Shann excused herself and headed off in no particular direction.
She spotted Alondo sitting on the end of a cart, tuning the vortex arm. She felt her spirits lift. “Mind if I join you?”
The musician theatrically brushed imaginary dust from the place next to him. “Have a seat, fair lady.”
She climbed up and sat beside him, feeling safe and secure. Her legs dangled over the edge so that she felt like a little girl.
“Wanna hear a song?”
She smiled, politely. “Not right now, thanks.”
“You seem preoccupied.”
“I just had a conversation with Boxx.”
“Ah.” He fiddled with a lever and plucked at a string. “What’s the difference between a flower and a Chandara?”
“How do you mean?”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can get scents out of a flower.”
She smiled. “Very funny.”
“You think so? I’m considering adding it to my repertoire.” The fresh face, ready smile, and sociable air had not changed, but now they overlaid something else—a meditative quality that made him appear older. Less sure of himself. “Any sign of our hu-man friend?”
“You’re the only one who calls him that.”
“I was being polite.”
“You think I was wrong to invite him along, don’t you?”
He turned a key and grimaced, listening for the change in pitch. “A leader should never second-guess their decisions, Shann, at least not in public. It can make you appear indecisive.”
“It’s just you and me, Alondo,” she said with exaggerated patience.
He looked around to confirm that no one was listening and then shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I think Lyall would have done the same.” A moment of companionable silence passed between them. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
A shock wave passed through her. Somehow he had seen through to her secret as if she were glass. She swallowed. “After who?”
“Lyall,” he said. “We both know he has to be up there in the keep. You’re planning to get him out.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Shann.” He looked at her, askance.
Her facade cracked. “All right, all right. So what are you saying? That I shouldn’t attempt it?”
He set the instrument beside him. “I count you and Lyall as my closest friends. Ask one to risk their life for the other?” He shook his head slowly. “If Lyall were here, I know what he would say. He would strictly forbid you to go after him. But then again... ”
“What?” she pressed him.
“I know you, Shann. Nothing stopped you from descending into the fire pits to rescue Lyall from the Kharthrun serpent. And nothing I say is going to stop you now. However, there is one person you need to be concerned about.”
“And who’s that?”
“Rael, of course,” Alondo replied. “I spoke to him. He intends to be by your side every step of the way.”
Irritation blossomed within her. “Nonsense. He doesn’t own me. Besides, we already determined everyone’s role. He will be needed on the ground to supervise the placement of the slag.”
“I think he has other ideas,” Alondo said, gently.
She sighed and shook her head. “How’s Oliah?”
“I don’t think she’s speaking to me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Unfortunately, no. I told her to leave Sakara for her own safety. She refused. We had an argument about that. Then I told her of our plan to bring down the keep. We had an argument about that, too. She made it clear she doesn’t want me to go in with the rest of you. By the time I finished, she was in tears.”
He was just a musician, after all. If anything were to happen to him, she did not know how she would face Oliah. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should stay here.”
“Forget it. I’m not backing out now. Besides,” he continued while patting the vortex arm as if it were a beloved pet, “I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need my unique skills.”
He might well be right. However, there was no telling what tomorrow might bring. Tonight of all nights, each of them needed to find peace. There was no room for stray emotions or words left unsaid.
“I think you should Ring her again.”
He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. And maybe there’s someone you should talk to as well... ”
She found Rael inside one of the wagons, his lanky form bent over and scribbling on the tablet he carried with him. He looked up in surprise.
“What are you up to?”
“Just... checking some of my calculations.” As he fumbled, a sheaf of papers fluttered to the floor. She picked one up and frowned. It was a picture of her, and it was quite good. She had not known that he had such talent. How little she really knew him. She glanced up from the sketch and was greeted by his horrified expression.
She smiled reassuringly. “It’s lovely. Can I keep this?”
“I... er, yes I s... suppose so.” He stuffed the rest of the papers selfconsciously into his jacket.
“I never knew you could draw.”
He lowered his head. “I can’t. It’s just a silly habit.”
She wished he wouldn’t deprecate himself like that. It was his father who had filled him up with the notion that he was no good at anything—something that Hannath had later exploited. Now Hannath was dead and Rael’s father was half a world away, yet their influence was still plain to see, like blood marks on his soul. It’s not an easy thing to escape one’s past. She decided to change the subject. “Is everything ready for tonight?”
“What? Oh, you mean the slag. Yes, it’s loaded and ready to go. There’s enough to cover five of the transformed ground deposits on the north side, which should be enough to bring down the keep. It will mean splitting up into five groups. Alondo has designed a chemically fuelled rocket, which they will send up as a flare just before the final sections are hauled into place.”
“Why the north side?”
He shrugged. “It’s nearest to our present location.”
She nodded. “Very well. However, if the Chandara decide not to accompany us, there will need to be a slight change in plan. We will divide into four teams, not five. They will nullify four of the supports. Then three teams will withdraw, while the fourth tackles the final deposit.”
“Because when the keep falls there should be as few people in its path as possible,” he completed the thought. “All right, I’ll go in with the fourth group.”
