No Turning Back

by Sharon T. Rose

  Chapter 2

  The bedraggled girl jumped quickly to the floor of the massive garage and crouched there, glancing around warily. The electrical wagon she had spent the last hour in shuddered, coughed, and fell silent behind her. Deciding that no-one was going to rush her, she stood slowly, wrapping the over-sized coat tightly around her thin body and tugging the frayed cap over her ratted hair.

  Her head whipped to left as she detected movement; her knees bent reflexively as her hands left her pockets. The brown-colored Descendant, the woman, walked up to her. Laillmen Konieton; that was her name. A stocky man followed her.

  "This is Len Geanopul," Laillmen informed the girl. "Len is one of the Temple guards. He'll show you around the Temple complex and take you to Merlene Dolay, the head chamberlain. She'll get you settled in."

  The girl nodded cautiously.

  "Be at ease, girl," Laillmen ordered firmly yet not unkindly. "You've endured a great ordeal, and we'll try to make things as gentle for you as possible. You're not a prisoner."

  The girl nodded again with slightly less caution.

  "Len will guide you now. Welcome to the Temple." Laillmen nodded to both of them and walked away.

  Len and the girl looked each other over for several minutes. He was perhaps thirty years, of medium height and thickly built, and his uniform was clean, neatly pressed, and fitted him well. A small pistol rested in a holster on his right hip, but he made no move to unbutton the flap covering it. Len's dark brown hair lay flat on his head courtesy of some styling product. He had a well-fed, well-cared-for look to him.

  The girl was small, underfed, and filthy. Her last "meal" stained the sleeves and front of her worn coat and the dark, button-down man's shirt she wore underneath. The over-sized trousers she wore hung from her middle by the tenacity of a cracked leather belt with a blackened buckle. The cuffs had been rolled up at one point, though the left one had fallen recently, revealing its shredded hem and partially covering the bare foot beneath it. Her hair color was impossible to define through the filth that caked it, as was her complexion. Her eyes, though, were hazel and seemed to burn in her face.

  Len smiled hugely. "Well, then; shall we be off?" He stepped to the side and gestured politely to her. She nodded slowly and began shuffling, still slumped into her coat.

  "By the by," Len said as they crossed the large, high-ceilinged garage, "I didn't catch your name. I don't want to call, 'Here, Girl!' like you were an animal, after all!" His easy grin drew a tiny response from the corners of the girl's mouth.

  "I'm Sylenn," she replied quietly. She couldn't place his accent from any of the places she'd roamed over the years.

  "Pretty name," Len complimented as he led her around the parked vehicles and to a set of large metal doors. "Well, Sylenn, let me give you the grand tour. This here is the garage, where we keep the big stuff. Mostly vehicles, but you can see some other things over there. I don't know what all it is; Ancients stuff. The Descendants use it sometimes, but for the most part it sits there. Most of the carriages and wagons you see here we use for moving goods: food, furniture, that sort. Temple's a big place, with a lot of people, so we need a lot of supplies. We actually grow a lot of our food; I'll show you that in a tick.

  "This here is the main lift shaft; you ever seen one before? Good, good. We're actually underground right now. I'll explain more once we get up where you can see things. We won't use this shaft; it's too big and slow. This one over here is for just people. You've been in one before? Good, good. Lots of people haven't, so I make sure to ask. Alright, in we go; you can hold the rail there if you want. Let me just flip this ... and up we go."

  The small chamber shuddered and lurched under their feet. Len balanced with the ease of practice; Sylenn balanced with animal grace as the lift hurtled upwards. As the guard continued talking, it occurred to Sylenn than while she understood his words clearly, there was something ... off about how he spoke. Or the way she heard him.

  "The garage is about two leagues underground. No-one really knows why; that's just where the Ancients built it. This whole complex dates back the beginning of the War. At least, to the beginning of the War when it came to Alluvia. Nobody knows when they actually started fighting! Anyhow, we've added on and remodeled and the like over the years, made it more homey and such. Built the farms you'll see in a tick, added housing for the staff, some halls for various things. Oh, and the fishery; we do a lot of trade in fresh fish, actually. Not that anyone out there knows it's from us, of course. Wouldn't that be a right mess? Food from the Temple? Nah, they don't know where the fish comes from, so we can sell it with no problems.

  "Alright, here we are. Watch your step, there, Sylenn; there's a girl." Len led her out of the lift and into a wide hall. A few people passed by them, each intent on some chore. One or two greeted Len as they hurried by, and one older boy gave Sylenn a cheerful wave, as well. They crossed the old, polished wood floor to a bank of windows set in the far wall, which let in brilliant sunlight. Sylenn ducked her head as they neared, letting the brim of her cap shade her face from the brilliant light. When she got to the windows and looked out, she froze. Len assumed a restful pose, hands lightly clasped behind his back.

  "That's the Temple," he informed her quietly. Perhaps she needed the confirmation.

  The sea of buildings below the windows seemed to glow in the warm sunlight. In the center of the valley stood a structure that must have been ten stories tall and built completely of snowy marble. Perfectly square, the Temple covered nearly half the available land. Its outer walls were actually columns, massive pillars five men with arms outstretched couldn't surround. Sylenn could just perceive people, dwarfed by both distance and the building, moving in its shadows.

