The UnFolding Collection Three

by S. K. Randolph

  Behind them, sitting on the edge of the bed, Nissasa began to sob. “MaMa. I want my MaMa.” The grown man had returned a child.

  Torgin stood in the midst of the adults on Melback studying the chart suspended above the compass face. The portal had taken them to the far side of the province of TheDa, a mountainous region across the Sea of Minusa from Geran and the Isle of ZaltRaca, where his mother was imprisoned. He measured the distance in his mind—ten DerTahan elims—just short of eight Theran miles. From where he stood, it felt like a world away. Of course, if it hadn’t been for Brie’s portal, they would still be on the opposite side of the planet.

  Gregos put a hand on his shoulder. “Amazing compass, boy. You and Tamosh take a look at Natlaki Bay and find the best anchorage. I’ve got the wheel. Elf, go find yourself a sweater and man the watch perch. Esán, you’re with Corvus and Yaro in the cabin.”

  The needle on the Compass of Ostradio spun and stopped, a new, more detailed chart rose above the face and enlarged. Torgin and Tamosh studied the two best places to drop anchor. The one on the right of the entrance to the fiord looked more promising. A chain of small islands would provide shelter from the winds off the Sea of Minusa.

  Gregos gave him a pat on the back. “Good work. Go on down and see what your friends are planning. Then grab a couple of sweaters and get back up here.”

  Below deck, Torgin slid onto a seat at the chart table next to Ira. Desirol sat between Corvus and Yaro with Shyllee at his feet. Brie and Esán sat on the opposite berth. He gave the RewFaaran a searching look. “How are you doing, Des?”

  “I’m still here. Guess that means I’m holding my own.” He clamped his mouth closed and swallowed. His fists balled at his sides.

  Shyllee lifted her head and growled. Desirol’s tension faded. He sighed and reached down to scratch the dog’s ears.

  Corvus sketched out their plan. “Brie and Esán, you will come with me to scout the situation on ZaltRaca. Yaro will stay on the boat to help Desirol keep the Mindeco in line. In the morning, Melback will set sail for the island. Torgin, your job is to help Tamosh plot a safe course through the difficult waters of the Sea of Minusa. I will keep in touch telepathically with Ira and Elf.” He turned a serious face to Desirol.

  “Keep busy and keep your wits about you. Don’t take off the drango tunic or boots and keep the Remembering Stone and Marji’s pouch with you at all times. Shyllee will help you to monitor the Mindeco. If he gets too strong, Yaro will use stunning serum to calm you both. As soon as we rescue Torgin’s mother, we’ll find the VarTerel. Right now, your job is to stay calm. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” He looked at Ira. “Sorry, I broke your nose.”

  Ira patted the knife. “Efillaeh took care of it.”

  Elf appeared in the open hatch.

  Corvus looked up and smiled. “Good, Elf, come in. Torgin, you’d better take a sweater up to Gregos. Des, go with him and get some fresh air. Esán and Brie, I’ll join you shortly.”

  Desirol led the group on deck, and with Shyllee took a seat at the stern. Torgin pulled Brie and Esán to one side. “Promise you’ll find my mother and keep her safe.”

  Brie planted a kiss on his cheek. “We promise to do our best.”

  Esán met his gaze. “You take care of Melback . I expect we’re going to need her.”

  Below deck, Ira folded his arms and chewed on his bottom lip. Everyone had an important job but him, even Des—control the Mindeco. He’d used telepathy, a little, not enough to feel confident that he could use it in a crisis. Ah well, Elf is really good at it.

  Yaro, his lizard eyes glowing in the subdued light, observed him from across the table. Ira squirmed and stared at a snake tattoo on his cheek.

  The Pentharian touched the coiled Reptile. “I hatched under Nep Rin Tese, the sign of the serpent, an honor few receive.”

  “Aren’t others…” Ira swallowed, “…hatched under the sign?”

  “It is a sign that is rare in our heavens. We will not see it again from another twenty plus sun cycles.”

  Ira wanted to ask more questions, but Corvus finished giving Elf instructions and sat next to him.

  “I have a job for you, Ira. One I’m hoping you never have to perform. This is important. Listen carefully. If the Mindeco should decide to shed Desirol’s body, you are the only one onboard who has the power to stop him and to save Desirol’s life.”

