Haladras (9 page)

“We must make haste,” said Lasseter, as he climbed out of
the rover. “Time presses.”

Skylar removed his harness and clambered after his uncle.

The runway was slightly raised from the main floor of the
cavern and admitted a good view of the surroundings. In the pale light he could
only distinguish shapes and shadows. There was a click from somewhere within
the darkness, accompanied by a flood of bright light filling the stone chamber.
Skylar stood, taking in the whole scene.

The cavern was several times larger than his own cave at the
Gorge, though it lacked the same comforts. A hammock hung from one of the side
walls. Above it, on a ledge of stone, stood a long row of books. On the
opposite wall wooden crates were stacked three-high next to open sacks of flour
and beans. A fireplace for cooking was carved into the same wall, whose
stovepipe must have pierced through a hundred meters of stone or more. A table
and chair sat near the stove. A desk strewn with parchments stood on the other
wall. Hanging above it, affixed to the rock, were dozens of maps all marked and
dotted.

Lasseter strode across the chamber to a corner where he
picked up several parcels. Skylar leaped down from the runway and went over to
him.

“These are for you,” said Lasseter, throwing him two
cloth-wrapped bundles. “The oilskin was finished a day early. You’ll need it.”

His uncle went over to the desk, rolled up a few of the
parchments and maps, then deposited these into a satchel. He then proceeded to
hastily collect items from around his cave and stuff them into a rucksack.
Shouldering the pack and satchel, Lasseter threw another sack to Skylar.

“I suggest you pack those,” he said, indicating the parcels.

Skylar jammed them inside the sack then followed after his
uncle, who had disappeared through a portal near the rover’s alcove.

“But uncle,” he said plunging into the darkness. “Where are
we going? Can you please tell me what is happening?”

His uncle made no reply. Skylar groped his way deeper into
the blackness, feeling his way along the rough wall with his hand. Lights
snapped on and Skylar could see that the portal had led them into a side
chamber of the cavern, smaller and with a lower ceiling. What caught his
attention, however, was what stood in the middle of the chamber, filling most
of the space. He gaped at it.

“Is that yours?” he asked in astonishment.

It was a shuttle. A small one, not built for shipping cargo
or for intergalactic travel, but a shuttle nonetheless. Skylar had seen a few
shuttles like it while working at the docks. Planet hoppers some of the dockhands
called them. The shuttle had short wings, angled back in a v-shape. Two
moderately sized rockets extended from its rear. The nose was also short,
scarcely extending beyond the shoulder of the wings before coming to a point.
The cock pit was located at the rear of the craft. A steel-reinforced glass
bubble covered the cockpit, admitting a view for the only two seats in the
craft. The shuttle looked old and well-used. Burn marks blackened its
undercarriage, the scars from hundreds of re-entries back into the atmosphere.
The other parts of the hull were a dingy gray and mottled with dents and
scratches.

Lasseter mounted the left wing, opened a compartment near
the cockpit, and placed his baggage inside.

“There’s another compartment on that other wing. Load your
things then strap yourself into the co-pilot’s seat. I’ll take care of the
preflight measures.” So saying, he opened the cockpit’s hatch, then climbed
down from the wing.

“Preflight measure?” said Skylar. “But—”

“There is no time to argue, Skylar. Get yourself strapped
in.”

There was a bite in Lasseter’s tone that told Skylar he
didn’t dare defy him. Skylar could not believe what was happening.

Again he thought about Kendyl. His heart sank. What would
she think? She was probably waiting for him at that moment, wondering when he
would show up. He imagined her standing there out on the dunes, her red hair
caught on the evening breeze, her blue eyes scanning the glowing horizon.

Lasseter briefly paused his preparation and met Skylar’s
gaze. “Skylar, I need you to trust me. Get in the shuttle.”

Something in his uncle’s look and tone made Skylar abandon
his objection and follow his uncle’s instructions. He scrambled up the wing,
stored his rucksack within the other compartment and lowered himself into the cockpit.

Though he could only guess how his uncle came into
possession of a shuttle or for what purpose, he now understood where all that
teryleum went.

Within a few minutes Lasseter had made the necessary
preparations for the flight. Climbing into the cock pit and taking his pilot’s
seat, he said, “We should have plenty of oxygen for the journey to Quoryn. But
to be safe, I want to avoid any unnecessary verbal communication. Understood?”

