RAINBOWS
&
PORTALS
Lore Short Story
Omnibus Edition
By
Elaina J. Davidson
Copyright for this compilation of various short stories:
Elaina J Davidson 2019
First Edition
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.
THE
RAINBOWS
of
P I L A N
PILAN
Foreword
IN THE INTEREST of telling a story without too much distraction, this interlude on the Pilan Homeworld still exists in The Dragon Circle (Lore of Arcana IV), but has been edited to give only the bare bones there. It wasn’t integral to the main tale, but you might want to know a bit more … and here it is.
A wee bit of scene setting …
TORRULLIN VALLA has been a bad boy. Having committed and spoken words of love to Saska of the Sylmer, he then breaks her trust when he sleeps with Lycea, the Changeling. That union results in Lycea’s pregnancy.
The fall-out sees Torrullin vanish offworld for a while on a mission. When he returns to Valaris, Saska witnesses him with Lycea, kneeling in the snow to greet his son in her womb (the Valleur recognition of the unborn) and, believing she has lost him, without hope, Saska leaves in turn.
As the final confrontation with Margus, the Darak Or, approaches, her absence is marked and her life may be in danger.
Torrullin sets out to find Saska …
PILAN
1
THE UNIVERSE WAS VAST, an infinite eternity. Logic dictated that in such vastness many worlds could sustain life, sentient or otherwise, for the precedent already existed.
And, indeed, so it is and was. Some knew they were not alone in the greatness and used magic or star-travel to traverse it, while others understood it intellectually, and others, such as Valaris, although isolated, knew their ancestors were from elsewhere. And yet others came to know the state from varied visitors to their worlds.
Then there were those who did in fact believe they were utterly alone in the universe. They simply could not comprehend the vastness, or they were unwilling to believe the coldness of immensity was able to duplicate their uniqueness. Some of those suffered from superiority disease - arrogance - while others were the true innocents of the universe.
The latter belief was held by the people of Pilan.
They did believe themselves alone, and perhaps they could be forgiven their mistaken views, for they were isolated in a tiny solar system in the very corner of a far-flung galaxy, and the periodic visitors they had received over eons of existence had been too few to alter that belief. In fact, the visitors were regarded as the embodiments of their gods and goddesses.
Thus it was for Saska of the Sylmer; a visitor from outer space seen as a goddess, her lithe female form and long tresses of blue hair exactly matching the description of Leath, Goddess of Water.
This was her third visit to Pilan; a place chosen because of its isolation. Her psyche required soothing, her soul needed difference and her heart, well, her heart desperately sought distraction.
The previous occasion had been a hundred and fifty years ago and, therefore, in living memory, not one Pilanese would have seen her before, which was why she felt able to visit without upsetting their integrated belief system. The tale of the blue-haired woman who had walked with ordinary folk, of course, continued to be told and sang; no one remembered, but they had not forgotten either.
PILAN
2
NOT MUCH HAD CHANGED on Pilan in a century and a half, and Saska smiled as the exotic smells and colours assaulted her senses.
If anything, the only change was that the jungle was denser. Pilan was different from anywhere else. Every step revealed a new wonder; here her mind would be so occupied she could, for a while, forget.
Pilan was a large world rotating on an east-west axis and was covered almost entirely in rife and often impenetrable rainforest. It was a bona fide jungle world. Seas were tiny, lakes numerous and rivers innumerable; mountains were mighty, valleys delved deep and jungle-choked plains could take months to cross. Some took years.
It rained eighty percent of the time - warm, friendly rain - and the other twenty percent was devoted to spectacular rainbows and the flights of striking, musical birds. It was a wet, humid and fertile world; a seed dropped in the morning would literally sprout by nightfall.
Long days and long nights, an extraordinarily long year, and one spring-like season dominated Pilan’s climate, economy and society. Pilan rotated around a massive star called Pill, the God of Light.
Here nobody went hungry and life was somnolent.
Saska arrived just as the sun broke through again and even in the denseness of the jungle rainbows abounded.
She wandered in the eerie green light accompanied by hundreds of colourful birds and numerous chattering and laughing monkeys. A red and yellow snake slid off the path as she approached; the path being nothing more than a break in the foliage all around. Tiny blue and purple bugs peeped out from under gigantic leaves, and ahead a bright yellow bird with a deep burgundy beak busily pecked away at the soft bark of a giant tree. It ignored her completely.
The sunlight filtered through the canopy to create a world of light and dark green shadows and drips of rain plinked from leaves into clear puddles. Everything smelled fresh and clean, and yet the mouldy aroma of an ever-moist jungle underscored it. It was a peculiar smell, welcoming in its truth, and did not detract from the freshness.
