The Traveller's Stone

by S J Howland

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’ snapped Melville. ‘We want to hear from the boy, not your speculations.’

  ‘No speculation,’ replied Flint evenly. ‘I discussed the matter with the hobs when they first gave Xander the orb.’

  Melville’s eyes flashed with annoyance, before he returned to the attack. ‘And how is it that you, having barely arrived in Haven, knew exactly where to find this long-lost Core? It took months of painstaking work for Simm and his team to identify and access this place, while you simply waltzed in the front door. How do you explain this?’

  To Melville’s evident fury, it was once again Flint who calmly responded.

  ‘As I explained this morning, we believe that the power in Xander’s orb when he wore it into the Hall of Records temporarily reactivated an obsolete terminal, giving him enough information to find his way to the Core. Clearly, it was an ancient program, keyed to that particular stone being worn by an appropriate individual, but given the age of the system it could only pass on fragments.’

  ‘That certainly sounds plausible,’ said Horace Peverell, interjecting for the first time. His usual air of quiet gravitas had many of the Council members nodding along with him. Xander stood very still, trying to keep his face expressionless, as Reeve’s opinion about the unlikelihood of that theory ran through his mind. Knowing the engineer’s propensity to correct technical mistakes, he braced himself for an objection, but there was only silence behind him.

  Melville and Larcius were whispering furiously as Latimer spoke up again in her clipped voice.

  ‘The Council’s Nexus liaison, Mr Simm, is currently unable to address this chamber and his deputy, Mr Latchet, is claiming to have no memory of the events of last evening.’ She stared beadily down at Xander and her accusing look seemed to indicate that she held him personally responsible. ‘Can you shed any light on what may have caused their unfortunate incapacity?’

  Xander opened his mouth and then shut it again firmly. He was certain that he knew what or, more accurately, who was responsible and he shivered at the memory of Gage’s twisted face, lit up with malice in the sickly green light. There was no point even mentioning him however, as there wasn’t a single other person who could confirm his existence. Xander stared back steadily at Latimer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Mr Simm was already –’ he hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘Totally nuts’ didn’t seem like an appropriate description to give to the Council. ‘He seemed a bit disturbed when he came through from the Nexus. He wasn’t really making any sense and then he attacked Rafe. The shades came next and everything got a bit confusing.’

  ‘Indeed,’ interjected Enid Ingram. ‘I’m sure that it was a most disturbing incident.’

  She continued talking, but Xander’s attention was distracted by Marcus Melville and Felix Larcius. To his shock, Perrin Thorne was now standing behind them, leaning down to whisper while his cold black eyes remained fixed on Xander. Xander felt a queasy feeling in his stomach at the sheer hatred in that stare; it meant nothing good for him, he was quite certain. He only just caught Enid Ingram’s final words.

  ‘If no-one else has anything to add, then I think we can dismiss the young lad.’

  Melville raised a languid hand.

  ‘Actually, I believe that there are a few more unanswered questions but I quite agree that we should allow the boy to step out of the full glare of a Council hearing. We can much more conveniently explore all the parameters of this case in a private setting. Since the boy is not from Haven and has no guardianship arrangements, it would be most appropriate if we on the Council take responsibility for him and his disposition. We wouldn’t want to overlook proper protocols.’

  His eyes glittered triumphantly as he looked at Flint and Xander stiffened, his throat dry, as he heard the whispers rising again across the chamber. Perrin Thorne was smiling in satisfaction, his thick lips glistening moistly.

  Flint strode forward to Xander’s side. ‘He belongs with us. He doesn’t require Council guardianship,’ he snapped.

  Melville’s mouth stretched into a mirthless grin.

  ‘I’m afraid that you have no authority to claim him, Flint.’ At least half of the Council members were nodding in agreement and Xander felt sick.

  ‘You are quite correct,’ said a cool voice from behind the podium. ‘However, you will find that we do have that authority.’

