Torgin lay on his side on Elf’s berth, using an arm for a pillow. The anchorage he and Tamosh had found was calm but for an occasional gust of cold wind racing down the fiord. Even that did little to disturb Melback or her crew. The boat, anchored between the shore and a small island, floated in calm waters. In the cabin, the small wood-burning stove took the edge off TheDa’s wintry cold.
Cozy, warm, and a wee bit sleepy, Torgin found it easy to forget the drama of the past few turnings until he glanced at Desirol. The RewFaaran sat on the lower berth opposite the stove, leaning against the bulkhead, a hand on Shyllee’s head. Torgin knew he was afraid to sleep. He could empathize—if the Mindeco waited inside him, he wouldn’t sleep either. Never far from Desirol’s side, Ira snored softly on the upper berth.
Gregos glanced up from where he, Yaro, and Tamosh sat at the chart table, poring over rough sketches of the route the compass had proposed for the next turning’s journey. “Better sleep, boy. Morning’s acomin’. Sailing the Sea of Minusa isn’t gonna be a picnic.”
Glad it was Elf up on the watch perch and not him, Torgin closed his eyes. He drifted into a light doze, jerked himself awake with a snore, and dropped off again. A hand shaking him awake, startled him from a dream of Astican and Mindeco. He stared up into Ira’s blue, blue eyes.
“We’re underway in half a chron circle. Gregos wants you with him at the helm. Tamosh left breakfast in the galley. Des was up all night. Yaro put him to sleep, and now he’s scouting ahead. Shyllee’ll bark when Des wakes. I put a set of oil skins on the chart table. See ya outside.”
Torgin ate, donned the rain wear, and clambered on deck to find Gregos at the wheel and the boat underway. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to oversleep.”
“Must’ve needed it. Get out that compass, boy. Keep me on track.”
It seemed that no time had passed before Melback nosed her way from behind the islands. The wind filled her sails. Soon the mouth of Natlaki Bay loomed ahead. Clouds hanging heavy over the Sea of Minusa hinted at the potential of rain. Melback creaked and groaned as her smooth passage ended in waves as high as the Captain was tall. Gregos muttered under his breath and called out. “Safety lines! Hang on. Comin’ about.”
The main boom swung from starboard to port. The sails billowed. Melback shuddered and stabilized. Huge raindrops splattered the deck. Gregos swore. “Just what we need—wind and rain.” He yelled up at the watch perch, “Elf, look alive up there.”
Torgin had learned from Tamosh that beneath the surface of the Sea of Minusa currents surged and boiled, creating eddy pools that could sink a boat in no time. When he had asked if they were stable enough to chart, Tamosh had said he didn’t think so. I wonder… “Compass show me the currents in the Sea of Minusa.” The arrow spun and stopped. A chart rose above the face. Current patterns swirled and shifted. A red dot showed Melback’s position. Straight ahead, a huge eddy whirled below the surface.
“Captain, we’re headed for an eddy pool.” He held out the compass.
Gregos’ mustache drooped around a frowning mouth. “Heads up. Changing course,” he bellowed.
He spun the wheel. Tamosh trimmed the sails. Melback zagged starboard, rode the crest of a wave, and dropped into a tough. Water breaking over the bow gushed over the deck. Torgin slid all the way to the hatch, righted himself, and brushed rain and sea from his eyes. Scanning the water off the port side, he could make out a different texture on the surface, a place where the waves changed shape and foam spiraled.
Tamosh gave him a broad smile. “Good job, Torgin.”
Gregos clapped him on the back. “Saved our hides, boy. Keep your eye on that compass.”
The rain decreased to a drizzle. The roll and pitch of the waves eased, and Melback and her crew settled into a routine. Torgin had once again saved the turning. He no longer felt as if he didn’t belong, that he was dead weight. I might not be able to read minds or change shapes but… He smiled to himself. I have my own talents and skills.
Somay sat on the balcony off his room at TheLise’s home. Beyond the garden, the Sea of Trinuge merged into DerTah’s only ocean, the VerDeas. Somewhere out there, Esán struggled to hold his illness in check. Somay felt the tug of it, the battle his son waged. The only thing that kept him from taking Esán to Tao Spirian this very turning—The Unfolding. Esán’s future and the future of the Inner Universe depended on his full participation in the events to come.
