by Jak Koke
Pabl touched Gvint’s palms. The Elder’s skin felt craggy like crumbling rock.
“Welcome, young one,” Gvint said. He was taller than Pabl, thin and old with cracking wrinkles. He looked worse than he had twenty years ago. A thickly braided horkla of auburn and black covered the crown of his head, but it couldn’t hide the deep crevices etched into his brow.
One Elder is one too few, Pabl thought. He has carried the burdens and responsibilities of the brotherhood on his shoulders alone. How much strain can he take?
Gvint’s ceremonial robes billowed around him as he motioned Pabl into the temple. “We will talk inside,” he said.
Pabl removed his backpack and brushed dirt from his cloak. Then he placed his feet on the entrance stone and This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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stepped into the covered verandah. The stone slabs which made up the temple walls and roof were an extension of the liferock. Delicate carvings of each brother adorned the huge entryway, and next to the carvings, petroglyphs were engraved on the walls — fine lines which told the stories of each obsidiman in the brotherhood.
The petroglyphs began in the verandah, picturing each brother’s First Merge and Awakening. Then, inside, through the curtains, the engravings continued the tales from their adulthood, as full members of the brotherhood. Pabl’s own story stopped short of the curtained entryway.
Pabl stepped through the opening. Colors bombarded him, and he caught a whiff of the sweet copper smell of home.
The floor tiles shone burgundy and deep violet, forming concentric circles, centered on the spur of natural rock that came up through the floor in the middle of the room: the Alqarat, glowing like red lava at the tip. The roar of the waterfall dulled as Pabl walked into the temple, feeling the cool tiles against the bare soles of his feet, and he could hear the high-pitched hiss of the Alqarat as it burned the air.
“I am sorry your Fire Bath will have to be delayed,” Gvint said. “But you must be patient. In time, Reid Quo will make his way back to Tepuis Garen. Many of our greatest brothers have had prolonged Awakenings for some reason or other.
Garen himself was delayed returning from beyond Death’s Sea.”
“I understand, Elder,” Pabl said, breathing in the sweet scent of the temple. “But what am I to do while I wait? There is an emptiness in my heart that cannot be filled without Reid.”
Gvint’s expression became solemn. “Remember, young brother, your Name will not define you; it will only describe you and strengthen who you are.”
“But —”
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Gvint placed his hand on Pabl’s shoulder. “You can continue your studies here. Reid can hear the call. We know this.
Otherwise, Ganwetrammus would summon Jibn Sra. Reid will return.” But Pabl heard the exhaustion in Gvint’s words. The Elder’s faith was not yet shaken, but after more than ten years even he was tired of waiting.
“I would gladly stay,” Pabl said, “if I was certain of his impending return, but he is lost, is he not? No one has seen him since before the Long Dreaming. Shouldn’t we search for him?”
Gvint sighed. “It is true that we have no news of his whereabouts, and he was last seen well before the Scourge. But that does not mean that we should begin a search for him. Would you wander all the world for him? Where do you propose to start the search?”
“The rumor of Ohin Yeenar —”
“Is merely a rumor, and a dangerous one. I do not put much faith in it. No, I prefer to let Ganwetrammus guide our actions.”
“But what if Ohin Yeenar knows something of Reid’s whereabouts?”
Gvint turned away and took a few steps along the tile. His head bowed as he gauged his words. “Ohin is beyond old and his mind is gone. He lies because he can’t remember the truth.
Mynbruje avoids him. He is also extremely powerful with magic. How else could he have survived the destruction of his liferock, unless he made a deal with a Horror . . .”
Pabl stared at Gvint. The Elder’s eyes were solid ebony, no whites. “Are you saying that I can’t go ask this Ohin Yeenar about Reid?”
Gvint threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, young one, you are yet fresh from the outside world. No, I will not stop you from going if you decide to do so. I am merely imparting my opinion, my years of experience . . . my wisdom if you will.”
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The Elder held his palms out to Pabl. “I advise patience. You young ones never seem to have enough of it.”
Pabl put his palms in Gvint’s, but his gaze settled on the wall behind the Elder. The engravings which had started in the verandah grew more elaborate inside, with gems and thin veins of gold and platinum highlighting the stories. The legends of the Garen Brotherhood covered all walls, telling the entire history of the liferock since its emergence from dormancy. The stories told of the rise of mana and the first obsidimen to emerge. They told of the preparations for the Scourge, the Ritual of Protection, and the naming of Tepuis Garen.
And lastly, they chronicled the disappearance of Reid Quo and the final merging of Yonik Bne. There the engravings stopped.
It hit Pabl then. The brotherhood was isolated in time until Reid returned. And beyond Gvint’s wisdom, Pabl saw that the old obsidiman worried about the heath of the liferock, asked himself the question that they all asked: What if Reid never comes back?
