Into The Void

by Nigel Findley

  Of course, what importance could there be to the secrets of a farmer? Now he was playing a much deeper game, and the stakes were much higher – the neogi had taught him that. People had died because of the cloak. Would more die if he kept it a secret, or if he discussed it openly?

  The illithid knows, though, he told himself, at least the general form of what I’m hiding. His questions showed that beyond any doubt. What sense did it make to continue to hide it? Maybe Estriss is the help I need to learn the answers I’ve got to have. He made his decision.

  “I suspect,” he answered at last, “it’s the cloak.”

  Ahh. The word was a mental sigh. I thought as much. The mind flayer shook his head in puzzlement – another very human gesture. Still, your cloak puzzles me, Estriss admitted. It is not enchanted in the sense that the word is normally used. It has no dweomer about it, no aura or quality of power to it. I have checked it to the limit of my abilities. But, when you faced the scavver, the sense of power was very intense. I have experienced nothing like this before. Will you tell me how you came to possess it?

  Teldin felt another twinge of doubt – should he tell the illithid everything? – but quickly suppressed it. Telling the story could do no further harm. “I … acquired it on Krynn,” he began, “but it didn’t come from there. Several weeks ago, a vessel – a spelljamming vessel – crashed near my farm. The owner of the cloak was badly wounded, dying. She gave me the cloak before she passed away, and she told me to take it to ‘the creators.’ “Teldin raised himself on one elbow to look into the illithid’s eyes. “Who are ‘the creators’?” he asked.

  Estriss didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, What happened then?

  Teldin closed his eyes as a wave of sadness and pain washed over him. The fear and danger was too recent, all the deaths too immediate, for him to dwell on it. He wished he could just blot everything out of his mind.

  Estriss must have sensed some of his emotions. There is no need to tell me everything now, he said gently. There was pain and there was loss. You were pursued?

  “By neogi,” Teldin confirmed. “They want the cloak.”

  The illithid nodded. It is an artifact of some kind, and artifacts are usually notable for their power, he said. If the neogi are aware of the nature of the cloak, then they would wont it. I refer to individual neogi, here. An individual neogi wants power, all it can acquire, and it cares not at all how it gets it. It was Teldin’s turn to nod. That was the kind of behavior he’d come to associate with neogi. “The traveler told me to keep the cloak away from the neogi,” he said.

  Well that you do, Estriss agreed. Until you learn more about it, you should keep it away from everyone. Humor tinged the creature’s mental voice. Even from me.

  “Can you help me?” Teldin asked. “Who are ‘the creators’?”

  The mind flayer gave one of its broken-backed shrugs. I have no knowledge of this, he said after a moment, only speculation, and that may well be groundless.

  “Tell me,” Teldin prompted.

  Estriss paused. Just as when they’d first spoken on the stern-castle, Teldin was convinced that the illithid was embarrassed. “Tell me,” he urged again. “Please, I’m interested.”

  Estriss nodded his acquiescence. I must tell you something of my life’s work, he began. I told you that I am a scholar. I know you have spoken with my first mate, and I am certain he has told you a little more about my interests, even though I realize he considers my theories to be the utmost foolishness. The words formed a statement, but the mental tone was questioning.

  “The Juna,” Teldin said.

  The Juna, Estriss confirmed. When I was younger, I became fascinated with the vast range of ‘origin myths’ that exist concerning the creation of the universe. Did you know – he leaned forward, intently – that virtually every sentient race has a legend or legends that tell of a reality, a universe where the constraints of space and time as we know them do not exist? And of the Great Powers that finally shaped the walls of time and space around that reality to form the worlds that we know today? The illithid shrugged and waved off Teldin’s imminent question with a purple-skinned hand. That is merely poetic language, he explained, and the language varies from one version of the myth to another. But, I repeat, every sentient race has a similar myth, even yours and mine. Although – and humor temporarily replaced intensity, as the creature gently stroked his facial tentacles – the appearance of the Great Powers differs significantly between tie two accounts.

  Teldin broke in, “What has that …?”