Refocusing his attention, Somay reviewed the results of yesterday’s activities. He and TheLise had done what they could for Roween’s arm and hand. The fingers were beyond repair. The wrist and lower arm would take time and Efillaeh to heal them. After making her as comfortable as possible, they had left her in her maid’s care. Her interference with the uniting of Nissasa’s body and his quintessence, had left him with the mental capacity of a child of five. Not even the sacred knife could undo the damage. Too bad. The man, when removed from his mother’s influence, might have had potential; the child will never grow up .
Unannounced, Allynae strode onto the balcony. “I can’t stand just sitting here. The twins, Esán, Torgin, Desirol are all up to their ears in trouble; and here we are in TheLise’s lovely home, doing nothing.” He slouched in a chair and cracked his knuckles, one by one.
Before Somay could respond, the Dreelas knocked, pushed the door open, and walked onto the balcony. Nomed accompanied her and perched on the stone balustrade surrounding it. TheLise remained standing, her beautiful eyes resting on Somay. He noted the flecks of amber swimming in gray, the enticing curve of her mouth, the warm, honey-tan of her skin. No wonder Nomed is smitten.
She shot Nomed a coy look and sat down beside him. “We need a plan, Somay. We can’t stay here while the young people are embroiled in The MasTer’s games. Nomed and I have decided it’s time to find them and do what we can to help.”
Somay caught the rise and fall of Nomed’s infamous brow. Relationships—Tianna, my lifemate, how I miss you . He clamped down on his wayward thoughts. “Alli and I were discussing the same thing. I suggest we find out what we can prior to making plans. Do you have a crystal, TheLise? One that will connect us with Almiralyn? When I left, a journal entitled El Stroma had been found in the research area. I am hoping they have deciphered its contents. I feel certain it has something to do with The MasTer.”
TheLise conducted them down one hallway after the other until she came to a door near the solarium. A narrow staircase took them to another labyrinth of narrower less elegant corridors. She unlocked a nondescript door, ushered them inside a dark room, and relocked it. A snap of her fingers illuminated several small oil lamps. On a round table, a tall, clear crystal claimed the center of the room like a queen on a throne. Allynae whistled. “That’s a beauty, TheLise.”
“Wolloh gave it to me when I attained the rank of DiMensioner. It’s from the Evolsefil Caverns and connects to the crystal web. I apologize for the lengthy walk, but I thought it best not to teleport. Who knows who may be watching? This room, as you can tell, has strong wards. Nomed and Wolloh are the only ones, other than myself, who know about the crystal or this space. I suggest we put up individual wards before I contact Almiralyn via Elcaro’s Eye.”
Somay created his shields and waited while his companions followed suit. The accumulated power surrounding the table left him wondering if they had just created a beacon.
TheLise anticipated his concern. “The ceiling and walls are insulated, Somay. Nothing goes out, nothing comes in. We probably don’t need our wards, but I prefer to be cautious.”
Nomed’s scar stretched with his smile. “My lady thinks of everything.”
Somay lowered his gaze to the crystal, wishing for even a fleeting glimpse of Esán’s mother.
Henri, her Renn face displaying surprise and a touch of nervousness, kept her thoughts focused on the man in front of her. Vygel had flashed into sight an instant after Brielle vanished. Her bowl and mug remained on the table.
He picked up the mug and s
niffed the rim. “You’ve had company. How nice.” Bulging eyes bored into hers. The mug hung from one boney finger. “Who?”
When she refused to answer, he let it fall. The sound of it shattering made her jump. A rough hand gripped her arm, guided her to the living room, and pushed her into a chair. Towering over her, he snarled, “Tell me what I want to know, Renn.”
The questions and probing continued for some time. Henri observed him from beneath Renn’s long dark lashes, her concentration complete. He discovered nothing she did not want him to know. Intelligence was not the issue. He was highly intelligent. He simply saw what he expected to see and found what he expected to find. The man lacked imagination. But then, she doubted that Mocendi were encouraged to think, only to obey.
