Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  Teldin nodded with what he judged to be the right mixture of politeness and indifference. He stood and waited for the crewman to throw down the rope ladder … but there apparently was no need for the ladder. One of the crewmen just swung his leg over the dragonfly’s rail and vanished. Teldin walked over to the gunwale.

  There was a narrow, steep staircase butted up against the dragonfly’s hull, its top step almost exactly level with the small ship’s deck. The staircase was made of the same featureless white material as the rest of the arcane’s ship. Teldin leaned over the rail. The stairway wasn’t resting on the deck, as he’d expected. In fact, there was no visible division between the staircase and the deck. It was almost as though the stairway had grown out of the deck itself.

  One dragonfly crewman was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The other was at Teldin’s elbow, ready to give him a hand as he climbed over the rail. Teldin glanced behind him. Yes, his “assistants” were flanking him. Aelfred shot him a meaningful glance – obviously the big warrior thought he should go first, in case of a trap – but Teldin shook his head almost imperceptibly. If this was a trap, they were certainly dead men no matter who went down those mysterious stairs first. And, unaccountably, Teldin found himself unwilling to let somebody else take the lead this time. Both Aelfred and Estriss – and the others aboard the Probe – had already put their lives on the line for him, to help him discharge an obligation that wasn’t theirs, that really had nothing to do with them whatsoever. They’d done it of their own will, he knew, but that just made it worse. No matter how much Aelfred wanted to lead – and, to be honest, no matter how much Teldin would like to have the big warrior ahead of him – it was about time Teldin did what was right. Ignoring the crewman’s proffered help, he swung his legs over the rail and started down the stairway.

  For the first time he could see the cylinder’s circular “deck” clearly. There was nothing – other than the stairway itself and the low rail around the circumference – to break up the featureless expanse: no forecastle, no mast or rigging … and no visible way of getting down inside the cylindrical ship. Well, he thought, we’ll just have to leave that up to the arcane, or this will be a short and useless meeting.

  The stairway had a rail, but it was only on one side and was higher than was comfortable for Teldin. The risers, too, were higher than normal and were uncomfortable for human legs. Of course, he thought, the Nebulon isn’t a human ship. He wished he’d asked Aelfred or Estriss more about what the arcane looked like. From the construction of this staircase, he could guess they were considerably taller than humans, but what other surprises were in store? With an effort he pushed on.

  There was one positive thing: the descent down the staircase gave him an opportunity to examine the white material that seemed to make up the entire ship. The rail under his hand didn’t feel cold like metal or stone would. It was more a neutral temperature. The texture wasn’t quite like ivory, but he realized his original guess was probably fairly close to the truth. The white substance felt very much like bone. A ship of bone? That was an uncomfortable image.

  The crewman nodded respectfully as Teldin reached the deck. They waited while Aelfred, Estriss, and the other crewman joined them, then led the party to the center of the circular deck. The first crewman muttered a short phrase under his breath, and the deck opened up.

  The solid material of the deck shifted, and a round opening appeared. To Teldin, it looked like a gigantic eye, … or a mouth, opening. He fought the urge to step back.

  The circular opening expanded until it was about ten feet in diameter. Cautiously, Teldin looked down into the hole. There was warm yellow light like a summer afternoon down there, and he could see a spiral staircase leading into the ship’s depths. The first crewman bowed to Teldin again. “T’k’Pek awaits you below,” he said.

  Teldin nodded. He stepped forward and probed the edge of the opening with his toe. The white material, which seconds ago had shifted like soft flesh, was as hard as any other part of the deck. He glanced back at Aelfred and Estriss. The warrior was looking a little uncomfortable, but the disguised illithid appeared totally unconcerned. He’s probably seen this kind of thing before, Teldin thought. He stepped onto the first stair – also as firm as rock – and started to descend. His “assistants” followed him.

