Rainbows and Portals

by Elaina J Davidson

  Augin chose not to respond.

  Torrullin barked a laugh. “Very tactful, my friend.” He lifted his sword, pointing it in his direction. “Four behind you.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

  Augin swore under his breath and whirled around. Four forest creatures, dark skin slightly green, black eyes slanted downward, noses small but spread, leered at him from crouched position, two-digit hands lifted into claws, sharp teeth exposed in silent snarls. Gods. The first and second went down via daggers - he always had a blade in each boot - and the third had his teeth knocked out before he even had opportunity to look down upon his fallen companions. The fourth rushed forward and took a hit in the jaw that laid him out cold.

  Swift they were, but small and easily knocked about.

  Torrullin whistled. “Nice. Palace Guard, indeed.”

  Augin, his breathing even, said, “These are of the Shadof wild ones, not to be messed with. What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing. That would be the point. The only expectation here, from anyone, is how long can one survive. Black and white, life and death. That’s why their goddamn life-wheels are so sought after.” Torrullin closed in and clasped his shoulder. “Let us find the most famous of the flame-wrights … and force upon him or her a change of heart. Are you with me?”

  A brother-in-arms to a Vallorin, one who seemed more than a little like to the legendary Vannis, a warmonger if ever there was one? Augin nodded. He would not miss this for anything.

  Torrullin grinned, and together they forged a path through the forest.

  PENDULIM

  2

  IT WAS TRUE DARK when they halted in a disused clearing where old cobbled stone formed the floor and a low, crumbling wall marked the boundary between what was and what is. A blackened circle of earth revealed the sight of a fire pit … or perhaps it was once the site of an anvil for a blacksmith’s hammer. On Pendulim, a blacksmith was likely a flame-wright also. Few kept the arts separate; few could.

  “A good place to sleep,” Augin said.

  Torrullin nodded and collected kindling - a sorcerous fire required initial solidity to start - which he dumped unceremoniously into the fire pit. A snap of his fingers, and the resultant blaze was bright. Giant shadows flickered over the trees beyond the wall, an ancient dance of light and dark.

  “Your mood’s changed,” Augin said, staring at the fair man.

  “It will change often as I try and cope with utter change.” Torrullin glared at him. “If that concerns you, you’re welcome to leave.”

  Augin lifted his hands eloquently, and walked back to where he had earlier seen stumps lying toppled. He dragged two closer, cursing over the effort expended, and deposited them on either side of the fire.

  All the while Torrullin stared at him.

  “You can see to food,” Augin snapped, and sat.

  A low chuckle sounded. “Seems your moods can change also.”

  “Ha. Clever. What now?”

  Never would he have considered speaking to his Vallorin in this manner and, had anyone pointed it out to him, he would be aghast that he dared. Torrullin, however, was less Vallorin than man right now. An angry man. And they were far from Valleur territory and expectations.

  “We eat. And then we sleep.”

  Torrullin lowered onto the other stump and waved a hand over the stones alongside his perch. Moments later a basket of fruit and a flagon of wine appeared. He reached down and grabbed an apple. After tossing it to Augin, he lifted the wine to his mouth and drank deep.

  “By the way, one of our assailants of earlier lurks in the shadows.”

  Augin stared at him … and bit into the apple. Chewing, he said, “He’s harmless. Why are you really doing this?”

  Silence, and then, “If there is a real answer to that, I can only tell you after I find it. Part of it lies in the Dragon and Destroyer, and what is what as far as that goes. To get to the point of a true revelation, I need do something worthy of finding said answer … such as slaying a sick bastard or disavowing a claim to the Dome of my father. But,” and Torrullin scowled at Augin, “I need rely now on wits, guts, instinct and actual physical action and attributes. If you cannot deal with it, you do know how to get away from here.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “And why, pray, are you doing this?”

