The Leira Chronicles- The Complete Austin Series

by Martha Carr

  The Kilomeas were a brutish species. In the past, they were more interested in war than group consensus.

  “Let me guess,” said the Mystic Dryad, a tree nymph from the far north, beyond the mountains. “You want to restore order by any means necessary.” She stared at him defiantly even though she was only a quarter of his size and he could have swatted her like a pesky bug. That is, if he was fast enough. Dryads were known to flit so quickly, their wings beating too fast to be seen, they seemed to vanish from sight.

  An Azrakan stood up, its great horns encircling its head like an organic crown of bone. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. First things first,” he said in a deep, booming baritone.

  “The intelligent elk has spoken,” said the Kilomea. The Azrakan opened his mouth and unfurled a long, thin forked tongue, hissing at the Kilomea.

  “I call this meeting to order,” said an elderly underground gnome whose people lived in the old mines underneath the Dragon mountain chain. They were cousins to the gnomes who looked after the Light Elves’ library and were rarely seen outside of the mines.

  They were also known to live for hundreds of years, perhaps longer. No one was sure. They weren’t big on socializing with anyone else.

  “Put your differences aside,” said the Gnome in the deep, rich baritone they were known for, even the females and children. It was only the difference in costume that made it possible for many outside of the gnome world to tell the difference between the men and the women.

  “Take your seat, now,” said the Gnome, picking up an oversize gavel and banging it on the table in front of him. “There is far too much at stake here for petty jealousies or old disputes. Take them up later. Right now, we have more important things to discuss. We have put things in motion…”

  A clamor of voices rose as the prophets started arguing amongst themselves.

  The gnome raised the gavel over his head and smashed it down on the table. A loud crack echoed off the nearby walls.

  “Enough! It no longer matters who came up with the idea, we all discussed it, and voted on it. It was unanimous, as I recall,” he said, leveling his gaze at everyone in the room. “Now is the time for us to rise to the occasion. We did what we did for the best of reasons. Oriceran must be put first. That is our mandate, from which we must not shy. Our followers depend on that. The seer, Tessa, accurately predicted everything that has happened in the history of Oriceran to this day. Thousands of accurate predictions. We all know what her last quatrain said. The destruction of our beloved planet. Our only hope is to migrate to Earth. We had to take action.”

  “We are responsible for the killer being set loose in the Light Elves royal palace,” said a Light Elf, hanging his head.

  “We should never have trusted a human,” said the Crystal prophet, plumes of frosted air flowing out of his mouth as he spoke. “We’ve all seen how they treat each other on their planet. One species and they have never been able to live side-by-side peacefully for very long. Each one always looking for the advantage.”

  “They have also shown themselves to be able to rise to the occasion in the most tragic of times and come together as a species,” said the Wood Elf sitting in the back row. “And like it or not, we will need to trust them, soon enough when the prophesy comes to pass.”

  “Whatever we did, we did it together for the sake of the bigger picture,” said the Mystic Dryad. “To save our people. Mistakes were made but now we have to decide what we’re going to do about it, if anything. We are all to blame and if this succeeds, we have all done our duty well. It was to be expected that there would be problems,” she said, putting her hand on the shoulder of the Light Elf nearby.

  The gnome held up his short sturdy arms, waving his hands to calm everyone down.

  “The Light Elves have hired a human homicide detective from Earth to track down the killer. If she is successful it’s possible more beings on Oriceran will find out what we have done,” said the Gnome.

  “What do you suggest we do?” asked the Mystic Dryad. “We have no reason to interfere.”

  “All is not lost,” said the Gnome. “The very survival of Oriceran depends on what we do. We must set aside niceties to ensure our population will not only survive on Earth, but thrive. Nothing must get in the way of that edict. The seer Tessa made it very clear in her last quatrain. Once the portals are fully open again, the Oriceran way of life will be no more,” said the gnome. “We will continue to keep our secret.”

  “It’s a betrayal!” said the Light Elf, his eyes glowing with fury. “We have become what we hate so much about the human species. We do what we want to do, and we justify our actions later. Consequences mean nothing as long as we get what we want.”

  “We all agreed that we had to find a way to build a bridge to the humans so that by the time our people were crossing through the gates in greater numbers they would have become accustomed to us. All of us,” said the Gnome.

  The Light Elf stood, gnashing his teeth, his eyes like two burning embers, fiery symbols raced up both of his arms and he lashed out, sending a fireball smashing into the opposite wall. The Kilomea raised his heavy sword, ready for any trouble.

  “Weapons are forbidden within this chamber,” the Wood Elf said sharply. “Are we now picking and choosing which of our rules we will abide by?”

  The Light Elf stormed between the rows of tables and waved his arm, opening a door in the back of the room. The woods beyond the post office could be seen through the magical opening and a gust of wind blew in, ruffling papers. He walked out, leaving smoldering footsteps burned into the floor behind him.

  The Wood Elf followed him, yelling over his shoulder, “This is not over!”

