The Glade—Exploding Rivers and Mermaids—Present Day
“So, what has Gwenyth done this time?” asked Hallor, moodily.
“Or should I say, what have they done? I can’t imagine my daughter wouldn’t try to rope her chief accomplice into whatever she’s decided to break.”
Kon’s mouth twitched briefly, before he managed to regain the composure fit for a Magister of the Council.
“And I take it you’re here because they have managed to break something... again!” Hallor walked over to the seating area, beckoning his friend to sit.
“Actually, this time your daughter and her friend managed to cause a small explosion.” The smile was impossible for Kon to hide this time. “No small feat when you consider they blew up a river.”
Hallor’s eyes widened in shock, “How could anyone blow up a river?” Hallor spoke quietly, but Kon heard the disbelief in his voice. He decided it was time to inject a bit of humour into the occasion.
“I believe one possible answer to your question is, ‘quite spectacularly’.” Kon’s ebony face lost its ability to hide his mirth, as his niece’s antics had the usual effect of amusing him extremely.
Hallor looked at his brother in law with disapproval before he too smiled, albeit with an expression of exasperation. It was a feeling he had become used to over the last few years.
Ever since Calleyne had arrived at the Citadel sixteen years ago, with the baby girl wrapped in his cloak, Hallor had felt out of his depth. His wife, Marissa, had fallen in love with her instantly, however, and indeed so had he at the time. All the Council had agreed to the adoption, but although he had loved her dearly, her increasing appetite for trouble over the last few years had continually alarmed him.
“She is a good child, Hallor, and though you judge Amilee harshly, she is also,” said Kon. His dark skin heightened his smile. “Brother, they are young, why can’t you relax a little and let them have some fun?”
Hallor snorted, “Because ‘fun’ for those two normally means destruction, Kon.” The exasperation was evident again in his expression. “Her ability continues to grow. By the great one, how does anyone blow up a river? Was anyone hurt?”
“On this occasion the damage was limited to a sandbank on the lower banks of the estuary,” explained Kon, “though there are rumours a mermaid may have gotten her tail singed.” Kon looked on the verge of laughing out loud.
Hallor, however, was not amused.
“Mermaids again! What is it she sees in those creatures? They are dangerous, undisciplined. Why does she keep confronting them like she does?” he asked.
Kon laughed, heartily and loudly. “For the great one’s sake Hallor, can’t you see?” He gave his sister’s husband a mischievous look, “They are kindred spirits, and she isn’t confronting them, she’s playing with them, trying to compete with their power over the water. And judging by the display today, she has already surpassed them.”
Hallor didn’t know whether to feel proud, angry, or terrified at the vision his friend painted. Gwenyth, the child who had been brought before them by the youth Calleyne almost 16 years ago was special. Even as a babe she possessed a power, a perception beyond her years. The questions she began to ask as a toddler dispelled any notion she was Eldar, even if the lobes on her round ears were not a clear indication in themselves.
And if her increasing power, her ability to shape and control the magical fabric of this world she had arrived in marked her as special, it frightened her adopted father. The other one, Amilee, the cousin of Calleyne, born to his aunt and uncle shortly after Gwenyth’s arrival, was her twin.
Impish, troublesome, and hot-headed, she was not the companion he would have chosen for his daughter. But the choice hadn’t been his. Marissa loved Amilee like a second daughter, so he had buried his objections, deep enough so nobody could see the fear and jealousy within him.
“I suppose I have been hard on them,” he lied, “harder than I should be perhaps, but Kon, you know I love them.”
Only part of Hallor believed what he’d just said. There had been a time, years ago, when he would have found this whole episode as humorous as Kon. But now everything she did put his plans in jeopardy, and he was terrified of being found out before they came to fruition.
Fortunately for Hallor, Kon was blind to the fear lurking behind his friend’s eyes. He was much younger and less experienced than Hallor, and full of the innocence and purity of the Lands around him. He had, however, risen rapidly in the ranks of the Magisters, the enforcers of the peace here in the Veiled Lands, which was testament to his own ability. This was why his niece’s growing power delighted him so much. He saw a kindred spirit within her, one he thought he could nurture and bring into the Magistry. Her power at this young age was phenomenal. It was still raw and unskilled, but with instruction she could be great among their ranks, great enough even to eventually rival the Elders, he thought.
Only one person in the room thought this was a good thing.
Hallor had been ambitious all of his long life, and it had served him well, leading him to the seat at the head of the Council of the Eldar. The Council had ruled and protected the people of this world since the beginning, when the Veil had hidden the Land and its magic from the enemy, Tenybris.
Tenybris had sought to use the magic which lay at the core of Teralia, to conquer and enslave the entire universe. Indeed he had almost succeeded. If it hadn’t been for the actions of the great one, Olumé, who hid the Lands and all their magic behind the great Veil, the universe and all the worlds and beings upon them, would be a ghost of what had been. All of them would exist to serve Tenybris. But without the magic, his forces had been defeated.
