a virtue, my dear,” Chaim
murmured, steering her to a line at random.
She bit back a retort.
A young security guard approached to touch
Chaim on his shoulder. “Sir?”
“How may I help you, young man?”
“Sir, you are Chaim of the Kaval?”
“I am, and this is Jimini of the Kaval.”
“Welcome to Titania,” the young man smiled,
and returned his attention to Chaim. “I have been instructed to escort you to a
facility on the second level. Someone waits to meet you.”
“May I enquire as to his or her name?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
The young man appeared apologetic, but Jimini
knew from previous experience that security here was no laughing matter. They
would be ousted from these precincts unless they complied. As Kaval they would
be allowed back in, with apologies, but the ousting would come first.
“Lead the way,” she murmured.
“I have no instructions regarding your person,
unfortunately.”
“Jimini is with me,” Chaim stated.
“Bloody ask your mystery man,” she snapped.
The young man nodded, and touched his ear.
Clearly, then, the mystery was in the shape of a man, not a woman. Soon, the
guard simply turned on his heel, beckoning them to follow. They did, glancing
worriedly at each other.
An elevator whisked them up to the second
floor. Here professors, teachers, researchers, scientists, philosophers,
writers, and many others paid for time at secluded nooks to do their research
and work in silence. Most desks were occupied; the space rustled as if rippling
through a sea of rasping parchment. To the left, ornate doors were spaced into
infinitum. These were the private offices of resident experts, and also
conference facilities. A fair number were rented out to wealthy clients, while
some were for interviewing potential donors … or criminals. According to
Galarth and Shenendo, regular visitors to Titania, despite the level of
security at the complex, theft happened. Some of the works in these hallowed
halls were worth a fortune and unscrupulous collectors were prepared to pay.
The guard led them to a single door at least a
sal from the elevator bank. Silent as the smart cars were, they were not
permitted on this level. Jimini’s feet ached by the time the guard halted to
knock on the door, and she wondered how poor Chaim felt.
“Enter.”
The young man opened the door, stood aside
gesturing significantly, and closed the door the instant they had entered,
leaving them with their mystery man.
He smiled as he rose from behind a dark-wood
desk. Tall, with long dark hair, cold blue eyes, and a strangely moth-bitten
frock.
“It’s him,” Jimini whispered.
“Who?” Chaim said out of the side of his
mouth.
“Gabryl.”
“We don’t know that.”
“It is
him,” she insisted, and then they were in front of the desk.
“Please sit.” He waved them to the seats there.
Chaim perched cautiously, but Jimini regarded
the man in his old-fashioned clothes without moving. “I can smell other
shapeshifters,” she spat. “Who are you?”
He bowed over his hands. “As you suspect, I am
Gabryl.”
“Shapeshifter.”
“As you are? I shift, but not into shapes.
Sit, Kaval bitch, or I kill the old man right now.”
She sat. Chaim, meanwhile, studied the man
with absolute serenity. How did he do that? Despite all her time, she had not
yet mastered the art.
“You have no soul,” he murmured, cocking his
head thoughtfully. “You shift between a body long buried and a replica
resurrected form, but not as soul, as something akin to soul. You are thus both
dead and alive. How fascinating.”
Gabryl stared at the old man and then laughed.
Sitting, he leaned back to rake Chaim with a speculative look. “Impressive.
Thus far the Kaval have surprised me. I am now beyond thankful that I prepared
the battlefield before beginning this, for you have seen through me more
swiftly than I had envisioned. I do, however, have a soul; it simply isn’t with
me in this form.”
“You have Tristan and Alusin.” Jimini offered
it as a statement.
“I do, along with other hostages.”
“Why are we here?”
“You are unimportant. Chaim is the one I seek
to converse with.” He ignored Jimini. “The Kaval, having realised two of their
own are missing, will have set certain factors into motion. I may not foresee
all of those, but I did suspect you or the young genius, what’s his name? Ah,
Galarth. One of you would pay a visit to Titania, no doubt tasked with the duty
to discover more about this Gabryl.”
