by Mike Wild
"But this place," Kali protested, aware as she spoke of how naive the question seemed. "All of its potential — couldn't you have somehow remade them, brought them back?"
The dwelf actually laughed, although the sound was guttural and bitter. "How many times over these countless, lonely years do you think I have been tempted to try? To rectify our mistake, and to apologise to them, even though it would have been too late? No, it would have been an empty exercise, for that is why we failed. The magical threads that bind our creations are weak. Nothing made here can survive for long if it leaves the Crucible." The dwelf paused. "How could I bring the dra'gohn back knowing that when they took to the skies I would once more be responsible for their end — that they would die?"
"You mean like the yassan, you bastard?" Slowhand said. "How do you think they feel — out there, changed, unable to leave that frozen wilderness they call home? Tell me, Tharnak, did you really need to make them part of your soup or were you just playing games?"
"We took no pleasure in our experiments on them. It was our wish that, when we left, we gifted this valley to them in return. But, of course, we did not leave."
"And that's meant to make things all right?"
"'Liam, don't," Kali said. She stared at the dwelf. "If that's the case, why are the k'nid able to survive?"
"They are not. Their capability for self-replication grants them a longer life span than others but eventually they, too, will revert to nothing. They would not have reached the heavens. Beyond this valley they have, perhaps, a matter of days."
Which we don't, Kali thought. "Then, please, is there a way to stop them?"
"The prism above the birthing pools. It holds upon it the runics capable of reversing their creation, removing them. Combined with the magic of your Three Towers — if your men of magic channel their threads of destruction through them — the plague upon the peninsula will be ended."
"It's that simple?" Slowhand said, beginning to revise his opinion of the plant.
Easy for you to say, Kali thought. She calculated she had some hours before the next wave of k'nid were spawned but, from what she'd seen of them, that didn't necessarily make the birthing pools any less dangerous. "So this is the bit where I risk life and limb in some potentially lethal hellshole to save the world once more, right? Fine. I'll go get it."
"Then you must do so with all speed. There is little time."
"There should be hours yet."
"Until the next birthing cycle, yes. But that is not the threat you face." The dwelf's eyes closed, as if he were sensing something far away. "The Final Faith have returned. They have their own airships. And sorcerers who, even now, are attempting to break through our force barrier."
"Airships?" Slowhand said. "There was only one airship."
"Gransk," Kali said. "I think Jenna had a telescryer in her party, sent them the information how to build them."
"'I'll glide this thing into Gransk', Jenna said," Slowhand remembered. "Hooper, what the hells is Gransk?"
"Final Faith shipyards, on the coast between Turnitia and Malmkrug. Top secret."
"Right."
Kali turned to the dwelf. "How long do we have?"
"The force barrier weakens. They will gain access by dawn."
"When they'll blow this place to bits," Kali said.
"Sounds good to me," Slowhand said. "So why don't we get the hells out of here right now?"
"The prism," Kali said.
"Fine. Then we get the prism and then get out of here."
"I cannot allow you to leave this place, Killiam Slowhand," the dwelf said, unexpectedly. "Not yet."
Slowhand raised Suresight without hesitation, an arrow pointed unwaveringly at the hybrid.
"Yeah? Difficult to see how you'd stop us with this sticking out of your forehead."
"Please. I do not intend my words to be a threat."
"Sounding pretty pitsing much like one to me."
Kali raised an arm and lowered Suresight, much to Slowhand's consternation. "'Liam, wait. Let's hear what he has to say."
"Hooper, I do not see the problem. Whether this guy's on our side or not, it was his people who caused this mess in the first place. You tell me — what exactly is wrong with having the Crucible destroyed right now? Isn't it what we came here for?"
"Because there's something else, isn't there, Tharnak? There has to be." She thought back to Slowhand's comment about the yassan, and about the atmosphere chambers and other strange rooms the two of them had seen. The dwelf had said that they were creating the life form but he had also said 'that and those who could deliver it to its goal.'
