The UnFolding Collection Two

by S. K. Randolph

  Standin touched her cheek with a crooked finger. “Girl, I love you, and I love your mother, but I’m stayin’ here.”

  Gerolyn started to speak. He hushed her with a sad smile. “You, of all people, know I can’t leave the farm, Gero. It’s my home, and I mean t’ die right here.” Pain-filled eyes focused on Sparrow. “I’ve very little time left, Daughter. Take your mother and keep her safe.”

  “But, Standin—”

  “Please, Gerolyn. You’re my dearest love, but we knew from the start that I’d leave this life long before you. The farm’s where I belong for however long I’ve left. Go. Collect whatever you need t’ take while Sparrow and I say our good-byes.”

  Gerolyn spoke through her tears. “You’ll come with us to the barn?”

  “Of course. Be quick, Gero. I want you away and safe.”

  Sparrow remained quiet as Standin watched the woman he had protected for thirty-two sun cycles hurry down the hall. The weight of his shattered heart made him sag inside his tired, old body. Moisture glistened in the corners of his eyes. Sparrow suspected he loved her mother more deeply than Gerolyn realized.

  “Father, are you sure. We both love you and want you with us.”

  He gathered her in his arms and spoke next to her ear. “You and your mother have lives t’ live that don’t include me. I’ve done what I promised Almiralyn I’d do. My only regret is not meeting Ari and Brie.” He kissed her on the cheek and released her. “Promise me you’ll get your mother to safety.”

  One Man appeared at the door. “Voer and Stee are back. We have to go.”

  Sparrow hugged the only father she had ever known. “I promise.”

  Esán’s father rested a hand on Standin’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of them both, Standin. And I’ve put an illusion around your land. The soldiers will only see an aged farmer who has nothing to do with their quarry. The villagers are primed to say you have been living alone out here for several sun cycles. Is there anything else you need?”

  “I need y’all t’ be gone ’fore it’s too late.” He herded them through the house and onto the back porch.

  Voer called from the open barn door, “They’re almost here.”

  Breaking into a run, Sparrow and One Man headed for the barn. Standin limped after them.

  Inside, Gerolyn summoned the portal with the Key Almiralyn had given Voer and Stee. The Pentharian and Merrilea clustered around her. Breaking from the group, she kissed Standin’s cheek. “I’ll never forget you.” She hugged him one last time. “I love you.”

  One Man gathered everyone together. “We’re a large number for this gateway, so we’ll go in two groups of three. Voer, you take Gerolyn and Sparrow. Stee, you come with Merrilea and me.” His gaze flashed to the barn doors.

  Voer didn’t hesitate. Sparrow felt his strong hand grip her arm. The next thing she knew, they were running forward. She caught her mother’s eye as they jumped into the portal.

  Paisley’s laugh filled Nemttachenn. “I demand a rematch.” He gave CheeTrann a challenging look from under black, bushy brows. “I realize that you’ve been playin’ chess for more sun cycles than I can even imagine, but…”

  A deep chortle rolled up from CheeTrann’s belly. “I accept, my friend. You are a tough opponent, and I like that. Ahhhh.” He came to his feet. “My lady, welcome.”

  Almiralyn’s silhouetted figure stepped into the tower’s diffused light. She smiled at the Sentinel of Myrrh. “Nice to see you, CheeTrann. It’s been a very long time since you put in an appearance.” She crossed the granite floor to the table and studied the chessboard. “I’d say Paisley’ll be a match for you in no time, my friend. I gather Alli and Jordett have not returned from the Dojanacks?”

  “No, my lady. All has been quiet.”

  She walked to the side of the tower where the heart of Myrrh stood shrouded in gray. “You have hidden Evolsefil well. Even I wouldn’t notice it if I didn’t know it was here.”

  “Wove a spell of invisibility around it when I learned there were RewFaaran soldiers in the Terces Wood,” he said.

  Paisley joined her and tried to distinguish the crystal from the granite wall. “I wondered where it was. You’re good, CheeTrann.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” The big man executed an elaborate bow and then straightened, peering intently at the tower’s center. A deep rumbling made him frown. “Who do you suppose is coming through?”