He gave a laconic smile.
“Here I
am,” Chaim said equably.
“Alusin proved sneakier than I thought,”
Gabryl mused. “I had a suspicion he sidestepped to the Dome, which you have now
proven in knowing my name. How insightful of me to prepare this particular
battlefield as well, in the event.”
“Is there a point you are attempting to
reach?”
Jimini could have kissed the old man. He
appeared frail, but he was stubborn and tough.
“This; if you bring the Dome into Petunya
airspace, the daetal will attach to its carapace and eat their way through.
They are, after all, immune to magic. They are also immune to the effects of
vacuum.” Gabryl leaned in menacingly. “Stay away.”
“Anything else?” Chaim asked. Not a muscle had
ticked on his face to betray his feelings.
Those cold eyes became as ice. “Search the
accounts of my life stored here all you desire. All of it is true, but none of
it will tell you the real story. Feel free to waste your time; it will keep you
busy. While you search, look up the Kemir, and then tell me who the real enemy
is.” He stood then. “Please avail yourselves to this space for your research.
You may access the database from here. I have paid well for this service.”
“Thank you,” Chaim said. Blinking, Gabryl
stared at him.
“Are you leaving?” Jimini taunted. “You’ve
said your piece, right?”
“The Kaval is not all-powerful,” he snapped.
“Beware your arrogance.”
“Take your own advice,” Jimini laughed.
After raking her with his icy gaze, he
vanished, leaving a puff of rotten smelling vapour in his wake.
Chaim sniffed. “At this very moment he is in
fact dead. He has confirmed the daetal for us, how kind of him. Jimini, go to
the Dome and tell Belun, then come back. Bring Jonas, if Belun can spare him.
We will be looking at every minute detail of this creature’s life.”
“What about the Kemir thing?”
Sighing, Chaim stood and moved to the monitor
against the far wall. “We will do that also. Go.”
She transported out, refusing to walk the long
walk again. It was against Titania’s rules, but she did not care.
Elsewhere
IT WAS not the state of matter that determined result. Gabryl’s life or death was not the issue, although they believed such. His energy mattered. She grinned sourly. Energy mattered; what a contradiction.
Her energy was more important than the state
of her body as well, and yet she wished for physical strength also. To escape
this prison, she needed everything
she was in place.
Xen III
THE LIBRARY on Titania might have copies of everything, but for weapons and their parts, the chemicals and consequences, Xen III’s military archives were where to find what one was looking for. Mercury, its uses old and current, and its availability, would be on file.
As the Kaval and Xen’s Peacekeepers had an
understanding, Fuma and Amunti swiftly gained entrance to an underground bunker
system. In the present era, Xen III had no standing army, but all Xenians
trained for a period of five years, between the ages of twenty years old and
thirty, men and women alike. This meant that Xen had access to a trained
population in the event of emergency. The archives were thus up to date.
Fuma, as ever clad in very little, led the
way. Amunti eyed him from behind, swathed in layers. “After all this time, I
still don’t get how you don’t bloody freeze.” This was on an on-going gripe,
and Fuma merely grinned.
Two soldiers currently serving their time
waited for them up ahead, and greeted the Kaval men with curiosity evident in
both pairs of eyes. Soldiers did not ask questions, though, and they therefore
presented themselves as aides. Both were young men nearing the end of their
tours and were now on easier duty. Fuma gave the reason for their visit, and
the four got to work, taking up residence in a warm office where a bank of
computers waited.
HOURS later,
all understood it had been a waste of time. Few weapons used mercury, although
a few older devices required tiny amounts for circuitry. None of the latter was
anything close to what the Kaval sought. As to availability, many worlds had a
small amount, largely as part of their scientific endeavours, but even
collecting all of it from worlds near and far-flung would result in less than a
filled wine carafe.
