Almiralyn linked an arm through hers. “This way, Aunt Henri. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
They traversed the square and followed the naturally formed tunnel to an arched entryway. Almiralyn pulled a heavy curtain aside. Henrietta preceded her into a beautiful cave where flecks of quartz crystal glistened in salmon walls.
“How lovely, Mira.” She sank onto a cushioned bench and sighed. “It has been quite a journey. RewFaaran troops and the PPP were crawling all over Domlenah Midtown Blue. As you know, I’ve been staying with my friend Deora in the Central Mountains. Returning to my apartment in the city was a challenge I could have done without. It was watched. Of course, I couldn’t leave Etunir, the crystal you gave me, there. I had to trick one officer into leaving his post. Another one waited inside.” She patted white curls into place. “It’s a good thing I’m quick on my feet.”
Almiralyn almost laughed, then sobered. “I have so much to tell you, Aunt Henri.”
Henrietta sniffed the air. “What is that tantalizing aroma?” Her stomach gave a hearty growl.
Almiralyn pointed at a small table. “Owae fixed us a meal.”
“Oh my dear, I’m starving. Do you think we could eat while we catch up?” She gave her niece a wistful smile.
This time a laugh eased Almiralyn’s expression and brought a sparkle to her eyes. Henri tossed her hat on a bench and crossed to the table. From under her lashes she noted a touch of color in her niece’s face. Much better. Much, much better.
4
Master’s Reach (Sample)
DerTah
T he lumbering crash of a large animal sent Esán and his friends scrambling between giant ferns and over large, exposed tree roots. Rain pelting through holes in the forest canopy added the elements of slimy mud and wet moss to their mad dash.
Esán cast his senses ahead. The image of a giant tree formed in his mind. He helped Brie clamber over a wedge-shaped root, took her hand, and ran in its direction. Muffled grunts and groans assured him their friends followed.
The tree came into view. Massive branches stretched away from the gnarly trunk like giant reaching arms. From the lowest, fat tubers covered with lumpy nubs cascaded in a cage-like curtain around it. Snails the size of dinner plates left mucus trails behind as they inched their way over large, thick spade-shaped leaves. Above them, a rainbow of birds squawked and flapped bright colored wings in response to their approach.
Brie’s drango boots lost traction. Esán steadied her and guided her through a maze of knee high strangler roots to the base of the dangling tubers. Craning his neck, he tracked the height of the tree until it disappeared above the arch of tangled branches high overhead. It might be climbable…if we could reach a lower branch . He doubled over, gripped his knees, and tried to catch his breath.
Brie sucked in air between chattering teeth. “It’s s-s-still c-coming.”
He straightened and put an arm around her. Torgin, Desirol, and Ira clambered over the stranglers and stood, huffing and panting.
“Now what?” Torgin wheezed his question between gulps of air.
Esán straightened. “We need to?” His wards shot up around him. “Run!”
A long, writhing tuber wrapped its nubby length around Torgin and lifted him kicking and shouting into the air. Another snatched Brie and deposited her at the base of the tree. Ira and Desirol sailed through the air and landed in a crumpled pile at her feet. The tubers dropped straight down, buried their tips in the ground, and went rigid
Esán started toward his friends. “I’ll get you out.”
Ira’s arm shot between the roots. He pointed madly. “Behind you!”
Esán swung around. Hoofed feet thundered closer. A mammoth boar-like creature exploded from trees and dripping leaves and lunged to a stop, its beady eyes glinting in the dim light.
Esán’s mind raced. His first instinct—teleport. Can’t. The Mindeco. Can’t leave my friends. He strengthened his wards.
Snorting and gnashing its teeth, the creature swung its massive head back and forth. Curled tusks protruded on either side of its mouth. A second pair extended like rapiers, slicing through ferns and plant growth as though they were made of paper. Its roar rumbled through the trees and ended in a silence heavy with expectation.
The animal lowered its head and snorted. Esán kept his gaze fixed. Intelligent, tawny eyes stared into his. Nostrils flared. The piggish snout sniffed the wards. A long, pink tongue gave them a tentative lick. Sparks snapped. With a slurping sound, the tongue disappeared. The shields shimmered and steadied.
Esán scanned his memory of Wolloh’s book on DerTah. A wave of relief left him shaking. “Ooh. You’re a Gothraw.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m Esán. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The tawny eyes questioned.
Esán let the shield fade and held out a hand. The Gothraw sniffed his fingertips and rubbed the four lumps on its forehead against his palm. Taking a cautious step around a rapier, Esán stroked the side of its face. “Do you have a name?”
“Ratcholet.” Its telepathic reply was tentative. Its gaze swept beyond him to his trapped companions. “Ratee Tree bad for Human.”
“Ratee Tree?” Esán gulped down his fear. A passage from the book on DerTah had warned: “Ratee Trees feed on the flesh of mammals.”
Ira called out. “What kind of tree?”
The tubers quivered. Large thorns burst from the nubs on their surfaces. Sticky brown sap began to run down the side of the trunk.
Esán sprang into action. “Get into a tight group. I’ll try to shield you from here. Be as still as you can.”
He attempted to erect wards. A sharp pain knifed through his head. “I c-can’t.”
“I can help.” Brie’s mind touch chased the pain away.
He took a relieved breath. “Visualize a shimmering curtain around you. I’ll do what I can from here.”
The tubers shook loose from the ground, whipped through the air, and smashed against the wards. Each shattering blow weakened Brie’s ability to hold them steady. Her face grew red with effort. “They’re winning.”
The Gothraw let out a deep, bellowing howl and leapt forward. Rapier tusks hacked tuber after tuber. Chunks flew in all directions. A loud creak shook the Ratee. It shuddered from its roots to its uppermost branches. The tubers retreated high in the air.
“Run!” Ira grabbed Brie’s arm and dragged her away from the tree.
Torgin and Desirol ducked and dodged the writhing tubers and raced after them. Esán followed. Stumbling through knee-high undergrowth and splashing through ankle-deep puddles, they staggered into a huddle well beyond the Ratee and struggled to catch their breath.
The Gothraw sliced one last tuber in two and trotted to their side. A soft rumble preceded the retraction of the long rapiers into sheath-like receptacles.
Brie patted its matted fur. “You’re a Gothraw, aren’t you? I read about you in Aunt Mira’s book.”
Torgin frowned. “Is it dangerous?”
Esán nodded. “Oh, it’s dangerous, but only when frightened or cornered or if you threaten its young.”
The creature licked Brie’s arm and emitted a soft purr.
Ira grinned. “It likes you, Brielle.”
She smiled and gently touched one of the lumps on its head. “You’re a female, aren’t you?”
It nuzzled her cheek.
“How’d you know?” Torgin gave it a tentative pat.
“You can tell because it has four lumps. Three indicate male.”
Esán stroked the creature’s shaggy side. “It calls itself Ratcholet. It’s an herbivore.”
Ira touched a pointed ear. “You mean it eats grass and not meat, right?”
The ears turned one way and then the other. The eyes focused on Brie, who smiled. “She likes to be called Cho.”
“How do you know that?” Torgin demanded. “I’m sure that wasn’t in the—”
Desirol shoved Torgin aside and stabbed a finger at Esán’s chest.
“You led us right to that tree. You tried to kill us.”
Esán took a step back. “I thought it was safe. I—”
The RewFaaran shoved him. “I’m taking the lead. No one wants to follow someone who almost got us eaten.”
Ira shot him a dirty look. “Keep your hands to yourself, Des, or I’ll—”
Cho gave an agitated snort, sniffed the air, and galloped away through the undergrowth.
Brie swung around and stared after the departing creature. “We need to move. Something else is headed straight for us.” She looked at Esán. “You lead. We’ll follow.”
Desirol glared. “I’m not going with him.”
“Then stay here.” Torgin nodded at Esán. “Let’s go.”
Taking care to mask his mind, Esán searched the area. Brie sensed something, and it had frightened the Gothraw. As he crept in the direction of Atkis, his thoughts were anything but silent. Why did I see a dangerous tree instead of a good hiding place? Why couldn’t I set up wards around my friends? A tingling of fear skittered over his scalp. Who’s trying to gain control of my mind?
Stebben strode into the arena as a DerTahan red hawk swooped over Allynae’s head and landed at its center. One Man materialized, pulled his long, wheat-colored hair over his shoulder, and began to redo his braid. He nodded at the Guardian of Myrrh’s brother and addressed Stebben. “How’s Wolloh? I had the strangest feeling on the way here that all was not well.”
“He was dressing when I left him. We are to meet him in the conference chamber.” Stebben walked briskly toward the ranch house. “How did Lorsedi take the news that Gerolyn was joining him at the front?”
One Man flipped the completed braid over his shoulder. “He was none too happy. I left it to Voer to convince him that her presence was important to all of us.”
Stebben paused midway to the house, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Something is very wrong. I’m going to check on Wolloh.” He teleported to his mentor’s door. Urgent need propelled him into the room. Panic almost choked him.
Wolloh lay senseless, half on and half off the bed, his face leached of color. The labored rise and fall of his chest were the only indications he lived.
Stebben knelt beside him. “Wolloh? Wolloh can you hear me?” He touched the side of his neck. A weak pulse beat a hesitant rhythm against his fingers.
One Man arrived at the door and hurried to his side. Allynae held back.
Stebben kept his voice low. “He was fine when I left—just tired. I’ve never known him to be ill or indisposed.” Worry made the words sticky and thick.
One Man’s hand on his shoulder quieted the panic. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong. Help me move him.”
They lifted the limp body and resettled the High DiMensioner on the bed. One Man placed a hand on his forehead. For a long moment, he remained in quiet contemplation. His expression when he looked up was grim. “Whatever holds him so close to death is not something I recognize or know.”
Stebben nudged Wolloh’s cane from where it had rolled under the bed. He bent and grabbed the crystal knob. Heat blazed through his veins. A yelp of pain changed to an extended scream. Like leaves in a fire, hope withered in his heart. Fingers of despair squeezed the will to live from his body. The room began to fade.
The cane ripped from his rigid fingers tore the skin from his palm. He fell to his knees, his breath coming in wrenching gasps. Strong hands pressed against his temples. Life pulsed through him. His heart raced, then steadied to a measured beat. His breathing calmed. The room came into focus. What he saw brought a glint of hope to his heart. The eyes staring into his belonged to a face he had seen only once in his life—the face of the man who had saved him from the Mocendi League when he was twelve sun cycles, the man who had sent him in search of Wolloh.
Stebben tried to speak and then shook his head. One Man and Allynae helped him to a chair.
The man he knew as Reader looked down at him. “Take a moment to rest, Stebben. We’ll be right here.”
Quiet settled over the room. Stebben sighed, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. He noted a faint tingling in his hands as the terrible agony gradually disappeared. Reader’s touch had eased the pain and restored both hope and his will to live. Fatigue weighted his body. Sleep made a furtive approach, wrapped him in its gentleness, and transported him to a deep and tranquil place.
Nissasa Rattori’s frigid blue eyes flashed with anger hotter than the sands of DerTah at middle-turning. His face twisted into a contemptuous mask, he marched from one end of the line of assembled men to the other and back to center. His troops remained at attention, their desire to be elsewhere visible in the nervous twitch of their eyes.
Punching one fisted hand into the palm of the other, he growled, “I—want—to—know—why—you are here and not on the other side of those shields? My orders were to kill every last one of Lorsedi’s men and to bring him to me. I provided the opportunity.” He pointed at a man. “You, step forward.”
An officer complied.
“Explain why you are here instead of over there.” Nissasa jerked his head in the direction of the shimmering curtain.
The soldier started to speak, pressed his lips together, and swallowed. “I failed you, sir.”
Rage sent Nissasa into the shape of the DerTahan bearded buzzard. Flames blazed around him. Scissor-sharp talons gripped the man’s shoulders, lifted him high above the desert, shook him like a child’s toy, and let him fall. Plummeting to the ground, the officer lay in a broken heap.
Nissasa shifted and faced his men. “Fail me again and you will all follow this traitor to his grave.” He kicked the mangled body with the toe of his boot, then glared up and down the line. “Get to your posts. When the shields fall again, I want results.”
