Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Mother Speaks

by kubasik

  "Two!" Vrograth said scornfully. "We must go to war now."

  "Patience," said Krattack.

  "I hate this patience."

  "Yes," said Krattack, "but you hate the Therans even more. Two weeks."

  With a heavy, forlorn sigh, Vrograth nodded.

  The giantess had vanished. But I had the feeling I would see her again.

  22

  Two weeks was not enough time to do the job properly, but it was all there was. We made do.

  I studied the ship for a few days, and had one of the drakkar shipbuilders accompany me.

  He explained how the drakkars were build by first carving the wood and assembling the ship. Then elemental air was added, sewn into the wood by elementalists using obscure spells I knew nothing about. I said as much to the troll who accompanied me, and she looked surprised.

  "Krattack said you were a fine shipbuilder. He's been saying it for weeks now." She was plump and placed her hands on her waist, like a mother trying to decipher the first lies of a child.

  Krattack's words startled me, but I'd learned to react fast when confronted by the old illusionist's deceptions. "Yes, yes. But I mean ... I'm used to having a shipyard prepared to work on stone airships. The facilities here ... Your people know so much more about using crystal than I do. We'll need to use them to repair the ship ... That's what I meant."

  She looked at me carefully, then turned back to the ship. "Yes," she said, running her thick fingers along one of the ship's fissures. "We can use the crystals to fill the cracks."

  "Exactly," I said, though until that moment I did not know if such a thing was possible.

  * * *

  We worked very hard. The trolls—those Krattack could persuade to help cut crystals for us and gave me instructions about airship building. They knew how to build wooden airships, and how to manipulate crystals with magic, but they had never combined the two before. The thought of stone flying bothered them very much. My job was to listen to all the information they had about the two separate arts, and synthesize it to repair the ship.

  With a great deal of care, J'role and the others of my band of former slaves fit the stones into the cracks, carefully setting them so they formed a smooth surface. There was no time to get the colors to match, so the ship soon had multicolored fissure lines running through it. As the cracks were filled, I cast the spell of elemental air binding over the stones.

  I ought to have been more tense than I was when weaving the magic. Our lives would, after all, depend on successful repair of the ship. Besides, I was tapping the astral plane, still without the protection of a magician's robe. It would take months and months to build a robe, not to mention magical supplies the clan did not have. I would have preferred to have taken a robe from one of the clan's magicians and re-attuned it to my aura. But none of the magicians, not even Krattack, would grant me this boon. That is how valuable the robes were only thirty years ago.

  But I accepted the risks. There was little choice. And I had a great time. The challenge of the work was delicious. Magic, after all, is where my senses flow into the Universe, and there is no greater experience than this. (Carrying the two of you in my belly was equal to casting magic, however, for your senses flowed into me, making me the Universe. Not a sensation to be dismissed.)

  J'role and I were so intimate that we could work effectively without having to speak to each other. I would simply look at some earth I needed for a spell, and J'role would scoop up a handful for me. He expected no thanks from me, and he received none. If he needed help holding crystals in place while brushing them with the special adhesive the trolls used for mounting their crystal work, then I would be there. We would stand with our hands nearly touching, our faces only inches apart, grim and focused on the work at hand.

  The other members of our group often laughed and joked with each other. Not us. We carried between us a focus that let us work at an incredible rate. Which is just as well, for we had little enough time as it was.

  I remember distinctly the last day of work. My two weeks had passed, and I had to finish that day, for Vrograth wanted blood. J'role and the others had fitted the stone to the cracks, and all that remained was for me to weave the stone of the ship to the crystals, and then the elemental air into the ship.

  Storm clouds and rain turned the day dour; the ship's hull gleamed with a layer of water. I wore a blanket over my head, which quickly soaked through. J'role was with me, silent as ever, holding my magical supplies in a box, covering the contents with his own body. The rest of our group had taken to living inside the ship, and they prepared the interior of the vessel, cleaning the blood stains from the walls and floor and stocking it with food the trolls had provided. Krattack had seen to it that some of the more daring trolls agreed to serve on our ship, for we needed help handling it. These trolls worked inside with the others. I was glad, for it would give our little crew, made up of twelve former slaves and ten trolls, a chance to get to know each other before battle. Every so often I could hear deep laughter coming from within the ship.

  Melding the stone to the crystals was easy enough, for the two items were from a similar elemental source. I simply allowed my magical thoughts to enter the ethereal plane, and from there, to pass into the elemental plane of Earth.

  To my astral sight, the thick gray stone of the ship appeared as rows of dots so tightly packed together I had to strain to see them. The Therans used heavy rock, denser than other rock I'd seen, and again I wondered at their ability to get the stone ships into the air.

  Luckily, most of the ship's magic had held through the crash, and I would not be required to repeat their process whole and from scratch.

