Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  For the first time, Teldin noticed that there was someone else on the deck – someone who was watching him with an expression of mild amusement. It was Vallus Leafbower, the elven mage, one of the Probe’s helmsmen. Teldin shot him a quick smile but hesitated to walk over and join him. There were two reasons for his reluctance: One was that he was enjoying the sense of solitude, of being alone beneath the unfamiliar stars; the second was the same reason he’d been avoiding the elf since the battle: Vallus obviously was a mage of significant power. As such, he might be more inclined to question Teldin about his own displays of ability. While the other crew members had avoided the topic – at least partially out of fear, Teldin guessed – Vallus wasn’t likely to do the same.

  Teldin’s reticence turned out to be irrelevant when the elf crossed the deck and joined him.

  Vallus nodded a greeting. Even when he was making efforts to be friendly, Teldin had noted, there was a sense of aloofness about the elf, a feeling that he was somehow apart from everyone and watching from some unapproachable vantage of knowledge and wisdom. There was also a strong sense of exclusivity – that was the closest word that Teldin could come up with – a sense that the elf wasn’t revealing everything he knew or thought.

  Perhaps it was just a consequence of the fact that he’d lived ten years or more for each year that Teldin and the others had been alive. Whatever the reason, it had a chilling effect on any sense of friendship that Teldin might otherwise feel, and made it very difficult for him to trust the elf.

  Vallus spoke first. “I noticed you weren’t on deck when we entered this shell,” he remarked. “Unfortunate. You missed something, something that you would have found fascinating.” His eyes seemed to shine with intensity. “We saw the Wanderers,” he concluded in a hushed voice.

  There was something portentous about the word, something that struck some kind of chord in Teldin’s soul. “What ate the Wanderers?” he whispered.

  “As we passed through the portal, we saw them,” the elf answered, “a line of figures – a geometrically straight line,. hundreds of thousands of figures long. Perhaps millions long. They were walking on the inner surface of the crystal shell. Walking, walking endlessly. They paid us no attention.”

  Teldin shook his head in wonderment. “Why?” he asked. “What are they?”

  The elf shrugged. “No one truly knows,” he replied. “There are legends, of course. Some say their marching, and their silent chanting, are what allow spontaneous portals to open in the shell of Realmspace. According to this legend, the Wanderers are the souls of individuals who died performing evil deeds of horrific proportions. How they came to their present condition, even the legends fail to say, but they all are reputed to bear the mark of Torm, God of Guardians, on their palms.” Vallus shrugged again. “Whatever their origin, or their purpose, it was a wondrous sight.” He smiled wryly. “Such things make me realize how much poorer my life would have been had I never left my home world.”

  Teldin was silent. There was something about the image of an endless line of figures, eternally trudging around the surface of the crystal sphere, that caught his imagination. Without warning, he found his thoughts turning to his father. How small your world was, he thought, how impoverished you were by your refusal to look outward. And, he added, how bleak would my own have been if it hadn’t been for the circumstances that drove me outward. For a moment, he felt almost gratitude toward the stranger who’d given him the cloak. You might have doomed me, his thoughts ran, but you also broadened my horizons in ways I could never have imagined. Even if I die soon, my life is richer for my experiences.

  “I think that you enjoy the sky of wildspace as much as I do,” the elf continued, unaware of Teldin’s musings. “There seems something of purity about it, doesn’t there? A sense of perfection, of changelessness. Do you know the constellations of Realmspace, by any chance?”

  Teldin shook his head.

  “No, I suppose not. That, over there —” he reached out with a slender hand and traced shapes among the stars “— is the Harp. That, the Sword and Dagger. And that is the new constellation, the Lady of Mystery.”

  Teldin glanced over at the elf. “How can a constellation be new?” he asked.

  “Of course the pattern itself is as old as any,” the elf explained with a half-smile. “The meaning has changed, that’s all. Once it was two constellations, the Dragon of Dawn and the Firbolg, but after the Time of Troubles, many inhabitants of the Realms decided it would be best to devise a constellation to revere the new goddess, the Wounded Lady. Do you know the story?”