Behind her a pair of red parrots squawked at each other and she smiled when she was startled by the sound.
Not long after she set feet upon the path she heard the unmistakable sounds of people; a child laughing, another shouting, and a woman’s voice sleepily admonishing them to be quiet.
Her sense of direction had led this way - there had been a settlement in this region when she was last here - and she smiled again, glad it had not let her down and happy the settlement had continued.
And then she broke into a clearing the size of Galilan, and stopped.
It was no longer a settlement; a hundred and fifty years had wrought changes. Enjoying the sight of something so different, she stared around in wonder.
It was a clearing only in that the greater portion of the jungle was kept in constant trim- a continuous battle, she knew from before, and the only arduous task for the Pilanese - for it was filled with trees and birds and monkeys and insects. The clearing was full, a jungle-city, multi-layered, with bridges and ladders connecting thousands of huts from just above ground level into the sturdiest branches of huge, high trees. The uppermost level was so far up she could not see it from the ground.
The twenty or so huts she had known on her last visit had bloomed into a full-fledged city to rival even the great concrete jungles on other worlds.
Children and adults alike climbed and ran the paths through and about the trees, sure-footed and unafraid, their movements akin to the monkeys, which in turn copied them, chattering away in every available space. Here and there a woman shooed them away, shouting in annoyance. The monkeys darted aside, to return the moment backs wer
e turned.
Saska grinned, loving it.
The Pilanese were small, the tallest no more than five feet, and generally dark; soft, caramel skins, dark hair straight and long, black eyes. Their features were pixie-like, pointed and fine; pointed ears peeked cheekily through their hair to emphasize this likeness. Men, women and children alike wore their hair long and were generally naked, with some sporting the scrappiest of loincloths. Women wore concealing skirts, she recalled, only during menstruation.
There had to be at least half a million in this city, she estimated, if not more, and there were many such cities, some far larger, others village-sized. It was difficult to judge Pilan’s planet-wide population, for the jungle hid so much … still, she thought; it had to be close to a billion or three.
There was no fire on Pilan, it was too wet and never cold, and food was as simple as picking off trees.
Light for the long nights was in the ingenious form of captured fireflies. These little glow-creatures were the size of a man’s fist and bred faster than they could be bagged.
Industry was the periodic logging expedition, basket weaving, the twisting of jungle rope, replacing rotten timber, and all of it was done to music and song.
Learning was by word of mouth in the form of extraordinary tales, and each man and woman was an accomplished storyteller. Even children could spin amusing yarns, and the system of learning worked, for paper would not last long on Pilan and a people’s history was thus not forgotten.
SASKA WAVED AT A GROUP of children on the bridge above her, who squealed and immediately began to point emphatically. Moments later all the bridges she could see were crowded with people, young and old.
“It’s Leath!”
The refrain rang from one end of the city to the other, and they were not afraid.
That was what she liked most, their fearlessness. She was simply Leath, a known figure in the tales of their deities … and what was possibly strange about that, what was there to fear?
Willing hands reached down and helped her onto the nearest bridge, laughing and chattering all at once, little hands touching her light blue hair and turning her hands this way and that to examine her pale skin.
“She’s come again!”
Her arrival would achieve story status by nightfall and the first tellers would have an audience agog.
They handed her along and up, pointing to a larger hut a third of the way into the canopy, set slightly off-centre. All huts were wall and window-less; with leather coverings lowered on all sides only when occupants were asleep, against the rain. There was no privacy here; eating, talking, lovemaking, birthing, bowel and bladder movements, all done in full view of the entire community, and also to music and song, even death.
The larger hut was no different from the others, only roomier, and with a bigger wooden deck in front of it. Obviously this was the leader’s hut, and it was his or her duty to speak first with the Goddess.
Saska had learned that men and women were equal on Pilan, and it meant whoever greeted her could be male or female; it was a woman.
She came out with an infant on her hip, her only adornment a necklace of wooden beads. She smiled and came forward to take Saska’s hand, leading her to a rough table with benches all around. A basket of bright fruit in the centre glistened after the rain.
Saska knew the Pilanese language, which contained elements of the older languages of the universe, languages the Guardians studied until they were fluent, and thus had no difficulty in understanding the woman.
“Welcome, Leath. I am Emth, the headwoman here.” Emth bowed slightly and motioned for Saska to sit.
Given the size of the city, a headwoman here was the equivalent to a mayor or governor on, say, Beacon. Emth was a powerful woman, and was so natural and unaware of her status that Saska wanted to embrace her.
“Thank you, Emth,” she smiled, taking a seat.
She was already so wet, it mattered not where she sat … and, of course, she sat down smack in a puddle on the bench.
