Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  Aelfred laid a calloused hand on Teldin’s shoulder. “Welcome aboard,” he said flatly.

  Chapter Three

  Teldin took an involuntary step backward and felt the ship’s rail press against his spine. Nowhere to run, his fear told him. He was flanked to left and right by members of the hammer-ship’s crew. Nothing was actively hostile in their manner, but there was certainly nothing welcoming either. The harsh sunlight of space glinted off knives and daggers and illuminated hard and scar-etched faces.

  Ahead of him, the captain – the monster – drew closer. You’re dead. Dead, dead … The words hammered in the back of Teldin’s brain. Images from childhood stories and horror tales flashed through his mind. He saw his own death, his head held immobile while writhing tentacles peeled away his skull like the shell of a hard-boiled egg. He felt his legs tense of their own volition, ready to heave him backward over the gunwale. Better the long, dizzying fall into nothingness than that ultimate obscenity ….

  You have nothing to fear.

  The voice was quiet, but as clear as the tone of a flute, completely unaccented. Teldin looked around wildly for the one who’d spoken. No one had moved: neither Dana nor Horvath, nor the crew of the monster’s vessel. His gaze snapped back to the tentacled creature.

  It raised a three-fingered hand, and Teldin flinched. The rail slammed into the small of his back, and for a moment his balance wavered. The firm hand of a crewman grasped his shoulder then, not painfully or threateningly, merely to steady him.

  The clear voice sounded again, I repeat, you have nothing to fear. This time the voice was accompanied by an almost subliminal tingle within Teldin’s skull, a momentary feeling of coolness a finger’s breadth behind his left eyebrow. He stared at the monster. Although there was no change in its expression – if a thing with tentacles instead of a face could be said to have an expression – its gaze no longer looked threatening or even intense, merely curious.

  What is your name? This time Teldin was sure of what he’d only just begun to suspect. The “voice” was sounding directly in his mind.

  With a supreme effort, he forced control on his body, slowing and deepening his breathing, releasing the tension in his chest. “Teldin,” he whispered. “Teldin Moore.”

  Teldin Moore, the mental voice repeated. I welcome you aboard the good ship Probe, Teldin. Tentacles moved in an intricate and graceful pattern – a gesture of greeting? My name is “Estriss.”

  It took Teldin a moment – and the startled reaction of the two gnomes beside him – to realize that the creature had spoken the last word aloud. Its voice was sharp and thin, a hissing sound more like the warning cry of a lizard or snake than the speech of a warm-blooded creature. But, of course, it’s probably nor warm-blooded, he thought with a shudder. “Estriss,” he repeated.

  Correct. The cool words formed inside his head once more. Translated into your language, the name means ‘Thought Taker.’

  “Thought … Taker?”

  That is how my own people know me. Teldin felt a touch of something that could be humor – albeit cold and detached – in the monster’s statement. It is not as bad as it sounds. I am a philosopher, a student of the universe. I learn from others, borrow from their wisdom and learning. Thus ‘Thought Taker’ Estriss. Do you understand?

  Teldin nodded dumbly. His trip-hammer heartbeat was slowing back to some semblance of normality, and, as before, Teldin was dully surprised at how fast his body seemed to be able to recover from shock so great that he should be curled into a gibbering, fetal ball. Was his resilience, he was coming to wonder, something to do with the cloak that was now just a strip of fabric around his neck. “What … what are you?” It took a conscious effort to force the question from his lips.

  The name we use for ourselves has no cognate – no equivalent – in your symbology, the monster explained silently. To some we are known as illithids. To others, mind flayers. You have not heard of us? There was no expression in the creature’s eyes, but Teldin somehow sensed what could be mild disappointment as he shook his head. No matter, the “illithid” continued. What was your destination?

  Teldin glanced over at Horvath, but the gnome made no reaction. Apparently he hadn’t “heard” Estriss’s question.

