Allith smiled and then strode into the milling crowd and started issuing orders.
Chapter 12
Personality drives action. It is, after all, how we think that causes us to move in one direction or another.
~ Awl
Echolone
ALLITH’S VILLAGE WAS called Still Pond Rock.
She explained all villages were named according to its featured natural landmark, and always with three words. Still Pond Rock perched beside a deep, tranquil and natural pond and, exactly in the centre, a strange rock formation pointed at the sky. It reminded of a unicorn.
Two Fork Tree apparently sported a giant tree that split in half centuries ago, and then there was Four River Crossing, Red Flower Hill, White Boulder Plain and so forth.
Caballa murmured it was romantic. Allith glanced at her, smiled and agreed.
Still Pond Rock was ablaze with night’s fires when they entered. The environmentalists were already in, clean and dry again, and subdued after having lost one of their own. The archaeologists sat despondent around a huge central fire pit; they had lost their purpose for being on Echolone. It was time to go home. A group of shamans sang quietly around a smaller fire to one side. Resident villagers laughed, drank and cooked the evening meal - a communal duty - upon a string of raised fires.
Beautiful, sturdy huts flickered in the firelight, beckoning welcome.
As they entered, Torrullin reached out to Lowen and sent her the co-ordinates, and was then taken by surprise when she and a Cèlaver male appeared before them immediately. Allith gave a small, shocked cry.
“Sorry. We didn’t mean to scare anyone.” Lowen looked them over. “By God, what happened to you?”
Torrullin said, “Tell you later. Lowen, this is Allith, civic leader. Allith, Lowen and …?”
Lowen shook the woman’s hand. “This is Carlin, a linguist.”
Carlin was like to all Cèlaver, human, but for the chitinous skullcap and pronounced spinal ridges. This one, mercifully, came robed; Cèlaver wore little in their humid habitat.
The linguist shook Allith’s hand and then bowed low before Torrullin. “My Lord, I am deeply honoured to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you. Allith has opened her father’s hearth to protect you.”
Carlin bowed to Allith. “I thank you, lady Allith.”
“Just Allith. I’m a village girl.”
As Lowen introduced Elianas, Cassy and Caballa, Allith led the way to a hut, which appeared to have sprouted from a tree. She preceded them inside. The tree took pride of place in the centre of a beautiful dwelling.
“This is my home,” she said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. There’s running water through there and a guest chamber there …” She smiled and retreated. “I must speak with my father.” She paused to add, “Carlin, we’ll have you installed by morning, and please, once you have refreshed, join us for the evening meal.”
She vanished through the open door.
“This is fantastic,” Caballa breathed. “I can do this back home.”
Bright rugs adorned a sturdy and polished wooden floor, and glorious landscapes led the eye through far vistas upon the walls. A beautiful chandelier hung from one side of the tree, filled with fat candles, while colourful lanterns swung from a raftered ceiling on the other side. One side was a kitchen, the other a comfortable sitting room with big, sprawling couches and hosts of scatter cushions.
Doors led off this central space. The guestroom had thick straw mattresses piled against one wall and could sleep eight or more. Another room was obviously Allith’s bedchamber and another contained a long table where various artistic projects were in progress. Painting, pottery, drying flowers, a half-completed rug. Her studio. The other was the bathroom. A natural stone shower boasted hot water, a carved wooden bowl served as basin and a wooden platform, with lid, was obviously a toilet. It smelled of flowers and herbs.
The women hogged the bathroom, while Torrullin and Elianas donned fresh clothes. They laid out mattresses, found warm eiderdowns and fluffy pillows and readied the beds for the night.
Carlin wandered, light blue eyes taking everything in avidly.
As they waited for the women on the most comfortable couches in the entire universe, Torrullin asked, “Carlin, are you familiar with glyphs?”
