Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock

by Jak Koke

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  Jak Koke

  The skin across Sarbeneck’s face and down his neck had been scorched by the fireball, and for a protracted moment he thrashed and rolled along the cracked ground, trying to get away from the burning agony.

  “By the Passions!” Nancri said. “Riann, get the healer!

  Quickly.”

  And that was the last he heard.

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com)  Chapter Fourteen 

  Hours after the battle with the mining caravan, Pabl couldn’t get the images out of his head. Taking a deep breath, he hobbled down the erosion stairs toward the riflev pool. He passed into the wide hole in the mesa’s surface, the rock’s cold shadow wet and dark. Water gathered in the hollow at the bottom of the stairs, icy clear and deep.

  Scenes from the battle swirled around in his head. Over and over. He saw the line of orks on their horned thundra beasts close in between them and the retreating elementals.

  How had they known?

  In the pool, the stairs continued below the surface of the water, but beyond the last step the bottom dropped away into darkness. There was no bank to speak of, only the sheer sides of the hole which stretched up fifty or sixty feet to the plateau above.

  Pabl walked into the icy water, its chill tightening his skin.

  His body ached from the cold as he sat and washed himself clean of battle grime and blood. The visions of the battle in-tensified. He recalled the blizzard spheres sent by Gvint and 112

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  Gavi as they blew past. In his memory, Pabl crouched next to Chaiel, using his purifier magic to pummel and kick the two orks which closed around him.

  Chaiel pulled his sword and blurred into motion, down-ing one of the orks’ mounts in a single stroke. The beast reared its huge horned head, bellowing in pain as its lifeblood gushed from the wound in its neck.

  The cavalry was momentarily startled. No doubt these orks weren’t used to adversaries who did not fear their mounts. As Chaiel pulled his bloodied sword from the collapsing thundra beast, its rider abandoned the creature, leaving its dead bulk and retreating.

  Fireballs rocketed from Gvint’s position on the side of the cliff, and Pabl thought the brotherhood had the momentum.

  Until the orks regrouped and counterattacked in unstoppable numbers. Pabl spun and kicked, crushing bones beneath his magically hardened fists and feet. But the orks came on, their shields deflecting many of his blows.

  He tried to magically mind dagger those he could not physically harm, but he was outnumbered, and the orks were tough. They kept coming. Chaiel had killed six, but now he fought Gingreth, the beastmaster in command of several espagra. The winged beasts were very quick, baring razor sharp teeth and claws like honed needles.

  Every time Chaiel swung at Gingreth, one of the espagra attacked him from behind. Pabl moved to help, but one of the creatures bit him in the shoulder. He spun, sending a magically accelerated fist to its head. The creature fell, its skull dented in and oozing blood.

  Suddenly, a group of thundra beasts, ridden by orks, charged into them. Pabl watched as one of the beasts gored Tinu with its horns. And on Pabl’s left, Tidre tried to dodge another of the creatures, but he was too slow. The thing’s tail lashed out and struck Tidre in the side, launching him into This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  the air. Tidre landed hard against the rock.

  One of the riders speared a distracted Bintr through the leg and. Pabl tried to move to help, but all he could do was watch as Bintr collapsed, his foot rolling up under the crushing weight of one of the thundra beasts.

  Pabl heard Gvint yelling to pull back, just as the ground buckled under them. Earthquake! Many of the orks lost foot-ing, and a few of the thundra beasts fell. But not enough; too many stood between the brotherhood and the retreating Nuinouri.

  Lightning flashed close, and thunder boomed, shaking the air as Pabl turned back toward the rock. And abruptly, he realized that the enemy had managed to surround him. They grunted harsh orkish words at him, saying that they were going to wound him bad. Let the vultures pick his bones clean.

  Pabl did not hesitate. He struck hard and fast and without remorse. Two of the orks fell instantly and a third took a hard blow to the chest. But there were too many. The fourth struck Pabl with his sword, its sharp metal piercing his gut just below his ribs. Pabl nearly stumbled and fell, but his magic kept him on his feet. He faked a kick to the ork’s head, watching him flinch, then used the split-second to levitate himself up to a ledge of the cliff.

  Gvint’s Death Rain began to fall, hard and pelting against the rock. Pabl watched as the orks cursed as the rain wounded them. They did not disperse, however, instead they gathered under the protection provided by the cave.

  Pabl knew now that all the brothers had made it out. Most of them had taken serious injuries and were in need of attention, but none had been killed. Thank the Passions.

  Now, in the riflev pool, Pabl shivered from the numbing cold. He stood and dried himself off with a towel. He spread healing salve over the wounds in his chest, wincing in pain as he touched the deep cut where the ork’s sword had penetrated This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  his skin and hit the rib bone beneath.

  He wrapped a fresh bandage across his chest, then dressed in his ceremonial robes — heavy embroidered cloth of indigo and magenta. He walked up the stairs out of the rock’s shadow and into the heat of the afternoon sun. He made his way slowly past the temple and into the Dance of Stones. The boulders towered around him as he picked his way through.

