Jordett was met by a young PPP officer as he exited the infirmary. Lavir and Senar needed him. Setting aside his desire to seek out Akeri and learn if she had word from Teva, he took a Drop Car to the lower level. Lavir’s triumphant smile suggested success, but he said little. Jordett followed him through a maze of underground passageways until they arrived in an obscure area of the tower. Lavir motioned him through a doorway. Senar sat in front of several V-Screens observing four men in the midst of an argument and a fifth sitting on the sidelines.
Lavir grinned. “Viennoc looks pretty fed up. I always felt the Fathers were a mismatched bunch but…” He shook his head.
Jordett pulled up a chair. Senar touched the replay icon. Learning their group dynamic would be essential to handling the Five Fathers of Idronatti.
The Sanctuary of Veersuni glowed in the light from the stained glass window. The alabaster woman on Elcaro’s rim seemed to stiffen. Water ceased to spill from her palms. Reflected color tinted her eyes blue and her braided hair silver-blonde. The water caught her image and tossed it over the fountain’s surface. A picture somersaulted upward and flipped into place.
A tall figure in a deep purple cape paced a cheerless room. Sitting in an arched recess on a black pedestal, a crystal orb rejected the gloominess and glowed. Black curtains draped the walls and enclosed a single four poster bed. Opposite in another recess, a swag of deep purple adorned a black throne-like chair. To one side, framed by a tall, gothic-style window, stood a lacquer table with a single high-backed black chair. The floor, comprised of polished stone, shimmered in the cool light from a hidden source, giving it the appearance of black ice.
The figure paused in its repeated back and forth. A gulped breath shook its body. A series of rasping coughs lingered in the space, their harsh chorus sounding again and again.
An Astican entered the room and offered a black goblet.
The figure sipped. The coughing eased. It appeared to study the creature’s cherubic features.
“When I sent for you, I expected you to return immediately.” The accusatory statement rattled up from somewhere deep and dry. “What took you so long?”
The figure’s prolonged bout of coughing held the Astican quiet. When at last the hacking abated, Abarax dropped to one knee and bowed its head. “I came as soon as I received word, MasTer.” It lifted blue eyes to the hood-enshrouded head in the hopes of glimpsing the face. “I wish only to please.”
In a swirl of purple, the tall figure pivoted and crossed to the crystal orb. A single finger tapped it. The folds of the cape settled and then flared again as the figure traversed the room to the throne. The swish of fabric brushing the floor ceased; the figure lowered onto the seat. “I have a job that only you can do.”
The Astican remained on its knee, its eyes tracking The MasTer’s every move, its thoughts racing.
The hood cast the now half-hidden face into shadow. “They are about to discover my secret, Abarax.”
Cherub eyes blinked. Its expression unreadable, the Davea lowered his head further.
“Come here, Astican, and stand before me.” A coughing fit left The MasTer gasping for air.
The creature rose, scaled wings folded against its back, and stood in front of its master.
“You can atone for your tardiness, Abarax.” The harried flick of a hand sent folds of velvet to cover a scarred ankle. “I will forgive you, make you my right hand, give you my favor even above Vygel and Thorlu. Would you like that?”
The Astican again bowed its head, hiding its expression, hiding the malicious delight that sprang to its eyes. “My wish is to serve in any way that will please you.”
The figure stood and drew a curved, black sword from a scabbard attached to the throne. The razor sharp edges gleamed. A red stone sparked in the hilt.
“You, Abarax, must swear to tell no one what I am about to share, no one, or you will die by this blade. Do you swear?”
Baby blue eyes lifted to gaze on the purple enshrouded figure. “I swear, my master, to keep your secret for eternity and beyond.”
“Swear that you will do my bidding in all things. Swear that should you fail again, you will drive this sword through your own heart.” A cough rattled through the room.
Abarax waited for quiet to return. “I swear to do your bidding. Should I fail, I swear to drive your sword through my heart.” The monumental truth of what it had done left it weak-kneed but elated. Containing its emotions, it waited the revelation that would give it more power than the top Mocendi, the two men who had belittled it and its kind since they were children.
