Welcome Home (Alternate Worlds Book 3)

by Leigh, Taylor

  Reginald stopped. ‘What d’you mean?’

  Andrew stepped closer to the king, close as he felt comfortable. ‘What are the most ancient myths you can think of pertaining to this planet?’

  Reginald raised his shoulders in a shrug, causing his robe to rustle about him. ‘Dunno, never really paid much attention to that rot. I guess the oldest stories are on creation. There were stories about gods coming from the sky. They came here and kind of set things up, you know, taught our ancestors things, how to build; got us out of the caves.’

  Andrew nodded slowly, fighting back an excited chill. ‘An advanced species. Did they live among you? In the stories?’

  Reginald shrugged again. ‘Yeah. Supposedly they stayed for a while, then just left.’

  Andrew mulled over that, striding to the window. He stared out, towards the crater smouldering in the shadow of the mountain. ‘I know it perhaps sounds…impossible, but from what I can gather, that structure buried out there in the desert does not…fit…with the rest of this world.’

  Reginald turned to stare at him. ‘You can’t be serious! How could you, a stranger, possibly know that after so short a time? You’re no expert in our ruins, and you’ve hardly had any time to study them!’

  Andrew fixed him with what he considered his most icy stare. ‘Because, Your Highness, I’m observant, I look for things, and I’m not from here. I have an objective view to what you might otherwise be blinded to. Victoria has seen it, as well. The language covering the entrance is alien, as is the matter it is made of. As difficult as it is to believe, it’s something we have to consider. It’s not of this world.’ He dropped the stone shavings he’d collected to the desk. ‘Look at this! Does this fit in a world of red stone and sand?’

  Reginald sighed heavily, turning the bits over. ‘Believe me, mate, it’s not as hard to accept as you might think.’

  Andrew tilted his head to one side. ‘Oh?’

  Reginald leant against his desk and crossed his arms across his broad chest. ‘Yeah, this past year, I’ve kinda had my whole view on life changed. Didn’t really want to think about it, but there’s a lot more out there then I ever imagined. Lot more than just us. If there’s another species that came here and built stuff, it wouldn’t be a first. When I was hiding out in the swamps last year I saw plenty of abandoned contraptions. The Denizens are very inventive. D’you think it could be their work?’

  Andrew took in Reginald’s words slowly. Their very conversation should have been mental, yet here they both were, having a serious discussion about alien visitors. He felt a thin, grim smile start to pull at his lips. Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to accept after all, that was what he was, in a sense. An alien visitor.

  ‘It is difficult to say,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve only seen the entrance. But it appears too advanced. I need to study the Denizens’ technology more carefully, to be sure; perhaps if you know of a trustful…being I can work with?’

  Reginald nodded. ‘Yeah, I know of one.’

  ‘No Myrmidons,’ Andrew found himself saying before he could stop himself.

  Reginald glanced over at him. ‘Oh? Found out about them, have you?’

  Andrew didn’t meet the king’s eyes. ‘Little difficult not to. They were our welcoming party, one could say.’

  Reginald’s nose twitched. ‘Well, no real surprise there. Since the end of the Denizens’ persecution they’ve sort of taken up the role as most popular religion. They’re a weird lot but haven’t caused much trouble. They know more than most. Historians, scholars, all that rot. Probably the best help you could gather. Gods know they’ve helped me. But if you’d rather not, I won’t argue…’

  He frowned hard at Andrew, as if trying to decide if he should ask something or not. Andrew could see the indecisiveness working on his face. He could see everything else as well. The slight nick on his throat from where he’d cut himself shaving; the ink stain on the fingers of his dominant hand—his left; the oversized, threadbare robe—most likely his father’s, borrowed because he hadn’t had time to have anything tailored of his own. Reginald hadn’t slept for two—no, three, nights and he hadn’t yet eaten.

  Andrew could have gone on, but he forced himself to stop there before he worked himself up.

