Vontaura

by James C. Dunn

  She pushed: TRANSMIT

  TWENTY-NINE

  BAROOOM!

  The walls and ceiling shook beneath Justus and Vortan as they raced along the dark corridor leading off from the bottom of the subterranean stairway. Dust fell from above and Justus imagined the sight of a dozen explosions detonating in the grounds of the estate. Devices he and Dimal had placed in case they needed to escape. It told him one thing: Dimal was in trouble.

  They raced on and very quickly the sound of gunfire was unmistakable. Please don’t be too late!

  In seconds they emerged at the source. He could make out half a dozen men moving through a maze of metal boxes. At the far side was Dimal. He couldn’t see her, but he knew. He just knew she was there.

  ‘Hold this,’ he said, handing Vortan the gun. ‘Cover me.’ And he took off down the steps, charging towards the attacking men. ‘OVER HERE!’ he cried. The men turned. He took a sharp right, avoiding the ensuing volley of bullets, and then a left, before continuing down. After several boxes he shot left again and collided with one of the men. Justus remained on his feet but the guard did not. Picking up the fallen rifle he lifted it and fired at three men nearby, who had turned, preparing to fire.

  Adrenaline powered through him. Justus felt strong. Powerful. He ran straight on and knocked another guard into a metal container, before head-butting another and turning to strike the last. The man was knocked off his feet and landed in a heap, unmoving.

  ‘Antal!’ came a voice. Dimal ran across and held him tight. She was crying. She never cried. ‘I thought something had happened to you.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘Where’s Noah?’

  ‘Over here,’ Noah said, moving towards them with Shree hobbling beside, hanging over his shoulder.

  A flush of relief filled Justus’ body. ‘Raj?’

  Dimal looked him in the eye and shook her head.

  ‘No.’

  The BOOM of a gunshot rang from behind. They recoiled, spinning around to see the body of another guard fall to the ground. Behind him, the smoking pistol still clutched in his shaking hands, stood Vortan.

  ‘For the last time,’ he said, ‘I am not one of them.’

  A cry tore through the room. Deep and dark and filled with anger and rage, Justus knew it could only be one man.

  ‘I think we’ve upset our host.’

  ‘Then let’s go,’ Vortan said.

  Dimal took his arm. ‘We’re just going to leave Raj’s body here?’

  Noah hobbled past them toward the far steps. ‘The last thing Raj would want is for us to get caught. I’m sorry. He’ll only slow us down.’

  ‘Noah’s right,’ Justus said.

  ‘I am?’

  Another cry tore through the room, and, it would seem, the entire building. Justus winced. ‘He’s coming.’

  Vortan and Dimal led the way while Noah and Justus carried a half-conscious Shree behind. Spotting an elevator along the way, they all climbed within. Up to the ground floor. Silent seconds. Then the door opened. Rifles triggered. A figure leapt forward. Rifle aimed. Justus pushed the nozzle up and a lethal shot took out the lights. Glass showered down. The elevator door slammed shut.

  ‘Up!’ Justus said.

  ‘How high?’ Noah asked.

  ‘As high as it’ll go,’ Vortan cried.

  At once they were shooting upward. The echoing cry of Lord Malizar followed unremittingly. Justus shivered as he imagined the powerful man, driven by unequalled anger, racing after them.

  ‘Floor eighteen,’ Dimal said. ‘No higher!’

  ‘To the roof,’ said the Von, and as the door opened he shot out, leading them up a final flight of steps and out onto the building’s roof. The cold air tore at them. Justus gazed in awe at the fire roaring around. The trees were ablaze, burning black like a midnight thunderstorm, and smoke rose high above the dark tower, damaged among the explosions.

  ‘What now?’ Dimal said. ‘There’s nowhere to go!’

  Noah panted fiercely. ‘Justus? Captain?’

  ‘Look!’ Vortan cried. ‘There! Look up!’

  From above came a loud drone and a powerful wind. Justus thought he was dreaming as the Crimson Flux lowered itself down onto the roof. Its rear ramp dropped to reveal an elderly man. He stood tall and strong, and held a long silver sceptre in one hand.

