Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  Moving as fast as he dared, he checked the other benches. The constructs varied widely but all bore a piece of draykon bone locked into place somewhere in the convoluted machinery. He received the impression that the bones were integral to the workings of each one; could they be powering the devices in some way?

  If only he had a better knowledge of engineering. He had no chance of understanding the workings of these horrifically complicated objects, so he didn’t waste time trying. He climbed instead up to the next floor, and the next. Each held the same layout and contents, though on the third storey he received a shock.

  Happening to glance down, he discovered that the floor beneath his feet was virtually transparent.

  He jumped back with a soft cry, then silenced himself with a swift inner curse. Fool. He may be able to see straight down into the floor below, but the strange, clear substance was obviously firm enough to hold his weight securely.

  He climbed steadily up more long flights of stairs, noting that each storey bore the same transparent floors and ceilings. Reaching the top floor, he found that the roof was also clear and obviously well-tended, for he saw no dirt obscuring the clarity of the glass-like cover.

  Light, he realised, would pass straight through those clear expanses and stream uninhibited all the way to the bottom of the building. In which case, light must be as important a component in those curious technologies as the draykon bone. That made sense, as far as it went: many of the Daylands technologies used sunlight as a power source. But then, why build a workshop in Nimdre rather than one of the Daylands realms, where there was always good light?

  Perhaps some of them were intended to function without light as well, in which case Nimdre was the only option for development and testing. It was the only one of the Seven Realms that experienced both conditions in equal measure.

  He passed silently between the benches that lined the walls of this room, pausing to examine each machine. The appearance of these differed somewhat from the ones on the lower storeys. He was hard pressed to define precisely how, but that some of the parts eerily resembled human limbs was difficult to ignore. He shuddered, staring at a device that looked like some kind of robotic arm...

  A faint noise startled him, sent him backing away from the machine and searching for a hiding place. He had spent too much time here, distracted by the puzzle of the peculiar machines that surrounded him. If Krays found him here -

  A cold voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’d invite you to participate, but it is clear that you cannot be trusted.’

  Krays. His heart leapt into frenzied activity and he began to run, tearing for the stairs.

  His flight was useless. Krays caught him up easily and grabbed him in a ferociously painful grip. He didn’t say anything else, merely stared at Devary with complete coldness.

  An instant later, Devary found himself back in prison, in a room similar to the tiny cubicle that he had woken in after his recovery. The same narrow bed dominated the cramped space, the same small sink and chamber pot the only other items present.

  Krays said nothing more. He released Devary, dropping him to the floor. Then he vanished.

  Frantic, Devary picked himself up and searched the room. One door, a massive thing that he knew would be unbreakable, its lock unpickable. No window, no weaknesses or openings in floor, walls or ceiling. No way out.

  Heart pounding, he sought with his mind for the mode of escape that had saved him last time. As he feared, it was gone. The area was shrouded in an enchantment that muffled everything he tried to do and obscured any means of outward travel. He could not break through, no matter how violently he hurled himself against the misty walls in his mind.

  At length he was obliged to give up. He collapsed on the bed, spent and in despair.

  He was stuck, thoroughly so, and this time he had no doubt that there would be no escape.

  Chapter Twenty

  Time passed strangely in this strangest of places. In point of fact, time didn’t pass at all, or so Limbane claimed. Llandry didn’t know how to believe or understand him on that point.

  Nor, indeed, on any other topic on which he’d spoken since she had been brought here.

  It didn’t help that he frequently spoke in enigmatic riddles and refused to explain himself. Lady Glostrum was right: he was keeping a great deal of information from them, for reasons she did not know and did not trust.

  But it didn’t matter whether or not she trusted him, or the equally reticent Andraly. Her thorough exploration of the “Library” had merely revealed more of it; more and more and more rooms and halls and corridors and silent people intent on alarmingly big books, and never any hint of an exit.

  She couldn’t even tell where in the worlds this Library was. Neither could Pensould.