Skylar nodded rapidly, still not believing that they were
about to take off.

Lasseter pulled down the hatch and locked it into place,
then brought the shuttle to life with a few switches. The inside of the cockpit
glowed with the lights of the myriad of buttons, switches, indicators and
gauges. With another switch a large door, which Skylar had thought a wall,
began to part down the middle, revealing the dusky terrain and darkening sky.

Lasseter activated the throttle and the craft rumbled
forward. Outside the cavern, Lasseter initiated the vertical thrusters, which
lifted the shuttle off the ground. Then with a thrust of speed that pushed
Skylar deep within his seat, the ship rocketed skyward.

Skylar craned his neck to catch a final glimpse of his home
and everything he loved—perhaps for the last time.

EIGHT

S
KYLAR DROWSED FITFULLY
in the
narrow cockpit, caught between bouts of thin sleep and this waking nightmare.
He had always dreamed of flying through space, exploring uncharted planets,
darting amidst the stars. Not like this, though. Aboard his uncle’s tiny craft,
unable to speak, uncertain if he would ever return home, he felt more like a
prisoner than an explorer.

When their journey commenced, Quoryn had been nothing more
than a glowing freckle in the star-filled vista. Slowly the shape had grown
larger, until it was no longer merely a green orb floating in space, but a
planet looming before them. Skylar marveled at the sight. Never had he seen
anything like it. It was not a giant ball of sand, like his planet. It was one
contiguous forest, sprawling over the entire face of the planet, broken only by
the white polar ice caps, and a few scattered valleys, lakes and seas. Skylar
had never seen anything so wondrous. The sight caused him to momentarily forget
all of his fears.

Soon the shuttle was plunging at blistering speed into
Quoryn’s oxygen-rich atmosphere.

“Welcome to Quoryn,” said Lasseter, ending the long night of
silence.

“It’s beautiful,” replied Skylar, looking in every direction
all at once.

“Indeed, there is more to see than on Haladras. Yet, despite
its beauty, it still holds perils for you. We will be landing soon. We must
avoid looking conspicuous. No talking of the events that have brought us here
until we are in a more secure location.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the dwelling of those who understand your plight.”

They landed in a small glade, among a dense growth of trees.
The sun of this planet had begun to wane. Despite his excitement over the new
planet, he suddenly felt heavy with fatigue. He yawned loudly.

“No time for sleep,” said his uncle. “We have several miles
to walk before we may rest.”

“Several miles!” cried Skylar. “Whatever for? Can’t we take
the ship closer to wherever we’re going?”

“It’s too dangerous. I only hope the ship is small enough
that no one will care that we dodged the port.”

So saying, Lasseter opened the hatch and climbed out of the
cockpit. A rush of cool air flooded in, sending shivers down Skylar’s spine.
His muscles immediately tensed. Never had he felt so cold. His uncle appeared
unfazed by the chill air. Seeing Skylar shivering, Lasseter chuckled.

“I think you’ll be wanting that cloak now.”

Skylar clambered out of the cockpit, opened the storage
compartment and rummaged through the sack. Finding the cloak, he quickly put it
on. The heavy paqua hair fabric brought instant relief to his frigid body.
Despite his previous grumbling about the cloak, Skylar felt grateful to have
it.

Shouldering his pack, Skylar dismounted the craft and joined
Lasseter.

“Don your hood, Skylar,” he said, doing so with his own.
“Anonymity is our ally here.”

Skylar obeyed his uncle’s instruction—though he saw no
reason for it—then set off behind him as he led Skylar toward the fence of
trees enclosing the glade.

“Will your shuttle be safe there?” questioned Skylar after a
few paces, turning back to check on the vulnerable-looking craft.

“Safe enough,” replied Lasseter softly. “Though it matters
little now...”

Within moments, the two travelers stepped inside the forest
of trees, and the light around them instantly faded to near blackness. The air
felt colder. Skylar pulled the hood further over his face and stared up in
wonder at the towering trees. They swayed rhythmically, in time with an
imperceptible breeze. The dark blue sky overhead peered down at the forest in
small jagged splotches. Ahead, all that could be seen was an endless host of
tree trunks set among the ferns and shrubs.

They walked along in silence, Lasseter following an
invisible path through the maze of trees and undergrowth. The only sounds in
the whole forest were the crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs, and the creak of
trees. All these sights and sounds were new to Skylar, and he walked along as
one in a mysterious world.

