The Kallanon Scales (23 page)

“I like you
too, honey.” She had no need of Skye’s assistance in entering the
house, getting to the kitchen, but accepted knowing the girl needed
to feel useful, and because she had genuine liking for the shy
thing.

“What do you
think of Cat?” Skye asked, turning the bottle of juice in her
hands.

“She has too
strong an eye on our Vallorin,” Caballa said with a grimace. “Tell
me, is she beautiful?”

Skye
considered that. “You are beautiful, Saska’s beautiful. She is
attractive, yes, tall, dark eyes, dark hair, exceptionally pale
skin, flawless. Striking, arresting.”

“Torrullin
will find that hard to resist,” Caballa murmured. “Particularly
with that personality.” She turned her head in Skye’s direction.
“What have you left out? You asked about her and I sense your
displeasure.”

The young
woman pushed her juice away. “She is a nice person.”

“She looked at
Tymall?”

Skye frowned.
“Yes.”

“Then she is a
clever woman, too. Tymall is like his father. Don’t worry, I know
about Tymall.” Skye said nothing and Caballa reached a hand across
the table to clasp hers. “Torrullin is right, don’t allow Tymall to
see how you feel. That young man is dangerous. You would do better
to look on his twin, especially as Tristamil seems quite taken with
you. But, honey, I would advise neither, for those boys will be
required to wed Valleur.”

“As I
thought.”

“The bloodline
has ever been and has stood us in good stead for aeons. We survived
because of it. Torrullin is the first to bring human blood, but we
understand now it was meant. It pains me to say this to you, but it
will not be permitted to perpetuate. And if it were, Tymall isn’t
the one to set your heart on.”

“You say he is
like his father. Does that make Torrullin dangerous to love?”

“Yes. If you
ever see Saska again, ask her.”

“Caballa, are
you in love with Torrullin?” Skye asked, pieces clicking into
place.

“You are too
smart. I am attracted to our Vallorin, and that hasn’t happened to
me in a long while. Mind, though, only after his wife left.
Torrullin is different. He seemed not to notice my beauty, he spoke
to me, to Caballa inside, which is rare. It didn’t take long to
realise I was attracted to that and then to him.”

“Does he
know?”

“I believe so,
but Torrullin loves his wife and a roll in the heather won’t change
that.” She sighed, she said too much.

“You ‘rolled’
with Torrullin? Really?”

“I prefer not
to discuss my sex life.”

“I struggle
with the thought of my godfather … heavens!” She turned beetroot
red.

“He is a man,
love.”

“About Cat. Are you saying she has her eye on
Torrullin
and
Tymall?”

“She is
attracted to Torrullin and senses similarities in father and
son.”

“She only came
days ago!”

“Attraction can be instantaneous, alive, uncontrollable.
Maybe she doesn’t know this about herself, but Cat is drawn to
danger. She will always find herself going after the wrong man. I
hope I am wrong, but Torrullin will be drawn to her
because
of the danger it
presents. Cat is like Saska.” Caballa slapped the table. “Now,
enough of this, we are speculating like old women. Get paper and
write this list down …”

Galilan

Shep Lore
hastened back to Galilan.

The hospital
started out as a makeshift shelter he and Lycea helped build, and
transformed over the years into a modern building, well-staffed and
of excellent reputation. The hospital would not suffer without him,
but he had the need to accomplish those last things. Shep was a
worrier, especially regarding people and their pain.

The purple
form hurried up to his office on the fourth floor and waded through
messages and mail. After, he wandered the quiet corridors and made
his way to the maternity wing.

He stayed for
an hour or more, absorbing the joys of new life and found amity
within. This was why peace was important, for these innocents. He
was even prepared to steal a ship.

Rejuvenated,
he walked through the silent streets to his house near the river,
passing through the rebuilt Prism Park in the square where once the
Relief Centre was. He still found it strange to walk in the open
among proper buildings and trees. With each new day the first
moments found him expecting the pristine and hygienic underground
habitat of the half-Valleur.