  ‘It’s him,’ Dimal said. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Get in here!’ the old man yelled.

  Noah, never needing to be told twice, rushed forwards. Dimal helped him carry Shree on board. Vortan followed. Justus went to pursue. But as he moved, a breath touched the back of his neck. He spun around and stared into the dark face of Lord Malizar. A hand reached up and seized his throat. He froze in fear, unable to think.

  Even as the fire around him faded to black, a blinding light detonated from behind. Malizar recoiled. His grip released. Justus backed up and staggered for the craft. The elderly man stood upon the ramp as the others charged for the cockpit. The blinding light of the sun returned to the sceptre, clutched in his outstretched hand. Justus climbed up the ramp. It began to close as the ship lifted off.

  But the Dark Lord was not done. Before Justus knew it Malizar was before him, and he took hold of the old man’s sceptre, throwing him against the craft’s wall. The old stranger grunted in pain while Malizar laughed and threw the silver weapon aside.

  ‘Antal!’ the old man cried, choking and spluttering.

  Justus slammed his palm onto the ramp’s control and it began to groan open again. The cold wind howled, blocking his vision. The forest, miles below, indistinguishable as they raced away from the estate.

  The old man fell onto his face and Malizar spun. Justus raised his arm, blinded by the dark. Upon his face there was no mask. But there still hung before his countenance a black shroud, encased in evil. He stepped forward, his dark cloak billowing in the wind. Justus felt a black heat bearing down, and a burning flame inside. This man had taken his ship. His home. His friend.

  You will get no more tonight.

  He clenched his fist and brought it up, connecting with the dark face. All his weight fell forwards with him, and Justus landed on his knees looking down at the plummeting form of Malizar as he fell far into the dark tree line below.

  THIRTY

  A HUMMING ECHOED in the distance. Aíron Veryan bolted up from the stone step outside the front door of the manor. She shuffled forward in the dark of early morning, focusing her eyes on the emergent beam of light approaching over the tree line. At first she didn’t know whether to run back inside or remain where she was. But once the looming craft became visible and she recognised the crimson streak, her mouth dropped and her knees almost buckled.

  The craft landed hastily and to her utter relief Justus and Noah hurried out carrying a bruised and dirty body. It was Shree. They ran forwards and passed right by her, disappearing up into the entrance hall. Von Vortan followed behind. Aíron edged forward, just waiting for Dimal and Raj to come out. But when Dimal emerged she was joined, not by Rajkumar, but the elderly man who had rescued them from the attack at Ditton’s club.

  No Raj. Only Shree.

  She followed them in. Everybody moved up the grand stairs to one of the guest rooms. Shree was laid onto the bed, unconscious but alive. Noah knelt at her side, holding her hand and speaking softly to her. Justus and Dimal stood on one side of the bed, while Vortan and the old man stood to the other.

  Aíron remained in the doorway, clutching the wooden frame with both hands. No Raj. Only Shree. No. No!

  ‘I think she’ll be all right,’ Noah said eventually. ‘I’d like to stay with her for the moment, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Stay with her as long as you like,’ Vortan said. ‘I’ll have everything you need brought up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Justus turned to face her. Aíron gazed at her feet as the others hung their heads. ‘Aíron,’ he said.

  ‘He’s not coming back, is he?’

  ‘A
íron, I’m sorry. We weren’t in time to save him.’

  She felt tears bubbling to the surface. She held them back as much as she could, taking deep breaths, still not looking up.

  ‘Would you like me to come and sit with you?’ Dimal asked.

  ‘No . . . No, I’ll be . . . I’ll be okay. You stay with Shree. I’ll just . . .’ She backed out and hurried down the corridor to her own room. The door locked, she fell onto her bed. And there she wept, silently, until every part of her body and her mind ached like they never had before.

  THIRTY-ONE

  LANFRANC VORTAN HELPED himself to a glass of sixty-year-old cherry. His private study was the one true place he felt secure. His servants had lit the hearth, now the only real light in the room. He remained where he was, facing the flame, eyes closed, the heat of it burning away the torment.

