The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series)

by Mark Whiteway

  “Boxx, what are you doing?” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. A second head joined the first–thinner and topped with a brush of dark hair. “Rael…go. Get out of here.”

  “No.” The boy’s head disappeared.

  Shann sagged. Why? Why won’t you just go?

  The Chandara suddenly ceased its ululation. “Shann. You Must Come. It Is The Key.”

  A loud bang. A flash of light overhead. Then she heard Rael’s voice from somewhere above. “It…it worked. Th-the murghal. They’re not moving…it actually worked.” His head reappeared. “Shann…Shann.” One of his long arms reached down. “Give me the other end of your staff.”

  She pushed the staff weapon up the side of the crevasse as far as it would go. Rael stretched farther down. He touched the diamond blade and reached for the darkwood shaft. His fingers closed around the wood, and he began to pull. Shann felt as if her arm was being wrenched out of its socket, but her body was still held fast by the ice. “Leave me,” she pleaded. “Those murghal could revive at any moment. You must get out of here, now.”

  “Wriggle,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Try wriggling back and forth.” Shann complied, twisting her body. As she did so, she felt her back renew its protest. “Grab the staff with both hands,” he instructed. Obediently, she reached up with her other hand and grasped the wooden haft. She could see the strain on Rael’s face. The determination. The desperation. Without warning, her body jerked free. Rael pulled the wooden staff up, hand over hand. Finally, their hands touched. Rael grabbed her palm and pulled her up over the rim of the crevasse.

  Shann lay facedown in the snow, her heart pounding. She struggled to her knees. The murghal were milling around a short distance away, in apparent confusion. She got to her feet and winced at the pain in her ankle–the same one she had injured in her flight from the soldiers in Corte.

  Rael took her by the arm and steadied her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine…” She waved him on. “Go. Go.”

  They started down the mountain once again, this time with Rael in the lead. She was limping. An angry wind buffeted her and flakes of snow did their utmost to fill her mouth and eyes. Shann fixed her eyes on Rael’s back and poured every ounce of concentration into the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. She had no perception of how long they had been walking or how near they were to the avionic–or even if they were still travelling in the right direction. She had only one purpose, one imperative. Keep moving.

  The howling wind gathered and deepened in pitch–only something at the back of her mind was nagging at her, insisting that it was not the wind. She hazarded a glance behind her. Nightmarish visions, covered in white and grey fur and encrusted with ice, were advancing down the mountain toward them. Two…four…seven…There was something she needed to remember. Something important. She shook her head angrily. Grenade. Use a grenade. “Rael,” she called.

  “I see it,” he said. She caught up to him, but he was not looking back. He was looking forward. There, nestling in the snowfield where they had left it, was the flying machine. Snow had drifted and piled up on one side, but otherwise it seemed intact. She tugged at his shoulder and pointed behind them. Rael turned, and his eyes grew wide. The monstrous forms were bearing down on them. Rael snatched a grenade, activated the valve and tossed it toward the nearest group. The twin canisters began their familiar whine; then died almost immediately before being trampled underfoot. The murghal were almost on them.

  “You and Boxx get to the avionic,” she yelled. “I’ll hold them off.” She stepped forward to face the creatures once more.

  “I won’t leave you behind.” Rael’s voice behind her was resolute.

  “Go and start it up. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Gaping mouths filled with knife-like teeth. Gelid breath freezing the mountain air. Prehensile arms waving toward her, seeking out her body heat. Rime Slayers. That was what Rael had called them. Well, she was not dead yet. Shann gritted her teeth and whirled her staff in a defensive figure of eight–a move Lyall had taught her. Her options were limited. She couldn’t use the cloak to leap away; she had to keep between the creatures and the avionic. However, all that was necessary was slow them down, to buy Rael the time he needed to lift off. She would do her best to join him, but…

  She opened up the lodestone layer of her cloak and leaped into the air, no more than three times her own height, then extended bronze and accelerated toward the ground, hacking and slashing at the ragged line of murghal. Her diamond blade made multiple contacts. The line swayed. Hesitated. Then began surging forward once again. Shann started to back off, cutting and slicing as she went. Her diamond blade sliced off small lumps of hair and ice, but there was no blood. She could not tell whether the creatures were being hurt or even affected.

  There was a sudden roaring behind her. Rael had started up the engines. In a few moments he would have enough power to lift off–or so she hoped. There was a movement at the corner of her eye. She hazarded a glance to her right. Half a dozen more of the murghal were coming at her. She was about to be outflanked. More importantly, the avionic would be overrun before it became airborne. As she continued jabbing and thrusting with the staff, her mind was working furiously. The fans. It meant taking a real risk, but it just might work. Shann broke off her assault and ran the short distance to the avionic, heedless of the pain in her ankle. She flared the cloak and leaped once more, alighting near the rear of the cockpit. Rael grinned–obviously relieved to see her. She shouted into his ear above the roar of the engines. “The fans.”

  “What?” he called back.