“Alusin’s capture does not now make sense,”
Amunti muttered.
Fuma tapped at the table. They were alone; the
young men had left to fetch refreshments. “Then Alusin is there for another
reason, while we waste our …” The Deorc straightened. “We are being kept busy.
All this is a smokescreen.”
Frowning, Amunti stared at the heap of
printouts in front of him. “This Gabryl suspects we are about to get involved
and lays a false trail.”
“Hmm, not false exactly. I think we’re simply
being too logical about it. We overlook something and he keeps us busy in order
to mask what it is he cannot afford for us to find.”
Amunti sucked at his teeth. “Dome?”
“Yes. We need to unravel this more.” Fuma
smiled. “But we eat first, what say you?” Rubbing his palms, Amunti agreed.
Higunalsier
AS AKHAVAR and Danaan twirled in isolated space, the one inhabited, the other abandoned, and as Avaelyn had orbited in far-flung ether before its vanishing act, thus was the case with Higunalsier.
If one mapped direction from Beacon, the
populated human world roughly in the centre of the well-travelled routes and
occupied territories, Akhavar lay a distant west, Avaelyn further away to the
south, Valaris east, and then, far beyond isolated Pilan, world of rainbows,
there was Higunalsier, a northern destination. The Forbidden Zone with its
collection of galaxies, among which mighty Luvanor, the Valleur world, orbited,
was closer, and one needed to find direction to it from the outer worlds. Higunalsier was thus one of a handful of
truly distant worlds.
Fortunately for Shenendo and Galarth, it was
marked on the universe chart, and they thus had no trouble in finding it. The
instant they put feet to earth there, both men knew that history had lied.
Possibly even Alusin had lied.
With ancient paving under their booted feet,
wet from spray, they looked out over a sea undulating as gentle waves lapped
upon a pristine beach to the right of them. The jetty they had landed on jutted
into the ocean, surrounded by rhythmic splashes. On the horizon the sun was
just rising, sending warm amber tendrils of light to skitter upon the water’s
unceasing motion. Across from them was a small inlet, sparsely populated with
smooth rocks as sentinels of the sea, and, beyond, mountains verdant ascended
gradually into the clouds.
It was a magnificent morning on Higunalsier.
Before them, at the very edge of the jetty, there stood a man in homespun robes
clutching a staff. Long white hair shifted in the slight breeze. He was
otherwise unmoving as he watched the sun rise. Neither man desired to interfere
with his solemn introspection, although they glanced at each other in utter
astonishment. Not only was this world wholesome and beautiful, but clearly it
was not as abandoned as the records revealed.
As the orb of life and light lifted away from
the horizon, the man bowed, and then swiftly swung about. His astonishment was
as marked. He halted immediately, facing them, his eyes shifting from one man
to the other. With the sun behind him, it was difficult to determine eye
colour.
Shenendo stepped forward. “Well met. I am …”
He stopped there, for the man frowned his confusion.
“Not common tongue,” Galarth murmured, and
spoke the same greeting in Valleur. That too elicited only mystification.
“Crap, I wish Alusin was …”
“Alusin?” the man repeated. His was a tenor,
the kind of voice people listened to.
“Do you know any Kemir?” Galarth hissed.
Shenendo snorted. “Of course bloody not.
Alusin strikes a chord, though.”
“Kemir,” the man repeated, and then waved his
arm in a gesture to encompass sea and land. “Eurue.”
“Oh, fuck, Gal, this isn’t good.”
“Tell me about it,” Galarth muttered.
Holding his hands aloft, the staff clutched in
his left, the man approached. He halted before them, and indicated to Shenendo,
a motion that spoke of … touch?
“I think he’s asking if he can touch you,”
Galarth said.
Feeling spectacularly uneasy, Shenendo nodded
and held his hand out, palm up. Amusement climbed into the man’s eyes - dark
blue, exactly Alusin’s shade - and carefully placed his fingertips on
Shenendo’s wrist, over his pulse. He lifted his hand a moment later, and
gestured to Galarth. After touching Galarth’s wrist as well, he stepped back.
