Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  The other boys stopped playing and stared up with lewd expressions.

  A small crowd gradually formed as well; she could walk away, spitting her disgust, but that was out of character. She could smack some sense into the filthy-minded boy, but then she would be assaulted by the ruffians lurking nearby and lose her weapons. She could not leave just so, for that was failure before she started.

  Biting down a shudder, she smiled at the boy and swiftly undid the top button of her tunic, drew the zip slowly down, trying to be suggestive, and was horrified inside. Big, round tits popped out - she took on full Ymirian guise, after all.

  The boy licked his lips and then grubby hands gripped, squeezed, pushed and pulled with delight. He squashed the two orbs together until the nipples were touching and then sank his mouth down onto them, licking and sucking with noises a child would make over a milkshake.

  She shuddered and could not prevent it rippling through her, but the kid assumed she enjoyed it as much as he was.

  Jimini pushed him away, saying, “Enough, pretty boy. A deal is a deal.” She covered up and in the process noted the hardness in his dirty breeches. Gods. She leaned forward to stroke him, whispering, “Point your finger, pretty boy, point it now.”

  The boy shook, his finger pointed, and she walked away.

  One shouted, “Must want ol’ Fantam badly!”

  She ignored everything, including her own disgust, and headed for the bar the shivering finger indicated, hoping the kid pointed true.

  A corrugated shack perched in a broken lot. The open door suspended at the head of a flight of crumbling stairs, down into what was once the basement of the crumbling ruin above. The smell of stale smoke and urine assailed her, and she blocked her nose as she headed down. Looking behind her, she was relieved to note nobody followed. She noted as well the boys had returned to their dicing.

  Fantam was easy to spot. He was the ugliest man in the universe. Sharp, ferret-like teeth grinned at her from the bar counter amid a haze of cigar smoke, and dead, calculating eyes raked her. He was not alone in his perusal - there were six other men nursing drinks - but his looks set him apart, not that the others could be described as oil paintings fit to adorn palaces.

  She sashayed up to him, having realised Ymir’s sickening reputation was the one advantage she possessed in this depraved place.

  “Fantam?”

  The cigar was removed and smoke wafted into her face. “Who’s asking?”

  “Idori. We have a contact in common, I hear.”

  The ugly man grunted. “Which family, Idori?”

  “Catu, Third Ring of Ymir.”

  The man blanched. “What does Catu want with me?”

  “Information. Can we talk?”

  The cigar popped back in and he nodded, sliding off his rickety barstool. “This way.”

  He preceded her across the dark space and through another door. Beyond were tables and chairs, smoky candles guttering in the movement made as they entered. Without supplies for food the room was empty of patrons.

  Jimini sat to face the door, forcing Fantam to sit with his back to it, which he did not like. His nervousness would aid her. The man was clearly afraid of a knife in the back.

  “Holland of Xen, know him?” Jimini asked.

  “Yup, but never met.”

  “Holland has a big mouth and kinda let slip a few nuggets recently, to Icari Catu of all people.”

  Fantam’s beady eyes grew over large. He said nothing.

  “Icari Catu is my uncle,” Jimini whispered, “and he wants a slice of this weapons deal or there will be hell to pay. You, as contact, will be first in line, of course.” She smiled into the paling face before her. “You wonder how Holland and Icari were in the same place together, do you? I’ll tell you - you know of Adri of Ymir, yes? Seems Adri was excluded from a deal and Adri had Holland hauled in, nabbed him from Xen, can you imagine that, and Adri presented his prize to Icari, knowing well the benefits.”

  Fantam spluttered, “It has nothing to do with me!”

  “Redeem yourself, then, before my uncle decides he is impatient.”

  Fantam nodded like a puppet on a string. “Anything!”

  In the criminal underworld of Lax words and threats were proof. Jimini dropped a few scary names and that was all proof a cowardly lowlife required. He was putty in her hands.

  “Fantam, Icari has many weapons and Lax is buying - right? Good, that’s good news. Now, who on Lax is buying and where do I find him?” She smiled. “My uncle will be grateful.”