The dwelf nodded and, across the chamber, on a shimmering patch of air, a view of the Kerberos sphere appeared — in its centre the glamour field.
"We learned early in our experiments that we, the elves and the dwarves, would not survive the journey to the heavens but that humans — changed humans — would. We were creating four such travellers when the end came."
"What happened to them?"
"I do not know. It was necessary that I reverted to my hybernartion state to survive the end and when, finally, I awoke they, like the races which sired me, were gone and I was alone."
Slowhand saw the disappointment cloud Kali's face. He knew she needed to know exactly how the Old Races had died.
"In other words, you were here when it happened but you missed it because you were asleep?"
"In essence, yes. But perhaps you will be able to glean some knowledge from this…"
In the Kerberos sphere, the glamour field began to dissolve.
"In my solitude I became guardian not only of this place but what remained within it, hidden from view for countless years. But now my time is over, and another guardian is needed."
Kali and Slowhand stared.
"Is that what I think it is?" Slowhand gasped. "I mean, I'm not sure what I think it is… but is it?"
"Oh, my Gods!"
Chapter Fifteen
Kali knew right at that moment that everything was going to change — fundamentally change — and life would never be the same again. She didn't know how it would change, she didn't know when it would change, but this was the beginning. She knew it.
The resulting numbness she felt had barely wavered even when, in the image the dwelf had called forth, Kali could see two familiar piratical figures clambering into the Kerberos sphere; having presumably come to warn them of the Faith only to end up gawping at what had been revealed, as she was. Because in that same moment she had been back in the Warty Witch in Freiport, having her first conversation with Merrit Moon, he the twinkly eyed exponent of the world's lost past, she the wide-eyed girl. The topic had, of course, been the Old Races and the wonders they had produced. In his cataloguing of such wonders the old man had cited one whose seemingl sheer implausibility had haunted her ever since.
"Tales from the Final Age," he had said, "tell of them actually preparing to send ships to the heavens. To explore Kerberos itself."
Ships to the heavens.
In truth, she had never really believed they could exist.
But now she was looking at one.
She and Slowhand worked their way in a daze down to the Kerberos sphere — there reuniting with Aldrededor and Dolorosa — and now the four of them were gazing up at what was clearly the ultimate achievement of the Old Races.
Sitting on some kind of fluid, semi-organic cradle, the ship was a great flowing, sweeping creation that was unlike any mode of transport Kali had ever seen, human or Old Race. The main part of its hull the length of ten cattle carts and the breadth of four, it widened further where its wings curved majestically and seemingly without join from port and starboard down to the hangar floor. As Kali and the others drew closer, they saw that the wings, like the hull, were seemingly made up of, but in fact overlaid with, hundreds of small and overlapping sets of fluted funnels, like flattened panpipes. Combined, these gave the impression the ship was covered from bow to stern in rippling sc
ale. The impression that it was some kind of living organism was further enhanced by the fact that every one of the funnels was inscribed with delicate runics resembling the porous flaws of skin. They, in turn, rested on a membranous, flexible underlayer that was soft like flesh. Kali stroked one of the wings almost reverently, realising that here was another reason why the yassan had chosen what they had as the basis for their religion. They were not misguided, their ancestors had simply been mistaken in what they had seen. Because by accident or design, the Kerberos ship looked for all the world like some stylised dragon ready to take flight.
"A thing of beauty, is she not?" Aldrededor observed with a heavy sigh.
"As beautiful as I, my 'usband?"
"Ohhhh, definitely not."
"But, er, what is it?"
Kali smiled. "I guess you could call it a… spaceship."
"A space ship?" Dolorosa repeated. "What kind ovva space?"
Kali pointed upwards — straight upwards — and the tall, thin woman inhaled sharply. Then her eyes narrowed and she stared with great suspicion. "You take-a the peees, yes? You havva the laugh atta Dolorosa!"
"Nope," Kali said, shaking her head. In truth, she only had half a mind on the conversation with the Sarcrean woman, still absorbing the words of the dwelf when he had revealed the ship to them.
