tions I experienced when I came out of the vodrun'
'Your importance cannot be overstated, newest of
Listeners,' the Pathmaster said. 'Segrana has not husked
forth one such as yourself since the War of the Long
Night when hundreds of Seers were needed to guide the
Scholars. There were battles in the high skies, but there
were also battles here on the ground against the lesser
servants of the Dreamless, metal things that crept, ran,
flew and swam and which infested the forests and the
plains, the hills and the valleys. They strove to disrupt
the defiant unity of the Uvovo but ultimately failed.
'Segrana knows that we need the Seers again but she
is weak - the War of the Long Night took something
from her that can never be replaced, thus she can only
do what she may with the little strength that remains.'
'Venerable one,' Chel said. 'I thought my abilities
were similar to those of a Listener, yet you named me a
Seer . . .'
'There are aspects to your senses that will make
themselves known to you in time. Realise this, too - the
path from Scholar to Listener to Pathmaster is in the gift
of Segrana, but a Seer cannot become a Pathmaster.'
Chel was intrigued. 'So what does a Seer become?
What will I be?'
'After the upheavals and struggles that lie ahead?"
the Pathmaster said. 'Alive, with any luck.' The
Pathmaster's form blurred a little. 'Now, please leave
me to converse with the well's Sentinel - go with the
Human back to the encampment above. I will come to
you in a while and relate what has happened.'
The Pathmaster fell silent. Chel stared at the attenu-
ated form, hazed, almost fragmentary outlines quivering
in the golden heat-haze of the lamp. Then he glanced at
Listener Weynl, who gave a slight shrug and bowed to
the Pathmaster. Chel did the same and both Uvovo
stepped off the patterned surface of the well and headed
round towards the chamber exit.
'Phruson,' Weynl said thoughtfully as they crossed
the room of the four pillars.
'Excuse me, Listener?'
'Phrusonemejas was one of the three great
Pathmasters who survived the War of the Long Night -
in the centuries that followed all three eventually gave
up their failing flesh and began their journey to the
Eternal. Although the remains of two were discovered
where they had lain down for the last time in the
embrace of Segrana, Phruson's were never found.'
'Do you believe that he is this Phruson?'
Weynl smiled. 'It would be hard to determine, but it
is an explanation of sorts, which is better than no expla-
nation at all.'
But if it is wrong, Chel thought, is a wrong explana-
tion better than none at all!
35
PATH MASTER
All was silent now in the cold gloom at the rock's
heart. The Pathmaster let the outlines of his old physi-
cality, maintained for the younger Uvovos' benefit,
drift and blur like the vestiges of a snuffed candle's
smoke trail. Before him yawned the great aperture of
the ancient warpwell, its inscribed control patterns
stretched faint and wispy across those penumbral
depths. The Pathmaster's senses could cut through
appearances to essences and he knew that the Sentinel
of the well was always there, always alert, always lis-
tening.
'Greetings,' he said in the long-forgotten language of
the Great Ancients. 'I do know that you could have
responded in the Uvovo tongue yet you did not. I
wonder why.'
I WAS NOT ACCORDED MY DUE RESPECT
NOR ADDRESSED CORRECTLY ... IT HAS BEEN
MANY CYCLES OF THIS SUN SINCE ANY OF THE
AUXILIARIES HAVE VISITED THIS DORMANT
PLACE, APART FROM YOU AND THE WEARER
OF THE EXTREMITY COVERINGS.
The Pathmaster smiled to himself, knowing that
this was a reference to the Human Scholar Greg's
boots. In any case, the Sentinel knew that the War of
the Long Night had killed most of the Uvovo on the
planet and trapped the rest on Segrana's forest moon,
until the arrival of the Humans - it was just being
petulant.
'The times of peace are ending,' he said. 'War is
almost upon us. You know of the Humans and the inter-
est being shown towards this world?'
I HEAR MUCH AND BELIEVE LITTLE. THAT
WHICH IS KNOWN IS INVARIABLY SHOWN TO
BE INCORRECT OR INCOMPLETE.
'A commendable scepticism, if kept within limits,!
the Pathmaster said. 'This place is now known to our
enemies, an immense empire of the stars called the
Hegemony - they are secretly dominated by their ser-
vants, machine-minds whose power extends to the
underdomains of the Real.'
THE DREAMLESS! I HAD THOUGHT THEM
DESTROYED ALONG WITH ALL THEIR INSTRU-
MENTALITIES.
'This appears to be a distinct genus with no apparent
links with those earlier counterparts,' he said. 'Their
need for aggressive domination is nearly identical, how-
ever.'
THE UVOVO MUST BE MADE READY FOR
BATTLE - UMARA'S DEFENCES MUST BE STRENG-
THENED.
'Such preparations have begun, but resources are
thinly spread and untried, and Segrana is seriously
weakened. I would like to speak with the Construct, if
he still exists, to ask for advice and aid.'