  The crystals were dots as well, but they formed fine lines and delicate patterns. The different colors of the crystals revealed themselves by the pattern of the angles, the way wood grain flows one way or another.

  J’role seemed no more than a ghost standing beside me. I could see his aura, of course. I perceived what I had always perceived when I looked at him with astral sight. His body was in fine health. But his emotional state revealed itself as something like a child, and within the child was a flower—a tall sunflower—but blackened and dead from lack of water and sun. Or, at least that's how I thought of it. Magicians say that a person's aura presents a truth. It does, but one that comes in strange symbols that must be interpreted by the magician viewing the aura. People examining people is a very imprecise art, and magic only helps a bit.

  I pressed my hands against the dense stone of the ship and could feel my astral fingers press into the material, like a hand working its way into thick mud. I would not be able to pass through the hull, of course. But my astral body could manipulate the material as if it were clay. Gently my fingers pushed the dense stone toward the beautiful lines of the crystals, and began mixing the two patterns. It would never be a perfect combination, of course, but I only needed the edges to fuse. Like a bricklayer applying mortar to stone to make a wall, I took the two stone elements of the hull and forged them into a whole.

  Unlike the bricklayer, however, I needed no mortar. The stones themselves would fuse under my magic.

  Soon the edges bled together. I repeated the process along all the cracks in the ship, and when I slipped out of astral space I was delighted by the effect on our mundane plane.

  The crystal had fused into the ship's gray stone, forming wondering veins of glistening color. Although very odd, it seemed perfectly natural. Which, of course, it was after I'd worked my magic.

  "Done," I said.

  J'role remained silent and I looked at him. He wore no shelter from the rain, and the water had drenched his hair and was streaming down his long face. He looked pathetic, and I could not help think that with his performer's sensibility he must know that quite well.

  "All I've wanted is to make you happy."

  I started to leave. I'd had enough of the man. He could help me try to save the two of you or not, but I wasn't going to spend any more time tryi
ng to soothe his wounded sense of worth. He could get someone else to do that.

  "Releana!"

  I stopped. I felt tears in the corners of my eyes, and the rain that poured down around me only seemed to encourage a good cry. Why did it have to be like this? Why had I wasted so many years on him? Why couldn't I just find the means to throw him out of my life?

  What is it about people that keeps us together when all we want to do is be apart?

  "Please. Don't turn your back on me. Please don't ... I don't have anyone but you."

  I kept my back to him. The rain was cold against my back, and I shivered under the red blanket I wore draped over my head. "You have your sons."

  "I can't be a father." He said it simply, with surprise, as if he couldn't believe I hadn't realized this most obvious fact years ago.

  Now I turned. "You are a father."

  "I love you."

  "I don't want your love if you can't love your sons.

  J'role, what is wrong with you? Why are you like this? What is wrong with you?"

  "I ..." In one of those rare moments, he fumbled for words.

  "This isn't normal, you know. Parents care for their children. That's what we do."

  "I know."

  "What is it?" I stepped closer to him. I so desperately wanted to understand. He was a good man, in his own way. He had so much love and caring in him. Compassion at least.

  "You can take care of the Stoneclaw children. Why not your own?"

  He clutched his hands to his chest, and his chin wrinkled up and the rain on his face mixed with his tears. His face, always so expressive, now seemed the Universe was crying for his pain. "I'm afraid."

  "Afraid of what?" I could taste it. Something was coming. He would tell me something now. A clue. Or the whole story. Something had happened to him. Before we met. Or maybe in Parlainth. When he got his voice ...

  When he got his voice.

  "J'role," I said quickly, afraid he'd interrupt me, "you've kept something from me for years. And I'm your wife. And this thing ... It's keeping you from being the father your boys need."

  He nodded, his shoulders hunching over.

  "When you regained your voice, you could finally speak, and you were free in a way you hadn't been before. But now you've got to use your voice. You've been practicing all these years. And now it's time to talk. Now it's time to say what's really important."

  An incredible struggle took place inside his thoughts, and under his wet flesh his muscles tensed and loosened and clenched and strained, reflecting the turn and toss of his inner dialogue. His face became a living map of the battle. It was not like watching one person become thoughtful. In that moment J'role was dozens of people. Each expression on his face turned his features—by some trick of emotional chicanery that only J'role understood— into someone completely different. I wondered several times if he might speak, but with the voice of someone else, depending on who his face revealed at the moment

  I wondered if there were many people in his head. I know I have two voices in my thoughts, the person I consider me, and another voice that sometimes encourages me, sometimes admonishes me. I wondered how many voices J'role listened to.

  He stammered, finally. "I can't.'

  "Why?"

  He looked straight into my eyes then, and I don't think I've ever seen an adult or child so frightened in my life. “It's too dreadful, Releana. Please. Don't ask me to talk about it."

  The way he asked me this, there was no way I could insist.

  "All right. All right. But I can't be your wife anymore, J'role. A husband can't ... I don't have words anymore. You either understand or you don't."

