by S J Howland
‘What’s going on, then? Why are you all just standing around here when there’s work to be done, eh?’
A short, stocky man, square-shouldered and bullish, marched into the centre of the group and glared around with small dark eyes.
‘How’s this supposed to get fixed if you’re all just gabbing instead of doing? Mr Simm will be here shortly and there’d better be some answers for him.’
He snapped his fingers and several of the engineers backed away, looking harried, while Petros nervously broke the point of another pencil. Reeve however, just glanced over at him, unconcerned.
‘Before anything can be fixed, Latchet, one has to first understand why it was broken,’ he said calmly, before turning away to examine the striations again.
Latchet glared in impotent fury as Reeve continued to ignore him, then turned and stomped after the remaining engineers, barking out questions in a hectoring tone and sending them scattering in every direction.
‘Idiot,’ remarked Reeve, shaking his head. ‘He hasn’t got the first clue how any of this works, but of course making people run around like headless chickens will definitely solve it.’
Snorting derisively, he began to run another instrument over the shattered crystal, muttering what sounded like complex calculations under his breath while Flint stood next to him, waiting. There was a roar from Latchet in the next aisle and Petros jumped, dropping the device he held onto Xander’s foot.
‘Sorry,’ he said quickly, squatting down to pick it up again. ‘That man just shreds my last nerve.’
‘S’okay,’ said Xander, wiggling his toes experimentally. ‘Who is he?’
There was another bellow and a pair of white-coated engineers fled past, looking harried.
‘Alan Latchet,’ replied Petros, after a wary glance around. ‘He works for Lester Simm, the Council Liaison to the Nexus.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Latchet is living proof that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing and he makes everyone’s life a misery; anyone who crosses him is gone. Thorne ought to kick him out, but Latchet toadies up to him and Simm, and gets him what he wants on the Council, so he turns a blind eye to his behaviour.’
Xander glanced over at Reeve.
‘How come he gets away with talking back?’ he asked.
Petros smiled. ‘Because Callan’s a genius and Thorne can’t afford to lose him. He trained with the hobs, back when they still let humans into their Core, and there’s no-one who understands the Nexus like he does. Latchet hates Cal but there’s nothing he can do to him, and that drives him mad. He threatened once that if Cal didn’t do as he said then he would destroy him, and Cal just laughed at him. I would have loved to have seen that,’ he finished wistfully.
Reeve called Petros over to look at something and he left Xander with a quick smile, fishing in his pocket for an unbroken pencil.
After another fifteen minutes of trailing around behind Reeve and Flint as they moved down the damaged portion, conferring occasionally in quiet undertones, even the exotic nature of the Nexus began to pall. Len was sitting on the floor with a sulky expression, scratching at her hand, while Ollie slumped by one crystal wall, his hands shoved in his pockets, as if to advertise to everyone that he was not going to touch anything.
Xander himself was feeling some sympathy with Len’s complaints that the place was making her itch. There was something about the crystalline structures looming on all sides, with their bright metallic coding and the sharp, blue-white light, that made him uneasy and his head ache, not helped by the chill inside the Nexus chamber. Flint had glanced over at them every now and again, and this time he followed the glance with a couple of quick words to Petros, who hurried over.
‘You must all be really bored,’ he said apologetically. ‘We’ll be a while longer but I thought you might want to sit down somewhere a bit more comfortable.’
Len scrambled to her feet as Xander and Ollie nodded. Petros led them down the shattered aisle, turned left and then right until they emerged from the walls of crystal to a space bounded by a smooth, dark stone wall, punctuated with several decorative alcoves. Near one of them and looking faintly incongruous in the wide empty space, was a table and a small pile of wooden chairs. Petros gestured towards them.
‘We have a few seating areas scattered around. This one is a bit basic,’ he said with an apologetic grimace. ‘It’s not much used all the way back here.’
Ollie shrugged with a quick grin. ‘Better than sitting on the floor,’ he said.
