Rainbows and Portals

by Elaina J Davidson

  Augin grinned.

  “We’ll see to our stomachs now. Pay the man first.”

  Grumbling, Efur did as bid. When he returned, he said, “He says tonight after the midnight bell.”

  “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice murmured behind them, in the common tongue.

  They turned. The potential Beaconite. Her eyes raked both Augin and Torrullin and then settled on Augin.

  “Can you help me? I need an escort to the caves.” She smiled. A very attractive woman. “I seem to have purchased too much jewellery and need protection.”

  Augin, after glancing at Torrullin, stepped forward. “Lady, I’m a stranger. Why trust me?”

  She leaned in. “You’re human. I would rather trust you than a Shadof.”

  Efur snorted, and Torrullin elbowed him.

  Augin bowed. “I am at your service.” She clapped her hands and then handed him a heavy leather bag, well secured with a host of straps and silver buckles. Augin nearly dropped it. “Gods, what’s in this?”

  “Meet us at the eating circle,” Torrullin called out as Augin hastened after the woman.

  THE GUARDS WERE AS ALERT as the time he came with Efur. Two stepped into their path as they set foot to the shallow incline into the first cave.

  “Papers.”

  The woman huffed and held hers out. “I already have an arrangement. I’m here to settle my debt.”

  The one guard nodded and waved her on. The other demanded papers from Augin.

  “He’s carrying my payment,” the woman said when Augin shrugged.

  “He cannot enter.” The guard grabbed the satchel and chased Augin away.

  “Thank you!” the woman called out, hefting her load to swiftly vanish.

  “Away!” the guard said again. “Now!”

  Augin held his hands up and retreated.

  “TWELVE VET ENTRANTS, moving continuously. Eight watch and don’t shift position. Further back the cave narrows; another eight there, four facing outward, four inward.”

  Efur dropped a heaped plate before Augin and he started eating. Torrullin’s food was pushed one side and Efur had already wolfed his down.

  “Weapons?” Torrullin asked.

  “Same as before. Only batons.”

  “They trust in their status. Not wise.”

  Efur murmured, “Folk are naturally afraid of the Guild. They need no more than status.”

  “What of sorcery?”

  Efur shook his head. “All is conferred with Wheels. I’ve never seen a guard wear one.”

  “An invisibility cloak would be perfect right now,” Torrullin muttered.

  “Papers make us invisible.”

  AT NIGHT SPOTLIGHTS sent tendrils of bright light into every shadow. The crowds swelled, most there for an evening meal. Torrullin and Augin wandered amid the food stalls, saying little. As they walked, Torrullin fingered the Wheel in his pocket and wondered what Margus was doing to Valarians.

  He wondered if Saska had stayed.

  And he wondered about his son.

  While Augin haggled for a bottle of port, he mused on the concept ‘eve of battle’. Here they were, about to enter a field not of their choosing, and instead of considering action and strategy, he thought of loved ones. It meant, logically, he fought for them, not for the great altruism that was universal peace.

  Augin held the dark bottle out. “It’s got a bite.”

  He took it, swigged … and coughed. “This isn’t port!”

  “Close enough,” Augin grinned.

  They swigged in turn, both alert to their surroundings.

  “You’re easier to be with away from Valaris,” Augin said after a while.

  “Valaris is a tough mistress right now. Here I am anonymous.”

  “Ardosia proved a tough mistress, too. Despite what’s next, I’m able to …”

  “… relax?”

  “Is that not strange?”

  “No one makes demands; it’s not strange.”

  They walked more, leaving the food stalls behind. Both halted before a sign that proclaimed ‘Hemna’s Barber: Ten sester a cut!’ Augin glanced at Torrullin.

  “It is Eve of Battle, I suppose.”

  “Right.” Augin lifted the curtain and vanished within.

  Snorting amusement, Torrullin followed.

  They emerged half hour later, hair close-cropped, clean shaven.

  Valleur traditionally shave their heads before battle; this was the Shadof equivalent. It would suffice; shaven heads would garner far too much attention.

