The IX (29 page)

What do you want?
she called, to no avail.
Where are you?
What are you trying to tell me?

As always, there was no reply. Or if there was, she was too far removed to comprehend it. Troubled, Ayria stirred in her sleep. On other nights, the plea had faded into the distance, its meaning lost among the subtle nuances of her dreams. Tonight though, something within her didn’t want that to happen. For the first time in an age, she bared her soul in earnest appeal.

Nana! I’m sorry I didn’t listen when I was a child. I know my head was stuck in the clouds, yearning for the stars. But in my heart I knew you were telling the truth. Help me to understand what this all means.

She waited for a reply.

Emptiness surrounded her, and gradually, Ayria relaxed and allowed her mind to drift.

A piercing shriek split the silence. Ayria jerked awake, alarmed by the timbre of the call. She looked about in wide-eyed panic, only to find she was alone. Gone were the austere furnishings of her room, with the muted back-lighting she liked to employ when resting. Instead, she found herself transposed to a cliff top, the likes of which she had only ever imagined.

A fistula of granite hung in the star-spangled vastness of space. Adorned in cedars and verdant grass, it was bathed in the warm light of an unknown sun. A fast-running river of crystal clear water flowed past her position, only to disappear over the precipice into the cosmic cataract. Spume filled the void with diamond spray and rainbow hues.

Ayria was filled with a sense of utter peace and contentment.

An eagle appeared from among the clouds. Tucking in its wings, it plunged toward her. At the last second, it veered to one side. Blazing past in a flash of golden glory, it plummeted into the icy depths. Its call brought with it the familiarity of the summons that had woken her from sleep.

Comprehension sent a thrill of realization coursing along her spine.
I’m dream-walking! I’m actually dream-walking. I did it. But where . . . ?

Ayria realized she was no longer alone. An old man sat cross-legged on the ground near to the precipice in front of her, staring out at the stars around them. He seemed transfixed on a huge red sun in the distance.

Although aged, she could tell by the way he held himself that this man had seen many summers of activity. His back was erect and proud, powerfully muscled. Trailing down to the ground, his midnight mane had been tied into a combat braid, and was dignified by long streaks of gray.

To one side, a huge wolf warmed itself in sunlight, its thick shaggy coat glistening with moisture from the falls. Before Ayria could gain her wits, the eagle reappeared. Gliding out from the haze of interstellar space, it gripped a fat, wriggling salmon tightly in its talons. Dropping the fish into the warrior’s lap, it landed and loped across to the wolf. Its task complete, the noble creature preened the shaggy beast for a few moments before nesting down within the depths of its fur.

Confused, Ayria strolled closer to get a better look.

The elder ignored her. Producing a sharp knife from within the folds of his belt, he gutted the offering before him. Dividing the carcass into equal measures, he placed two portions to one side for the wolf and the eagle to share. The rest, he kept for himself. But instead of consuming his meal, the brave began to sing.

His voice was deep and resonant, and seemed to call on the essence of the cosmos. A thrill tingled along Ayria’s skin as intuition flared within her.
The Old Man! What did Nana say his name was? Napee . . .  Napo . . . Napioa. Yes, that’s it! Napioa.

Ayria noticed he had taken great care to remove the egg-sack of the salmon unbroken. As he chanted, Napioa squeezed its contents onto the grass. Satisfied with his preparations, he separated those eggs, one from the other. Napioa reached up into the void and gathered strings of vitality from the endless well of creative forces thrumming all around.

Ayria watched in silence as the old man wove the elements together into a likeness of the first comers. Soon, ranks of miniature people lay sleeping among the blades of grass, blissfully unaware of their place in the great scheme of things.

Out of nowhere, a great bow and quiver full of arrows appeared. Ayria could see the shafts were flightless. Undaunted, Napioa leaned across to the sleeping eagle and plucked a multitude of feathers from its wings. He repeated the process with the wolf, taking long strands from its fur to fletch each quill in place. Once completed, he adorned the flights with their own distinct sigils.