By the time they came to the end of the woods, night had
wholly fallen. Skylar felt relieved to be out of the shadowy depths of the
trees. Before them stretched a wide plain, sliced asunder by a sinuous river,
glinting like a steel blade in the moonlight. Beyond the river lay a dark,
sprawling mass, spangled with faint lights.

“Amrahdel, main hub of Quoryn.”

Though he spoke softly, Lasseter’s voice pierced the silence
like a shout.

“You have enemies there. Be cautious.”

With this last admonition, Lasseter strode out into the
silvery glow of the moon. Their going grew easier now. And Skylar felt more at ease.
Soon they came to the river. It moved swiftly, and sounded like the rushing of
a great wind. It was as wide as the Devil’s Throat. Skylar wondered at it. Far
beneath the surface of Haladras, rivers of water run like veins through the
planet’s interior. But on average a single vein flows at a rate of five litres
per minute, sometimes less. The river which rushed before him…it must flow at
thousands of litres per minute. Never in his life had he ever seen so much
water.

“There’s a bridge further up river,” said Lasseter. “It may
not be safe to use at this late hour.”

He paused and looked down stream.

How does he know so much about this place?
Skylar
wondered.

“The current is strong, but a good swimmer could make it
across. Unfortunately you’ve lived you’re entire life on a planet where there’s
nowhere to swim.”

“I have my jetwing,” said Skylar. “I could fly across. Of
course, then you wouldn’t have a way across.”

Lasseter considered the situation for a few moments more.

“It will take longer...there’s a place where we may ford the
river a quarter league down river. Come let’s delay no longer in deliberation.”

Disappointed at the prospect of the added distance to their
journey, Skylar glanced out across the river before turning and trudging
onward. Fatigue had started to get the better of him. His legs felt like lead
and his head ached from lack of sleep. If his uncle had offered to let him
sleep, he would have gladly accepted the rocky riverbank as his bed. Despite
his yearning for sleep, he managed to keep pace with the steady stride of his
uncle.

With the moon high overhead, they reached the spot where
Lasseter deemed it safe to ford. Cautiously, they made their way across the
glinting river. The dark waters felt cold as they swept over Skylar’s boots.
The going was easy at first, the water being too shallow to be dangerous. By
midstream, however, the water reached above Skylar’s knees. The current proved
more powerful than Skylar anticipated. He struggled to maintain his balance as
he forced his way further into the river. The water soon reached his thighs.

Skylar paused, his feet and legs numb with cold, fighting
the current which threatened to carry him away. Lasseter had passed the deepest
part of the river and was now moving with confidence toward the shore.

The thought of his jetwing came to Skylar’s mind again. He
reached for it on his belt loop, took the thrusters in each of his hands,
extended his arms out wide and burst from the water into the night sky. When he
alighted on the far shore, he could tell, even in the moonlight, that his uncle
was not pleased.

“So much for inconspicuous,” said Lasseter, as Skylar
sloshed onto the rock bank.

“But uncle, there’s no one around,” protested Skylar. “No
one saw me.”

Lasseter came nearer, his green eyes still blazing in the
moonlight,

“You never know who’s watching. Light travels for miles in
the darkness. I only hope it comes to no misfortune. Come, we must move with
greater speed.”

Sighing, Skylar followed after his uncle, his wet boots
squelching noisily.

Lasseter had made true on his promise: he set a pace that
Skylar found difficult to match. Neither the chill air nor the dim moonlight
did anything to warm him or to dry his drenched garments. Yet, in spite of his
discomfort, Amrahdel grew ever nearer.

He began to make out some of the shapes of the buildings.
The city looked nothing like Kaladra or the Gorge. A formidable wall
protectively surrounding the entire city and a single gateway permitted
entrance from the side they approached. Countless rectangular structures, with
myriad heights stood like shadows against the night sky. A few orange lights
still glowed from building windows. Near the center of the shadowy city rose a
spire, a singular pinnacle, standing ready, like the spear of a giant sentinel.

“We’ll have to scale the wall,” muttered Lasseter, half to
himself. “The gates are closed. And the gatekeeper will be suspicious of anyone
seeking entrance at this hour.”

Scale the wall?
thought Skylar.
How exactly are we
going to manage that?