  All amusement had vanished.

  PENDULIM

  10

  PAPERS TO HAND, each with a pouch of coins for bribes, they made their way in pre-dawn stillness to the entrance. The booths were closed and most people had retired to beds further a-field.

  The guards remained alert. Six stepped in to halt them.

  “Kind of early for consultation,” said one as he studied their papers. “The charmsmiths are asleep.”

  “Remove your weapons,” another said, his tone belligerent.

  Wordless, Torrullin drew his sword and handed it over. Augin followed suit, but said, “I expect it to be in good order when I collect.”

  The guard smirked at him.

  “You may have a long wait before a smith wakens,” the first guard said, “Go on through. The others will show you where to wait.”

  They wandered over to where the cave narrowed and were escorted through a short tunnel into an even larger space. This was filled with people, most prone and asleep on the rough cavern floor.

  “You’re 689, 690, 691. Wait for your number to be called,” one of their escort guards said. “Best idea is to sleep till then.”

  The guards left. Torrullin carefully studied the space. At least fifty inner watchers, these clad in black. Each held on to a tall length of metal. Akin to a javelin, only rounded. Blunt weapons, but bound to be effective if properly deployed.

  “This feels worse than the time I entered Margus’ den,” he said to Augin, keeping his voice low. “Then it was real purpose; this feels like stupidity.”

  It was humid and the air was unmoving, slightly stale from so many breathers. The cavern ceiling was roughly chiselled and great candelabra suspended from the shadows to a height far above the sleeping throng. Current illumination came from smaller candles in niches around the perimeter, gentler for night.

  “This is an antechamber,” Augin murmured. “The charmsmiths must be beyond those shadows.” He pointed unobtrusively.

  “Numerous smaller caves,” Efur said. “The forges are much further in and sleeping quarters beyond even that. Never seen it myself.”

  “What now?” Augin asked.

  “Pretend sleep,” Torrullin said. “We give the guards ten minutes to settle and then we move.”

  “How?” Efur was wide-eyed.

  Torrullin grinned. “They’ll be blind, that’s how. Wait for my signal.”

  Efur stared at him. “You get even stranger when you cut your hair.”

  They found a space and made themselves as comfortable as possible on the rough floor.

  TEN MINUTES LATER a watcher moaned inadvertently and immediately attempted to stifle the sound. The result was a strangled gargle and brought attention from his nearest companion.

  “What’s the matter, fool?” His words were barely delivered before he too moaned. He passed a hand before his eyes; his javelin clattered unheeded to the floor, a sound loud and intrusive.

  “I can’t see!” a watcher shouted from the opposite side of the cavern.

  And then it was pandemonium.

  Metal scraped stone, shouts and moans and questions hurtled over the sleeping throng. Swift, then, most of those awakened and added to the confusion.

  Torrullin grinned at his two companions in the darkness beyond.

  Efur slapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Follow me.”

  THE FORGES BEYOND were ablaze.

  Thirty wiry Shadof waited, each
hand clutching a Wheel.

  It brought the three intruders to a dead stop. Every Wheel was an aspect. The gods only knew what would be unleashed the instant a Wheel slipped over a head.

  But there was more.

  The Guildmaster was waiting. A tall man, clearly of mixed blood. He possessed the facial features of the Shadof, but his size bespoke either human or Yltri ancestry. Thick red hair lay curled in feminine locks upon his shoulders. Gold and silver discs glittered upon his chest. He was no doubt far older than appearances suggested. He was also well prepared and therefore well informed. How?

  “We are expected,” Augin said, his tone wry.

  Efur breathed in shallow gasps through his mouth, eyes darting everywhere.

  Torrullin’s fingers closed over the special medallion Arli had fashioned.

  “WAKE THE CHAMPION!” the Guildmaster roared, and two Shadof hastened away upon his command.

  Yes, bring him out, Torrullin thought, and stepped to the left. “Efur, go back. You have no need to be here, not for this. Augin, go right.”

  The Valleur Palace Guard nodded, but Efur shook his head. “I’m staying.”

