The Broken Sphere (13 page)

Teldin smiled. “You could say that.” He caressed the three-petaled flower – which he’d drawn a lot more carefully than anything else on the map – with a calloused forefinger. “That’s our destination. Nex.”

“Nex?” Djan echoed. “It’s a crystal sphere? I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised,” Teldin agreed. “According to all of the other charts I looked at, it doesn’t exist. Neither does the phlogiston river leading to it. But this chart claims it does.”

Julia was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “You have to have some good reason to chase wild spacefarers’ tales.”

“I do,” Teldin agreed. “Several of them. First, this symbol. I didn’t choose it. It appeared on the chart I copied, and elsewhere in the book as well. Where have you seen it before, Julia?”

She didn’t say anything, but Teldin saw her eyes widen, and her gaze drifted to the cloak around his shoulders. She nodded slowly.

“There’s more,” the Cloakmaster continued. “According to the book, Nex – that’s the name of the crystal sphere and the major world inside it – is associated with an ancient race of immense power, capable of reforming entire planets, even entire systems, to suit their needs.”

“That sounds like Stardust to me,” Djan broke in. “I’m sorry, Captain,” he went on apologetically, “but I’ve heard many myths like that, about some godlike race or other, and I can’t bring myself to believe any of them.”

“I can,” Julia rebutted. “When I was on Radole, I saw the Barrier Mountains and walked through one of the great caverns. They were built by an ancient race, Djan. And ‘godlike’ is an appropriate description.”

The first mate gave her a half bow. “Then I withdraw my objection,” he said equably, “having not seen those wonders myself.”

“According to the book,” Teldin continued, “the race – it called them the ‘First Voyagers’ – long ago left the universe as we know it. Maybe they died out, maybe they went” – he shrugged – “somewhere else, it didn’t say.” He glanced at Julia again. “Does that remind you of anything?” he asked.

“Those myths Estriss was always talking about,” she said quietly. “The Juna.”

Djan cleared his throat quietly. “Perhaps there are some things I need to know if I’m to participate in this discussion,” he suggested, his voice dry.

Teldin couldn’t help but smile. He clapped his half-elven mate on the shoulder. “You’re right, of course. It’s rather a long story.”

Djan spread his hands. “We have about twenty days until we reach the crystal sphere,” he said. “I think I have the time.”

Without preamble, Teldin launched into a rendition of what he’d come to think of as the “Saga of the Cloak” – from the night the reigar’s spelljamming vessel had crashed on his farm, to his arrival on Crescent in the
Ship of Fools.
His audience of two remained silent throughout, though he could tell from their expressions when he needed to elaborate on a particular point.

He watched Julia particularly; he knew she already grasped some of the story but not all, though he figured she’d made some informed guesses. He interpreted her occasional slow nod as indication that her guesses had been close to the mark.

At the end, his throat was dry. “Any comments?” he asked.

A slow smile spread over Djan’s face.
“Verenthestae,”
he pronounced, “as I’d guessed.” He chuckled. “Oh, you don’t have to believe me now, but you’ll see I’m right.” He shook his head in amazement. “Teldin Moore, Cloakmaster. I remember telling you I was looking for a berth on an interesting voyage. I’ll have to remember the old saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for, lest you receive it.’”

Julia was looking fixedly at the three-petaled flower drawn on the chart. “So the symbol of the Juna is associated with this sphere – what did you call it? Nex?” she mused. “Do you think the Juna are still there?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’d like to think so, and there’s some evidence that they might be. But even if they aren’t, I might find the answers to a lot of questions.”

“Evidence?” Djan picked up on the word, just as Teldin had expected he would. “What evidence would that be?” He Mused. “Something to do with why Nex and this phlogiston river don’t appear on other charts?” he surmised. “Am I right?”

“I think so,” Teldin allowed. “It has something to do with the sphere’s name, too. ‘Nex’ comes from an ancient language. It means ‘violent death.’

“According to the book,” he went on quietly, “Nex is a forbidden sphere – or maybe ‘proscribed’ is a better word. Ships tried to visit it long ago, using the phlogiston river. Few explorers returned, and those that did spoke of being attacked by magic of such titanic power that it could … well …”

” ‘Reform entire planets, even entire systems,’” Djan suggested dryly. “Is that the phrase you’re looking for?” Teldin simply nodded.