“Oh, indeed. I have studied Valleur glyphs, Egyptian, Aldari, Venusian, even Avior. Those are the big ones, but I have studied others also. Some have no race claim or it was lost a long time ago, and others are too obscure to count among the big five.”
“Study is one thing, but can you read them?”
“The big five certainly. The others - most. There are a few, however, where no translations were made.”
“Let us hope it is not one of those,” Elianas murmured. “I never knew there were people on Cèlaver.”
“In, not on,” Carlin grinned, and launched into a succinct account of Cèlaver history.
THE BIG FIRE died to glowing embers.
In honour of Elixir, everyone crowded around it to eat, to talk, to laugh and to drink. The archaeologists, the greeners, the shamans, the villagers, Allith and her father all squeezed in, along with the six newcomers. Food came first - and it was outstanding - and shouted introductions, a potent brew was next, and then more serious talk.
The environmentalists, in the form of a serious young woman, laid claim first.
“My Lord Elixir, everyone knows you prefer the older ways to a technological society, but does that extend to mining and the like?”
“I am against it and I do not care who knows it. Beacon was denied Valaris because we refused to allow them to exploit us.”
The woman smiled. “Are there minerals?”
“Yes, but they do not know that.”
She grinned. “You lied to them?”
“Absolutely.”
She laughed. “What do we do here?”
“There will be a meeting in three days. We shall find a workable solution.”
Another greener spoke. “It’s a truth technology requires the metals mining uncovers.”
Torrullin nodded. “More worlds use technology than don’t. Fact is, we cannot completely stop mining and industry, for those of us satisfied with the simple life are by far the minority. However, if we do not fight exploitation, we lose even the simple ways.”
“You will make this clear at the meeting?”
“Yes,” Torrullin said. “That mine was an eyesore.”
The environmentalists erupted in spontaneous clapping.
“An eyesore covered over,” an archaeologist said, “which is great, but we lost an opportunity to discover much about the past.”
“The entrance was sealed,” Allith murmured. “Apparently the door is still safe.”
She had thrown a stick of dynamite into the fire. The archaeologists started talking at once, all together.
“No,” Torrullin said. “It cannot be reached.”
“We could sink a shaft …”
“And have miners flooding the area again?” Torrullin murmured. “I think not. The mine is gone and remains gone.”
“But Elixir, it’s a find!”
“I did not say it would be ignored. It will be investigated, by me and my companions.”
Another stick of dynamite lobbed in.
“Unfair!”
“We should be allowed in!”
“We came first!”
Torrullin held a hand up. “The way in will kill every one of you. As it is, it will take all Elianas and I possess to ensure the safety of the other four of our party.”
An older man begged, “Please let me take one of their places.”
“I understand your thirst for knowledge, for it drives me also, but, friend, I cannot do without them. Caballa and Lowen are seers, Cassy has an ancient background and Carlin is an expert in glyphs.”
“He is?” another archaeologist demanded. “We made tracings, you know, full tracings.”
Car
lin leaned forward, his face animated. “May I see them?”
Stubborn silence greeted his question.
Torrullin barked a laugh. “Very well. If Carlin has all he needs in those tracings, I shall take one of you in his stead.”
“Me!” the archaeologist who revealed the existence of the tracings shouted first.
“Bugger you, Jack,” the older man said.
It was about to degenerate into a loud argument, thus Torrullin interfered. “Who among you has dealt most with tombs and underground civilisation?”
The older man smiled. “That would be me.”
“Then you are on board. Forgive me, I forget your name.”
“Petin Marlo, my Lord.”
“You are Xenian, by your accent.”
Petin Marlo inclined his head. He smiled at Lowen. “Max Dalrish is a personal friend.”
She returned the smile. Max Dalrish was the Peacekeeper of Xen III, and she was a Dalrish. If Xen had claim to royalty, the Dalrish were it.
“Mr Marlo, there is a proviso,” Torrullin began.
“Petin, please. I may look older than you, but I know I am far younger.”