  The spiral staircase, with its too-high steps, took four turns, then reached another deck. Teldin guessed he’d descended about fifty feet. He was in a small, circular room, not much larger than the span of the staircase itself. There was a single door ahead: almost as high as the ceiling, but otherwise normal in design. As he waited for the others to join him, he looked around for the source of the light. There were no lanterns or torches; the light seemed to come from everywhere. He glanced at his feet and saw no shadow.

  This one staircase, just to get to one door? he asked himself, then immediately answered his own question. Just like the circular hatch, he thought. Other doors open when they’re needed.

  Aelfred and Estriss were quickly beside him. With a deep breath, Teldin reached out for the doorknob.

  His hand was still inches away from it when the door swung silently inward. Teldin hesitated, then stepped forward.

  On the other side of the door was a long, straight corridor. Walls, floor, and fifteen-foot-high ceiling all were constructed of the now-familiar white material. The corridor shone with sourceless light. Dead straight, it had to be a hundred feet long, maybe more. The walls were featureless – no doors, no embellishments or decorations, nothing to break the unrelieved whiteness. Again, he presumed that doors along the corridor would open as the arcane willed and required. At the far end of the corridor, though, he thought he could see a normal door, similar to the one he’d just passed through.

  He counted his steps. Thirty-five strides, and Teldin knew that each of his strides was a little less than three feet long. His estimate of the corridor’s length had been fairly accurate. Now he stood in front of another door. As he’d guessed, it was a twin to the door from the stairwell. He waited until the others had joined him, then reached out to open it, and again it swung open as if triggered by the proximity of his hand.

  The view beyond the doorway literally took his breath away. The room – if you could call it that – was wide, perhaps fifty or sixty feet across. The doorway he stood in was almost exactly in the center of the long wall. Twenty or thirty feet in front of him was a wall of shiny silver – the first break in the otherwise-ubiquitous ivory material. Set into it were great windows, their curving lines evoking images of flames, of flower petals, or of leaves. Widest at about waist level, these windows narrowed to delicate tips some fifteen feet above the floor.

  Teldin stood, transfixed. Before him, the distant stars wheeled slowly. That’s right, he thought, the Nebulon is tumbling. The stars swung, silently, in a kind of stately procession, then something else moved into his field of view: something huge, blue-white …

  He was looking down on the planet Toril. Down. He clenched his teeth, struggling to hold back a whimper of fear. His brain conjured a vivid image: his body plummeting down toward that blue-white sphere, bursting through the glass of those windows, and falling free – surrounded by glittering fragments – to the ground below. Logic told him that was impossible. He was in the grip of the Nebulon’s own gravity, but how could logic stand up against the emotional impact of a view like that?

  He heard a gasp from behind him. It was almost impossible to tear his eyes away from the spectacle before him, but somehow he turned. Aelfred was behind him, eyes wide in surprise. Almost instantly, however, he shook off the effect, and his expression returned to normal. He grasped Teldin’s shoulder with his calloused hand and squeezed reassuringly.

  As if his friend’s touch were a healing spell, Teldin felt his terror melt away. He stepped farther into the gallery room. Now that his mind was free of the view’s hypnotic spell, he saw other details of the room. There were two other doors in the wall, he noted, one o
n each side of the portal by which he’d entered.

  Infinitely more important, he saw he wasn’t alone in the great gallery. Toward the left-hand end of the room was a massive chair of purple crystal, almost like a throne. The Nebulon’s helm? he asked himself. It was facing outward toward the void.

  And the great chair was occupied. A blue-skinned giant sat motionless, gazing out at the wonders of the universe. For several heartbeats, Teldin didn’t move, waiting for the giant to acknowledge his presence. He was about to clear his throat when the crystal throne turned silently as if on a well-oiled pivot. For the first time, Teldin could see the creature in the chair properly.

  He was a tall, lanky humanoid with bluish-gray skin. His thin, almost spindly legs were crossed, and he leaned back in the chair in a posture that looked almost indecently relaxed and comfortable. Teldin regarded him with interest. Standing, he figured the creature would be about twelve feet tall, but much of that height would come from his long legs. His shoulders were narrow, and his chest appeared almost sunken in comparison with his height. He looks like a weakling, Teldin thought, then dismissed the idea. Don’t underestimate him, he told himself, in any way.