  A thrill of dread tightened Ira’s throat. “What do I have to do?”

  “You must take Efillaeh and insert the blade beneath the occipital bone.” He pressed a spot on Ira’s neck between the top of the spine and the base of the skull. “It has to be exact. An error will set Rikell free and turn him on you. Yaro can help, Ira, but you are the keeper of the sacred knife. You must be the one to wield it. Show me where you would insert it in me.” He lifted his hair and presented the back of his neck.

  Ira ran his finger along the bottom edge of his skull, found a soft spot beneath it, and pressed.

  Corvus faced him. “Good, take Desirol aside and find the exact spot. Don’t tell him why. The Mindeco is aware enough to understand. If you use the knife on Desirol for any other reason, Rikell will take control. One more thing… Once the knife is inserted, you have to keep it there.” He turned to Yaro. “You know what to do if this occurs.”

  “I do, Corvus. The sun rides the horizon. You must go. Ira and I will take care of Melback and her crew.”

  Corvus and Yaro touched palms, then foreheads. Corvus climbed on deck and called Brie and Esán to him. Ira arrived in time to see three laridae lift into the air and soar over the fiord, pale orange wings catching the light of the late turning sun.

  The laridae, a type of gull inhabiting the shorelines of Trinuge, had a streamlined body and sleek wings that caught the air and sent Esán soaring after his companions. He missed the keen mind and exceptional eyesight of the kestrel, but realized the importance of not drawing unwanted attention their way.

  The flight over the Sea of Minusa proved challenging. Wind currents stirred the air into eddie-like swirls and tossed him one way and then the other. Releasing his need for control, he allowed the instincts of the laridae to take over, flew to Brie’s side, and matched his wing stroke to hers.

  The sea slid by; the sun dipped lower in the sky. Still they kept flying. How much longer? The fatigue of a long flight, left him straining to keep up. He forced his mind to concentrate on other things.

  Relevart had told Corvus that Renn Whalend was imprisoned on ZaltRaca, a large island off the southern coast of Geran. Gregos’ description—“windblown and sparsely populated.” On the north side closest to the Geranian mainland, several, small fishing villages littered the coastline. The southern side of the island boasted weather-carved rock formations, windy cliffs, and treacherous seas. Few made their homes in the south. It was on this shore that they would begin their search.

  “Look alert.”

  Corvus’ command snapped him to attention. A land mass crested the horizon. Even from this distance, Esán could pick out the hint of a black haze hanging over it. Corvus had chosen correctly. If the Reach, watched, Torgin’s mother must be somewhere near.

  The closer they came, the more forbidding the haze appeared. Soon he could pick out the shape of phalacro lining the cliffs, their long, black necks stretching, their sharp, black eyes peering. Corvus swooped lower. Esán held a position off his right wing tip and Brie off his left. He swept east of the bulk of the phalacro beyond the outer edge of the haze and landed on a towering rock formation. Small waves caressed its base. A single phalacro circled nearby.

  “Stay.” Corvus dove low above the water, skated over the surface, and landed. A quick motion of his head and he lifted into the air, something silver wiggling in his beak. He dropped it in front of them. “Eat.”

  Brie nudged it with her beak.

  Corvus tore it into pieces and swallowed one whole.

  Brie gulped her piece, ruffled her feathers, and squawked.
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  Esán tossed his in the air, his attention on the phalacro winging its way back toward the haze. Corvus caught the piece of fish, swallowed it, and swooped over the sea. Brie followed. Esán circled and shot after his companions. Nothing seems to be other than it appears, nothing except The MasTer’s Reach and the flock of phalacro at his command.

  Brie swooped behind Corvus. A sandy beach, tall cliffs, and fields of scrubby plants covered with purplish flowers flowed by beneath her. A grove of stocky, wind-blown oaks closed in around her. Ahead, Corvus materialized and waved her down. Esán landed beside her and shifted. The sun’s light faded and left them in the night quiet of the woods.

  Corvus touched her arm and whispered, “Over there. See it?”

