Beyong the Moons tcc-1

by David Cook

  “It looks very quiet,” the giff announced. Teldin could already see that, and he moved to head down the trail. The farmer was brought up short when Gomja laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “But there might be hidden scouts. Shall I go out and see?” The giff stood, ready to go.

  Teldin checked his first impulse to give approval. It was his farm, he decided, and he wasn’t going to hide behind a seven-foot-tall walking hippopotamus. It grated against his pride. Besides, as he looked up into the big creature’s dark eyes, Teldin again didn’t trust his companion. The problem was that he still didn’t trust the giff at his back either. Maybe the giff had saved his life, but the yeoman still remembered how they had met. “You stay,” Teldin ultimately chose, letting pride win out. “I’ll go. If I signal, then everything should be safe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gomja said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

  Staying along the tree line, Teldin loped down to the Penumbra’s debris. The morning sun gave the wreckage the feeling of a majestic ruin left over from the days before the Cataclysm had shattered Ansalon. Fire-scarred and broken pieces suggested great age in the same way as the moldering halls of the High Clerist’s Tower near Palanthas. The crushed cabin beneath the Penumbra's bow broke the illusion, reminding Teldin of the things he had lost. Near enough now to see the details of the ship, Teldin scouted quickly for any sign of the creatures from the night before. All seemed peaceful. Even the songbirds had begun to sing again. Teldin waved an “all clear” to Gomja, though he was uncertain whether the giff would appear. The big alien quickly strode into the clearing, shoving the knife into his sash. Perhaps, Teldin speculated, the giff could be trusted.

  “They’re gone!” Teldir shouted. He settled down at the base of a tree and stabbed the cutlass into the earth beside him. He felt giddy, the burden of fear suddenly lifted. It was an irrational impulse given the horrors of the night, but still he could not help the feeling. Teldin adjusted the cloak and leaned against the tree, relishing for a few seconds the feeling of peace.

  Trooper Gomja slowly walked down to join the human, warily circling the ship’s remains before he settled down. “They are gone."

  “Thank the gods,” Teldin added, slightly vexed that the giff did not seem to believe him.

  “Perhaps.” Gomja looked toward the wreck. “The neogi dug up the graves. The bodies are gone." The giffs voice was cold and unfeeling.

  Teldin’s good feeling collapsed inside him as a surge of dread replaced it. “The graves? They dug them up? Why?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know anything!” Gomja bellowed. He turned his broad face, twisted with a snarl, on the startled human. Exhaustion finally broke the giffs strict discipline, releasing a wave of rage and frustration. “They kill things. They kill everything. I’m just a trooper, not an expert on neogi! They’ve killed my captain, they’ve killed my friends, and I didn’t even die fighting them like a true giff!”

  Teldin sat stunned by the huge creature’s outburst. Only a few moments before, Teldin was ready to trust the creature, but in this instant he felt no such security. Teldin glanced at the cutlass jammed into the earth and slowly slid his hand toward the weapon. The giffs savage tone dispelled any of Teldin’s illusions concerning the creature’s peaceful nature.

  Before the human could reply, Trooper Gomja wheeled away. The giffs shoulders shook as he strode through the wreckage, giving a few well-placed kicks to the loose wood in his path. Teldin sagged back, exhaling the breath he had held since the beginning of the creature’s tirade. He felt anger and relief all at once. At least, Teldin mused, giff are like humans in some ways. They both need to blow off steam.

  There were noises from Gomja rummaging through the wreckage, and although Teldin knew he should see what the giff was up to, he felt it was much wiser to give the big creature some privacy. He needed some for himself, too. Teldin basked in the sun and deliberately tried not to think. It didn’t work; grief and sorrow came over him and sitting alone only highlighted the pain. He cursed himself for his weakness, for killing Liam and his family.

  A regular beating noise, like stone whacking stone, roused the farmer. At first he thought it might be the drumming of a woodland grouse, but he quickly discarded that notion. Nearby was Gomja, beating at something with a heavy stone. A concerned Teldin strolled over, trying his best to look casual about the giffs activities. He did not care to trigger another of the alien’s tantrums.