Galilan was
new, built upon old foundations. Gone were the homeless, the
bigotry and the pride. In its place was a city for all, a roof for
all, an open and friendly people.

The destroyed
buildings rose from the ashes, strong enough for another nine
thousand years. The only additions were the hospital and the statue
of the Navigator, and the only items taken away were the high walls
where once a city hid its poor. In their stead, modern blocks,
light and airy, fiercely competed for.

Galilan of old
was new.

Eighteen
months ago, they completed the final building. A task initially
estimated to take a century, two human generations of labour, had
taken a mere twenty years. All hail the folk of Galilan and their
neighbours the Valleur. Shep smiled as he walked. How proud he was
to be a part of it.

He came to his
house, waking his faithful friend, laughed at his unbridled joy,
and knew with greater certainty that life was good. In the morning,
he would ask his housekeeper to take the overgrown pup until he
returned. She loved the mutt as much as he did.

Now he bent to
the task of rolling about the floor with his hairy friend.

Gasmoor

Quilla cursed
in silence.

Beaconites
were a pig-headed lot. The pioneers of human expansion into the
stars of their galaxy and then beyond, ha.

He ‘bumped’
into them earlier at a genetics conference at one of Gasmoor’s
universities and wangled an invite to lunch, then to dinner, the
latter by telling tall tales of Valaris’ mineral wealth.

Beaconites saw
Valaris as backward and barbaric. Beacon was a giant city world. No
fields, no farming, empty oceans and rivers. They bred so much in
the past they left no space for the crops that should sustain them,
and it led directly to forced expansion into space. They had not
learned the lessons that brought them to their world.

Today food was
grown on another planet and manufacturing on yet another, expensive
and potentially economically crippling enterprises. They thought
they had it right. Theirs was the way. They controlled births
rigorously, as well as pollution, immigration, imports, and it was
true Beacon in the present was clean, but it was stagnant and they
annexed two worlds to keep them in that style.

The only
reason they bent to the whims of politics, for Valaris, lay in
Torrullin. Somewhere someone whispered it was in their best
interests to keep the Enchanter sweet.

They had the
temerity to over-utilise others’ resources, like the planned
logging expedition.

The Forest!
Steer the talk to the
old trees.

“Of course,
Valaris has other resources as well,” he murmured to his companion
at the dinner table, a staid middle-aged ambassador.

The stupid man
took the hook.

Quilla went
on, “I overheard you speak of a logging expedition at the
Vallorin’s function and I thought why go so far when we have
established trees right here.”

All ears
now.

“You know of
the Great Forest?”

“I thought
that was out of bounds,” the man whispered.

“I am not sure the Vallorin will allow it,”
He definitely will not,
Quilla fumed. “I do have his ear and the money could be
well-spent on other requirements.”

“Right,” the
man murmured, lowering his voice more. “Could you have a word?”

“No harm in
trying, I always say. But, my friend, let us assume we can work
this thing to our advantage, how can you transport those gigantic
logs back to Beacon?”

The man’s eyes
rounded at the word ‘gigantic’ and he leaned in close. “We will
keep this between us, shall we?”

Quilla leaned
in as well. “Naturally.”

“We have two
new cargo ships capable of hauling great weight and size.”

Bingo. “Surely
that is a great expense?”

“Indeed, but
money well spent. Logs have great value and one trip will recoup
initial outlay.”

“And so much
faster, too,” Quilla whispered, nearly gagging on his wrath.

“You are an
astute businessman, I see. If you can achieve this, I would look
good, make a greater profit, and I will certainly make it worth
your while.”

“Excellent,”
Quilla winked. The fat man almost drooled in his greed. He picked
the right one. “How much time do I have?”

The ambassador
licked his lips and glanced around. Nobody seemed the least
interested in the conversation. “The ships are due to launch three
days from now.”