  Fantam closed his eyes and sagged into himself. “She, it’s a she, and she will kill me.”

  “Then you’re a dead man no matter what you do. Tell you what, I’ll lay the blame on Holland, leave you out of it and I’ll cut you in on the deal, on the side.”

  “Holland don’t know her.”

  Jimini gave him a considering look. “Who was hauled from the river this morning?”

  “Sibat, for lying to … ah! Sibat takes the blame and dead men can’t tell tales!” Fantam whispered. Then he was sour. “She’ll know if I suddenly have regular money to spend.”

  “We make it a onetime bribe and you can spin any story you wish.”

  A long silence ensued, as well as a few nervous looks over the shoulder. “How much?”

  She had him. “Five thousand Beacon dinars. I hear dinars go far here.”

  A greedy gaze. “When do I get the money?”

  “As soon as I have a name.”

  “I could take it.”

  Jimini gave a lazy, dangerous grin. “I dare you to try.”

  He deflated. “Show me.”

  She reached in and pulled a wad of notes from a zipped side pocket. There was exactly five thousand dinars there. Chaim determined back on Xen it was the perfect bribe. She waved it at table level. “Name, Fantam, and our ways part now.”

  Ferret-face stared at the money, muttered a name, grabbed the wad and retreated swiftly. When Jimini exited he was already gone.

  Jimini left more slowly, as if she had not a care in the world. She wondered how far Fantam would get on the money - the men at the bar would have something to say - and found she did not care.

  She had a name - Ilse - and now had to find her.

  Lintusillem

  JONAS RETURNED WITH THE volcanic rocks from Luvanor and Sanctuary and then stood one side while his brother placed them in special machines he knew nothing of.

  Hours later Minos looked up from a set of read-outs. “If I were to make an early pronouncement, I’d say Elixir needs concentrate on Luvanor.”

  “When?” Jonas asked.

  His brother shook his head. “There’s still much to be done.”

  Jonas nodded. “Tea?”

  Minos grinned. “Yeah, and cut some of the fruitcake, will you?”

  The Dome

  BELUN SAT BACK RUBBING his eyes.

  He rose, stretched and transformed into full Centuar form. It aided relaxation, and he was tired. And, hell, Sabian’s words kept intruding, spoiling concentration.

  Was there a way to bring back Assint and Mahler?

  Damn it, Belun, concentrate.

  Xen III

  FUMA WAS UNHAPPY.

  He paced Reel’s sitting room muttering all the while.

  Amunti called out, “Will you stop!”

  Fuma stopped, but glared at Chaim, not Amunti. “Jimini is no spy. She could get into real trouble.”

  Chaim was unfazed. “We agreed, including Jimini.”

  “What if they capture her?”

  “Then we get her out. Relax, she is no fool.”

  “Elixir will extricate her if necessary,” Amunti added.

  Fuma said, “Elixir is not to know of this.”

  “Fuma is right; he is not to know, not until after,” Chaim said.

  “And why not?” Amunti demanded.

  “He dislikes Lax intensely, that is why,” Chaim murmured. He did not have to explain why that was.

&nbs
p; “So? We don’t like that shithole either.”

  “He needs only slight provocation to go in there and finish those underdogs,” Fuma explained.

  “Nobody will hold it against him,” Amunti shrugged.

  “True, but what if they begin to apply his power as threat against them?” Chaim murmured.

  “Them?” Amunti echoed.

  Chaim nodded. “Beacon, Ceta, Xen, to name three; settled worlds with the ability to wage a war. What if Beacon gets suspicious of Elixir’s motives? Who will bear the brunt?”

  “Valaris,” Amunti whispered.

  “And what would happen then?” Fuma asked.

  Amunti looked from one to the other. “Elixir will probably annihilate Beacon … or whoever it is.”

  “Therefore we do not tell him about Lax until it is done,” Chaim said.

  “He may know,” Amunti pointed out.

  “Reel tells me he went to Valaris - Samuel passed away,” Fuma said. “His grandsons and the funeral will hold his attention.”