Tenybris, however, had escaped and still remained hidden, even to this day.
In the thousands of years of history of these Veiled Lands, there had never been any major strife or conflict; indeed, why should there be any when the Land provided everything for its people? The Magistry existed to mediate any minor disagreements which arose. Frictions between the various races living here were always minor and short lived, thanks to their strength and wisdom.
There had been occurrences, stretching back over a century now, but becoming more frequent, which threatened to disrupt the harmony. Like the affliction which had decimated so many of the great herds of deer and bison, or the unexplained disappearances of travellers journeying through the deep forest.
“You know, Hallor,” said Kon, “if these rumours bear any substance, we may need all the help we can get.”
Hallor snorted. “Rumours are what they are, Kon. Nothing more than stories made up in an attempt to disrupt the peace of the Glade.”
“But might it not be wise to send a scouting party into the forest? Hallor, there have been three disappearances this year alone.”
“Yes, and of these three, two have been known troublemakers. I’m sure the Faer have simply been leading them a merry dance through the deep, in revenge for them trespassing in their groves. They will turn up, eventually.”
Kon clearly didn’t agree, but he wasn’t about to overstep his authority. Hallor may be his bother-in-law, but Kon was still a junior member of the Magistry.
“I suppose you’re right, my friend,” he said, “anyway, I have work to do. Will I see you at dinner later?”
“Yes, I have matters to discuss with the Council, but tell Marissa I won’t be late.”
Kon bowed before leaving the room.
Hallor had been chosen to lead the Council, but he had also been chosen to carry out another far more important task... It was he who was to ensure the release of the magic and the destruction of the Veil. So the great Olumé had told him in the visions. But he had been warned by Olumé to move slowly and secretly, to bear the burden of fear upon his own shoulders, knowing panic would sweep the land if it was known the time of battle was so close. Hallor knew he had to remain in power long enough for the Veil to be broken, for according to Olumé, his plan had failed utterly and ma
gic was the universe’s only hope.
A small part of him quailed at what he might be forced to do, but someday, soon, he would have to deal with his daughter.
The Glade—Boys—Present Day
Gwenyth sat next to Amilee on the branch. Their legs dangled down over the waves below, but Amilee knew for the first time in her short life, she looked at a sad being.
She couldn’t quite understand the concept of sadness. Her friend had tried to describe it to her several times, but it wasn’t until now that she’d ever witnessed it. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
In fact, at this moment in time, she was sure she didn’t. If she could do anything to avoid feeling it she would. It looked...she wasn’t sure. Wrong, somehow.
“You know, we could go down to the market,” said Amilee brightly. Much more brightly than she felt, “I bet there’ll be boys there.” She sat smirking, but after a few seconds watching her friend, she admitted defeat and joined in with a sullen expression.
Gwenyth began to giggle. Amilee looked over. Sometimes her friend confused her. Her expression however, seemed to amuse her friend even more as tears of mirth ran down her cheeks.
“Ami, you should see your face; it’s hilarious,” laughed Gwenyth between breaths. “You can’t do depressed to save your life. You look like you’ve got wind.”
“Oh!” said Amilee, a smile creeping back onto her face. “Remember the time you made your dad’s dog keep blowing off when he patted it on the head?”
Gwenyth giggled even more, nodding enthusiastically. Everyone in Gwenyth’s extended family knew about the prank, but it had taken her father three days for the shoe to drop. After his immediate annoyance he saw the funny side, and had shrugged it off.
Or so she had thought, until the wardrobe in her bedroom had swallowed her one day, and painted her bright blue from head to toe. It had taken a week to wear off. A week of sniggers and laughs as she passed her friends in the academy. A week after which she was forced to acknowledge her father as the superior prankster.
Those had been good times, she thought as she turned melancholy again. Her father hadn’t been like that in years. Lately he seemed to live under a gloom which prevented any happiness from entering.
He never laughed, and never found humour in anything she did anymore. She knew within herself that her attempts to grab his attention were escalating along with her increasing ability.
One of these days, her temper might inspire her to do something completely irresponsible, and she smiled inwardly. There were more than a few out there who might consider her latest escapade just a bit over the edge into irresponsibility.
Her father being chief amongst them. The lecture she had endured this time had been harsh. She’d never imagined her father could be so cruel. His words had hurt her more than ever before, and his anger had been venomous.
She struggled to remember the father who joked and played tricks on her when she was little. The man who gave the latest lecture wasn’t the same person, she was sure. Though Gwenyth was still young, she knew something was very wrong with him.
She thought her mother saw glimpses of it, but normal family life was just that. Normal, if subdued. Lately her father was very careful to have their meetings in private, away from unwanted ears.
She wondered whether she should tell Amilee about her fears, but as she watched her friend jump down off the branch, and dance across the ground below, she knew she wouldn’t understand. Gwenyth knew she had matured much faster than Amilee, much faster than any normal being here. At sixteen she was wiser than many who were over a century old.