Torrullin grinned. “Petin, then.”
“Proviso, my Lord?”
“That you are transparent with all findings. You share with your colleagues here.”
“Agreed.”
The team of archaeologists whooped it up and called for the tracings. As one of their team rose, Allith’s father spoke for the first time.
“You are from the stars, Torrullin Valla. You see far in all directions, yet you bring two seers with you?”
Torrullin bowed over at the old man, a mark of respect for the wrinkles, experience and wisdom in faded blue eyes. And a sense of otherworldliness. His name was Anethor Tin and he was not head shaman for nothing.
“I have lost the ability to see, my father. We hear visions are given in the presence of this strange door.”
Anethor sighed. “That is true.”
“Do you seek a vision?” another villager asked.
“I merely seek to find the answer.”
“There are many answers,” Anethor murmured. “Which do you seek?”
Torrullin spread his hands. “All of them.”
Anethor shook with silent laughter and then, “No one man may have all the answers, Torrullin Valla. The burden would be too great.”
Torrullin stared into his eyes.
“Perhaps you are that man, yes.”
“I think he wouldn’t bear the burden alone,” Allith whispered to her father.
The shaman’s eyes flicked to Elianas and rested there. “No, he has an eternal companion.”
Elianas, like Torrullin, stared calmly back.
Anethor wheezed a laugh and squeezed his daughter’s hand. “Fetch me some of that brew, will you?”
Torrullin and Elianas glanced at each other and then looked away.
“I had a vision,” a villager murmured. “I’ve never had one before.”
“So did I,” the young greener woman said. “Scared me.”
Petin Marlo cleared his throat. “It happened to me as well.”
Torrullin looked from one to the other. “Did any of your shamans experience the same?”
Only one nodded. “It was my first, but I’m not sure whether it’s the result of my training or proximity to the door.” He was young, barely out of his teens.
Anethor murmured, “Our visions have ceased recently.”
Torrullin sucked at his teeth. A widespread phenomenon, then. He said to the young man, “It is the door.” He gazed around. “Will the four of you share your visions with us?”
The archaeologist returned with a bunch of rolled appears. “We need space to - sorry, did I interrupt?”
Torrullin bade him sit, saying they would look at the tracings in a while. He gazed questioningly at the villager. She was a middle-aged woman, attractive with dark eyes, and she nodded.
“Life is simple here, so great events are easily noticed, if ever they come. They don’t usually. Our greatest event in the last century was contacting an ancestor from Mon Unon and I know I can say that to you without fear of ridicule. In the last ten years the only event worth mentioning is the flooding of Four River Crossing. So, when that man found gold, it was huge, but when the others came it wasn’t an event, it was a disaster.
“Even if everyone goes away, the disaster remains. Much will have to repaired and many folk will find it hard to think the way we did before. Still, all can be coped with, with time and patience, but when an old woman like me suddenly sees a thing, me, not a shaman, then, in my world, it’s a massive event.”
She leaned forward, eyes boring into Torrullin’s. “What is worse is seeing it come true.” She leaned back, unconsciously slapping her thighs. “I didn’t say anything, but I wish I had. Who would believe me, I thought?”
“What did you see?”
“I saw what happened today.”
There were gasps around the fire.
“When did you see this?” Torrullin prompted.
“Two weeks ago. My youngest gawped at the activity, and I went to fetch him from the mine, don’t want no youngster of mine getting involved with those greedy men. I found him at the top of the slope and that’s when it happened. Poor boy, he thought I’d taken ill. I sent him to help his older brother on his farm, put him out of harm’s way. Then nothing happened and I thought I’d imagined it, until the news came earlier.” She lapsed into silence and then added. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”
“It’s all right,” Anethor murmured. “We are safe but for one, regrettably, and the mine is closed now.”
Torrullin added, “Regret can sour a soul, aunt. Let it go.”
The woman smiled her thanks.