The purple cape pooled on the floor. A man in a loose-fitting, black robe glared down at the Astican. Limp hair of an indiscriminate color framed a haggard face. Withered skin hung flaccid on skeletal cheek bones. Irises tinged with red glowed in deep-set sockets.
Abarax quelled its desire to gasp, to gape, to stare. The male figure wavered. A woman solidified in his place.
Long, graying hair caught up in a braid cascaded over one shoulder. Her face, like that of her male form, reflected a life ravaged by pain and trauma. A hint of her former beauty lingered beneath the scars and wrinkles and sagging skin. Age-creased lips formed a wistful line beneath a once elegant nose. The most startling features, however, were eyes as black as ebony, eyes that read every thought, eyes that understood the galaxies in all their evil and their goodness.
Medium height in her loose, black robe, The MasTer leaned wearily on the sword. “I am too tired to maintain the masquerade. I have misused my body until it now betrays my every desire. Shifting has become too great a task for it to bear. You, Abarax, will be my contact with the outside world. Only you will communicate with me and for me.” A spasm of hacking coughs shook her cadaverous frame.
Abarax held itself still, kept its face blank, and prayed she could not see the shockwave quaking through it.
The semblance of a sad smile softened the once lovely face. “You are shocked that The MasTer is a woman; that a woman could be so sadistic and ruthless; that a woman could control a band of intelligent, talented, and evil men; that a woman could conceive of such diabolical and hard-hearted plans. Women, Abarax, are dealt a hand in life that requires them to be strong or die. I chose to live.”
The Astican bowed its head in humble acknowledgement of her words.
In the fountain, the image somersaulted back to the bottom of the bowl. Color no longer tinted the kneeling statue. Water dripped from her palms, filling Veersuni with the secrets within its trembling song.
42
Master’s Reach
DerTah & Beyond
B rie had slept poorly. Concern for her friends haunted her dreams. The Star of Truth pinched or prickled or stung, keeping her on edge and alert. What’s happening? What is it trying to tell me?
She hitched a ride on Renn’s shoulder to the lab; then buzzed into the vent and followed the shaft to the plantitarium. Behind the plant growth as far from the door as she could go, she shifted to her Human form and inhaled the fresh air. This had become her escape, the place she went to think.
Exploring it had made her more and more curious. She had discovered the brown tubes in the bottom of the shafts formed a root system that extended ship-wide. The tan walls here, and throughout, seemed to be a membrane structure that absorbed nutrients and oxygen. She found it fascinating. Additionally, she had discovered waist high towers about the diameter of her hips placed equidistant around the huge space. By accident she discovered they made rain.
The door opening below startled her. Tripping backward, she hit the wall. The forest of plants vanished. Her first reaction was to freeze in place. When nothing happened to alarm her, she relaxed and slowly rotated. The space she had tumbled into appeared large enough to hold several people. No doors or windows marked the curved walls—no touch screens, no furniture. A series of vents lined the inner wall. From those, roots crept over the surface, covering it with a vein-like pattern. Where they touched the floor, the su
rface looked like moss.
When she extended her arms to the sides, her finger tips were double her arm’s length from the walls. A considerable distance above her head, the space narrowed and the outer wall arched toward the inner wall. She estimated that the space was over four times her height in length. At the far end, a small pool had been constructed. Around it, different edible plants thrived.
Struggling to take in what she was seeing and to keep her thoughts masked, she wrapped a curl round and round her finger. The Star tingled.
A soft ‘shhhhhh’ sounded in her mind. Elf stepped through the wall. Beside him, an illusion of invisibility melted away. Shyllee appeared, her long tongue hanging from one side of her mouth.
Elf grinned.
Brie threw her arms around him. “Safe to talk?”
He held her away from him and listened intently. “Safe.”
Her head filled with images. Elf as a young boy on this ship, hiding in this space. Elf building the pool and planting the garden. Elf stealing a material from the ship stores that absorbed waste, purified it, and distributed it for fertilizer in the gardens beyond the walls.
His hands on her shoulders tensed. “We have to save Ira and Esán.”