  Light glowed in the windows of a small cottage. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the waves battering the cliff face. Overhead, where the wind had dispersed the Reach, she could detect the faint glow of stars. Fasfro’s golden glow warmed the eastern horizon. The rest of the world felt dark and cold and threatening.

  She stifled a shiver. “I see.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “You know the plan. Esán and I will be close by.”

  She shifted to a miniature DerTahan night owl. Her tiny wings carried her across the field of erika to a small, dilapidated shed, where she paused to get her bearings. The fact that her knowledge of Torgin’s mother made her the right person to affirm her presence did nothing to assuage Brie’s growing sense of unease. She swiveled her tiny head and listened. Acute owl hearing picked up the almost silent hum of wards. Blanking her mind, she tracked the hum as high as the eaves of the cottage. Soaring higher, she landed on the peak of the roof and surveyed the surrounding area. Nothing moved. Only the telltale odor of burned flesh, indicated the Reach had hovered above.

  The roof, she discovered, had two chimneys, one hot and one cold. She perched on the rim of the one not in use, jumped, caught herself inches above the grate, and soared into a kitchen. Flying from shadow to shadow, she began to explore. In the living room, curled up in a chair by the fire, she discovered Renn Whalend. At least, the woman looked like Torgin’s mother. Brie flew to the mantle. Everything looked right, but… Owl eyes blinked and focused on the slow rise of a hand.

  The woman put a finger to her lips and shook her head. An array of pictures flooded Brie’s mind. “Go.” The urgent command sent her back the way she had come and into the kitchen. The chimney’s dark shadow embraced her. Tension and a touch of fear held her motionless. Wind ruffled her feathers. She flew downwind of the cottage past the rickety shed and skimmed over the field of erika. Determined not to give away her companions, she zig-zagged between trees and landed on the rough-barked branch of a squat pine some distance from where they hid. A phalacro swooped overhead. A second circled and flew west.

  Water, wind, the rustling of branches rubbing together were the only sounds Brie could detect. Her silent owl wings pressed the air, carried her to a tree under which Esán and Corvus rested, and slowed her descent. Letting the owl’s shape go, she landed between them and sank to the ground. She took their hands, closed her eyes, and relayed the shared images: Renn Whalen in the hull of a wrecked ship, the two people with her, a cave entrance at the bottom of the cliff, the gaunt face of a Mocendi DiMensioner.

  Corvus murmured under his breath. “Henrietta Avetlire, what game is Relevart playing?”

  Esán whispered, “Do you know the Mocendi?”

  “He’s The MasTer’s right hand. If he’s in charge here, Henri is in more danger than she realizes. We need to get Renn to safety. Henri is good, but…”

  Brie frowned. “We can’t leave her here alone.”

  Corvus squeezed her hand. “We’ll come back for her. Right now, Renn is our focus. We have to trust that Relevart knows what he’s doing. Let’s find the cave entrance.”

  A circuitous route brought them to the base of the Cliffs of Tymine. Finding the cave entrance in the dark proved to be easier than Brie expected. Henri’s picture left little doubt as to which rock to press. The stone door swung inward. Esán led the way inside. Corvus closed the door behind them. Dense darkness pressed them into a tight stationary group. A gruff voice barked, “Move, and I’ll shoot.”

  Corvus squeezed Brie’s arm. She called out. “I’m Brielle AsTar a friend of Torgin’s. My friends are Esán Efre and Corvus Castilym, the Guardian of Myrrh’s protector.”

  A lantern glowed at the end of the passage, etching out a sturdy man aiming a shot gun. “Let the girl come back, Cay.”

  Corvus released her arm. Brie slipped by the man and walked up to a dark-haired woman, who motioned her under a low overhang. “In there.”

  Renn Whalen stood beside a plank table. A smile of relief replaced the fear of a second before. “Brie. It is you. Where’s Torgin. Is he here?”

  “Torgin isn’t with us. If my friends can come in, we’ll tell you everything you want to know, Citiwoman Whalend.”

  A mix of emotions—relief, disappointment, the return of fear—appeared and were gone in an instant. “Please call me Renn. It’s alright, Bibeed. Bring them back.”

