The UnFolding Collection Three

by S. K. Randolph

  Sparrow slipped into the sanctuary and tiptoed to the fountain. A small nod affirmed the message had been delivered. It was time to take control of the ward-web.

  Almiralyn traced a symbol in the air above the fountain. Thread by thread, the web began to unravel. A slender strand floated upward. She circled her finger and with a twist of her wrist signaled it to wind into a ball. Sparrow, quick to follow her example, grinned as her ball of energy began to grow.

  When they had dismantled the entire force field, Almiralyn motioned the balls to the center of the fountain and merged them together. Mimicking a knitter, she created a blanket of energy big enough to engulf only the tents occupied by the Mocendi and let it fall. Anchoring it to the ground with a whispered word, she instructed the new ward to keep the Mocendi trapped inside. Next, she instructed it to respond with a loud hum whenever anything touched it.

  “Secure and seal,” she whispered.

  “Secure and seal.” Sparrow grinned.

  On the water’s surface a man marched from a tent and surveyed the camp. Anger infused pallid cheeks with red. Striding forward, he ran into the wards and jumped back as a loud humming exploded in the clearing. Again and again, he tried to undo the damage. Over and over, he failed. Throwing his hands in the air, he yelled, “I will undo this, and then I plan to find you, whoever you are.” He marched back into his tent and flipped the entrance flap into place.

  Water flowed, expressing delight with each droplet that fell.

  Almiralyn sighed. “I need a break, maybe even a nap. I’ll meet you in the Reading Room in two chron circles?”

  Sparrow pressed her hands against her lower back. “I think a nap and a snack are definitely in order.”

  They left Veersuni, walked to the Cave of Canedari, and paused in the silent emptiness before teleporting to their own quarters. Almiralyn stretched out in her sleep alcove and watched the quartz crystal embedded in the salmon walls twinkle in the light of her small oil lamp. Silencing her brain’s need to question, organize, and plan, she rolled on her side and slept.

  The Five Towers in Idronatti had been hard won. Jordett and the KcernFensians had sustained losses they could ill afford. Only a few of Nissasa’s Brigade remained at large in the city. The Five Fathers had not been found. PPP officers who had chosen not to follow Orittra and the Mocendi had been released from the prison in Tower Four and assigned to positions of leadership. No one contested Jordett’s right to command.

  The moon sailing overhead signaled the end of the long turning. Fatigue forced Jordett to bed down in one of the apartments in Tower One. When the chronometer alarm rang, he woke up feeling, if not refreshed, at least better than when he’d given in to his exhaustion. Splashing water on his face, he toweled it dry, glanced at the small chronometer next to the bed, and hurried from the room. Two floors down in the office where he had met Orittra, the KcernFensian contingent gathered around a table. Radec’s death marked the quiet grieving that enshrouded them all.

  Teva indicated a chair beside her. “We have just returned from a patrol of the city. The Mocendi are withdrawing. We, the supposed leaders of Nissasa’s Brigade, have received a message that we are to hold the city until their return.”

  Jordett tapped the tip of his stylus on the table. “Very interesting. My guess is that there is something occurring elsewhere that is either more important or more urgent. Question. How do they travel between planets besides via portals?”

  Teva glanced at Lenadi. He nodded and began.

  “The information we have received suggests that the The League has a central command ship that houses the Mocendi. Children who have been kidnapped because of their potential are incarcerated and trained there. This ship remains in orbit around TreBlaya. A second ship is used for travel. It is equipped to jump from planet to planet and from galaxy to galaxy. It can also transit the Inner Universe via a series of worm holes. When it is on a mission away from TreBlaya, a jump craft remains docked to the command ship. The planet itself is inhabited by The MasTer and his Davea, the Astican. We believe a chamber has been built within The MasTer’s residence to receive visitors. None of us have traveled there, although we know of those who have.”

  “I am assuming Almiralyn knows this information. What she may not know is that the Mocendi are focusing elsewhere, perhaps DerTah. Can you get word to her?”

  Teva answered. “Lenadi has already sent a message to Dom.”

  Jordett taped a note into his mini-compu. “Excellent. Let’s get on with plans for Idronatti.”