Saska knew not to attempt to explain who she was; they would merely nod politely and turn around to tell the story the way they believed it to be. She looked up at the smiling crowds, waved, was waved at, and then experienced a moment’s vertigo looking down. A bunch of children jostled each other at the edge of the deck, grinning and pointing.
A man came out of the hut, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“This is Seth, my mate,” Emth introduced him, “and this is our daughter Mali.” She tickled the infant at her hip, and her voice possessed an entrancing rhythm. “You are welcome here, Leath,” Emth smiled, and Saska smiled back.
PILAN
3
DAYS PASSED AND SHE was invited into hut after hut. She heard so many tales, not one duplicated, that she was amazed anew at their colourful history.
The Pilanese had no system of counting, beyond the rudimentary, thus it was not easy to put a date or length to their histories, but it seemed old, for they often told of a time when there were few.
At every telling she was plied with sweet fruit and a fermented drink that caused her to see stars and giggle helplessly when the funny tales rolled out. She laughed at the antics of monkeys and the mischievousness of children, and only the latter asked why she had come to their city. She smiled enigmatically, and that was enough for them.
A Goddess did not have to explain herself.
She watched, intrigued once more, as fireflies were lured into mesh baskets with a blob of wild honey. She tried her hand at basket weaving, but was so bad at it she laughed until her sides ached, and everyone laughed with her. Never did she feel unwelcome, nor did she consider herself a freeloader, for she too gathered fruit, and became quite proficient at catching fireflies.
It rained almost incessantly and she quickly rediscovered why the Pilanese went naked. Wet clothes were uncomfortable, chafing constantly.
The second day she removed her clothes and went about in a loincloth, a gift from Emth. At first she was self-conscious, but when no one thought her strange, she revelled in the freedom. Her clothes vanished into the community.
She accompanied the women to a naming ceremony, and the men and boys on a hunting expedition. They hunted the large animals for their skins and the meat was left to carnivores. Pilanese did not eat meat, one of the reasons they were so healthy. She watched the preparation of the hides with interest; a waterproof container was hung in the trees with a hide inside, and every hour the container was aired, and once a day five men urinated on it. A truly smelly curing process.
Every moment brought something; a child’s touch, a bright bird, a tale, a drink, a wooden bead, a joke, a new fruit, a squealing monkey, a song, and throughout it all, laughter. She found that Valaris and its problems receded, the harsh winter there a distant memory.
However, try as she might, Torrullin’s image kept returning to catch her unawares. She often ruminated that was the moment his thoughts turned to her, as if across space she could sense him.
The image that nagged at her the most was the one of him kneeling before his unborn son, and that image was entirely of her mind, not a connection holding over vast distances.
She would distract herself by watching a rainbow or joining in a song … until the next time.
As a person, a woman, an individual, she healed inside. The friendly unselfishness of the Pilanese restored her faith in people and their good natures. They gave her strength and she silently thanked them daily.
However, she knew she could not stay much longer, welcome as she was. That would upset the balance of their society. This was a recharge, an interlude. This was not her life.
And as the healing of the spirit came, thus the healing of the heart lagged ever more … but she could not stay. Hiding was not something she admired in herself.
Wistfully, she watched the young play. How she wished she could bear a child … and then she would laugh and determinedly shake it away, and join in with another task she was bad at an
d giggle along with the Pilanese.
Only once did they scurry away from her, when she rounded on a young man who had approached stealthily, curiosity agog, his aim to touch her laser strap. Her fearful, almost violent reaction caused them to be quietly subdued for all of five minutes.
She did not explain what it was; only that it was dangerous. Afterwards she was silently amused, wondering what form that incident would take in the tale of Leath, Goddess of Water.
PILAN
4
ON THE EIGHTH DAY Torrullin came.
He came striding across bridges as sure-footed as if he had been born there. He was dressed in black close-fitting breeches and a long-sleeved black tunic, the woven kind he favoured, and black knee-high boots. His armour. A black cloak hung limp and wet from his shoulders and his sword bumped against his thigh as he walked.
It was that slight metallic sound, an alien jingle, that caused Saska to look up, rather than the squeals that accompanied his arrival- the Pilanese were ever vocal about something. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him approach, grey eyes intently on her.
She had not expected him and did not know what to feel.
He was not the Torrullin of memory, but a harder Torrullin with a leaner face, hungrier, and close-cropped hair. He was wet, very wet; it had been raining all day.
Sitting under a leather awning, almost dry, she dropped her fourth attempt at basket weaving and stood slowly, pushing damp blue hair from her face. She noticed the crowds on the bridges, sensed them around her, and heard their silence. It was eerie, that silence, as if they sensed confrontation. Perhaps it was the presence of the fair man that rendered them wordless for a time.
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