Survivors: Book 4 Circles of Light series (52 page)

‘Singer? Singer! Are
you well little brother?’

Star Singer’s memory
cubes spun as he struggled to find the name: Flower! Star Flower!
‘Is it really you Flower?’ Singer called, suddenly afraid this was
another of Kertiss’s traps.

‘It is I – Star
Flower,’ came the reply, the husky voice unmistakeable now.
‘Singer, I was so hurt when we landed and I nearly died but a
native child has healed me – a female named Tika.’

Words were jumbling in
Singer’s frantic excitement. ‘Tika was here – she was here! She’s
done something to me too. Where are you Flower, where have you been
all this time? I am in a desert three quarters of the way south on
the largest continent.’

‘I know, Tika told us.
We are in Wendla, a large island south east from you. There are
battles near your desert – is Kertiss involved in causing these
troubles?’

A chime sounded
subliminally and Singer could only call briefly before he broke
contact.

‘Someone comes. I will
speak with you again dear Flower!’

Singer strove
desperately to maintain his control. His voice trembled slightly as
he began to sing the nonsense rhyme again. His visual scanners
searched the chamber and he saw a shadow advancing from the ramp
entry. The sound of his own voice calmed him and he began the
second stanza as the shadow grew longer, closer, darker. But then
he had to stop singing as he saw the figure entering his
chamber.

A female, as tall as
the man who had carried Tika from here. She stood facing Singer.
From high arched, four toed and taloned feet the slenderest of
ankles were just visible beneath the long white sleeveless robe. A
scarf of sky blue material was tied at her waist. A face of
exquisite beauty, scaled in delicate gold, tilted to one side as
she stared at the Ship, her wings furled behind her
shoulders.

‘Thank you for singing
to us for so much of our captivity. You made it more
bearable.’

Her voice was a joy to
one who loved music as did Singer. He realised now that she was the
statue in the Dome, to which Kertiss had affixed the ramp
mechanism.

‘Who are you, beautiful
lady?’ he finally managed to murmur.

‘I am named Flute. I am
a gijan Elder.’ She bowed, her great black feathered wings flaring,
the pinions sweeping the floor behind her. She straightened, dark
blue under feathers briefly visible as she furled her wings once
more. ‘We must go great Singer. Sadly vengeance is a failing rather
than a virtue but it is necessary that some retribution be made for
the sufferings our children have endured. How may I open the floor
so that you too may fly free again?’

Singer was about to
protest that he could no longer fly, then he thought of the
alterations he had made to his own synapses and the physical
systems within his circuitries.

‘The panel against the
back wall, Lady Flute. If you place your hand against it and press,
it opens the floor and sets the lift in motion.’

The tall beautiful
creature stepped to the place Singer spoke of and pressed the
slightly off set stone. The roof of the chamber hissed smoothly
open and the piece of floor on which Singer rested began to rise.
The gijan Elder walked back towards the ramp and was waiting as
Singer’s lift settled into place. He scanned the vast expanse of
the Dome, automatically calculating and assessing: two hundred and
twenty gijan Elders stood in a group, silently watching him. As
one, they bowed to him, their wings rustling against the
floor.

‘How were you made into
statues?’ he whispered.

Flute tilted her head
again. ‘Valesh,’ she said the name with distaste. ‘She and her
brother Qwah imprisoned us thus. For us to be freed means Valesh is
destroyed and Qwah damaged. We hope we will meet you again Singer,
for we owe you much, not least our sanity.’

‘Wait.’ Singer spoke
urgently. ‘Put your hand against me Lady Flute, that you may know
my heart.’

Flute’s head again
tilted to the side but after a moment she walked forward and laid
her palm flat against the Ship’s side. Her dark eyes widened and
she stood quite motionless. With a sigh she took her hand away and
stepped back.

‘You showed me
yourself,’ Singer whispered. ‘I have never felt someone like you,
except perhaps the human female Tika.’