  ‘Look,’ Reginald finally said after a moment, deciding—smartly—to confide in him, ‘I don’t know why I should let you do this, besides the fact Victoria trusts you. But I want you to be in charge. You seem to be level-headed. I want you and Victoria to investigate. You work well together. I’ll find a trusted team to assist you. Keep it completely secret and report only to me. Once you’ve got a clear view of what this thing is, then we’ll decide where we should go.’

  Andrew nodded slowly, not wanting his satisfaction to show. ‘A wise decision. I will begin preparations at once.’ He dropped a leather notebook to the table between them. ‘I’ve come up with some preliminary sketches on a possible system to harness the steam and gas on this world. There is a vent near this structure. We can use the capping and channelling of it as cover. Kill two birds with one stone.’

  Reginald flipped through the book, expression unfathomable. ‘I’ll set the forges to work on these pipes at once.’

  Andrew bowed. ‘Very good, sir.’ He spun for the door.

  ‘O’Neill,’ Reginald’s voice snapped, suddenly very firm. ‘Don’t leave me in the dark on this, understood?’

  Andrew mentally snarled. Being ordered about never sat well with him. People less clever than him having their say over his life was an affront to nature. As far as Andrew was concerned, he answered to no-one but the highest, most important power available. And that power was himself.

  With some effort he managed to force out, ‘Understood.’

  And with that he spun on his heel and marched from the room.

  * * * * *

  Tollin felt as if he’d been going down stairs for ever. Perhaps he had. With neither stars nor sun to mark the time, he had no way of truly knowing. He had a rather good internal clock, but that seemed to have abandoned him as well. Logically, he couldn’t have been walking for ever, since the drop hadn’t been that far, but the monotonous winding round and round the tower was disorientating.

  Below him was nothing but white clouds and darkness.

  It was a desolate, lonely place. A prison, perhaps? A long-dead Realm? It certainly must be, for Tollin had seen no signs of life and couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live in such a place unless forced.

  The slick, steep, glassy steps forced his pace to be quick. Tollin had to keep his head, and his footing. One wrong move and off he’d go, straight into the clouds below. Not an appealing prospect.

  Tollin rounded the next bend near full-tilt run and spotted below him a jagged gap in the stairs. A section was missing, by the looks of things, long ago broken clear by some powerful force. He bit his lip and stuck out his right hand, brushing it along the wall to find some handhold to slow his rapid approach towards the yawning fissure. In growing alarm he locked up his long legs, trying to fight the momentum which was now hurtling him forward towards the breach.

  His fingers at last snagged round a crystal jutting from the wall and pulled himself up short, nearly yanking his arm from its socket. He had a pause; then, cautiously, Tollin hopped down the last few steps till he arrived at the gap.

  ‘Tollin…’

  He spun round, eyes darting wildly. He knew that voice. It was distant, distorted, but he would have known it anywhere. His one constant companion. His golden, glowing beauty. His Guide.

  ‘Hello?’ he called out to the emptiness.

  Nothing but silence met him.

  Wherever the Guide was, she wasn’t near enough to reach him. It had been a growing problem over the last five-hundred years. It was as if they were on different frequencies now, only catching each other in passing. Randomly.

  With some reluctance he cast his gaze to the break before him. The drop was dizzyingly far, with no sign of a bottom, what
with that white fog. Yet without much choice but to go on, Tollin bent his knees and jumped across and landed—wobbling—several stairs below.

  His shoes scraping against the glassy stairs echoed about too loudly in the otherwise absence of sound. It was disheartening to consider. No sound meant no life. No life meant, well, no survival.

  Desperately he stopped his loud thoughts and strained his ears for anything other than his breathing. Anything to let him know he wasn’t completely alone.

  Gradually, he heard it: a soft music. Not human; not organic. It carried no words, just a steady musical hum which ran on and on with a constant vibration of highs and lows. It was a beautiful—if untamed—sound, winding up the stair. No, through the stair? He pressed his hand to the wall and felt it pulsing beneath his touch, jumping from crystal to crystal. Curiosity quickened his pace, his fingers tracing over the wall.

  The crystals were humming!