“I am Savier, and you understand me now
because I have made a connection with your language centres.” He inclined his
head, studying them.
Inhaling, Shenendo said, “I am Shenendo, and
this is Galarth. We are Kaval.”
“Why are you here? Few visit our world. It is
a truth that we are far removed from both thought and proximity to others.”
“We were told this world is deserted, possibly
even uninhabitable,” Galarth said. “We did not expect to find anyone here,
never mind this …” He lifted his gaze to the wondrous ocean. “… beauty.”
Savier smiled. “You appreciate beauty. Such a
man is a good man, but why come to a world deserted?”
Galarth swiped a hand over his face, glancing
at Shenendo.
“It is about Alusin, isn’t it?” Those intense
eyes studied each in turn. “What has my brother done now?”
Nowhere
FINALLY!
She smiled and murmured something
inconsequential to her gaoler. Flicking her a glance, he moved a pawn on the
chessboard. He did not trust her apparent civility, but then she did not trust
his ostensibly good graces. His reasons for trapping her here were pure
fabrications. He was the darak force,
not her.
The universe is populated and many worlds are far-flung,
forgotten. Until the day Gabryl, a man both alive and dead, his body reposing
in a sarcophagus, his spirit roaming as a shifting being, bellows a call to
arms. Eurue, as world and civilisation, after ages of isolation, will now step
into the ultimate arena.
Tristan and Alusin of the Kaval hasten to answer the summons to where tentacled miasmas are consuming people body and soul. Savier, as Keeper of the sarcophagus, sheds light on an ancient legend. Tianoman, Vallorin of the Valleur, brings the Valleur host to Eurue, and Emperor Teighlar of Grinwallin pledges his army.
But how does one fight miasma?
Who is the true enemy?
Meanwhile, as the spaces become frantic, a woman in a turret somewhere, elsewhere, plans her revenge. The schism between what went before and the reality of the present presents to her the power to control the fate of all.
Who will stop her?
CHAPTER 1
Like white powder upon the hazy dunes, light
drifts without direction, shedding spurious glows.
~ Cullin
of Balconaru ~
Petunya
Sunrise
The
Present
ALUSIN squinted
along the path, moving his head from north to south and back.
Reverberations in the soles of his feet revealed to him someone on horseback
approached, perhaps two horses, but the trail remained clear in both
directions.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, hunkering to
touch fingertips to cold and damp gravel.
Tristan stared back the way they had come, his
shoulder length fair hair wafting in the strengthening breeze. No sign of
anyone behind them. The morning mist further obscured view. He too sensed something
on approach.
Facing north, he murmured, “Difficult to say
where it’s coming from, and this lack of decent light will aid whoever it is.”
Straightening, Alusin gestured to a nearby
copse of denuded trees. Winter’s presence was everywhere, evident in bare
branches and the renewed promise of ice by nightfall in the air currents. “I
suggest we conceal ourselves.”
Nodding, his companion moved in his
long-legged manner towards the grey boles, a hand silencing his sword against
his thigh. Metallic sounds carried in cold air. His dark green tunic and
leather breeches matched their surrounds. Alusin fell into step beside him,
tucking white hair behind his ears. He wore grey, the camouflage kind that was
both light and dark patches.
Goddamn it, a fire would be welcome right now,
he thought as he hastened for cover.
Hoof beats sounded, closing in, and they
hurried to concealment, dragging their dark, somewhat besmirched cloaks
tighter, lifting the cowls to hide their fairness.
Shadowed and in shadows, they hunkered,
scrutinising the path.
As the white sun sent its first tendrils onto
the land, two forms on horseback wandered around the far bend further along,
seemingly unhurried. Both were swathed against the cold, in the drab colours of
the region. Old woollen tunics covered burly frames, while filthy scarves
wrapped around their faces, leaving only eyes clear. What colour those orbs
were remained invisible, which had more to do with distance than subterfuge.
