by P R Glazier
Chapter 3. The Halls of Truth
Serinae sat deep in thought, something she had been doing a lot of late. She sat in a sparse mansion of a building, unadorned with the usual things one might usually associate within any T’Iea city. But she wasn’t in a T’Iea city. There were plenty of lavish houses in the domestic quarter of the city, but she preferred to stay here. She thought this was because she was always so unused to such luxury. Her whole life had been one of living in sparse surroundings, she suspected that most of her nights she had actually spent with only the stars above her. Now her one room contained a bed, a chair and a table. But it was above the library. That was perhaps the reason she chose to live here above the vast library. She felt she had only scratched the surface of all the knowledge it contained. But it had told her enough. She called this building ‘The Halls of Truth’, for she had learned much here in the time she had been living within this city. Much had surprised her and much had alarmed her in many ways.
She was waiting. She was well practiced at it; she had waited like this many times since being in this place. She wondered at herself. It was so unlike her to sit like this and just, well - wait. She wasn’t bored or restless, not even resigned or accepting. She didn’t feel any different, even though she could do nothing but bide her time. But one thing was for sure; time gave her the opportunity to think.
Her long life had been full of action; she always knew what the next event was going to be. Well she knew what she had planned; she could not of course predict the outcome or guarantee success, or failure for that matter. Yet that had been her life. It had been a life full of adventure, full of action. Everything she had done had been exciting, exhilarating, she had sought for those things. Elements of life that would push her to the limits of her capabilities, jumped at every chance of a challenge, never saying no, never refusing. A bit like her friend Solin, the only difference being that Solin’s challenges were academic ones, her own were more physically demanding and normally a lot more dangerous.
They had been a good combination, Solin and her. Solin sort the adventure of learning, Serinae the adventure of action. She had travelled the world with Solin by her side and both their adventurous desires had been fulfilled and satisfied aplenty, many times over and more. There was, after all, always the next adventure, there was always another challenge. She frowned. Perhaps her only regret was that such things had taken up all of her time, she had not allowed anything else into her life, not had the time for it. She had not even really taken the time to find out if there was anything else. Not until now. She shook her head. It was a dangerous thing perhaps to just sit and think. It opened up new ideas, her inactivity meant she had the time and she could hear other messages now, little, still, small messages from within that she could not hear before; didn’t have the time before. Some of these thoughts were tinged with regrets, others with real pain and if she allowed, even darker ones full of despair. She took in a deep breath, tried to force such negativity out of her mind.
But before long her thoughts again strayed to a time before. She had loved once. Long ago now, even to her T’Iea time clock it seemed such a long time ago. It was the happy times of which she thought. A time when she was so much younger in years and so much less burdened by the weight of knowledge and experience. She had the carefree thoughts of youth, oblivious to the trials of the world. Those times at home, in the T’Iea town of Ter’Fin’Ealle. She remembered herself as a young girl running through the thoroughfares high above the ground, the aromas of the markets, the coolness of swimming in the great river Ealle. She remembered the T’Iea houses, the flags, the bustle of T’Iea life. She remembered the artisan districts, the industriousness of artistry and knowledge. She remembered the chases through the streets, she had laughed at the names they called her, laughed at all of them for none could catch her. None that is except her father, street urchin he had called her. She frowned, but smiled when she remembered her people and the places of her youth, the times before her coming of age, her R’Golea’Foed.
She tried to remember her mother. But there was not much to cling to. Her mother was always away. She had been a T’Iea ranger, a hired mercenary in great demand. She did not seem to have the time for her daughter, she was always off on some mission or concerned with some other distraction. Her mother always seemed to have secrets. Serinae suspected something had happened in her mother’s past, something she would never speak about. Serinae remembered making a covenant with herself, how when she had children she would not spend time away. She smiled, for now she realised just how naive that was. Her mother and father were not close; they never hugged or showed any affection other than one of friendship, they seemed more like colleagues, like comrades than a married couple. But Serinae now knew the reason for that. Her father’s best friend H’Arad’Dunn had told her. On the day that he told of her father’s death. Yes, H’Arad’Dunn had told her. He said that his friendship and promise to her father stopped him saying anything before. But even then he hadn’t told her everything. The rest she had to find out for herself.