  Apart from the creature’s blue skin, his narrow head could possibly be mistaken for a human’s … in a thick fog at midnight. The arcane’s bald skull showed a strange, double-domed structure that bulged slightly forward above his brow. His eyes were dark and very human-looking, but were sunk deep into his head and protected by protruding rings of bone. His cheeks were hollow, focusing attention on his small, almost pursed, mouth. The creature wore a flowing, shawllike robe of shimmering green – a perfect contrast with the dusty blue of his skin, Teldin had to admit. The arcane’s hands were clasped comfortably in his lap and seemed to Teldin to have too many fingers.

  “You will pardon my caution,” the arcane spoke without preamble. His voice was quiet, a reedlike piping much too high-pitched for a creature of his size. While he had no discernible accent, he seemed to exaggerate the sound of consonants, so that fricatives became sharp clicks, almost like bone on bone. Teldin assumed that might tell an expert something about the anatomy of his vocal apparatus, but it meant nothing to him.

  The arcane fixed Teldin with a sharp gaze. “You implied to my representative that we have met.” His voice was totally devoid of emotion. “We have not.”

  Teldin stepped forward and inclined his head, a shallow bow of respect. “I apologize,” he said. “I needed to speak to you, but Barrab wasn’t going to allow it.”

  “He was doing his job,” T’k’Pek pointed out flatly.

  “I realize that, but I had to speak with you, so I tricked him.”

  “You played on his fear,” the arcane stated. His voice remained emotionless. “Barrab has much fear.” The creature was silent for a moment, then went on, “I assume from your actions that you wish to see me on other than a normal business matter. I also assume that your companions are thus more than business assistants.” The blue-skinned giant’s gaze flicked to Aelfred and Estriss.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude,” Teldin said. “These are my friends, Aelfred Silverhorn and … Bale Estriss. I am …”

  The arcane cut him off. “In many cultures it is an insult to appear at a meeting in a false guise.” Even though the words themselves were sharp, the creature’s tone was still utterly indifferent. “Is it your intention to insult me?”

  “Of course not,” Teldin said quickly. He took a deep breath, calming himself in preparation for dropping the face of “Aldyn Brewer,” but then he hesitated. The arcane’s gaze wasn’t on him; it was fixed unwaveringly on Estriss.

  The disguised illithid hesitated for a moment, then hissed a word under his breath. His features shifted like water, quickly resolving themselves into the mind flayer’s familiar tentacled face. With a red-tinged hand, Estriss removed a small felt hat from his head. His featureless eyes were on the arcane.

  “Interesting,” T’k’Pek remarked, though his flat tone belied the word. “An illithid in the company of humans.” He turned his dark eyes to Teldin. “We may proceed.”

  Teldin was silent for a moment. There was something not right about this. He wanted to look back at Estriss, to ask the illithid for guidance, but knew that was impossible. He debated for a moment whether to drop his own magical disguise – which T’k’Pek hadn’t seen through! he stressed to himself – then decided against it. “Yes,” he said, “we may.”

  “What is the business for which you must see me?” the arcane asked.

  As the dragonfly had made its final maneuvers to land on the Nebulon, Teldin had taken the time to prepare his answer to this question. He spoke now without hesitation. “There’s a particular item – you might call it an artifact – that’s come into my possession,” he said smoothly. “I need you to tell me the background, the origin of that item.”

  T’k’Pek’s deep-set eyes opened a touch wider at the word “artifact,” but his voice reflected none of his apparent attention. “Interesting,” he said again. “Why would you think I might know this?”

  “Two reasons,” Teldin answered. “First, it’s well known that the arcane are the premiere dealers of powerful magic in the universe. A good salesperson must be able to evaluate potential sales goods, isn’t that so?” Teldin had gambled that even a creature such as the arcane would have a streak of vanity and that it couldn’t hurt to play on it. When the blue giant hooded his eyes complacently, Teldin knew he’d guessed right.