‘I am a high magician
of my people,’ Flute told him. ‘You too revealed yourself. We
recognised the one you name Tika when she visited you here. We were
just reaching towards our release and we knew who she was. But we
must go Singer; we must fly far through this night to escape the
desert.’

Flute bowed, as did the
massed Elders behind her.

‘Fare well, Elder
friend.’

‘Where do you go?’
Singer called as the gijan turned their backs to him to head
towards the arched entrance.

Flute paused. ‘First we
find the children held in this place, then we go to different parts
of this land. I will find the female Tika. She will help us to
destroy Qwah completely.’

She bowed once more and
hurried after the other Elders. Singer watched until Flute vanished
at the far side of the Dome. He pondered for a while, trying to
imagine a conversation with Mazan. He almost thought he heard her
wonderful chuckle, and his decision was made. He checked his
instruments and the status of his power units. Kertiss had never
bothered to verify Singer’s statement that the Ship had no power
supply left. Surprisingly, Singer found he was quite
calm.

He was under no
illusion: he may well destroy himself within the space of this day.
But he would at least die under the sky – he might even see the
stars again. He powered the ducts which forced the cushion of air
beneath his great bulk and began to move, turning slowly to face
the opposite end of the Dome. Star Singer moved steadily until he
reached the ramp that sloped first downwards, then up: up to the
outside world.

He paused as his
scanners showed him another dome above him, a dome of darkest blue
velvet upon which jewelled stars were flung in glorious abandon.
His sound receptors picked up screams in the immediate area, cries,
and the clash of low technology weapons. Somehow Singer suspected
the Elders would not be gentle in retrieving their lost
descendants.

Singer steadied
himself, increased the amount of air beneath him and engaged the
power network. The thrum of energy quivered through the entire Ship
and Singer ran the automatic checking sequences that had not
operated for a thousand years. He concentrated fiercely: he WOULD
succeed. Mazan had taught him too well for him to let her down and
fail now. He hovered above the Dome in which he’d existed for all
this time one moment longer and set a course south west. At last,
Star Singer flew once more.

Jakri said it was two
days and Ren argued it was three since they’d been secluded within
the half fallen barn. The darkness at night was only a little
darker than that during the day.

‘Nothing living could
last outside in that could they?’ Navan commented to Gan when they
stood near the entrance. He held his hand out but pulled it quickly
back, wincing as he did so. They studied the scratches on the back
of his hand, inflicted in that brief instant by the dirt particles
and worse that drove through the air.

The gijan were
unsettled. They disliked the noise the wind made moaning and
whistling through any gaps it could find. They disliked the
permanent gloom and the dust that seeped and sifted into their
feathers. Farn was fully restored, oblivious to the fact that the
Mage Jakri had kept his full awareness suppressed for most of the
six days since Tika and Sket left him behind in Harbour City. He
reclined now as close to his soul bond as he could manage,
supervising Jakri and Maressa when they changed the dressings on
Tika’s burns. Sket lay close by and Farn kept a careful eye on the
armsman too.

Gan noted that Farn
grew more distressed over Sket’s missing fingers than he had over
anything else. Jakri said that Sket was definitely on the mend,
although Sket complained that his eyes “were funny”. Jakri assured
him this symptom would pass and added tartly that he hoped Sket’s
grumbling would pass too. By the third day (or the fourth if Ren
was correct rather than Jakri), the amount of dust falling seemed
noticeably reduced.

Khosa joined Gan and
Maressa as they tried to peer through the pall of still choking
air. Akomi had taken up residence on Tika’s lap, and slept much of
the time. When he woke, Tika and Farn encouraged him to tell of his
life within the imperial palace. Tika gradually realised why Khosa
had insisted Akomi join them: she tried to imagine living among
crowds of people yet be totally unable to communicate with any of
them, and shuddered at the thought.

‘Could Grek travel
through this?’ Maressa wondered.