  “Samuel is dead?” Amunti said. “That will hurt.”

  Fuma nodded. “Yes, but it will hurt less than sparking galactic wars. We deal with repercussions over Jimini.”

  Amunti said no more.

  Titania

  THE THREE TASKS OVERLAPPED until Shenendo, Galarth and Ignatius could no longer separate their work.

  Exhaustion set in and they thus worked out a roster whereby they took turns to rest and eat away from the library. Fresh minds meant fresh perspective.

  They slogged on.

  Sanctuary

  THIBIS WAS EXACTLY TWENTY years old and was instituted by Torrullin for the sole purpose of study.

  Refugees who came to Sanctuary in search of peace and then chose to remain, showing promise of intellect, were invited to the university. There were no fees involved. Others came also, paying students, and they came from all over, to study under master lecturers, each an expert in his or her field. Roughly half those experts were, in fact, refugees themselves and gave of their knowledge freely where once they were persecuted for it; the others were head hunted by Torrullin and he paid their salaries himself.

  Thibis was for learning and only the best would do, and students became experts in every field, from engineering to philosophy.

  The town was situated south of Lake Altar, nestled between the Astor and Keru ranges and straddled both the Umbor and Umbix rivers. It was a lovely place, with buildings appearing old on the outside and modern inside, and majestic trees weaved their magic. The trees were there before the town and every building was placed according to the them; not one mighty trunk was felled to make way for progress.

  Lecturers and students lived in cottages interspersed between faculties without prejudice and class distinction, and thus Thibis had a pleasantly lived-in atmosphere, and possessed the quiet that came with pursuit of the mind and career.

  The day Samuel’s body was discovered was the day Declan, Prima and Sabian arrived in Thibis.

  The university was in examination furore and the dean, when they eventually found him, was displeased by their appearance on his doorstep. However, Kaval meant Elixir, and Thibis owed its existence to that personage, and he thus allowed them the use of a cottage close to the Keru Mountains, it being unoccupied and used for visiting lecturers.

  When the three found it, there was not a scrap of food or drink, and the water was shut off. The rest of the day was spent in ferrying in supplies and Sabian proved handy at restoring the water.

  Nightfall brought the fervent desire for sleep.

  The next day, as Torrullin renewed his connection with Torrke and restored the bonds of family, the questioning of Sabian commenced.

  “SABIAN, WE ASK YOU to begin with your personal history,” Prima stated. “This isn’t about trust; this is about determining the depth of your experience, for experience, we have found, aids knowledge or skews it.”

  “Very well. I think I am about thirty-eight and I think so because I am not in possession of a birth certificate. I know I was born on Xen, for the nuns at the orphanage told me so. I was also told my parents died in a typhoon and I was shipped off to a Beacon institution. If I knew why I would say. I often wonder why Xen saw fit to send me away. Maybe it had something to do with my parents, but I have no idea.”

  Prima was stoic, but Declan sympathised.

  “I spent fifteen years there, a quiet boy who loved only books. The nuns, you understand, were not so loving, and neither were the other kids. That is where I discovered my passion for ancient cultures; study of the Ancients came later. Well, at age eighteen I was free to leave and offered a choice. One, a labourer on the subway, which was little better than paid slavery and not much pay at that; two, a labourer on Beacon Farm, which held great appeal until I realised I would be there six months and then returned to the city at the mercy of a new exploiter. I chose to leave Beacon and permission was granted quickly. The authorities were relieved to be rid of a mouth to feed. I was granted free passage to a destination of my choice and was informed I could not return.”

  Sabian shook his head, clearly confused by such a mind-set.

  “I chose Titania, books being the only reality to me. Twelve years of intense study followed; Titania granted asylum when they saw how in love with books I was. I studied generally, ancient cultures specifically, and about seven years in began concentrating on the Ancients, with prophecies added in. Prophecies, I found, were part of ancient cultures and the Ancients. I had a small cubbyhole on the upper level of the library, a place for a desk and a bed; meals were with other serious readers, those coming for extended periods.”

