The UnFolding Collection Three

by S. K. Randolph

  “Brie’ll tell ya.” Ira rubbed Shyllee’s head. “Come on, girl, let’s go talk to Torgin.”

  Shyllee dashed ahead of him through the open hatch.

  Esán patted his bedroll. “Sit, Brielle. Where did you go? We want to hear everything.”

  Torgin returned to his post on deck, glad the winds had grown quiet, and watched two moons slip from one cloud to the next. Tri-Nular had passed with Fasfro’s disappearance below the horizon, its warm glow diminishing as Calegri’s blue light cooled the sky. How did Brie and Ira get here? What’s happening on Thera; where’s my father; and how is Mother coping? Shyllee’s cold nose nuzzling his hand reminded him of Buster. He rubbed her ears and let the sad memory fade. She sat, her eyes bright and her ears alert.

  Ira walked up beside them. “This is some craft. I’ve only seen a sailboat in a book. What’s she like underway.”

  Torgin grinned. “She’s amazing. Sailing is unlike anything I have ever experienced.” He explained what he’d been learning. “Gregos is a task master. When he gives an order, he expects an immediate response. Tamosh is demanding in a different way…less brusque, maybe.” He shrugged. “Tell me what happened to you. One minute you were next to me, and the next you were gone.”

  “Relevart teleported me to a place called Mittkeer.” Ira shivered. “Made me pretty sick. When he sent me to Toelachoc Prison, I felt better.”

  Torgin looked up a rope ladder that stretched from the top of the railing all the way to the watch-perch. Elf waved and gave him an all clear sign. “I have to do a deck-check.” He patted Shyllee’s head. “Stay, Shyllee. Come on, Ira. I’ll teach you a few things; then you can tell me all about the prison.”

  Brie lay on Torgin’s bedroll, her head spinning. Gregos’ palm on hers had left her with all the information she would need to be part of the Melback’s crew and more. She had experienced mind links with Wolloh and WoNa. Both had been subtle. Perhaps because Gregos was a stranger, she felt taken aback. A deep breath calmed her racing thoughts. Reviewing the information he’d shared—chart reading, sailing skills including how to anchor, which sails to use for what type of wind, how to tack, how to come about—left her silent and sober. Why do I need to know so much?

  She pulled the blanket up under her chin and tried to sleep. When her eyes remained wide open and her thoughts continued their chaotic tumble, she made her way to the hatch. Torgin and Ira stood by the mizzen-mast, discussing how the compass worked. The boy name Elf looked down at her from his perch near the top of the mast. She smiled and waved. He nodded and returned his attention to the sea. A gentle mind touch left her thoughtful. Elf’s vocal cords had been badly damaged. A Mocendi had tried to destroy them when he refused to become a disciple of The MasTer. Gregos and Tamosh had rescued him and given him a home.

  Esán came up behind her. “Time for the watch to change.” He called softly over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Des. We’re up.”

  Brie glanced in Desirol’s direction. “How’s he doing?”

  “When he’s busy, he’s alright; when he isn’t, he withdraws. The Mindeco’s pull is pretty strong.” Esán sighed. “I only hope Rikell can’t feel Des as much as Des is feeling Rikell.”

  A mutter of frustration preceded the subject of their conversation up the galley steps. “Lost my boot. Found it.” He smoothed his borrowed tunic. “Feel better when I have ’em on. They seem to ground me.”

  Shyllee met Esán as he stepped on the deck. “Hey, girl. Gonna take the watch with me?” Tail wagging, she settled on her favorite seat at the stern. Esán stuck his head in the cabin. “Come on, Des, Torgin and Elf are waiting. Brie, you can have my bed.”

  She tugged at a curl. “Mind if I tag along?”

  He took her hand. “Of course not. It’s Des’ turn on the watch-perch, so I can show you around.”

  The exchange was made. Torgin hugged her. “Ira told me everything.” A yawn left his eyes watering. “Gotta get some rest.”

  Elf descended from the watch perch, nodded to Desirol, and crossed the deck. He smiled at Brie. “I am glad—”

  Shyllee’s growl rumbled through the night.

  Elf’s sad dark eyes swung from Brie’s face to sweep the sea. An image filled her mind. A small sailboat prepared to round the end of the island.