  Because of the pain in his side, he moved carefully so as not to pull too hard on his injuries.

  Pabl joined Gvint and others of his brotherhood at the Deathstone, approaching the circle they formed around the boulder. Each brother wore the regalia of ceremony, the brightly colored robes and their horklas, woven from magic, finely braided silk and impossibly supple metal wire. Pabl was the sole exception because he had not been Named and therefore had no horkla.

  Wennith Nar’s body lay on the Deathstone, his back against the slag chasms and scars which radiated out from the rock’s center. The heavy gray and brown funeral covering hid Wennith’s features with stories of The Valley of the Elders and the reclamation of the dead.

  The obsidimen chanted solemnly in an ancient dialect.

  Besides Pabl, only five had been able to come. The rest were Dreaming with Ganwetrammus, healing; their injuries did not allow them to make it.

  Gvint was present, and Ywerk, Grimchak, Chaiel and . . .

  Who is that?

  Standing slightly apart from the others was an obsidiman Pabl had never seen. He wore the same ceremonial robes as the others, though his were of an older style, similar to Gvint’s.

  Pabl wondered for a second whether he was from another brotherhood, then noticed that his horkla was woven with the Garen brotherhood’s auburn and black, interlaced here with hints of magenta.

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  Must be Jibn Sra, Pabl thought.

  Rumor told that Jibn Sra lived on the far side of the tepuis and hadn’t merged with Ganwetrammus since the end of the Long Dreaming. The brotherhood considered him lost, for it was his Horror which had infected the liferock at the beginning of the Scourge. Jibn Sra was responsible for the near-death of Ganwetrammus and the sacrifice of Garen Dne.

  He avoided ceremonies and had committed himself to self-imposed exile.

  Yet here he stood in the circle around the Deathstone, next to Gvint, his aged voice joined with the others, lamenti
ng the passage of Wennith Nar.

  Pabl hesitated at the edge of the boulder; the Deathstone scared him. Death was supposed to come at a chosen time. I could be in Wennith’s place right now, he thought. I was standing right next to him when the Nuinouri attacked. Old ones decide the time of their death, as it should be. Wennith was taken too early.

  For Ohin Yeenar, it was too late to die. He was already passed his time for a natural death. The thought made Pabl shudder.

  An image came to Pabl then. A place of fire and mist that he had seen in self-Dreaming with the ancient one. A volcano and a river of fire falling over a cliff into a sea of molten rock below. Caves on a ledge above the sea. Where is this place, he thought. And why do I want to go there? He concentrated and the images faded; then he stepped into the circle of his brothers.

  The chant grew in volume as Gvint stepped on the Deathstone and spoke. “Today, Wennith Nar returns in body to the soul of Ganwetrammus.” His voice sang above the chant.

  “Take our brother apart, into the elements to which he belongs.

  His early passing saddens us, but he shall return in the future of our brotherhood, just as each of us was once a part of our This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  ancestors.”

  Gvint bent down to touch Wennith through the blanket. And as he moved his fingers across the lifeless form, the liferock reached up and merged with the dead body. All the brothers felt it.

  It was a short ceremony; the chanting continued for only eight hours. Then Gvint guided the brotherhood back to the temple. Jibn Sra did not join them.

  Wennith’s corpse remained on the Deathstone, slowly turning into sand, to erode away in the wind and rain. Gvint would return in a few weeks to retrieve the funeral blanket and Wennith’s horkla.

  Pabl sat on the tile floor of the temple and stared at the Alqarat. Sadness crept over him as he sat, melancholy seeping into him like water through porous rock. The Garen Brotherhood was defeated. Wounded and demoralized. Ganwetrammus was deeply hurting from the mining and they could do nothing to protect it.

  Chaiel and Gvint spoke in hushed tones near the exit, but Chaiel’s voice kept rising in anger. “They were forewarned of our attack strategy, I’m sure of it,” Chaiel said. “How else could they have known to move the Nuinouri out of the tunnel? And what happened to the diversion that was supposed to have come from the villagers?”

  “From where I was on the rock, I could see the townspeople approaching,” Gvint said. “But they never got into the camp; I think the miners knew about the diversion as well.”

  The cracks around his mouth angled into a frown. “I suppose I was wrong to trust the villagers. Though, I still can’t figure out how they warned the camp. My elemental spies made sure that none of them went near the miners.”

  Pabl stood and joined them. “Someone in the village is working with the miners?”

  Gvint nodded. “Chaiel thinks the orks knew of our attack This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  plans. And I am forced to agree.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “It could be Pontin or one of his men,” Gvint said.

  “Or Jan,” Chaiel added. “Even Celagri.”

  “No,” Pabl said, casting an angry glare at Chaiel. “It wouldn’t be either of those two.”

  Gvint sighed. “It doesn’t matter now, anyhow,” he said.

  “We are too weak and injured to attack them again. I suppose we are lucky to have lost only Wennith.” He closed his eyes tight, rubbing them with the fingers of his right hand.

  When he opened his eyes he was looking straight at Pabl.