  Soon they were gathered around the table. Brie listened to Corvus and Esán answer a barrage of questions. Her mind wandered to the cottage at the top of the cliffs. What is Aunt Henri doing? Is she safe? What if…

  35

  Master’s Reach

  Myrrh

  A lmiralyn and Sparrow had left Merrilea, Wilith, and Elae to continue their research in the hopes that proof of The MasTer’s identity could be found.

  At the door to Veersuni, Almiralyn paused. “We must be careful how we approach the topic of The MasTer. Drawing his attention to our search for answers will only cause problems. If we can discover his motivation—why he is so angry—perhaps we can find an end to this battle of wills.”

  Sparrow rubbed a splatter of gold paint on her hand. “I think the girl and the boy in the locket are the key.”

  Almiralyn stepped over the threshold and breathed in the tranquility of Veersuni. The sanctuary had been cleared of all signs of the tempest of a turning ago. She crossed to the fountain and gazed at the rippling water with a sense of confused purpose. Events were ongoing. The Unfolding raced toward its climax. Intermingled within its currents, a galactic game intensified. She desired to know so many things, yet the mystery of The MasTer rose to the forefront. Struggling to form a question that would provide information without raising suspicion from those who might be spying, she stared at the colors in the stained glass. Sparrow waited with quiet curiosity beside her.

  The window’s patchwork pattern reformed on the fountain’s surface. Dripping water merged the irregular shapes one into another. Drop by drop, a picture began to form. A hush settled over Veersuni. Almiralyn blinked back tears.

  Sparrow whispered, “Who?”

  The beautiful woman in the fountain shot a furtive glance over her shoulder. “We have little time, Almiralyn. The game you play is full of danger. Tread with care. Learn what you can of TreBlayan birth-mates. Your father and I love you and Allynae.” The image faded.

  Almiralyn cried out in dismay, “Don’t go. I—”

  The sound of dripping water again rang through Veersuni. Elcaro’s Eye had shown what she needed to know.

  Sparrow guided her from the sanctuary and sat beside her in a reading alcove. “Was that your mother? You look so much like her.”

  Gathering her scattered wits, Almiralyn brushed her tears away. “You just met Mairin Nadrugia. I was fifteen sun cycles when she and my father, at the request of the Galactic Guardians, left on a secret and very dangerous mission. Nothing has been heard from them until now.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  “Not as difficult as it might have been. I’d been in training at the temple for three years so I wasn’t living at home. Alli had a harder time. He was only ten. We were told they had died. I never believed it.”

  Sparrow hugged her. “Perhaps The Unfolding wi
ll bring them home.”

  “Perhaps it will.” Almiralyn lost herself in the memory of her mother’s face, of the last time she had seen her in person, of the inner knowing that she and her father lived. Heaving a sigh, she pushed back her chair. “It’s clear my parents’ mission continues. So does ours. Please go and ask Wilith to research TreBlayan birth-mates, then rejoin me in Veersuni.”

  Sparrow disappeared into the research level of the Galactic Library, the library she, Almiralyn, had helped to build and to protect. She stared into space, her thoughts refusing to let go of the image of her mother. It occurred to her that it might have been a fraud, a trap to lead her down a wrong path. Her memory re-examined her mother’s features, the silver-blonde hair, the eyes that glowed the deep blue of the sapphire. The tone of her voice held a quality hard to copy, one that Almiralyn knew well. Certain that Elcaro’s Eye had shown her truth, she entered Veersuni and went straight to the fountain.

  A soft snap of her fingers stopped the flowing water and calmed the surface. As though she flew above her land, a panorama of Myrrh’s beauty flowed over the water. Grazing in a gulch deep in the foothills, Gemlucky, her black stallion, kept watch over her small herd of horses and the pony Tam. Towering behind them, the late-turning sun enriched the salmon, red, and black of the Dojanack Mountains. Mount Niar, the only crystal peak, glistened, reflecting the light and the beauty around it. How I love these mountains.

  The fountain panned across the brown and gold of the Grasslands in autumn. She could almost feel the crispness of the air and smell the dampness of fall as the Terces Wood flowed by. Nemttachenn Tower rose above the forest canopy, its granite walls glowing in the sun. Then the fountain closed in on her acreage and held steady. Almost undetectable, the ward-web hung, draped like a spider’s weaving around the RewFaaran camp.