  Augin offered a shrug. “Perhaps because this is something a man can grasp. What happened on Ardosia was huge, what’s happening to Valaris is as out of all proportion, and the Valleur in the Far Reaches still grapple with the great matters … when so little is controllable.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t even know why I chose Pendulim and the Shadof from the proverbial hat. The real reason.”

  Augin glared at him. “You. I’m here because you are.”

  “Why?”

  “Seems you need someone to see all sides. I think maybe being who you are must be an extraordinarily lonely way of life, and that maybe knowing someone understands, that someone will listen when you rail at the fates …”

  Torrullin held a hand up, grey eyes glittering in the firelight. “That kind of sharing will never come easy to me. I thank you for the sentiment, but know you may fail in your noble quest. Let us take it day by day.”

  “I can deal with that.”

  They grinned at each other.

  “Now eat. And let’s see between us what we know of the Shadof.”

  “SHADOF DERIVES FROM SHADOW,” Augin said. “I assume their race name has something to do with the shadows that result from flame?”

  “No, it’s simpler. Fire came only later, long after naming. Forest dwellers walk in planes of shade, therefore walkers of shadows - the Shadof.”

  “How long have they been here?”

  “Almost as long as the Sagorin on Glorium. Some even draw parallels, saying the Sagorin and Shadof have a common ancestor. Both have green pigmented skin, but while the Sagorin are giants, the Shadof are smaller than average.”

  “Lifespan?”

  Torrullin shrugged. “Long enough, from a human viewpoint, but not long enough in a Valleur’s eyes.”

  Augin lifted an eyebrow.

  “Six, seven centuries, just short of the Sagorin mortal average. Of course, the invention of the Wheels changed all that. Details only a Shadof can fill in … we really need to find a charmsmith.” He stared into the darkness behind Augin. “Or a guide to one.”

  Augin glanced behind him and then ignored the prickly sensation of being watched. “You say the Wheels are unstable, that the Guardians won’t allow one into the Dome, particularly one that confers immortality, but why can a Shadof not be a Guardian without said Wheel?”

  “Sacred ogives.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “The Valleur think they are unique in creating objects of absolute magic, do they not? Because they didn’t consider life-wheels, ever, it doesn’t exist for them, and because they regard their sacred sites as the pinnacle of invention and genius and creativity, why would they conceive of magical doorways?” Torrullin sighed. “I am fated to see beyond Valleur sight. Never mind. The Guardian Dome is dependent on the fourteen sacred ogives, which are vaulted doorways reliant on magic. It’s a mighty symbiosis, and I frequently wonder who truly conceived of it.”

  “And the ogives would harm the Shadof?”

  “Not deliberately, but they might. Entry depends largely on mind-set and maturity, and that is gifted in longevity and strength of purpose and state of soul. The ogives, according to my father, read an entrant and if something is missing … well.”

  “And this mighty Wheel could circumvent a reading and quite possibly cause mayhem inside. I see.” Augin pulled a face. “Boring.”

  Torrullin burst out laughing. “That’s the spirit! I promise you, there is nothing boring about these devices. Stick with me, and I’ll show the why of it …” He lapsed into silence and stared into the dark again.

  Yes, the creature made choices when it decided to follow. They woul
d use that.

  PENDULIM

  3

  THE CREATURE PROVED ELUSIVE.

  Or thought he was.

  Morning dawned bright and cold in the stone floor clearing, dew on everything, even the sleeping forms beside the smoking fire.

  Augin awakened first, sitting up groggily as he rubbed moisture off his face. He froze as their situation became clear, and then shook Torrullin beside him.

  “He stole everything.”

  “What?” Torrullin stretched, turned onto his back and stared upward into blue skies. “Who stole what?”

  “Yesterday’s shadow. Took the basket and …”

  “Nothing we can’t replace. At least he didn’t slit our throats.” Torrullin sat up, glancing around.

  “Strange that,” Augin said after a moment’s thought.

  A sidelong look came his way. “We’re shielded.”

  “I know.” The Valleur stood and swung his arms for warmth. “I’m just frustrated I didn’t feel you do so.”