  The four of them - Tren and Lady Glostrum as well - had taken to congregating in the chart room. It was a peculiar place, so packed with information that it made her dizzy just looking at it. But the group attempt to decipher the puzzle themselves, instead of waiting for Limbane to explain it, kept her occupied.

  It kept her wayward mind from imagining red-scaled Isand descending on Glinnery with an army of draykons behind, intent on taking back Arvale.

  All in good time, Miss Sanfaer. That was all Limbane had said when she had questioned him about it.

  I need to go home! Glinnery must be warned!

  All in good time, Miss Sanfaer.

  So she waited, anxiously and with poor grace. She tried to slide between the worlds the way she did so easily in her draykon form, but on passing the walls that enclosed this strange place she encountered nothing.

  Simply nothing, as if the place really did exist entirely in isolation from everything - even time.

  That had shaken her badly.

  How she wished to be on the wing in Iskyr again, strong and proud and sure of her place in the world. Too rapidly was she turning back into the person she’d been until only a moon ago: insecure, unsure, full of doubts and anxieties and prone to the distressing attacks of panic that she’d hoped never to feel again. Pensould’s presence could not wholly soothe her, for he was as uncertain and confused as she; he had little calming influence to share. Only Sigwide could comfort her. Loyal as ever, her orting refused to be parted from her. The warmth of his small body and the softness of his fur under her hands kept her stable, more or less, his chattering distracting and amusing her.

  Cold, he often said, and she would wrap him in her cloak and hold him close until he stopped shivering.

  Food, he would say next, and she’d share the bowls of nuts she begged from the Library kitchen.

  Thanks. She was trying to teach him manners, and some of it was finally starting to take. For a while she had waited for him to communicate in more detail, hoping that it was her lack of ability that kept his impressions brief and simple. But he stayed the same. Loyal though he was, perhaps intellect wasn’t his strongest attribute.

  It didn’t matter. She loved him anyway.

  She was sitting in the middle of the chart room one day - not that days could be counted anymore - when Tren approached. Pensould, against whom she was resting, tensed with the usual suspicion he felt whenever anybody approached Llandry - especially anybody male. Placing a hand on his arm to soothe him, she mustered a smile for Lady Eva’s friend.

  And privately she agreed with Pensould in wishing him away. He was a stranger and a confident, good-looking one at that. That combination was painful to her frayed nerves.

  He had obviously taken her measure, for he approached her with a kind of gentle, essentially patronising carefulness that she often experienced from good-natured strangers.

  ‘Miss Sanfaer,’ he began.

  ‘Llandry.’

  ‘Llandry. I’ve found something that may interest you.’

  She stood up with some reluctance and followed him, all the way across the vast chamber to a stretch of the wall that looked the same as any other. It had been Tren who had discovered how to ac
tivate the weird enchantments that operated the wall’s writings. The text had been plain black when she had first entered this room, but now the walls glowed with colour. What the significance of the different shades was had not yet been determined.

  Most of the writing on this part of the wall was blue, with splashes of purple.

  Tren gestured to the nearest ladder. ‘Up about halfway. Take some care, it’s wobbly.’

  Warily, she climbed. Pensould stood at the bottom holding the base of the ladder, though her diminutive, too-thin frame did little to affect its stability.

  ‘That’s about right,’ said Tren after a while. ‘Do you see it?’

  ‘Do I see what?’

  ‘Keep reading, right about eye level there.’

  Llandry let her eyes run over the neatly-scribed names. None of it meant anything to her, and she turned to cast Tren a puzzled look.

  ‘Keep reading,’ he said, smiling encouragement.

  She obeyed, having little else to do after all.

  Ayla Sanfaer.

  Sanfaer? She read on, faster now, her thoughts suddenly buzzing. Eron Sanfaer, Octovan Sanfaer, Liritia Sanfaer.

  Ynara Sanfaer.

  Llandry Sanfaer.

