by Gav Thorpe
On one of the couches was another eldar, dressed in a short robe of heavy black cloth. He eyed Aradryan with curiosity and stood up, his scarlet pantaloons billowing, tucked into short lizard-hide boots. Aradryan guessed him to be older by a generation.
‘Jair Essinadith,’ said the other eldar, raising a palm in greeting. His grey eyes never left Aradryan’s and the former steersman met his stare without hesitation.
‘Aradryan.’
‘Of course you are,’ said Jair. ‘Athelennil has told us about you.’
‘I hope she was flattering,’ said Aradryan, glancing at his companion.
‘Not really, my would-be vagabond,’ said Jair. His tone was not overtly hostile, but Aradryan was in no doubt that he was entering a close-knit group and his arrival would cause disruption.
‘And where do you hail from, originally?’ Aradryan tried his best to be cordial. This was a new start for him, and if he was to make the most of the opportunity it would go well to be on friendly terms with his shipmates.
‘Alaitoc, like you,’ said Jair. ‘Though I left many passes ago. I was once mentored by Naerithin Alaimana. The waterfalls in the Dome of Unintended Pleasures – I created them. Perhaps you know them?’
‘A modern wonder, for sure,’ said Aradryan. ‘I spent three cycles dreaming on the viewing gallery there.’
‘There will be plenty of time to exchange old tales, I am sure,’ said Athelennil, taking Aradryan by the arm. ‘You should meet the others first.’
Aradryan nodded his goodbye to Jair as he was gently guided from the room, receiving the same in return. When they were back in the main passageway, Athelennil slipped her arm under Aradryan’s and leant closer.
‘I do not think Jair will remain with us for much longer,’ she said quietly as they headed aft. ‘He speaks ever more about his past accomplishments, and the longing for Alaitoc’s peace is growing stronger with every journey we take. His reminiscences are becoming repetitive, so it will be good for him to have another ear into which he can pour them.’
‘I do not wish to hear of Alaitoc,’ said Aradryan. ‘It is to leave the craftworld behind that I have joined you. I fear constant reminder will only irritate me.’
‘And so you must learn some patience. On the craftworld we can lose ourselves, for our entire lives if we wish, allowing petty grievances and grating encounters to pass us by. If you wish to remain on Irdiris you must accept the rest of us as we are.’
‘I am not insensitive,’ argued Aradryan. ‘On Lacontiran I was in close proximity to many others and managed to make friends and remain civil.’
There was no reply from Athelennil, but in the absence of her voice Aradryan could hear the sound of music. The distinctive lilting notes of a summerflute drifted along the passageway from an open arch ahead.
‘That is Lechthennian,’ explained Athelennil, smiling as she tapped her fingers on Aradryan’s arm in beat to the lively tune. ‘He plays all manner of instruments, and composes his songs himself. He spends most of his time back here on his own, playing to himself or writing his music.’
Aradryan listened to the melody and could appreciate the complex harmonies that filled the corridor. The tune stirred his heart in a way that little else had done in the last few cycles, lifting his spirit, promising excitement and contentment in equal measure.
‘Perhaps we should not disturb him,’ Aradryan said. ‘I would not like to intrude.’
‘He will not mind,’ Athelennil assured him. ‘If we did not interrupt his playing, we would never get to speak to him. He is the oldest of us, by far. Irdiris has had many crews, changing over the passes, but as far as we can tell, Lechthennian has been here for at least two arcs.’
‘He must be as old as the ship, almost,’ exclaimed Aradryan. Even as he said the words, not far from the archway, he realised that the music had stopped.
‘Not even close,’ said a voice from the chamber beyond, soft and assured.
Aradryan and Athelennil stepped through the doorway to find Lechthennian standing by the wall, placing the arm-long summerflute into a purpose-shaped niche. There were other instruments on shelves, in alcoves and on stands upon the floor. Aradryan recognised some: a fourteen-stringed half-lyre, next to an arching holoharp; the red, white and black keys of a chime organ; a set of half a dozen lapdrums. Others were unknown to him, a variety of stringed, blown and percussion devices.
