“Well, you all seem to be a lot better informed than I am.” Now I sound accusing. I can’t help that, either.
“Not really. You are the orthomancer. The last of the orthomancers. If you die, then Hethor has no hope. You are the only one of us who can find the rest of our people. The only one who can evict the Raths. You are the only one who can save the Inmuri still on Hethor.”
I pick on the central bit of that speech. “The rest of our people? What rest?”
Karith sinks down onto the cold stone floor of the tunnel, stretching her leg out in front of her. “Your mother didn’t mention the Exodus?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t tell me anything about the orthomancers, either. Although it was my father who could have passed on that knowledge.”
“When the Raths invaded us, there were many, many Inmuri on Hethor. But it was soon clear that the intruders would win. Nowadays they have made the Scoriats to do their will. In olden times they came with the Vessans.”
Everybody has gone quiet. Even Zivan has come closer.
Karith moves her leg and winces. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out rather raggedly. “The Vessans,” she repeats. “They were about half as big as us again. They had blasters. They could run at twice our speed. And, in the beginning, the Raths had small shuttles, ones that could fly easily and quickly inside our atmosphere. They flew the Vessans to wherever we were hiding, where they found it easy to kill us. So the timeworn decided to divide the Inmuri in two groups. One group would stay, would accept defeat, bow down before the menace and work to subvert the Raths from here on Hethor itself. The other group, those chosen for the Exodus, would leave Hethor to find a new world. They would come back to free us when they had established themselves.”
She paused for a few seconds. Then she exhaled sadly. “Only, they never came back.”
All this sounded like a fairy story to me. “How did they leave? How did they get away from these Vessans? What happened to the Vessans? Where did they go?”
Karith shrugs. “Nobody knows. It is said that the Vessans only lasted for a few hundred years, that the gravity on Hethor made them weak and that their bones gradually turned to sponge. That is why the Raths began to make the Scoriats.” Her lip curls. “After that, things were so easy for the Raths that they grew lazy and fat on our diamonds and our minerals. They didn’t need to bestir themselves. They didn’t need the shuttles which could fly inside the atmosphere. They let them decay and didn’t replace them.” She gives an ironic smile. “If they hadn’t, we could never have got as far as we have.”
I can’t help it. My disbelief is complete. “Come on! If the other side had these Vessans and ... and shuttles which could fly easily in the atmosphere, it would be easy for them to destroy an exodus. How did they manage to get away?”
“I don’t know how they left, but I do know that Kelfor was the key. And ...” she looks me right in the eye, “... over a million Inmuri left. The timeworn divided the population more or less in two. A million left ... or tried to leave ... and a million stayed.”
“A million? A million stayed? But ... but ... how many are there of us now?”
“A few thousand. Spread over all the karths. The Raths have made our lives so difficult that we are dying out as a race. That is why we have to do this, Remeny. Because if we don’t, our race will be extinguished in a few decades. They are killing too many of us.”
Zivan gives a harsh laugh. “Then what will they do? There aren’t enough Scoriats to work in the domes or in the mines, and the Raths certainly won’t. Hethor will become free again, anyway!”
“Yes, but there would be no Inmuri left alive to witness it. Other races would eventually come, and the entire Inmuri race would be nothing more than a few bones left to bleach in the desert.”
We are all silent. Everything we know would disappear. Everything would die.
Kalyka raises her hand, tentatively despite having just terminated a Scoriat. “What happened to the others? The Exodus, I mean. Why did they never come back to help us?”
“Nobody knows. Legend has it that many thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, were killed by the Raths and the Vessans. There is no record of how many actually escaped. We know that some did because news came back of at least limited success. We have waited and waited for them to come and claim Hethor. For them to come and save us. We have allowed the Raths to decimate our numbers because we always believed they would come. But they never did. And now ... now it is probably too late.”
Koban’s face is sharp, keen. “So there is a way off planet? Here, here in the Rift of the Timeworn?”