The Star of Truth sent an answering stab of pain down her neck.
Once again, Esán found himself feeling like a bug under a microscope, as Wolloh had so aptly put it when they first met. The High DiMensioner’s scrutiny, however, had been benign compared to the man across the desk. Although Thorlu’s pleasant expression remained unchanging, Esán knew the enemy behind the smile crouched, ready to pounce.
A mind probe buzzing in his brain magnified the headache he couldn’t seem to get rid of and left him feeling cranky and disconcerted. Tested, scanned, and analyzed to the point where he felt like a torture victim made him a resistant and silent prisoner. He had done his best to tuck information that might be dangerous to others away in the outer regions of his mind. Behind a blank face, trivial thoughts drifted and faded.
Thorlu tapped a V-screen set in his desktop. “The results of your health scan indicate you have a rare disease, one that can only be healed on Tao Spirian. Your tests suggest that it was in remission.” The pleasant expression morphed to shrewd. “I have a proposition: you tell me what I want to know, and I will personally take you to Tao Spirian.”
Allowing nothing but disinterest to show on his face, Esán remained quiet.
The Mocendi walked around the desk. Cold eyes searched his face. “It would be a shame to destroy your mind, bearer of dual Seeds of Carsilem. You know I can peel away your memories like the petals from a flower’s bud. Where are Torgin and Almiralyn’s niece? Where are they headed? How do they plan to get there?”
Esán pressed his lips together. A small moment of triumph blazed. Brie is safe .
Thorlu’s rapacious smile flashed wider. “Ah. Brie.”
Kicking himself for his lack of control, Esán stared at a small bug crawling on his hand. A minuscule tingle touched his mind.
Thorlu gripped the arms of Esán’s chair and yanked it around to face him. “I can and will make your life miserable, Esán Efre.”
Esán shrugged. “You already have, sir.”
Thorlu’s howl vibrated only emptiness. The boy had vanished. Vygel rushed into the room, saw the vacated chair, and smirked.
“Well, well. It seems he got the better of you, Thorlu Tangorra. Why am I not surprised?”
Thorlu rounded the desk and grabbed the front of Vygel’s tunic. “Find him and confine the others where they cannot escape.”
Vintrusie yanked his tunic free. “You are not my superior. I take orders only from The MasTer.” A churlish look accompanied the obsessive smoothing of his tunic and the frenetic rearranging of his cape. “You know I hate to be touched, Thorlu.” His awkward gait carried him beyond the door.
Thorlu hissed under his breath. “I detest you, Vygel Vintrusie. Taking your place with The MasTer will be such a pleasure.” He returned to his chair and drummed his fingers against the table. To his knowledge, only one boy had ever escaped from the ship, Elf, and he had been recaptured. Malice contorted his handsome features. Elf is locked in a security cell. That in itself will win The MasTer’s favor. Unfortunately, the dual Seeds of Carsilem make Esán another candidate for escape . The drumming on the desk became more intense.
If I were a boy on a big ship, where would I go?
Yaro and Tamosh left Frith’s farm with a rifle and the knowledge that they’d find plenty of ammunition under the bench seat of the wagon. Following the rutted two-track had proved easy. They caught up with the wagon on the near side of the small fishing village of Metto as the sun peaked the horizon. Tamosh went with Gregos and Cayled to find SeaBella . Yaro shaped a golden dog of indiscernible breed and stayed close to Renn and Bibeed until they stepped aboard the new boat. Only then did he shift and fly back the way they had come. No one appeared to follow.
Once he had done everything he could to assure Renn Whalend’s safety, he took time to explore. He found the carved poles located outside each village home of great interest, especially when he discovered that they represented many of the same things that tattoos in his culture symbolized. While Gregos and Tamosh finalized payment for the sailboat and stocked her for the journey, he spent time with the village elder, who exhibited neither surprise nor fear when he materialized in his true form. The old man reminded him of his mother’s brother, the Pentharian ancient-one who had trained him in the arts of warfare.
Sad to leave his new acquaintance but glad to remove Renn from ZaltRaca, he stood on the deck of the new vessel, listening to the mid-turning song of the village women as the sailboat pulled away from the wooden docks.