  “Can you bring the fans to bear on the murghal?” Shann saw realisation dawn on the boy’s face. He made an adjustment. The starboard fan pivoted in its housing and began to fire a steady blast of air at the creatures. Their advance slowed in the artificial gale. Shann crawled forward and squeezed into the front seat next to Boxx. “How long?” she asked.

  “No more than a couple of dahns. But I can’t lift off in this configuration,” he declared.

  “Give me the last grenade.” He handed it to her. “Let me know when you’re ready.” The murghal battled against the windstorm. They were still moving forward–ice covered fur blown back, arms outstretched, tubule-like fingers questing for heat. Come on, Rael. Get a move on.

  “Ready,” he hollered.

  “All right–on three,” she called. “One…two…three.” Rael adjusted the control and the starboard fan began pivoting back toward the horizontal takeoff position. The howling gale died. The creatures surged forward once more. Shann flicked open the valve, allowing the lodestone gas in one canister to intermix with the air in the other. A familiar whine–low at first, then growing in pitch and intensity. The ravening horde swarmed against their aircraft, fingers scrabbling against the smooth metal, seeking purchase. She drew back her arm and tossed the last of the handmade grenades into their midst. The whine grew into a shriek, audible even over the whir of the engines. The cockpit cover descended over her. The avionic rose, hesitated as if shaking off a mantle of sleep–then lifted into the air. Boom. An incandescent flash. The air detonated around their tiny craft. Shann was thrown this way and that, as Rael fought to bring their machine back onto an even keel. She looked down. The mountainside beneath them had turned dayglow beneath a pall of grey smoke. Of the murghal, there was no sign. Boxx had stood and was peering over the other side. “Pretty,” it said.

  Shann was too tired and relieved to argue. “Yes, it’s pretty.”

  Behind her, Rael said something. “What?” she called.

  “I said, I think that one worked.”

  Shann laughed, feeling the tension flow from her body. “That was amazing.”

  “Two failures out of four. I think Hannath would say it was only half amazing.”

  Shann didn’t care. They were alive and right now, that was the only result that mattered. The warmth of the cockpit enveloped her. Sh
e had to fight the temptation to curl up and go to sleep. “When we set down, I think I’d like a warm bath and a hot meal.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” he said.

  The site of the conflagration grew smaller and disappeared behind them. The avionic gained height as it prepared to clear the peaks of the Cathgorns. The port engine sputtered. She leaned over Boxx and pointed toward it in an exaggerated gesture.

  “I know,” Rael cried. “I’m getting some odd readings. I think it’ll hold out if I don’t push it too hard. It should get us off this mountain, at least–maybe even as far as the recharge station at Lechem.

  “Will they be able to repair it?” She did not want him to think she was denigrating his efforts. “So that we can continue our journey,” she added.

  “Not easily or quickly,” he responded. “Fortunately, though, I know where we can borrow another machine in Lechem. Although it will involve dealing with some folk that you may find more formidable than the murghal.

  “Who are they?” she asked, filled with curiosity.

  “My parents,” he replied.

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 21

  Keris and Patris picked their way carefully up the broken steps of a once impressive building. The wide portico was supported by spiral columns, chipped and scored by the ravages of time, but still largely intact. Rough brambles had broken through the stone and wound their way protectively up the formerly white walls. At the entrance, immense double doors stood open, covered with what were either patterns or unknown glyphs. Keris led the way through the doors, into a massive atrium. Above them, a high domed ceiling was broken in places, admitting shafts of sunlight. Dominating the centre of the open space, a round column rose to five or six times head height before being topped off by a large white globe. Distributed in a circle about the central column were a series of partitioned areas, with a pedestal before each. Keris made her way cautiously to the column, with Patris following at a respectful distance. Their steps echoed on the grey stone floor. She put a hand to the column and felt its perfect smoothness, untouched by the passage of time.

  She turned around slowly, allowing her eyes to take in the vast interior. “I thought you said this was a library. I don’t see any books.”

  Patris gave a wry smile. “Patience, dear lady.” He angled his head slightly, indicating for her to follow, then led her across the wide floor, avoiding a few sections of fallen roof and broken masonry. They reached the far wall. There were further glyphs at regular intervals. Patris located one, then pressed against a spot on the wall to the left of the symbol. A panel slid outward, revealing a small box. Patris retrieved the box and handed it to her. “Books,” he declared.

  Keris looked down at the box she was holding. Within it were perhaps two dozen translucent spheres. They reminded her of Vision Spheres, except that they were smaller and were suffused with subtle shades of green, yellow and blue. “These are books?”

  “Of a sort,” Patris said. “They produce…images, when you place them in those pedestals over there.”

  Keris pick up one of the spheres between her thumb and forefinger and stared into its depths as if challenging it to give up its secrets. “How did you find them?”

  “Ah, well,” he began. “In the Thief Guild, we are skilled in acquiring a wide variety of rare and hard to obtain items…” Keris sighed and shook her head. “All right, I found them by accident. I just leaned on the wall there and that tray popped out.”

  Keris raised her eyebrows. “And you didn’t steal them?”

  Patris shrugged. “No point.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you. They’re operated by the pedestals. Take them out of this building and they’d be little more than bits of coloured glass.”