Her adolescent mind wondered if somehow this made her father jealous, but she dismissed it right away. What would he need to feel jealous of? She was his daughter, and she loved him. How could she ever hurt him?
So it was with a lighter heart that Gwen ran after her friend towards the market. After all, Amilee had been right. There probably would be boys there.
The Planet Sanctuary—Realities—Years Before
“So how will I know?” asked Derren.
“What do you mean?” replied B’ran. This was the first time this had ever been asked, and the old man seemed offended. The initiates were expected to study the history as they progressed in power. They travelled the Never, cataloguing the realities, the idiosyncrasies, as major decisions fractured the lines and created each shard of existence.
There were endless realities, the number constantly changing as major events created new shards, while minor changes could merge one or more realities with another. In the vastness of the Never, there was chaos as the paths converged and diverged with seemingly random and lawless abandon.
When Derren had been brought to Sanctuary by his sister, he’d spent weeks adjusting to the fact that he, Krista, and all the others here were unique. They were called the Liberi Nauntum, which means Children of the Never. They had the natural ability to not just travel in space, but also between these realities. And not only just travel between, but all of his peers shared a link, and were capable of mapping the chaotic creation process.
This was instantaneously shared subconsciously among them, so they alone could make sense of the anarchic collisions of choice and happenstance.
Derren had been to hundreds of them so far, and he knew that to a common observer most would have seemed identical. But the perception granted to him and the other Liberi enabled him to instantly see the subtle differences, and the paths weaving endlessly between them.
The other incredible fact he struggled with, was the Liberi were almost never from the same time frames. There could be a thousand years between the time that Derren and Krista had lived in and some of the others. The leaders of Sanctuary could reach through time, retrieving the new-born Liberi at the moment of their deaths.
Their number was always constantly maintained at 500. As they were lost, killed in combat or by accident, they were “replaced” by the leaders.
Their search was eternal, their battle endless. They existed for two reasons.
Foremost they were a constant force for vigilance. Derren had been amazed to discover his own battle had been one of the last. That Tenybris’s forces had been utterly defeated had left him reeling in exultation. But the news of his escape had left a cloud of uncertainty across Sanctuary.
Even though his armies had been destroyed, elements of his supporters still existed, causing dissent wherever they could, and so the Liberi battled far and wide across the realities, seeking to eradicate them and their twisted teachings.
The Tenybrists had garnered a following based on the fact that Tenybris’s body had never been found. And they preached he would return to complete his conquest.
This was the second burden the Liberi were tasked with.
Tenybris would return; this much was inevitable. He had hidden himself well, but the Liberi had wandered the Never for millennia in search of his bane. For there existed a prophecy here in Sanctuary which had been passed down from the days when Olumé had been alive. The prophecy of the Foundation.
In each reality there was one single being of great power, able to project their consciousness into other universes. They were not able to travel physically, but were capable of journeying with their minds between realities and interacting with the beings there.
Across the universes, these interactions had many explanations. Ghosts or spirits, loved ones reaching out from beyond the grave, was a common belief. Some imagined they were angelic beings, and whole religions had grown around them.
Each being was powerful in their own right, but what the Liberi ultimately searched for was the Foundation. The single being who would bring them together, unite and multiply their power, and provide the means to finally destroy the enemy. For if Tenybris escaped unopposed, all of these realities would be consumed and twisted beyond recognition.
B’ran dismissed the inquiry, but the youth continued to stare back. He looked around at his peers, but they sat staring ahead as if they were blind.
“B’ran,” Derren continued, “we all know what we can do. We all know the history, for what it’s worth. What I want to know is how I will know when I find the right one? How will I...we,” Derren indicated the others, “know when we have found the Foundation?”
As B’ran began to explain how all the realities meshed together, how it didn’t matter about the reactions across universes, Derren stood up so abruptly his chair flew backwards.
“Listen to me, you idiot!”
The others looked at him, but instantly averted their eyes. Several of the initiates present here had had “run-ins” with B’ran before, so they lowered their gaze as he began to bluster, his face reddening as his temper broke at last.
“How dare you, boy,” he sneered pompously. “You are not here to ask questions which will become clear to you through time. The universe will not give up its secrets simply because a whelp like you demands it. Even if you do seem to think it owes you more than the rest of us lowly beings.”
Lately, all of the lessons which had put both Derren and B’ran in the same room had descended into this sort of conflict. Unfortunately for Derren, B’ran seemed to have powerful friends, and he possessed a cruel willingness to abuse his position.
Unfortunately for B’ran however, Derren didn’t give a damn, and continued to be a constant annoyance at every single opportunity.
“You don’t know, do you?” realized Derren at last. B’ran moved his mouth silently as if trying to decide if he should answer.
Derren wondered if now might be the time to reveal he already knew the answer to his own question. That he had already met the person in his drawing more than ten times, but each time the meeting had resulted in bitter disappointment.
That although they had all been physically the same as the image, the feeling, the empathy, he’d got from them had always been wrong, diminished somehow.
Souls of the Never Page 7