Pabl stood, breathing the rich coppery aroma in deep satisfaction. What if Reid never comes back? He has to die before Ganwetrammus can call another Elder. It could be decades before I am Named. Centuries even.
Pabl looked at Gvint. “I am glad to be home for a time,” he said. “But I must think about whether I am content to wait for Reid Quo to return.”
“We must have faith in Ganwetrammus, young one.”
“Yes, I know.” He paused. “I do have faith, but I see things eroding because Reid is not here. You are overworked, and worried about us. You are but one, Elder. And while you are strong, you cannot take care of the demands of an entire brotherhood.
“While you struggle and worry up here, the village grows at the foot of the tepuis. The people who live there have forgotten us for the most part, or no longer care. The roads have This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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been widened, much jungle has been cut and burned to clear land for farms and buildings. And there’s a shantytown growing like a pestilence along the stream, polluting the same water which falls crystal clean in the riflev. It must be stopped.”
Gvint focused his ebony eyes on Pabl. “I know about the village,” he said. “True, the shantytown is an eyesore, but it’s not an immediate threat. I’ve been very busy with my duties here at the temple, and I have been garnering help from air elementals. Ten are searching for Reid Quo right now.”
“I hope they find him soon, because we are vulnerable without Reid. I can’t be Named and you cannot perform all of your duties to the rock. We all know that no new ones can be brought into the world without Reid. We need him, and I see no harm in searching for him.”
Gvint continued his stare unabated. “I don’t want the brotherhood scattered across Barsaive and the world looking for him. We need unity now. I need as many of you here as possible until Reid returns.”
Pabl looked down in the face of Gvint’s stare. “I need some time to think, Elder,” he said, then walked across the hard tile to the verandah. He pushed through the curtains and walked out onto the broad steps.
The erosion sculpture of Mynbruje stood huge and stately on his left. Pabl climbed up the rock to the P
assion’s arms and sat on the level place formed where his forearms merged into the liferock. The roar of the waterfall filled his ears as he focused on the surface of the rock and prepared for his karma ritual.
Images of pain and suffering flooded his mind. That was always how the ritual began, the pain starting slowly, then growing. With each image he struck the rock with his fists. He remembered the rape victim he and Jan had discovered in the ditch just outside Bartertown.
He struck faster and faster as the images came more rap-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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idly. Pain shot through him as he watched the burning of an old dwarf’s farm. Bandits had started it to destroy his crop because the old man couldn’t afford to pay protection. Black smoke billowed into the air as small animals fled the flames.
The fire had spread to the forestland next to the farm, burning for two weeks, down to the river before it had died out completely.
The rock grew hot under Pabl’s rapid strikes until it glowed a deep red. He thought of the shantytown in Rabneth, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Transgressions against nature were by far the worst.
Images came to him of his search for the lost castle of Yon Fuiras. Pabl had studied the various scrolls in the Great Library, trying to piece together a coherent picture.
Jan had told him to give it up. That obsessions like this were not always a good thing. But Pabl couldn’t stop; he knew the answer was just beyond his reach. If he just had one more detail, he would understand. Then he found the diary of an old air sailor who had visited Yon Fuiras before the Scourge.
They set out two days later, catching a T’skrang riverboat to the river port Wynar, then from there, they traveled on foot up into the Scol mountains. Celagri and Jan gave up after two weeks of searching the barren mountains and tried to convince Pabl to return with them. But two weeks was nothing, and he told them so.
They argued and tempers grew until Jan and Celagri decided to leave. Never before had Pabl’s friendship with Jan been so strained. Jan was right, obsessions are not always good.
But he had come this far and he couldn’t give up now.
Three days after Jan and Celagri had walked away, Pabl found Yon Fuiras, empty and destroyed by fire. The ashes of bones and buildings formed a gray dust over the still heart of structure. The castle had been a stronghold of natural beauty, built into the existing rock. It had been a testament to the This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock
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possibility of living in harmony with nature. Its library had once contained many rare books of magic lore and history, and it saddened him greatly to find it obliterated.
Jan and Celagri found him there hours later, underground, nearly catatonic in a self-induced hibernative state. They had not left him at all, but had followed from a distance. Jan had been too worried to leave. When he woke, Pabl was overjoyed to see them.
Now, the visions continued as he pounded his fists against the rock. They plagued him for over an hour before he had purged them from his mind. The stone in front of him radiated heat, and Pabl used the heat to dry the tears which flowed now from his eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling refreshed and strong.
He climbed down from Mynbruje’s arms as the first drops of rain splashed him. A thunderstorm approached; he could smell it. A chill passed through him as he walked toward the temple. The air crackled with the charge of tingling static which meant the imminent onslaught of lightning.
Through the course of his ritual he had made his decision.
All of his experiences indicated that truth and justice required an active defense.
Pabl could not remain idle. He would seek out Ohin Yeenar. The ancient one was his only chance to find Reid Quo.