  Silvery eyes raked him and then lifted to the tall man beyond the fires. “Suit yourself.”

  “Stand still, Torrullin Valla!”

  Did everyone know his bloody name these days? “My mother always said I have ants in my pants!” He moved further left, the medallion warm in his clasp. “We can do this without bloodshed, Guildmaster.”

  A hefty sigh followed. “I am afraid not. Someone dies here this night. The Champion’s Wheel demands it.”

  Utter silence descended.

  “Ah, did not know that, did you? It has to be death from a battle sought, unfortunately, or we would have laid a wild one out on the sacrificial table yesterday.”

  “Why yesterday?”

  “The day our Champion opened his eyes, not so? He merely sleeps as a normal man would now.”

  “How can you possibly marry this to the peace you desire in the Dome of the Guardians?”

  “Who said anything about peace?”

  Torrullin stared at him, unblinking.

  “Peace brings no riches and possesses little in the way of challenge. Who, in their sane minds, really advocates such a state of stagnancy? Not me. And for Pendulim as a whole and Shyala in particular to shine in the future we must state our claim in a universe of chaos. Chaos is opportunity.”

  “How old are you?” Torrullin asked.

  The man smiled. “Ah, yes, longevity has nuance, has it not? I am nine hundred years old and bored stiff with the Guild and its goddamned Wheels.”

  “The time rift is about immortality. Yours.”

  The Guildmaster bowed.

  “But it needs major energy and what is the Dome if not that? Clever. And flawed.”

  This time the Guildmaster was unblinking. “I do not follow.”

  Torrullin sighed ostentatiously and gestured. “May I approach?”

  The man waved casually and Torrullin stepped boldly towards the gigantic forge fires. The heat was a living wall between him and the be-locked man beyond. He came to rest as near as he dared and stood arms on hips staring into the brightness.

  “This is the energy scientists quantify as having physical presence. Sorcerers employ it to fashion the kind of energy that is cold, the kind that can be held … the kind able to travel distance with those sorcerers. The Dome is one such vessel of contained energy. As are your Wheels, although the two creations cannot ever be side-by-side; they will never be in the same league.”

  “Agreed.”

  “A clever man, one with vision and means, would see how one can place one device inside the other.” Torrullin nodded to himself, and looked up. “But the bearer needs be strong, because the burden is not small.”

  The Guildmaster inclined his head.

  “No doubt you searched long for a man strong in muscle and bone and then tested him rigorously. I wonder how many failed. I also wonder how many saw through the promise of riches to the truth; a burden that leads ultimately to death. No doubt they did not live long thereafter. Thus you searched for one who has the muscle but is also somewhat dim. Couldn’t have been so hard to find one like that - muscle-men are notoriously stupid, after all.’

  “He is not all stupid.”

  “Of course not, or he would not function as a Guardian until the timing of the event.” Torrullin shrugged. “I’m guessing your Champion is someone with issues, possibly insecurity, possibly a history of abuse, the kind you could manipulate. Muscle, some brain, and an issue that makes him clay in your hands.”

  A smile answered him.

  “However, the Guardians will see right through him. One cannot call them stupid.”

  “Factored.”

  “Ah. A Wheel with multiple facets. Unstable, Guildmaster.”

  “My name is Kronin.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I have heard you are a seer also.”

  “A small talent. I prefer relying on wits and intelligence.”

  “As do I, indeed. Results have greater meaning, then. Still, you expected us; you have seen this event.”

  Kronin’s eyes flicked to Efur, who stood dead still in the entrance to the forge cavern. “His brother foresaw it. As I said, mine is a small talent.”

  The watchers from the antechamber rushed in then, two gripping Efur, the others brandishing their javelins.

  “OUT!”

  “Guildmaster, we were blinded …” one began.

  “I’m aware of that! OUT! And take the wild one with you. Hang him from the nearest tree come morning.”

  Efur shouted and struggled and heaved and swore.

  Torrullin lifted a hand.

  The forge fires extinguished with a mighty sound.