She remembered dark thoughts from that time. She remembered the day her father had left; so desperate was she to go with him, she had cried, begged him to reconsider, not to repeat the pain that she had felt every time her mother left. But her pleading had turned to anger at his stubborn refusing to take her with him. She did not want that parting, in her heart she knew it would end there; that farewell heralded the end of everything that she knew and loved. She knew her life would change at that moment. How, she did not understand, but she knew she would become something else and her life would never be the same again. Before he left her father had insisted on her attending the guilds of the rangers, he had told her it was her mother’s wish. He had given all that remained of her mother’s belongings to her. She remembered how they argued. She remembered afresh the pained expression upon his face at her angry words, she had hurt him. But even still he had gone with a wave of his hand. Her own hands were gripped in the vice-like hold of the ranger H’Arad’Dunn. She remembered struggling, crying, shouting, kicking out at the ranger, but his leather armour made it impossible for him to feel her wrath. She remembered the look on H’Arad’Dunn’s face as he appealed to his friend Na’Thernal, her father. H’Arad’Dunn did not want to do this, separate a child from a parent. H’Arad’Dunn had pleaded with her father to reconsider, but even his words fell upon deaf ears. With great pain Serinae remembered her and her father’s last words to each other, hurtful words full of anguish and sadness, tinged perhaps with frustration and anger. She remembered the remorse that followed, remembered the blackness as it filled her mind and her being.
But in the end she had taken the chest that contained what remained of her mother belongings, the chest with the strange sigil upon the lid, a star and a figure with raised hands. She had gone with H’Arad’Dunn to the guilds, perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of wanting to please her father, somehow make up for the ill feeling upon which they had departed. Perhaps she had gone even out of a sense of duty, for she knew that was what her mother had wanted for her.
But in the end the guilds, the same guilds where her mother had studied hinted at other things, her mother’s secret history. Neither her mother or her father were perhaps as they had seemed. There was a greater secret, one even her own mother had kept from her and one that Serinae even now could not be sure of the truth and answer to in sincerity. It was with some sadness that she now knew that those who knew the answers to these secrets had all passed now into the Maker’s halls, none now trod the world she could ask. But she also knew that because of this secret the guilds had almost turned her away, she felt outcast, she saw the abhorrent look in their faces, she was an abomination to their strict code, but at the time she could not understand and no one would tell her even if they knew. That secret would remain a blight upon her life for a long time yet.
But H’Arad’Dunn held a promise, one he was bound to fulfil, so he had risked all and sponsored he
r into the brotherhood of the guild, persuaded them that they owed this at least to the memory of her mother. Still to this day she did not know what that memory, or what form the debt of allegiance her mother had commanded took. Even H’Arad’Dunn who had fought alongside her mother, he probably knew her better than Serinae did, even he could not be persuaded to say. Serinae wiped moisture from her eye, she had probably treated H’Arad’Dunn badly, disrespectfully, she felt sorry for he was a kind soul and very patient through it all. But he did have high status in the guilds and eventually they relented. So it was the guilds became her family, her world, her master. But they never told her the real reason for their change of heart. It was almost as if they felt they owed her mother something. But however hard she had asked no one would say, not even H’Arad’Dunn. Serinae’s questions were always met with a wall of silence.
But in the end the guilds had saved her, although it was many years before she would acknowledge this fact. The discipline, the frustration and the trials of which she partook, all this filled her mind, made her forget. Or at least enabled her to push it to one side. The guilds had become her life; they provided an alternative, something to fill her mind. She had become determined, she found out the hard way that in the guilds you hardened your resolve and survived, or you rebelled and died. That was among the first things they had taught her, for there was no room for compromise, least of all for her.
So she had swallowed her pride, she had not rebelled, at least not then. Through sheer determination she had become good, very good. She had to be for the demands placed upon her were greater than for any other it seemed. She had surpassed herself and the training of her masters. She had forced herself to change, forced herself to prove that she, yes even she, was better than them. They tested her further than most, when they asked others to jump, she had to jump higher. They almost wanted her to fail. How she had hated them, how she had hardened her heart to them. Those feelings in themselves were strange, other T’Iea did not seem to harbour such blackness within their hearts, it had made her feel guilty, dirty. But then she discovered something, something that changed her life dramatically. She found out that they feared her. They feared something within her. That knowledge kept her going, kept her focused, so she both survived and partly died for she lost something of herself in the process.
When she was told of her father’s death, she had brushed it aside as confirmation that she had been right all along. She refused to show any remorse or grief at his passing. Instead she had thrown herself into her studies and disciplines like never before. Her father had demanded something from her, not just to become a ranger like her mother, but to become something more, as if there was an unvoiced expectation of her. So she had determined to be the best, she would show him, she would show them all. To her young mind it felt like her way of showing that her blood could surpass their expectations, she would make her own demands upon herself, greater demands than they had made upon her and at the same time through her own endeavors, she would somehow free herself from her mother’s secrets and her father’s desertion. She smiled at her recollection that day long ago when it had first occurred to her, their fear of her. She smiled like she had done that day remembering how she meant to give good reason for them to do so.