  Xander risked a quick glance backwards and his jaw dropped. Stepping out from among the crowd, and moving forward to surround the base of the podium were Alwyn Atherton, Gerrold Stavish, Edric Wooten, Kirrin Ledger and the rest of the Wardens. Jory Bardolph caught Xander’s eye and winked at him. Atherton fixed steely eyes upon the Council members, his gaze particularly lingering on Melville.

  ‘Xander King is a Traveller and therefore does not require your kind offer of guardianship.’

  Xander’s eyes widened at this, his heart pounding in shock and surprise, as the sound of whispering swept through the chamber behind him like a rushing wind.

  Melville snorted. ‘The boy is an outlander,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Can anyone claim to be a Traveller now?’

  Gerrold Stavish tipped his head back and regarded Melville with an amused air. ‘If one can control a Traveller’s Stone to cross Haven’s border, use all the capabilities of a hob-orb and strike down shades then, yes,’ he replied dryly, ‘I believe that one could accurately be termed a Traveller.’

  While Melville scowled furiously, obviously casting about for another argument, Atherton gestured to what had now become a large crowd of Travellers, many of them sporting bandages or other evidence of shade-strike.

  ‘The boy is one of us and is therefore not subject to your jurisdiction. He has been courteous enough to come and answer your questions, as have others of us,’ his glance flickered to Rafe and Flint. ‘However, Travellers do not answer to the Council of Twelve, and we are outside your power to command or detain. We will withdraw now and leave you to your deliberations.’

  He nodded solemnly to Barton Ferrars, while Melville spluttered audibly. Ferrars rose to the occasion, bowing his head politely.

  ‘Absolutely right. The Council is most grateful to the Wardens for their kind co-operation and to the Travellers for their service in defence of Haven. We have just had a timely reminder of our debt to them.’

  Flint nudged Xander’s arm. ‘Time to go,’ was all he said, although a little grin tugged at his lips.

  Xander’s knees felt wobbly with relief and he concentrated carefully on his footing as he stumbled down the stairs. At the bottom he found himself face to face with the phalanx of Wardens. Atherton, his usually stern face lightened by an unaccustomed twinkle in his pale blue eyes, put an arm around Xander with a rather theatrical flourish and drew him into the group.

  ‘Oh, I do enjoy tweaking the Council’s collective noses,’ he murmured in Xander’s ear.

  In a matter of moments, the whole group of Travellers had closed ranks around Xander and they walked out of the Council chamber together. The noise behind him was rising to a hubbub, but Xander’s feet seemed to carry him forward without conscious thought, as his head swirled with emotions. Only when they had reached the steps outside, and he felt the warm sunshine on his face, did he take a deep breath. All around him, he heard laughter and warm words, while many hands patted him on the back or squeezed his arm.

  Atherton, who was still standing next to Xander with a genial smile, turned to face him.

  ‘Welcome to the Travellers, Xander. But,’ he said, lifting a cautionary finger, ‘be aware that as one of us, you are under the Wardens’ authority now. Next time you feel the urge to up-end the power dynamics of Haven, do come and run it by us first, old chap.’ His expression was still amused, but his tone was serious and Xander nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said politely. He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

  Wooten, who looked as put out as usual, snorted cantanker
ously.

  ‘Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it,’ he grouched.

  Ollie bounded up, his hair standing on end, and Xander knew that his friend had been clutching it in worry for him. ‘How amazing is this?’ Ollie declared, a huge smile splitting his face. ‘Did you see Thorne’s face? It was epic when he realised that you were untouchable. And Melville looked like he was going to start chewing on the furniture. I bet him and Larcius are howling right now.’

  ‘I’m just glad that it’s over,’ replied Xander honestly.

  ‘Well, you’re officially a Traveller now,’ said Ollie. ‘You belong here, just like I told you.’

  You belong here. The words seemed to dance in front of Xander and then settle into the deepest part of him. He couldn’t control the enormous smile which spread across his face.

  ‘Well, are you coming or are you going to just stand there grinning like a nutter?’

  Ari’s light voice came from behind him and the next moment, she had caught him in a swift hug. She released him quickly, her nose wrinkling at Xander in an amused smile as he looked at her in confusion.