Petros smiled at them. ‘I’ll pop back and get you when we’re all finished.’ He turned away and then a thought seemed to occur to him. ‘Don’t wander off,’ he warned. ‘This place is a maze if you’re not used to it.’ They all nodded and Petros, apparently satisfied by their assent, disappeared back into the Nexus.
Ollie lifted three wooden chairs from the stack and pushed them towards the table. Sitting down with a sigh, he stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Well, this is pretty boring,’ he remarked.
Xander squinted up at the towering crystal slabs and rubbed his eyes.
‘I just wish they would turn the lights down in here,’ he said. ‘This place is giving me a headache.’
They all sat in silence for a moment, and then Ollie rummaged in his pockets, before pulling out a small packet with an air of triumph. ‘I thought I had these with me,’ he said. ‘Fancy some cards to pass the time?’ Without waiting for an answer, he began to deal out brightly coloured cards covered with strange symbols.
Xander leant forwards with interest.
‘What do those mean?’ he asked.
‘Just give me a sec to get them sorted out. They’re a bit messed up,’ replied Ollie, swiftly sorting the cards into piles, but Xander was no longer listening. He was distracted by what was happening inside the nearest alcove. The plain, smooth wall within it, which had looked so solid, was starting to ripple, as if the stone had become liquid. Xander shoved his chair back noisily, his eyes wide. Ollie looked up, followed Xander’s shocked gaze, and promptly dropped the rest of the cards on the table; a few of them slid to the edge and fluttered down to the floor below.
A hand, its fingers thin, white and elongated, emerged from the rippling stone and grasped the side of the alcove. It was followed by a face, chalk-pale, long-nosed and dominated by large, yellow eyes. In the bright light of the Nexus, Xander could clearly see the disconcerting, slitted pupils as its eyes swivelled towards them. It regarded Xander, Ollie and Len impassively, and then extended its white hand and crooked its finger at them, in a clear beckoning sign. As abruptly as it had appeared, the figure vanished back into the rippling wall.
They all stared at each other for a moment, speechless, before Xander abruptly stood up. He needed answers, however strange the source, and Flint himself had gone to the hobgoblins; it did not seem likely that they would kidnap him out of the Nexus, under everyone’s noses. He hurried forwards before he could talk himself out of it and heard the other chairs moving behind him.
‘Great,’ Ollie grumbled as he got up. ‘Follow the creepy, beckoning finger, kids. That’s sure to end well.’
Xander paused by the rippling wall. He couldn’t see anything beyond it, but he had the distinct feeling that someone was listening. ‘You guys don’t have to come,’ he said, with a worried look at them. ‘You could just wait out here for me.’
Ollie snorted derisively.
‘Yeah, right,’ he said. ‘Let you follow the creepy finger on your own? That’s not happening.’
Len eyed them both thoughtfully but just walked forward to stand with her cousin. Xander sent them both quick, grateful looks. The rippling wall looked rather daunting up close and he was privately relieved that he would not have to pass through it alone.
Ollie reached out and gripped the back of Xander’s shirt. ‘Let’s stick together,’ he said, and then muttered, ‘and hope we don’t become a cautionary tale for little children.’
Fervently hoping the same, Xander turned and st
epped into the rippling wall, feeling Ollie’s hand behind him, tugging on his shirt as the little procession followed him.
The bright lights of the Nexus vanished and Xander now stood in a dark, rocky corridor, lit with a faint light from the glowstone held in the pale hand of the hob who stood waiting for them. It was barely sufficient to illuminate his face, although the hob’s eyes gleamed as he looked at Xander, Len and Ollie standing before him. Apparently satisfied that they would follow him, and without a word of explanation, the hob turned and walked away, holding the light low to the uneven floor.
Xander let out a deep breath and followed, reassured by the faint footsteps of Ollie and Len behind him. As they passed through the tunnel, the glowstone revealed faint sparkles of quartz, like tiny stars, glinting in the rock wall and then fading away. After a few moments of silent walking the hob halted at what appeared to be a dead end, then reached out and touched the rock in a stroking gesture. As Xander watched, the stone rippled away from the hob’s finger, becoming translucent with a soft shimmering glow. The hob stepped forward and vanished, without a backwards glance, taking his light with him.