  “No,” Teldin admitted, “but maybe …”

  “Maybe another time, yes.” The elf turned and pointed forward. “Do you see that bright star, just over the forecastle?”

  Teldin looked where Vallus indicated. “Yes.”

  “That’s Realmspace’s primary, called – predictably – ‘the sun.’ And that —” he pointed to another dot of light, nowhere near as brilliant as the first but still brighter than the other stars “— is Chandos, one of the giants of the Realmspace system, some seven thousand leagues across. For comparison, your own world is perhaps one thousand leagues across, and Toril is about the same. Do you realize that Chandos is about nine million leagues from us? And yet its light is almost enough to rival the sun. How can we not feel insignificant in the face of scales such as this?” He shook his head in wonder. Teldin shrugged his shoulders but said nothing. The universe might be huge, he found himself thinking, but most of it seems to be eager to make sure my stay here isn’t as long as I’d like. “How long to Toril?” he asked eventually. “Another thirty days, perhaps,” the elf answered casually.

  He must have seen Teldin’s expression of astonishment, because he chuckled. “Yes, it surprises me, too, at times. We traveled from one crystal sphere to another in, what, thirty days or so? Then, once we’re within our destination sphere, we have to spend another thirty days to reach the planet we’re interested in. Somehow it seems all wrong, but you should understand: There are rivers that flow in the phlogiston, rivers that can greatly increase one’s speed if one’s navigator is good enough to find them. Sylvie is one of the best. Once within a shell, there are no rivers, and even the smallest sphere is immense. Again, when it comes to understanding the universe – as with so much else – perspective is all-important. Wouldn’t you say?”

  With that, Vallus strolled away, leaving Teldin to his own contemplations.

  *****

  The Probe was eighteen days inbound from the crystal sphere when the derelict ship was spotted. The hammership had, two days before, made its closest approach to Chandos, and the huge blue-green world was shrinking astern.

  Teldin was leaning on the sterncastle rail, gazing out past the ship’s stem spanker sails. Even at this distance, the great water world was an impressive sight. It had none of the dramatic hues of Zivilyn in the Krynn system, none of the great clashing bands of color. Instead, it was a study in subtle gradients as blues shaded imperceptibly into greens. The planet displayed an unbelievable range of intensities, from royal blues so deep they were almost purple to greens so faint they could almost be gray. Teldin could pick out three unusually bright points of light that appeared very close to the planet. Although nobody he’d spoken to had mentioned moons, he presumed these brilliant specks of light were satellites in orbit around the great planet.

  The emotions that Teldin associated with this massive world were quite different from those he’d felt while viewing Zivilyn, too. Zivilyn, the giant of Krynn’s system, seemed to embody dynamic change, energy, and turmoil. Chandos, on the other hand, made him feel calm, at peace with himself and with the universe as a whole.

  “Ship ahoy!” The call echoed from the crow’s nest atop the hastily repaired mainmast.

  “Bearing?” That was Aelfred’s call from up forward. Teldin turned and saw the big first mate climbing the ladder to the forecastle deck. A brass spyglass was under his arm.

  “Hig
h on the starboard bow,” the lookout answered.

  Teldin looked up to the recently repaired crow’s nest. He could see the lookout in his jury-rigged perch, arm outstretched and pointing. Teldin tried to pick out the exact angle the man was indicating, but from this perspective it was difficult.

  Aelfred seemed to have no such problem. He snapped the brass tube up to his eye and trained it forward, slightly above and to the right of the Probe’s bow. “Got it,” he called after a few moments. “Mosquito, it looks like. No lights …” His voice took on a harder edge. “She’s tumbling. Crew on deck!”

  From below Teldin heard the clanging of the bell that called the crew to their stations. The deck pounded with running feet as crewmen burst out onto the deck. Men swung into the rigging, and weapons crews prepared their catapults.

  “Teldin! Over here!” Aelfred stood beside the forward turret, beckoning with a raised arm. Teldin crossed the main deck – doing his best to stay out of the way of the crewmen who were still rushing to their stations – and joined his friend.