  Keris wasn’t so sure about that. The mention of images suggested that the resemblance to Vision Spheres might not be so superficial after all. As far as she was aware, Vision Spheres could only be used to relay images, not store them. Still, Annata’s people were undoubtedly advanced. If these devices were in fact lodestone, the same kind that was used to make the Vision Spheres, then it could be an extension of lodestone technology. Something for Alondo to ponder later, perhaps. She looked about her. “And these are the only ones you found?”

  “I spent an afternoon going through them. After that, I didn’t bother to look.”

  Keris looked at him strangely. “Why not?”

  Patris pursed his lips. “Tell you what. Why don’t you run through them yourself and then see if that answers your question?” He led the way back toward the centre and went to one of the pedestals. Selecting a sphere at random, he placed it in a hemispherical recess. The sphere was a perfect fit.

  For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then a low hum started up behind her. She turned and looked up to see that the great orb surmounting the central column had changed from dull white and was now exhibiting a roseate glow. The sphere set into the pedestal gave off a soft, lutescent radiance, as if in sympathy. All of a sudden, the area encompassed by the booth filled with light. She was looking at a scene suspended in midair. A large crowd of people dressed in robes of crimson, white and yellow were gathered in front of a platform where a man in black was speaking. Keris strained to listen, but she was not at all familiar with the ancient language. The only word she could make out was “Kelanni,” which he spoke several times.

  The vision was unlike the one she had witnessed in the plaza the previous day. That had been flat, two-dimensional, like a floating picture. This was in three dimensions; ethereal, yet at the same time real in a way she could not explain. All of the people here were long dead. Yet they had lived, and their lives had had meaning. She could be looking at her own ancestors.

  Keris found that she could move completely around the image, even walk into it and become a part of it if she so wished. However, when she reached out to touch one of the assembled throng, her fingers met only emptiness. She looked into their faces. They looked happy–serene, even. This must be from before the period that the people of this world referred to as the Goratha. The dark time.

  She returned to the pedestal and removed the sphere. As soon as she picked it up, the yellowish light went out and the globe at the top of the column faded back to opaque white. Patris had taken up a position cross-legged on the floor a short distance away and was watching her. “Some of them are a bit…grainy,” he commented. “A few–three, if I recall correctly–don’t work at all. Hardly surprising after all this time.” She selected another sphere–a blue tinged one–and set it in the pedestal’s recess. “It seems appropriate at this time that I should remind you of the terms of our agreement,” he continued. “I did say that I wasn’t guaranteeing that you would find anything useful here.”

  The area in front of her burst into illumination once more. This scene featured a fair-haired girl, all smiles, in front of a series of brightly coloured backgrounds. As she spoke, a series of objects appeared–some familiar, others strange, with symbols next to each. Keris quickly concluded that this was a child’s educational tool. She plucked it from the pedestal and the light died once more.

  She activated another of the spheres and found herself looking at a succession of scenic vistas, most of which she didn’t recognise. An unseen narrator droned on in ancient. She was about to put it aside when the scene changed to one that immediately caught her attention. It was a Great Tree; whether here in the place these people called the Atarah Lowlands, or the one on the other side of the Great Barrier, near her home, she couldn’t tell. The vast trunk lifted itself up above the surrounding forest, vibrant with purple, orange and yellow foliage. Then, just as suddenly, the view shifted and she was looking down on a sparkling blue river that wound lazily across a vast plain of waving yellow grass. She shut it off.

  The next sphere featured a man in a harlequin suit, talking animatedly and then playing a musical instrument. There was laughter and applause from a hidden audience. Obviously a form of p
opular entertainment, although the suit looked absurd to Keris and the humour was lost on her.

  Other spheres were even more confusing, and some appeared to make no sense whatsoever. One showed a series of rapidly flashing images and put forth a sound so raucous that Keris concluded that it must be malfunctioning, and disconnected it immediately.

  She was beginning to see what Patris was talking about. The spheres were interesting, but did not appear to offer any useful information. She could only make out snatches from the commentary. Lyall claimed to know more of the ancient tongue than she did. It was possible that he might be able to glean more from these “books”.

  She was about three-quarters of the way through the collection when she came upon a sphere that was quite unlike the others. It began innocuously enough. The view was from the flat roof of a large building in the midst of a city–perhaps Kynedyr, perhaps not. The angle of sight moved upward to show a number of flying machines sailing across a cloudy sky. They were larger and more impressive than any she had encountered in her travels. One of them descended and touched down on the roof. A door opened in the side of the aircraft, and people were carried out on stretchers. The craft’s occupants, dressed in green overalls, were met by others from the building dressed in strange white suits. Their faces were grave.

  The scene switched to a room of pure white walls, where many people were laid out. Masks over their faces were connected by long tubes to unknown machines. She had a closer view of one of the patients; a fair-haired girl, very like the one in the teaching sphere earlier. Her face was ravaged by some sort of wasting disease. Next to her, a couple were clinging to each other. The woman was weeping profusely. Could this be the plague that Annata spoke of, the one that had destroyed her people? And now she was seeing it happen all over again; reliving the horror.