A funny, tingling sensation shoots right through me. For a second I have a sense of precognition. We will find Kelfor. I am gripped by a conviction so sure, so certain, that it rocks me backward. It also occurs to me that Koban is a bit over-eager. My eyes track to Zivan’s. She is looking at me. Her eyes reflect my thoughts.
I want to stop Karith from answering, but I don’t know how to. I mentally scream at her not to say anymore. Naturally, she doesn’t hear me. She goes on almost chattily.
“Yes. Kelfor is the gateway to travel to other worlds. And Remeny is the last of the orthomancers. The last of the ones who can lead us away. We can’t do it without her. The gateway will only open for an orthomancer.”
Now Koban is looking at me. His expression is hungry. I have no idea whose side he is on, but something is causing a shiver to run up and down my spine.
I stand up, catching Zivan’s eye. “Zivan and I will go with you.”
Everybody except Zivan looks surprised. She tucks two blasters into her tunic and snaps her fingers. “Doven, you are in charge here. Make sure you each keep a blaster. The Scoriats will be no trouble. The ones still alive are badly injured. Shoot them if they try to move, but I don’t think they will.”
We leave Kalyka with Doven and Karith. Karith is tending to Doven’s injury.
Koban and Jethran lead the way back out of the cavern. Zivan and I bring up the rear. Now that we are all carrying blasters, the back almost seems the most prudent place to be.
12.
We hear the fighting long before we come across the other group. Somebody is using blasters. I shiver as we creep up behind them; this tunnel is much colder than the ones we have just come from.
It is smaller too. So my jaw drops when I see what it holds.
The shiny rock looks like molten chocolate left to harden. It has folds. There are some petrified trunks lying about. There are also some boulders, worn smooth too by the passage of water long-forgotten centuries ago. But what makes me catch my breath are the six ice cascades flowing from the roof down to the floor of the cavern. They gleam; beautiful light-turquoise waterfalls which contrast with the dark rock. They are unmoving, wonderful solid blocks of a river which at some point in the past froze, and which has never unfrozen. They completely cover one side of the cavern.
I can’t understand how they have formed, why they have not melted. We are quite a way down through from the surface now. The surrounding tunnels are warm, some even uncomfortably hot. How can this small oasis of coldness have survived? And these ice flows are old. They could have been frozen here since time began.
I stare. My breath is coming out in small puffs of cloud, a sign of just how much colder it has become.
Even Zivan has taken a few seconds to gaze at her surroundings. She files it away, her sharp eyes checking around us, detailing the position of friend and foe as best they can. I try to do the same, putting the magnificence of the setting out of my mind.
The Scoriats are using what cover there is, facing away from us and toward the inner part of the cavern. They think themselves safe from this side. They have mistakenly decided that all their opponents are on the other side. It takes us only twenty seconds to show them just how wrong they are about that. We cut down three of them before they even have time to react. The ones who are left swing round their cover, turning to face us. If Furian had blasters
, he could pick them off easily. Unfortunately, he hasn’t.
We huddle behind a large petrified trunk. Koban was right; the legate and one decuma of the First Cohort were recalled to Astakarth. That means thirty effectives have entered the rift. There were twelve Scoriats in the group which attacked us. We have counted them. Eighteen came this way. We still have fifteen to find.
Two of them are already dead, lying on the cold ground of a small aperture in the tunnel. Furian has not been idle. He must have set up an ambush for them that surprised these overconfident Scoriats. I feel a rush of pride in our little group. We are not the pushover these genetically enhanced creatures assume us to be. I count mentally. That leaves thirteen. Even in the best-case scenario, they still outnumber us.
Now we are pinned down behind this ancient tree which was once made of wood and has become solid rock crystal. And we are being fired upon. That complicates things. I look at Zivan. She shrugs slightly. We are helping. I just hope that it will be enough.