  … to do with the cloak? Estriss finished for him. Nothing. Have patience. Each storyteller has his own way of telling a story. Will you allow me mine?

  “Sorry,” Teldin responded, somewhat chastened. He settled himself more comfortably in his hammock. “Go on.”

  Initially, my interest wash the differences between the various origin myths, Estriss continued. I thought … Well, in my youth and unsophistication, I thought that by correlating the differences in the accounts with the characteristics of the races involved, I might be able to cancel out the variations and expose the root of the matter: the true events that gave rise to the myths. The mind flayer shrugged once more. As I say, I was young.

  I never completed the task – unsurprising, since I now know it to be impossible – but I did discover something interesting. The most lucid and detailed version of the origin myth was to be found in the ancient epic poetry of the thri-kreen. Do you know of the race? Some call them mantis warriors.

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Teldin admitted.

  They may not exist on Krynn, Estriss told him. In any case, many millennia ago the People of the Celestial Mantis underwent a period of almost explosive expansion throughout the universe. The thri-kreen preceded your race – and mine – into the greater universe, perhaps by millions of years. They talk little of it now, even those who still dwell in the void. But they remember the glory. They remember it well.

  Teldin felt the mental equivalent of a sigh. Those were the transcendent days of the People’s race, Estriss continued, and their poetry reflects this. It was in this poetry that I sought the origin myths. And it was here that I found references to the Juna.

  Teldin found himself caught up by the sense of wonder in the illithid’s mental voice. “Tell me about the Juna,” he asked softly.

  Estriss seemed not to have heard him. My focus changed, he continued. The origin myth no longer had interest for me. My concentration was focused on the Juna.

  Now that I knew what to look for, I found references to them elsewhere. There is no need for me to describe the years I worked on the problem. Suffice it to say that I now know more about the Juna than, I believe, anyone else in the universe. The illithid paused a little uncomfortably. I must admit that many scholars, perhaps most, share Aelfred Silverhorn’s low opinion of my work.

  Teldin shook that off. “Tell me about them,” he prompted.

  The illithid went on, The Juna were a mighty race. They were worshiped as gods on hundreds of worlds, by a myriad of peoples now extinct. I have seen representations of them carved on many ruins and painted on die walls of many caves. Their form is unmistakable, even when transformed through the eyes of misguided faith. And their symbol, the three-pointed star, Ends its way into the symbology of many races.

  While your race and mine were barely taking our first steps away from our cosmic cradles, the Juna were already disappearing from this universe. Whether they died out, were destroyed, or moved on to another plane of existence, I know not.

  Teldin shook his head in bewilderment. This was so far outside his ken as to be virtually incomprehensible. All his life, his world had been measured by acres and miles and seasons. To hear Estriss talk in terms of millions of years, hundred of worlds … Even though the words were familiar, he found himself unable to comprehend the reality those words were describing.

  Apparently the illithid misinterpreted his reaction. I understand your doubt, he said,
with a tinge of sadness. Even those who have seen evidence mistrust my conclusions. I must have more tangible proof if I want my research to receive the credibility it deserves.

  Teldin remembered something that the illithid had told him earlier. “And that’s why you’re going to Realmspace?” he asked. “To get more proof?”

  The mind flayer nodded eagerly. A great collector of curiosities, of mysterious items and artifacts, has died, Estriss explained, and his collection is being auctioned off in the city of Rauthaven, on the island of Nimbral. For some time, I have known that his collection contained several items that might be connected with the Juna. But I also knew that he would never sell those items to me while he lived. Now, however … My only concern is that there may be others who recognize the significance of these items and bid the price out of my reach.

  “What kind of items?”

  Several pieces of artwork, replied Estriss, other items, and – so I believe – a twin to this. The creature reached within his robe and drew out a long, curved knife. He handed the weapon to Teldin. I carry it with me always, the creature went on, somewhat diffidently, for defense, but more importantly as a. … as an amulet, if you will, against discouragement. Examine the weapon.