As they crept near to the wall it seemed to grow in height,
until it stood ten meters above the ground. Skylar wondered why the city needed
such fortification. As long as he could remember there had been peace in the
empire.

Crouching at the base of the wall, Lasseter searched in the
darkness for something within his bag. After a moment, he drew out what looked
like a coil of rope. Wordlessly, Lasseter handed the rope to Skylar, then
returned to searching through his sack. Another moment passed. Lasseter stood
up. In his hand he held a black sphere, small enough to fit in his palm. A
small loop protruded from one side of it.

Taking one end of the rope in Skylar’s hand, Lasseter
threaded it through the loop, then deftly tied a knot so as to hold the rope
fast to the loop. Testing the knot with several sharp tugs and finding it
satisfactory, he pressed an invisible button on the sphere. Instantly, four
curved prongs ejected from within the sphere. Skylar realized that the ball was
some kind of grappling hook. By this point nothing about his uncle ought to
have surprised him, yet he marveled silently at his uncle possessing such a
device.

Lasseter next put his ear flush against the rough-hewn stone
of the wall. He stood motionless for several minutes. Shortly after Lasseter
sprang up and hurriedly whispered instructions in Skylar’s ear.

“A sentry has just passed. We have approximately ten minutes
before the next crosses the way. We must both be up and over the other side
before then. I shall ascend first. I’ll tug the rope twice when it’s clear for
you to climb. Should anything happen, get clear of here. Hide in the woods.
I’ll find you—somehow.”

Without pausing for a response, Lasseter backed away from
the wall a few steps, took aim, and swung the hooked rope toward the wall’s parapet.
A faint clink reached Skylar’s ears as the four-pronged sphere struck something
solid. Lasseter tugged the rope to ensure it would hold. Satisfied, he put his
feet to the wall and began scaling it with a speed and agility which astonished
Skylar. Within a few moments Lasseter’s dark form had quietly slipped over the
top of the wall.

Skylar took the coarse rope in his hands and waited for the
signals. His palms were sweaty. He hoped he could hold onto the rope without
slipping. No sooner had he taken it in his hands than he felt a distinct tug on
the rope, then another. Taking a deep breath, Skylar put his feet onto the wall
and began ascending just as he’d seen his uncle do. He did not race up the rope
like his uncle, however. The task proved more challenging than he expected.
Several times his feet slipped off a loose rock, sending him colliding with the
wall and dangling from the rope with only his sweating, burning hands to hold
him.

The thought of the sentry on top of the wall came into his
mind
.
How much time did he have? His progress felt much too slow.

After struggling to regain his footing on the wall after
another slip, he decided to lean back further from the wall, putting increased
weight on the rope. This helped, but now his arms must also work harder. His
exhausted muscles threatened to give out at any moment. Despite the coolness of
the night, Skylar’s face glistened with perspiration from the exertion.

Faster!
He urged himself as he approached the top of
the wall. Forearms burning, nearly refusing to hold onto the rope any longer,
he made it within a yard of the top. Suddenly, a shadowy figure grabbed his
arms and with herculean strength hoisted him over the parapet and onto the top
of the wall.

His uncle put a finger to his mouth, urging him to stifle
his heavy panting. Then Lasseter quickly pulled up the rope and secured it to
the other side.

“Here,” he whispered, handing Skylar a piece of cloth, “put
this over your hands to help you slide down. You go first. Quickly now.”

Skylar, stooping low to stay as much hidden by the shadows
as possible, dashed the few paces to the other parapet. Then, taking hold of
the rope by the cloth, he flung himself over the side. Realizing his mistake
too late, he slid down at full speed, like a man who has no rope at all. At the
bottom of the wall he hit the ground with so much force that his legs gave way
beneath him and the wind was knocked from his lungs.

Seconds later he heard the sound of his uncle descending,
his boots lightly touching the ground. Seizing Skylar, he pulled him flat
against the wall. For an entire breathless minutes, they stood frozen against
the wall. Waiting.

Finally, Lasseter slackened his hold on Skylar. Evidently
the sentry had passed.

“Are you hurt?”

Skylar groaned a little.

“Just a bruise, I think.”

“Good, I thought you’d broken your leg for certain.”

Lasseter took the still dangling rope and tugged it in a
strange pattern. As if in answer to a command, the rope suddenly fell free and
Lasseter caught the black sphere, no longer four-pronged.