It is Koban who moves first. He makes some sign to Jethran, pointing to the inside of the red, crystallized trunk. It is hollow. My eyes widen again. What phenomenon could bore through the fossil tree so perfectly, leaving only the outer rim? My knowledge of minerals and geology is non-existent. For the first time I wonder what Hethor was like before the Raths came. Were we erudite and studious? Were there people who dedicated their lives to such things? Were the timeworn so called because they were sages?
It doesn’t matter these days. There is no time for a dome worker to learn anything other than how to cling onto a rafter. Nearly all the knowledge my people had, if they ever did, is gone. It is a sad thought.
The two men begin to creep along the inside of the log. We follow. It is like a giant thigh bone with the marrow removed. There is still room inside for us to walk, if slightly bent over. The interior is smooth. Whatever hollowed out this stone tree trunk left the resultant walls almost like mirrors. Our feet slide on the naturally carved floor. I am forced to grab at Zivan once to keep myself from falling. The long log is divided into segments, too. The trunk has been cut into identical lengths, all the world as if a giant egg slicer has descended through them. I wonder what natural phenomenon could make them like that. The logs are thick enough to hide the progress of the two men. We use the gaps in the trunk to keep firing, to make the Scoriats think that we are still behind the trunk, rather than traversing it.
Shots blaze out from the darkness of a side tunnel. I duck automatically to protect myself, even though I am secure inside the cocoon of the stone tree. Away from the embrasures, there is no danger to me. My heart refuses the logic of my head and begins a drum roll of fright anyway. I feel a fleeting anger with myself for not being able to control it.
Zivan has none of my fear; she is already in fluid motion. I can’t help pulling a face as I rocket after her. How does she keep her brain functioning so well through these rushes of adrenaline? How can she visualize what is going on so clearly? I have to become more like her. Have to. Though I hope I won’t become so angry with the world.
Our trunk is lying diagonally at the entrance to the cavern. This mad rush along it will take us almost to one of the ice cascades. I see what Koban wants. The ice cascade is at least ten yards wide. If we can position ourselves at both ends of it, we should have clear shots at the Scoriats.
Unfortunately, the Scoriats have come to the same conclusion. They have also realized what we are doing. Only minutes ago, this same tree was their protection. They know about the hollowed-out interior. As we reach the end of the trunk, we find we made the same mistake that they did; we left our rear unprotected. As we hurried down the center of the trunk, they progressed to our entry point and they are now behind us.
We exchange glum looks. We are being fired upon from in front and behind and we are trapped inside this bone-like structure. Our prospects of survival have just taken a very real dive.
I wait. Will Koban fight to the death with us? Or will he turn out to be a spy? Will the gateway to other worlds convince him to side with his people or with us?
He raises one hand firmly, shouting at the other Scoriats to stop shooting.
“Do not fire! The girl must not be damaged!”
I look up at his face. His eyes meet mine. His are cold.
Beside me, Zivan lifts her blaster. It is not pointing outward. She is aiming at Koban.
He is still looking at me. Expectant. He is waiting for me to react. What does he want me to do?
I am thinking, more quickly than I ever have before. If Zivan kills him, it is all over. We will be dead within seconds. If not, there is still hope.
I stand in front of him. Zivan looks at me with hate. Her eyes flash. For a moment I think I see her finger tighten. Then she lowers her blaster.
“I hope you won’t live to regret it, Remeny.”
“So do I. At least we will live.”
Her lip curls. “A few more moments. What use is that?”
Koban has given me a light nod as if to thank me for my actions. Then he steps forward.
“Good. I have some important information. Keep these three here and do not harm them in the meantime.”
The Scoriats are very definitely not convinced. They no longer trust him. They are very close to shooting him in any case.
His voice ratchets up a notch. “Do as you are instructed. Vexil Alopen is dead. I am of acting vexil rank and I am under the direct orders of First Legate Belisar. It is not your job to question a superior’s actions!” He stands to his full height. I notice that he fits easily into the role of a leader.
Zivan’s expression is saying something more clearly than words: I told you so.