  Everything went dark and in that dark all were blind.

  The watchers swore foully.

  Kronin hissed like the wind on plains of ice.

  Torrullin tossed a globe into the air. The muted glows lit a scene of strange movements; Shadof flame-wrights shuffling away, Shadof charmsmiths tossing Wheels into even darker shadows, watchers stumbling into their metal rods …

  Efur was not part of the movements. The little Shadof was gone.

  And Augin stood behind the Guildmaster, a javelin braced in both hands. As sight returned, he leaped forward and threw the length of metal over the man’s head, to jerk him back, mercilessly crushing his throat.

  All movement ceased.

  And then frenzy ensued.

  Shadof ran screaming from the cavern via numerous exits. Sandals slapped on stone in desperation.

  Torrullin stepped around the dead fire pits. Briefly his gaze rested on Augin and then he looked the Guildmaster squarely in the eyes. “I wager you did not see this. I bet Efur’s brother told you as little as he could get away with. It seems, friend, others are not as inclined to chaos as you are. Your minions have fled.”

  He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. In their various recesses and shadow hideouts, the abandoned Wheels flared bright.

  “You have just murdered the creators of those wheels,” Kronin gargled.

  “I have not destroyed the aspects within; they are merely inactive.”

  “You change little, Enchanter. Even if I do not know all, as you say, certain nuances have been foreseen and my death is not included in that.”

  Torrullin shrugged. “We shall soon have the truth of that, won’t we?” He raised his hand and opened his fist. A slithering sound as a chain unwound from the coils inside his palm. “And then there is this.”

  The Wheel glinted and swung ponderously, as if heavy.

  “Loads of nuance right here,” Torrullin added.

  Kronin stared at it. And then he stared at Torrullin. “There has not been sufficient time to prepare that! It is unstable!”

  Somewhere, deep within the mountain, a bell tolled. An ominous sound.

  Kronin flinched.

  “Who is unprepared now,
Guildmaster,” Torrullin asked quietly. “That is the sound of change and I don’t believe you know what to do with it.” Casually he slipped the chain over his head.

  All time seemed to freeze then.

  Absolute silence arrived, but for the suggestion of a bell’s echo.

  Torrullin jerked sideways as the Wheel thudded against his chest. His fingers became claws. “Gods!” he shouted, and bent over breathing as if fire was about to erupt from his mouth.

  In that instant of finding the strength to carry evil’s intent, massive hands erupted from the darkness behind Augin. Augin, who stared at Torrullin in fear and horror, his attention diverted from his task.

  There was no time to issue warning.

  PENDULIM

  11

  THE MAN WAS A GIANT of a race unknown to Torrullin.

  He towered over Augin and Kronin, and his hands easily encircled both necks. He jerked them apart - Augin’s stolen rod clattered to the floor - and held them with little effort. Both the Guildmaster and the Valleur were forced to stand on their toes, and eyes bulged as hands clawed at the massive fingers at their throats. The Champion stared at Torrullin.

  There was terrible pathos in those eyes. And awareness. And intelligence. As Guardian, on his terms, he would have been a huge success.

  Torrullin clutched the Wheel on his chest and traded stares. An unblemished soul, until this moment. How would he choose? If he chose murder, this damnable wheel had not been needed.

  He was a colossus. The Sagorin were a race of giants, but could not compare to this man. His skin was the colour of old bronze, as if he were indeed a sculpture animated. His face possessed the angular planes crafted by a master sculptor, a rigid skull cap suggestive of an ancient helmet. He wore armour upon his chest, of beaten copper, and plates fit snugly upon his forearms and around his massive shins. His eyes were tarnished gold.

  A great medallion glittered at his neck, a tight fit in order to rest upon exposed skin.

  “Who are you?” Torrullin managed to find his voice.

  Never had the appearance of another astonished him as much; not even the Siric - different from most norms - had affected him in this manner when he met Llettynn at the Well of Crystal Sound. The day Quilla revealed himself in the Lifesource Temple had been a day of wonder, not this gut surprise.