  “I don’t know,” Teldin answered honestly … then wondered why he’d bothered to speak aloud. Surely the illithid could read his thoughts without the clumsy intermediary of speech. He concentrated, willing Estriss to respond. But after a few seconds of no reaction, he said out loud, “You can’t read my mind?”

  Only when you speak. Forming the words focuses your thoughts enough forme to sense them. I have no need to hear the words, nor do I have to understand the language. But the action of speech must be there, and the communication must be intended for me. Have no fear. Your secrets are safe should you wish to keep them. The illithid gestured around it with a strangely articulated hand. The Probe’s destination is Toril, in Realmspace. You and your comrades – here the gnomes looked up, startled, as though only now hearing Estriss’s words – are welcome to work off your passage as members of my crew. I would be glad to number you among them, particularly since your ship seems to have deserted you. Or, if you wish, you can be returned to Krynn ….

  “No!” Teldin was surprised by the force of his own voice.

  Estriss was taken aback, too, if the sudden tilt to the creature’s head was any indication.

  Teldin cursed himself silently. He was a fugitive, and fugitives shouldn’t draw attention to their plight. The gnomes had taken him aboard knowing he was being pursued – and look what happened to so many of them, his guilt interjected – but this mind flayer might decide that a fugitive represented too great a risk and return him to Krynn against his will … or simply kill him.

  The illithid just nodded its head – a surprisingly human gesture. So be it, then, the cool voice rang in Teldin’s brain. My first mate will assign your quarters and duties.

  Aelfred Silverhorn stepped forward. “All right, you lot,” he said, not unkindly. “Follow me and we’ll get you squared away.”

  “Wait,” Teldin interrupted. “The others …”

  “The wounded are already below,” the first mate answered. He patted Teldin’s shoulder in a comradely manner. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your, uh, men.”

  Dana snorted but, to Teldin’s relief, made no comment. Horvath gave him a friendly wink as they followed Aelfred’s broad figure. Teldin stopped at the head of the companionway that would lead him belowdecks and glanced back at Estriss. The illithid was watching him … and a smaller figure was watching him, too. A tiny face, with green reptilian skin and stubs of horns on its brow, peered out from behind Estriss’s robes. It must have been there all the time, Teldin realized, whatever it was.

  Aelfred reappeared in the companionway. “Hoi,” he called to Teldin. “You coming?”

  “Sorry,” Teldin mumbled, and he turned to follow the first mate.

  Aelfred glanced past Teldin at the illithid and shrugged. “You’re the captain,” he said in answer to an unspoken order, then disappeared below.

  Estriss’s “voice” sounded in Teldin’s mind again. You wonder about the kobold?

  The mind flayer reached down and laid a red-purple hand on the small creature’s head. It gazed up trustingly at its master and stepped out from behind the shelter of the illithid’s robe. Teldin looked at the kobold with interest. It stood about three feet tall, with a squat, barrel-shaped body and short but powerful legs. Dressed in a coarsely woven jerkin – from under which protruded its vestigial tail – it resembled some twisted parody of a human child. Once more it turned its trusting eyes on Estriss, and it took a fold of the illithid’s robe in its short-fingered hand.

  I charmed it, Estriss explained.

  “Why?”

  The illithid gestured with its tentacles in what might be its equivalent of a shrug. It is my food, it replied. When I hunger, I will eat its brain.

  The kobold
calmly squatted down on the deck, still holding on to the robe as a child might cling to its parent’s clothing for comfort. Teldin stared at the kobold, then the illithid.

  Kobolds are enemies of my kind as well as yours, Estriss’s mental voice told him calmly.

  “But …”

  Estriss’s words took on a sharper edge. Better that I should eat your brain? The mind flayer looked down at the kobold and stroked its scaled head once more. The small creature responded with a short, unintelligible phrase – its voice reminded Teldin of a small dog yapping – and scurried away, to vanish belowdecks. Teldin watched it disappear, his thoughts an uncomfortable mixture of emotions.

  Come. The illithid had turned away and was walking toward the afterdeck of the hammership, obviously expecting Teldin to do likewise.