“That is not
much time; these matters require finesse.”

“I know, my
friend, but it will take six days travelling from launch at Ceta to
actual provisioning on Beacon. If you can have us an answer in
eight days, I can file a new flight plan to bring them to Valaris
first, and we can both make some money. What say you?”

“Excellent.
How do I contact you?”

The fat man
looked around again. He seemed uncertain, which Quilla did not
mind; he had what he needed and was not averse to bowing out at
this point. The man appeared to come to a decision. “I can give you
a comms device that will enable you to reach me on Beacon, but I
need your word you would return it when the ships arrive here.”

“No problem,”
the birdman returned, wanting only to escape.

“Follow me
outside.” The man lumbered up and tottered his way out of the
eatery.

Quilla did not
like it one bit, but it would not do to arouse the man’s suspicions
now. A deal falling through was not a sign advertising theft,
whereas showing reluctance could set the man a-thinking after.

He slipped
out. The rest of the party were wholly unconcerned. They pegged him
as a lightweight.

The ambassador -
my butt,
Quilla fumed - waited at the railing. Quilla
played his part, sidling nearer. The man took a gadget from his
pocket.

Quilla hefted
it, it was light. “How does it work?”

“Voice
activated. It works on a symbiotic principle, piggybacking on the
radio waves throughout the universe. Expensive, but worth the time
saved, and it is also private. I will give you the code and you
tell it where you need send transmission to and it finds the
signal. You cannot allow this to fall into another’s hands,
hear?”

Quilla murmured an affirmation.
Of
course not,
this allows you to make deals
quicker than anyone else. First come, first served.
The man whispered the code and Quilla memorised
it.

“Try it,” the
fat man whispered.

Quilla
complied, murmuring the four-digit code into the commset. It
vibrated in his palm and glowed faintly green.

“To end, you
repeat the code.”

Quilla did so
and it stilled in his hand. “Fantastic,” he muttered, meaning
it.

“Isn’t it?”
The ambassador was flattered. “My son invented it. Now, to reach
me, you tell it my name or my location and it will find me. I will
have a like one on me. Easy.”

“You should
market these.”

“We intend to,
but not quite yet. Hmm?” The man winked.

Much later
Quilla wondered whether a greater watch should be set on Beacon,
long-term scrutiny. Beacon was dangerous in ways few could
comprehend, sometime in the future she could become a power few
would withstand.

Prophetic
thoughts.

But not
yet.

Lifesource
Temple

Torrullin
visited the Lifesource.

He stepped
onto the lightbridge and wandered over, staring into the voids on
either side. How high it was, a man without sorcery could almost
imagine himself able to fly.

Soon he stood
before the western portal, and memories. Here he asked of the being
within – Quilla - to keep his soul safe while he searched for the
Darak Or as Destroyer. That was before the Dragon.

Quilla became
a friend, and was his one true confidant.

He brought
Lycea, Raken, and the others for healing, and Vannis walked across
the bridge without regret, carrying his dying grandson for Quilla
to heal, and lost his immortality.

The
Lifesource, the only place in the entire universe where immortality
was reversible, a place the Sagorin came to in silent joy, but no
Siric desired to enter, Taranis never set foot inside and neither
had Saska. Both Taranis and Saska would never understand the part
of him that came alive in this wondrous place.

Here he was
part of the Q’lin’la Gathering and experienced their magical
homeworld.

He walked
under the arch into the city-sized Temple, seeing the chambers
within chambers, seeing it all, while only seeing a part of the
whole. He wandered, following no particular route, knowing his
aimlessness had meaning, for such was the magic of this place. Each
chamber meant something. Healing, forgetting, strengthening,
awakening, and knowing.

Night
fell.

Here was the
kind of peace missing from daily life, happiness that went beyond
what others instilled. He knew it out there for a brief time, a few
short months after Margus died, before Lycea went into labour.