father's elder brother, Piers}'
'Uncle Piers? Vaguely - bit of a black sheep, wasn't
he?'
'Yes, you could say that - he was on Ingram's side
during the Winter Coup, helping organise support in the
trapper towns and further out, but his heavy-handed
methods backfired on him and he supposedly met a grisly
end away in the north. Anyway, he had a favourite
saying - "Screw negotiations, break out the ammo" -
which I suspect these Brolturans would identify heavily
with.' She was silent a moment. 'I worry about the three
of you so much, because I fear that it will all get much
worse before it gets better. Ian is a soldier and Ned is a
doctor, so danger will come searching for one of them ...'
'Mum, you shouldna worry so much, and especially
not about me - all I do is rattle about with my stone
carvings and dusty potsherds.' Aye, and a mysterious,
underground chamber built by a vanished race, proba-
bly Forerunner. 'But we'll also be looking out for each
other, and Uncle Theo.'
'Ah, I spoke to him this morning - he said that he
was on the trail of those who killed the Brolturan
ambassador but he was too late to stop it. He's so angry,
at himself too. Oh look, I've talked long enough. I
should let you get on with your work . . . oh, I meant to
ask if your friend Ms Macreadie is still working at your
site.'
'No, she's away back up to Nivyesta, Mum. She
really only was here for that official visit a couple of
days ago.'
'Right, of course. Well, goodbye, dear.'
After their farewells, Greg put his comm away and
headed along the passage, burdened by guilt, knowing
he should be in touch with his mother more often, actu-
ally making the call rather than leaving it to her or, in
this case, Ian.
Perhaps I'm just not a very good son, he thought
gloomily as he walked down into the room of pillars.
Chel and Listener Weynl were out on the chamber's
patterned floor, at roughly the spot where Greg had lost
his boots the day before. Barefooted, they were crouch-
ing down in the cold golden light of a lamp sitting on
the boundary wall, a short strap anchoring it to a shoul-
der pack. Warily, Greg approached the gap and sat on
the wall, legs kept safely away from the floor patterns.
Chel glanced up and smiled. 'Friend Gregori, good to
see you.' He was wearing the headband over his new
eyes and seemed more relaxed and rested than last time.
Then Weynl straightened and gave him a measured
look.
'May I address you as "Scholar", Mr Cameron?' the
Listener said. 'It feels far more appropriate considering
all that you have done for the Uvovo, all the clues ycu
have found, culminating in this amazing discovery.'
'I would be honoured to accept the title, Listener,' he
said. 'Is there a ceremony involved?'
'Yes - it consists of a day and a half of meditation in
a vodrun, followed by individual visits to your family
and friends to sing the Song of New Leaves. However,
there is no vodrun within easy travel and the pressure of
events allows little enough time for even the most vital
of tasks.'
Greg hesitated, not expecting the seriousness in
WeynPs words and his demeanour. Even Chel's smile
was sombre.
'By events, do you mean this diplomatic row with
the Brolturans? Once we catch those murdering mani-
acs, we'll get back to negotiations and it'll all blow over.
And anyway, what bearing does that have on our work
here?'
'Do you remember what I told you yesterday about
this place, Gregori?' Chel said.
'You said that it was built a hundred millennia ago by
a race, no, an alliance of races called the Great Ancients.
And I said, well now, that sounds similar to these
Forerunners I've been hearing about in the news and on
the vee, who were supposedly wiped out in a cataclysmic
war about a hundred thousand years ago.' Greg smiled.
'And I said, so what did this big chamber actually do,
what was it for, and you said that you'd get Listener
Weynl to explain it to me ... and here we all are. I
assume that it has something to do with my dazzling
experience yesterday.'
Weynl nodded. 'A defence - the well has a vigilant
Sentinel, watching tirelessly, guarding against anything
that might be considered a threat.'
'Like my boots?'
'The Sentinel is very wary of unnatural or processed
materials,' Weynl said. 'You'll notice that our feet are
bare. If you take off your footwear you can join us - it's
quite safe.'
Greg held up his hands. 'Once was plenty, thank you.
So, what are you doing, and how does it relate to what
this place is for?'
Chel looked up from the pattern grooves, which were
gleaming where he had touched them, although Greg
noticed that the radiance faded when he lifted his fingers
away.
'We're trying to rouse the Sentinel,' Chel said. 'Then
hopefully speak with it.'
'Speak with it and warn it,' added Weynl. 'The Great
Ancients built this place and others like it on a hundred
other planets, wells of power to counter the terrible
might of the Enemy; numberless in their vast hordes,
they sought to smother and strangle all who opposed
them, but the wells could reach out into the starry black-
ness, drag them down and swallow them, sending them
down into the darkness below the darkness, the empti-
ness within the emptiness.'