  Tollin let out a delighted laugh. The crystals in this Realm were their own symphony! Brilliant! All right, it wasn’t life, but well, it was something.

  He became aware of his toes growing cold and glanced down. Clouds lapped at his shoes. He’d reached the milky ocean.

  ‘Tollin…’

  He paused. ‘Where are you?’

  Nothing. Disappointment gnawed at him.

  Without much else for it, he took to the stairs again, letting the white clouds swallow him. It was blinding for a moment and he was lost in utter cold whiteness. He wasn’t used to the crippling of his senses and a paranoid, nervous, almost animalistic prickling chased its way up his spine. He fought it down and focused on that of his shoes continuing to hit the now invisible stairs and the moisture which peppered his skin and sent his hair drooping—that and praying there would be no more missing steps.

  Several invisible flights down the clouds abruptly ended and Tollin was deposited at the foot of the tower. Before him ran a vast, if pitted, chamber, complete with crumbling grey pillars and carved walls. Along the left edge the wall was broken away, letting in the void.

  Well, there were the signs of civilisation he’d hoped for, yet there was no-one in sight. It was disappointing. Whatever had happened here, the people were long gone. Disease, war, exodus, famine, he didn’t know.

  He had to admit: it was a slightly eerie feeling.

  Being the lone living thing was not at all comforting.

  ‘All alone my own private island.’ He gazed around thoughtfully. ‘Bit grim. Hope they’ve left refreshments…’ Yes. No food or water was going to be a problem.

  Tollin slunk further into the cavernous room, nerves alert. He went to sniffing, trying to find anything wrong with the air. If there was a plague on this world he could be in trouble. Tollin was immune to quite a bit more than most, but that didn’t make him invincible.

  The air had a tangy quality to it. Sharp, with a hint of ozone. Something almost charged or sterile…nothing really nefarious that he could catch. Yet there was something there…something tinged beneath it all.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Tollin swung around, ready for a fight or friendship, nerves jumping.

  He was faced with a strange fellow who owned a long, wan face, watching him with hooded eyes. Hair that matched his skin hung in a limp plait down his skull; he looked quite tall, but was hunched from his position atop a crystal. Tollin supposed the man must be humanoid, but he couldn’t place what species, for his frame was so worn and unremarkable.

  ‘Hullo! I’m Tollin; didn’t see you there.’ He flashed a charming smile.

  The man did not return it. ‘Are you a Realm-Jumper?’

  ‘Ah.’ Tollin’s brain ticked through reasons he’d want a Jumper.

  He could be imprisoned here, either accidentally, or on purpose. That was a worrisome thought. Or, perhaps the man could be the one living product of the Realm; some strange species evolved from whatever circumstances this Realm offered.

  It was difficult to know what his response should be. He decided to be somewhat truthful. ‘Well, no, I’m not. Sorry.’

  ‘How could you have possibly arrived?’ The creature scowled. ‘You were sent here? From the Time Realm?’

  Tollin hesitated. Something screamed in him. Lie. He swallowed. ‘Time Realm? I’m afraid not…piece of jumping technology that backfired. One jump only I’m afraid.’

  ‘Pity,’ the man said in a low drone of a voice. ‘You woke me from my sleep pointlessly.’ He paused. ‘If you need a name you may call me by Craven, for that is the name I’ve taken.’ He swung down from his perch.

  Craven? Not the best of names to take.

  Craven straightened; Tollin noticed the man’s once expensive clothing was long past to falling to threads. ‘No way out. Welcome to Solvareta. Otherwise known as the Prison of Gods.’

  Tollin went a little more stiff. ‘Prison? Are there any others? This palace…’ What he really wanted to ask was what Craven was here for. Murder? Cannibal? Some mad genius, much like himself?

  ‘Prisoner, yes. Others….no.’

  Tollin puckered his lips, quite honestly wanting nothing more than to be free of this man. He sidestepped as casually away as possible as the man reached for his coat. ‘So…why are you here, then?’

  Craven sighed heavily. ‘I have always been here.’

