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

by Mark Whiteway

  There was no smoke; the perpetrators of this terrible crime appeared to be long gone.

  Mercifully, the damage appeared to be limited to a small area of the forest. The great tree and the trunks immediately surrounding it had been subjected to intense heat, but scarcely more than a few steps away, the foliage was untouched. Perhaps the trees possessed some fire-resistant quality...

  Boxx gazed up at the blackened bole. “The Great Tree. My Home.”

  Keris swallowed and blinked the tears away. She had no time for displays of grief. She needed answers.

  She walked around the base of the tree until she found the high opening and stepped through, with Boxx at her heels. The acrid smell of burnt wood made her gag. Gradually, her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness.

  Bile rose in her throat as she spotted maybe a dozen small shapes littered across the floor. No signs of life. But then, she had not expected to find any.

  She re-emerged into the sunlight and faced the Chandara. “Do you know whether any of your people survived?”

  Boxx’s voice had an almost musical quality. “I Do Not Know.”

  She tried a different tack. “If some of them managed to escape, where would they go?”

  There was a pause before Boxx replied. “Above. Among The Topmost Branches. Or Below. Beneath The Roots—Deep In The Heart-Soil.”

  The Warren. The underground complex that was home to the Chandara during the first part of their life cycle. They might well return to the ‘womb’ in a time of crisis.

  “Which part?”

  Boxx regarded her uncomprehendingly.

  “Which part of the forest would they flee to?”

  “I Do Not Know.”

  Keris bit her lip. How do you go about finding a group of Chandara who don’t want to be found? She might wander through the forest on the off-chance of finding them, but with a forest this size, she could spend days covering no more than a fraction of it.

  She could climb astride Boxx’s back once more and conduct aerial reconnaissance, but she might easily miss them from above the tree canopy. And if they had decided to take refuge by burrowing beneath the forest floor, as Boxx had suggested, then she would never find them.

  Assuming, of course, that any had survived at all.

  “Boxx, I have to find your people now, or it will be too late.”

  “To Fulfil The Promise.”

  “Yes. To fulfil the promise.”

  “I Could Sing.”

  “Sing... ?”

  The flying creature’s head moved from side to side in a way that reminded her of its younger form. “If I Sing To Them, They Will Come.”

  The song of the Chandara. She had heard it once before on the plateau, just before she and Boxx left for Akalon. Five Chandara had lifted their heads to a leaden sky and joined together in an ancient chorale—more ancient than the Kelanni people themselves.

  “Sing to them,” Keris urged. “Tell them, ‘come quickly’.”

  It began gradually. A paean, drifting outward from the dead heart of the forest. It wandered a singular scale, rising like hope, like the first shaft of sunlight or the tinkle of melting ice. Along the forest’s secret paths it wafted, through leafy bough and dense thicket, silencing the mylars in the topmost branches and stilling the skittering creatures of the forest floor.

  As the Chandara’s song filled the still air, Keris sat cross-legged, peering between the crowded trunks, but nothing came forth. Time slowed to a crawl. It was possible, of course, that none of Boxx’s clan had survived. If that were the case, she resolved to make those responsible pay dearly...

  However, another possibility occurred to her. The larval Chandara might be disinclined to gather at a site where the wholesale destruction of their own kind, and of their beloved Great Tree, had taken place. She was about to interrupt Boxx and suggest that they try a different location when she heard another sound.

  At first she thought the cadence of the song had changed. Then her heart quickened as she realised that it was a different harmony—a different voice. Soon the new strain was joined by a second. And then a third. The chorus seemed to come from all around, coalescing, parting, then merging once again. Individual melodies, yet united in consonance.

  Slowly they began to emerge from the forest: dozens of the shelled creatures, scurrying on all sixes, jostling one another. They stopped in front of Keris and Boxx, rising erect on their hind limbs, round heads bobbing expectantly, eyes like shining black points.

  Soon the devastated circle of forest was filled with them. Boxx lowered her head and the interwoven refrains fell away to silence. With a start, Keris realised that they were all looking at her.

  She swallowed. She had never been one for speeches. As Keltar, she preferred to let her actions and her staff speak for her. Now the fate of an entire race might very well hang on her next words.

  She uncrossed her legs and got to her feet. “Chandara of Illaryon. Your Great Tree is no more.” She cringed. The words sounded trite. Idiotic. Come on. Get a grip on yourself.

  She glanced sideways. Boxx was watching her intently with eyes like huge, lustrous gems. She turned back to the assembled throng, imbued with fresh determination. “This is Boxx. Annata designated her as the ‘key’. She has completed her great task on behalf of the Kelanni. Now the Kelanni have made a promise. We have promised to do what the Tree cannot—to store essence until the transformation of the Chandara is complete.

  “Boxx has undergone the change. I kept her essence and fed her when she emerged. She is proof. Proof that this thing can be done. That it will be done. For all Chandara.”

  She scanned the gathering. Their mouths rippled in the peculiar way of the juvenile Chandara, but other than that, there was no reaction. Her heart sank like a stone. Do they even understand me?

