Children of Swan: The Land of Taron, Vol 2: (A Space Fantasy Adventure)

by Coral Walker

  +++

  When they stepped out of the shadows into the open hall, the pain Dilea suffered seemed to have subsided, judging by her less shaky bearing.

  The change of scenery took Jack by surprise. It was no longer an ancient room that was heavy and grim, but a hall, simple and modern, with white walls gleaming and ceiling high and airy.

  There were recessed ceiling lights but most of them were off, subjecting the hall to dark shadows, except where illuminated by the lit rooms along one of the long walls. Light poured out of their narrow door windows and illuminated half of the sizable hall. There were an equal number of rooms on the dark wall opposite. Jack could vaguely see their dull metal doors fitted with iron-barred windows, reminding him strangely of prison cells.

  Then his wandering glance caught sight of a silvery door in the left corner. A lift, a proper lift, he recognised it at once. Not like the one pulled by a rope that had dropped him like a stone, but the electric sort that were common back to Earth.

  “Lift, what’s a lift?” Ornardo glanced back to the silver door and questioned in his mind voice, sounding like a child.

  Jack laughed.

  — It is a box that carries people from level to level up and down.

  “Where’s the box?”

  — Behind that door.

  “Is that a door?” Ornardo narrowed his eyes, “Where are the men pulling it?”

  — It moves by itself.

  “By itself?”

  — Yes, by itself.

  Jack tried to conjure up a steady image of a functioning lift for Ornardo to see, but his mind was too distracted by thoughts of Earth and home.

  Without Jack being aware of it, Ornardo had stretched a hand towards the shining button by the lift.

  “Don’t you touch that,” Dilea’s muffled voice sounded frightened. “You don’t know what it might do to you.”

  The hand recoiled at once.

  Jack was amused. How a simple thing like a lift struck Ornardo with curiosity, and Dilea with irrational fear. The lift was obviously unoccupied according to the dim arrow lights above the door.

  At Dilea’s urging they set off towards the other end of the hall. Alarmed by the subdued whistling sound from the dark rooms on the left, Ornardo took a detour and peeked through the iron window. The room behind, immersed in absolute darkness, gave away nothing.

  “Something is in there. What is it?” he asked.

  Dilea didn’t reply, not even turning her head, but strode towards the lighted rooms. Through the slender door windows, they could see that all the rooms were furnished in the same manner — a white crystal lamp in the centre of the ceiling, and three beds neatly placed against the wall. On each bed, a young red-skinned woman lay under a white sheet. By the contours of the sheets, they were all in various stages of pregnancy and seemed to be arranged so that as the rooms progressed towards the far end, the bumps were getting larger, and the pregnancies were getting more advanced.

  The last few rooms seemed reserved for blue-skinned occupants. Dilea sped up and started peeking through the windows herself. When she got to the last room on that side, she looked baffled. “Lizi’s gone.”

  The last room was furnished for a single user and had the comfort of its own sink and a small armchair. The bed under the ceiling light, judging by its unkempt bed linen, had been used recently, and where the mattress sagged the most there was a brownish patch.

  “Is that blood on the bed?” Ornardo was alarmed. His nose was pressed against the cold window panel.

  Dilea edged closer. “Some of it has dripped onto the floor.”

  Before Dilea’s words trailed off, a spine-chilling scream rent the still air and shattered them all. Instantly they turned. At the end of the hall were two rooms, one dark and the other brightly lit. There was no doubt that the scream had escaped from the bright room.

  They rushed over to its double doors and craned their necks to peek through its window. All of a sudden Ornardo crouched down. “She’s there,” he squealed, quivering uncontrollably.

  “Shush.” Dilea rushed a hand to his mouth and warned, “Lord Shusha is in the room.”

  The mention of Lord Shusha calmed Ornardo. Even the quivering subsided. Without a word they split up, one on each side of the door, and peeked warily through the corners of the window.

