Seeds of Earth

by Michael Cobley

  father's elder brother, Piers}'

  'Uncle Piers? Vaguely - bit of a black sheep, wasn't

  he?'

  'Yes, you could say that - he was on Ingram's side

  during the Winter Coup, helping organise support in the

  trapper towns and further out, but his heavy-handed

  methods backfired on him and he supposedly met a grisly

  end away in the north. Anyway, he had a favourite

  saying - "Screw negotiations, break out the ammo" -

  which I suspect these Brolturans would identify heavily

  with.' She was silent a moment. 'I worry about the three

  of you so much, because I fear that it will all get much

  worse before it gets better. Ian is a soldier and Ned is a

  doctor, so danger will come searching for one of them ...'

  'Mum, you shouldna worry so much, and especially

  not about me - all I do is rattle about with my stone

  carvings and dusty potsherds.' Aye, and a mysterious,

  underground chamber built by a vanished race, proba-

  bly Forerunner. 'But we'll also be looking out for each

  other, and Uncle Theo.'

  'Ah, I spoke to him this morning - he said that he

  was on the trail of those who killed the Brolturan

  ambassador but he was too late to stop it. He's so angry,

  at himself too. Oh look, I've talked long enough. I

  should let you get on with your work . . . oh, I meant to

  ask if your friend Ms Macreadie is still working at your

  site.'

  'No, she's away back up to Nivyesta, Mum. She

  really only was here for that official visit a couple of

  days ago.'

  'Right, of course. Well, goodbye, dear.'

  After their farewells, Greg put his comm away and

  headed along the passage, burdened by guilt, knowing

  he should be in touch with his mother more often, actu-

  ally making the call rather than leaving it to her or, in

  this case, Ian.

  Perhaps I'm just not a very good son, he thought

  gloomily as he walked down into the room of pillars.

  Chel and Listener Weynl were out on the chamber's

  patterned floor, at roughly the spot where Greg had lost

  his boots the day before. Barefooted, they were crouch-

  ing down in the cold golden light of a lamp sitting on

  the boundary wall, a short strap anchoring it to a shoul-

  der pack. Warily, Greg approached the gap and sat on

  the wall, legs kept safely away from the floor patterns.

  Chel glanced up and smiled. 'Friend Gregori, good to

  see you.' He was wearing the headband over his new

  eyes and seemed more relaxed and rested than last time.

  Then Weynl straightened and gave him a measured

  look.

  'May I address you as "Scholar", Mr Cameron?' the

  Listener said. 'It feels far more appropriate considering

  all that you have done for the Uvovo, all the clues ycu

  have found, culminating in this amazing discovery.'

  'I would be honoured to accept the title, Listener,' he

  said. 'Is there a ceremony involved?'

  'Yes - it consists of a day and a half of meditation in

  a vodrun, followed by individual visits to your family

  and friends to sing the Song of New Leaves. However,

  there is no vodrun within easy travel and the pressure of

  events allows little enough time for even the most vital

  of tasks.'

  Greg hesitated, not expecting the seriousness in

  WeynPs words and his demeanour. Even Chel's smile

  was sombre.

  'By events, do you mean this diplomatic row with

  the Brolturans? Once we catch those murdering mani-

  acs, we'll get back to negotiations and it'll all blow over.

  And anyway, what bearing does that have on our work

  here?'

  'Do you remember what I told you yesterday about

  this place, Gregori?' Chel said.

  'You said that it was built a hundred millennia ago by

  a race, no, an alliance of races called the Great Ancients.

  And I said, well now, that sounds similar to these

  Forerunners I've been hearing about in the news and on

  the vee, who were supposedly wiped out in a cataclysmic

  war about a hundred thousand years ago.' Greg smiled.

  'And I said, so what did this big chamber actually do,

  what was it for, and you said that you'd get Listener

  Weynl to explain it to me ... and here we all are. I

  assume that it has something to do with my dazzling

  experience yesterday.'

  Weynl nodded. 'A defence - the well has a vigilant

  Sentinel, watching tirelessly, guarding against anything

  that might be considered a threat.'

  'Like my boots?'

  'The Sentinel is very wary of unnatural or processed

  materials,' Weynl said. 'You'll notice that our feet are

  bare. If you take off your footwear you can join us - it's

  quite safe.'

  Greg held up his hands. 'Once was plenty, thank you.

  So, what are you doing, and how does it relate to what

  this place is for?'

  Chel looked up from the pattern grooves, which were

  gleaming where he had touched them, although Greg

  noticed that the radiance faded when he lifted his fingers

  away.

  'We're trying to rouse the Sentinel,' Chel said. 'Then

  hopefully speak with it.'

  'Speak with it and warn it,' added Weynl. 'The Great

  Ancients built this place and others like it on a hundred

  other planets, wells of power to counter the terrible

  might of the Enemy; numberless in their vast hordes,

  they sought to smother and strangle all who opposed

  them, but the wells could reach out into the starry black-

  ness, drag them down and swallow them, sending them

  down into the darkness below the darkness, the empti-

  ness within the emptiness.'