The Final Faith will destroy our creation along with the Crucible. You must take it from this place, to a place of safety, where it, and its cargo, must remain in your care.
It's cargo, Kali had thought. Tharnak meant k'nid. This beautiful thing was laden with their ultimate weapon, he had said, sealed in a magical stasis inside its shell, lying dormant, awaiting the day when they would travel to the heavens. Only they couldn't travel to the heavens now, could they? Because without the dragons the magic that would keep them alive was not whole, whatever the hells that meant.
Maybe one day, Tharnak had said, the magic would return.
Kali exhaled. The fact was, she had no idea why they should save these k'nid. That, though, wasn't really the point, because what had really been given into their care was the ultimate artefact of the Old Races, the ship itself. As such it was invaluable — a source of information about those who had gone before that was absolutely unparalleled in its importance. Gods, even if she hadn't been asked, she would have had to save it herself!
The only problem now was how to get it out of here.
The ship will accept you, Tharnak had said. The ship will choose its saviour.
But what did that mean?
There was only one way to find out.
Kali took a step up the sloping cradle, towards the stern of the ship, pausing warily as the spine of the semi-organic hull parted before her, as if someone were slipping the covers from a wagon. Where it parted, a long, narrow, railed deck was revealed, running from stern to bow, and at the far end an organic-looking control panel glowed a dull green. Kali took a breath and stepped onto the deck, noticing now that it was translucent, another organic membrane, and beneath could be made out the still forms of dormant k'nid. It was something of an uncomfortable feeling treading over the lethal predators but, when it became obvious that they were not going to stir, Kali's confidence grew and she began to marvel at her unique surroundings. The combination of structured hull and semi-organic interior clearly marked the ship as a co-endeavour of both the Old Races and, born in crisis or not, it was a magnificent achievement.
She beckoned the others aboard and Slowhand, Aldrededor and Dolorosa stepped tentatively onto the deck, joined her at what seemed to be the controls; a collection of fleshy nodes forming a sweeping curve. But though they glowed that dull green Kali had noticed as she'd come aboard, nodes were all they appeared to be — lifeless.
"Now what?" Slowhand said.
"The ship will choose its saviour." Kali whispered, and stepped closer to the panel. The nodes made a squishing noise and pulsed at her approach, like pods about to open.
"Easy, girl," Slowhand said, pulling her back. "We have no idea what the things are, let alone what they'd do to you."
"Slowhand, someone has to do this!"
"I don't deny it. Only it isn't going to be you." As Kali opened her mouth to protest more, he placed a finger on her lips. "It's more than concern. Don't you have a prism to find?"
"Mister Slowhand is correct, Kali Hooper," Aldrededor said. He examined the still pulsing nodes and pulled his moustache, intrigued. "This, I think, is a task for Aldrededor."
"Husband?" Dolorosa queried.
"With you at my side, wife, I captained a ship of the outer seas for over forty years," the ex-pirate pointed out. "I should be the one to captain her now."
"No, Aldrededor," Kali said. "This is my responsibility."
"No, Kali Hooper. Your responsibility is finishing the job you have to do."
Dolorosa stuck her face into Kali's. "Or do you thinka you canna do everytheeng, heh?"
"Aldrededor — " Kali began again, but it was already too late.
The ex-pirate placed his hands onto the two central nodes and, with the same squishing sounds as earlier, his hands were absorbed into them. The Sarcean's eyes widened in surprise and, for a few moments, he suffered a series of small spasms that made Dolorosa slap her palm over her mouth. Her husband seemed, though, to be unharmed, managing, a few moments later, a small and slightly stoned looking smile.
"Aldrededor?" Kali enquired. "What's happening?"
