Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock

by Jak Koke

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  need.

  Gvint knew generally what Jibn was going through, although his own initiation had been highly personal. Jibn was experiencing an intimate communion with the spirit force of Ganwetrammus that was matched in intensity only by merging with the Council of Four.

  “Are you ready?” It was Jibn’s voice, coming from the Alqarat.

  Gvint looked over to see his brother’s form taking shape from the spur of stone. I will dance Garen’s part, he thought, and my life will end as his did. But that was a small price to pay for the survival of the brotherhood. Gvint had accepted his possible role in this for a long while. “Yes, I am ready.”

  Jibn approached, raising his palms in greeting. “Ganwetrammus is weakening,” he said. “It used up much of its remaining strength to empower me, to teach me its pattern so that we can renew it with the Ritual of Protection. It will die if we fail.”

  The thought sent ribbons of ice down Gvint’s back. “Then we will not fail.” He touched palms with his companion Elder.

  “Shall we begin?”

  Jibn nodded.

  They moved to the Alqarat and joined with the liferock there. But they did not merge completely. With each step of the dance, the soles of their feet entered and moved within the rock so they could maintain synchronous choreography and not lose contact with Ganwetrammus. In his mind’s eye Gvint saw the liferock’s pattern; in many places it had dimmed to a dull gray where its life-force had been drained.

  They danced independently, radially out from the Alqarat, across the surface of the liferock. They spun astral threads as they moved — a web of filaments which would be the foundation of the ritual. The web would act like a gigantic spell matrix, filtering all the astral energy which flowed into the ritual, This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  preventing anything from tainting the magic.

  At first Gvint’s movements were slow and unsteady; he concentrated on his memory of the last ritual. He was dancing Garen’s part since he was the Eldest. But soon, he forgot about Garen and Tylon, he focused on the here and now. This ritual was different from the last one. Ganwetrammus had changed in the intervening years. The brotherhood was different.

  The threat was different also; it came from something al-together alien. Not a Horror. Nothing like anything Gvint had ever experienced.

  Ganwetrammus soothed Gvint’s doubts until the two obsidimen moved through the motions of the dance without conscious thought, without hesitation or fear. The energy of the ritual kept them moving. They spun astral thread like silk worms, moving down the vertical sides of the tepuis and back up, always returning to the focal point of their connection to Ganwetrammus — the Alqarat.

  After the foundation of astral filaments had been laid like a mesh over the surface of the tepuis, Gvint and Jibn moved on to the next stage of the spell. They began to chant as they danced, joined by the rest of the brotherhood who emerged from the rock one by one and gathered in the temple to add their voices to the chant. Bass, baritone, and tenor melodies resonated through the stone, lending their strength to the liferock.

  The ritual burned in Gvint’s mind as he and Jibn sang the long notes of the chant. They danced all across the surface of the rock in the state of partial merge. The second stage pulled astral energy through the mesh matrix and channeled it, re-orienting all the elemental earth inside the rock.

  Gvint felt the true earth shifting as they sang, moving to help protect and heal the pattern of Ganwetrammus. A slight change came over the liferock — perhaps a glimmer of hope, but nothing more. As the ritual progressed, the huge ugly This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  spell that brought smells of rot and images of fire and steam continued to suck energy from the liferock.

  According to legend, the ritual would infuse Ganwetrammus with power from astral space — power it could use to destroy the parasitic spell and defend itself against the miners.

  But Gvint did not know when that power would come. And as time passed and his exhaustion grew, Gvint looked for any improvement in the Ganwetrammus’s condition.

  After the elemental earth had realigned and the orichalcum in the rock had been charged with magic, the nature of the ritual changed. The flow of astral energy increased dramatically as they began the final stage, the cleansing of the last arcs and swirls of the liferock’s pattern. Power pulsed through Gvint, immense power beyond anything he had ever experienced. His skin glowed with blue fire, charged as the energy passed through him and into the rock.

  The stone behind him split open, cracking along the path of his dance. Red and orange flames shot up from the fissures, until the whole mesa glowed in the night like huge mountain of lava. And still, he felt no improvement to the core health of the liferock.

  This effort would take his life. Gvint had accepted that, but he had always been certain that the ritual would succeed.

  Now he wasn’t so sure. It should be working by now.

  Perhaps the enemy’s magic was stronger. Perhaps the Ritual of Protection, for all its flash and power, was going to fail after all.

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

  “Y ou killed Reid for nothing,” Vecrix said to Pabl. “Too late to do you or your liferock any good.”

  Pabl could not answer; his muscles were still under the magician’s control. He could only watch, detached, as his feet carried him closer and closer to Sangolin’s expanse of lumpy gray flesh. The fabric of his loose pants brushed roughly against his legs as he walked, and the security of his crystal-studded bracers felt insubstantial in the face of such power. The white light from the glow crystals wavered in here, strobing the chamber in a ghastly flicker. Pabl saw forms moving underneath the sheath of Sangolin’s skin as Vecrix drew him closer. And closer.