  Ornardo’s eyes were glued to the young blue-skinned woman lying on her back with her legs propped up and secured in a pair of stirrups. From the way her body was trembling, she was without a doubt in acute pain. Her lips were bleeding, and from them a stream of low groans were uttered, intermixed with long, blood-curdling cries.

  The young woman’s protruding stomach was covered by wires and sensors that were connected to a monitor attached to the wall. A fair-haired, medium-built man in a surgical mask and white coat was reading out figures from the monitor. Towering behind him, a tall, thin man seemed to be listening. Further away at the other end of the bed, a short, pear-shaped woman in a tight blue dress stood watching.

  Jack’s attention was first drawn to the cloaked man — Lord Shusha, whom he identified with ease, for there was no other man that matched his blue-skinned frame — his curiosity, nevertheless, drew him back to the woman in the blue dress and the fair-haired man, who both struck him with their pale skins and Earth-like clothing.

  Were they humans from Earth?

  The monitor reading appeared to have reached some threshold. While Lord Shusha looked on, the fair-haired man injected some liquid into the stomach of the young woman who was moaning in pain. By the sound of her subsiding cries, the injection was taking effect.

  The man then took the young woman’s arm and quickly checked her pulse. As he held two fingers against the wrist, he drew an antique silver watch from one of his pockets to measure the time.

  The stopwatch with its silver ring and golden chain gleamed under the white ceiling light overhead, and it struck Jack that he had seen it before.

  The pulse seemed satisfactory, and the man looked up to seek the permission of the cloaked man behind him, who nodded back. With that, the fair-haired man and the woman got to their feet and walked towards the door.

  Both Dilea and Ornardo jumped aside to avoid being seen in the window. But the brief sight of the woman’s face was sufficient.

  — Ms Upright!

  Jack cried at the top of his mind voice.

  11

  Dark Room

  “What are you Ertharans doing here? Who is Ms Upright?” Ornardo’s mind voice had an edge to it.

  The term “you Ertharans” was more hurtful than Jack liked to admit. He kept a diplomatic silence, but his mind betrayed him, memories flooding back — Bo being taken away by Ms Upright; him and Brianna in despair.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” Ornardo murmured.

  — By the way, Ms Upright isn’t an Ertharan like me. She’s a freak, who likes to dress herself up like one.

  “But the other one was,” Ornardo snorted.

  — The one with fair hair? Y ... yes. He looks like a medical doctor from Earth. But why does Lord Shusha need a doctor from Earth to attend the childbirth?

  The thought bemused him. It wasn’t just the doctor. The whole place seemed to be built with materials that had been brought from Earth.

  “Strange that we didn’t see any new mothers with their babies.”

  — Because they’re all dead.

  It slipped innocently out of Jack’s mind.

  Ornardo went silent. After what seemed to be a long while, Jack heard a wailing sound whistling in Ornardo’s mind voice, like air slowly leaking out of a balloon. “You think Lizi will die too.”

  Jack was startled.

  — She will not, if —

  He mumbled, fumbling for words.

  — If she ... she is as strong as you.

  +++

  When they peeked through the window again, a round, glass cover had been placed over the bed, and the man and Ms Upright were manipulating something along t
he edge to fasten the cover to the bed. Under the glass cover, Lizi lay still. She looked almost asleep, except for the intermittent trembling of her legs and sporadic moans.

  After another check on the cover, the man strode over to flick on a switch fitted by the side of the monitor. Purple gas poured out of a vent near Lizi’s head and started to engulf the confined space.

  Lizi’s head jerked upwards all of a sudden, as if the purple air disturbed her. As her head dropped softly back, her shoulder arched, and her torso twisted into an awkward pose. Then with another sharp jerk of her head she looked unexpectedly in their direction.

  Jack found himself staring into the largest pair of eyes he had ever seen. The body started shaking at the sight of her face, and his frame of vision became foggy.

  Her round eyes, pale and blank, were as lifeless as a stagnant pond. But at the corners, teardrops wobbled and gleamed before furrowing down her sagging cheeks like a string of beads.