  Teldin hefted the knife in his hand. It was almost as long as his forearm, with the hilt taking up nearly half of that length. The blade was razor-sharp along the inside of the curve and sharpened perhaps a third of the way along the back. In the light of the room’s single lantern, it shone dully like brushed steel. Teldin ran a finger along the flat of the blade … and stopped in surprise. He’d expected the blade to be cool to the touch. It wasn’t, but neither was it warm. It seemed to have no temperature at all, as if it didn’t register fully to the sense of touch. He looked up at Estriss questioningly.

  The blade is not metal, the illithid explained, nor is it forged in the normal sense. It is some form of crystalline material, and I believe the blade was grown into its current shape. It was once highly magical, but the enchantment has faded over the millennia.

  “How old is it?” Teldin’s voice was hushed. At least two million Krynn years. Two million years … Teldin wrapped his hand around the hilt, preparatory to testing the balance. His fingers encountered strange ridges and channels, making it impossible to get a comfortable grip. Suddenly squeamish, he handed the knife back to the illithid. There was something unaccountably disturbing about holding a weapon that was obviously designed for manipulative organs only distantly related to human hands … “What did they look like?”

  They had a trilateral symmetry, Estriss said, looking down at the blade he held in his hands. Three legs, three arms … Like a xorn or a tirapheg, but unlike both. The mind flayer’s mental voice fell silent for a moment, as though he were contemplating the creatures he had just described. Then he shook his head, is if coming out of a doze, and returned the knife to its place within his robe.

  There are other artifacts that I believe were created by the Juna, Estriss said. One more important than ail the rest … The mental voice trailed off.

  “Goon.”

  Double eyelids hooded the illithid’s white eyes, as though the creature were embarrassed to meet Teldin’s puzzled gaze. This is merely a theory, he said hurriedly, merely my own belief. I have no evidence, and others find the theory unbelievable ….

  “Tell me.”

  I believe the Juna created the Spelljammer.

  A thrill, a tingle, shot through Teldin’s body. He’d heard the word “spelljammer” before, of course, but never in this context, never as a proper name: “the Spelljammer” There was something – maybe it was just the tone of the illithid’s mental “voice” – that made it seem somehow wondrous. “What is the Spelljammer?” he asked.

  Some call it a myth, replied Estriss, but there have been enough independent reports to convince me that it exists. It is a huge ship, a tenth of a league long and almost twice that in width. It sails wildspace and the flow, and has been sighted in half a hundred crystal spheres. Its speed and maneuverability are unmatched, and it boasts armament sufficient to defeat an entire Beet. The body of legend that surrounds it is huge and growing larger every year.

  Some philosophers claim that the Spelljammer was created by the gods, either as a test for the faithful or as a nemesis for the false. I believe it to have been built by mortal creatures, however ….

  “By the Juna?”

  Estriss nodded. So I believe. Few share my conviction, however, and there seems no way to prove or disprove my theory.

  Teldin shook his head. His initial atavistic reaction to the illithid’s words had faded, and his normal levelheadedness was reasserting itself. “This is interesting …” he said.

  But you wish to return to your original question? Estriss nodded. There is a connection. I ask you to look at the cloak. Look at the pattern woven into the lining.

  Teldin ran his hand over the garment’s silk-smooth inner surface. As always, it felt slightly cold to the touch. In the lantern’s light it was almost impossible to judge the lining’s color – was it green with a hint of gold, or brown with a sub touch of yellow? – but Teldin knew from experience it was no better in clear sunlight. The cloak’s color seemed to shift elusively depending on its surroundings. There was a subtle pattern worked into the finely woven cloth, a precise, geometrical motif.

  The pattern includes the recurring symbol of a flower with three petals, Estriss continued. Do you see it?

  Teldin looked closer at the cloth, changing its angle to the light. The pattern was composed of many fine lines, some no thicker than a slender, hair-thin thread of the woven material. The lines intersected, joined and branched in a network of almost dizzying complexity. There was nothing that his mind could resolve into a three-petaled flower.