I CONVERSED WITH THE CONSTRUCT A
SHORT TIME AGO - HE SAID THAT YOU WOULD
SOON VISIT ME WITH THE INTENTION OF CON-
TACTING HIM.
The Pathmaster felt a quiver of surprise. 'Did he say
more?'
HE TOLD ME TO SAY THAT AID WOULD BE
RECIPROCAL. HE SAID TO ASK YOU TO PROVIDE
HIM WITH AN ENVOY, PREFERABLY ONE OF
THE HUMANS BUT A UVOVO SCHOLAR WOULD
SUFFICE - THIS ENVOY WILL HELP TO OBTAIN
THE AID YOU REQUIRE. THERE WAS NO FUR-
THER MESSAGE.
Possibilities flickered through the Pathmaster's mind.
Until his husking, Cheluvahar would have been ideal
for such a task, but now he had a new purpose and the
abilities to go with it. It would have to be another of the
Scholars, or . . . or a Human, such as the scholarly
Gregori? It seemed unlikely that he, or indeed any of the
Humans involved in the work of the intellect, would
consider an undertaking like this. Then there was the
matter of secrecy. Keeping the Humans ignorant of the
warpwell and its entrance would prevent such knowl-
edge falling into the hands of the Sendrukans and the
Hegemony machines, although that might delay them
only for a while.
'Did the Construct reveal the nature of the aid that he
might provide?'
HE DID NOT, BUT IT IS CLEAR THAT HE IS
EXTENDING HIS CAPACITIES AND AWAKENING
SELECTED CADRES OF THE AGGRESSION IN
RESPONSE TO SOME THREAT IN THE LOWER
DOMAINS OF HYPERSPACE. IF YOU WISH r0
&n
bsp; SPEAK WITH HIM IN PERSON I CAN TAKE YOU
TO HIM.
The Pathmaster almost laughed out loud. 'My incor-
poreal state makes it impossible for me to undertake
such a journey. However, please convey to the Construct
my gratitude at his offer -1 shall give it the most intense
and immediate consideration, and return with a repl)
tomorrow. In the meantime, if you would excuse my
younger companions their earlier lack of courtesy and
engage them in dialogue, I am certain you would find
them a most appreciative and respectful audience.'
I SHALL DO THIS. DO YOU WISH ANY LIMITS
PLACED ON WHAT I MAY SAY TO THEM?
'None, although perhaps you should be vague about
some of the warpwell control patterns.'
NOW THAT I AM APPRISED OF YOUR UVOVO
COMPANIONS, I SHALL ENSURE THEIR SAFETY.
'Thank you - I am gratified.'
There was no response. The Pathmaster listened care-
fully in the deepening silence, widened senses soon
confirming that the Sentinel's immediate presence hail
receded.
The Pathmaster thought on what he had learned. The
Construct, a near-mythical ally of the Great Ancients,
had apparently known or guessed that he would try to
make contact: did that imply that the Construct was
somehow monitoring events here on Umara? Then he
recalled the reporters who kept up a flow of information
to their offworld organisations and the arenas of the
tiernet beyond, and realised that the Construct had
access to more than he could know.
The request for an envoy was strange, however, and
curiously lacking in detail, which he would return to
tomorrow. Also, the mention of cadres of the Aggression
being awoken to deal with an unspecified threat was
sufficient to provoke unease. Many centuries ago, when
he was young enough to still have a physical form, he
had travelled via the warpwell to the Construct's strong-
hold in the unsettling underdomains of hyperspace, the
Garden of the Machines. During his stay he had been
taken to a gloomy vastness where the Aggression
waited, sleeping, an immense phalanx of war machines:
he remembered the inactive hush that hung over the
motionless serried rows, columns and files stretching
back into shadow, thousands upon thousands, yet
knowing that even these great numbers would have been
swallowed by the Legion of Avatars.
None of the Aggression had been awoken during the
War of the Long Night, but some were now. It was a
conundrum which implied much and begged many
questions.
Which I intend to have answered tomorrow, he
thought as he drifted from the chamber.
36
CATRIONA
The darkness of the vodrun was broken by the tiny
flame of a luring candle, the kind some Uvovo used to
catch certain insects for the wing casings they shed.
Catriona lay back against the cushion she had brought
for her back, both hands cupping a beaker of turnsprij
tea, breathing in its vapour and occasionally sipping as
she waited for it to cool. There was no way to get hole1
of the special sapdrink that the Uvovo used in their rit-
uals, so she had made up a flask of turnsprig for its
relaxing, de-stressing properties, which turned out to be
invaluable.
And so here she was, following the mystic utterances
of the spectral Pathmaster whom she might or mighr
not have seen. In fact, the stress of the situation derived
not from the Pathmaster's promptings but from the pos-
sibility of being discovered. True, this vodrun was part
of a high-canopy town which was empty due to the
steady migration down to Darien, but travellers and
traders, humans and Listeners still tramped along the
nearby branchways. It was not impossible that someone
might chance to pass by and see that foliage had been
cleared away from the vodrun .. .