  “That is correct,” T’k’Pek confirmed. “And second?”

  “Second, I have reason to believe that the item is of arcane manufacture.”

  “Oh?” Despite the creature’s even tone, there was definitely the spark of serious interest in his eyes. “You have the item with you, I trust?”

  “I do.”

  “Well?” the arcane prompted.

  Teldin walked over to the arcane, sprawled in his throne. He looked up into the blue-skinned giant’s eyes. “The cloak,” he said simply.

  T’k’Pek held out a hand – five fingers and a thumb, Teldin noticed – waiting for Teldin to hand over the cloak. When Teldin didn’t, the arcane made no comment, just leaned down and took the cloth between his fingers. He examined the weave, turned the cloth over to view the lining, then released the cloak and resumed his relaxed, almost bored, posture.

  “Yes,” T’k’Pek said, “the cloak was created by my race.”

  Teldin realized he’d been holding his breath. He emptied his lungs with an audible sigh. He’d found the creators ….

  So why, then, was he feeling uncomfortable? He couldn’t isolate the feeling, couldn’t examine it, but it was there and it was strong. There’s something very wrong here, he told himself. He needed time to think. And, he realized, he needed to keep the arcane talking. “How do you know that?” he temporized.

  “Do you see the pattern in the weave of the lining?”

  T’k’Pek asked. “The three-petaled flower? That flower is a symbol widely used by, and widely associated with, my race. See?” The arcane extended his left hand. Around one of its long, multijointed fingers was a heavy ring of gold. The top of the ring was flat, like a signet ring, and bore a design. The pattern was complex, but at its center was, unmistakably, the trilaterally symmetrical flower woven into the cloak’s lining.

  “That flower is unique to the arcane?” Teldin asked – more to give himself time to think than because he wanted to hear the creature’s answer.

  “That is so,” T’k’Pek told him. “That representation of the flower is used only by my race.”

  T’k’Pek’s lying! The thought was so strong that, for a moment, Teldin imagined he was “hearing” Estriss’s mental voice. He quickly realized, though, that the thought was his own. His eyes locked with those of the blue giant. Why do I think you’re lying to me? he asked silently. No, the real question is, Why are you lying? If T’k’Pek were human, Teldin might have seen some reaction in his eyes. But the eyes that looked
back were steady, cold, and very alien. He suddenly recalled a comment his grandfather had once made about a man that they both knew and disliked: “If the eyes are windows to the soul, he’s learned how to close the shutters.”

  Teldin heard someone shifting behind him: Aelfred, it had to be. He could sense his large friend’s puzzlement. He wants to know why I don’t ask the arcane to remove the cloak, Teldin reflected, but I can’t, not yet. The next thought was like a cold wind blowing through his soul: Maybe the arcane could do it.

  T’k’Pek was still watching him silently. If the arcane sensed his deliberation, he gave no sign.

  “So the cloak is an arcane magical device,” Teldin said slowly. “Tell me about its powers. What can it do?”

  “There are many such cloaks,” the arcane said easily. “Most are made for specific purposes, so their powers vary. This only makes sense.”

  “Give me some examples,” Teldin pressed.

  The giant’s eyes shifted; for the first time he seemed uncomfortable. “The powers vary,” he said again. “None are greatly significant: protection against cold, perhaps, or immunity to fire.” His eyes were now fixed unblinkingly on Teldin’s. Watching for a reaction? Teldin wondered, like a fake fortuneteller watching for a clue to better tailor the story? “Some may allow their wearers to fly, or maybe to breathe in the void. The cloak’s power will probably be something minor along those lines.”

  “Power,” Teldin mused. “Each cloak will only have one power?”

  “Not necessarily,” T’k’Pek replied quickly. “Again, the cloaks will vary. As I say, my people create them for different purposes.”