“No. I want you well away by then.”
“I’m not leaving you behind.”
She averted her eyes. “I will be... occupied elsewhere.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That won’t be possible.”
“Why not?”
She turned away.
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because I won’t have time to wet nurse a... a scientist.” She instantly castigated herself, but the words were already out.
He stiffened. “I can take care of myself.”
No. You can’t. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”
“I won’t let you do this alone.”
“I don’t want to fight you over this!” she exploded.
I don’t want to fight you. Tonight of all nights.
She saw his pained, desperate look and felt a twinge in her heart. “Just hold me. Please.”
Together they descended, strands of kelp entwined and spiralling downward in the undertow…
~
“Shann... Shann... ”
She heard her name and stirred, rising and pulling aside the flaps of the wagon. Behind her, Rael lay still, eyes closed, breathing slowly and peacefully. Let him be.
The night was well along. Ail-Mazzoth hung overhead like a single rheumy eye. The axle creaked slightly as she hopped to the ground and pulled her cloak about her.
>
A knot of people had gathered around Boxx, voices raised in consternation. She hurried towards the source of the disturbance. “What’s going on?” Keris and Patris had their backs to her. They turned at the sound of her voice, their faces grave. “What’s going on?” she repeated.
“See for yourself,” Keris said, stepping aside. There, on a clear patch of ground in front of the Chandara, the wooden cage had opened up to reveal a flower, its pale white petals fully exposed to the purplish stain of night.
<><><><><>
Chapter 48
The butte was a thousand staring faces set in stone. Alexander McCann pushed fingers into eye sockets and rammed boot caps into open mouths. Erosion, that master sculptor, had done some of his best work, making it an easy climb—or at least it would have been had he been twenty standard years younger.
He grappled, groped, and grumbled his way higher. Stranded on some far-off planet, hauling himself up a useless rock in a pointless exercise to retrieve some worthless egg. Are you having a bloody good laugh now, Max?
He pictured his childhood pal taunting him from the summit. Why you takin’ so long? You got lead in your pants or somethin’? Wide-open eyes and manic laughter. He was the king of the castle; Mac was the dirty rascal. Not if I can help it.
He gritted his teeth, knotted his muscles, and renewed his assault, finally dragging his tortured body onto the flat tabletop.
Huffing and puffing on hands and knees, he recovered slowly. Max’s grinning idiot-face was nowhere to be seen. Near the middle, however, occupying a shallow depression, a haphazard collection of twigs and branches was piled high, as if someone had been gathering fuel for a massive signal fire.
McCann got to his feet unsteadily and moved towards it. A cool wind mopped the sweat from his brow. As he got closer, a disturbing thought came to him. Could this be a nest of some sort? If it was, then the occupant would have to be the size of a small car. And all he had to fend it off with was the equivalent of a wee pointy stick.
He shielded his eyes and scanned the heavens nervously, but there was nothing in sight. Muttering a choice assortment of curses, he began to clamber and pick his way through the tangle of wood.
The boughs parted reluctantly, revealing a flattened centre. Within it were two distinct objects. One was an egg—ruddy with dark speckles and nearly as long as his arm. Getting it down from this rocky perch, let alone all the way back to camp, was going to be a trick. His gaze was drawn to another form beside it, twisted and unmoving like a broken puppet. It took him several heartbeats to realise it was one of the adult form Chandara.
What was it doing here? The woman, Keris, said that after they had transformed in the town of Lind, the Chandara had headed west, in the direction of their forest, but this peak lay in the opposite direction. Then it struck him. Food. Maybe the Chandara had been taken as food for the fledgling... whatever it was, when it hatched. His stomach churned at the prospect. This was a sentient being, however alien.
He parted the last few branches and entered the heart of the nest, bending down on one knee to examine the creature. His heart hammered in his chest, reminding him that the denizen of this particular lair could swoop down at any moment.
At first it seemed that the Chandara was dead; then its beak twitched. On impulse, McCann unstopped his canteen, lifted the creature’s head slightly with one hand, and tried to pour water into its mouth. Some of the precious fluid leaked away to the sides, and he lessened the flow to a dribble. The rose-hued beak opened wider and the great white wings fluttered, weakly.
He glanced at the egg lying next to him. Boxx’s instructions had been very clear. He had to get it back to the Kelanni camp before her peculiar flower bloomed, or they would be on their own. He didn’t have time to play paramedic. Yet if he left the stricken creature here, like this, then he was under no illusions as to what would happen when the owner of the egg returned.
He could not carry it off the butte. That left only one alternative. He stood erect, drew Keris’s diamond-bladed staff, and prepared to defend them both against a monster that laid eggs close to a metre in length.
This is turning out to be a very bad night indeed.
~
Rag week, Eridani Station. Mac and Max, dressed as Tweedledum and Tweedledee, waddling from public house to Indian restaurant, rattling buckets of loose change in the humorless faces of scientists and administrative staff alike. (People will put up with almost any degree of high jinks, so long as it’s for charity.)