  The giff was crouched over a chest, the one Liam had found the day before, and was hammering at the lid with a big stone held in his two hands. The trooper was intent on his work and did not notice Teldin coming up behind him.

  “Trooper Gomja,” Teldin said softly but firmly, “what are you doing?”

  The startled giff dropped the rock at Teldin’s words. He scuttled around, his face dark purple with embarrassment. “I was just trying to open it, sir. There may be useful things inside.” From the way the giff sounded, Teldin was reminded of the time his father had caught him playing with his grandfather’s sword. Teldin could understand the giffs curiosity, but, all the same, he had to scowl disapprovingly. The giff looked contrite, his ears and jowls drooping.

  Asharp reply hung on Teldin’s tongue, but he held it back. The chest was a distraction and one they both obviously needed. “Go ahead then,” the human ordered, watching from over the giffs broad shoulder.

  After the battering Trooper Gomja had already given it, the chest was not difficult to open. One of the hinges was sprung and it only took a little prying with his dagger to work the other loose. Gomja pulled the entire lid off, then easily tossed it aside and carefully began removing the contents. Teldin watched interestedly over the giff’s shoulder. The chest held mostly books and papers. As the trooper pulled them out, Teldin made a stack of the thick, bound volumes. They looked like old ship’s logs, packed away for safekeeping. Pressed between them were folded sheets of heavy linen paper. Teldin opened one to find that it was a large sheet covered with symbols, diagrams, and notes in a strange language. The farmer held it up for Gomja to see.

  “Rudders-star charts, I think,” the giff answered after a brief look, “for navigating. The captain had many of these.”

  “These aren’t charts for any stars over Krynn. Where’s the Balance or Paladine?” Teldin commented as he studied the symbols, trying to match them to the positions of the constellations he knew.

  “It is probably for a different sphere, not yours.” Gomja looked at the chart that Teldin held in front of him.

  “Sphere?” Teldin asked, cocking his head slightly toward the giff.

  Gomja struggled to explain. Navigation and charts were clearly not his strong suits. “There are other worlds like this one, but different. These are spheres.”

  “You mean like Solinari or the other moons.” Teldin thought he understood.

  “No, sir,” Gomja corrected, unconsciously addressing Teldin as his superior. “The spheres hold moons, worlds, even stars.

  “So you come from another sphere?” Teldin asked the giff.

  “Yes, sir."

  Comes from the Abyss, more likely, Teldin thought. Yet the gift’s explanation seemed to make sense. Certainly Teldin, in all his travels, had never seen or heard of anything that resembled a giff. “Grandfather always wondered if there was something out in the night sky, beyond the moons. Maybe he was right.” His grandfather, Halev, had shown Teldin there was more to the world than just the farm, and maybe there was more than even his grandfather knew. Teldin’s father never did understand that or any of Teldin’s other dreams. Amdar had no time for dreams. That was one of the reasons Teldin had run away to fight in the war.

  “Let’s finish this,” Teldin decided, breaking out of the coil of his memories.

  The giff returned his attention to emptying the chest. Out came more books and papers, then a layer of clothing. Teldin held up a shirt, clearly too small for his lanky frame. It was richly made with silken fabric and gold embroide
ry. Teldin carefully folded the shirt and set it aside.

  The last things in the chest were three bags and a long, leather-wrapped bundle. Two of the bags were rather large. Teldin opened the first sack, only to find it contained a dirty white powder. The second was equally disappointing, containing a coarse gray powder. The third pouch was no better, for it held nothing but lead marbles. Carefully undoing the thongs on the leather bundle, Teldin unwrapped two short, curved sticks, bound in metal and each fitted with a tube. Strange mechanisms protruded from the sides. They had the same general look of the stick Gomja had threatened him with the night the Penumbra had crashed.

  “By the blessing of the Great Captain,” Gomja huskily breathed, “he has remembered me!” He slid closer. Even on his knees the giff was not a small person.

  Teldin picked one of the tubes up and examined it. He shook it and heard something rattle. He looked into the tube, but it was dark. A short metal rod fell out. The mechanisms on the side seemed to move stiffly, and one of them held a small piece of flint. Teldin tried to hold the stick the way he remembered Gomja holding it. Pointing the tube toward the giff, he demanded, “What is it?”