  As he spoke, the floor melted away. Almiralyn strode to the perimeter of a yawning hole. “This is not the normal gateway. It has to be the one from Standin’s farm.”

  The Sentinel loomed beside her and pointed at a wobbled-movement that distorted the circumference of the portal. “There’s an abnormality in its spin, my lady.”

  “Help me to stabilize it, CheeTrann, or we’ll lose whoever’s jumping.” She inched closer.

  CheeTrann threw his arms wide. Blue light encircled the portal as the Guardian recited,

  “Vortex spinning through Dimensions

  Ease your turning, timing, tensions.

  Stabilize and create bumpers

  To protect arriving jumpers.”

  The jagged, uneven swirl of colors smoothed to a systemized pattern. Voer, Sparrow, and a woman Paisley felt sure was her mother arrived in the tower.

  Voer hurried the women away from the vortex and turned to Almiralyn. “One Man, Merrilea and Stee are right behind us.”

  The deep tunnel-like opening wavered. Turbulence shook its center. Roaring winds pressed the tower occupants against the walls. CheeTrann’s blue light dispersed and reshaped as he fought to contain the dissipating vector field. Almiralyn levitated upward and hovered above the portal. Clothes slapping and hair flying, Sparrow and Gerolyn shot to her side and joined hands to form a circle. They blurred into an indistinct collage of faces and bodies that left Paisley straining to distinguish them one from another.

  CheeTrann’s deep voice boomed, “Stabilize Nemttachenn Portal. Safeguard the incoming mortal.” Blue light blasted the height and breadth of the tower. Evolsefil’s shimmering luminescence broke through the barrier of gray. The heart of Myrrh began to hum.

  The women touched down beside the crystal. The wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Stee and Merrilea emerged from the gateway. Esán’s aunt pointed at the vortex and yelled, “One Man…”

  The sound of the portal walls collapsing, crunching, crashing together shook Nemttachenn. A flash of white light from Evolsefil stayed the closing vortex. One Man arrived in the center of the tower, fighting for breath, his face streaked with blood. The opening slammed shut. He staggered and fell to his knees.

  Merrilea was at his side before anyone else could move. “Somay, are you alright?”

  One Man struggled to his feet. Eyes filled with tragedy found Sparrow and Gerolyn.

  “Standin?” Gerolyn said, her tone heavy with knowing.

  Sparrow put an arm around her mother. “Tell us what happened, One Man.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Two soldiers burst into the barn as you disappeared. Stee grabbed Merrilea and pulled her with him into the vortex. Standin picked up a pitchfork and shouted, ‘You’re trespassing. Get off my land.’ A soldier pulled a weapon and fired. Standin flew backwards into my arms, a gaping wound in his upper chest. As I dragged him toward the portal, he broke free and with super human strength shoved me into the vortex. The last thing I saw was him falling to the ground. I don’t know if he passed out or…” His voice broke. “I tried to save him. I am so sorry.”

  Gerolyn laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Standin was dying, One Man. We’ve known for some time that he could pass away any minute. At least he died fighting for what he loved.”

  Sparrow sobbed. “We don’t know if he’s dead, Mother.”

  “I do know, SparrowLyn.” Gerolyn, tears streaming down her face, put her arms around her daughter. “My heart aches with the loss of him.”

  “What about a funeral? And the farm? And…” Sparrow buried her face on her
mother’s shoulder and cried.

  “Everything is arranged, dear one. The villagers will take care of him, and the farm will go to a young couple who have been helping us for the past two sun cycles. We made arrangements as soon as we learned how sick he was.”

  Paisley moved away from the group and looked at the occupants. Sparrow’s intermittent sobs echoed through the tower. Almiralyn’s eyes filled with tears. Merrilea leaned her head against One Man’s shoulder. Her drawn expression mirrored the Guardian’s solicitude. The Pentharian slipped from the tower and stood framed within the entrance outline, their strange faces somber with regret.

  Paisley understood loss and the deep hole it left in one’s heart. He pulled at his mustache and pressed his lips together. Old memories—the death of his mother, the father who had left and never returned—made him shift uneasily and look away. His gaze found CheeTrann. The ghost-like figure floated near Evolsefil, reweaving the grayness that hid the crystal from enemy eyes. He wondered if the Sentinel could shroud a wounded heart.