Gregos and Tamosh were thrilled. SeaBella , every bit the boat Melback had been, only newer and faster, glided through the water and out into Geran’s southern passage. Cayled was overjoyed to be aboard as crew, and Bibeed seemed as at home in the galley as in a cottage kitchen.
Only Renn lacked the spark of excitement that ignited the energy and spirit of her companions. She sat at the stern, staring back at the shore with such sadness that Yaro thought her heart must be breaking.
“You are sorry to leave ZaltRaca, Renn Whalend?”
She sighed. “I am sorry to leave the peace of it. Even though I was a prisoner, I felt freer than I have ever felt in my life. I will miss that; I will miss the sea and the wind and DerTah’s three moons.” She caught a teardrop on the tip of her finger and watched it shimmer in the sun. A quick movement sent it to merge with the salty sea. “At least I can leave one small piece of me behind—a part of the ocean I have grown to love.”
“Of course, I hate to leave without Torgin.” She stared up at the sky. “But my heart tells me he is safe.” Her eyes, so like her son’s, regarded him. “How safe are we, Yaro? Do you think more of the League’s men follow?”
“If I wanted Torgin and Brie, I would not send only two men. We are not safe yet, Renn. When I hand you into the care of the Guardian of Myrrh—that is when I will know you are safe. Until then, we must be vigilant.”
Renn’s gaze returned to the sea.
Gregos beckoned him from the helm. “Do you think we’ll be followed, Yaro?”
“I believe the Mocendi will guess where we are going. I expect the portal to be the place where we will encounter trouble. That does not mean we will not be followed.”
Yaro looked back. ZaltRaca would soon sink beyond the horizon. He shifted to a laridae and flew aft. The calm sea reflected the pale orange of the DerTahan sky. A scattering of clouds drifted high overhead. DerTah’s saffron moon would soon be inching above the eastern horizon. Almost time to find a safe haven for the night .
The silhouetted shape of a boat sailed from Southern Geran Passage between ZaltRaca and the mainland and into the strait. Yaro swooped back to SeaBella and landed beside Gregos.
“A fishing trawler pulled out of the passage. It could be nothing, or—”
&nb
sp; “Could be something.” Gregos squared his shoulders. “Sure could use that compass about now. Tamosh,” he called, “need your charts. Good thing he’s traveled Tri-Moon.” He squinted up at the watch perch. “Cayled, keep your eyes open up there.”
Cayled acknowledged the order with a wave.
Tamosh climbed on deck. “We’re exposed until we reach the far shore. We’ve got the wind and the tide in our favor. Once we reach the other side, there’s a small cove that’ll give us shelter for the night.”
Gregos nibbled his mustache. “But will it hide us from the enemy?”
Tamosh frowned. “Only if they don’t know we’re there. The bottleneck entrance is the only way in and out.”
Yaro looked at Renn. “Better go below, Renn Whalen.”
She took one last look at the Isle of ZaltRaca and crossed to the hatch.
Yaro watched her climb below. I will do my best, heart brother, to protect your mother.
Almiralyn shook the cobwebs from her brain. Her first trip to Mittkeer had been a long time ago during her training on KcernFensia. She had almost forgotten the moments of confusion that accompanied her arrival. The warmth of Corvus’ hand in hers steadied her. Her mind cleared.
“Mittkeer always takes my breath away,” she said.
Relevart gazed ahead. “It is beautiful, isn’t it. We must go. Wolloh and his team are on their way.”
Matching her stride to his, she noted his regal bearing, the assurance in his step, and his unerring ability to navigate with nothing but the sameness of the star-studded sky to guide him. She also noted the watchfulness wrapping him like a cloak.
Unease prickled over her skin. Only a VarTerel and his chosen can enter Mittkeer. Why am I so jumpy? The eerie silence reminded her that she walked between time and no time. She rubbed chilled hands up and down her arms. This is the first time I have left Myrrh behind since exiting the Demrach Gateway into the Terces Wood many sun cycles ago. No wonder I’m anxious.
The UnFolding Collection Three Page 48