Despite his presence, the other Scoriats are hesitant. Koban tilts his chin up. “How long is it going to take you all to make up your minds? You are as slow as a bunch of miners!”
He turns and walks away, moving toward the Scoriat in command. They go into a small huddle and I see him nodding his head in my direction. I swallow. I just hope that I have done the right thing.
Our guns are removed and we are told to sit on the floor of the hollowed-out trunk. With us defenseless and one armed Scoriat at either end it makes a perfect prison. We slump down.
Zivan glowers in Jethran’s direction. “Great plan.”
Jethran tenses his shoulders. “I underestimated them. They were quick to realize what we were doing. That was unexpected.”
“And now they know what Kelfor holds.” She stares at Koban. “Whose side is he on, anyway?”
Jethran shrugs. “Does it matter? He just saved our lives.”
“Of course it matters! He is a Scoriat.” She almost spits out the last word.
Jethran is still cool. “Torch is a Scoriat,” he points out.
Zivan almost gibbers. “Torch is NOT a Scoriat!”
“His genetic typing is identical. The markings didn’t work, and he doesn’t feel the total obedience that the Raths demand of their Scoriats, but his DNA is certainly Scoriat.”
She has gone white. “Take that back!”
Jethran shakes his large head slowly. “Koban may be a spy. He may not. How are we to know? But you shouldn’t assume that it is impossible for Scoriats to defy the Raths. Torch did.”
“And he was made an outcast for it.”
“True. His anomalies were easily detected. Other Scoriats may have been able to defy the Raths and remain undetected.”
Zivan huffs. She doesn’t believe it to be possible.
I wonder. Do I?
We are kept inside the trunk for a long time. At least, it seems a very long time. In fact it may only have been a couple of hours.
“What has happened to Furian and the others?” whispers Zivan eventually.
We listen. There is no sound of fighting. My heart sinks a little. I can’t imagine Furian dead. Where is Ammeline? Linnith? Vannis is not so much of a worry. I know I should feel more of a bond with him, but that isn’t going to happen. He has done too
many things that I find hard to forgive. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care what happened to me. Vannis is only worried about Vannis.
I hope they are safely behind the ice curtains. Even a blaster cannot penetrate through those solid sheets. They look as thick as my leg, at least.
The problem is the cold. If they have been crouching behind an ice cascade for the better part of three hours, they must be almost petrified themselves. I don’t see how, without weapons, they can break through these determined Scoriats.
They can’t. Only minutes later a disheveled and dejected Furian escorts his daughter toward us. Vannis is carrying Linnith, who seems to be unconscious.
I cry out and try to run to them. The Scoriat at the end of the trunk almost shoots me. Jethran pushes me aside, making me slip on the stone and fall.
“Stay down, Remeny!” he hisses. “They have not killed them. We have Koban to thank for that.”
“Koban!” Ammeline looks around blindly. “Is Koban here?” She begins to tremble. “Where? Let me go to him!”
Jethran grabs at her and puts one of his large hands over her mouth. “Quiet!” he whispers angrily. “You will put him in danger!”
Zivan gives a snort of doubt. “If he is on our side!” she snaps. It is clear that she doesn’t believe he is.
Ammeline kicks at Jethran, who refuses to let her go. “Mhmm! Muhhmm!” she mutters through his fingers. “Muuuuuh!”
“Not unless you promise to keep quiet!” he tells her.
She struggles for a moment, then stills. She nods.
He lets her loose and then gives a cry. “Ow! You bit me, you little vixen!”
Ammeline’s eyes glitter. “So? You deserved it!”
Jethran is sucking at his palm. Blood is dropping from it to the floor.
“Who made you top skulk?” she demands. “Why should I listen to you?”
“Stop it, Ammeline!” Vannis steps forward. “You promised to keep quiet; now just do it, there’s a good girl!”
She shrugs but sinks speechlessly to the ground. I dive for Linnith. “What happened to her?”
Kelfor- the Orthomancers Page 21