  Estriss responded to his dilemma. A four-jointed purple finger traced out a section of the pattern. Here. Now do you seek?

  As the illithid traced the figure, it seemed to leap into visibility. It reminded Teldin of some of the cunning optical illusions he’d seen where the viewer could force the background and foreground of a drawing to reverse, changing its contents. “I see it now,” he told the mind flayer. “But how could you see it?”

  The mind flayer shrugged. The vision of my race is highly attuned to geometrical patterns, he explained. Much more so than is yours.

  Teldin frowned. “Well, why is it important?”

  I said that the three-pointed star is the symbol that represents the Juna, Estriss explained. But so, too, is the three-petaled flower.

  “Then the Juna are ‘the creators’!” Excitement surged within Teldin. Estriss had just given him the answer to the mystery. All he had to do now was find a representative of the Juna ….

  The illithid’s words checked his elation, however. It is possible, Estriss said doubtfully, but there are three problems. First, she who gave you the cloak spoke as though ‘the creators’ still exist – Otherwise how could you return the cloak to them? And the Juna have not been known in this universe for millennia. Second, if this cloak were created by the Juna, it would presumably have to be millennia old. Certainly, a high enough level of enchantment can prevent the aging of an object, but it still must be considered.

  Third, the three-petaled Bower is a symbol also widely used by the arcane. I believe that they may have borrowed or adopted it from the Juna, but the effect is the same.

  He wasn’t going to give up without at least some struggle, Teldin decided. “Then how about the arcane?” he asked. “Could they be ‘the creators’?” He paused. “And just who are the arcane anyway?”

  Estriss was silent for a moment, and Teldin sensed the exercise of patience. We may continue our discussion later, the illithid told him finally. You need rest to recuperate, and I must be on the bridge soon.

  “Why?”

  We are about to leave this crystal sphere and enter the flow.

  “I have to see this.” Cautiously, steeling himself for a recurrence of the crippli
ng nausea and dizziness he’d felt earlier, Teldin raised himself up onto both elbows. This time the world obediently held its place and didn’t engage in any gymnastics around him. He swung himself down from the hammock and stood, swaying slightly. Aelfred was right, he thought, he wouldn’t be doing any handsprings, but there was no need to remain bedridden as long as he took it easy and didn’t push himself too hard. He took a step forward ….

  And was thankful as the illithid’s quick hand on his shoulder steadied him. “Thanks,” he said a little self-consciously. “I’m as weak as a kitten.”

  Then perhaps …

  “No,” Teldin countered, somewhat more forcefully than he felt. “I’ll make it.”

  *****

  The hammership’s open forward bridge was more crowded than Teldin had ever seen it. Sylvie and Aelfred were there, of course; anything else would have been inconceivable. So were the second mate, Sweor Tobregdan, the elven helmsman, Vallus Leafbower, and two other crew members whose names Teldin didn’t know.

  As they’d climbed the companionway to the main deck, Teldin had been glad of Estriss’s supporting hand. At first the pressure of four-jointed fingers was alien enough to make his skin crawl, but by the time he’d reached the bridge, he gave it no further thought. When they’d entered the bridge, Estriss had solicitously conducted him to an aft corner, where he could settle himself on a wooden seat that folded down from the bulkhead. The illithid had gestured away Teldin’s thanks and joined Sylvie and Vallus at the secondary chart table. Both Aelfred and Sylvie had greeted him silently – he with a grin and a wink, she with a fleeting but warm smile – but had immediately started a low-voiced conversation with Estriss. The others had paid Teldin no attention; in fact, they’d seemed totally unaware of his arrival, with good reason. The view out of the bridge was … Teldin searched vainly for the right words. Awe-inspiring? Mind-bending? Terrifying? All were appropriate, but none was sufficient.

  The Probe hung motionless in space. Ahead of the ship was a wall of impenetrable blackness, a plane of darkness that extended in all directions – up, down, port and starboard – seemingly to infinity. This must be how a fly views a mountainside, Teldin found himself thinking, though even this analogy simply didn’t capture the magnitude of what he was experiencing.