  Sparrow stirred in her mother’s arms. “I loved him, you know.”

  Gerolyn kissed her forehead. “So did I. And we will both miss him.” She released her. “But now I suggest we consider what’s next. Lorsedi’s soldiers will soon know we’re here.”

  Almiralyn’s jaw tensed. “They already do.”

  Paisley stared at the two women from KcernFensia, marveling at their ageless beauty. Gerolyn, who had emerged from the vortex a haggard older woman, now appeared sun cycles younger, her chestnut hair gleaming around an elegant, aristocratic face. The power emanating from her almost rivaled that of the Guardian. They faced each other, sea green eyes staring into sapphire blue. They are beautiful , he thought. Beautiful and formidable .

  35

  ConDra’s Fire

  DerTah

  W oNadahem Mardree savored the quiet of her emptied cave. She had sent the young ones to gather their things. As soon as Corvus had given his warning regarding Dahe Terah and Nissasa Rattori, Narrtep and the men of the tribe had begun a systematic evacuation of Eissua Oasis. Women and children were already hidden in the catacombs beneath the rocky outcropping in a secret cavern. If need be, they could remain there for an extended time.

  In preparation for the upcoming tempests—the sand storm she would summon up from the desert, a diversion for her enemies, and the onslaught of Sebborr and RewFaarans warriors if they somehow managed to find Eissua—the men of the oasis had secured the animals in corrals in the catacombs; emptied tents; and removed tools, food barrels, and other necessities to safety. Despite her best efforts, Dahe might navigate the storm. He was wily and bellicose and had the instincts of a Fire ConDra.

  An Oracle of unbounded talent, she had foreseen these events. From a trance-state, she had written of the coming of a bearer of dual Seeds of Carsilem, of the rising of the ConDria, and of the coming of a war spanning three planets. She had seen the arrival of the Star of Truth, the Compass of Ostradio, Efillaeh, and the Stone of Remembering in the Desert of Fera Finnero. She had dreamt of Wolloh and the DiMensioner, Seyes Nomed, and the Dreelum od DerTah. Corvus had arrived at Shu Chenaro at the appointed time. And she had met the gold Pentharian from the planet of ReTaw au Qa. She had dreamt and recorded them all.

  The greatest unknown, and even he had presented himself in the place of dreaming, was Desirol Telisnoe. How he would react to the recovery of his memories and the discovery of his brother’s duplicity remained uncertain. She would know in due course but not, she knew, in time to be a proactive participant in what was to come. The spirits provided what she must know, not what she wanted to know.

  Although time was of the essence, she sat lost in thought—remembering…

  “WoNa, see with your senses.” Her mother’s voice is patient. WoNa is, after all, only three sun cycles. Already she has learned to read the faces of those who visit. The family’s tent is as familiar as the palm of her hand. Today, Mamman is reinforcing her lesson of yesterday. WoNa sits cross-legged on a rug. She listens, smells the air, sticks out her tongue to taste it, and extends her chubby arms out to her sides. Others besides her mother occupy the tent. She closes her sightless eyes—the ones her mother tells her are the color of two of DerTah’s moons, the ones that mark her as special.

  “Tell me what you see.” Her mother sits across from her. WoNa smells the spicy aroma of her skin, the mint she uses in her hair. She hears the way her breath enters and leaves her body and the rustle of her belted skirts. “You are here, Mamman.”

  “Tell me something I do not know, dear one.”

  WoNa smiles. She loves the sound of her mother’s voice. “Tork, the goat, is by the door. A chicken pecks at seeds nearby. Narrtep is hiding behind the bed.” She frowns. “I sense something I do not know.”

  “A present for you, WoNa, but you must find it.”

  Tipping her head, WoNa listens. A soft scrape informs her where to search. On hands and knees, she crawls toward the sound and stretches out on her belly. Her nose wrinkles as she sniffs the air. Something tickles her cheek. Her fingers discover a slender, round object that wiggles beneath her touch. She places her hand palm up beside it. Hissing sounds move with it as it slithers up her arm. She hears in its hiss the syllables of her name. Sitting up, she turns her face in its direction. Something flicks, tasting her lips. She giggles, delighted with her gift.