  “I must ask you to do something, young one,” he said. “Something for the liferock, not for yourself.”

  “Of course, Elder.”

  “I want you to lead a search for Reid Quo,” he said. “We are almost out of options. We can attack them again, perhaps, after our wounds have healed. But we must also consider the Ritual of Protection.”

  The irony tasted sour in the back of Pabl’s throat. Am I ready for such a task? Before the mining had started, his desire to search for Reid had been personal. An alternative to waiting. But now, the fate of the entire liferock rode on its success or failure. I suppose I did ask for it, he thought.

  “No longer so anxious to be Named, young one?”

  “I just . . .” Pabl began. “I’m not sure I have the experience to lead such a search.”

  Gvint smiled. “You have courage, Pabl Evr. You fought well in the battle, and you merged with Ohin Yeenar. You know more about Reid’s recent history than any other brother, and that makes you our best hope for survival.”

  Pabl sighed, trying to ignore the pain in his ribs. “Where should I begin?” he asked.

  “You must go to the Valley of the Elders. You are young, not yet fully Awakened, but Ohin Yeenar has given you the images This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  of Reid Quo. If anything can help us find Reid, the Council of Four will know about it. Perhaps Chaiel will accompany you.”

  “Me?”

  “You don’t want to go?” Gvint asked.

  “It’s not that,” Chaiel said, “it’s just that I . . .”

  “Not everyone is prepared to merge with the Council,”

  Gvint said. “You will not have to merge if you are not ready. I wish only for you to help keep Pabl alive and well.”

  “Of course I will go,” Chaiel said. “But who else will come?”

  “Bintr is injured,” Pabl said. “And Penthr too. Grimchak perhaps?”

  “I would like Grimchak to remain here,” Gvint said. “He’s our only weaponsmith and we may need his talents. Also, Ywerk should stay.”

  “That’s it then; Chaiel and I will go; everyone else is too hurt. Maybe my friends will agree to come along,” Pabl said.

  “Jan and Celagri.”

  “You still trust them,” Chaiel said. “After they betrayed us.”

  “Yes, of course I trust them,” Pabl said. “They could not have betrayed us any more than you could. They have saved my life more than once in the past. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I don’t.”

  Gvint interrupted. “I think you put too much blind trust in your friends, Pabl. I respect your decision to invite them along, but they are not of our race. They are not of our liferock, and they cannot comprehend our plight. Do not ever forget that.”

  Pabl bowed his head. “I will not, Elder.” He stepped out onto the verandah, pushing aside the curtains and moving into a ray of sunshine that penetrated a high layer of gathering clouds.

  Gvint’s hand touched his shoulder. “Ganwetrammus will This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  show you the way to the Valley of the Elders, young one.” Then he bowed his head and removed a necklace which had been hidden under his robes. Black chain links had been fashioned from fine metal, and held a jade carving of Mynbruje.

  I’ve seen this before, Pabl thought.

  “I want you to take this with you,” Gvint said. “Garen Dne wore it for many years, as did Reid Quo before him. Garen gave it to Tylon Giv before he banished himself from the liferock, and it has passed down from Elder to Elder.”

  Pabl bent his head as Gvint placed the chain on him. He looked closely at the carving. Dull green rock, marbled white in several places. The Passion was represented in obsidiman form and resembled the erosion sculpture standing huge and tall next to the temple stairs. The features on his androgynous face were worn and blurred with time.

  “If you ever lose sight of your goal,” Gvint sai
d. “The necklace can serve as a reminder. Its pattern is tied to Garen, for which our liferock is named, and also to Reid. It may be connected to mine as well. I don’t know. It might help you find our lost Elder.”

  “Thank you,” Pabl said. Then he turned to Chaiel. “I will merge with Ganwetrammus now. Are you fit enough to leave soon?”

  Chaiel looked at the rock around them. “I will miss this place,” he said. “Yes, I will get Grimchak to sharpen my weapons. We can leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Good,” Pabl said. Then he took his leave of Gvint and the others in the temple. He walked into the haphazard maze of the Dance of Stones and entered the Dreaming with Ganwetrammus. Tomorrow they would begin the journey to the Valley of the Elders where the first obsidimen still lived.

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com)  Chapter Fifteen 

  When will Sangolin call?

  White, hot mist was a bright cloud around him. Somewhere above the steam, the sun shone, he knew, but he couldn’t see it through the searing fog which blew in from the swamps to drain the energy out of him.

  He sat in a lonely cloud, his feet dangling over the edge of the cliff. He heard the sounds of the others in the distance, even though he could not see them. He heard their labored preparations for the evening roast. Tonight, a mountain sheep would be spitted and barbecued.

  Pain shot through his head suddenly, acutely. He winced against it, gritting his teeth as it traveled down his spine, wracking through his chest and back. With it came the visions. He had been getting them of late, though he could not remember how long ago the last one had come.

  An obsidiman stood in a building made from slabs of red sandstone. Next to him was a spur of rock which rose up out of a floor tiled in burgundy and violet. He knew the obsidiman.

  His name was . . .

  He couldn’t remember.

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