  He had been so happy to see Antal again. His boy. The last thing he wanted was to lose him now. The way they had lost his mother, Casandra. He looked so much like his mother. He spoke like her: brave and strong and audacious. None of them deserved the pain they had endured.

  A tapping rang along the corridor outside. The door opened and then shut. Vortan acknowledged the presence of the old man as he entered the study, sceptre in hand, by taking out another glass tumbler, though he did not turn.

  ‘Good morning, Cathal.’

  Vortan listened to his visitor wince. ‘I would caution you not to say my name, Lanfranc. But I think my time spent among the shadows has at last run out.’

  ‘Drink?’ Vortan asked.

  ‘Something strong.’

  ‘Of course.’ He moved over and poured another deep glass. Turning and handing it to him, he asked, ‘Have you spoken to Antal yet?’

  Cathal took a sip, winced again. ‘It’s strong.’

  ‘It’s good.’ Vortan downed his own, his free hand already pouring another. ‘You should drink more. Heaven knows it has helped me.’

  ‘Helped is a strong word too.’

  ‘We have to discuss it, Cathal. We cannot put it off anymore.’

  ‘I know. I know.’ Another sip.

  ‘What is your plan?’

  ‘I have to take him.’

  ‘Have to?’

  ‘There is no other choice left to us now.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I know you care about him, Lanfranc. But he has to do this. We both know he has to.’

  ‘I know that, my old friend. It only makes the truth harder. You are going to tell him the truth, aren’t you?’

  ‘Eventually yes.’

  ‘He has to know.’

  ‘He will. But not yet. He’s not dim-witted. He knows who I am. But the truth about where I came from must wait.’

  Vortan spun. ‘Is it here?’ he asked. ‘Are they coming?’

  Cathal nodded. ‘Soon.’

  He placed the silver sceptre – an item he had for some years used as a walking stick as well as a means of defence – down onto a high-backed chair and joined the Von by the fireside. Vortan gazed at the many pictures upon the mantelpiece: his books and a narrow bust of his grandfather, long dead, alongside a dozen picture frames. In them were pictures of him and his childhood friend, Casandra Justus. Vortan’s ex-wife of many years, and his daughter, were within the rest. His beautiful child smiled brightly. He took his daughter’s picture from the ledge.

  ‘You remember my daughter?’ he said, holding it out to Cathal. ‘Beautiful girl. You know, I’ve not seen her since she was eight years old. She’ll be thirty-five now. Her mother stopped all contact after she took her away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Yes.’ His lip trembled. ‘Yes, in this case I imagine you do.’

  Cathal took the frame from him and dusted it down on his knee-length coat, placing it back upon the mantelpiece. ‘That settles it then, Lanfranc. Antal will come with me. His friends—’

  ‘Are welcome to stay here as long as they wish,’ Vortan said. ‘If I’m honest, I’d be glad of the company. This house has been too empty and too cold for too long now.’

  Cathal placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘I am back now. I won’t let you be alone.’

  ‘My loneliness is nothing compared to yours.’

  Cathal heaved a longing sigh. ‘My life has been shaped by loneliness. It was my own doing. I live with it.’

  ‘You are the boy who fell from the stars, Cathal. And now he’s back, I have to say, Antal looks so much like you.’

  Cathal smiled. ‘No. He looks just like his mother.’

  ‘Casandra missed you the most towards the end. She always asked after you. Always believed you would come back for her.’

  He hung his head and did not respond.

  ‘Where will you take him?’

  ‘Far from here. Far from Malizar. For as long as it takes.’

  ‘And then you think he will believe you? When you’re finally honest with him?’

  ‘Honesty. I wish I could have been honest from the very beginning. From the day he was born. From the moment I first held him in my arms. I wish I hadn’t had to leave, to run. I hate secrets, so much. Why do we have secrets, Lanfranc? Tell me.’

  Vortan placed his empty glass onto the table. ‘Because, old friend, without them we would be blinded. By fact. By feeling. And sometimes a painful secret is better than a harmful truth.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  VORTAN MANOR HAD always been a miser of secrets, with many a story of skeletons and riddles concealed within its intricate corridors. Out of sight and for most of those within out of mind. Lanfranc Vortan was born the only child of the Lord and Lady Vortan-Smithe. His father was a professor of cartography, his mother a lecturer of Earth-history. The manor was always cold, even in the summer. For his early years it had also been a lonely house. That was until Casandra Justus arrived, accompanying her mother, a newly employed maid of the household. Casandra and Lanfranc spent many years being tutored together, and playing hide-and-seek out among a thousand greying tombstones.

  Until it happened. Until he arrived.

  Forty years ago a man fell from the sky. Who he was and where he came from was nowhere near as terrifying as the message he brought with him.

  Something is coming.

  All he would say were three words. Those three words and his name.

  He called himself Cathal.

  Something is coming.

  Nobody knew what he meant. Not even after a decade of knowing him. Lanfranc Vortan and his best friend, Casandra, were the two that found Cathal that cold night, forty years past.

  The man who called himself Cathal told them things – not much – but things he should not have known. The three grew up together. But Cathal had never really become a permanent part of their lives. He would disappear for many months, sometimes years at a time. But he would always come back.

  As the years went by, Vortan worked hard, encouraged by his father to become, like him, a Stellar-Systemal Cartographer, mapping out ultimatt paths and new worlds. Watching, but never actually exploring. The farthest he got was the Lunar Academy, and eventually the Lunar Athenaeum.

  It was Cathal who did all the true exploring, he imagined.

  And it was Casandra Justus who waited for him. She had loved him since the very first moment they had met. And Cathal loved her. The two married in the year 4233, and three years later Casandra gave birth to Antal. Antal Justus. The young man who now stood upon the manor roof, preparing himself for a task about which he truly had no idea.

  FORTY YEARS AGO

  Surviving on the outer suburbs of the city called Avaris, Vortan Manor House lay surrounded by a mile-and-a-half of ancient headstones, memorials, and fading monuments of exciting lives, long forgotten. Among them, Casandra Justus, now sixteen years old, wandered among the silver-grey circular stones and hummed with a raw, youthful smile that so incensed everyone around her. Surrounded by forest in every direction, the manor was nestled perfectly between the rolling foothills of the Du
nal de Garb mountains and vast open spaces between there and Avaris’ cloud-stroking towers.

  It was early evening but Casandra could already see the full moon in the dark blue sky.

  Lanfranc would be along at any moment. She danced on the spot, impatient as always. When he emerged from behind a particularly fractured headstone the two ran through the yard and into the forest. It had taken years to get him to leave the manor grounds, to find a spot that belonged only to them. A hill rose up about a mile into the forest. At the top they stopped and lay down upon the soft grass.

  ‘Just look at the moon,’ she said. ‘It’s so small. Like it’s forever away.’

  ‘Mother says it takes less than an hour when she goes to the Academy,’ Lanfranc stated.

  ‘I’m going to go one day,’ she mused. He scoffed and she nudged him in the ribs. ‘You’ll see. One day—’

  The ground shook beneath them. Both jumped to their feet. The wind churned through the trees, the sound of it chillingly unnatural.

  In the middle of the sky far up, directly above, a star fell. Casandra charged down the hill in the star’s direction. A low rumbling echoed beneath their feet as the star hit the earth.

  It took thirty minutes to find the impact crater: a long, deep divide in the tree line. She didn’t wait, and hurtled headlong into the crater. It was massive. Casandra waited for Lanfranc to catch up and held his hand tight. She stepped down slowly. He followed, his hand shaking.

  In the centre of the crater lay a body. A body was inside!

  Casandra rushed down to him. Lanfranc followed, alert and watchful. The boy was moving, coughing, spluttering. He found his feet, then fell. He attempted to stand again, before collapsing back onto the ground, covered in ash and twitching. His clothes were singed black.

  ‘What’s that?’ Vortan said, pointing near the body.

  Casandra dropped to her knees and crawled towards the boy. Beside him lay a bag, black and ashen with twinges of gold. ‘It’s a pack,’ she said. ‘A backpack, I think.’