  “A serpent,” she whispers. “Is it mine?”

  Her mother laughs. “It will help you see, my daughter. Go and play.”

  That night, the dreams begin.

  She is eleven cycles when the dreamings coalesce into comprehensive visions. No longer vague wanderings, they presage events to come. The old women of the tribe tell her she must write them in a book. They train her to understand the symbols for language by teaching her to shape them in the sand. Soon, she can see them in her mind. Now she writes in journals with blue-black dye, the same dye with which she has been tattooed.

  Time moves though its cycles. She is sixteen and wears the Oracle Stone on her brow. Revered by her tribe, she is given the cave beneath the outcropping. Here, she dreams her dreams and records them. Life is not easy. Although it is not her fault, she feels responsible for the famine that kills livestock and starves the tribe. The loss of her mother and father to a disease that leaves the Dansmen fewer and sadder and a younger brother stolen by the Sebborr mark her heart forever. Still, the power grows stronger, though only the old ones guess its full potential. In time, she earns her place as WoNadahem Mardree, the headwoman and Oracle of the Atrilaasu.

  The serpent’s whistle ended her reveries. Recent sun cycles had brought prosperity to the tribe. Narrtep, her protector and friend, remained at her side. But things were changing. She had dreamt The Unfolding and knew her young guests were the key to a successful outcome.

  Moving with easy grace to the cave entrance, she lifted her face to the sun. It was high above the oasis. With confidence born of seeing from within, she made her way to the tent where the boys packed their possessions.

  Esán stuffed the last item in his pack and fastened the straps. Behind him, Ira and Desirol were embroiled in a heated argument.

  “I don’t want to sneak away.” Desirol’s voice rose, high-pitched and angry. “I want to look Nissasa in the eye. I want to condemn him to his face before—”

  “Before you what?” Esán kept his voice calm. He glared a ‘don’t-you-dare’ as Ira started to speak. “Didn’t you hear Corvus? The Sebborr are joining forces with your brother and his men—at least sixty in all. Nissasa is powerful, ambitious, and even more dangerous than you realize.”

  Ira looked daggers back at him and shrugged his pack on over his kcalo. “You can stay if you want, Desirol, but I’m not. I intend to live another turning and not as a slave to the Sebborr.”

  “Your brother didn’t kill you,” Esán pointed out. “Have you asked yourself why?”

  “No, but…”

  “Because,” said Torgin, “he nee
ds you for something. That’s the only reason he let you live.”

  Ira clapped his friend on the back. “Good work, Torg. You’re getting smarter by the moment.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Ira.” Brie strode into the tent. Her eyes drifted casually from one face to the other and came back to Desirol. “I’m sure your father would prefer that you return to him alive.”

  Desirol’s response became even more combative. “I am not leaving. You go. Run with your tails between your legs.”

  WoNa appeared in the tent opening, the landscape of Eissua Oasis stretching out behind her. “What does Nissasa desire above all things, youngest son of Lorsedi?”

  “He wants to rule RewFaar,” Desirol growled.

  “Then you must take the option away from him by staying alive and out of his control. Torgin is correct. He needs you for something, or you would already be dead.”

  “He doesn’t need me. He sent me away. He…” Desirol clamped his right hand into a fist. The impetus of it hitting his left palm drove both hands against his heart. The smack cracked the air. Defiance painted his face crimson. He turned away.

  No one spoke or moved. Dark auburn hair formed a screen that hid the sides of his face. He clenched his hands into balls at his sides. A lift of his chin began a release of tension that proceeded down his neck and spine. Fisted hands relaxed. He tucked his hair behind his ears and rotated slowly. Comprehension had erased the hurt and anger.

  “If I am captured by Nissasa, he will use me to hurt my father. For the sake of my world and its leadership, I must not let my brother’s deceit make me forget my duty as the next Largeen Joram of RewFaar.”

  Ira marched to the door. “Since that’s settled, can we please get moving?”

  WoNa blocked the way. “You are impetuous, Ira. I believe some planning might be important, don’t you?” She held out her arm. “May I sit?”

  Esán thought his friend would balk and started forward. Ira shot him a dirty look, took the Oracle’s arm, and led her to a chair. Everyone but Ira sat down at her feet.