  All of a sudden, the creatures at the front parted, and a single individual stepped forward. Its round face was older—wizened—and it supported itself on a branch of gnarled wood that was as tall as itself. She recognized it as the chief. The one who had addressed her in the audience chamber at the time of Annata’s first appearance. It raised its head and spoke in a high, quivering voice. “You Are One.”

  Keris frowned. “I’m sorry... I don’t quite—”

  “You Are One. We Are Many. You Cannot Do This Thing Alone. Have Others Of Kelanni Made This Promise?”

  She could not lie to them. “A few have, yes. My immediate companions.”

  “What Of Others?”

  What of others, indeed. Miron’s ‘Fourth Circle’ had pledged their allegiance to her, but she could not be certain how far that allegiance might go. Their manifest aim was the overthrow of the Prophet’s regime. It was difficult to see what that had to do with this.

  She had already instructed them to stand down and await her orders. Now she was going to suggest that they play nursemaid to the despised Chandara. Some might well conclude that she was wasting their time. Others of a more suspicious nature might even think that she was a quisling, put in place by the Keltar to misdirect their efforts.

  “I cannot offer a guarantee for every one of my people,” she admitted. “But I will do everything in my power to persuade them to help.”

  As if to reinforce her promise, Boxx stepped forward and presented the tip of her wing. The old chief stretched forth its three digits, and a steady luminescence formed between them. It was just as when the larval Boxx had shared the memories stored in its Great Tree with the chief of the Warren, on the far side of the world.

  The light died and the shelled creature shrunk back. “A Destroyer Walks Among You. You Will Stay.”

  “I will what?”

  “You Will Stay,” the wrinkled Chandara repeated. “Your People Will Right The Wrong. Only Then Will You Leave.”

  A hostage. They were talking about taking her as a hostage. The Chandara she had encountered at the warren were traumatised. Hardened. Desperate. These creatures too were now locked in a battle for survival.

&
nbsp; She looked out across the sea of shells and swaying round heads. If she wanted to leave, could they prevent it? It hardly mattered. They was no way she was going to use force against them. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I have... tasks to perform.”

  “You Will Stay.” The creatures edged forward, reinforcing the chief’s ruling.

  Keris stood, rooted to the spot, like an animal caught in a trap.

  Just then, Boxx stepped in front of her, drawing herself to her full height, shuddering and then spreading her great wings. “No. Keris Must Leave. Boxx Must Leave.”

  “You Are Boxx,” the chief declared. “You Belong In The Forest With Your People. You Will Stay.”

  “I Have Changed,” Boxx returned. “I Am Adult Form. Children Do Not Tell Adults. Adults Tell Children. It Is The Way Of The Chandara. You Are Children. You Will Do As You Are Bidden. Boxx And Keris Must Leave. You Must Stay. Wait For My Return. I Will Return To You For The Time Of Change.”

  The dried-up chief lowered its head and sat on its rear limbs. The rest of the Chandara shuffled backwards. Keris let loose the breath she had been holding.

  “And If Kelanni Will Not Help Us? If They Will Not Right The Wrong?” the chief asked, head still bowed.

  Boxx gazed down with her golden eyes and spoke with the voice of ten thousand generations. “Then I Will Return And Die With You.”

  <><><><><>

  Chapter 39

  Shann lay flat on her stomach at the lip of the sand dune alongside Alondo, Rael, Patris, and the hu-man McCann and surveyed the open desert compound and the brooding fortress that served as its backdrop. Soldiers appeared to be guarding every inch of ground within the palisade, and she had already counted at least a dozen Keltar.

  She pulled back, got to her feet, and marched off down the windward side of the dune, shoulders tense. When she reached the bottom where the morgren waited, she flopped down, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared out across the undulating sands. The great shaggy beast cast a rheumy eye in her direction and went back to munching on a bale of kalash.

  A boy who lived in a world of numbers, a musician, a scullery maid, and a hu-man were preparing to take on an entire garrison. And all because of some stupid promise she had made. What was I thinking?

  A short while later, she registered Rael’s lanky form standing behind her and maintaining a respectful distance.

  “I don’t understand it.” Her words were a both cry of frustration and an invitation. The boy got the message. He walked forward and sat down beside her. “I don’t get why there are so many soldiers here,” she continued, still addressing the wide open desert.

  “You said that when you were last here with Lyall and Alondo, you tried to infiltrate the compound. It’s only to be expected that they would beef up security after an incident like that.”

  “Yes, but that was half a turn ago. Now that the Prophet has control of the four components, he doesn’t really need places like this to collect lodestone ore. It... it’s almost as if someone tipped them off— as if they knew we were coming, like last time.”

  “The answer may be simpler than that.”

  She turned to him for the first time. “How do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Wang only returned in the sky ship a few days ago. He may simply have not gotten around to rescinding the orders.”

  The boy was probably right. Unfortunately, it didn’t help any. She sighed. “I shouldn’t have let her go.” He looked at her quizzically. “Keris,” she added. “She should have been here by now.”

  “I’m sure she will get here as soon as she can,” Rael replied.

  Sure. If she’s not already dead. Or captured. She stared at the shifting sands beneath her feet. “I shouldn’t have let her go.”