For the third time, he paced the room and returned, his expression menacing. “Tell me who was here, Renn. Whoever it was made it through the wards. If you refuse to tell me, when I get my hands on Torgin, I will make him miserable.”
She let a hint of panic scurry through her thoughts. “I only know the woman who looked after me.”
He placed blue-veined hands on the arms of the chair. “Why did you leave your hiding place and come back to the cottage?”
She touched Renn’s locket where it lay hidden beneath her shirt. “I left something here, something I didn’t want to lose.”
He leaned closer. “What could have been so important, Renn Whalend? Show me.”
Trembling hands withdrew the locket and let it nestle over her heart.
A boney finger caressed it, traced the line of the chain, touched her throat. Sour breath brushed her neck. Suppressing a desire to slap his hand away, she made herself hold still.
Finally, he straightened. “Why did the woman caring for you leave you alone?”
Staring at her hands, she replied, “I wanted her safe. I sent her away.”
Vygel sank into a chair and drummed restless fingers on a side table. “The MasTer is becoming impatient. Tell me where your son is and how soon he will arrive.”
Henri kept Renn’s expression impassive. “How would I know that? I’ve been locked away here.”
Two long strides brought him back to her chair. “I know someone visited you here. Two dirty bowls, two dirty mugs…” He paced to the fireplace and back. “If you won’t tell me where you have been and what you know, I’ll have to take you to someone who will make you answer.”
Henri continued to study Renn’s hands.
Vygel yanked her to her feet. “Tell me what I need to know, Renn, or I will inform The MasTer that you are uncooperative.”
Flipping blonde hair from her face with a jerk of her head, Henri snatched her arm from his grip. “Don’t touch me again, Vygel Vintrusie. If The MasTer had wanted the truth beaten out of me, you would have done it already. I have information the League needs. The better I am treated, the more likely I will be to share what I know.” She breathed in and resumed her tirade. “I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. I do not know where my husband and son are. I want very much to return to my home, something I feel is unlikely. And I am confronted by you on a regular basis. To say that I am angry, distraught, afraid is an understatement. Is there anything else you would like to know?”
Vygel’s thin lips twisted into a speculative smile. “You are a surprising woman, Renn Whalend. I had no idea you had so much…” His smile broadened. “Fire. Well, I have things to do. Don’t go anywhere while I am gone.” A wicked laugh rattled from his throat as he disappeared.
Corvus materialized. “Good work, Renn.”
Henri collapsed in her chair. “You heard?”
His dimple deepened. “I did.”
Almiralyn’s aunt straighten Renn’s blue uniform skirt and sighed. “He is the most fatiguing man. Why are you here?”
He started to speak.
Her hand flew up. “Don’t tell me anything that he can pick from my brain. I have enough to keep under wraps.”
He winked. “Brielle, come out. Esán is frantic with worry.”
Brie appeared beside her great aunt. “Tell him I’m fine. I’m not going back, Corvus. Aunt Henri needs me.”
Henri folded her arms. “Stubborn. Just like your Aunt Mira. I’m fine.”
Corvus studied Brie and then Henri. “She may be right, Henri. If Vygel decided to take you elsewhere, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a secret weapon.”
Brie perched on the arm of the chair. “You mean you’ll let me stay?”
“I will, but—” The hair on the back of his neck rose.
Brie’s hand flew to the Star of Truth. She vanished.
Renn’s expression registered alarm.
Corvus mouth the words, “Be careful.” He, too, disappeared.
For Wolloh, returning to Relevart’s cabin in the foothills of Persow felt like coming home. Nothing about it had changed since he first walked through the door, an arrogant young man with more talent than good sense. Well, almost nothing. Wolloh gazed at the fire while Relevart perused the El Stroman journal and thought back over his own metamorphosis from Laurent Davead Zuill DeLongeer, citizen of the planet of Roahymn, to the VarTerel of the Inner Universe. He felt sure his mentor also reviewed his life story. Why else would Relevart have sent him on a ‘training travel’ to retrieve the journal? Why else if not to learn more about where he came from?