  Aelfred was leaning against the turret, his gaze directed forward toward the other ship that Teldin had yet to see. The turret was still immobilized after the damaging ballista strike from the deathspider, but that hardly mattered. The heavy ballista it contained was ruined, and there wasn’t the material aboard necessary to rebuild or replace it, though, according to shipboard gossip, Horvath had offered to rig up a “suitable substitute.” Bubbo, the weapons master, had threatened to clap the gnome in irons if he even tried.

  As Teldin approached, the first mate turned to face him. The warrior’s expression was troubled. “Teldin,” he said, “I want you to …” He moved his palm in front of his face, as though rearranging his features. “Understand?”

  “Why?” Teldin’s eyes strayed to the star field in the direction in which the other ship must lie. “Are they enemies?”

  “I don’t think so,” Aelfred said reluctantly, “I think she might be a derelict, but …” He snorted in disgust. “I’m getting paranoid. Look.” His voice became more persuasive. “Where’s the harm? If the snip’s empty, just reverse it. If there are people aboard the ship, you might be saving your life.”

  Teldin paused. The first mate was right, he thought, Aelfred was being paranoid, but he had to admit, it might be a necessary kind of paranoia. Teldin still didn’t like shapeshifting on principle, but what good would it do if he stood on principle so firmly that the neogi ended up with the cloak? He sighed and nodded. “I agree,” he said quietly.

  He glanced around him. There was nobody else on the forecastle. With the ballista wrecked, there was no call for a weapon crew. All the other crew members he could see were busy preparing the Probe for the unknown.

  He pulled the hood of the cloak up over his head and forward so that it shadowed his face. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath.

  What face should he take? For the first time this was a relevant question. Up until now in his practice, he’d been assuming the face and form of others that he knew on board the hammership. Obviously, this wasn’t a good idea; how would Garay – for example – react if he ran into his own twin?

  Unbidden, the image of his rather came into his mind. He paused. Why not? He let the image build in intensity, then started making minor changes. His rather was too old. Remove some of the lines from around his eyes, then. His eyes were the same rich blue as Teldin’s own. Too much of a similarity; change them to dark brown. Finally, remove the gray streaks from the black hair. He mentally examined the picture he’d built up and was satisfied. As to the body, change the frame a little, but not so much that his clothes didn’t fit right. Broaden the shoulders slightly, make the chest a tad deeper, and that was it.

  Teldin’s daily practice had paid off. The whole process took no more than a couple of heartbeats. He opened his eyes again.

  Aelfred shook his head and rumbled deep in his throat. “I’ll never get used to that.” Teldin reached up to remove the hood, but the first mate’s hand stopped him. “No,” Aelfred said, “keep it on. No reason to draw attention to the fact that somebody else is wearing Teldin’s clothes.” He paused in thought. “For the same reason, don’t talk unless you have to, all right?”

  Teldin nodded.

  Aelfred’s distinctive grin returned. “Good. You can stay here and watch if you want, but if things get nasty, either get belowdecks out of the way —” he slapped Teldin’s shoulder “— or, if it strikes your fancy, feel free to fry as many of the bad guys as you like.”

  The Probe maneuvered cautiously closer to the unidentified ship. It wasn’t long before Teldin could pick it out against the blackness of wildspace. At first it was just a small, faint dot reflecting the distant sun’s light with changing intensity. Presumably it fluctuated because the ship was tumbling and the surface area it presented to reflect the sunlight was constantly changing. Slowly it started to show detail.

  The ship was tiny, Teldin could tell at once, much smaller than the hammership, and while the hammership resembled a great fish or shark, the other vessel looked much more like an insect. Its hull was thin and elongated, tapering to a delicate, upswept point at the stern. It had slender legs, as did the pirate wasp ships that had attacked the Unquenchable: four extended below the hull, presumably as landing gear, while the aft two legs were bent up and back, extending above the body. Delicate wings of a thin, silklike material arced aft over the hull, and a long, thin spine extended forward from the bow. Overall, the term that Aelfred had used for the vessel was absolutely appropriate: mosquito.