  ‘Coming where?’ he asked.

  ‘To Whittlewood Lodge, of course. We’re having a Gathering to celebrate. Are you ready?’

  Xander opened his mouth to agree and then caught a glimpse of Mrs Stanton’s elegant form crossing the square. Suddenly, he was certain that he knew where she was going.

  ‘Can I catch up to you?’ he asked Ari. ‘There’s just something I need to do.’

  Ari grinned at him. ‘As long as it’s not something that the Wardens ought to know about,’ she said warningly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Xander with a grin. ‘I’m all out of mysterious messages.’

  Ari laughed. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘See you there later, then.’ With a quick lift of her hand, she vanished.

  ‘What do you need to do?’ Ollie wanted to know, following Xander as he hurried across the square after Mrs Stanton. She was walking briskly and Xander only caught up to her as she turned into a small side street. She stopped as Xander and Ollie came abreast of her and turned to face them, one eyebrow raised in query.

  ‘I thought you two would be off to the Gathering,’ she said. ‘It’s largely being held in your honour.’

  ‘Are you going to see Simm?’ Xander blurted out.

  ‘I am,’ Mrs Stanton replied quietly.

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  Mrs Stanton eyed him thoughtfully, but she didn’t seem overly surprised. ‘Why do you want to do that?’ she asked.

  ‘I just –’

  Xander hesitated. The memory of Simm’s face as he came through into the Core was still vivid, but it was his words that had really stuck in Xander’s mind. The others clearly thought Simm had just lost his mind but Xander had a strong feeling that there was something underlying what he had said, some meaning that he was not grasping. Simm had also been the only other person who had seen Gage, and he felt that had to be significant. The fact that the strange and malevolent man had apparently been invisible to everyone else was increasingly bothering Xander, and he really wanted to see if Simm remembered him.

  ‘I just wanted to ask him something about last night,’ he finished, rather lamely.

  Mrs Stanton paused, and then nodded. ‘Very well,’ was all she said.

  She led them a short distance along the narrow street and then climbed the steps to a large front door, deeply recessed and set between white columns. There was a discreet Institute of Healers sign set into the wall next to the door. She did not knock, simply placing her hand on the door and, as the coding in her orb flickered, it swung open smoothly and quietly.

  Before them was a large entrance hall, with white-painted walls and a chequered floor in pristine black and white squares. A few paintings of peaceful pastoral scenes hung around the walls, while a white marble staircase with crisp black banisters rose from the middle of the hall. Everything was spotlessly clean. To the right of the staircase was a black marble desk, two tall pot plants standing on either side of it like sentinels, and sitting at the desk was a young woman in a crisp grey and white uniform. She glanced up from her screen as they entered.

  ‘Hello, Healer Stanton,’ she said, while her eyes flicked curiously to Xander and Ollie. ‘Your patient was moved upstairs a few hours ago. He’s on the second floor, room 212.’

  ‘Thank you, Polly dear,’ said Mrs Stanton. ‘Has Healer Embert seen him yet?’

  Polly nodded, still eying the two boys, but she didn’t make any objection as they followed behind Mrs Stanton. Xander looked around curiously as they went up the stairs. Long hallways opened off each landing that they passed, each one neutrally decorated and pristinely neat, and he saw figures moving along them, all dressed in either the white and grey uniform, or long white coats. There was an oddly muffled sense about the building, as if all sound was deadened, and even their footsteps on the marble staircase were muted. It made for a rather disquieting atmosphere and Xander shivered.

  ‘Is this a hospital?’ he asked Mrs Stanton in a whisper, because it felt wrong to speak too loudly in this place.

  Mrs Stanton was evidently not affected in the same way, as she replied in her usual crisp tones. ‘Not in the way you mean, Xander. It’s not where you come when you are sick in your body. This is the Intuit Centre for mind healing. The healers here are at the top of their field and Embert is one of the best.’

  ‘It’s creepy, is what it is,’ muttered Ollie.

  His grandmother looked sharply at him. ‘If you would prefer to wait downstairs, then I’m sure that Polly will find you a chair,’ she said, but her voice was understanding.