  The remaining prophets sat in stunned silence. In the millennia since they had formed the movement there had never been such discord.

  The prophets gathered their things, most leaving by a hidden corridor, their usual path. Some made their own exits in the wall, erasing the openings behind them.

  No one noticed that the old Gnome lingered until the chamber was empty.

  A smile crossed his face as he stood in the center of the room, taking in all that he had accomplished. He waited till he was sure no one would come back for a lost object or to ask a question. When enough time had passed, he raised his arm and said, “Close them all,” sealing every exit, making it impossible even for a spell to reopen them.

  He carefully took off all of his garments and stood naked in the middle of the room.

  “Transformalia,” he said with force. He held his arms out and began to shiver violently. It started at the top of his head and rippled slowly down toward his feet. The sound of bones crunching echoed off the walls of the chamber as his skin began to stretch and grow and his height doubled. Bulges bubbled and moved under his skin as his skeleton reformed.

  Pain flashed across his face and he doubled over for a moment. Long black tentacles sprouted from his head until they hung down like long, oceanic hair.

  When it was done, the ancient Atlantean, Rhazdon stood there, naked and for once her truest self, a woman. Not only did the world not know that she lived, no one had ever known she was a woman, standing in their midst.

  “Too bad about the old Gnome,” she sneered, remembering when she slayed him long before he could make the journey to the Light Elves realm. “Nasty little people.”

  It had taken her years to find the right dark potion to transform herself into the Gnome. It was only right. After all, their cousins had stolen her treasure of dark magic that she had carefully gathered so many years ago.

  Her face twisted into a snarl at the memory. “I will take back what is mine,” she said, clenching her fists.

  Dark magic had long ago twisted Rhazdon’s mind, even as it gave her the ability to live on for hundreds of years.

  “The only time I can be myself,” she said, rubbing the smooth, perfect skin of her arms. “Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

  She stretched her arms over her h
ead as high as she could, running her hands over the tentacles on her head as they coiled around her fingers. She plucked one from her head and held it out, giving it instructions.

  “Find the mouthy willen and tell me where he is,” she said, laying the tentacle on the ground. Another one quickly grew in its place.

  “Intransformalia,” she said, reversing the process. Once again, the room was filled with the hideous sounds of the transformation. .

  The old Gnome slowly reappeared. He was the only prophet that wouldn’t have a fellow Gnome travel to check on him. None of their kind would leave the dark confines of their home in the mines. And he would not be expected to make many friends. The perfect disguise.

  He wearily took up the clothes and put them back on again, retrieving the tentacle, calmly going about his business. “I’ve already waited six hundred years for my revenge. A little longer is no matter. Everything is coming together nicely.”

  He lumbered to the far wall.

  “Open the way,” he said, waving his arm, calling on the dark magic that flowed through him. A doorway just tall enough for the Gnome opened in the back of the room. He walked out into the sunshine and put the tentacle on the grass, watching it slither away.

  “I can be patient,” he said.

  He found a human with a horse and cart from a nearby village and offered him a few coins to give him a ride to the open-air bazaar, a vast market on the edge of all the kingdoms this side of the mountains. Beyond was the road toward the mountains and the dark forest.

  The journey to the bazaar was rough and shook the old Gnome in the back of the cart continuously, rattling his teeth every time a wheel rolled over a deep rut in the road. The entire cart smelled of hogs and dung but it was a much faster way to get to his destination, especially on his short legs.

  “Drop me off here,” he said, as they approached the bazaar.

  He waited until the cart came to standstill before he scooted off the edge and dropped to the ground. “Thank you,” he said, waving to the man. The old prophet knew it paid to keep up appearances. Everyone would expect the current leader of the prophets to be a diplomat with everyone he came across.

  The bazaar was a series of colorful tents, each one stretching across an acre of land. A huge open air market teeming with activity. Booths were crammed into every inch of space leaving only narrow pathways winding in and out among the peddlers in a maze.

  Hawkers yelled out about their wares, promising the finest woven baskets or the freshest fruit. The Gnome passed one stand that was full of household items, some of them far too nice for the Light Elf who was selling them.

  The Gnome knew the Light Elf must have bargained with a willen.

  They were a nuisance the palace tolerated. They stopped just short of going too far and they were a constant source of the best gossip.

  The Gnome pushed aside colorful drapes of fabric in every texture and color, working his way through another narrow path, avoiding pointed elbows from taller Oricerans busy bargaining on every side, trying to get the best deal.

  At last he got to a far corner of the market to a booth that was closed with heavy velvet draperies and a large Kilomea standing guard in front of them. He nodded at the Kilomea who barely looked in his direction. He held back just enough of the curtain for the Gnome to pass through but not enough to let anyone else see what was going on inside.

  Inside, some of the highest-ranking members of the Oriceran society were busy negotiating on a thriving black market, trading technology brought over illegally from Earth.

  They all eyed the old Gnome. They were careful to stay in his favor. The prophet’s followers numbered in the thousands across Oriceran.