The eldar was barefoot, clad in loose trousers and a tight-fighting jacket of white that glimmered with a cross-thread of silver, which struck Aradryan as odd, for white was the colour of mourning and normally shunned by right-thinking folk. Lechthennian was old, to those who knew what to look for; the slight thinness of his hair and skin; the lines at the corners of his eyes; the flare of his nostrils and tapering of his ear tips. Yet none of these purely physical attributes betrayed his age as much as the weight of his gaze, which measured Aradryan in an instant.
‘Irdiris is nearly as old as Alaitoc,’ said Lechthennian, seating himself again on a stool to one side of the room. There were other plain chairs arranged facing him, set in a semicircle to the left of the archway. ‘Her first voyage came just half an arc after the Fall.’
‘I did not mean offence,’ said Aradryan hastily.
‘Why should I take offence, I am old, as you say,’ replied Lechthennian. He waved a hand for the pair to seat themselves and produced a thin, whistle-like instrument from a pocket inside a robe. He tootled and tweeted for a few moments, the notes reminding Aradryan of a nursery tune from his childhood. Lechthennian then looked hard at Aradryan, the whistle spinning slowly between his fingers. ‘Escape is not what you think it is.’
‘I... I am not sure what you mean.’
‘There is no need to be coy,’ said Lechthennian. ‘You are outcast now, and it is no cause of shame, just as my age is no cause of shame. You want to be away from Alaitoc, and that is no bad thing. Be careful, though, that in running from one trouble you do not pitch yourself headlong into another.’
‘I am in no trouble,’ said Aradryan. ‘I do not know what Athelennil told you about me, but I came on board free of any dark cloud.’
‘We both know that is not true, Aradryan,’ said the aging eldar, his expression stern. ‘I know only what I read in your eyes and I see that darkness comes with you, but it is not all doom and gloom.’ He made another couple of toots on his whistle, like the call of the grasswitch frog, and grinned. ‘You have good company, a fast ship and a desire to see the galaxy. There are worse fates.’
‘You are an accomplished musician,’ said Aradryan, glad for the opportunity to change the subject to his companion.
‘No, I am not a musician,’ said Lechthennian. ‘As you would know it, a musician dedicates himself to the perfection of his composition and performance. I have simply had a long time to dabble and pick up a thing or two.’
‘If you are not a musician, what are you?’ said Aradryan. He felt Athelennil’s fingers tighten on his arm, as though he had said something wrong, but Lechthennian continued to smile.
‘I am a traveller, that is all,’ he said. ‘Welcome aboard Irdiris.’
The last member of the crew, Caolein, was also the pilot, and Aradryan did not see him for some time as he guided the ship through the webway, navigating the traffic of ships coming and going this close to Alaitoc. Younger even than Aradryan, Caolein sported blond and black hair to his waist, tied in three long locks that were bound with silver thread. He wore a pale grey steersman’s suit studded with small gems of blue and purple, and flopped down with a sigh on the couch opposite Aradryan and Athelennil, who had been in the common area drinking sour whitenut tea and discussing the cooking arrangements.
‘I’m glad that is done,’ declared the pilot. He reached out and poured himself a cup of the white-nut tea from the steaming ewer. ‘Out into the open webway, heading for the stars!’
‘Towards Kha-alienni, like we discussed?’ said Athelennil, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
&n
bsp; ‘More or less,’ Caolein replied defensively.
‘Jair warned you about this before,’ Athelennil snapped, standing up. She turned towards the door, and Aradryan was not sure whether he was meant to follow or not.
‘Relax!’ Caolein held out a hand. ‘We are heading to Kha-alienni, for sure. I thought it might be nice to go by way of the Archer Cascades, that’s all.’
Athelennil stopped and turned back in the archway.
‘For truth? We do not need another of your wild detours, Caolein.’
‘For truth. We have someone new on board, and I bet he has never seen the Archer Cascades.’
Aradryan shook his head.
‘No, I do not think Lacontiran passed that way,’ he said.