  She blanched, staring at her own name on that impossible wall. Most of the Sanfaers’ names were written in blue or purple, though predominantly blue. Hers shone blue, purple and gold by turns.

  Bright, bright gold that dazzled her eyes.

  ‘What does it mean?’ she asked, her voice shaking.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tren admitted as she climbed slowly down. ‘Have you seen any other names in gold?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Eva said the same thing. It’s something to consider, isn’t it?’

  He was too cheerful, given their predicament. It was impossible that he didn’t chafe under the confinement as did she and Pensould. It was impossible that he didn’t feel frustrated at the too-small nuggets of information that Limbane fed them, and the vast deal more that he withheld. But he was one of those people whose cheerfulness somehow never wavered.

  She hated those people on principle. They made her feel wholly inadequate.

  ‘Thank you for showing me,’ she said with stiff politeness. He nodded, his eyes quizzical as she turned away from him.

  It was Lady Glostrum who discovered the next gold-touched name, some immeasurable time later. In fact she found several in the same section of wall, though they were not linked by any obvious relationship to one another.

  ‘There is some time scheme here, some kind of chronology,’ she murmured, mostly to herself. ‘But I cannot understand it.’

  This new crop of gold names was situated a long way around the room from Llandry’s own. Interestingly, none of them had family names. Further, in this part of the room many of the names remained plain black, displaying no colours at all.

  Llandry studied them carefully, though without much effect. Each gold name was connected to a plain black name. Springing from these groups were more black names, and an occasional blue or purple one. As the chart progressed, the colours became more common and each name was in two parts: given name and family name.

  Pensould, she said silently. Can you make anything of this?

  Pensould had long given up on ladders. He spent a lot of time in his draykon form, the room being quite large enough to accommodate him. Now he flew to her side, hovering with a skill that impressed her.

  I cannot read human letters. You must describe to me what you see.

  She hadn’t realised that before. Gracious, no wonder he was so bored.

  Can’t you learn, the same way you learned to speak my mother’s language?

  Perhaps, if you will teach me.

  I think we have time, she replied with a little laugh. She relayed to him everything that she saw, watching as his keen eyes swept the wall where she pointed.

  What is being displayed?

  Family relationships. See, here is my name. My mother’s name, and my father’s. The names of their parents, and so on.

  Is there a link between your name and the other gold names?

  Llandry stared round the room, noting the distance between her own name and the section where Lady Glostrum still stood.

  Pensould, it could take weeks to track backwards from my name, all the way around to here.

  Well, we appear to have time. His tone was disgruntled, for which she didn’t blame him. It didn’t suit him at all to sit and wait.

  True, she admitted. At least she could teach Pensould his letters while she worked.

  Long before Llandry completed this lengthy task, she discovered something else.

  Evastany Glostrum, marked on the wall in blue. But as Llandry watched, it melded into pale whitish-silver and back to blue.

  Eva greeted the discovery with irritation. ‘Gold names, silver names,’ she muttered. ‘What is this, some kind of test?’

  Her ladyship’s composure was crumbling further as time passed. Llandry found it unnerving to watch the woman’s unflappable demeanour steadily erode away. She could see that it affected Tren, too, for he moved towards her with the air of a person anxious to comfort. But she scowled at him so fiercely that he backed away.

  Llandry sighed and turned her back on them. The atmosphere in this curious puzzle of a prison was deteriorating further the longer Limbane and Andraly absented themselves.

  ‘The silver must denote Lokants,’ Lady Glostrum said after a while, in a steadier manner. ‘If we could find Ana or Griel, or Krays, we could confirm that theory.’

  Llandry thought fast. ‘If that’s true, then perhaps - perhaps the gold means -’

  ‘Allow me to assist,’ came Limbane’s voice. ‘Not that you aren’t doing splendidly on your own.’ She whirled to find the white-haired old gentleman standing at Lady Glostrum’s elbow. He smiled pleasantly and pointed up at the dome.