Fingerless gloves adorned rough hands and knee-high leather boots rested in
dull stirrups. It was difficult to tell skin colour also.
The men did not speak; they simply ambled by,
looking neither right nor left. A definite sense of tension surrounded them,
however. Unhurried was therefore not entirely relaxed. Either they chose the
slow pace to minimise noise, or they hoped their apparent unconcern would mask
them.
Eyes appeared to scrutinise every bush and
bole, the actions evident now that they were closer.
That screamed the concept fear.
What were they afraid of?
Unmoving, Tristan studied them. Alusin’s eyes
narrowed.
The horses were strong and in good health,
although the tack and saddles had seen better times. Nothing seemed amiss. Two
men on their mounts were on their way home or heading towards the labour of the
day, and yet …
Tristan covertly gave a hand signal. It is a trap.
Indeed, but a trap for who or what? Were the
two men prey or distraction? Lure or victims? No one knew he and Tristan were
in the area, other than the one who dispatched the messenger, and he or she had
not yet been informed of their arrival. In fact, they deliberately chose to
commence this journey to the meet from an added distance in order to garner a
feel for the situation, whatever that was. No
one therefore knew of their presence, and thus the trap could not be about
them.
Who, then, was meant to draw what out into the
open?
That answer was not long in coming.
BEYOND the
coppice, opposite the path, a field slumbered in winter’s guise. Vapour
tendrils lifted from the cold earth as the weak sunlight arrived. Seed pods,
summer’s husks, adorned scraggly bushes. More than morning mist arose from the
deserted field, however.
Tristan gripped Alusin’s forearm, and pointed.
The miasmas swiftly took on form.
Eight-legged - no, tentacled - creatures waddled in an ungainly yet horrifying fashion
towards the two men on horseback and, even from the distance they watched,
Tristan and Alusin discerned the dreadful hunger prevalent in the nightmare
beings. There was also the faintest sense of despair.
“Fight?” Alusin whispered.
“We have no idea what they are,” Tristan
denied him. “We watch.”
The horses were more aware of danger than the
men were. Neighs echoed through the still morning air, and one reared on hind
legs, pawing in desperation. Cursing, the men attempted to control their
suddenly skittish mounts, seemingly giving no thought to what caused the panic,
although that was more the perception of the watchers, for the men soon
screamed as loudly as their horses did, as terribly aware.
Ethereal octopi clambered over and into the
melee of horses and men.
Seconds later, nothing remained.
Not horse. Not man.
And no otherworldly miasmas either.
“What the fuck just happened?” Alusin demanded
after many minutes had passed without further sign of danger.
Tristan cautiously stood. His hands trembled
and his gaze probed every shadow. “All gods, this is why we are summoned to Petunya.”
Alusin released an explosive breath. “Have you
seen these before?”
“These, no. Something teases at the edge of my
subconscious, but right now the closest comparison I have is the Mysor from the
Forbidden Zone,” Tristan murmured. “They were real, though, according to the
stories. Massive harvestmen with eight legs, but easily dealt with. Not this.”
Standing, Alusin asked, “What do we know?”
“Belun said the summons came via a third
party. A messenger collared Jonas while he oversaw the raising of grain silos
on Lax, said there was trouble here. Wasn’t too specific.”
“I am aware of all that; what else do we know
of this place?”
Tristan gave him a sidelong grin. “Worried,
are we?”
“Damn right, I am. Those creatures were
waiting for warm blood. It could have been us that went poof. The messenger should have given proper warning.”
Nodding, Tristan stared across the field. “Our
cloaks masked our warmth, thank Aaru. What do we know? Well, Petunya is rural,
but not without allies. This world of farmers feeds many out there. I’m
guessing folk didn’t want to talk about this, for it would put trade in
jeopardy. Therefore, the single messenger and the lack of detail.”