  Jack was aware of the grief in Ornardo’s mind, steadily rising until it filled the conscious mind to the brim. He saw it was coming, like a tornado, screeching and swirling, tearing everything in its way ...

  — No!

  He cried at the top of his mind voice, struggling in vain to save his own shattered senses and to stop the body from smashing down the door and bursting in.

  Someone grabbed hold of the body from behind. It was Dilea. The forearm hit the door as the body was hustled away, and the door swayed.

  “Go, go, hide!” Dilea urged in a hushed tone, pushing and shoving him towards the dark wall.

  Ornardo refused, his mind disturbed and anguished, and wrestled back. Jack toiled to move the legs and turn the body away from the door. The body swayed, unstable from the conflicting efforts, and was on the point of falling. A forceful shove from Dilea saved him, sending him stumbling towards a dark room on the other side of the hall. The cold metal door swayed open unexpectedly under the weight of the body. Headlong he stumbled in and fell head over heels in a heap of hay. The door swung back, and in the same breath, a hollow voice resounded in the hall.

  “What are you doing here, Dilea?”

  “M ... my lord,” Dilea answered, in a small and nervous voice, “My lady Cici asked me to bring you a cup of tea.”

  “Your lady is back now?”

  “Yes, my Lord. She got back this evening.” Dilea’s voice faltered a little but then she steadied it.

  “Where is the tea?”

  “I ... I left it with the guards down the hall, as I wasn’t sure whether I would find you here.”

  “You know you’re not allowed in here.”

  “Yes, my Lord. But the guards let me in once I mentioned Lady Cici.”

  “Alright. Get my tea and bring it here.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  There was a scuttle of footsteps followed by the sound of a door shutting. After that, the hall sank back into silence.

  He found himself enveloped in complete darkness. A strong stench filled the nostrils and turned the stomach. It must be one of the dark rooms that reminded him of a prison, he mused, as he adapted to his surroundings. To his bafflement, the left hand seemed to be in an odd state. When he heard the muffled sound from the throat, as if Ornardo was striving to suppress a painful cry, he realised something was wrong — Ornardo was suffering intense pain that he could not feel, and the source of the pain was the hand. For a long while, he strained to see into the thick darkness, trying in vain to trace shapes and to make sense out of shadows.

  The door opened quietly, and Dilea’s whisper rippled through the foul air, “Ornardo, are you there?”

  “Heeere,” Ornardo screeched through gritted teeth. “Something has caught my hand.”

  There was a quiet rustling sound as Dilea drew near. She rubbed something, and a subdued orange light appeared in the hollow of her hand. She rubbed it more, until the light grew a little brighter. Then she held it near the hand that was in trouble.

  At once, Jack saw the source of the problem — a bokwa as thick as his thigh, coiling around an upright post with its mouth loosely open, was clamping the hand between its serrated teeth. Glimpsing round the room that was now illuminated by the dusky light, he could see the shadowy bodies of other bokwas sprawling on the floor and lounging on posts.

  The bokwa clenching the hand was in a deep sleep, to judge by its lifeless eyes and rhythmic breathing. As the soft light shone on its head its eyes rolled slightly. Seizing the forearm by the wrist, Dilea gave it a measured pull.

  No success. Without losing its grip, the bokwa dozed on.

  Dilea’s round face tightened, and without more ado she gave the log a forceful kick. The log shook under her foot, and the bokwa jerked and let go of the hand.

  “Run! Run!” cried Dilea pulling him by the arm.

  The bokwa rolled its lidless eyes as it awakened. Slowly it lifted its head, its neck arching.

  They dashed to the door, and at the instant that they stumbled out of the room, the metal door shut behind them with a loud thump. The bokwa, who must have chased them at a frantic pace, pounced on the door and shut it.

  With uneven steps they hurried back to the dark staircase and descended the grim spiral steps.

  +++

  Dilea insisted on binding him back to the bed, regardless of his status when she had set him free.

  “A promise is a promise,” she mumbled winding the soft strips around his wrist. “I know how much Lady Cici wants to see you safe and sound when she gets back. Poor thing — motherless since she was a baby, and Lord Shusha has never spent much time with her. She isn’t bad, you know, just lost.”