  Vecrix smiled, a hideous lopsided grin. “You see, I have already created a spell which connects Sangolin to your liferock.

  Sangolin is even now cutting the heart out of it.” He said this last with venom in his words.

  Vecrix continued, “You think you’re so much better than we are, don’t you? You think we are pathetic empty hulls of what you are. You think your liferock is so important, but you’ve never experienced the wonders of Sangolin. The rush 256

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  of the merge into joy and pleasure so deep that you won’t ever want to leave. But you must; Sangolin forces you to go on.”

  Vecrix’s voice went distant as if he no longer spoke to Pabl, but to himself.

  Pabl stopped next to Sangolin as Vecrix leaned in close and whispered, “The plan was mine from the beginning, though your dead brother helped more than he wants to remember. Sangolin knows of all our liferocks, for their patterns are a part of us, and Sangolin is us. It is an amalgam of each and every obsidiman here. Except you, and that will change shortly.

  “Sangolin hungers for more strays. Always hungers. Othellium was easy; I linked Sangolin to its pattern through the brothers who were here. Five of the Othellium Brotherhood had come for the Gathering. All of them had very strong connections with their liferock. Sangolin drained Othellium slowly through those bonds.

  “The remnants of the Othellium Brotherhood tasted sweet to Sangolin, vital blood energy which moved the transformation ever more near. I am going to make Sangolin a true liferock, you know. And to do that, we needed more.”

  Pabl could not move. There must be a way I can escape this hold. But he didn’t have any spells that would work against it. He struggled to make his arms move, or his legs, but nothing would budge.

  “Ganwetrammus,” Vecrix went on. “Now that was a great plan. All my doing
. Mine. I thought of the miners. I drew the map. The orichalcum-lattice chamber was my idea. The spell . . . my idea. You probably don’t understand the intricacy of the ritual magic involved. Much of the power comes from Sangolin, but the spell’s complex design and thread weaving . . . that’s me.”

  Pabl felt the call then. Sangolin.

  The call came stronger than before, erasing all thought of This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  escape. Reid’s memories surfaced in Pabl’s mind with the call, overwhelming him. He wanted it now, he needed it now. To feel the rush like Reid felt so many times before. The tingling before the burning before the electric pulse of raw pleasure blazing over his skin like a tsunami to engulf his whole being.

  I must have it.

  Pabl forgot about Vecrix and his irrelevant schemes. He forgot Reid and Ganwetrammus. He didn’t care about any of that. He just wanted to merge with the undulating sea of flesh before him. So close . . .

  He jerked towards Sangolin, trying to throw himself into the rock.

  He moved slightly against Vecrix’s spell.

  “What are you doing?”

  I can move against his magic! The realization made him try again, lurching another inch toward Sangolin. And again.

  Vecrix laughed. “Don’t be so hasty,” he said. Then with a jerk of his hand, he forced Pabl to stake a full step backwards, away from the rock and its sweet release.

  Pabl jerked against the spell and moved several inches this time. Vecrix laughed and laughed while Pabl fought his control.

  Until finally, the magician gave in. “All right, my friend,”

  Vecrix said. “I will let you merge.”

  And he did.

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

  Sarbeneck had made arrangements to meet Pontin at the entrance to the tunnel. Payment was late, and that annoyed him greatly. The hour of their meeting had come and gone without any sign of the pretentious dwarf. The scum had better have a good explanation, he thought. When he could wait no longer, Sarbeneck sent Gingreth off to find Pontin and bring him to camp.

  The sky had darkened to night, studded with stars, and Sarbeneck was in a foul mood by the time Gingreth and his company of twelve ork cavalry had returned with their quarry.

  Pontin appeared with new bodyguards, five this time, including a troll. The dwarfs wore chain mail and carried swords, but the troll wielded a huge axe and had the kind of living crystal armor in his skin that was favored by many of his race.

  Gingreth’s orks, mounted on their thundra beasts, were not impressed.

  Pontin was dressed with his usual flamboyance. An emerald green cap matched his feather-adorned boots, and his waistcoat was checkered white and green. His shimmering white cape was clasped at his shoulder with the beetle scarab, 259

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  golden oval body with iridescent wings of green-black.

  “You wanted to see me, Sarbeneck?” Pontin said. “Here I am.”

  Sarbeneck stepped forward; he wanted this business of payment to be finished quickly and without incident. “There’s just this one small matter to discuss,” he said. “Payment. You owe me the remainder of my contract, plus my bonus of a half-million in silver.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot pay you yet,” Pontin said. “It pains me greatly to be forced to break my word, but my employers will not be able to pay me until their work is completed. They expected to be done by now, but . . .”