Xander hesitated again, looking at the glowing stretch of wall. He felt Ollie move forward to stand at his shoulder.
‘We’ve come this far,’ Ollie said, and Xander could almost hear the grimace in his tone, ‘might as well follow the insanity to its logical conclusion.’ Len snorted, her laugh sounding rather hollow.
Together, the three of them stepped through the translucent barrier and then stopped, gaping open-mouthed at what had been revealed. It was a huge space, similar in size to the chamber which they had just left and also filled with a vast crystal matrix, but it was radically different in all other ways.
Instead of standing in crisp rows of angular stabs, the crystal here appeared to flow organically, soaring up into archways and spires and then dipping down like sparkling waterfalls into basins on the floor. There was no glittering coding in these crystals and the light flowed in pulses and waves, a multitude of soft colours blossoming, shimmering and throbbing through the matrix. It was utterly mesmerising and Xander just stood and gazed at it, hearing the swift intakes of breath from Ollie and Len beside him. The hob waited in front of them, his face expressionless as he watched their reaction.
Finally, he broke his silence.
‘Come,’ he said, in a grating voice and then turned away to lead them forward.
‘It speaks,’ muttered Ollie into Xander’s ear, but his voice was still rather awed.
Xander himself could not stop staring about as they followed the hob. The crystal nodes in the Nexus were awe-inspiring in their raw power and size, but there was something different about this place; the crystals here seemed alive, glowing in their natural beauty and warmth as they pulsed with light. They passed under an archway made of two soaring pillars of crystal curving overhead and Xander was distracted, his eyes following the colours as they swirled and flowed upwards, so that when he looked down he was startled by what waited beyond.
The crystalline walls twisted into a bowl-like shape, and within it was a little outgrowth in the shape of a chair, glimmering softly. Sitting in the chair was a hobgoblin whose chalky face was lined with age and who had a distinct air of fragility, while surrounding him was a semi-circle of hobgoblins, all staring at Xander. Their erstwhile guide had evidently joined the group and was no longer discernible from any of the others, so similar were they all to Xander’s confused eyes.
The hobgoblin who sat enthroned upon the crystal chair regarded Xander intently, his unnerving eyes running up and down over him, and Xander felt that same crawling sensation as when Hob had examined his hand in the shop. It was no more comfortable this time and Xander stiffened, resisting its insistent probe.
With a swift, decisive movement, the seated hobgoblin held out a hand and two of his entourage hurried to assist him down from his seat. They closed protectively around the frail figure as he approached, their alien eyes narrowed to warn of the consequences of any actions they considered threatening. Xander was under no illusions as to his chances in that case and stood as still as possible, feeling Len and Ollie behind him doing the same.
The little figure came to within a few feet, and up close his face was cobwebbed with fine lines and wrinkles, and his pale hair was thin and fine. His eyes gleamed brightly, however, and Xander felt the weight of their gaze.
‘So you are the one,’ said the ancient hobgoblin, in a creaky whisper. Before Xander had a chance to respond, he continued. ‘Or are you? We will see.’
He held out a claw-like hand, twisted with age. For a moment Xander held back, remembering how unpleasant the sensation had been in Hob’s shop, but finally he thrust out his hand. He needed some answers and he suspected that the hobs might be able to give them to him; at least, he thought, as his eyes caught again in the hobgoblin’s irredeemably strange ones, if they chose to share them.
The hobgoblin encircled Xander’s hand in his own cold one, his clasp surprisingly strong for one so fragile-looking. The sensation was different this time, an odd pulling deep down in blood and bone, throbbing with his heartbeat. Startled, he realised that the crystal walls surrounding them were pulsing in the same rhythm, the colours blooming and shifting as if the whole chamber were beating time with his heart. The ancient hobgoblin lifted his head in an odd, flexing gesture, as his eyes took in the response, and Xander could see the flow of lights shift across his strangely reflective eyes.
