The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  For a time, her mind was silent and empty, giving her the quiet rest that she needed, but all too soon colored images floated to the front of her mind, and she began to dream. Klaybear’s face, surrounded by purple light, but the light was suddenly broken into a thousand fragments by other fragmented colors: yellow, red, blue, green, orange, and his look changed from one of love for her to madness and rage, bolts of green fire shooting from his eyes. His face melted into Tevvy’s, struggling in yellow strands of light that wrapped around him, eyes wide with fright. Tevvy’s face melted back into Klaybear’s mad face, eyes lit by competing shards of colored light, green bolts of fire shooting out of his eyes striking and killing all around him, and other faces circled around his: Rokwolf, Thal, Blakstar, Tevvy, Delgart, Marilee, and herself. As she saw each face circle into view, each person appeared to try and quell the madness that had taken Klaybear, but each was struck by one of the green bolts and vanished, including her own. Marilee’s face did not vanish, rather, Klaybear’s mad face faded and her focus shifted to Marilee’s face, suddenly slack and surrounded by darkness. Klare saw flashes of light around her and glimpses of other seklesem and the sponsum, but all that she saw were scenes of the sponsum killing the seklesem. Marilee’s face melted back into Klaybear’s mad face, multicolored eyes, green-bolts killing all the chosen, and she saw a glimpse of Klaybear lying curled on his side, in what she thought was a small, dank and dark cell, and the green bolts ceased and the other faces survived. The cell melted into the Mariskal and Marilee; the three companies she led encircled by sponsum that were a dark cloud around them, a blackness that covered the scene completely, and when it passed, she saw bodies wrapped in sticky black webs, carried away into the fir, pine, cypress, and cedar trees, while others were left for wave after wave of crows, picking them clean, leaving only white bones.

  Klare sat up with a jerk, stifling a scream. She suddenly knew that Marilee and the three companies she led were in grave danger, and that something about their plan–Delgart’s plan–had already gone awry. She grabbed breath-giver from where it lay at the side of her bed and prepared to make contact with the Seventh Legion’s second commander.

  Delgart’s command squad slogged across a narrow, shallow channel, moving southward in the direction the pair of old wethem had gone, still following the trail of the wedaterem. The trail turned southwest after crossing that shallow channel, turning south again after about two miles and passing a round, hut-like structure constructed of carefully stacked turves. The two old wethem stood in front of this earthen mound, waiting for them, and as they neared the two gray-robed figures, Delgart could see that their faces and forms were exactly the same, down to the wrinkles at the corners of their mouths and eyes when they smiled; even their long gray beards were precisely the same.

  “I am Rekor,” one said.

  “And I, Korek,” the other said, “methaghem.”

  “Shut up!” Rekor snapped, interrupting. “I am your elder and will speak for us both: didn’t I make that clear?”

  “Only by a few minutes,” Korek said, “you see, we are twins. . . .”

  “Silence!” Rekor exclaimed, glaring at his twin brother. “Now go back inside and stir the stew.”

  “The stew is fine,” Korek said.

  “Then take care of the bread,” Rekor said.

  “I already have,” Korek said.

  “Are you trying to annoy me?” Rekor asked.

  “Me?” Korek looked shocked. “I would never. . . .”

  “Just go, and I’ll handle this business,” Rekor implored.

  “Surely the chosen and their seklesem companions would rather talk to me,” Korek noted, “since I’m much more pleasant than you, and easier to get along with.”

  Rekor’s eyes rolled up. “Just go inside and see to the meal,” he pleaded, “and for once, just once, do what you’re told.”

  Korek looked at the others. “My brother is having a hard time dealing with his loss,” he began in a hushed voice, “you see, he wife left him. . . .”

  “You old liar!” Rekor cut him off. “My wife has not left me!”

  “Okay,” Korek admitted, “truth is, she just died, and he is devastated. . . .”

  “Shut up and stop telling lies!” Rekor shouted at him. “Now go inside so I can get on with this business, or I will bind your tongue to the roof of your mouth so that you cannot speak for a year!”

  Korek opened his mouth, moving it as if he were talking, but no words came out, pretending for a few moments that he could no longer speak. “As if you could,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Go on,” Rekor said, and Korek finally entered the hut, grinning widely; Rekor watched him, slowly shaking his head. “Now, as I was saying,” he turned back to Delgart and the others, “we are methaghem from Methpag and have been expecting you. As my twin has mentioned, we have prepared a meal for you, and we have important information to share with you, regarding the wedaterem and sponsum,” Rekor finished, turned, and entered the hut.

  “What an odd pair of old wethem,” Reena noted.

  Delgart nodded, then whispered assignments, asking all the seconds to remain outside on the watch, and he would rotate them in as the chiefs all finished. He led half his squad inside. The low but large space was well-stocked and had obviously served as a guard post for wethem in service to the morgle, for there were long tables with benches in one area, cooking and storage in another, washing and cleaning in a third, and bunks in a fourth. The floor was laid with close-set stone, and the whole space was comfortably warm after the chill outside, fires burning in the cooking stove and the fireplace in the sleeping area, which were opposite each other. Several of the bunks and tables had been overturned, and there were dark stains and spots here and there on the stone floor, indicating that some struggle had taken place recently, but there was no other evidence of habitation.