  He drew breath and shrugged.

  “About ten years ago I grew restless. I started travelling, often by begging rides, often by stowing away, and visited many worlds, saw culture in action, so to speak. I returned frequently to Titania and about three years ago I was approached to find lost books. It suited me. I could travel, I could find books, which remains my passion, and I could return to Titania as often as needed and was paid in the process.

  “On Lax I ran into trouble and found Igor and felt sorry for him. He was no criminal, merely an old man weary of the filth there. I helped him, he helped me and we ended up where you found us. Igor did not have the energy for further transport. I was getting a bit worried, in fact, and was going to ask Caballa to take me back to Titania when you came … and that is it.”

  “How would you describe yourself?” Declan asked.

  “A historian?” Sabian suggested.

  “Personality.”

  “I do not see how you can separate me from what I do. I am a historian, bookish, culture wise. How I am is what I know.”

  “Granted, but give us a few adjectives,” Declan said. “Sad? Happy? Wild at heart?”

  Sabian grinned. “Well, let me see - passionate, crazy, obsessive, a sucker for lost causes, fast - you have to really sprint sometimes, you know? Charming, social, yet a loner. A good book is my only friend. Satisfied?”

  “Obsessive about what?” Prima asked.

  “Knowledge.”

  Prima bowed his head. “I am able to relate to that.”

  Sabian smiled.

  Declan pressed on. “With which race did you commence your studies on Ancients?”

  Sabian sat back. “I guess it was Titania herself. The current race is relatively new, but I did not know that and found one day a history detailing the race that was before. Have you ever seen a native of Titania?”

  Declan and Prima said no, and both were intrigued.

  “Few have,” Sabian went on. “They are strange, they walk on four legs, eat with mandibles, they are a mixture of dog and bug, best description, and not pretty. Yet they have incredible minds, and those minds followed the directive left behind by a previous race. Apparently there was a time the sponges of Titania started dying, the food source vanishing. In the last gasps a directive was left amid mountains of books, saying the new occupiers owed it to the past
and future to revere those books, to revere knowledge, and thus the library.”

  “Who were they, the race before?” Prima questioned.

  A rueful shrug. “I am still looking, but it occurred to me other worlds and other civilisations were probably built on the ashes of old, vanished peoples. There were many Ancients, but few are remembered now.” He looked directly at Declan. “The Siric are Ancients.”

  “I am aware. So are the Valleur.”

  “Yes, but the Valleur have memories. You herald from a faraway time in person. Big difference.”

  Prima nodded. “And what other races can today claim Ancient status?”

  “The Sagorin, but they are classed as New Ancients, and with renewed mortality that will soon pass. The Senlu, of course, but again, mortality will negate that. True Ancients, I would say the Siric, and Declan here is the last, and the Q’lin’la, also one I hear. That is about it.”

  “What do you know of Valleur Ancients?”

  Sabian smiled. “Lots.”

  “Excellent. Talk to me about Nemisin,” Declan prompted.

  Sabian rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “Nemisin instituted the hereditary Vallorinship, which we hear is currently in limbo …”

  “Stick to the past,” Prima frowned.

  “Fine. Nemisin, first Vallorin, creator of the Valleur Throne, a symbiotic to the Dragon Neolone - by the way, Neolone was an Ancient.”

  “Continue,” Declan muttered.

  “Nemisin heralded a new era for the Valleur. He took a rough system of governing and reshaped it into dynastic form, thereby uniting tribes that would eventually have warred. In a sense he saved the Valleur future, and if it took Neolone to aid it, it was not so malformed a symbiosis. By all accounts wars were already simmering and annihilation was a short step away. Of course, Nemisin was a difficult man, temperamental, moody, given to depression and loneliness, and some of the things he did has repercussions even today.”

  “Such as?” Declan demanded.

  “Well, folk have connected him to the creation of darklings, an impulsive act we all battled until Elixir finished them off recently. He also conceived of enchantments that would horrify folk now. I have read only Vallorins are privy to them.”