  Greg stared at the older Listener, not knowing what

  to say, feeling oddly embarrassed, but he knew that he

  could not dissemble.

  'Listener Weynl, I've heard the Saga of the Ancient

  Roots and I've read the transcript - I'm sorry but it's a

  legend, a myth. All societies and cultures have stories

  like this in the bedrock of their prehistory ...'

  But Weynl was smiling at him, not quite in pity, more

  like tolerant amusement.

  'Friend Gregori,' said Chel. 'This is not a matter of

  faith for the Uvovo - we know it to be true, as true as

  the War of the Long Night.'

  'Chel, you've seen our work . . .'

  'Gregori, you saw what happened here yesterday -

  you were blinded for several minutes by the forces that

  came up out of the pattern.'

  'I'll concede that this is a technological artefact from

  some vanished civilisation,' he said. 'But there's not a

  shred of evidence to connect this place to the Uvovo

  myths.'

  'Scholar Cameron,' said Weynl. 'I tell you in all hon-

  esty that this chamber is the reason why the Hegemony

  is so interested in Umara. They know of this place and

  they want it - its powers would make them invincible.'

  It was an amazing statement and lent a growing sense

  of unreality to an already bizarre situation. But Weynl

  said it w
ith such steady conviction that Greg took a

  mental step backwards - could it be true, he wondered.

  It explained several coincidences, yet for all that it was a

  tantalising conjecture his ingrained scepticism demanded

  empirical evidence.

  'How may we convince you, friend Gregori?' said

  Chel.

  'Proof,' he said. 'Show me undeniable proof that it's

  all connected - Segrana, this chamber, the Forerunner

  Catastrophe, the Uvovo - and I'll ... well, I'll know

  better.'

  'If we can persuade the Sentinel to speak,' Weynl said,

  'would that suffice?'

  'That would certainly get my attention, aye.'

  Smiling, the Listener looked at Chel, who nodded. As

  Greg watched, the Uvovo crouched down, examining

  the incised stone, muttering to each other as they ran

  fingertips along the lines of the patterns. Silver threads

  shone in their wake and he noticed that each Uvovo

  was delineating a cluster of lines, symbols and curves

  distinct and separate while just a few feet apart. After

  working on them for a few minutes, first Weynl then

  Chel rose and took three paces out towards the middle

  of the floor, crouched down and again scribed out glow-

  ing patterns on the stone. Their squatting forms

  appeared dim and shadowy a few yards from the lamp,

  but the patterns gleamed like mercury.

  Chel stood and came back over to the nearer pair,

  crouched and began tracing a line from one pattern clus-

  ter to the other, while Weynl did the same at his end.

  When the links were made, the pattern pairs brightened

  suddenly then faded - the Uvovo grinned at each other

  and nodded. Then Weynl bent down and began to scribe

  a bright thread from his patterns back to Chel's. Just

  before the end he paused, smiled up at Chel and Greg,

  then closed the gap.

  All four pattern clusters brightened significantly and

  the wall at the opposite side was now just visible. Like

  the last time Greg felt a change in the air, which

  became neither warmer nor cooler, with no change in

  humidity or odour or even pressure. It was as if

  abruptly something was present in the chamber, some-

  thing impassive. . .

  TUUL-RAAN-SHAYH

  Greg jumped as a massive voice spoke. It came from

  all around, and while it was not overly loud there was a

  deep, resonant timbre to it which made the hairs on his

  arms tingle.

  Chel and Weynl looked stunned and uncertain. The

  Listener started calling out greetings in the Uvovo

  tongue while Chel whispered suggestions. Greg how-

  ever felt sure that those three words were not from the

  Uvovo language.

  SHUUL-TANN-RAYH

  'Do you know what that means?' Greg said.

  The two Uvovo glanced at each other before Weynl

  spoke.

  'I cannot be sure, Scholar Cameron. At first I thought

  it was an ancient dialect of our tongue, or even a high

  idiom used by senior Listeners, yet there is no recognis-

  able sense to these ... sounds . . .'

  'But did you notice with the second announcement

  that the initial consonants shifted?' Greg said, a nasty

  suspicion forming in his thoughts. 'If it shifts again . . .'

  RUUL-SHAAN-TAYH

  'Right,' he said. 'I think we should get out of here,

  actually ...'

  'But why, friend Gregori?' said Chel.

  'Remember the tests you and I went through?' he

  said as he got to his feet. 'Remember what happened to

  my boots?'

  Chel smiled. 'I really don't think that we're in danger.

  Gregori.'

  'How do you know?'

  'I have been using my new senses to study the well

  and what lies beneath it, and I can tell you that the flow

  of powers is very different from before.'