Caolein invited Aradryan to accompany him to the pilot’s chamber, in a small blister just in front of the mast. Though smaller, with space only for two eldar, the control panel seemed similar to the one Aradryan had used on board the Lacontiran. In some ways it was simpler, there being only one stellar sail and the ship being smaller. In other ways, there was a lot more to think about, with various trim and attitude controls all being interconnected, rather than handled by separate pilots. For the moment, the spirit circuitry was piloting the vessel, guiding it along a straight, broad stretch of the webway. A display glowing from an oval crystal screen above the console showed a white tube stretching ahead and behind, rendered from the feedback the ship was receiving across the psychic connection with the webway.
‘When we next have to manoeuvre, I’ll let you practise,’ promised Caolein.
Running his hand along the edge of the black console, feeling the slight thrum of the ship around him, Aradryan very much looked forward to that. A ship, guided by a single hand, capable of going anywhere in the galaxy... He looked at Caolein, who was grinning, and Aradryan found that he was smiling himself.
‘Welcome to freedom, Aradryan.’
For several cycles, Aradryan immersed himself in the new routine of the ship. He picked fruit and cut down cereals in the bio-cabins, and learnt how to operate the cooking equipment in the galley. He spent a cycle tending to the freshwater system, marvelling at the miniscule fish that lived within the filtering pond and streams, feeding on contaminants.
At the end of each cycle, he would return to his bed chamber – or share Athelennil’s – and would find sleep coming swiftly, brought about by a deep contentment. There was something therapeutic about fending for himself, of being himself and not a Dreamer or a Poet or an Artist; just Aradryan.
As time passed, Aradryan felt the harmony of ship-borne life soothing his concerns about mortality. There was no pressure here to prove himself, and he was no longer subjected to the overbearing presence of the infinity circuit. Alaitoc had a strong tradition of the Path, and since Aradryan had been born he had been lectured on its importance and his continual development. As an adolescent he had been drawn to the Path of Harmony, facilitating the callings of others. He had quickly bored of that, falling into the Path of the Dreamer, and when that had come to its abrupt end, it had been without thought or effort that he had changed to the Path of the Steersman. Now he was on no Path. He could do what he wanted, experience any emotions he wanted to feel, explore wherever his whim took him.
During a mid-cycle meal, Aradryan was in the company of Athelennil and Caolein, and he felt ready to confess his enthusiasm for the life of the outcast. He did not know his companions all that well, but in a way it did not matter; they had each experienced their own release and would understand how he felt.
Finishing his meal, Aradryan opened his mouth to say something but stopped. He had felt a shiver pass through his body: a faint tremble that set his teeth on edge. He had felt nothing like it before, and as he turned to Athelennil to ask the question he saw that she was already crossing the room, heading for the wraithbone interface terminal.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Caolein, who saw Aradryan’s confusion and continued to explain. ‘You wouldn’t have sensed it in something as big as Lacontiran, but here we’re so close to the core, you can feel the pulse of the webway itself. It makes a joy out of flying, being there in the moment as we surge across from one web tunnel to the next, feeling the flow around you. Anyway, something’s disturbing the webway, something quite significant.’
‘It’s bad,’ said Athelennil, drawing her hand back from the terminal. ‘Come feel for yourself.’
Caolein waved for Aradryan to precede him. Placing his fingertips onto the opalescent psychic node, Aradryan allowed his consciousness to touch upon the psychic core of Irdiris. As Caolein had warned, the ship was so much smaller, more compact then anything he had experienced before. The network upon Lacontiran had been interfacing with hundreds of spirits at any given moment, blocking out the background connection to the webway. Here the psychic network of the ship was flimsy, almost skittish in its spirit; agile and inquisitive.
Aradryan could feel where the boundaries of the warp and reality blurred, just beyond the rune gates and warding walls of the webway, bleeding into each other, forming the tunnels through which the eldar travelled. The network of the ship extended out into the void, psychically reaching for the webway material to find purchase; as a bird uses its wings to catch the breeze so Irdiris fastened on to the immaterial pulsing of the webway through its matrix.
The webway was rippling, recoiling strongly from sensations that emanated not far away. Sensations that filled Aradryan with a deep-seated dread.
All of this he took into himself in a moment, and before he could pull back he felt himself drawn along the webway, delving into the effect that had caused the ripple, iterated for him via the ship’s psychic network.