Even if Ohin was dangerous, Pabl needed to see him. Even if Lyrthus Rewt had disappeared; even if the ancient one had made a deal with a Horror; even if all the rumors were true, Pabl had to find out what Ohin Yeenar knew about Reid. The survival of the liferock was at stake.
This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Chapter Five
Sarbeneck Haspain III stood atop a small rocky knoll and gazed out at the jungle in the distance. He took a deep breath of the clean, humid air and tried to ignore the ache in his bones. I’m getting too old for all this traveling, he thought. All this time sleeping in a tent instead of underground is taking its toll. His caravan had stopped for the night, a little earlier than Sarbeneck had wanted, but the threat of another thunderstorm had forced him to call a halt.
From his vantage, the dwarf saw the jungle ahead of them darkening. Clouds, like blackened cotton, approached rapidly. Threads of blue and purple flickered in the clouds, lighting their bellies. The storm rolled over the giant mesas in the distance, still a day’s journey away, and Sarbeneck watched as the lightning struck the top of the stone monoliths over and over like insatiable snakes. He watched for a few minutes until the mesas were lost behind the blurry haze of torrential rain and black clouds.
Sarbeneck stretched his back and ran callused and stubby fingers through his beard. He was a dwarf of Throal, as his father and grandfather had been before him. Ever since the 36
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long burial of the Scourge had begun, his family had helped to carve out new cities in the kingdom. But Sarbeneck had always been more fascinated with minerals and mining than stonework. Since the opening of the old kaer, Sarbeneck had gradually shifted the family business from construction to mining.
As a youth, all awkward and carefree, Sarbeneck had developed a taste for traveling. It was during his first journeys that he discovered he had an eye for seeing gold-and orichalcum-laden rock. His tent became his home. His job became his family. And that had fulfilled him for years. But now . . .
Now he was tired. He was balding and what black hair remained had become streaked with gray. Wrinkles creased the corners of his once-sharp blue eyes, and his nose and cheeks glowed a steady rose color from drinking too much wine. Sarbeneck loved good cooking and was nicely fat; his feet hurt from the long journey. And while he was wealthy in the riches of the world, he was beginning to suspect that money could not replace lost opportunities, nor could it make people like him. Perhaps this expedition would be his last.
Sarbeneck heard footsteps coming up the trail behind him, and he turned. An ork approached, huge compared to the dwarf, but he stood at a discreet distance to show respect.
The ork was tall with dark skin and long, curly brown hair which blew loose in the wind. His ears came to a dull point, a dangling earring hanging from one. The jewelry was fashioned from silver and enameled with an idealized image of an Espagra — brilliant scales of iridescent blue, fancy blue-green wings, menacingly sharp tail and claws, plus eyes and a mouth of deep red. The real beasts were far more frightening.
“You bring news, Gingreth?”
“Yes, sir. The tunnelers are secure in their tents. And Sarahem says that the evening meal is nearly ready.”
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“Good, I’m hungry. She is preparing roast boar. Quite excellent.” Sarbeneck eyed the ork, considering the other’s company. Sarbeneck had eaten alone most of the trip, and he was getting tired of it. “How about you, Gingreth? Would you like to share my table this evening?”
The ork’s tongue passed slowly over his jutting incisors, a thin line of drool escaping through his parted black lips.
Sarbeneck immediately regretted his offer; he hated eating with orks. Gingreth had never been taught the social graces of fine dining. Or crude dining for that matter. All that time spent with his animals. “Or if you’d rather not —”<
br />
“I would like nothing better, sir,” the ork replied. “My espagra will miss my company, but I can hunt with them afterwards.”
“Um . . . good, we can discuss the days ahead. Come, the rain is nearly upon us.” Sarbeneck turned and made his way back toward the encampment.
Gingreth followed. The two of them had been on thirty-four mining expeditions together. The ork had been with Sarbeneck’s company since the beginning, but they had never been to this part of Barsaive. Sarbeneck had never been offered so much money for a relatively simple job.
His employer had warned him that security might be a problem, and that he should bring plenty of armed mercenaries to ensure that his operation could not be impeded. Some of the locals didn’t want their rock to be violated, despite the fact that there was a rich vein of orichalcum to be mined.
Sarbeneck guessed that they just didn’t appreciate the fine points of free market economics. Orichalcum in the rock had no value to anyone. But mined and purified, the precious metal was beautiful, golden and potent with magic. It was valuable and a great asset to any community. Name-givers from all over would come to this part of the jungle in search of fortune, and the locals could only benefit from the influx.
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All those new people would have to eat and sleep and live in houses.
Yet, some didn’t see any of that. Perhaps in time they would come to appreciate what Sarbeneck and his mining caravan were about to do. In addition to his company of smiths and miners which numbered forty-three dwarfs and humans, he had rented an ork cavalry consisting of a hundred warriors and their families. Plus Gingreth and his five trained espagra.
Security would not be a problem.
This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Chapter Six