Relevart lowered the journal to his knees. His head relaxed back. Only his quiet breathing, the intermittent crackle of the fire, and the creaks and groans endemic to the cabin could be heard. Wolloh thought perhaps he slept until his head rolled to the side and dark, wise eyes misted with tears came to rest on his face.
“I have always known that I was not from Persow. It never occurred to me, however, that I might not be from this solar system or even the Inner Universe. My travels have taken me many places, Wolloh, but I have never gone beyond the DéCussate Zone into the Outer Universe.”
Setting the journal on the small table between their chairs, he crossed to a book shelf, removed several thick books, and reached into a crevice in the cabin wall. He returned to his chair carrying a small, plain wooden box, which he continued to hold.
“At the age of twelve sun cycles, my Persowan mother took me to visit an old, old woman who lived in the mountains near here. I remember her as tiny and frail with white hair and piercing eyes as dark as a raven’s wing.
Leaving my mother to rest from our long walk, the old woman led me to a mountain cave, where we sat by a clear pool. She gave me this box.” He withdrew a small key on a long, silvery chain from around his neck. “And this key. When she tried to explain in her thick accent, I shook my head in confusion. She switched to Eleo Predian. I understood every word. She told me not to open the box, but to hide it somewhere safe. I would know when the time arrived to look inside.”
He touched the journal. “The time has come.” The click of the key turning seemed louder than such a small lock should warrant.
Wolloh leaned closer.
Relevart lifted the lid and caught his breath. The box contained two items: an oval, silver and moonstone locket minus its chain and a much-handled piece of parchment. His expression unreadable, he picked up the locket, pressed the tiny catch, and examined the contents. Sudden moisture brightened his eyes. For a moment, he stared into the fire, and then he snapped the locket shut, slipped it onto the chain with the key, and tucked it beneath his shirt. With a sigh, he unfolded the parchment and read it, first in Eleo Predian and then in DerTahan.
“Two held in one, two intertwined.
Last representatives of their own kind.
Two torn asunder and worlds apart
Age and grow and mature in their heart.
The time draws near to play their role
Rejoin together, return to whole,
Two held in one, uniting what’s true,
Planet El Stroma created anew.”
Wolloh accepted the parchment and compared the spidery script to the handwriting in the journa
l. “The same person who wrote the journal wrote the poem. What does the journal tell you?”
Once again, Relevart stared into the fire. “The author, a mid-wife in her middle years, recorded the story of the final effort to save a people, the Eleo Preda, from extinction. The politics of the time were complex. Suffice it to say, the RomPeer and his followers chose genocide as a means of obliterating a people whose life span was longer and whose spiritual beliefs ran counter to those of the ‘true’ people, the Pheet Adole.”
His mobile features hardened. His gaze grew distant. “More must wait until a later time. We are needed.”
Relevart replaced the poem in the box, returned it to its hiding place, and picked up the journal. “This will be much safer in the library in Myrrh.” Holding it aloft, he murmured a series of words. It vanished. A wave of his upraised hand sent a pile of objects in the corner of the room sailing to one side.
Wolloh handed him his staff, and followed him into MittKeer. Momentary confusion left him bemused. He gripped his staff. His mind cleared. Relevart raised Froetise. Mittkeer became a blur of stars and sky.
37
Master’s Reach
Myrrh
W ith a sense of disappointment, Almiralyn returned to Veersuni. Wilith, Elae, and Merrilea had found nothing on birth-mates. Torgin’s father was quick to assure her that the search had barely begun. He felt certain they would turn up something soon.
The desire to paint had taken Sparrow to her studio, leaving Almiralyn a much needed moment of quiet. She stretched out on a bench and let her mind wander. The Dojanack Caverns are wonderful, but they are not my home. I miss the cottage. I yearn to walk in the autumn sunlight, to inhale the scents of the Terces Wood, and to hear the birds singing and crickets calling. She sighed. A part of her wanted to be in the thick of the storm, wielding the power she had trained so hard to achieve. Another part held her to Myrrh, her chosen responsibility.
The UnFolding Collection Three Page 41