So, she had mastered all the trials, anything that they threw at her, she mastered it all. She mastered them all. They could do no more, she surpassed their knowledge. Even Tezrin and H’Arad’Dunn and the other survivors. Even the others who had failed, and even died in the process. D’Fuht’Dhren, G’Endhrel and her best friend Shai’O’Nea. Three lives full of promise now ended. But none of them could match her skills. She won every time and she ended up rewriting the rules. Oh how the guild masters did not like that, they said it was bad blood in her veins, they said she was much like her mother. They said she was tainted, her blood was poisoned. She had laughed at them, she joked that her blood was more than bad, it was lethal!
But then another chapter in her life presented itself. As soon as she had passed the final trials the guilds sent her to be with the Grûndén people. She knew the guilds were relieved to be rid of her and they did not expect her to return. She had been sent as a hired mercenary, to hunt, to spy, to report to the Grûndén king, even to kill for him, to be his private assassin. She had done it, all of it, she had excelled at it. It had taught her much, made her who she was. She had lived with the Grûndén for an age, she found she liked those people, they did not have an opinion of her, did not make any demands of her, other than what they wished from her professionally. She made many good friends amongst the Grûndén. But there still remained something missing to her, something inside, a void she could not fill, a missing part of her being.
She travelled widely. But then something completely unexpected happened. She found the Maker was calling her. At first she took no notice, but he was persistent. His still small voice kept calling her however hard she tried to shut it out. So eventually she had relented, gone in search of answers, studied for a while with the human monks. Learned their lifestyle, and more importantly their faith. Her time with them had a profound effect, opened her mind, changed her views on everything, gave her a balanced understanding. Perhaps she would have gone mad if it wasn’t for those spiritual men, hidden from society. Through them she felt she understood her parents better, or began to. But through all of it she had come to understand who she was, regardless of her heritage, who Serinae truly was. The Maker had kept her sanity, kept her from her darkest thoughts. To her delight he provided answers, for the first time in her life she began to understand peace. The Maker remained faithful, answered her prayers. Just in time to, for when H’Arad’Dunn told her the truth about her parentage she needed the Maker’s support and love to stop her from going mad.
She shook her head and thought of all the major events of her long life, the things that had led her to this place. The good and the bad. One event she did not dwell on though. That single thing, out of all the events she regretted and felt a deep sadness for. She had killed many times; she had trained to do it, yet she had learnt never to kill without good reason. To kill without reason was a dark path, a path to real death, the death of the spirit. She regretted every last gasping breath due to her sword, every sigh of passing, she had prayed for them all. None so much as the death she dealt on the last occasion. It was probably the most necessary out of all the things she had done, perhaps for many reasons. It could have been the most rewarding act if she was the type to feed upon revenge, yet to her it was the saddest of acts, one she may have perhaps given her own life to avoid. It remained the one single thing that gave her the deepest sorrow.
She sighed. She would not let the past cloud her thoughts, not let the past dampen her vigor. The past was done; it could not be changed in any way, shape or form. The past was best left just that, the past. It was the future that mattered and she must keep focused upon it.
She took in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Upon the table in front of her was the seeing stone given to her many years ago now. She smiled at the negotiated war of words she had fought with the powers that be in this place to gain possession of it. It was a communication device; it did not rely upon any known laws of science, for it was not bound by time and space. Distance was no object, or if it was, then the device somehow shortened distance so that it was incredibly small, even if in a metaphysical sense it was very large. She stared at the swirling energy within, wondered what it was she was looking at. She looked at the golden plinth on which the stone stood. The casting was ornate, depictions of trees and flowers adorned its surface. She thought of the woods, the forests, of the world. All so close and yet, so far away. The seeing stone was a window, at least that was the best way she could understand its use. A porthole that allowed her to see through into another place but in the absence of another seeing stone, something else had to be there in that other place, something that had the ability to span both time and space. That had been easy. Her quiver, it was designed long
ago using a similar knowledge as the seeing stone she supposed, for it proved to be the perfect platform for communication across the void. It allowed her voice, her image to be projected, but it would not allow her to step physically through, something else was needed to accomplish that. It allowed an image of her, a copy perhaps projected into the place on the other side. A bit like the way it replicated arrows placed within it. She had plenty of time here to experiment, to find out exactly what the seeing stone would allow, what they would allow.