  Torrullin rose also. “Then you didn’t feel me lay the trap. Good. He wouldn’t have sensed one either.”

  “Trap? Gods.” Augin threaded his hands through his hair and muttered under his breath.

  “A shiny gold coin the size of a man’s fist, the kind any charmsmith would swap services for. It eases time at the forge. And our little shadow knows that and took the bait. Look; he left tracks in the dew. How kind.”

  Augin swore inaudibly. “We’re going to allow a wild thing to lead us on a merry goose chase?”

  Torrullin gave a low laugh. “Right to the gander, my friend.” He smacked Augin on the back. “The hunt begins!”

  IT WAS SAID THE FOREST dwellers discovered petrified trees in the primordial regions and were afraid. Stone trees? This was a concept as alien as the creation of vessels to cross the great waters.

  Slowly, however, the mechanism of wood to stone became known. Sediment, minerals, the march of time, and so forth. It awakened in them the need to uncover other mysterious phenomena and this, it was said, led directly to the discovery of fire … and metalwork. And that led to something more. Forging a tangible object from minerals in rock and sand via the heat of organic materials was alchemy, after all, and alchemy was a thought removed from magic.

  By the process of logic - and trial and error - and the long march of years, the Shadof stumbled into the realms of magic.

  It changed everything.

  Of course, the Shadof were not unique in their discoveries and change came to all, but they created something greater … or lesser, some say.

  The universe at large called it Shadof Wheels.

  THE TERM ‘WHEELS’ WAS misleading, and derived from the first ornaments formed - a solid circle with spokes connecting the inner curve, much like a wagon wheel, but no bigger than a curled fern leaf, worn as decoration from a fine chain around the neck.

  Present day Wheels were medallions for the most part, although a number of square and triangular charms were in circulation. Forged in gold, silver, copper, brass, pewter and combinations of, every wheel was an aspect, a charm, a gift … or curse.

  One might confer the ability to breath foul air - wonderful in the sulphurous regions below active volcanoes - another the ability to travel great distances in an instant - this was much like the transport of sorcerers elsewhere in the universe - while others gifted the means to fade into the background - even more popular, it was said, than travelling distance.

  A Wheel might confer the ability to cook well, another healing powers. Some granted talents, such as building prowess, riding skills, winemaking and so forth. Very expensive, much sought after.

  That was how it began; Wheels able to confer talents and aspects.

  Only after the second generation of wearers and wielders did the true nature of the Wheel become evident, and it was now the overwhelming reason Shadof Wheels were famous … or infamous.

  Every Wheel gifted the wearer ten years of added life-expectancy. It had even been said, a man about to succumb to a grievous wound needed only slip a Wheel over his head in order to live.

  Wars had been fought for less.

  TIME MOVED ON AND certain nuances were now clear; certain rules had been instilled.

  A Wheel required at least twenty years to fashion if it was to be truly effective, but the fashioning depleted much of the flame-wright’s life-force. If a Wheel was destroyed, whether by accident or deliberation, the flame-wright - if still alive wherever he might be - died. If a Wheel was removed from a wearer, whether by choice, accident or coercion, he paid a debt of twenty years, often aging instantly into infirmity, frequently dying immediately. A Wheel, if stolen without payment, would still confer ten added years, but the inner gift would be contrary.

  There were two acceptable means of compensation. The purchaser could either make a one-off payment - very, very expensive - or choose to sponsor a Shadof flame-wright for the twenty years of fashioning - the Wheel was thus paid for when it was finished. The flame-wrights preferred the latter method. Twenty years of sponsorship granted their families security.

  Shadof were tested at age ten for ability with magic and charms and understanding of fire and metal, and then taken into the Guild. Sponsors approached the Guild, as did buyers. The flame-wright worked in peace, anonymously, protected. It meant it could be difficult to find one if the seeker chose to circumvent the Guild.