  Esán spun around, his eyes squinting into the darkness. He gave Elf a push. “Go tell—”

  “He already did.” Gregos and Tamosh stepped out into the pale light of Lunule’s creamy crescent.

  Nomed tossed and turned on the uncomfortable couch in the inn and forced himself to surface from a troubled sleep. Dreams sent him swooping in owl form over one narrow ocean strait after the other in pursuit of what he thought was a boat carrying Esán. A glimpse of his slender nephew standing on the deck of a two-masted sailing vessel teased him to follow, but no matter how fast he flew, he could never quite catch up.

  He threw the tattered blanket aside, pushed his tired body to sitting, and stiffened. A sleeping man sprawled in the only chair in the room, his chin on his chest, dark hair falling around his face. Nomed relaxed. Well, well…

  Corvus yawned and shook his hair back, exposing a dimple in the right cheek that deepen when he spoke. “Good morning, DiMensioner.”

  Nomed rubbed his stubbled chin. “It appears you slept well. It is good to see you safely Human.”

  “It is good to be so. I have very little time. Can we awaken TheLise?”

  “No need.” She glided into the room.

  Nomed glanced down at his rumpled clothing and shook his head. She looked well-rested and elegant, not at all like she had slept in a lousy bed fully dressed.

  “Good morning to you both.” Her smiling gaze flitted past him to their visitor. “I am particularly glad to see you looking so well, Corvus. What brings you to Atkis? Have you seen—”

  Corvus laid a finger on his lips and nodded. “All is well. Help me shield the room. I have much news to share.”

  Wards shimmered into place. TheLise sat down next to Nomed. Corvus drew his chair closer and gave a quick account of his initial rescue, of WoNa and Roandee, of his own return to Human, and finally of Wolloh’s return from Surazal, the land of the dead.

  TheLise smiled. “Quite a story. I particularly like the last chapter.”

  Nomed leaned closer. “So why are you here? Certainly, not just as the carrier of news.”

  “I’m here to share one more story.” He gave them the gist of Nissasa’s latest adventure. “Relevart would like you to find Nissasa’s body and take it to Shu Chenaro. One Man will bring the jar with his essence to you, by which time I hope to have found Esán and his friends. I’ll bring them to you there.”

  Nomed left the sofa and walked to the window. When he turned, he didn’t try to hide his discontent. “I am unsure that I will trust you or anyone else with the rescuing of my nephew. He and his companions are pivotal to The Unfolding and, as such, important to The MasTer. How can you hope to save them by yourself?”

  “I won’t be alone. Yaro is on his way here. Seyes, you and TheLise are the best ones to find Nissasa. He is in Trinuge. And he is with a Mocendi named Vygel Vintrusie.”

  Nomed’s eyebrow shot up. “Vygel. I thought he had been stripped of his power.”

  “Word has it that The MasTer reinstated him and made him one of his personal guard.”

  Speculation gleamed in TheLise’s gray eyes. “Relevart could have sent you, but he chose us?”

  Corvus nodded.

  Nomed frowned as she joined him. “What? Do you think I’m selfish to want my nephew safe, that I’m neglecting my duty if I don’t care about Nissasa Rattori?”

  “No, Seyes, I don’t on either count. What I do know is that something important made the VarTerel choose us. This is not about Nissasa. This is about Vygel Vintrusie; this is about defeating The MasTer at his own game.”

  Nomed fought his desire to be the one to find Esán. A part of him wanted—no, needed—to rescue him, to prove to his nephew and
to himself that he had changed. He realized the old Seyes would have remained fixed on his own needs. Sitting down opposite Corvus, he looked him straight in the eye. “Promise you will find Esán. Promise you will do everything in your power to keep him safe. Promise—”

  TheLise leaned down and kissed his cheek. He swallowed, waited for her to sit beside him, and returned his attention to Corvus, whose intent gaze had never left his face. “Well?”

  “I promise, Seyes, to do my best to find Esán and friends and keep them safe. I promise to die before I let any harm come to them.” He held out his hand.

  Nomed took it and smiled his crooked smile. “Please, Corvus, don’t die. Almiralyn would never forgive me.”

  Corvus remained in the room for some time after Nomed and TheLise departed for the Dreelas’ estates. Efillaeh had done its work well, but he continued to recuperate from his injuries at Nissasa’s hand. The place on his chest—the spot where the single white feather had been in his raven form—ached with stubborn persistence. He pressed a hand to it. I wonder if it will ever truly heal.

  Setting such thoughts aside, he paced the room, considering his arrival in Atkis. Before seeking out Nomed and TheLise, he had done some exploring. The back streets and alleys on the land side of the village bumped up against a small forest that thinned into the fields and rolling hills of the peninsula. A well-kept main street ran the length of the village. Another rougher lane paralleled the waterfront and culminated in a series of workshops, warehouses, and shanties. The stench of the Mindeco and the Astican hung in the back alleys and along the far end of the dock.

  He cast his senses outward. Yaro will arrive soon. What form will he take?

  From between drawn curtains, he observed the street below. Early morning activities had begun: a farmer delivered supplies to the inn, a young boy tacked up a note on the notice board across the way, fishermen exchanged quips as they made their way to the harbor, and a harried-looking man gestured and questioned his way up the street. He hurried to join a man exiting the inn. Corvus tuned in to the conversation.

  “Have you seen Brubger?”

  “Nope. Not since last night at the bar. You checked his boat? He’s always aboard her by this time.”

  “Possession is gone. I was supposed be on her this morning. Now I’m stuck in Atkis.” Their conversation faded as they moved further up the street.

  The curtain fell back into place. Corvus strode from the room, found his way to the back alley, and stood for a moment in the shadows of morning. He had considered never shape shifting again. His time trapped in raven form had been terrifying. Memories of his humanness slipping away—of the raven becoming all he knew—unnerved him.

  “Oid eo daizo raa, Corvus, protector of Almiralyn.” Yaro regarded him from beneath a wooden staircase on the opposite side of the alley.

  Assuring himself no one watched, Corvus crossed to the Pentharian. “Oid eo daizo raa, Yaro. It is good to see you. We need to talk. The Dreelas reserved a room in the inn for me. We can speak in private there.”

  Yaro bowed his elegant head and shifted into the form of a fly.

  Corvus retraced his steps to the inn. Soon they were seated in the dingy suite.

  The Pentharian glanced around. “This does not look like a place the Dreelas would appreciate.”

  Corvus smiled. “That is a story I will let her share. Please tell me what’s happening at the border.”

  Information was exchanged. Yaro provided an account of the battle and Lorsedi’s orders to find and protect Desirol and his friends. Corvus gave a brief description of the events that had brought him to Atkis. He shared the conversation he had heard earlier. “I believe the Mindeco has taken a new body.”

  Yaro traced a tattoo on his hand. “It appears we must learn of this Brubger and his Possession .”

  Corvus nodded. “I believe the docks are the best place to begin.”

  Rikell sat in the stern of Possession , his hand on the tiller, glad for the intermittent light of two full moons and a sea with only a gentle chop. The first part of the trip, he had followed the shoreline. A review of Brubger’s memories assured him he was on course. The man’s knowledge of the boat and the area around Atkis was exceptional. He had been obsessive regarding just about everything, including sailing. Meticulously detailed charts for the entire Sea of Trinuge, all the way from Atkis to Geran, lined one wall in the cabin. Better yet, he had memorized those that pertained to his home territory.

  Rikell ran a hand through thinning hair and smiled. He loved his new body and his new persona. Brubger’s conniving, selfish character fed his most primitive urges. Unlike Lorsedi’s loyal soldier, the one Nissasa had made him take over in the desert, he had no need as Brubger to struggle against a personality that did not compliment his own. He had gladly shed the soldier’s body when he received the order to chase the children across Fera Finnero.

  The lines slapped and the sails luffed. He frowned and adjusted his heading. The winds were picking up. Don’t like the idea of sailing in stormy weather.

  Brubger’s memory suggested a couple of options. The closest was an anchorage behind Bockettle Island. A gust sent Possession skimming along. Hope I didn’t bypass Melback . He glanced up at the thickening cloud cover and back at the sea. Night darkness shrouded the shoreline. No other boats had caught his attention. Almost feels as though Possession is sailing the Sea of Trinuge alone.

  He thought about Abarax hiding in the cabin, his small monkey’s body shaking with fear. Brubger’s face produced a nasty smile. The Astican had managed to remain on deck until they left the harbor in Atkis. The smile broadened. All that water chased him below. Now he’s trembling like a babe in the corner of his berth.

  Rikell reviewed Brubger’s fastidious chart in his head, made a slight change in course, and pulled open the hatch.

  Keeping the sarcasm out of his voice, he called, “How’s it going, Abarax? Care to join me on deck?”

  A book soared across the cabin and slammed into the wall. “I’m keeping track, Mindeco. When I shift, you’ll wish you’d treated me better.”

  “Ah, poor Astican. I won’t tease any more.” Rikell withdrew and returned to the tiller. It won’t be long until I can drop anchor and rest. If my calculations are correct and the wind holds, I’ll reach Bockettle in three quarters of a chron circle. The wind howled. Possession lost her heading. Rikell made a quick adjustment. Unless the wind blows us off course.

  29

  Master’s Reach

  Myrrh & Thera

  O ne Man arrived in the Dojanack Caverns to the news that Zugo had been badly burned; Almiralyn watched over him in Ephos; and Veersuni contained something evil and dangerous. He now stood at the top of Stairway of Retu Erath. The Cavern of Tennisca opened up like a giant mouth, calling him to enter. Descending provided a sense of solitude, solitude that he missed after fifteen years alone at Timreh Pass, solitude that he relished.

  A breath tickled his cheek. “Fly, One Man.”

  Another breath, another voice. “Fly, One Man. Almiralyn waits.”

  A breeze of whispers lifted him into heron flight, infused his mind with visions, and grew quiet. He swooped though open purple doors and materialized in the Cave of Canedari, the cave where he had met Esán for the first time. Clear memories captured him. Needle-sharp and poignant, they pierced his heart. A panel in the floor slid open. He heard the rush of water beneath his feet.

  The Lake of Rorret boomed, “The Unfolding careens toward completion. Do not linger long in your memories, Somay Efre of Tao Spirian.”

  The doors to the Hall of Priestesses opened. Light shot across the floor. The panel whooshed shut. Almiralyn’s elongated shadow bathed his feet. Striding forward, he took her offered hands.

  Solemn eyes met his. “Thank you for coming, One Man. I have great need of your skills.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Rorret sent a message.”

  “I heard. We must make haste.”

  They hurried down the hall
, exchanging news as they went. Sparrow met them in the Reading Room and held up a small, handmade book. “Wilith found this beneath a pile of old parchments. He believes it might be important.”

  The book bore a simple title engraved on a battered, black, leather cover, El Stroma .

  Almiralyn grew pensive. “I only know of one El Stroma.” She passed it to One Man.

  Brow creased in concentration, he skimmed through the pages of spiderweb script. “El Stroma is a planet in the Outer Universe just beyond the DéCussate.” Flipping back to the first page, he began to read, “It is the Time of Ending on the planet of El Stroma. Most have fled or died. Acid rain falls in torrents. I write this short history in the hopes that someday the planet may be returned to its former beauty.”

  Sparrow said, “It sounds like what happened on TreBlaya. Do you—”

  Veersuni’s door rattled. Smoke trickled beneath it and crept over the Reading Room floor. One Man met Almiralyn’s gaze.

  “We have work to do.” He crossed to a shelf, slipped the slender book between two of similar size, and rejoined the women. Stepping between them, he grasped their hands. “Individual wards in place.” Almiralyn’s glowed. His shimmered around him. Sparrow’s settled more slowly. “Good. Now, one around the three of us.” When that had been accomplished, he closed his eyes. “Let’s explore from here. Do not let go of my hands. Keep your intent masked.”

  One Man allowed his senses to ripple outward, beyond the door, through smoke hanging in the air. The smell of sulfur and burning flesh pervaded the sanctuary. Hatred gushed from Elcaro’s Eye. A searching, malevolent presence fought to loose itself from the fountain’s grip. He ended his mental exploration and opened his eyes. Almiralyn looked grim—Sparrow terrified.

  The twin’s mother shuddered. “Is that who I think it is?”

  The Guardian nodded. “The essence of The MasTer has become trapped in the fountain.”