  'Hmm, either you're very trusting,' Greg said, moving

  in the direction of the entrance, 'or very optimistic'

  SHUUL-RAAN TAYH

  'I think that sometimes I am a distrustful optimist,'

  Chel said, while Listener Weynl continued calling out

  greetings in a variety of Uvovo dialects.

  'Well I'm an orthodox sceptic,' Greg said. 'So I'll be

  waiting back at the corridor while you see what hap-

  pens . . .'

  Chel grinned and waved and Greg left the chamber.

  He was near the head of the stairway when the comm in

  his jacket beeped, alerting him to a message. He took it

  out, thumbed the keys, saw it was from Catriona and

  began to read while walking along the entry corridor.

  'Hi Greg,' it began. 'I tried calling you but the node

  hub said you were out of range so I'm sending a corn-

  note instead. Just to let you know that I'm going to try

  something different in my hunt for the Pathmasters - a

  Listener I know suggested I spend a few hours in a

  vodrun chamber, contemplating the mysteries of Segrana

  in the hope that she might see fit to let me in on a few

  Pathmaster secrets. Anyway, by the time you read this

  I'll probably be in the vodrun, especially given the signal

  lag between here and Darien. I guess you're back down

  there in that chamber - wish 1 was there too. Bye.'

  The comnote had been sent nearly half an hour ago

  but had only reached him when he left the chamber and

  came to the corridor. Suddenly anxious, he began keying

  for a return call but before he could put it through, that

  deep, reverberant voice spoke again from below .. .

  HORON

  Reflexively, Greg turned to the stone wall, clamping

  his hands over his eyes. For telescoping moments all

  was dark and silent, no remorseless, hammering light

  pouring into his optic nerves, turning the world into

  white fog. Cautiously, he peered from behind his fingers,

  then lowered his hands - all seemed fine, but just to be

  sure he hurried back to the stairs, pausing halfway

  down.

  'Chel, are you both okay?' he shouted.

  'All is well, Gregori,' came the faint reply. 'No need

  for concern.'

  'Great!' he yelled back, then retraced his steps, wait-

  ing till he reached the window, where the body harness*

  hung, before making the call to Catriona.

  34

  CHEL

  Listener Weynl had been in the middle of an elaborate

  greeting delivered in a whispering hinterland accent

  when that great voice spoke again.

  HORON

  ... and simultaneously the four glowing pattern clus-

  ters went dark, leaving them in the faintly golden light

  of the solitary lamp. It cast their shadows in long black

  paths across the intricately carved surface of the well,

  making all the incised lines, curves and symbols appear

  harshly cut, and the stone look like grainy, corroded

  metal.

  They both stood there for a moment then, to Chel's

  surprise, Weynl began to laugh quietly, his shoulders

  shaking with mirth. Chel found himself starting to smile

  for no apparent reason, and was about to ask what had

  set off this d
isplay of merriment when Greg's voice came

  from far off, probably the main passage.

  'Chel, are you both okay?'

  'All is well, Greg,' he shouted back. 'No need for

  concern.'

  'Great...'

  On hearing Greg's distant yelling, however, Weynl

  went into another bout of hilarity which provoked in

  Chel a slight but growing irritation.

  'Listener, are you well?'

  '. . . I'm . . . sorry, good Scholar ... all this marvel-

  lous construction dedicated to preserving the Great

  Ancients' work and when we awake their Sentinel we

  cannot understand a word.' He smiled. 'But a Human

  shouting from outside we can comprehend quite

  well . . . my apologies, it seemed overwhelming!)

  funny . . .'

  'Understandable, Listener,' he said, feeling disap-

  proval at WeynPs amusement, then wondering why he

  would feel that way. Am I turning into some kind of

  strict, humourless traditionalist? Perhaps I'm the one in

  need of a dose of merrymaking!

  Suddenly, Weynl fell silent and turned to face Chel,

  his eyes wide, mouth open.

  'Foolish I've been, yes, and blind!' He stretched out a

  hand to the well surface. 'The Great Ancients built this

  place, so might it not be expected that their Sentinel

  would speak their language?'

  'Exactly so,' said a sighing, whispery voice from

  nearby. 'Disappointing that you took this long to discern

  it.'

  In the air above the golden-glowing lamp hung the

  tenuous outlines of a vague, hooded figure, its spectral

  contours formed from minute particles of dust hanging

  and glittering in the heat rising from slots in the lamp

  cover.

  'Venerable Pathmaster,' Weynl said, bowing. 'Then

  it is true - the Sentinel speaks only the Great Ancients'

  tongue.'

  'I seem to recall that it was fluent in a great many

  forms of communication, not all of them spoken.

  However, I do remember that it could be slightly irascible

  in temperament. Perhaps I can persuade it to be more

  forthcoming.' The Pathmaster paused. 'Cheluvahar, I see

  the changes Segrana has made in you -1 expect you were

  surprised.'

  Chel almost smiled, imagining how Gregori would

  answer such a comment.

  'Yes, Pathmaster, surprise was indeed one of the emo-