  Gomja stepped out of the direct line of the barrel. “It is a pistol. May I have it?”

  “Pis-tol? Last night, you pointed this at me and it exploded. Why?” Teldin made no effort to hide his suspicion.

  The giff bit at his lip, a comical sight for one so heavily jowled. “I thought you meant harm to my captain.”

  “So this is a weapon, isn’t it?”

  The giff nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Gnomish work,” Teldin speculated as he turned the pistol over and over in his hands. The gnomes were notorious inventors and tinkerers, equally notorious for their inventions’ spectacular failures. “Must be, from the way it blew up. For now, I’ll keep them,” Teldin told the giff as he wrapped the bizarre weapons back up.

  “What about the bags?” the giff asked, trying to conceal his disappointment.

  For a moment, Teldin considered claiming those, too. He couldn’t fathom what their purpose was. “Wizard things,” Teldin guessed. “I say leave them, but you can take them if you want.” Magic was not something Teldin cared to dabble with. It was too dangerous, unpredictable, and even corrupting.

  The giff carefully took them up and checked to make sure the strings on each bag were tight. Satisfied, he tucked the bundles into the dirty orange folds of his sash. “Thank you, sir.”

  The giffs mammoth jaw opened in a huge yawn, exposing two rows of huge, blockish teeth.

  Teldin suppressed a bemused smile. “When did you last sleep?” the farmer asked. He felt somewhat rested while his companion looked far ftom soothed.

  “Two days, sir,” Gomja replied, closing his huge maw.

  Apparently, Teldin figured, being blasted unconscious by your own weapon didn’t count as sleep. “Then go get some rest,” Teldin gently said. Gomja opened his mouth to protest, but Teldin cut him off. “That was an order, Trooper Gomja,” he said firmly.

  The giff let out a big sigh. “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

  Teldin pointed to the shade of a big elm. “Right now- over there.” Gomja nodded and with no more protesting hauled himself into the cool gloom, where he fixed up a simple bed, using a root for a pillow. Within a few minutes, the leaves overhead were shaking from the giffs deep snores.

  His own worries momentarily put aside, Teldin leaned back against the tree. “Someone should stay on guard," he said to himself. He had barely finished the words before his own eyes shut and sleep again overtook him.

  Chapter Five

  Teldin awoke the next morning after a restless night of dark images that haunted his sleep. The dreams had roused him from slumber and left him sleepless in the dark. Teldin had stared into the night sky, tracing the paths of Krynn’s two visible moons, silvery smooth and featureless Solinart and the freckled red orb that was Lunitari. The world’s third moon, Nuitari, was invisible to all but the sinister wizards of the Black Robes. Each time Teldin drifted off to sleep he was wakened again when the frightful dreams returned.

  When the sun had risen, the dreams were mercifully banished. Only small memories remained, more sensations than images-those of a terrible pressure, then something tearing at his chest. Whatever he had dreamed, Teldin was thankful he did not fully remember it with the dawn.

  Sitting up on his bed of leaves and moss, the farmer brushed the dirt from his clothes and threw the cloak back over his shoulders. He looked ruefully at his shirt. The brown linen was scorched and stained, marked by large smears of dirt and blood. His cotton trousers were little better, marked by tatters and unraveling threads. Unfortunately, nearly all his other clothes had been lost in the blaze. The cloak, curiously enough, wasn’t stained at all.

  “Best to wash what I’ve got. Wouldn’t want my cousins to think me a beggar,” Teldin muttered.

  At the stream edge, Teldin kicked off his shoes and pulled down his trousers. His ankles and shins were scratched and scraped, and there were several new large bruises on his calves and thighs. No wonder he ached with every step. “Explains the bad sleep,” Teldin muttered crossly as he got ready to bathe.

  The cloak would have to come off before Teldin could remove his shirt, he reasoned. Up to now, he’d had no luck with the clasp, because it had jammed somehow. It was either that or it obviously didn’t work the way he thought. Sitting on a stone at the edge of the bank, Teldin pressed his chin down to his chest, trying to see the small silver chain that held the cloak around his neck. It was ornate workmanship. The fine links of chain ended in two small lion-headed clasps. At least, Teldin assumed they were lions. The silvery jaws gripped each other in an intricate death struggle, holding the chains shut.