Nissasa glanced at a Sebborr hurrying toward them and frowned. His angry gaze swept down the line of men. “Dismissed.”
They scattered, taking their dead comrade with them.
The Sebborr reached his side. “Please, Sajud Rattori, it is very important that you come.” He bowed and remained humble and waiting.
The title the Sebborr had bestowed on him, sent a thrill of egotistic pride pulsing through Nissasa. Arrogance lifted his chin higher and puffed out his chest. “Lead on, steanpa.” He uttered the RewFaaran word for peasant with a touch of disdain.
Averting his face, the Sebborr hurried toward a group of tents pitched a good distance from the border. At the entry to one located near the center of the encampment, he stepped to one side and bowed.
Nissasa brushed past him, marched into the tent, and came to an abrupt halt. The heat of his smoldering rage reignited. He swung around. “Where is the raven?” The sibilant words hissed between clenched teeth. Clothing, toiletries, anything that came within his reach flew through the air. Anger ricochetted inside his head. Storming to the entry, he found the Sebborran steanpa had gone.
A man in the garb of a high ranking Sebborr rounded a tent and walked toward him. Shrewd dark eyes searched his face. “Sajud, what has upset you. How may I help?” DesTel Terah, Dahe’s eldest son, made a gracious salaam.
Nissasa seethed. “Where is your father?”
“He has gone home to deal with an important tribal matter, Sajud. He will return as soon as he is able. Until then, he has put me in charge.”
Turning on his heels, Nissasa reentered his tent. DesTel remained outside, his expression solemn—almost subservient.
Nissasa scowled. “Don’t just stand there. Come in.”
“As you wish, Sajud Rattori.” DesTel entered and surveyed the tent. “Someone has made a terrible mess. Allow me to send a slave to straighten things for you.”
“Someone has stolen my personal property. I want him punished.”
“If I do not know what has been stolen, I cannot assist you, Sajud.” DesTel folded his arms and waited.
Nissasa kicked a bar of soap and watched it land near his camp cot. “Someone has stolen a possession of great importa
nce, one that could help us win this war. Your father told you about the raven?”
“He did, Sajud. I recall him saying it belonged to the Guardian of Myrrh. It would indeed be a good bargaining chip. I will have all tents searched if that is your wish.”
“Do it, and send someone to clean up this mess. You’re excused.”
The Sebborr bowed and left.
Nissasa glowered at his departing figure. “Da’am Sebborr. If I didn’t need their help…” He scowled at the tent and its content. “…and their resources, I’d never have agreed to join forces. Da’am the Mocendi League for putting me in this position.” He took a swig of water from his canteen and screwed the cap back in place. “Can’t trust those drabasts either. Can’t trust anybody.”
The canteen flew across the tent and rattled to a stop at the feet of a cowering Sebborran slave.
On the Island of Zaltraca off the southern-most tip of Geran Isle, a single cottage overlooked the Sea of Minusa. Wind howled over the high Cliffs of Tymine from morning until night. The sea tumbling against its rocky face sent spray to cover everything in a sticky film. The high-pitched squawk of laridae and the grunt of phalacro blended in a constant chorus that only stilled when the moons of DerTah reached Tri-Nular.
For Coala Renn Whalend, who had been born and raised in Idronatti on the distant planet of Thera, the constant barrage of nature’s songs formed a cacophonous symphony of discordant, disturbing, and dissonant sounds. Standing by an open window, with the wind tangling her blonde hair, she pondered her life in The City and wondered if she would ever return to it. She thought about her son—about his music—about the beautiful compositions that flowed from his fingers. Oh, Torgin, will I ever see you again? I wish I had told you how much I love your music. I didn’t want you to think you might be assigned a profession that would allow you to develop your genius as a composer. You have too many other skills that are more useful to Idronatti . Wind blustered around her. Pushing tousled curls back from her face, she frowned. It is regrettable that music and art, no matter how original or beautiful, sit at the bottom of the list of professions to which the Five Fathers assign talented young people.
The UnFolding Collection Two Page 72