Ayria had never been an avid student of her ancestry, so most of the marks were a mystery to her. Nevertheless, she did recognize half-a-dozen symbols of familiar tribes in amongst them. Having completed his task, Napioa selected a handful of his resting creations and tied them to a corresponding set of arrows.

Standing, he studied the heavens before him. His gaze came to rest upon the ancient star he had been scrutinizing when Ayria had first seen him. Stringing the bow, he cocked his arm and with a loud
thrum
, sent his missile speeding off into the night toward its crimson objective. Moments later, a small flare confirmed he had struck his target.

Uttering a grunt of satisfaction, Napioa repeated the process. Hours passed. Time and again, the Creator selected a set number of slumbering images from off the ground. After contemplating them closely, he studied the firmament to choose a suitable sun. Humming a song of farewell, he sent each one speeding on its way toward a new home.

The number remaining dwindled. Ayria recognized some of the markings on the feathers that were left. Apache, Blackfoot, Sioux, Innu, Naskapi, Lakota.

Selecting those at last, the old warrior took his time to search the vault above him. Something caught his eye. A small, insignificant, wan yellow sun. It was so very far away that Ayria could hardly see it. Taking careful aim, Napioa let fly. Moments later the tiny star flared, and he smiled.

Resuming his place before the precipice, the Old Man recited an ancient mantra. The heavens whirled above them, and the ages paraded past in majesty and grandeur. The cycles gradually slowed, and came to a standstill once more. A translucent moon smiled down, its radiance bathing everyone in an aura of exaltation and shadows.

The call that had haunted Ayria’s dreams echoed out of the darkness. The eagle raised its head and shrieked in reply. It was joined by the wolf, which threw back its head and howled.

Napioa stood and clicked his fingers. His creatures responded. Together, they walked toward the precipice, and stood upon the very edge of the yawning abyss. Watching. Waiting.

The air contorted before them. A swathe of glittering stars disappeared behind a veil of shimmering, opaque mist. From out of the vapor, another plea rang forth.

“Attend!” he commanded.

Both bird and beast reacted immediately. Grasping a tress of the Creator’s mane in beak and jaw, they leaped out into the cosmic sea. The vortex folded in on itself and sped away toward the distant red star. The eagle followed in hot pursuit, leaving an ever lengthening silver-blue strand behind it. To Ayria’s surprise, the wolf turned and raced off in the opposite direction, toward the remote yellow star that had been last on the Creator’s list. It too, trailed an ever increasing lock of luxuriant hair in its wake. Soon, both creatures were lost from sight.

The Old Man raised his arms and gestured at his cascading hair. Staring directly at Ayria for the first time, he challenged, “Do you understand?”

Ayria could only look on, bemused, as she tried to make sense of what she now witnessed.
“Feel, don’t think. Let your intuition take control,”
the voice of her grandmother chided in her mind.

Napioa continued, “All life is fashioned from the same stuff of creation.” Pointing with his left hand, he indicated the huge ruby disc basking within a rich scarlet penumbra. “The care I lavished on those first awakened . . .” he repeated the gesture to his right, “. . . was also given to those who came last.” The much smaller star behind Ayria glittered like pale citrine. The old warrior concluded, “My children are one. When they call for aid, I hear.”

His children? Is he talking about seeding the universe with life?

The Father Creator smiled, as if sensing her thoughts.

There’s a connection between them?

The penny dropped.
Oh my . . . Arden’s sun is a K-class Red Giant. He’s telling me the appeal is originating from Arden.
She spun on her heel.
So that must be
—

“At last. The clouds that blind your spirit-sight are departing,” Napioa boomed, cutting in on her reasoning. “Behold the truth!”

The two strands of his hair that stretched off into the distance burst into incandescent light. So bright, so vital was their radiance that they inundated Ayria’s senses with a brilliance that blotted out the heavens and sent her reeling back toward the river. Driven to her knees, Ayria blinked furiously until her vision reasserted itself. As Napioa came back into focus, she saw him heaving mightily on his flaming locks, one after the other, and entwining each length into thickening cords around his arms.