  THE SHADOF RAN FAST and Torrullin and Augin almost lost him. In fact, they did lose him and were at a loss for some time until they noticed a host of scarlet-wing birds take to flight elsewhere in the forest. Having changed direction wordlessly, they came upon him on the bank of a small stream.

  Sprawled. Out cold.

  Spluttering laughter, Torrullin stood hands on knees over the still form. “He tripped.”

  “Thank the gods,” Augin muttered.

  “Time to change strategy,” Torrullin muttered as he straightened. “You were right. This is a wild goose chase and we have no idea where we’ll end up.”

  Augin spread his hands, vindicated.

  Their ‘guide’ groaned and rolled over onto his back. When he saw them, he hurtled to his feet and was about to dash away when Torrullin gripped his arm. An unholy babble of sound erupted from the creature’s mouth, eyes rolled back theatrically and he tugged his arm repeatedly, seeking to dislodge it. Kicking the ground hard, he then attempted to drag Torrullin with him with brute force, which he had little of. When that did not result in forward motion, he clawed at Torrullin’s fingers on his arm, the babble changing pitch. Fear to anxiety to fury.

  “Cease!” Torrullin roared.

  Dead silence. No movement.

  “Well. You understand the common tongue. There is that, at least.”

  The Shadof glared, but did not otherwise respond.

  Torrullin snapped the fingers of his free hand and held up a golden disc an instant later. “This is yours, only yours, if you lead us to wherever you’re taking the one you stole from us.” He leaned closer to stare into the creature’s eyes. “I’m going to release you now. Flee, and you won’t get further than where you lay unconscious. Stay, and you can have this.” He wiggled the medallion. “And there’s more where this comes from.” He waited a beat and then removed his hold.

  The Shadof stayed in place, eyes on the gold.

  Torrullin held it out. It was snatched away in the blink of an eye and secreted in an abdominal sac, a skin pocket that was part of Shadof anatomy.

  Augin barely controlled a guffaw. Never had he seen greed act so swiftly.

  “Where are you headed?” Torrullin asked, taking a step back and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Hemna’s Cave,” the Shadof replied. He continued to glare.

  “A flame-wright?”

  “The Champion’s hideout.”

  Torrullin flicked Augin a glance. The likelihood of being led directly to the heart of the Guardian problem seemed far off when they landed on Pendulim; the fact that t
heir guide would do so smacked of chance too large for it to be mere coincidence.

  “Surely the Champion already has his life-wheel?”

  The Shadof’s eyelids flickered and his mouth set into a thin and uncompromising line of stubbornness. Clearly he would avoid answering with everything he possessed.

  “Something’s off-kilter,” Augin said.

  “Definitely. What’s your name, Shadof?”

  He glared some more and then said, as if the word was pulled from his soul entirely against his will, “Efur.”

  Silence.

  “Efur means prophet.”

  A sudden new babble of sound erupted, this time sounding astonished, with much arm-waving, and then the Shadof kneeled and covered his face with his strange two-digit hands. “You are the Enchanter,” he said hoarsely and froze in that position.

  Torrullin blinked, once. And then, to Augin, “What is this?”

  PENDULIM

  4

  TREES LIVED LONG, the silent and unmoving witnesses to time and events. Shadof soothsayers harked to this glorious state millennia ago, according to Efur. All Shadof who lived in the forests were soothsayers. Charmsmiths and flame-wrights chose mountainous regions and all other Shadof lived in great cities, including the all-powerful Fire Guild.

  “They control all Wheels, from inception to ownership, and know where every Wheel is no matter how far a wearer has taken it.” Efur shrugged in the firelight. “There are other Guilds, but Fire controls them also.”

  “You speak as if charmsmiths and flame-wrights are separate talents,” Augin said.

  “Because they are. The flame-wright creates the spark within the Wheel while the charmsmith creates the actual aspect. Charmsmiths know the lore of magic.”

  “Every Wheel, therefore, requires both,” Torrullin murmured.

  Efur stared over the flames at him. “And a soothsayer.”