Lowen spoke. “We heard the visions were of good things.”
Allith replied, “That’s true for the most part. In the lower village at least four women I know of saw flowers and fields.”
“I saw flowers, too,” the environmentalist said. She looked warily at Torrullin. “Is it true what they say about the number fourteen?”
He blinked. “What do they say?”
“That it’s a magical number?”
“Seven is the magical number,” the shaman said.
“All numbers have magic, as do words, music, rhythm and the senses,” Torrullin said. “Yet, of all the properties, fourteen is most sacred. In there lies the laws of magic. Simply put, it isn’t a magical number - it is magic.”
“Why do you ask?” Elianas asked of the woman.
“The flowers were laid out to reveal the number fourteen.”
“And what colour were they?”
“Yellow.”
Torrullin sighed and Elianas whispered to him, “Nemisin had a recurring dream about yellow flowers in fourteen.”
“I know,” Torrullin muttered.
“Is something wrong?” a shaman muttered.
“It is too early for that kind of judgement,” Cassy said.
“Young man,” Torrullin said to the young shaman, “what did you see?”
He cleared his throat. “I saw black clouds, my Lord, everywhere, all over the land.”
“Echolone?”
“All land everywhere.”
Caballa covertly made the sign of the Goddess over her breast. It did not escape Anethor’s eagle-eyed gaze. “Lady, what do black clouds signify to you?”
She stared at him and then glanced at Torrullin.
“Answer him.”
Caballa said, “Darkness, evil, void, chaos, darak fallen, eternal change, disaster, nothing to feel comfortable about.”
The young shaman gasped in horror.
Anethor probed further. “You are a seer. Have you many visions yourself?”
Caballa nodded. “Many, yes.”
“Have you ever had a vision of black clouds?”
“I have not.”
“You cannot be certain it is disaster, evil
and all those other words.”
Caballa smiled. “I guess not. One’s mind often makes impulsive connections.”
“One last question,” Anethor murmured. “Have your visions been true?”
Caballa looked at her hands. “I haven’t been wrong yet.”
Anethor sighed. “What a curse that must be.”
Caballa looked up. “Until it is taken from you and you realise it is an extraordinary gift.”
Beside her Lowen made a sound in a throat and lowered her head.
Petin Marlo fidgeted. “Can I tell mine now?”
There was general laughter.
Torrullin gestured and Petin rose to his full height, which was not much at all.
“It’s like this. We were at the door within an hour of our arrival. Jack there started the dating process and Muller over there started tracing. The rest of us investigated the surroundings. I stepped back to get a good view of the door’s construction, when the strangest feeling overcame me, light-headed, kind of out-of-body. I think I must have groaned, for Muller told me to keep quiet, and thus I said nothing. I’ve said nothing until now.”
Petin paused and walked around the glowing embers to kneel before Torrullin.
“Do you know Max Dalrish used the farspeaker chain to bring these here present archaeologists together?”
Torrullin shook his head.
Petin nodded. “He heard of this from the Kaval and said only the man who can walk through doors can sort this out. He meant you, of course, and pulled us experts together to keep the miners at bay until you could get here. The greeners were doing a good job, but, trust me, every one of us experts would have throttled a hundred miners each to protect the door from a blast, and Max knew that.”
“Max is an astute man.”
Petin nodded. “Now, of course, only you can get to it.”
“And you will be there.”
“True,” Petin grinned.
“Now tell me exactly what you saw.”
“I saw you and him.” He gestured at Elianas. “The two of you knocked at the door. That’s it.”
“Gods,” Torrullin muttered.
Elianas asked, “And you have never seen Torrullin before today?”
“No.” Petin rose, and looked down. “There is no likeness of you anywhere in the universe, they say. Not a painting, not a sketch, a photo, a computer image - nothing. Folk say you cannot be captured, because one knows you in the soul. My Lord, I think that is quite remarkable.”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 73