  He nodded to show me he understood. But he did not.

  23

  The rain continued into the next day, when we lifted off into the air in search of Theran ships to raid. The rain fell heavily, and though we traveled in airships, it was through a sea of water after all.

  J'role, disturbingly, was in a wonderful mood. His attitude toward me had become something like a goofy friend of the family who had a crush on me. Or a recent acquaintance who had respect for me, but couldn't let on yet because we didn't know each other that well. He cavorted over the slippery stone deck to the amazement and delight of the rest of the crew as he entertained everyone.

  Everyone but me.

  Krattack was the last addition to the crew. "This ship is much safer," he said as he came aboard.

  "I didn't realize you went on raiding parties."

  "I don't. This is war."

  "My search for my children is a war? A tiny fleet of ships against the Therans is a war?"

  "You're thinking about it all wrong." Now, more than ever, Krattack looked like he might be a sage. A gray-gray sage, with deep lines cutting into his flesh, his huge mouth home to massive yellow teeth. "You're thinking of war as it is when it's underway. Or even more precisely, what it's thought of when it's recorded in the history books, when the perspective is closed and everyone can comfortably say, 'Well, this was a war.' And of course such an image doesn't match what is happening here today. It would be almost preposterous to think these events would lead to a war."

  "But they will?"

  "Oh, yes. Just remember, if we knew how things would turn out when we started them, there'd be no reason to bother with the beginning and the middle. We could just be happy ever after with the results. But the actions we begin invariably turn into something else."

  "You seem rather certain."

  “I am. But only because I'm certain I'll be surprised before it's all done."

  I looked around for J'role, suddenly worried. He was nowhere to be seen. Everyone was working. Some of the crew kept an eye on the sail, keeping it tight to the wind. Some watched the compass and manned the wheel. And the rest were below, rowing. J'role was probably with them. Working.

  Then I saw him, on the mast, hanging from the yard arm. He'd hooked his ankles over the pole and was hanging upside down, out over the edge of the ship. He laughed and laughed and laughed.

  24

  Another letter from your father, another request to come see me. I haven't even had time to make up my mind about the first request.

  But something extraordinary came with the letter. A long manuscript introduced by a dragon named Mountainshadow. Or so it claims. It might be some elaborate hoax on your father's part.

  It purports to tell of J'role's past.

  I have to decide if I want to know that past now.

  The more I write of this story, the more I simply want to leave him completely behind. I have a few years left. Couldn't I spend them without J'role crawling around in my thoughts?

  PART THREE

  Scars and Blood

  1

  Though Krattack had made me the Prophet of Patience, impatience clawed at my flesh from the inside out. I wanted to fight the Therans; I wanted to rescue my children. All this time I wasn't even sure whether you two were still alive, but I forced the question from my mind. I knew if I thought that way I would lose all resolve. Or become a mindless fury driven by blood lust. I did not want that. Despite all my growing thirst for combat, I did not want to become a crystal raider.

  We sailed for more than a week, spotting Theran ships and floating castles in the distance, but never finding a single ship that would serve our purposes. We also saw the drakkars of several other crystal raider clans flying the skies. There seemed to be an uneasy peace among the airborne trolls. As long as they could freely raid the lowlands, they stayed away from one another. But Krattack assured me that if a crystal raider clan found itself desperate for goods and treasures, they would not hesitate to raid another clan.

  The rains came and went, though not with any of the ferocity that had forced us to land on Twilight Peaks two months earlier. Below, the jungles glistened sharp green. Buried beneath the leafy roof were dozens of villages and towns. I sometimes spotted farmlands exposed to the life giving light of the sun. The world seemed calmer from the perspecti
ve of the ship. Everything in miniature. When I spotted people down below, they were so small I couldn't make out their faces, saw only little figures going about their business.

  Hidden from me was their pain and jealousy, their anger and their fears.

  Being captain of the ship filled me with a sensation wholly unexpected. As I stood on the bow of the boat, watching the land beneath me roll by, watching the clouds around us, pink mountains drifting lazily, I felt a tremendous rush enter my spirit. It was like the sensation of a dream where one flies — except that it was real.

  The unexpected part was that I suddenly found myself in a position of responsibility, and it wasn't bad at all. When I had imagined stowing away on one of the Stoneclaw drakkars a month earlier, part of the fantasy had been to be utterly free of responsibilities. To leave everyone behind and not care anymore. Yet here I was making decisions about the crew shifts for rowing, the distribution of food, doing the best I could to learn the rudimentary techniques of air sailing, and I didn't mind at all. It was fun, in fact. For with the responsibility came the sense that it was mine. I wasn't stuck in some horrible life, though I'd ended up as captain by a perverse twist of fate. Instead of seeing my quest for the two of you as some task forced on me by the Therans, I saw it as a choice I brought to myself.