She had made some startling discoveries, many of which had challenged the way she thought, changed her very beliefs. The ancient fathers knew of these things. The seeing stones could also be imprinted with a message, they used the term ‘a recording’, the seeing stone would hold this recording forever if necessary. It could be recalled many times but only by one who knew how to access the recorded message, or who was given the privilege to do so. She recalled a room, a dining room in fact, long ago in a house she knew very well. She and her companions had sat around the banquet table. Her friend and ally, the eastern man Teouso had unraveled a puzzle that her old friend Solin could not, even with all her academic knowledge, for Solin had not been able to make head or tail of it. Teouso had understood somehow, unlocked the door and they had watched a projected image, a recording made by the ancient fathers long ago, a recording set into a seeing stone not unlike the one that now stood upon the table in front of her. This recording had, along with other events, set them on a course that had resulted in Serinae being here. She sighed; it had perhaps been a mistake, a selfish fulfilment of a life-long desire, even the selfish desire for a reward for her labours. She smiled, she now understood the joke, she should have known better.
The ancient fathers also used the seeing stones to project images of themselves for various reasons. Using these seeing stones the they could project ghostly visages of themselves anywhere they wished and communicate over vast distances, communicate even though they couldn’t be in the same room as each other, not even in the same time or space. They had a map, a vast map, so vast it covered infinite areas of the outer void. Navigation across this map was accomplished using beacons. Similar to the one that Serinae had helped put right after the T’Iea’Neat’Thegoran, the Dark T’Iea, had tried to sabotage. The ancient fathers great beacon machines that mapped the universe.
She had mastered the fundamentals, but she was no expert. Yet she had been moderately successful on a handful of occasions. She found it was easier to connect to places that she had actually physically visited for some reason, perhaps some residue of her remained in those places, or more than likely the memory in her own mind made it easier. This combined with her quiver allowed her some success. The quiver was crafted with connections of its own to which she could more easily use. The only problem now was that she no longer knew for sure where in the world her quiver was precisely. It was certainly no longer with Nar’Allia. But perhaps it would be soon if all went to plan.
Still she waited, she leant back in her chair, held both her hands clasped in her lap.
Perhaps she thought things would be different now if she had not made such a reckless and selfish decision. Followed what she had thought at the time to be the Maker’s spirits through the portal. But, she smiled; perhaps this was the will of the Maker, Eny’Nin’Rel – The God of all. She knew he gave her, gave all of them, free will, he wanted them to make their own decisions, he loved each of them that much. He also loved them enough not to interfere, so for the most part those decisions made by her stood, accepted in the eyes of the Maker, right or wrong. Perhaps he would make the best of her decisions regardless of whether they proved to be good ones or bad.
When she had first arrived, she had stood aghast at the ancient father’s technology. Never in her wildest dreams could she have thought up such a place as this, she wondered if she would ever understand even the merest fraction of it, but the realisation that once long ago her people had been part of all this, well it made her head ache trying to understand it all. She had glimpsed the technology before, she had seen first-hand the great machine that she herself with the help of Minervar and the others had put to rights. The elder races had help build and create it as they had done countless times before. For this machine was one of many such machines, possibly millions of them that interconnected across the galaxy and across the greater universe of the voids and across time. She had learnt much during her visit here, but possibly not understood as much as she liked, for a lot of what she learned she had to take for granted, take as read, for some things went beyond her limited intellect.
It had taken a long time, but her teachers had been patient. After all they had all the time in the world, for they were, visions, creations of this place for it had the ability to replicate information it was given, it replicated people, individual details of whom it retained knowledge of. The real living, flesh and blood personas had long since gone, never to return, possibly even long dead. Why, Serinae didn’t know, the recording of those events did not reside here, she suspected that even this place did not know the eventual fate of its former occupants. Some things were destined to remain a mystery it seemed. Back where she had come from Serinae had quite regularly seen the ancient father’s ghostly images, although back then she believed them to be something totally different from that which they actually now proved to be. She thought them spirits of a different kind; spirits sent by the Father of All to guide her, perhaps they were, in a way.
She waited; it should be soon now if her plans had worked in the way that she intended. For she knew that her message had gotten through eventually. The quiver was at last on its way back. At least she hoped.
She knew that a great and ancient intelligence resided here, all this technological marvel was still undertaking its former masters will even though they had long since departed, never perhaps to return. What surrounded her had its own intelligence, it was able to make decisions, able to plan, to adapt. Even perhaps to understand emotions, to a degree. The intelligence within this place had invited her here, it had its reasons she was sure, but why her? Perhaps it was grateful for their saving the great machine, perhaps she was invited here to understand, to learn. There was one thing however that she found most perplexing, she had sat at one of the screens in the library and instigated a search on her family name, the library came back with the most unexpected response:
***Information classified at this time***
Her curiosity raised she had input the names of those she knew, some names, especially the ones from her childhood resulted in a similar message. Others resulted in the library reporting: