by Jak Koke
Rain pelted the roof of the temple and lightning struck the slick rocks outside. Pabl heard the booms of thunder and the muffled roar of the rain from inside the temple as he waited for Chaiel Ro.
The massive slab which formed the ceiling of the large chamber slanted slightly from above the entrance downward to the opposite end, and was held several feet above the walls by evenly spaced pillars of black granite. A weather cloak spell kept the rain from blowing into the temple. There were no windows, but flashes of lightning flickered through the two-foot gap between the walls and the roof. Many bright glow crystals, set into the floor at regular intervals, bathed the chamber in pure white light.
Pabl examined the petroglyphs on the wall, running his broad palm across the engravings of Reid Quo’s legend. These particular pictures told the story of a time before the Scourge when Reid was in Parlainth with Garen Dne — the Elder from whom Tepuis Garen took its name.
As Pabl’s fingers brushed along the stone, tracing the gold and silver lines of the engravings, Ganwetrammus reached 40
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out to him. His fingers merged with the legend of Reid Quo, sinking into the finely cut lines in the rock wall.
Pabl found the liferock’s memory of Reid’s life filling his consciousness. Parlainth rose around him, its trio of huge pyramids reaching into an azure sky. Beautiful music of horns and harps came to him, the like of which he had never heard.
Strange smells, sweet breads and incense floated on the air.
People were everywhere, speaking in a foreign tongue as they passed him by. They held themselves with arrogance, tall and stately, oddly symmetrical.
Pabl stood in Reid’s body, dressed in gaudy robes of bright pink and yellow. A small jade carving of Mynbruje hung from a bronze chain around his neck.
Garen stood beside him, guiding them to a semi-secluded space in an alleyway. The older obsidiman’s craggy form slouched somewhat from spending long hours in the libraries of Parlainth. “Hold out the item,” Garen said, as they pressed up close to the pillar of a monolithic citadel. “Focus on it.”
Reid unclipped a metal scarab from his robes. It was shaped like a beetle, flat and oval with iridescent wings of green-black and a body of golden hue. It fit comfortably in Reid’s palm; he had been working with the enchantment for many, many years. And now, he would use it for its intended purpose.
Reid focused on it, peering into astral space to see the scarab’s pattern and the two filaments of brilliant pink thread which connected its pattern to his.
“Put your vision into its eyes, and let it fly.”
As Reid moved his sight into the scarab, his vision fractured into a hundred separate images of the world around him, then adjusted slowly to integrate into a composite view.
He took flight, the metallic buzzing of his scarab wings vibrat-ing through him.
The narrow alleyway banked and jerked uncomfortably This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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underneath him as he flew up over the crowds toward the wide boulevard of Thom Edro Way. Vertigo gripped him and he nearly pulled his sight back into his body. The disconnection from the ground frightened him, but Garen’s words in the background kept him focused. “Concentrate on your destination. Hagnit’s merchant shop.”
The scarab banked around a corner and passed a crowded square with a massive fountain in the center. The fountain’s glorious music was distant through the scarab’s senses. Buildings and statues towered around him, impossibly huge, as the item fluttered past the square. It flew down another street and through a wide door into a shop.
Hagnit sat in a stone chair behind the huge expanse of a desk. He was small for an obsidiman of the brotherhood, com-pact and young with skin as smooth as if it had been polished like rocks in a stream. Hagnit’s coloring was not russet like Reid and Garen, but light gray marbled with veins of emerald green. Hagnit did not look up from his work as the scarab alit on a crate stacked near the entry.
Garen’s voice was distant. “Now, cast your illusion through the item.”
Reid cast the spell, and watched through the scarab to see Hagnit react.
The merchant looked up from the scrolls. “Reid,” he said.
“When did you come in?” He stood and walked around the desk to meet him, palms out in greeting.
Reid touched palms with him, surprised that he could feel their smoothness through the illusion. “I come to invite you to a Gathering,” he said.
“When? With whom?”
“Much of the Rewinthin Brotherhood, plus any others I can persuade. We will congregate at the Gathering Tree to share water, then decide on a month.”
Hagnit smiled, his image wavering as Reid strained to This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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keep his focus. “I will try to schedule some time away from my business,” he said. “But you know what energy-wasters are like; they don’t understand closing down for an entire month.”
“Pabl?”
There was a touch on his shoulder. The engravings on the temple wall faded into Pabl’s awareness, replacing the memory. He pulled his hand out of the merge with the petroglyphs.
“Pabl?”
He shook the image of Reid’s memory from his mind and turned to see Chaiel. Rivulets of water beaded on his green cloak and dripped on the tile. “Hello, brother.”
“What have you decided to do?” Chaiel asked.
“I am going to see Ohin Yeenar,” Pabl said. “He must know something about Reid.”
“I am glad,” Chaiel said. “But first we should talk to Bintr.
He was last to make the journey.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now is good,” Pabl said, then he ran his fingers over the petroglyphs as if trying to brush the vision out of his head.