  ‘My name is up there,’ he said. ‘Near the top. We coloured it in silver. Andraly’s - also silver - is a little further down. Yours is a weaker hue, my dear, because while you have a great deal of Lokant in you, your unusual make-up consists of some other heritage as well. Notably draykon, and a little human.’ He looked at Llandry. ‘Gold, as I think you were about to infer, denotes draykoni. Miss Sanfaer, we estimate that you are approximately ninety percent draykoni, with only minimal human heritage. That has happened because most of your ancestors are descended directly from draykoni. You may imagine that this is a rare occurrence.’

  Llandry found nothing to say.

  Limbane pointed without hesitation to another part of the room. ‘Mr Warvel’s name you will discover over there. Perhaps seventy percent draykoni heritage. Mostly from the Everum tribes, which usually results in sorcerous talent. And with your strong heritage, Warvel, that means a lot of it.’

  ‘Wait - what -’

  Limbane ignored Tren’s stuttering and turned on Pensould. ‘Master Pensould is not on this chart, because his blood has never been mixed with another’s and he has no descendants. Nor were his parents ever recorded on this chart, because he predates our system.’

  Llandry felt Pensould’s flash of pride at the idea.

  ‘Have I now answered most of your questions?’

  ‘No!’ Eva said. She stood glaring at Limbane with her elegant hands clenched into fists and her mouth set. ‘Questions and more questions you’ve raised and only partial answers offered. The most important question I wish to put to you is why are you keeping us here?’

  Limbane patted her arm. ‘You were supposed to be resting, your ladyship, that was the plan. Though I apologise if I have left you here for longer than I intended. I am used to the workings of the Library, I suppose, and that tends to eradicate any real sense of urgency after a while.’

  ‘Resting?’ Eva spat.

  ‘Resting,’ Limbane repeated, with offensive affability. ‘There is much to be done and you will be needing your strength.’

  ‘Ah - what, exactly, are we to be doin
g?’ That was Tren, hands stuffed in his pockets as usual and watching Limbane with a befuddled air.

  Limbane began to appear annoyed. ‘That is not a constructive question, Mr Warvel. We have another Eterna Conflict brewing, thanks to the efforts of our draykon friends here; Krays is up to something and I usually dislike anything Krays is up to; and I fear he has altogether lost his grip on some of his trained partials, and that means rogue Lokants, and -’

  ‘What,’ said Eva with studied calm, ‘is the Eterna Conflict?’

  ‘That has been discussed,’ replied Limbane, a dangerous edge to his tone.

  ‘No. It hasn’t. After you explain that, you might also be kind enough to inform me of who, or what, I am.’

  ‘And me,’ Tren put in.

  ‘And how is it that I could be draykoni and never know it?’ added Llandry.

  Only Pensould had nothing to say, choosing only to bare his teeth at Limbane.

  Limbane inhaled sharply, his expression turning testy. ‘If I am to have to repeat myself every time I see you I imagine it would be more efficient to find assistance elsewhere.’

  ‘Now, Limbane.’ Andraly appeared beside him. ‘You know how you forget things. I imagine you’ve left a few gaps in our new friends’ knowledge.’

  ‘I feel certain that we discussed the matter of Lokant heritage and the Eterna Conflict,’ Limbane replied stubbornly.

  Eva shook her head. ‘You abandoned that story halfway through.’

  ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘Conduct them to my room if you please, Andraly.’ He vanished.

  Andraly grinned at them. ‘He’s old,’ she said. ‘He gets forgetful. And crabby. Follow me, please.’

  Llandry found Pensould’s hand and gripped it hard as Andraly led them out of the chart room and through a muddling series of corridors, staircases and chambers until at last they arrived once again in Limbane’s quarters. He was already seated in the most comfortable chair, sipping at a glass full of dark liquid. Andraly offered her some of the same; tasting it, she found that it was sweet and alcoholic. The effect it had was calming, much the same as the tonic she had used to take.