  For a brief moment, Jack thought she hadn’t just spoken to Ornardo, but to him too.

  She took out a small slender stone from her pocket, one end round and smooth and the other end thin and ragged. She rubbed the round side gently with a finger, and a faint orange light shone out from its smooth surface.

  “It’s a moonstone. The more you rub it, the brighter it gets and the longer it lasts. I’ll leave it here. You might need it.”

  Her face gleamed softly as she tucked the stone under the pillow. Then she stood up. With her shoulders drooping and her hunched back supported by the hands resting on her hips, she looked suddenly awkward and weary.

  “I must go to rustle up the tea for Lord Shusha,” she muttered, smiling timidly, and left.

  12

  Dome

  Brianna thrust herself up out of the water.

  Lights, tinted with the colours from the stained roof window of the dome, poured onto the rippling surface of the water.

  Or was it water?

  Feather-light and elusive, it was more like millions of silvery specks, floating and swimming.

  Perhaps the light was playing tricks.

  She rubbed her eyes. How smooth her hands were, glistening in the blue shaft of light that shone on them. Not just her hands, every inch of her naked skin was smooth and glistening.

  Perhaps I am dead. Am I?

  She recalled Teilo’s anxious look, the booming voice of the plump man, and the deep lines in the face of Malalea, who didn’t think well of her.

  Malalea would be glad if she were dead.

  The thought amused her and made her want to laugh a little. But vaguely she felt troubled. Shards of disjointed images floated out from the sea of her memory, like algae-coated relics of a plane that crashed long ago — the whooshing wind, the whistling of arrows, the disturbingly shrill honk — all blurred, there but not quite there, like a dream she had dreamed.

  Was this the Bath of Life they had talked about — the one that would either kill or heal her depending on what she was made of?

  She wondered in bewilderment, reaching out to the rocky wall. The touch of the cold, rough surface surprised her and raised a sensation that was sharp and vivid.

  I am ALIVE.

  From where her palm was touching the wall, a tingling feeling shot up her arm, and in the same breath, she heard whis
pers that were carried through the tingling and percolated into her mind. It startled her, and at once she withdrew her hand.

  The stone wall was talking to her.

  Her eyes lingered on the wall and fell on some rectangular white marble stones embedded in it. They were each the size of a book and twinkled softly like evening stars. While the others were disordered, four of them were ranged in a neat, equally-spaced row. A sudden compulsion grabbed her, as if the whispering had somehow enchanted her mind, making her reach out to touch the shimmering surface of the first stone.

  Under her fingertips, thin, black lines appeared, but as soon as she withdrew her hand they faded away. Intrigued, she pressed down her hand with fingers spread and rubbed the surface repeatedly and continuously to make the lines stay. Between her fingers the picture took shape in its entirety.

  A girl with sparkly skin — she looked in awe at her own gleaming skin — was walking on the surface of a lake towards its centre.

  But the centre of the lake, the apparent destination of the girl, was obscured by beams of light that were streaming down from the sky. For a while, she strained her eyes in vain, wondering what was there, but unable to see anything clearly she dismissed the picture with disdain.

  Most likely it was not anything important.

  She rushed on to the next marble stone, but before the emerging picture reached its full clarity, something white and gleaming caught her eye — a gown draped on a rock jutting out of the far wall. Quickly she waded towards it.

  The moment her hand fell onto the feathery fabric, the dome went dark as if a switch had been flicked. The lustre of the marble stones dulled, the lights flooding through the roof window vanished, and where silver particles had danced their wonderment was nothing but a pool of stagnant water. With a soft moan, a disguised door nearby swung suddenly open. Leaves whirled in, a few of which rolled onto the surface of the water.

  The change of scene was puzzling and unnerving, but the glimmering gown in her hands lifted her spirits. How velvety and soft it felt, almost like she was touching the soft breast feathers of a real bird — even its warm feel was the same.