  Rekor and Korek went to the cooking area and began serving a savory-smelling stew into large bowls; one of the long tables was already set with loaves of bread, pitchers, glasses, knives, spoons, and folded napkins, which seemed out of place in a guardhouse.

  “Please, there is hot water in the washing area,” Rekor called to them, “after which you may seat yourselves. My brother will take food out to those you left on guard.”

  “There is no need,” Delgart said. “My chiefs will be done eating quickly and can then relieve those on guard outside, giving them the same chance to sit and relax.”

  “It is no trouble for me,” Korek said, “that way, I can regale your seconds with tales to amuse them while they eat.”

  “Just stick to the truth,” Rekor added, “and leave me out of it.”

  Delgart laughed. “My younger brothers are twins,” he said, “but they have never acted as you do, although there were times when they were very young that one would speak for the other,” Delgart added as an afterthought.

  “Are they identical?” Rekor asked.

  Delgart shook his head. “No, one of them is more like me,” he said, “and this is the second,” he indicated Klaybear.

  “You favor your father,” Rekor said, “I would guess. . . .”

  “. . . and you, your mother,” Korek added, “lucky for you.”

  “Enough of your editorializing,” Rekor went on, glaring at his twin.

  “Sorry, brother,” Korek said, acting sheepish. He picked up a large basket and the stewpot. “I’ll just go out and see to the others, shall I?” He carried the food and implements out of the chamber.

  Rekor watched him go before turning back to Klaybear and speaking again. “I would guess that your mother died in childbirth,” he noted.

  Klaybear frowned. “How do you know that our mother died bearing us?” he asked Rekor, seating himself at the table.

  “We have made a lifelong study of twins,” Rekor noted, carrying a tray filled with steaming bowls of stew to the table, “a hobby of ours, you might say, that if you are interested in, you should come visit us in Methp
ag when we all have more time.”

  Klaybear nodded, pulling one of the loaves closer so he could slice it and begin to pass it around. He took an end and buttered it, then he and Delgart waited for the others to finish washing. When all had sat, Delgart introduced each of them, and Rekor indicated they should begin. Rekor seated himself at the opposite end of the table from Delgart.

  “The Gray Council has been troubled by the change in both the sponsum and the wedaterem inhabiting the Mariskal,” Rekor began, “ever since Motodu took up residence in Morokolu two decades ago.”

  “Is that the name of the morgle who has Melbarth’s rod?” Thal asked.

  Rekor nodded. “Since that time, he has been tampering with the minds of the wedaterem, altering them slightly so that they would first become his servants, then later, become part of an army, although that did not happen until after he stole Melbarth’s Rod earlier this year.” He looked pointedly at Hrelga and Thal, who were sitting next to each other. “We do wish that Melbarth’s descendants had taken greater care to ensure that such a thing would not happen: it is a very powerful artifact, too powerful, some have argued, who believe that if and when it is recovered, it should be destroyed to prevent something like this from happening again.”

  “Destroyed? Never!” Hrelga protested.

  “How was it stolen?” Thal asked at the same time.

  “I do not necessarily agree with those sentiments,” Rekor replied to Hrelga, “and, if maghem of his order do not know how, then how would a maghi of another order know? Be that as it may, the process of alteration was greatly accelerated after Motodu obtained the rod, and the wedaterem became, as you know, over the past few months, bold and organized, attacking caravans and taking prisoners back to Morokolu to feed Motodu and the other morgle residing with him.”

  “What about the sponsum?” Delgart asked.

  Rekor sighed. “We do not understand clearly what has happened to them,” Rekor said. “We suspect that Gar was involved, simply because we have been unable to return them to their former, natural state. The wedaterem inhabiting the Mariskal were those discarded by Gar in the beginning: they were malformed, or too small, and so they were dumped here and left to die, but they survived and bred on their own, without Gar’s influence. Motodu’s alterations to them have been easy to reverse, which is why you have not encountered any of them. As we have returned them to their former state, we have placed in them a greater fear of people, and an increased fear and hatred of any morgle, so that they will leave this area. Thus, the swamp wedaterem are no longer your concern or problem. The sponsum, on the other hand, have been changed beyond our ability to return to their former state. Motodu has been tampering with them for twenty years, yes, but his alterations cannot account for how they have changed. They have become purem in the form of sponsum, except larger, and more deadly and powerful, having the ability to wield some teka the way purem can. And worse still, they are as prolific, multiplying as quickly as flies on a corpse.”

  The color drained from Delgart’s face; the others around the table all wore troubled expressions. Grelsor put a hand of comfort on Delgart’s arm. “She’s very good and has lots of experience,” he whispered, “she will be fine.”

  Delgart nodded once. “I do not think you are telling us this for no reason,” Delgart said to Rekor, “I think you want something from us: what is it?”