Reid, so alive and well. What could have happened to make you deaf to your own liferock?
Pabl followed Chaiel out of the temple and into the rain.
The main storm had passed and the air was chill with drizzle.
They filled their water skins at the pool before heading across the Dance of Stones to see their brother.
Bintr Aar lived on the south end of the tepuis in a small house which stood under an overhang of stone. The smell of mushroom and leek soup pervaded his abode as Pabl and Chaiel entered. Bintr looked up from the stew, his chocolate brown complexion dripping with condensed steam. “Greetings, brothers. You are just in time to help me eat.”
Pabl held his palms forward in welcome and Bintr met This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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them with his own. “We would love to share your meal, brother. We bring water from the riflev pool.”
A broad smile stretched across Bintr’s face. “Thank you.”
Pabl and Chaiel sat on the tile floor and accepted generous helpings of sweet wheat bread and soup. Pabl was excited; it had been years since he had tasted true obsidiman food, and Bintr was quite a chef.
After the first course, Bintr produced a wedge of elven-made cheese, considered a delicacy among the members of the Garen Brotherhood. And when that was gone, a bowl of sweet rice and papaya. As the final touch to their meal, they shared water as was their custom. Pabl poured the crystalline liquid into a large pitcher, and each of them drank from it until the water had been completely drained.
There was a long silence after the water sharing. Finally, Pabl spoke, “Your hospitality is beyond compare, Bintr. But that is not why we have come.”
Bintr nodded.
“We want you to join us on a journey to see Ohin Yeenar.”
Bintr rubbed a ridge of his deep bro
wn forehead. “Ohin is a frightening obsidiman. Unpredictable. I’m not sure it is wise to try and speak with him.”
“Do you think he is Horror-touched?”
Bintr pondered for minute before answering. “He made it impossible for me to approach him. But, no, I don’t think he is tainted; he carries too much pain of his own to be of use to any Horror.” Bintr bowed his head. “Still, it is possible,” he said. “Anything is possible when it comes to the cruelty of our world.”
No one spoke for a minute.
Then Pabl stood slowly. “When can you be ready to go?”
he asked.
Bintr looked up at him. “Is three days too long?”
“No, I want to ask my friends Jan Farellon and Celagri to This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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join us. Can you meet us in the village?”
Chaiel, who had been quiet most of the meal, stood abruptly. “You what? This is a matter concerning our liferock.
How can the energy-wasters help? And why would you accept help from them? They will merely steal our secrets.”
Pabl gave Chaiel a concerned look. He had seen such displays of mistrust from several brothers in the past, and he understood caution. Few energy-wasters tried to understand the nature of obsidiman life, and fewer still achieved understanding. Still, these were not typical people. “Chaiel,” he said, “they are my friends. We have traveled together for many years.
They care nothing about our ‘secrets,’ but they could be very helpful if we run into a pack of Crojen. I would feel much better if they came.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
“And I think you’re paranoid.”
“And you are naive.”
“Please give it up, both of you,” Bintr said. “I, personally, would appreciate the help. We will also have to hire a human guide from the Cathan tribe which lives south of here. The jungle changes so much, I don’t think I can find my way to Othellium without a guide.”
Pabl looked at Chaiel. “Please, brother, come meet my friends. They are good people.”
“I will reluctantly allow them to join us,” Chaiel said, “But I decline your offer. I, too, must prepare for travel. Bintr and I will join you in Rabneth in three days.”
“Very well.” Pabl looked at Bintr, whose expression was solemn. “Your food has enlightened me,” he said. “Thank you.”
“May your water always be pure, brother.”
“And yours,” Pabl said, hoisting his pack up to his shoulders. He stepped out into the night. He planned to see Jan and Celagri about coming along, but first he wanted to return to the temple.
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Pabl found Gvint sitting cross-legged next to the smoking tip of the Alqarat. The Elder’s head was bowed in meditation, so Pabl moved as quietly as he could to the wall which told the remainder of Reid Quo’s legend.
The last engravings described Reid’s return from Parlainth to Tepuis Garen. He and Garen Dne had journeyed home to attend the Fire Bath ceremony of Jibn Sra. Many other brothers had also come back to the liferock for Jibn’s naming, including Gvint.
The histories of many brothers intertwined at Jibn’s Fire Bath. The threads of Jibn’s legend tangled with the others at that point, then separated. Pabl put his hand against the wall and traced Jibn’s legend almost by instinct. Each of the brotherhood had stared at this spot of Jibn’s sordid past, studying it at length in order to try to determine what had gone wrong.
The engraved petroglyphs at that spot told how Ganwetrammus had almost died.
Four hundred years after his naming, Jibn Sra had returned, along with many others, to join the rock for the Long Dreaming of the Scourge. When Jibn merged, however, he infected the rock with a Horror. The creature had marked Jibn, and it used his merging to permeate the liferock and creep into the spirits of the whole brotherhood, one by one. Even the giant pattern of Ganwetrammus had not been able to rid the brotherhood of the intelligent and conniving evil, and eventually the liferock grew sickly.