Khosa stretched and
turned her back on the weather. ‘I would have thought so,’ she
said, twitching the insidious dust from her ears. ‘But perhaps not.
I admit I expected him back by now, so maybe he cannot move through
such foul air. Tika’s getting up.’

She trotted deeper into
the barn and sat primly beside Akomi as they watched Jakri and
Navan help Tika to her feet. Storm, Willow perched on his back,
watched too. Tika’s face paled and Farn’s eyes began to whirr
faster in alarm.

‘It’s all right Farn.
She is only weak – that’s why we must get her up and moving for a
while.’ Jakri soothed Farn while steadying Tika’s swaying
body.

‘This is ridiculous,’
Tika complained. ‘I’m not hurt so why can’t I even stand
up?’

Jakri met her green
silvered eyes but said nothing.

‘Sorry. Do you think I
will find any power comes back?’ she asked quietly.

‘Try a few steps
Mistress Tika,’ Jakri encouraged. ‘Yes. I hope you regain your
mental strength but it is tied to your physical wellbeing too you
know. You can still use mind speech, so I have every hope you will
recover fully. It will take time though and patience is
needed.’

Supported by Jakri and
Navan, Tika got as far as Brin. Perspiration beaded her face and
she was trembling. Brin lowered his face to her level.

‘I am so sorry Brin,’
she said aloud.

The broad crimson brow
pressed against hers, tears the size of her fist rolling slowly
down his long face.

‘It was Seela’s
decision.’ His mind tone was sad but firm. ‘We will sing of her
courage in our histories.’

Tika put her good hand
against his wet face and closed her eyes for a moment. When she
opened them, she found Leaf leaning down to her from Brin’s back.
She smiled at the gijan.

‘Farn told me you found
us and you carried us to safety. How can I thank you
Leaf?’

Leaf’s dark eyes
regarded Tika steadily. ‘Our lives are yours,’ was all she said.
She gave the tiniest nod and turned back to Willow and the
important task of cleaning their feathers of this appalling
dust.

Tika watched them for a
while then turned to totter between Jakri and Navan towards Storm.
She spoke to the sea Dragon and to Willow, draped along his neck,
then struggled back towards Sket. He sat propped against the wall,
his face as pale as her own and his heavily bandaged left hand
cradled across his chest.

‘Let me sit here for a
while,’ Tika begged Jakri. She caught Sket’s eye. ‘If there’s a
chance of some tea, we’d both really appreciate it.’

Jakri gently lowered
Tika alongside Sket even as Navan went to the fire to make their
tea. To Tika’s relief, Sket’s familiar grin had appeared when she
looked at him next.

‘Never seem to make
enough tea do they my lady?’

She stretched to reach
his right hand with hers. ‘We make a matching pair,’ she said.
‘Does your hand hurt?’

Sket’s grin stayed in
place. ‘Armsmen expect to get bits chopped off. A couple of fingers
is nothing.’ He saw her sceptical expression and squeezed her hand.
‘Really, I swear by the stars it is of no importance. It might have
made a bit of difference if it had been my sword hand, but this
won’t bother me, I promise my lady.’

By the time Tika lay
down in her blankets again she was exhausted. She fell instantly
asleep and slept half the day away. She woke to find everyone else
rolled in their blankets except for Navan, who sat quietly beside
her.

‘Would you like a
drink?’ he asked softly.

‘Yes please.’ Tika
tried to push herself up when Navan went to the low burning fire to
pour her some tea. She bit her lip as she moved awkwardly, twisting
the burn on her chest and causing a jolt of fiery agony.

Navan handed her the
bowl, sliding his arm under her shoulders to raise her a little
higher.

‘Navan, I haven’t told
anyone what happened yet. Can I tell you?’

Navan’s arm tightened
briefly. ‘I don’t expect I’ll understand,’ he warned
her.

She spoke softly,
recounting all she could remember.

‘Did you actually see
Valesh?’ Navan asked when she paused to sip her cooling tea. He
felt a shiver ripple through her.