Catriona smiled, shook her head, and took a mouth-
ful of her tea, which had lost some of its heat. Eyes
closed, she could feel the warmth spread through her,
calming, relaxing. She sipped again, cleared her throat
and, with a yawn, settled further back into her cushion's
comfort. Suddenly it was easy to keep her eyes closed, to
breathe deeper, to feel that simultaneous heaviness of
limbs and lightness of thoughts that floated free to
pursue the whims of unfathomable intent.
The first definite thread of her dream was the thing
she was holding in her hands: a datapad, a tech-func-
tions model with a battered alloy casing and worn keys.
She turned it over, examining it, recognising it as the one
she had used during her early Enhanced years.
Deliberately she looked up and found she was standing
in the small, cramped room she had occupied at
Zhilinsky House. There was the bed, the desk, the book-
shelf, the always-closed window shutters, yet everything
was pale, colourless and grainy. She was also aware that
she was dreaming, conscious that she was still in the
vodrun while also standing there in the doorway, staring
along an empty corridor. Out the corner of her eye she
caught sight of herself in a square, wooden-framed
mirror - dark hair tied in a bun, grey nondescript uni-
form, a face that looked on edge and showed her to be
about twelve or thirteen.
Catriona walked, datatpad in hand, shoeheels rap-
ping loudly on wooden floors. Zhilinsky House seemed
deserted and she smiled as an idea occurred to her. It's
my dream, so let's go and take a look at the director's
office, see what my file really says! She took the main
stairwell to the second floor and was halfway along the
south gallery overlooking the senior dining room when a
door opened in the north gallery on the opposite wall
and Julia Bryce stepped into view. Amid the mono
chrome surroundings, the soft greys and inky blacks.
Julia was a knot of rich colour, the pale pink of her skin,
the dark mahogany of her hair, the sky-blue dress uni-
form, the shiny brown shoes. The moment she saw
Catriona, her eyes widened and she rushed to the railing.
'Catriona! - I need to speak to you . . .'
But Catriona didn't wait to listen and dashed for the
door at the gallery's end. Then it was up the fire stairs to
the next floor and quickly along to the opening that led
into the annexe. As she fled she noticed other students
beginning to emerge, peering out from behind cup-
boards or sitting in corners or ducking back into
doorways as she passed.
'Join us, Catriona! Join me!'
She gasped. She was up on the balcony in the minor
gym and Julia was down in the centre of the court,
gazing up.
'I need you, Catriona!'
She ran.
Out the annexe side door, down the garden, past the
brollyberry trees and back into the main building. A
windowed
corridor led past the junior canteen where a
few others sat singly here and there, their colouring as
grey-shaded as the environment and the food on their
plates. Then a boy hurried down a stairway in the centre
of the canteen, and came over to the window where
Catriona stood on the other side. Like Julia he was in
full colour - red hair, blue shirt and shorts, and a grin
that she knew, although he had never been at Zhilinsky,
simply because he was a normal. She placed him at per-
haps fifteen, but it was definitely Greg.
'This is my dream,' she said. 'Why are you and Julia
here? I'm aware that I'm dreaming so I should be able to
guide it where I like ...'
'That would be true,' said the young Greg. 'If this
was a dream. Cat, you've got to speak with her.'
'What, with the Julia in my head? Aye, as if I'm going
to waste my time.'
Greg smiled. 'She's not in your head, Catriona -
you're in hers.'
Suddenly fearful, she stepped back and continued
along the corridor which she remembered led to the east
lobby, but once through the door she found herself in
one of the lecturers' offices, a small wood-panelled room
with a cluttered desk, a wall of filing cabinets, a small
window up high . ..
The door clicked shut behind her and she whirled to
see Julia standing before it.
'We're all in terrible danger,' Julia said. 'Two of their
servants arrived last night but I have lost them, some-
where/within my abundance ...'
'This is all very un-Julia-like of you,' Catriona said
sharply. 'But then you did put me through the help-
remorseful-Julia-redeem-herself playlet a few times, I
seem to recall. Not this time, though.'
'I cannot see them, and who can tell what they are
planning?' She stretched out her hands. 'Please,
Catriona, I have been blind for so long - join with me
and be my eyes. You are special, so different from the
People of the Leaves, and so rare, even among your own
kind ...'
A chill went through her, the cold realisation that
this truly was no dream, nor was this in any sense Julia.
She's not in your head, you're in hers.
An unreasoning terror welled up in her, wiping away
the room and the pleading Julia — and suddenly she was
wide-eyed and awake, fumbling the vodrun's door open,
tumbling out to sprawl on damp mats, gasping for
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 34