  Teldin looked for a catch that would open the jaws. He tried pressing the eyes and nose, squeezing at the jaws, and pushing on the top of the head. Nothing happened. Stumped, he tried turning the heads. Perhaps they needed to be twisted in just some certain way, he thought.

  As Teldin fiddled with the clasp, a shadow fell over his shoulder. “Trouble, sir?” rumbled the giff, standing behind him.

  Teldin gave a sour look over his shoulder at the giff towering over him. Apparently the creature could move quietly. Teldin cautiously shifted around to put himself at less of a disadvantage. “It’s this clasp. I can’t seem to get it open, he grumbled. “Your captain ever take this off?”

  “She never wore it until the neogi appeared,” Gomja answered.

  “Hmm?” It wasn’t the answer Teldin had expected. He gave a yank on the chains, trying to pull the clasp apart. “How so?’’

  Trooper Gomja unwound his filthy sash. “I remember the captain went below when the neogi first appeared. She said she needed to get her advantage. She came back wearing the cloak.” The giff began unbuttoning his blouse.

  “Advantage?” The more Teldin learned, the more puzzled he became.

  “That is what she said.” The giff peeled off his uniform. “Besides, she must have been able to remove it. She gave it to you, didn’t she? You jammed it, sir.”

  Teldin doubted that greatly. The clasp did not look broken. He stared at the little eyes of the animal heads. “Is this thing magical, maybe?”

  Trooper Gomja looked up from pulling off his trousers. His ears twitched warily. “I don’t know. Never had much use for magical stuff,” he muttered. In a louder voice the giff continued, “Could be, I suppose. The captain seemed to think wearing it would help.” Trooper Gomja’s words were carefully chosen and guarded.

  Teldin chewed at his lip, vexed with the problem. He tried wiggling a fang. Nothing happened. “Did she? What’s it supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. sir. The captain never told me,” came the matter-of-fact answer. Naked, but unseen by Teldin’s occupied eyes, Trooper Gomja waded into the center of the stream and gingerly sat down in the cold water.

  “Well, did you see anything? Did your captain, or this cloak, do anything special
?” Teldin stood, his shirttail flapping against his bare legs.

  Gomja thought carefully. “Not that I saw, sir. It was just a cloak.” Scooping up a handful of sand from the bottom, the giff let the mud in it filter away. Trooper Gomja turned away and began scouring his blue-gray hide with clean grit.

  Teldin was not sure whether the giff really did not know or was carefully picking his answers so as not to reveal too much. All the same, he was not getting any answers. “Well, this is wonderful!” the farmer burst out in frustration. “I’ve got you, a cloak that might be magical-but I don’t know with what powers-and a bunch of creatures ready to kill for it! And I can’t even take this damn cloak off!” Infuriated, he yanked at the chain, trying to snap the silver clasp, but the fastening held. "And I can’t even take a bath!"

  Gomja watched silently from the center of the stream. He had stopped scrubbing, letting the sand flow out from between his thick fingers. “Why don’t you pull your shirt off over it?” he calmly suggested.

  Ready to start snarling, Teldin glared at the giff, then stopped. “Of course,” he said calmly, more to himself than to the giff, “pull my shirt off over a five-foot-long cloak. That shouldn’t be difficult. And every time I want to change my clothes, I can just do the same thing.” After a short struggle, Teldin emerged from the tussle of clothes, shirt in hand, cloak still around his neck. “It’s a good thing I don’t have to bathe too often,” he grumbled. The farmer finished pulling off his clothes and stood nearly naked on the bank. The cloak hung long down his back, lending an air of imperial, if ridiculous, dignity, to the bath. Teldin waded into the water, trying to keep the cloak dry. “Damn! I don’t want to go hiking with it soaking wet,” he muttered. The captain’s gift was becoming more and more of a curse every instant as he fumbled with the cascades of cloth, trying to wrap it around his shoulders or bundle it on top of his head.