  At Antiques by Q on the outskirts of The Borderland, Dom shoved a battered hat on his head and shuffled down the hall to the cellar door. The largest piece of his broken crystal paperweight continued to connect him to Myrrh, but his close call with death had made him leery. He was on his way to deliver a message in person.

  Muttering to himself about the indignities of growing old, he gripped the hand railing and limped down the cellar stairs. The mirror leaned against a dingy wall. Mist swirled on the cracked surface and tumbled to the cellar floor. Mocendi had used it a couple of turnings ago. The caretaker of the mirror since its creation, Dom knew it well. For a long moment, he scrutinized it. Nothing set off an alarm. He pressed his palm against the glass. The print formed a fist with the index finger extended and drew a large keyhole.

  Almiralyn had told him that she created this portal based on her mother’s favorite book, Old Earth’s Through the Looking Glass . Well, I’m about to go through. He pushed his spectacles higher, grabbed hold of his hat, and leapt. Sunflowers and quiet met him at the other end, quiet so intense that he ducked out of sight and listened.

  A bright-eyed Nyti landed beside him and whispered, “Hey, Dom.”

  “Ashor, what’s up? I gotta get a message to Almiralyn.”

  The tiny boy frowned. “Can’t get to the Dojanacks right now. Almiralyn says no Intersect until further notice. I can take it to Tibin, and he’ll see that she gets it.”

  After sharing the message, Dom jerked his thumb toward the RewFaaran camp. “Feels pretty strange here. What’s going on?”

  Ashor grinned. “Almiralyn trapped a Mocendi in the camp with wards that make a racket every time something touches them. The man is furious. Mondago’s men captured another Mocendi and have him tucked away, waiting to be questioned.”

  Dom pulled on his whiskers. “Wonder if they are supposed to go wherever the other Mocendi are off to. Pretty frustratin’ to be trapped here, huh?” He resettled his hat. “Best get back. You take that message right t’ Tibin.”

  He arrived back in the cellar and shuffled toward the steps. Footfalls overhead backed him up. Dodging under the staircase, he made himself as small as possible and waited. The cellar door opened, boots clattered on the wooden treads. A figure in a black cape pressed his hand to the mirror, waited for the keyhole to appear, and jumped through.

  Dom considered the portal. Curiosity tempted him to follow. Shrugging it away, he forced his achy body up the stairs, muttering as he went. “Place is like a race track. Best to find somewhere out of the way that’ll keep me safe. Hate not knowin’ what’s up.” He stumbled, watched his hat tumble back to the bottom of the steps, began a shambling, frustrated descent, and froze.

  A black caped figure materialized in front of the mirror, picked up his hat, and held it out. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  Dom made no move to retrieve it. “May I help you?”

  The young Mocendi flashed to the step below his. “You can tell me who set the wards in Myrrh.”

  “Actually, I don’t know. Don’t live there, you see. Live here.” He snatched the hat, scrambled up the last three steps, and stumbled into the hallway.

  The Mocendi arrived first. His hand shot out. Dom winced and tried to pull away. The grip tightened. Antiques by Q vanished.

  Almiralyn woke with a start. What was I dreaming? She closed her eyes, made herself relax, and let her mind wander back through her dreamscape.

  Devastation wr
ought by acid rain stretched around her in all directions. Charred plains, blackened mountains, trees burned to the ground. The carcasses of animals and birds littered the landscape. Once fertile farmlands lay scorched and pitted. Small villages resembling heaps of trash overflowed with people’s lives—their homes, possessions, and bodies. Horror choked her. This ravaged world was Myrrh.

  She sat up, fighting back despair. Shaking hands made it hard to dress. Her reflection in the small mirror over the wash stand stared back at her. Control yourself, Almiralyn. It was a dream. She gripped the edge of the basin and took a deep breath. When she raised her gaze to the mirror, the panic in her eyes had subsided.

  Braiding her hair calmed her further. I have to find out who The MasTer is before he reeks more havoc here and elsewhere.

  Picturing Veersuni, she teleported. The serenity of the sanctuary relaxed her need to rush, shushed her mind’s twists and turns, and erased her fear. Panic never solves anything, it seemed to say. Panic is a destroyer of successful resolution.

  Breathing in the faint scent of roses and lavender, she walked to the fountain, where water flowed over carved fingers and merged into the tiny wavelets traveling in endless circles. Not sure where to begin, Almiralyn cleared her mind. The water stilled. A midnight sky focused.

  Wolloh Espyro stood in the middle of Mittkeer, his staff, a duplicate of Relevart’s, held high, and the olive green of his good eye gleaming. He flashed from view and reappeared in the research area of the Galactic Library in Myrrh. At a table littered with books, scrolls, and manuscripts, Wilith, Merrilea, and Elae sat suspended in time. Hurrying forward, Wolloh searched through the materials, picked up the TreBlayan journal and vanished, leaving them to return to their research.

  A continuous blur of color raced over the water’s surface so fast Almiralyn found herself clutching the fountain’s rim. Its sudden halt, jarred through her body like the unexpected braking of a RiaTrain. Hazy colors refashioned themselves into an image far removed from the Dojanack Cavern’s on Myrrh.

  Sun peeked between cumulus mounds of pearly white that drifted apart to show farmland and mountains below. Nestled in the foothills bordering the mountains, the faint image of a cottage slowly grew more substantial.

  The door flew open and a tall, white-haired man strolled into the intermittent sunshine, stretched his long arms wide, and laughed a laugh so deep and rich and charged with elation that the foothills tossed the joyous sound to the mountains, and the mountains to the sky. The laughter rolled onward—a series of echoes, a chorus of delight that left the turning brighter and brighter.

  The sudden appearance of Wolloh at the bottom of the porch steps, one hand holding his staff and the other hidden in the folds of his calf-length black coat, ended the expression of unfettered joy. A serious Relevart regarded him from beneath bushy, white brows. “Well, how did it go?”

  Wolloh withdrew his hand and held up the journal El Stroma . Relevart’s long fingers wrapped around it, caressed it, pressed it to his heart. He held it out and stared as though transfixed at the tattered black cover and two words comprising the title. Flipping to the first page, he began to read, pronouncing the strange words with knowledgeable ease.

  Surprise registered on Wolloh’s face. “Where did you learn to speak the language of the Eleo Preda? I thought it died with El Stroma’s demise.”

  Relevart waved him into the cottage. “I’ve always known it. When I was very young, I remember my parents telling me never to speak it.” A frown creased his brow. “Now, let us discover what we can learn about El Stroma.”

  Wolloh limped up the stairs and into the cottage.

  The water trembled. The rim of the bowl framed Relevart’s face. He murmured a phrase under his breath. Time fell away, erasing the years, the fine lines, the white hair. A small boy’s frightened visage steadied. Almiralyn’s hand went to her heart. The boy portrayed in the silver locket in Sparrow’s painting stared up at her.

  The water’s return to its continuous drip, drop, drip erased the image.

  Too stunned to think, Almiralyn sank onto a bench. Elcaro’s recent revelations left her head and heart spinning—first her mother and now the discovery that the VarTerel came from El Stroma—the revelation that he was in some way connected to the young woman in the painting and possibly to the Mocendi MasTer.

  She massaged the lines on the palms of her hand, allowing her mind time to process the pieces of the universal puzzle being revealed within The Unfolding. The memory of Wolloh’s new staff raised her brows. “I do believe we have a new VarTerel.” Her brow furrowed. “Does that mean Relevart’s status has changed as well?”

  A throat cleared. She glanced up. Sparrow stood beside her. “I thought I’d find you here. What was that about Relevart?”

  Almiralyn pressed her palms together and struggled to put her thoughts in order. Sparrow’s expression as she described her dream and what the fountain had revealed grew more and more incredulous.

  “It never occurred to me that the boy might be Relevart.” She approached Elcaro and ran a finger over the carved alabaster braid that trailed down the back of the statue and around the rim of the bowl. “She’s very much like you, Mira. Sometimes she seems almost alive. I wonder what other secrets she knows that we don’t know?”

  Almiralyn joined her. “She knows things we will never know. Let’s find out if our research team has uncovered anything that will help with our mystery.” She touched the statue’s upturned palms, linked arms with Sparrow, and left the sanctuary.

  The fountain’s watery song whispered through Veersuni; the effects of The Unfolding weaving worlds, galaxies, and lives together on its undulating surface.

  36

  Master’s Reach

  DweTan & Persow

  B rie’s mind dodged her attempts to focus on the conversation at the table in the boathome. The cottage at the top of the cliff kept intruding. She couldn’t forget her Aunt Henri or the bracelet that monitored her every move or that she waited alone in the cottage, not knowing what might happen next. Agitation drove her from her seat. Aimless intent carried her from the table to the pantry to the fire pit where a pot of soup simmered. The overhang beckoned. A glance over her shoulder assured her that she was unobserved.

  Ducking under the uneven edge, she trailed her fingers along the stone wall and made her way down the passage. When she reached the secret door, she searched for the rock that would trigger the mechanism to open it. Stymied, she sagged against the wall. A fleeting memory of her escape with Zugo from Seyes Nomed in the Cavern of Tennisca re-ignited her resolve. Placing her hands on the solid rock, she took a breath, watched the molecules rearrange, and walked through into the sheltered recess. A shift to the laridae and she flew to the cottage, landed on the pitched roof, and listened intently to the sounds of night.

  Cool air ruffled her feathers as she considered her next shift. Life has certainly become more interesting in the past few moon cycles . A gray wanderer moth fluttered down the chimney, along the hall, and into the living room, where it landed on the mantle.

  The fire had died down. Aunt Henri slept wrapped in a threadbare quilt. She had shaped Renn Whalend to perfection. Tired beyond recent memory, Brie shaped a tiny mouse, curled up behind a tin mug of dried flowers, and slipped into dreaming.

  The crackle of the fire woke her. Renn’s summer green eyes gazed at her through crystal lenses. “Better come with me and eat while you can.” She rested a hand on the mantle. Brie’s mouse scampered onto the palm. Fingers curled around her. In the kitchen, Renn set her on the table. “I’m not sure how close they’re watching. It seems clear…”

  Brie materialized. “I couldn’t leave you here alone.”

  Renn shoved a bowl of mush and a chunk of bread her way. “Eat. Then we’ll decide what to do. Corvus will be here any minute. He’s not too happy with you.”

  Corvus noticed Brie slip away from the table. He knew her intention and had almost stopped her. The decision to let her go was
based on the fact that Melback would not leave Natlaki Bay prior to sunrise. He doubted that Vygel would remove Renn from the cottage until he had her, the compass, and probably Torgin. The boy’s capture will help keep his mother in line. I’m certain the Mocendi know the sacred knife is on the boat, along with Desirol. What Vygel doesn’t know is what happened to Melback.

  He turned his attention to Esán where he slept by the fire pit. Brie’s return to the cottage had left him agitated and ready to rush after her. Only Corvus’ promise to bring her back had calmed him enough that, with help, he slept.

  Frowning, Corvus scrutinized the purple circles rimming the boy’s eyes. They had become darker just in the last few turnings. His skin looked dull and paler; his cheeks hollow. The disease that had almost killed him on Thera and gone into remission when he arrived in Myrrh raised its ugly head once again. This time only a trip to Tao Spirian would save him.

  Corvus sighed and set off down the roughed-out passage to the entrance. The twist of a rock swung it inward. Stepping out under the slim curve of Lunule, DerTah’s pearlescent moon, he scanned the sky. Somewhere up there a Mocendi ship orbits the planet. If Vygel is onboard, he will have finite opportunities to check on Renn.

  Shaping a pale orange laridae, he soared into the night, paralleled the cliff face, shot upward over the field of erika, and landed above the wards on the roof. Far to the east, pale light edged the horizon. Below in the cottage, he sensed two bodies. Vygel’s energy signature tainted the wards. He ruffled his feathers and side-stepped to the western lip of the chimney.

  A phalacro landed on the peak of the roof. Its black head swung his direction. Calculation infused its brain. Corvus ran a wing feather through his beak, and pecked at a small mite on his breast. The phalacro’s vigilance relaxed. Corvus flew over the fields and dove over the cliff. His shift to a small bat was instantaneous. Arriving back at the house, he found the phalacro gone and zipped down the chimney.