  “You had no choice, Shann. It was the only way. By drawing the soldiers away from the tower, she made it possible for us to escape.”

  Only to walk right into another trap. “If Keris were here, I’m sure she could have come up with something—a strategy whereby we could free the tributes safely.”

  “I don’t think Keris could tell you anything beyond the evidence of your own eyes,” he said gently.

  It was true. There were just too many. If they tried a tactic similar to last time, encouraging the tributes to rise up from within, they would probably just end up getting them all slaughtered, particularly since the garrison commander didn’t have to worry about meeting ore production quotas any more. It might even give him the perfect excuse to do away with the tributes, on the grounds that keeping them alive and incarcerated was just too much trouble.

  “We could simply turn around and leave,” he offered.

  “And go where?” she snapped back. “The tributes are our only potential allies. Besides, I gave my word... ”

  He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She thought of Roanol, the young lad with tousled fair hair and penetrating blue eyes whom she had met during her time inside the compound. A younger version of Lyall. She had asked him to come away with her, but he had refused.

  She turned away, flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  He regarded her, eyes filled with concern. “Sorry for what?”

  Quickly, she changed the meaning. “I... I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  He took her hand, smiling. “I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  “What are you kids up to?” Alondo clumped down the slope, sending up great clouds of sand. He arrived at the bottom, perspiring and panting slightly.

  She disengaged her hand. “Trying to figure out what to do next.”

  “Hmmm,” he replied. “There does seem to be rather a lot of them, doesn’t there? A response to our previous effort, no doubt.”

  “That’s what Rael said. Where are Patris and McCann?”

  “I left them watching the compound. They seem to be competing with one another as to who can offer the most negative comments... So,” he plopped himself down on the sand opposite, without waiting to be invited. “Any ideas?”

  “Rael thinks we should leave.”

  “That’s one option. Puts us right back where we started though, doesn’t it?”

  “You three might succeed in figuring out Lyall’s plan in the meantime,” she said.

  Alondo and Rael exchanged glances. Finally, it was Rael who spoke. “I’m afraid the signs aren’t good, Shann. We’ve subjected the slag to every test we could think of—scientific or otherwise. So far, nothing. Right now, we’re out of ideas.”

  “What about McCann?” she prompted.

  “His people are more advanced than either of our societies. He even came up with a couple of possibilities I hadn’t thought of. Nothing came out of them, though. Unfortunately, we would need more sophisticated equipment to take the investigation any further— equipment we don’t have access to.”

  Shann shook her head firmly. “No, it has to be something simpler than that. Something Lyall knew we would be able to figure out. You said before you felt that lodestone was at the heart of it.”

  Rael nodded. “Yes, and I may have been wrong about that.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Because slag is not lodestone. It’s merely the stuff that’s left over after the lodestone is extracted.”

  “Perhaps the slag retains something of the properties of the lodestone?”

  “No, Shann. It doesn’t. I’m sorry, but we did every conceivable analysis. Slag has no more of the properties of lodestone than... than my boot.” There was a humorous retort somewhere there, but it was neither the time nor the place. “Still, we haven’t given up. There’s still a chance that one of us might think of something we haven’t already tried.”

  She heard the soft sound of shifting sands. She glanced up to see Patris, closely followed by the hu-man McCann, heading down the slope to join them. “They have that place sewn up tighter than a drum,” Patris commented as he approached.

  “He’s right,” McCann chimed in. “It’d take an army to get in there.”r />
  Everyone looked downcast except Alondo, who stared at McCann as if he had just uttered something outrageous. “What was that?”

  “I said,” McCann repeated, allowing his irritation to peek through, “that we would need an army to get into that compound.”

  Alondo got up and walked off a short distance. He stood in silence. McCann stared at his back. “Something I said?”

  Shann ignored him. “Alondo, is everything all right?”

  The musician appeared distracted. “An army. He said we would need an army.”

  “We don’t have an army,” Rael explained patiently. “There’s just the five of us.”

  “Maybe we do.”

  “Excuse me?” Rael replied.

  “Maybe we do have an army, after all. We just never realised it.”

  ~

  “Well, it took a while, but he’s finally lost it.”

  “I think the pressure’s getting to him.”

  “Could be the heat of the suns. I’ve heard that, out here in the desert, people have been known to do some pretty crazy stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh sure. It’s a well-known fact.”

  “You’d have thought that funny red hat of his would keep the sun off.”

  “Maybe his brain’s melted underneath it?”

  Alondo was kneeling, making adjustments to his vortex arm, which he had up-ended before him in the sand. “If you kids don’t stop it, I’m going to come over there and wallop the both of you.”

  Rael squeezed Shann’s hand and they smirked at each other.

  “So, Alondo,” Shann said, putting on her silkiest voice. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t believe I’m going to tell you, now,” he said, nose in the air. “It’ll just have to be a surprise.”

  “Alondo,” she remonstrated.

  “Oh, all right. It’s the sand scarags.”

  McCann and Patris both looked confused. McCann blinked beneath his heavy-set brows. “The sand what?”