  “Well, that is unfortunate for you, now, isn’t it? A pity, really.” Sarbeneck paused, looking at his entourage of orks and sizing up Pontin’s bodyguards. “I’ll tell you what we can do, though. We can talk to your employers, explain the situation. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  Pontin tried a little laugh, but it came out like a squeak.

  “We could, but they are merged into the rock at the end of the tunnel. I don’t think they are in the mood to talk.”

  “That’s why you are going to do it.”

  “What?”

  “You,” Sarbeneck said, pointing his forefinger into Pontin’s checkered chest. “Are going to talk to them, right now.”

  “But they would kill me.”

  “And we will kill you if you don’t.”

  “I think not,” Pontin said, trying to sound brave.

  Gingreth broke into laughter. “You think you’re a match for us?”

  “Yes,” Pontin said. “I do.”

  “Gingreth, please,” Sarbeneck said. “Refrain from violence until I give the word. I’ll let you know when to remove his head.” Then he smiled at Pontin. “Why don’t we both go talk to them. Surely they’ll listen to us.”

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  “I don’t like the idea,” he said. “I’m certain that they’ll be done with whatever they’re doing in a few days. Can’t you wait until then?”

  Sarbeneck lost his temper then, yelling into Pontin’s smug face, “I’ve waited long enough!”

  Pontin stepped back, trying to look regal while discreetly wiping Sarbeneck’s spittle from his face and hair.

  “I’ll give you a choice,” Sarbeneck said, his voice low. “We go together now, to talk to the obsidimen in the cave chamber. Or I ransack the village with my cavalry of orks. I will take ownership of your possessions up to what you owe me.”

  Sarbeneck paused, sighing loudly. “Of course, people would most likely get killed that way, and these orks might get rowdy and destroy some property or take out their frustrations upon the innocent villagers, if you understand my meaning.”

  Pontin stepped back. “You do argue convincingly,” he said.

  “I accept. But I don’t think these obsidimen are going to like being bothered.”

  “We will deal with the obsidimen together,” Sarbeneck said. “Now, please, after you.” He gestured at the trail towards the tunnel.

  Pontin signaled his entourage of guards to accompany him, then headed up the trail, leading the way to the cave.

  Nancri joined them, as she had been instructed. Sarbeneck wanted her expertise; he felt more secure with her by his side. Gingreth brought along several large orks as well; it never hurt to have a show of force.

  The tunnel seemed brighter than before, and a strange low hum resonated through the walls, increasing in volume as they approached the orichalcum-lattice chamber. The hum was melodious like muffled voices deep in the rock.

  “The spell is intact,” Nancri said. “But something is happening to the astral imprint of the liferock.”

  The chamber glowed a brassy gold in the distance, and This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  there was a mottled nub at the very end where the two obsidimen had merged during the ritual. “What is that sound?” Sarbeneck asked.

  “I can’t tell,” said Nancri. “It could be the obsidimen and it could be something else.”

  The hum grew louder and louder as they approached, and the floor began to vibrate. Then it died away again; sounding to Sarbeneck like the magical droning that questors of Upandal sometimes did to test the integrity of their constructs.

  “Nancri, Pontin, how do we get the attention of these merged obsidimen?”

  “They know we are here,” Pontin said, “but they may refuse to emerge.”

  “Strip the threads of orichalcum off the walls,” Nancri said.

  “That will get their attention.”

  Sarbeneck removed a tiny miner’s pick from his belt and bent to the floor, preparing to gouge out a strip of the metal.

  “No, do not mar the chamber,” came a voice fro
m the direction of the nub.

  Sarbeneck looked up to see a face in the rock, and the hints of arms and legs just beneath the surface.

  “What do you want?” the face asked. “Why are you disturbing us? Our work is not complete.”

  “We wish to be paid so that we may leave.”

  “Your payment will come after we have finished.”

  “How long will that be?” Sarbeneck asked.

  “We intended to be finished by now,” said the obsidiman face. “But even with their resistance, I don’t think it will be too long before the rock is dead. Less than a month certainly.”

  “A month! Ridiculous.”

  “Sarbeneck,” Pontin interrupted. “I advise patience.”

  “Will the agreed-upon payment not be worth it?” said the obsidimen.

  The hum returned, more loudly this time. The floor vi-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  brated under Sarbeneck’s feet as the hum volume increased rapidly. He watched as a crack formed in the wall on his left.

  With a deafening roar, something pulsed out of the crack. It glowed a brilliant cold blue and flashed at lightning speed across the chamber.

  For a split instant Sarbeneck thought he saw the shape of an obsidiman in the cold blue halo — one of the rock people dancing at breakneck speed with his feet attached to the rock.

  Then the halo blasted past, barely missing Sarbeneck’s face.

  Sarbeneck flinched, lurching away from the near miss, whatever it was. The wake of its passing gusted around the cavern like a tornado of fire-hot wind, and the concussion of thunder knocked everyone in the chamber to the ground.