He felt pain and loss, and his body spasmed at the magnitude of it. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, of spirits were in torment, their hurt and their misery sending shockwaves across the webway. The agony engulfed Aradryan, just for an instant, and he was witness to its cause.
Green-skinned beasts ravaged his body and slew his family. They crawled upon him like parasites, biting at his flesh, leaving welts and wounds in their wake. The towers of his cities toppled, falling into ruin, the bodies of the dead crushed beneath the white stone or hacked apart or burned on massive pyres that choked his air.
He was dying.
With a gasp, Aradryan pulled himself away from the node, his fingers tingling, mind reeling.
‘Was that... Were they orks?’ he said, his throat dry. Licking his lips, he looked at Athelennil. ‘What was that?’
‘That is the cry of an Exodite world spirit,’ she said, a tear glistening in her eye. ‘I know it well. Eileniliesh. The world is under attack.’
‘Eileniliesh is only a few cycles from here,’ said Caolein. ‘Seven cycles at most.’
‘We must speak to the others,’ said Athelennil.
‘We felt it,’ said Lechthennian, standing at the doorway. He stepped through, Jair just behind.
‘We have to help, don’t we?’ said Aradryan. ‘I mean, we should, shouldn’t we? If we’re just seven cycles away?’
‘It is not as simple as that,’ said Jair. ‘We are only five, we cannot turn an army of orks. That message was intended for Alaitoc, a cry for help. They will respond.’
‘So what does that mean for us?’ said Aradryan, turning his gaze from one companion to the next. ‘We just ignore it?’
‘No,’ said Caolein. ‘But we will have to meet with the others first, join forces with the crew of other ships.’
‘What other ships?’
‘There will be other outcasts adrift in the webway who will hear the distress of Eileniliesh and respond,’ explained Jair. ‘We will gather our strength and consult on the best course of action. But for you, I am afraid that means an early return.’
‘A return to where?’ said Aradryan, and then meaning dawned. ‘The mustering, it will be on Alaitoc?’
‘Yes,’ said Athelennil, laying a hand on Aradryan’s.
‘I cannot go back,
not so soon,’ said Aradryan. ‘I would look like a fool. No, I do not mean that.’ A memory of the Exodite world spirit’s message surged into his thoughts. ‘Looking like a fool is nothing compared to the pain I felt in that call for aid. You have to go back to help, even if I cannot. I suppose I could just stay on the ship.’
‘If that is what you wish,’ said Lechthennian.
‘We will be joining the ranger cadre,’ said Athelennil, stepping away from Aradryan so that she was next to Jair. ‘If you want to help the people of Eileniliesh, you might come with us.’
‘Be a ranger?’ Aradryan laughed. ‘I know nothing of war or scoutcraft.’
‘It was just an idea,’ said Athelennil.
Aradryan could sense disapproval in the stance of the others, and knew that he was acting out of turn, but he could not see how he could help. Then he remembered Athelennil’s earlier statement: every-body does what they have to for the needs of all. Aradryan sighed and smiled.
‘Back to Alaitoc it is, I suppose,’ he said. He looked at Jair and then Athelennil. ‘Being a ranger, what does it entail?’
Behind the pilot’s chamber a stairwell led down into the lower levels of Irdiris. With Athelennil leading the way into the hold area, Aradryan walked alongside Jair as the older eldar explained the principles of the ranger.
‘It is the rangers that keep an eye out for threats to the craftworlds and Exodites,’ said Jair. ‘There is no duty, no oaths or vows, but we take it upon ourselves not to wholly abandon the rest of our kind. This attack, the ork invasion of Eileniliesh, is a call to arms.’
Aradryan was horrified by the idea of war and it must have shown in his face.
‘I forget that you have never trodden the Path of the Warrior. I would say not to be afraid, but that is a lie. Fear is a great motivation that will help you to stay alive. Not all rangers confront the enemy directly, you do not have to fight if you do not wish. We will be consulting with the seers and autarchs of Alaitoc, to coordinate our efforts with those of the Aspect Warriors and fleet. What that might require, I cannot say, but if you stay by my side I will ensure you come to no harm.’