  Teldin followed slowly. The illithid climbed the ladder to the raised sterncastle, Teldin at its heels. The creature settled itself against the aft rail and gazed out past the spanker sail. Teldin, too, leaned on the rail, a wary distance from the illithid. The planet of Krynn hung against the velvet blackness, like a large gibbous moon. The distance was too great for Teldin to pick out any details … and was growing greater with every heartbeat. Home was slipping inexorably away.

  You are from Krynn. Teldin started when the liquid syllables formed in his brain.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Then how do you come to be aboard a gnomish sidewheeler – again there was that faint touch of detached humor – particularly one so fickle? The illithid turned and fixed him with its featureless white eyes. I ask only out of curiosity, I intend no insult, but I think you have no familiarity with ships, or with wildspace. Is that so?

  Teldin hesitated, wondering exactly how much to tell the creature.

  You flee something, I feel.

  It was Teldin’s turn to stare at the illithid. Can it read my mind? he asked himself. It – Estriss – had said it couldn’t, but how far could he trust such a monstrous being? “Yes,” he said at last.

  It must be something you fear greatly. Wildspace is rarely a safe haven … as you know from recent experience. The illithid shrugged its shoulders – a human gesture, but one that brought home to Teldin how … alien … its body structure was. Bones jutted under the robe in anomalous places, like a man who’d had both his collarbones – and maybe his neck – broken. He shuddered, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Well, the illithid continued, turning its gaze once more to the planet falling ever farther astern, I trust you will tell me sometime, when you feel more comfortable in my presence. The mental voice fell silent for a moment, then continued. You fear me, is that not so? You see me as a monster?

  “Yes,” Teldin answered truthfully. “You’re so … different. We were told … When I was growing up …” He wasn’t sure how to continue. “I was taught to fear things that were different,” he finished lamely.

  How typical of so many small minds, Estriss replied, a quiet, speculative quality to the illithid’s “voice.” Generalizations are often dangerous. Some of my kind prey on humans, that is true, but then, so do some humans: pirates, bandits, marauders, those who attacked you, for example. Would it do to judge all humans based on the actions of a few? While some planet-bound illithids consider humans as cattle, I think you are not of the cattle. I think you know much. I think you have many stories. I would like – the humor was back again – I would like to take your thoughts. Not now, perhaps, but at some point in our voyage together. I would like to hear your stories. And you may take my thoughts in return. It seems to me that we might each have something to teach die other. The illithid lapsed into mental silence.

  Teldin cast a sidelong glance at the creature. Estriss, he mused. What could you teach me? To stay alive? But at what cost? Then he paused. The creature beside him was a braineater – it had admitted it – and showed neither pride nor shame in the admission. It was alien, yes … but was it a monster? Monsters don’t discuss the philosophy of prejudice, nor offer to exchange tales. He’d have to think about this.

  The illithid stirred again, its blank eyes still on the distant planet. Why do you travel into wildspace? it asked. For a particular reason? Or just because wildspace is not Krynn?

  More than ever, Teldin was convinced that the mental tone of the last phrase was the creature’s expression of humor. But it was still a question he didn’t feel comfortable answering. Or was it the answer itself that made him uncomfortable? “Why are you heading to Realmspace?” he countered.

  If the illithid cared about – or even noticed – Teldin’s blunt attempt to change the subject, it gave no sign. Again it gave a broken-backed shrug. I have business on Toril, Estriss replied. The city of Rauthaven, if you know of it. There is an auction of items … The mental voice paused – almost shyly, it seemed to Teldin.

  “Items …?” he prompted, interested. What would a mind flayer be embarrassed about?

  My life’s work. Perhaps – if it interests you – we could discuss it … at a later date ….

  Teldin looked at the creature beside him with renewed interest. Monsters don’t want to discuss prejudice. They don’t have a sense of humor … and they certainly don’t get embarrassed talking about their life’s work.

  Well. Estriss’s mental voice was brisk again. I must discuss our course with the helmsman. We can continue our conversation later if you wish.