  A wide street separated the Temple from the buildings surrounding it. These constructions were of a more normal size and design, being a modest three or fewer levels with shake-shingle roofs, white-washed walls, and shutter-flanked windows. A gentle vibration from the glass in front of Sylenn told her that this small city was alive and well.

  "So, this valley we're in is the crater of an old volcano," Len said, breaking the silence of the observation room. "Our best guess is that the Ancients wanted a protected place to put the Temple, so they redirected the lava flow from this island to the seas around it."

  Sylenn glanced sharply at Len from under the brim of her cap.

  "Heh! Yeah, the Ancients were a grand bunch, eh? Never did things by halves! So, this old volcano is on an island in the middle of the seas, more than a thousand leagues from the nearest continent. Any guesses where it is?" He grinned again.

  Sylenn thought for a moment, then shook her head.

  "We're in the middle of the Seraphac Ocean, if that helps," Len hinted.

  Sylenn thought again. "The Sea of Mists?"

  "That's it! The old Banewaters themselves! The Temple's the reason no-one can sail around here, why no areo-ships can fly through here, and why there are all those legends of lost sailors and what have you. See, the Ancients diverted all that lava, right? Well, it comes up under the ocean around here instead, and that's what creates all the mists and the odd smells. They also did something else, we don't know what, that keeps people who aren't afraid of superstition from getting in. Anyone who hasn't been given passage by a Descendant gets turned around or turned away and never finds the place. Used to call it magic; now we know it's science."

  Sylenn nodded slowly and looked back out at the crater valley. Now she could see that the steep slopes had black patches gleaming through the sporadic grasses. That must be the old lava, cold and frozen into stone. The crater was perhaps one and a half leagues wide, half that in length, and mostly flat; the sides were nearly vertical, save at the edges, which were passable slopes dotted with tiny, moving shapes. The walls didn't rise very far, only about a quarter-league above the lowest portion of the valley.

  "Over there," Len pointed to the left, "is the passage to the rest of the island. Big tunnel the Ancients dug, and
the old doors they put on it still work, too. Good thing, since we get some bad storms in the spring. We're on the southern side of the world, below the equator, and still in the tropical zone. No bad winters here, which the old folks really like. Except for those storms, we've pretty good weather. Outside is where the farms are, but there are a few flocks of goats on the inside, on the rim up there. Oh, we call this the inside and the rest of the island outside; that makes sense? Good, good. Alright, Sylenn, let's get you cleaned up and give you a chance to rest a bit.

  "We've got guest quarters down this way, so you've got your own place to sleep. Sometimes we have dignitaries and officials and the like come to talk with the Descendants, and this is where they stay. Nobody here right now, so you've got the run of the place. Later, we'll see about getting you someplace down in town. That's what we call the rest of the complex inside. People call the whole place here the 'Temple', but really, the only part that's the Temple is the big building where the Descendants live. The rest is Temple Island.

  "Twanne! You getting our guest's room set up?" Len approached a bright-faced young woman who'd just emerged from one of the doorways lining the hall. She held a pile of linens in her arms but paused to grin at them.

  "Sure am! Mom and I just finished freshening it up! You must be our guest! I'm Twanne Dolay; Mom's in there. She's Merlene Dolay, the Temple Chamberlain. You can call her Momma Merle, if you want; most folks do. I'm going to drop this down the chute, and I'll be right back! Oh, I'm sorry! What was your name?"

  "Sylenn," came the guarded reply.

  "Wow; that's a gorgeous name! Where are you from, Sylenn?" Twanne's eye's sparkled with lively interest, and her voice held the same curious accent as Len's.

  "Twanne!" A woman's voice cracked through the air. Twanne and Len jumped as Sylenn dropped into a half-crouch; all three turned toward the room. A plump matron stood there, hands on her generous hips, frowning at the girl carrying linens. From the resemblance, this was Merlene.

  "You get those sheets to the laundry quickly, now. Don't stand there jabbering all day."

  "Yes, Mom! Be right back! See you in a tick, Sylenn!" Twanne dashed off with a guilty grin.

  "Len, I'm sure you've work to do, then. We'll take care of Sylenn now; you get along. Thank you for your time and assistance."

  Len grinned at Sylenn. "Don't worry about a thing, Sylenn. Momma Merle will take good care of you. I'm sure we'll bump into each other again." With a mock salute and half-bow, Len departed.

  Sylenn looked the chamberlain over. A bit short, very round, slightly flushed, with very neat hair and clothes, Merlene was ripely middle-aged and wore her years with dignity. She stepped back and waved Sylenn in.

  "Come now, child, let's get you cleaned up. Don't you mind Twanne; my daughter has a lot of learning to do yet in manners. You tell us what you want to, when you want to, and no more. Now, this is the sitting area, here's the bedchamber, and here's the bathing room. Have a hot bath ready for you, and fresh clothes. You want some help, child, perhaps with your hair? Going to take some combing, that will."

  Sylenn shook her head, letting the cap's brim dip forward.

  "That's fine, then. You go on and enjoy the bath. Don't rush yourself; take as long as you want. We've things to finish up out here, so call if you need us."

  Cap still lowered, Sylenn nodded and slipped into the bathing room.