Later that night at Max’s parents’ place, dancing to ancient teenage anthems from some time called ‘the sixties’, before Quintessence Dark Energy had kicked mankind’s juvenile backside off the porch of their solar system and sent them packing to the stars. Yet even out here, kids would always be kids. Some things never change.
Tonight he stood alone on a hilltop, an absurd parody of the caped crusader, awaiting the arrival of some unnamed arch villain. It felt like rag week.
The creature swooped in from the south—a storm front with wings. Dark and threatening against the fire-banded sky, it filled his vision, stopping his heart and bringing a lump to his throat. Slowly it turned and began to circle the nest, surveying the trespasser. He gripped Keris’s staff like a nine iron, preparing to swing it at anything that came within reach.
“The Tohaca. It Has Returned.” The Chandara raised its head slightly and spoke with a voice like the oboe that McCann had tried and failed to learn as a child. “There Is Great Danger.”
“No kidding,” he returned as he tracked the flying creature’s progress.
“Leave Here. Save Yourself.”
“Sure, just as soon as I’ve gotten rid of Tweety Pie over there.”
“You Cannot Hope To Combat It.”
He smiled wryly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You Risk Your Life For Chandara. Why?”
Some ancient words swam into his conscious mind. “Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand.” He glanced at the alien creature at his feet. “I guess, like my fellow Scot, Macbeth, I’m just looking to pay some kind of a penance for past misdeeds.”
Without warning, the Chandara arose before him, a late lamented Banquo. Like Macbeth’s former friend and confidante, it appeared to have staged a sudden and remarkable recovery. “You Are No Longer The Destroyer.”
The Destroyer. It was the same phrase Boxx had used when referring to him. But that would mean...
“So was this the real test—to see whether I would defend the life of a Chandara at the risk of my own, or abandon you to your fate?”
“We Must Go. Kelanni Have Already Departed For The High Place. There Is Not Much Time.” The Chandara bowed its head and spread its wings.
“What of the egg that your people sent me to retrieve?”
The creature turned its head and regarded him with eyes of gleaming gold. “You Were Told. It Is To No Purpose.”
They had been told. But in the rush—in the demands of the moment— they had ignored Boxx’s saying. Perhaps the long-lived Chandara possessed a virtue that both hu-mans and Kelanni lacked. Patience.
The huge pitch-black beast they called the tohaca suddenly twisted in the air and dived towards them, talons outstretched, crowned head swept back, long-toothed beak wide open.
McCann scrambled astride the Chandara. “Hi-ho, Silver.”
The sudden upthrust was as shocking and thrilling as a roller coaster simulation. Or rounding Ganymede at five Gs. The flat tabletop where he had left his stomach receded rapidly. The tohaca pancaked on its nest, spread its ebony wingspan, and trumpeted victory.
He heard another cry, this time from behind. He twisted in his seat. Dozens of Chandara filled the sky, like a flock of pure white valkyries.
They set their faces to the north, seeking einherjar to bear to the halls of Valhalla.
~
In silence they advanced through deserted streets, the muffled wheels of the wagons betrayed by the occasional
creak of an axle. Before them, looming over the rooftops, the sky-borne keep grew ever larger in their vision. The weight of it seemed to crush the very air. Shann had to resist the urge to turn tail and run.
Pinpricks of light shone from windows in the tower. Behind them, the Keltar and the Prophet himself stared out over the great city, aloof and unassailable. Challenging their might suddenly seemed an act of the greatest folly.
When she had seen the lone white flower blooming in the middle of the camp, her heart sank. Despite Keris’s obvious scepticism, Shann genuinely believed that the hu-man McCann would do his best to redeem himself in the eyes of the Chandara. But ultimately he had failed, and with the night already well along, they could not wait any longer for him to return.
Boxx had kept her word and accompanied them, but without the help of her brethren, they were at a clear disadvantage. Since they could not reach the keep, they would be entirely dependent on stealth. If the lookouts got wind of what they were doing and attacked from those platforms of theirs, then they would be in a fight for their lives. If they were driven back or the wagons containing the slag were destroyed, then the whole enterprise would fail.
However, they had no choice but to try. Keris was convinced that Sakara’s destruction was imminent, to be followed, no doubt, by Leota, Kalath-Kar, and any other city that did not bend utterly to the will of the Prophet. It was now or never.
Keris appeared at her shoulder and pointed. A lone figure stood in the middle of the main thoroughfare, blocking their path. Shann could make out a tattered jerkin and a balding crown. Have we been discovered already? Her hand moved towards her staff.
Keris signalled the driver of the lead wagon to halt and strode out to meet the newcomer. Shann followed, with the intention of backing her up. To her surprise, he greeted the tall woman with a formal bow. “My Lady.”
Keris returned the gesture. “Greetings, Miron.”
Shann allowed her hand to relax.
So this was he. The self-styled chief of Lind’s underground resistance movement, the ‘Fourth Circle’. Short and unprepossessing, with small eyes and a rounded back that looked as if it had borne too many burdens, he looked less like an influential leader and more like a subservient peasant. Although perhaps that was the point.
The Lodestone Trilogy (Limited Edition) (The Lodestone Series) Page 109