The Sarcrean did not reply immediately, but only because he did not know how to answer Kali's question. Because he was seeing things which no one had seen before, the world on which they lived in a new light, and not through his own eyes but those of the ship. And what the ship saw were the very threads on which Twilight's various magics depended, filling the air around the craft with ribbons of colour, thick and thin, long and short, like the component parts of some as yet unmade, planet sized tapestry. But the ribbons were not still. Instead, they wove in an out and around each other like snakes, in places touching and releasing bursts of more vivid colour, in others drifting apart and fading, but all in constant motion. If the waves of the seas were coloured silk, Aldrededor thought, this is what they would look like.
One thing marred the beauty, however. Here and there amongst the ever moving patterns were black threads that hung heavily, disturbed occasionally by the other, coloured threads but themselves unmoving, apparently lifeless. And when they touched their vibrant counterparts, they seemed momentarily to leech them of colour. It was as if these threads had once been a part of the flowing sea but were no longer, remaining within it now with no purpose other than to fill the space they had left behind, yet at the same time weakening the sea as a whole.
"Dra'gohn," the pirate whispered sadly to himself.
"What?" Kali said. "What did you say?"
"I amma worried," Dolorosa said. "Aldy has notta been like this since last he smoked the weeds of the sea."
"Wait." Kali instructed. "Give him a little longer."
Still amongst the threads, Aldrededor heard Kali's words and nodded. A little longer, yes. Because the threads were starting to make sense now — at least in the way they related to the ship. Or rather, the way the ship related to them. Used them, in fact. Because it was the way that it flew.
Eddies and tides and currents of threads. The ship navigated them not with wheel and rudder but with the funnels that coated the ship, drawing in and then channelling and manipulating the threads a thousand different ways to propel it through the sky.
Aldrededor pulled his hands from the nodes with a long sigh.
"My 'usband?" Dolorosa said.
"My wife," he replied. "The ship has shown me what I need to know. It has shown me the invisible ocean of Twilight."
"Aldrededor," Kali said. "Are you telling me you can fly this thing?"
"I believe I may even be able to sail it." His chest puffed. "It has chosen me, Kali Hooper."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Slowhand asked. "Hooper, let's get
that prism and get the hells out of here."
"Unfortunately, Killiam Slowhand, we are not yet able," Aldrededor advised. "The ship's energy has leaked away over the long years and is all but depleted. It needs to feed."
"Feed?" Slowhand repeated, with a note of distaste.
Amberglow, Kali thought.
After all, if the other Old Race magical technology — The Mole, the crackstaff, the airships — relied on it, why shouldn't this? The only question was, what would it feed from?
"We must depart the sphere, that is all I know." Aldrededor said. "But first we will need to free these holding mechanisms or we will go nowhere."
"Free the mechanisms, feed the ship," Slowhand recited. "Will we get that done before the Filth arrive?"
Aldrededor paused. "I do not know, archer. But the question, in any case, is academic. We cannot travel through the Dragonfire while the Faith wait on the other side."
"Am I missing something here? This is a spaceship, right? So why the hells don't we just fly it over the mountains and bypass the Faith entirely?"
"Because the ship's depletion of energy is not the only damage it has accrued over time. There is some damage to the integrity of the ship itself and it will be unable to withstand the stress of high-altitude flight. Air turbulence above the mountains, or higher, would tear us apart."
"Oh, luvverly."
"Sounds like we need to get a move on," Kali said. "Sorry I can't stay to help but try not to leave without me, eh?"
"Try not to leave without us," Slowhand added, and turned to Kali. "I'm going with you."
"No. You're not."
"The bossa lady is correct, bow bender, I need you here," Dolorosa said.
"You need me here? I thought Aldrededor was Captain? And don't call me bow bender, it sounds vaguely dirty."
"I need you here," Dolorosa said, "because while my 'usband was Capitano for forty years, I was sheep's engineer, and now the sheep's engineer needa your help freeing the mechaneesms."
Both Kali and Slowhand stared at Dolorosa. The idea that she had been 'sheep's' engineer had tempted a smile onto both of their faces, but it faded quickly when the old woman took to the job at hand with surprising skill.