  Teldin nodded. “I’d enjoy that,” he said … and he was telling the truth.

  *****

  Belowdecks on the Probe was quite different from on the Unquenchable. The overheads were higher – Teldin wasn’t putting his skull at risk whenever he moved – but the companionways were much more cramped. Certainly there was nothing like the little “snug” where Horvath had drawn him a pint of ale. The companionways and ladders – and what few compartments had their doors open – were scrupulously clean and uncluttered and showed no signs of the spontaneous “modifications” that the gnomes seemed to make as a matter of course.

  One of the hammership’s crew – the thin youth Aelfred had called Lon – tried to brush past him, but Teldin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Where are … where’s my crew?” he asked, trying to inject into his voice the confidence that he had heard in Aelfred’s.

  The boy gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Guest cabin,” he said.

  Teldin frowned. That wasn’t much help. “Well, where —” he started.

  “Port side, by the mainmast,” Lort cut in impatiently. The youth shook off Teldin’s hand and hurried on.

  Teldin sighed. He didn’t seem to have made the impression on the boy that he’d hoped.

  Once he was heading in the right direction, it wasn’t difficult to find the gnomes. Even from a distance he could hear Dana’s sharp voice railing about something or other, and all he had to do was follow the sound.

  The “guest cabin” was small and cramped – maybe ten feet long by half that wide – and obviously intended to house only one guest. It was made even more claustrophobic by the fact that two hammocks had been slung from brackets on the walls. His four shipmates were there. Miggins and Saliman lay in the hammocks – both conscious and apparently out of danger, he was glad to see – while Horvath sat comfortably on a folded sail. Dana, fists on her hips, paced the width of the compartment.

  “Now it would be much better all around if you were to just calm down, Danajustiantorala,” Horvath was saying at breakneck speed. “You know very well there’s nothing we can do at the moment, and …” He broke off as he saw Teldin enter. “Well, well,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Don’t just stand there in the doorway. Come in and join us.”

  Teldin grasped his friend’s offered hand and squeezed it warmly. Even though he’d tentatively decided that he didn’t have anything to fear among the hammership’s crew, he felt much more comfortable in the presence of the gnomes. He reached out and patted Miggins on the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much
better,” the young gnome replied with a grin. “They gave me some kind of potion, listed like … well, like something pretty awful if you want to know the truth, but it did the job.” He moved his wounded shoulder experimentally. “It’s still stiff, but it doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

  Teldin nodded. “And Saliman?”

  The gnomish cleric lay motionless on his hammock, an unfocused gaze on the ceiling. “Saliman?” Horvath prompted.

  “Head hurts,” Saliman said, with a totally ungnomish abruptness that indicated just how much pain he must be in.

  “He’ll be all right,” Horvath finished. “They’ve treated us well.” Dana snorted, but Horvath paid no attention. “Do you know the ship’s destination?”

  Teldin seated himself on a stack of folded blankets. The gnomes – even Saliman – were looking at him, waiting for his answer. “The Probe is going to Realmspace,” he told them. “Horvath, what about the Unquenchable?”

  The gnome sighed. “We were talking about that,” he said. “There were still two pirate ships left and no guarantee that the Unquenchable will even survive.”

  “It’ll survive,” Dana muttered fiercely under her breath.

  Horvath fixed her with a hard, steady gaze, and the younger gnome seemed almost to wilt under it. “No, Dana,” he said flatly, “now is the time for realism, not false bravado. I say there’s no guarantee the Unquenchable will survive, and you know that to be true as well as I. Even if the ship wins through, what do we do? Can we get back aboard her?” The diminutive figure shoved his fists deep into his pockets. Teldin could feel the pain this was bringing him, but the gnome kept his voice steady. “We could wait on the longboat and hope the Unquenchable comes back to find us before the air runs out. Or we could search for the Unquenchable, or for her wreckage, but Krynnspace is big. And that’s if our fellows even stay within this sphere.