  ‘I see.’

  A silence followed.

  Tollin wracked his brain for something to say. He felt on dangerous ground. ‘You mentioned a Time Realm? Do you know of a control panel, possibly? Some type of...’ He glanced round at the millions of crystals about them. ‘Crystal transmitter? Maybe I could have a look at it.’

  Craven stared at him for a long moment with those disturbing, unblinking eyes, to the point where Tollin doubted he’d remembered the question. At last: ‘Ah, yes. I know to what you refer…But it is technology beyond your scope, boy.’ He started off with a liquid, slinking gait. ‘Follow me.’

  Tollin hesitantly trailed after. As he went, he puzzled over the meaning of the place. Was this just some small part of a giant Realm? Or was it a self-contained Bubble-Realm of some sort? That certainly was more logical if this was, indeed, a prison.

  He still couldn’t get a sense of direction and it turned his head around.

  Craven slipped down another narrow set of stairs and Tollin hurried to keep up. The air was cool against his skin, promising to drop much further. There was little encouragement, since so far he hadn’t seen much sign of shelter—despite the draughty stone chambers. What did one eat here? What did one drink? Tollin swallowed despite himself. He could go for an impressively long time without sleep or food, but water…water was important.

  He ducked below a low jutting crystal and stopped dead. The stairs ended suddenly, and before him stretched another black void. Running out directly from the stairs—which Craven was now crossing—was a thin, arching bridge, spanning the expanse towards the distant side.

  Craven made it to the opposite end and disappeared once again into shadow. Tollin, without much thought, stepped to the bridge and looked down. His breath caught in his throat.

  Below, stretching out as far as he could see, was a shining ocean of blue. Not liquid, no, this was something else…something strange. Great turquoise rays and loops of light burst from the balled water, winding in a lazy, smoky way.

  And then Tollin suddenly realised what he was looking at: some type of strange, cold star which stretched on as massive as a sea.

  Unfortunately no heat burst from its surface, yet Tollin could feel ancient, drawing power that radiated up. This star had been here a very, very long time. Perhaps it had been created old; an intentional dying Realm.

  The thought made him sad. A world with its potential stolen away from it by some more powerful entity.

  Not unlike himself. Old, childhood stolen away, forced to carry on with a battle he didn’t want to fight. No. Falling into morose thoughts about his existence was beneath him.

  The dark was momentarily lit as lightning
flashed over the broken surface of the palace ahead. It shouldn’t have unnerved him, yet it did.

  He hurried after Craven, back into the shadows.

  As he went, Tollin ran the situation through his head: So, he was in an old, stone castle orbiting a cold, dying star. It must be some small satellite, complete with its own atmosphere and weather. He hoped lightning promised rain. Food, however, still was yet to be seen.

  Finally, he rounded a corner, heading the only possible way Craven could have gone, and was met with vast, starless space.

  One wall had been knocked clear, now floating through the misty darkness like small moons. A crystal chandelier swung from the jagged ceiling and a crumbling, glassy table divided the room. Strange carvings, similar to those in the Time Realm, marred the walls, so old and worn they were indistinguishable.

  Tollin strained to picture it as bright and whole. He listened for the ghostly echoes of long gone courtiers.

  The place was too old.

  The ghosts had long since passed.

  Tollin spun round in a tight circle. ‘So? Where is it, then?’

  Craven lifted a long, crooked. ‘Out there.’

  Tollin shifted his gaze to beyond before cautiously taking a step nearer to the edge and looking down. Nothing but the blue sun and the void.

  Across from him were the small, floating islands of rock—the remnants of the room—floating about in a gapped, broken trail. At the far end of this dotted trail was yet another island, much smaller.

  It was two levels, connected only by a great pillar—clearly once the outer part of the castle: a balcony and its roof.

  And there, on the lower level of the island— bobbing far and inaccessible—was the crystal transmitter. Even at the distance Tollin was, his sharp eyes could see all-too clearly what he didn’t want to see. It was damaged to what looked irreparable.

  Tollin groaned.