Abruptly, the hobgoblin withdrew his hand and clapped. The pulsing ceased instantly and Xander felt a sudden sense of loss. The old hobgoblin smiled at him secretively, as if he knew exactly how Xander felt.
‘It is there,’ he said in his thin voice. His gaze was direct and knowing, and seemed to Xander like it was burrowing under his skin. ‘The seed of the ancient blood, down through all the ages, come to us once more.’
There was a sudden stir among the group.
Xander stared back at the ancient hobgoblin. ‘The seed of what?’ he asked urgently. ‘What does my blood have to do with anything?’
The hob shook his head with a mournful look, his eyes wary.
‘It is not yet time to speak of it,’ he said with finality.
Xander stared at him in disbelief. He very much wanted to speak about it, but before he could open his mouth to protest the hobgoblin turned and reached out a thin hand again. Immediately, a larger hobgoblin leapt forward and offered a supportive arm. It looked like a dismissal but instead the old hobgoblin turned his head and beckoned with his free hand. ‘Come,’ was all he said, but Xander felt his feet moving of their own accord, so commanding was the tone. The hobgoblins allowed Xander and his friends to follow, closing in all around them to keep a protective distance from the frail figure ahead; Xander heard Ollie’s breathing, uneasy and as shallow as his own. This strange little procession continued through the twisting maze until Xander was quite certain he could never find his way out again without assistance.
The soft light grew dimmer as they walked and Xander caught glimpses of paler, more faded crystal through the flowing archways and pillars. The air had been pleasantly warm, especially in contrast with the distinct chill of the Nexus, but now the temperature was rising and it was becoming more difficult to breathe. Xander wiped at his face, trying to blot the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead. Finally, the little procession halted and the old hobgoblin gestured to Xander to pass through a dully opaque opening in the crystal face. His eyes widened when he saw what lay beyond. Spread before him in ruined majesty was a shocking mass of darkened crystal, riven with fractures and exuding the same sense of wrongness that Xander had sensed before, at the little temple in the museum. He had to resist the strong urge to take a step back.
The hobgoblin shook his head, his face lined with deep sorrow.
‘This was once the centre, the beating heart of our Core. Now our heart has been corrupted and the infection is spreading. We try to hold the canker
at bay, to maintain what is left, but for how long?’ He peered up at Xander. ‘Did anyone tell you? Do you know what has befallen my people?’
His frail voice was accusatory, as if he held Xander personally responsible for what had happened. Xander shook his head, and the hobgoblin snorted.
‘Of course not. Why should others care to speak of our tragedy?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Over a hundred years ago sickness struck us with a brutal blow and we lost many of our most vulnerable, our Elders. We feared for its return but when it came back, it was with less force; while many would fall ill, no more died. It was an inconvenience, we thought, returning sporadically but with little ill effect. Then, fourteen years ago, it returned, but this time it came back like a lion. It ravaged through our people, unstoppable, cutting us down young and old, strong and weak; scarce one in a hundred survived the year’s end. We were never a populous people, not like your kind, but there were enough, always enough, until the blow fell.’
The hobgoblin’s creaking voice fell silent, and he shook his head mournfully.
‘We are diminished and there are few now left. So much knowledge lost, so many struck down in their prime. Maybe we will not even survive.’ His voice trailed off as he looked around the small group of hobgoblins, still and impassive, before turning to Xander, Ollie and Len with glittering eyes. ‘Perhaps your technology was always destined to supplant us but in this you sow the seeds of your own destruction, I think. The foolish humans do not sense the blight growing in Haven, a sickness that emanates from their own Nexus. They cannot heal it.’ His gaze became penetrating as it rested on Xander alone. ‘But you, perhaps, can.’
Xander stared at him.
‘I don’t see how,’ he mumbled awkwardly. ‘I’m not even from Haven and I don’t know anything about – about this.’
The old hobgoblin did not relent. ‘But an ancient Stone, long broken, answered your call and brought you here. Your speaking was also powerful enough to utterly destroy that weak counterfeit of Thorne’s making.’ The name was spat out with a twist of the lips. ‘It still echoes in its shattered remains.’