Greg stared at the older Listener, not knowing what
to say, feeling oddly embarrassed, but he knew that he
could not dissemble.
'Listener Weynl, I've heard the Saga of the Ancient
Roots and I've read the transcript - I'm sorry but it's a
legend, a myth. All societies and cultures have stories
like this in the bedrock of their prehistory ...'
But Weynl was smiling at him, not quite in pity, more
like tolerant amusement.
'Friend Gregori,' said Chel. 'This is not a matter of
faith for the Uvovo - we know it to be true, as true as
the War of the Long Night.'
'Chel, you've seen our work . . .'
'Gregori, you saw what happened here yesterday -
you were blinded for several minutes by the forces that
came up out of the pattern.'
'I'll concede that this is a technological artefact from
some vanished civilisation,' he said. 'But there's not a
shred of evidence to connect this place to the Uvovo
myths.'
'Scholar Cameron,' said Weynl. 'I tell you in all hon-
esty that this chamber is the reason why the Hegemony
is so interested in Umara. They know of this place and
they want it - its powers would make them invincible.'
It was an amazing statement and lent a growing sense
of unreality to an already bizarre situation. But Weynl
said it w
ith such steady conviction that Greg took a
mental step backwards - could it be true, he wondered.
It explained several coincidences, yet for all that it was a
tantalising conjecture his ingrained scepticism demanded
empirical evidence.
'How may we convince you, friend Gregori?' said
Chel.
'Proof,' he said. 'Show me undeniable proof that it's
all connected - Segrana, this chamber, the Forerunner
Catastrophe, the Uvovo - and I'll ... well, I'll know
better.'
'If we can persuade the Sentinel to speak,' Weynl said,
'would that suffice?'
'That would certainly get my attention, aye.'
Smiling, the Listener looked at Chel, who nodded. As
Greg watched, the Uvovo crouched down, examining
the incised stone, muttering to each other as they ran
fingertips along the lines of the patterns. Silver threads
shone in their wake and he noticed that each Uvovo
was delineating a cluster of lines, symbols and curves
distinct and separate while just a few feet apart. After
working on them for a few minutes, first Weynl then
Chel rose and took three paces out towards the middle
of the floor, crouched down and again scribed out glow-
ing patterns on the stone. Their squatting forms
appeared dim and shadowy a few yards from the lamp,
but the patterns gleamed like mercury.
Chel stood and came back over to the nearer pair,
crouched and began tracing a line from one pattern clus-
ter to the other, while Weynl did the same at his end.
When the links were made, the pattern pairs brightened
suddenly then faded - the Uvovo grinned at each other
and nodded. Then Weynl bent down and began to scribe
a bright thread from his patterns back to Chel's. Just
before the end he paused, smiled up at Chel and Greg,
then closed the gap.
All four pattern clusters brightened significantly and
the wall at the opposite side was now just visible. Like
the last time Greg felt a change in the air, which
became neither warmer nor cooler, with no change in
humidity or odour or even pressure. It was as if
abruptly something was present in the chamber, some-
thing impassive. . .
TUUL-RAAN-SHAYH
Greg jumped as a massive voice spoke. It came from
all around, and while it was not overly loud there was a
deep, resonant timbre to it which made the hairs on his
arms tingle.
Chel and Weynl looked stunned and uncertain. The
Listener started calling out greetings in the Uvovo
tongue while Chel whispered suggestions. Greg how-
ever felt sure that those three words were not from the
Uvovo language.
SHUUL-TANN-RAYH
'Do you know what that means?' Greg said.
The two Uvovo glanced at each other before Weynl
spoke.
'I cannot be sure, Scholar Cameron. At first I thought
it was an ancient dialect of our tongue, or even a high
idiom used by senior Listeners, yet there is no recognis-
able sense to these ... sounds . . .'
'But did you notice with the second announcement
that the initial consonants shifted?' Greg said, a nasty
suspicion forming in his thoughts. 'If it shifts again . . .'
RUUL-SHAAN-TAYH
'Right,' he said. 'I think we should get out of here,
actually ...'
'But why, friend Gregori?' said Chel.
'Remember the tests you and I went through?' he
said as he got to his feet. 'Remember what happened to
my boots?'
Chel smiled. 'I really don't think that we're in danger.
Gregori.'
'How do you know?'
'I have been using my new senses to study the well
and what lies beneath it, and I can tell you that the flow
of powers is very different from before.'