  The ship showed no lights that Teldin could see, and it certainly wasn’t moving in any controlled way. In fact, it was tumbling slowly, end over end, making one rotation in about a minute. There was no movement on deck – if the small ship hid a deck. For all Teldin could tell, the mosquito was either dead or deserted.

  As it turned out, the tumbling motion of the ship proved the greatest obstacle to finding out more about it. The Probe couldn’t draw too near without running the risk of getting struck by a leg or wing, or by the extended stern of the hull itself.

  As the hammership cautiously approached, Estriss and Vallus joined Aelfred on the forecastle. Teldin, his cloak hood still pulled forward to partially hide his changed features, stood well back from the group, hoping that nobody would pay him any notice. Estriss glanced his way and gave him a slight nod, as if to confirm the wisdom of what he’d done. Vallus, however, studied him a little more intently. Teldin was afraid that the elf would say something to draw attention to him, but after a few seconds of scrutiny, Vallus contented himself with a raised eyebrow and an aloof smile and turned back to the others, behavior quite out of character for the elf.

  Aelfred put the problem into words. “Normally we’d fire a grappling iron with a rope attached,” he explained, “take up the slack, and slow the ship that way, but without a ballista that’s out of the question.” He turned to the elven mage. “Vallus, any ideas?”

  The wizard thought for a moment. “How heavy is that ship?” he asked eventually.

  “I’d guess around six tons,” Aelfred answered. “Can you slow it down with magic?”

  “No,” Vallus said firmly, “it’s much too heavy for that.” He paused in thought again. “I could fly over to it with a rope, and tie it off to the hull.”

  Aelfred shook his head. “And if there’s something aboard that’s hostile? You’d be a sitting duck.”

  The elf greeted that with a somewhat condescending grin. “I assure you, I can take good care of myself.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t have to,” the first mate shot back. “Could you fly somebody else – me, for example – over there?”

  “I could,” the elf confirmed, “but the same objection applies, doesn’t it? There is, however, another option.” His voice became more businesslike. “Have the crew prepare the grappling iron and rope you mentioned earlier. You won’t need the ballista after all.”

  Aelfred barked or
ders, and the crew hurried to obey. Down on the main deck, amidships, a long rope was tied to the eye of a grappling iron, and the rope coiled on the deck. Twenty-five crewmen stood ready to do whatever was necessary. Vallus climbed down to the main deck and joined them.

  When all was in readiness, the elf looked up expectantly at Aelfred.

  “Go,” the first mate ordered. “Deck crew, stand ready.”

  The elf s long fingers wove intricate patterns in the air before him. From where he stood on the forecastle, Teldin couldn’t hear the incantation the mage was murmuring under his breath.

  On the deck, the grappling iron quivered like something alive, then silently lifted from the planking. Slowly, trailing the rope behind it like a tail, it floated toward the tumbling mosquito. The coiled rope paid out smoothly.

  The iron neared the angular vessel. “Rope crew ready,” Vallus instructed quietly.

  One crewman laid out the remaining rope across the deck. The other crew members spat in their palms, took up the rope, and braced themselves.

  Carefully, the mage adjusted the position of the grappling iron. As the mosquito’s slender stem swung up and over, the iron flicked into position. Its sharp tines bit into the wood near the aftmost end. “Take up the slack,” the elf instructed.

  Twenty-five men groaned as one as the rope crew took the load. The mosquito’s tumbling slowed noticeably, but the ship was still moving.

  “Give me some slack.” The crew did as Vallus instructed. Under the elfs mental control, the grappling iron repositioned itself, this time near the mosquito’s bow. “Take up the slack,” Vallus ordered again, and again the men groaned, again the small ship slowed.

  “Once more.” The grappling iron moved again to the stern. This time the elf didn’t have to give the order. As soon as the iron was positioned, the crew took up the load, then they relaxed, stretching strained muscles and muttering congratulations to one another. The mosquito lay at rest beside the hammership.