“And Nex was eliminated from all more recent charts because it’s proscribed, because to visit it courts violent death, is that what you’re saying?” Djan continued.

“It’s one possibility,” Teldin said.

“Another is that these are all rumors,” the half-elf countered calmly, “that neither Nex nor the river in the phlogiston exists.”

“Maybe,” the Cloakmaster had to admit.

“If you are right, Teldin,” Julia started, “what’s to say we won’t get ourselves blasted out of space?”

He was silent for a few seconds, looking sightlessly at the chart. Then he raised his eyes, met her gaze steadily. “Nothing. If the Juna still exist, and if they created the cloak, I’m betting they’ll be able to sense its approach.”

“A lot of ‘ifs,’” Djan pointed out.

“Granted. But think it through.” Teldin ticked off points on his fingers. “First, if Nex doesn’t exist, we’ve lost nothing but time trying to find it. Second, if Nex does exist, but the Juna aren’t there, we’ve lost nothing. Third, if the Juna are still there and they sense the approach of the cloak, we might not have lost anything. Only if the Juna still exist and they attack on sight are we in any danger.”

The Cloakmaster drew himself up to his full height. “I want to search for Nex,” he said, his voice firm. “I’d like you to sail with me, but it’s your choice. If you want, I’ll take you back to Crescent.

“Are you with me?” He turned to Djan.

The half-elf was silent for a moment, his face expressionless, then he smiled broadly. “I said I was looking for an interesting voyage. I think I’ve found it. I’m with you.”

“Julia?”

“You know my answer.”

Teldin smiled. “All right,” he said. “We need to tell the crew. Not everything, obviously, but that this may be a dangerous voyage. Anyone who wants off, they get paid what I promised them. Anyone who stays, they get a bonus equal to their current pay.” He looked questioningly at Djan. “Does that make sense?”

“Yes, Captain,” the half-elf confirmed. “I’ll spread the word. But first … Do you realize some of the crew already think this ship is a jinx, because we’re sailing without a name? Very bad luck, according to spacefarer superstition. I think we should remedy that right away.”

Teldin thought silently for a few moments, then he glanced over at Julia with a half smile. “I propose
Unexpected Rendezvous”
he said.

Julia returned his smile. “Better,
Boundless Possibilities,”
she suggested.

“I concur,” Djan said at once.
“Boundless Possibilities
it is.” Hie inclined his head to Julia. “Madam second mate, shall we tell the crew?”

The Cloakmaster smiled broadly as he watched them leave. Once the door was shut behind them, though, his smile faded. With a worried frown, he turned to his study of the hand-copied chart once more.

*****

The good ship
Boundless
was making fine time, Teldin thought. The two helmsmen – the human, Blossom, and a dwarven mage named Dranigor – were keeping the squid ship under almost continuous power, putting more than a million leagues of wildspace under the keel each hour. Already they were far past the most distant planet of the Heartspace system, a mammoth ovoid world known as Loom. Like a yellow-white egg, it hung against the black backdrop almost directly astern.

Their course – which Djan had plotted with the navigator, Lucinus – was taking them toward one of the sixteen permanent portals that allowed access to and from the Heartspace crystal sphere. According to the starchart, using this existing portal took them a little off the direct line from Crescent to the start of the phlogiston river on Teldin’s map, adding two days or more to the overall journey. When the Cloakmaster had asked about this, Djan had agreed with him … in principle.

In practice, however, the half-elf had argued, it made more sense to use an existing exit from the sphere than to create one – even temporarily – using magic. Although portal generators and spells with the same effect were largely safe, the mythology of the spaceways described many catastrophes: portals closing prematurely and slicing ships in two, or not opening at all and causing ships to slam into the crystal sphere at great speed. Even though neither Teldin nor Djan fully believed these tales, the Cloakmaster had to agree that it was better to be safe than sorry. In the grand scheme of things – given the concept of
verenthestae
 – what difference did two days’ additional travel make?