  Ollie shook his head. ‘S’okay,’ he said.

  Mrs Stanton glanced at them both as they continued to climb.

  ‘The Centre is kept quiet and calm to aid in the healing process,’ she said. ‘When peoples’ minds are vulnerable, loud noises or voices can distress them. Each individual room has a noise-disrupting ward so that patients aren’t disturbed if they need peace and quiet.’

  She turned off into a hallway and began to walk down it. Xander noticed the same type of artwork as downstairs, set at precise distances along walls punctuated with wide doors made of an opaque, cloudy material, each with a number on it; they stopped at the door marked 212. Xander stared at the nearest picture, a bland still life of a bowl of apples, and wondered whether he was doing the right thing to come here. The image of Simm’s face last night flashed through his mind, the man’s mouth flecked with his own saliva and his high-pitched, furious shrieks. Suddenly, Xander felt very certain that he did not want to see Simm again.

  Before he could say anything, he heard swift footsteps approaching from his right, and a small, rotund man in a white coat walked towards them with a welcoming smile. He was balding, with short grey hair, round glasses and the kindest face Xander had ever seen. His brown eyes twinkled irrepressibly, with laughter lines fanning out from their corners, and his smile was so reassuring that Xander felt his uncertainty melt away; the little man seemed to shine comfort and reassurance around him like a lamp. He beamed at Mrs Stanton.

  ‘Come to check on our patient, Thea?’ he said, and his warm voice matched his appearance. He winked at Xander and Ollie. ‘Are these apprentices then?’ he asked.

  Mrs Stanton’s lips twitched.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘This is my grandson, Oliver. Xander here is a Traveller. They were both with Mr Simm during his episode last night.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Embert and, as he looked at them with those penetrating eyes, Xander got the strange impression that the healer really did see right into his thoughts. ‘That must have been rather distressing for you. Hopefully, we can put your minds at rest. A most unusual case, to be sure.’

  ‘How is he settling?’ asked Mrs Stanton.

  ‘Oh, less agitated now,’ replied Embert. ‘He calmed down once we provided him with something to write with; as you know, art can be very therapeutic and g
ive us insights into a patient’s state of mind. In his case, certainly, it is a rather strange manifestation but I’m sure that we’ll figure it out.’

  He lifted a hand towards the door, then paused and looked at the two boys.

  ‘Our doors are made of a very special material. It can be opaque, as you see here, or else I can de-polarise it and we will be able to see through it. It will continue to appear opaque on the patient’s side, so we won’t disturb them. You’ll see Mr Simm but he won’t be able to see or hear you, okay?’

  With a reassuring nod, Embert touched the door. The coding on his orb flickered, and the door disappeared, or so it seemed, leaving the little black numerals hanging apparently unsupported in the air.

  The room looked warm and comfortable, with calm blue walls and bright coloured cushions on the bed, but Xander’s eyes were immediately drawn to the man within it. In total contrast to his usual flamboyant appearance, Simm was wearing soft green trousers and a plain top in the same colour. Crouching barefoot on the floor near one wall with his back turned to the door, he hummed a soft repetitive sound which made the hair on Xander’s neck prickle uncomfortably. He was drawing intently on the wall with a crayon and had already covered the whole of the lower portion with the same symbol drawn over and over again, a figure eight at every conceivable angle, some tiny and others drawn with great sweeps of the crayon. That sense of wrongness still hung about Simm like a cloud and, with a shudder, Xander felt the absolute certainty that whatever this all meant, it was nothing good.

  ‘As yet, we don’t know the significance to him of the number eight but hopefully we can get to the bottom of that in therapy,’ said Embert. ‘He hasn’t said very much except for some ramblings about ‘dark powers’, possibly a reaction to shade exposure.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mrs Stanton thoughtfully. ‘This may be quite deep-seated. When the Council retrieved his files from his office this morning, the Nexus Liaison folders were filled with sheets of paper covered with eights, drawn over and over, the same as he is doing here. The Council was quite put out by it, I believe.’