“Or most here are dead already. This place
feels emptied.”
“Bloody hell, I hope not.” Tristan swiped at
his hair. “Someone lives, and sent an
envoy, and where have we been focusing recently? Lax. A messenger was bound to
bump into one of the Kaval at some stage, and Jonas got that prize.”
“Therefore that someone has some clout. Has to, to send a man on a space flight to
pass on a message, cryptic and less than forthcoming as it was.”
“That worries me,” Tristan frowned. “And clearly
that means no one here is able to communicate as we do across distance, or able
to transport either. Maybe those able to transport were taken first. If misty
monsters are eating the locals, they are prey wherever they are. There’s no
magic here, but what we just witnessed is sorcery.”
“This may also be an elaborate trap for the
Kaval.” Alusin moved openly yet cautiously towards the path. “Or you. If so,
someone messes with the wrong people.”
Following, hand on hilt, Tristan muttered,
“Indeed.”
JONAS revealed
that the messenger - nondescript, no accent speaking in the common
tongue - gave a location for a meeting, and requested minimal Kaval presence.
In itself that was suspicious. If murdering
miasmas with eight appendages decimated the local population, surely one would
summon the entire Kaval in?
Tristan ruminated on the situation as he
walked beside Alusin. The messenger asked for one, no more than two, when it
was already clear to him he would need his full team on site to quell whatever
this was. The man, according to Jonas, then vanished amid Lax’s populace.
Was the trap for him, Tristan, as Alusin
suggested? Even those unaware of space politics knew the Kaval engaged in
succour on Lax after massive flooding virtually drowned all crops there. If
anyone was to follow a call for aid elsewhere, it was him. His team was engaged, but he was able to answer a summons.
Anyone with half a mind would know that. He would leave his team to go on doing
what they were meant for - succour - while personally reconnoitring a potential
new threat.
“You think too much,” Alusin muttered. “Your
thoughts are bloody loud, too.”
Laughing, Tristan rebutted with, “Elianas used
to accuse Torrullin of the same.”
“We are not them.”
Tristan’s face wiped clear of all expression.
“I am well aware of that.”
He obliquely studied the man keeping pace with
him. White hair; long and straight. Alusin wore it tied in a loose knot at his
neck, bound with bleached leather, claiming his hair got in the way in a sword
fight. Vanity, of course, did not allow him to cut it shorter. Tendrils escaped
to flutter about his face. Blue eyes, a darker shade than was usual, and
exceptionally pale skin. Alusin did not tan even under the harshest sun. In
that condition, he was much like the Siric of yesteryear. Excellent bone
structure, a straight nose, proper chin, lips neither too thin nor too fleshy.
He was tall, like to the Valleur. It was a truth that he was attractive and
possessed nobility of features. Alusin absolutely reminded him of Elianas, but
Elianas was dark of colouring, while Alusin was all light.
Only an immortal heard the summons to Dome
duty, and Alusin heard it after Erin died, leaving a post vacant in the Kaval.
As an immortal, the last of his kind, he had been alone a long time before that
summons, and therefore no one needed to pay the ultimate price in order for
him, as sole survivor, to take his place on the team. He was a sorcerer and a
seer, highly skilled in weapons and fighting. Having passed the Recognition
test in the Dome, Alusin, as lumin kindred, fought with the Kaval in the
present only for the light.
This man was a brother-in-arms, a true friend,
and also his Eternal Companion. A century after Torrullin vanished with Elianas
into another realm, Tristan still could not face that particular fact.
Growling, he spat, “Concentrate on this
mission.”
Alusin sent him a look, and did not say a
word.
Together, yet apart also, they headed for the
place of meet.
Somewhere
MOSQUITOES danced on the surface of the water in the pail she had hidden in the shadows of her prison, but there were sufficient stilled sections to view events beyond her confines.
Releasing a breath, she shuffled back to the
narrow window slit.
It
has begun. At last.
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