Pabl pulled his hand back and turned away from the petroglyphs, taking slow breaths. The vulnerability of the liferock shocked him every time. It was hard to conceive of anything powerful enough to destroy Ganwetrammus. And yet, it had nearly happened. Without Garen Dne, Ganwetrammus would have perished from Jibn’s Horror.
“So you have decided to visit Ohin Yeenar, eh, young one?”
Gvint stepped up next to him.
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“Chaiel and Bintr are coming with me,” Pabl said. “We leave in three days.”
“Very well. May Floranuus guide your steps in this and all ventures,” he said, his expression stern and solemn. “But ex-ercise caution, my brother, for Ohin Yeenar is the last of his brotherhood. He knows what we all might have known if it hadn’t been for the sacrifice of Garen Dne. Ohin Yeenar knows what it is like to outlive his liferock.”
This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Chapter Seven
Brilliant flash of lightning. Thunderous loud crack, splitting the air in the camp. The first raindrops came heavy and large like cold reptilian tears, streaming down from gray clouds whose bellies were dipped in the deep crimson of a Servos Jungle sunset.
“Get that canvas over the Nuinouri! Now, you Horror-meat!
Those tunnelers don’t like to get wet.” Gingreth’s voice rang from across the encampment, yelling at the mercenaries.
Sarbeneck sat in his wicker chair, sheltered by the awning of his tent, and watched Gingreth drive the other orks to get the tunnelers out of the rain. Gingreth’s mass of brown hair shook wildly as he cracked his whip, snapping the air near the workers. He’s treating his own kin like animals, Sarbeneck thought. Which is just fine if it gets the job done.
The rain increased to a steady pour, then a torrent until it became hard to see through the gray haze of water. The deafening sound of the rain prevented Sarbeneck from catching anymore of what the ork was yelling, but he could still make out the periodic crack of the whip. He leaned back, relishing the smell of clean, humid jungle air, and peered through the 48
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haze. Luckily, Gingreth and his workers were nearly finished erecting the magician’s tent — a huge pine-green structure designed to hold the Nuinouri.
Riann and Jehrad, the elementalists, were out in the rain, helping to keep the earth elementals calm. The huge beasts were made of rock and soil, towering eight or ten dwarf-lengths high. They didn’t like being forced to mine, especially with tunnelers, and could destroy the entire camp if they became agitated. And that was exactly what would happen if Riann and Jehrad lost control. Even though Sarbeneck had only seen one accident involving elementals, that one time had been devastating; three people had been killed, and valuable equipment destroyed.
Next to the drenched elementals a temporary tarp had been erected to cover the tunnelers — the Nuinouri. These Horror constructs were very useful for mining, but quite dangerous when angered. Underneath the tarp, Nancri, the nethermancer, chanted a spell to keep them dormant. Sarbeneck didn’t want the tunnelers to eat anyone, especially Nancri.
He liked her — the intensity of her blue eyes, the shine of her braided black hair, and the way her pale skin flushed when she was happy. She was the only magician he knew who could keep the tunnelers under control, and Sarbeneck had grown to respect her more and more over the years.
Finally, the green tent was completely constructed. Riann and Jehrad directed the elementals to lift the dormant tunnelers and carry them inside. Sarbeneck took a long draw on his pipe and bre
athed out slowly, trying to bring relaxation to his muscles. He was looking forward to a nice dinner and a glass of wine.
The last two days had been hard. The roads had narrowed to almost nothing before reaching the tiny village of Rabneth, nestled up against the cliff face of the mesa, called Tepuis Garen by the locals. After Rabneth, the caravan had been This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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forced to widen paths into roads, cutting and clearing away the jungle.
The locals will thank us later for building the road for free.
This Raggok-cursed jungle is by far the worst site I’ve mined.
Sarbeneck was sick of the bad weather, the biting insects and the constant chattering of monkeys. Even some of the plants were carnivorous. During their stop in Rabneth, one of the orks of his hired cavalry had wandered off and gotten stuck to a large red flower whose petals glistened with dew.
The shining dew was like clear glue, holding the ork’s body against the flower. The plant had nearly digested through his armor by the time his screaming had brought enough others to kill the flower and release him.
Their time in Rabneth had been all too brief. Sarbeneck had wanted to give his own men a longer break from Sarahem’s cooking, but he hadn’t wanted to frighten the villagers. A caravan of that size, especially with the cavalry along, was enough to put the townspeople on edge. As it was, he felt that the cavalry had acted about as civil as anyone could expect, considering they were orks. They had left a phenomenal mess behind. Their horses and thundra beasts had fouled the air with the stench of waste. The warriors drank their brewed Butriol, making a ruckus late into the night, teasing unsuspecting villagers. Yet, thankfully, no one had been killed.
Sarbeneck had lied to the townspeople, subtly as was his gift. He had told them that the caravan was headed farther on than Tepuis Garen, especially since some of them had expressed concern that the obsidimen of the tepuis considered it sacred ground.