'Hmm, either you're very trusting,' Greg said, moving
in the direction of the entrance, 'or very optimistic'
SHUUL-RAAN TAYH
'I think that sometimes I am a distrustful optimist,'
Chel said, while Listener Weynl continued calling out
greetings in a variety of Uvovo dialects.
'Well I'm an orthodox sceptic,' Greg said. 'So I'll be
waiting back at the corridor while you see what hap-
pens . . .'
Chel grinned and waved and Greg left the chamber.
He was near the head of the stairway when the comm in
his jacket beeped, alerting him to a message. He took it
out, thumbed the keys, saw it was from Catriona and
began to read while walking along the entry corridor.
'Hi Greg,' it began. 'I tried calling you but the node
hub said you were out of range so I'm sending a corn-
note instead. Just to let you know that I'm going to try
something different in my hunt for the Pathmasters - a
Listener I know suggested I spend a few hours in a
vodrun chamber, contemplating the mysteries of Segrana
in the hope that she might see fit to let me in on a few
Pathmaster secrets. Anyway, by the time you read this
I'll probably be in the vodrun, especially given the signal
lag between here and Darien. I guess you're back down
there in that chamber - wish 1 was there too. Bye.'
The comnote had been sent nearly half an hour ago
but had only reached him when he left the chamber and
came to the corridor. Suddenly anxious, he began keying
for a return call but before he could put it through, that
deep, reverberant voice spoke again from below .. .
HORON
Reflexively, Greg turned to the stone wall, clamping
his hands over his eyes. For telescoping moments all
was dark and silent, no remorseless, hammering light
pouring into his optic nerves, turning the world into
white fog. Cautiously, he peered from behind his fingers,
then lowered his hands - all seemed fine, but just to be
sure he hurried back to the stairs, pausing halfway
down.
'Chel, are you both okay?' he shouted.
'All is well, Gregori,' came the faint reply. 'No need
for concern.'
'Great!' he yelled back, then retraced his steps, wait-
ing till he reached the window, where the body harness*
hung, before making the call to Catriona.
34
CHEL
Listener Weynl had been in the middle of an elaborate
greeting delivered in a whispering hinterland accent
when that great voice spoke again.
HORON
... and simultaneously the four glowing pattern clus-
ters went dark, leaving them in the faintly golden light
of the solitary lamp. It cast their shadows in long black
paths across the intricately carved surface of the well,
making all the incised lines, curves and symbols appear
harshly cut, and the stone look like grainy, corroded
metal.
They both stood there for a moment then, to Chel's
surprise, Weynl began to laugh quietly, his shoulders
shaking with mirth. Chel found himself starting to smile
for no apparent reason, and was about to ask what had
set off this d
isplay of merriment when Greg's voice came
from far off, probably the main passage.
'Chel, are you both okay?'
'All is well, Greg,' he shouted back. 'No need for
concern.'
'Great...'
On hearing Greg's distant yelling, however, Weynl
went into another bout of hilarity which provoked in
Chel a slight but growing irritation.
'Listener, are you well?'
'. . . I'm . . . sorry, good Scholar ... all this marvel-
lous construction dedicated to preserving the Great
Ancients' work and when we awake their Sentinel we
cannot understand a word.' He smiled. 'But a Human
shouting from outside we can comprehend quite
well . . . my apologies, it seemed overwhelming!)
funny . . .'
'Understandable, Listener,' he said, feeling disap-
proval at WeynPs amusement, then wondering why he
would feel that way. Am I turning into some kind of
strict, humourless traditionalist? Perhaps I'm the one in
need of a dose of merrymaking!
Suddenly, Weynl fell silent and turned to face Chel,
his eyes wide, mouth open.
'Foolish I've been, yes, and blind!' He stretched out a
hand to the well surface. 'The Great Ancients built this
place, so might it not be expected that their Sentinel
would speak their language?'
'Exactly so,' said a sighing, whispery voice from
nearby. 'Disappointing that you took this long to discern
it.'
In the air above the golden-glowing lamp hung the
tenuous outlines of a vague, hooded figure, its spectral
contours formed from minute particles of dust hanging
and glittering in the heat rising from slots in the lamp
cover.
'Venerable Pathmaster,' Weynl said, bowing. 'Then
it is true - the Sentinel speaks only the Great Ancients'
tongue.'
'I seem to recall that it was fluent in a great many
forms of communication, not all of them spoken.
However, I do remember that it could be slightly irascible
in temperament. Perhaps I can persuade it to be more
forthcoming.' The Pathmaster paused. 'Cheluvahar, I see
the changes Segrana has made in you -1 expect you were
surprised.'
Chel almost smiled, imagining how Gregori would
answer such a comment.
'Yes, Pathmaster, surprise was indeed one of the emo-
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 33