At first, nothing appeared to be happening. But gradually, little by little, bit by bit, she discerned both stars and their encircling planets being drawn closer together. As they neared each other, an unfamiliar melody skirled through the ether, carrying with it a promise of resolution and balance.

Solar winds converged from two points, swirling in concert to form a mutual maelstrom in which the peoples of both worlds were lifted into the heavens, merging into one form. An alien voice, laced with anticipation, cried out from the heart of the storm, “Help me to remember who I am.”

“Do you understand?” Napioa asked once more.

Before Ayria could reply, his eyes blazed white, and she was sent staggering across the grass into the frigid flow of the cascade. The bitter chill of winter’s kiss closed about her, and Ayria found herself struggling to keep her head above water. The current pulled her under, and she felt the irresistible pull of gravity as it flung her over the cataract and into the void.

The world dimmed, and Ayria was swimming along an invisible tunnel. The current powered her forward at a blistering pace. She noticed a light ahead of her, shining like a beacon, and she made toward it. Moments later, she burst to the surface and full wakefulness. Bathed in sweat, Ayria took in the familiar surroundings of her room and flopped back onto her bed in relief.

Just as she was about to relax, Napioa’s words echoed through her mind.
Do you understand, Wind of the Sun?

She caught her breath.

Do I understand? I’m not sure. Even though it’s part of my heritage, I’ve never done this kind of thing before. But that reference at the end? That’s too much of a coincidence. It’ll be a little embarrassing having to admit my neglect, but perhaps I’d better get a clearer picture of what this all means from someone who will know.

Ayria rose. Throwing on an old set of clothes, she made her way toward Stained-With-Blood’s quarters. As she padded along the quiet corridors, the soul-lifting rays of a brand new day crested the horizon in the far distance. She paused for a moment, eyes shut, and reminisced on what her grandmother had told her all those years ago about the meaning of her name.

“As has always been the case, little one, our names have great substance. When we were first made, Napioa thought to give our lives meaning. Purpose. Sadly, as the centuries have turned slowly by, many have forgotten the importance of remembering who they are. But not us. We are different. We of the Blackfoot Cree bring honor to our creator, by revering the sense of our origins.”

“So what does Ayria mean, Nana?”

“Ah! In the true language, Ayria denotes ‘Heavenly Wind’. Of course, with your father’s name, Solram
—
which means sun-sage
—
added in, it gives you special significance. His family had dream-walkers among them from the beginning. That’s why your full title is ‘Wind of the Sun’, for one day, if you don’t neglect your studies, you will be able to flow through the stars at will, and venture to places where no others can . . .”

Ayria resumed her journey. Snorting softly to herself, she mumbled, “Ayria Solram. Little
Wind of the Sun
, in the true Cree language. Or, as modern day people would render it,
Solar Wind
.”

She thought once more of the details of her first ever dream-walk, and couldn’t prevent an unnerving shiver from gripping her in its icy talons.

Too much of a coincidence by far.

*

An excited buzz filled the room. News of the mining expedition had spread through the city like wildfire over the past few days, and most people wanted in. As mission leader, Marcus Brutus was here to ensure things went smoothly. Exuberance aside, the team would be traveling over a hundred miles from the city, deep into unknown territory. Many things could go wrong, especially where their enemy was concerned. And while it wasn’t known if dormant pockets of Horde might be found that far out, Marcus wasn’t going to take any chances.

He cast his gaze around the people assembled before him, judging the mood of those he would command. The two opposing groups from the twenty-first century appeared to have buried their animosity remarkably well, and were enthusiastically discussing the implications of the combined venture.

Marcus checked the list on his handheld computer and did his best to put names to faces.
So, let me see if I’ve got this right. That’s the Husker-Trent operations controller, Selwyn King. Although he won’t actually be joining us on the trip, he’ll be maintaining an overview of our progress from back here, in Rhomane. His knowledge and experience of ore management will come in handy.
Marcus had an idea.
I must get my centurions to liaise with him and discuss any tips he might have regarding the transportation of large quantities of minerals. Although we’ll have the use of the skimmers and skidders, anything that enhances our performance will be a welcome addition.