  Rekor smiled. “The sponsum have become abominations that no longer have a place in the natural order,” he went on, “we want you to leave the wedaterem to us, and we will return them to their natural state, but we want you to destroy the sponsum and that thing,” he said the word with such acid that all were surprised by how the voice of this, apparently, kindly-looking old wethi had changed, “they name their queen. We believe that if you destroy her, you will take the will from the others, making them easy to deal with. This action will also open the way for you to enter Morokolu, which is your goal. Even as we speak, two more of your fellows have been captured and taken inside by the dome’s current residents; for one of them, the clock is beginning to count down: if you do not reach him in time, Spenthronsa, the sponsum queen, will have killed him.”

  “How do we know we can trust you?” Grelsor asked, voicing the concern many of them had who were familiar with the actions of the methaghi, not known for openly helping anyone but themselves and caring more for the cosmic order than for sentient life.

  Rekor laughed. “We do not ask for, nor do we desire, your trust,” he replied. “We only share this information so that you understand why we would ask you not to harm any wedaterem. When you encounter any, we ask only that you put them to sleep and send them to us here; we will share with your maghem the provisional symbol for the telepad we have set up to send them to us in this place, and we will return them to their former, natural state.” He looked around the table once before speaking again. “Feel free to use this facility while you are here and ask us any more questions.”

  Delgart exchanged looks with those seated around him before responding. “You mentioned that the clock is counting down,” he began, “how much time do we have before we must get to this Spenthronsa?”

  “According to our seers,” Rekor replied, “you must reach her by noon tomorrow, a feat which may not sound too difficult. However, the seers have also said that the seklesem you have sent against the sponsum are insufficient until you have destroyed their queen, so you will need to reinforce them with the forces you were planning on using to assault Morokolu. Now you must choose between those to the west, and those you will take with you to attack Spenthronsa, for you cannot effectively cover both, not even with the special powers granted by the One to the chosen. You must decide which group will be sacrificed,” and with these words, the methaghi flourished his rod and vanished in a flash of light and a puff of smoke.

  They sat in stunned silence, looking around the table at each other; the door creaked open and Lidelle stuck his head inside, looking around.

  “Did Rekor just vanish,” Lidelle began, “after telling you something about their seers and a choice we have to make?” he finished, frowning.

  Delgart nodded. “Why, did Korek also vanish?” he asked.

  Lidelle nodded in turn.

  Delgart frowned. “Tell the others to come inside,” he said to Lidelle.

  “Nobody on guard?” Lidelle asked.

  Delgart shook his head. “I don’t think there is any need, but we will have our scouts go out in turns and circle this building, and quickly,” he added, “as I want everyone to hear and participate. Also, our kailum and maghem can probe our surroundings with their minds and give us warning should anything approach.”

  Lidelle disappeared for a moment, then opened the door and came in a few moments later, followed by the rest of the squad; each of them pulled chairs closer to the table, while those already seated around the table shifted to give them room. Several moved into the cooking area to refill their bowls and grab new loaves of bread.

  Delgart waited until all of them were settled, and Reena and Kreega were standing next to the door, before speaking. “How much of what they told us do you think we can trust?” he asked.

  “What they have said about the wedaterem,” Velnar began in his gruff voice, “we can accept, given that we have not encountered even one of the creatures.”

  “And what they said about the sponsum,” Klaybear put in, taking up where Velnar had left off, “we can quickly verify by contacting Marilee.”

  “What they said about their seers,” Hrelga added, “is their interpretation of what they have viewed in their vukeetu, which my colleagues can verify, is guesswork at best.” Both Luthina and Thal nodded their agreement, her eyes fixed on Delgart; when he noticed her staring at him, she colored and looked down at her hands.

  “They are not asking us to do anything,” Janelle said, “that we did not already intend to do.”

  “Except regarding the wedaterem,” Velnar grinned, showing his missing teeth.

/>   Janelle elbowed him for interrupting her. “I was going to say that, if you hadn’t butted in like a nosy old goat!”

  “I’m sorry, m’dear,” Velnar replied, feigning a look of contrition, “we have been together so long that. . . ,” he went on but she interrupted him.

  “Are you hinting that you have become tired of me?” she asked, and her look and tone reminded Thal, Blakstar, and especially Klaybear, of Klarissa when her mood turned dangerous, except that Janelle smiled almost immediately, showing that she knew Velnar was bantering with her to lighten the tension in the room.

  Velnar grinned again, looking slightly sheepish. “You know that is not true and will never be true, so don’t even think it.”

  Those among the command squad who had known Velnar and Janelle for many years smiled fondly at them both. Grelsor turned to Delgart.

  “Klaybear is right,” Grelsor said, “we should contact Marilee to confirm what we have been told about the sponsum before we can decide what our next move should be.”

  Delgart nodded once and touched the seklesi symbol on his wrist; Blakstar drew will-giver and laid it on the table in front of him.

  “While we wait for her response,” Grelsor went on, “if what they have told us is true, and we do have to face and defeat this sponsum queen, this Spenthronsa, how do we approach what will surely be a dangerous task?”

  Mitha snorted. “That’s an understatement!”

  Delgart grinned widely at his command squad. “Sir Blakstar, may I?” he asked, indicating the sword resting on the table.

  Blakstar nodded. “Of course,” he said, passing will-giver to Delgart who lifted the sword so that all could see.