From his vantage point on the sterncastle, Teldin watched as two halflings – as nimble as children, yet little weaker than human adults – swarmed up the ratlines to adjust the mainmast’s single gaff boom. The crew was meshing well, he thought with satisfaction. That reflected well on Djan, the man who’d chosen them. To Teldin’s surprise, only two crew members – twin hadozee, known to most of the crew as “deck apes” – had asked to be set ashore when Djan and Julia had explained that the voyage might be dangerous. The
Boundless
had set down on Starfall, the next world out from Crescent. As he’d promised, Teldin had paid the two hadozee the full sum Djan had negotiated, and the parting had been amicable on both sides. Teldin had assumed his first mate would replace the missing bodies, but Djan had declared it unnecessary. They already had enough hands to sail the squid ship efficiently … and, further, two fewer mouths and sets of lungs might make a difference over a long voyage.

Apart from the hadozee, the rest of the crew seemed more stimulated than disheartened by the news that the voyage might be risky. Or, more likely, Teldin thought cynically, it’s the fact that they’re getting paid twice what they expected that’s making the difference.

Several of the crew had approached Teldin personally to thank him for leveling with them, for giving them the chance to decide whether or not to put their lives at risk. Further, they’d insisted on taking him out for a glass of sage-coarse – which had quickly become several glasses – at a strange little tavern on Starfall called The Philosophers’ Rest. Surrounded by sages, metaphysicians, and philosophers – and a healthy number of would-be intellectuals – all discussing and arguing over contentions that had sounded meaningless to Teldin, they’d repeatedly toasted their captain’s health.

It was surprising, the Cloakmaster had thought at the time; most captains must just keep their crews in the dark. But he couldn’t have done that. He had an ethical and moral responsibility to them. He had to give them the chance to chart the courses of their own lives.

There was only one crewman who hadn’t responded in any way that Teldin had expected. Instead of being pleased that he was getting paid double, he’d been surprised, even outraged, that Teldin had even considered it necessary. That man was Beth-Abz.

Beth-Abz. He was a strange one. Teldin hadn’t experienced any repetition of the strange “revelations,” if that’s what they were, but then he hadn’t been close to the man often. No, the Cloakmaster could only judge Beth-Abz’s characteristics based on the reactions of others. Those reactions painted a strange portrait.

Even several weeks into the voyage, he still didn’t seem to fit in – in any way – with the rest of the crew. The others on the same watch avoided him as much as they could and never spoke to him unless they absolutely had to. That would have bothered another man, but Beth-Abz seemed oblivious. Or maybe he was grateful; he showed no desire to talk to his crewmates either.

The broad-shouldered man was on the forecastle at the moment. He was supposed to be greasing the central bearing of the catapult turret, Teldin remembered, but the bucket of fish oil and the long-handled brush lay on the deck, while Beth-Abz stood against the port rail, staring off into the depths of space. The gunner’s mate – Allyn, a weather-tanned, aging man who reminded Teldin of a piece of chewed leather – was rubbing linseed oil into the catapult’s shaft, occasionally stopping to shoot venomous glances at the big warrior’s back.

I’ve got to do something about this, Teldin told himself. He knew that Djan had already spoken to Beth-Abz, but the first mate’s lecture obviously hadn’t taken. Maybe what was needed was a dressing down from the captain himself.

“Hey.” Teldin called to one of the crewmen passing below him on the main deck. When the fellow looked up, the captain pointed forward. “Get Beth-Abz,” he ordered. “Send him to my cabin immediately.” From the crewman’s smile, quickly hidden, he knew he was doing the right thing. Beth-Abz was bad for morale, and one of the major lessons Teldin had learned from Aelfred Silverhorn was the importance of morale aboard ship.

Teldin climbed down the ladder to the main deck and headed forward into the forecastle. Julia sat in the saloon, eating a late dawnfry. “Got a minute?” he asked her as he passed. “I’ve got to speak with a friend of yours.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked through into his own quarters.

She followed him, shutting the door behind him. “Beth-Abz?” Her tone made it more statement than question. Teldin nodded.

A knock sounded at the door. Hastily, Teldin sat down at one end of the table, indicated for Julia to sit to his right. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened to reveal Beth-Abz. The big warrior seemed to fill the low doorway. “Captain?” he said in his rough, emotionless voice.

“Sit down.” Teldin pointed to the seat at the opposite end of the table from him.