  If it were to come out that politicians and business owners were giving themselves better deals than they offered the rest of Oriceran, it would damage their reputations forever and threaten their livelihood. It helped the Gnome bend them to his will.

  Several of them tracked his movements carefully, waiting to see what happened next. He stepped over to a table where several Wood Elves had laid out the latest smartphones and were explaining their use to a couple of Light Elf brothers who served in the royal palace.

  The black market had existed since the turn of the twentieth century when Earth started to have any technology worth stealing. Ever since then, prominent Oricerans watched with fascination and envy as the humans figured out how to make their world work for them in ways that Oricerans never imagined possible. Their cleverness and determination never ceased to amaze the Oricerans.

  It didn’t take long before an enterprising Wood Elf figured out how to combine the organic with the new technology they were gathering, creating hybrids on Oriceran that were more powerful than their original design. Insects were turned into drones that could gather information without being noticed, and small engines replaced the hearts of the Oriceran version of a horse. They were a much larger beast than the variety found on Earth. They lived far longer and with the new engine were able to run for hours without needing a break. It was said, the engines were more effective than magic, especially for those with lesser skills.

  All of it, of course, was illegal on Oriceran.

  But it was a well-known fact among the elite that the well-connected Gnome was willing to look the other way as long as he received his share of the new technology. He made sure others looked away as well.

  There was a special liaison assigned to make sure some piece of everything that came in went to the Gnome. That way, everyone got what they wanted.

  There were good deals to be found for anyone enterprising enough and willing to take the necessary risks. Death or prison or even worse, the world in between.

  The old Gnome encouraged all of it. The black market created a behind the scenes kind of chaos that was creating cracks in the society of Oriceran. So many different people keeping secrets from each other, damaging the trust between the species, teaching an entire generation of leaders to take what was theirs rather than share for the good of all.

  It was exactly what he wanted. If he was to exact revenge for what happened six hundred years ago, then he would have to unravel Oriceran one thread at a time until it was too late, and dissent would be normal once again.

  The old Gnome made a point of shaking hands and saying hello to a few key people before gathering the rucksack with his share. He paid a Mystic Dryad missing a wing a coin to carry the bundle for him back through the tangled jungle of the bustling market.

  At the other end of the market, when he finally got back to the road, the regular stagecoach was arriving, making its usual stop.

  The old Gnome went to stand at the back of the line, waiting to get on the stagecoach. Several recognized him and tried to wave him to the front, but he refused.

  He knew he would soon have every luxury he ever dreamed of for over six hundred years. He could afford to sit up with the driver a few more times.

  The rucksack was tied securely to the top of the stagecoach where the Gnome could keep an eye on it on the ride back to town.

  When they arrived at his stop, the driver hopped down and waited for the Gnome, holding out his hand. The Gnome detested needing help but as long as this was his disguise, this was part of his character. He took the hand and jumped awkwardly down to the next step, almost falling to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. The other riders looked away in embarrassment for him, angering him further.

  But he hid it all.

  He waited patiently for the rucksack to be untied and held out his arms as the driver placed the bag in his arms. It overwhelmed him with its size. The driver looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

  “Have a good evening,” he said.

  “Always do,” the Gnome replied. He walked slowly back along the road, around the bend, working his way to the woods. No one to see what he was doing but the beasts of the forest.

  He was well into the known part of the woods before he made a sharp turn into the d
ark forest where no one ever roamed.

  “Fleet of foot,” he said, casting an old spell, long forgotten by others. The dark magic came rumbling to life inside of him.

  Birds scattered overhead, flying off in every direction.

  He was able to run through the dark forest at an incredible speed, carrying the heavy load easily. Deep into the dark forest to the old oak, where he had built his lair.

  “Things are progressing nicely,” he said, satisfied, when he was finally settled at home and the new mechanical bits and pieces were laid out. “Let’s see what we can do with all of this. More will be revealed, in due time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bill Somers could feel the sweat under his new tuxedo. Not a good sign. He was never very good under pressure. It wasn’t going to be easy setting up his reveal under the nose of Dean Muston. The man was everywhere that night, checking all the details and Somers was sure he had seen him once or twice casting a wary glance in his direction. A couple of times he saw him talking to someone, while looking over at Somers.

  Somers half expected to see someone following him for most of the night like an academic babysitter. Clearly the dean saw him as a liability. It only made Somers want to pull this off that much more.

  He’d been staying at Richard Randolph’s apartment, only slightly better than the one he had abandoned after he was ripped through a portal from his grimy bathroom.

  Most of his time was spent studying old documents and working on the timing of wearing the necklace to open the portal. Everything he read that talked about doorways or openings to a better place said the same thing. It took a living host to access the energy in the artifact and stream it outward to open the portal.

  He was still tempted to wear the necklace again, if only to calm his nerves. He patted the front of his jacket, checking that it was still safe inside his pocket. “Wait, just wait,” he mumbled. “Nothing can go wrong.”

  Besides, there was no telling where the portal would open up this time and he didn’t want to risk running into any more large beasts that could rip his throat out.