The Kallanon Scales (31 page)

“We’ve been
grounded for months,” Santori said. “No problem.”

“Itching!”
Agen laughed.

Torrullin
rose. “Get what you need from Camot.”

They trooped
out until only Quilla remained. “I think you are actually enjoying
this, Enchanter.”

“Something to
keep my mind off Tris and Ty.”

“Still
theft.”

“Pooh! I have
a mind to permanently disable the second craft also, to stop them
raping another world.”

Quilla’s eyes
twinkled. “That would not displease me overly.”

“You are going
without me, Matt says.”

Torrullin
looked up from a book, the geography of Ceta. He snapped it closed
as Cat entered. “You do not have to navigate this trip. Nothing to
it, I hear.”

“Then I can
go.” She stood with arms crossed, foot tapping. She wore Valleur
clothing, a pair of men’s breeches, soft leather boots and a
leather waistcoat over one of her tees, the logo screaming in
bright red on white to ‘Bear Witness To Truth!’

“We are
leaving in twenty minutes, I have no time for this. Why have you
come to pick a fight?”

“Is the
Enchanter reading me now?” She stood close, hands on hips.

He did not
retreat. “I need not sorcery to plumb your intentions.”

Matt entered
and, hearing voices in the library, approached. He was about to
speak when he heard his sister say, “And what are my
intentions?”

Moses, sis,
what are you up to now?

“You seek to
anger me.” Torrullin’s reply stopped Matt in his tracks.

“Why would I
do that?”

Matt nearly
groaned aloud, stepping closer.

“I do not need
to answer.”

What is
this?

“Stuff you!”
Cat blurted, and Matt closed the gap, intending to interfere.

“You came
looking,” Torrullin laughed, his tone challenging.

Matt watched
in horror as his foolhardy sister reached out in ire to slap the
Vallorin. A cry of denial rose to his lips, and died there.

Torrullin caught her arm and held it while they stared at
each other. Foolish Cat leaned in and kissed him. His free hand
clasped her head and he returned it.
Oh.
Matt retreated to the tier
outside, drawing breaths of fresh air.

Moments later
Cat erupted from behind him, muttering to herself.

“Catalina!”

She stopped.
“Matt?”

“He is the
Vallorin, he is the Enchanter! You are playing with fire!”

She moved away
from the doorway. “Stay out of it, brother.”

He followed
her. “No! This is our future you put at risk! Cat, the man is six
and a half thousand years old - you are a babe compared to that!
He’ll spit you out!”

“Six and a …?”
Cat put a hand to her mouth. “How old is his wife?”

“He is
married
?”

“He speaks to me, Matt,
me
,” and she touched her chest
flat-handed.

“Well, look, don’t touch! Don’t tell me, this has happened
before?” Cat did not answer, she looked away. “You …” Matt took her
arm and dragged her further away. “You
slept
with him?” She nodded, lifting
her chin, and Matt ran a despairing hand through his hair. “How can
you be so stupid?”

“Matt!”

The Xenian
jerked around to see Torrullin exiting his suite. He took a breath,
muttering to his sister, “We’ll discuss this later.” He left her to
approach the Valleur ruler. “Torrullin?”

“You and Cat
disagree over something?” Over Matt’s shoulder, he watched her
saunter off to join Lowen.

“Brother-sister nonsense.”

Torrullin’s
gaze settled on him. “I need to know how long the return journey
from Ceta.”

“Four to six
days.”

“Longer than I
thought.” Torrullin jumped to the lower tier and paused to look
back up. “You were fighting about me.”

Matt closed
his eyes. “No, it was about her stupidity.”

“Do not fear
your future here.” Torrullin continued to stand, eyes taking in the
fact that Lowen now accompanied Skye to the arena floor, the young
girl animated and gesticulating at the sky, Tower, mountains, and
Skye laughing her delight.

Cat vanished
over the lip of the amphitheatre into the snow. She was not dressed
for it, but seemed not to care how cold she was out there. He
looked again at Matt.

“You are both,
with Lowen, safe in your new future. Do not doubt that, no matter
what. I must go.” He strode away.

Matt, exhaling a pent-up breath, turned for their chambers to
gather his things.
No matter what.
How could Cat not see how dangerous he
was?

He did not see
Torrullin vanish and did not see him stride after Cat in the snow
above. He did not see her turn and wait for him.

They vanished
together behind a rise, and there were no witnesses there
either.

Technology is
a form of magic, the power lying in invention and creation,
conceived in the mind and made real.

~ Inauguration
of Yltri’s new university

Ceta

N
ight on Ceta came as a
revelation.

There were
four moons and one was full and bright, with a glare compared to
midday cloud on Valaris. Another waxed, a third waned and the
fourth was a mere sliver in the night sky.

They arrived
in a deserted field and fell to the ground. The eerie glow caught
them off-guard.

Agen murmured,
“I heard of this, couldn’t imagine it. How do these people
sleep?”

“It’s too
quiet,” Matt said.

Not a cricket,
not a rustle, a stirring leaf. Not the faintest sound of
habitation. Everything had a surreal atmosphere, as if they landed
on a fertile world utterly abandoned even by natural creatures. The
grass under them was real and damp and there was the faintest
perfume of flowers, yet not the gurgle of a stream or the cooing of
a night bird.

It was not
normal.

“What do we
know of Ceta?” Torrullin asked Matt.

“Human, large
industry, sparsely populated, self-sufficient.” Matt craned his
neck and rose into a crouch. “Appears clear.”

They stood up
in a field surrounded by farm fencing. There were buildings in the
distance, one a barn and lights on in a house. No dogs barked.

Beyond was a
host of lights, the permanent staff of the spaceport, and beyond
that the actual port. Even from this distance, they discerned
massive hangars, dark squares against lit heavens.

“We appear to
be in the right place,” Taranis murmured.

“I do not like
this,” Vannis muttered.

“Senses,”
Torrullin whispered, and the four sorcerers stilled to search out
signatures and messages that could assist. The Xenians felt bereft.
Krikian broke off first, with Torrullin staying out the longest,
and he soundlessly slapped his thigh. “Not even a whisper of
ordinary life.”

“Something
isn’t right,” Cruper muttered.

“Stay close. I
am surrounding us with a concealment.”

“May not be
wise,” Vannis countered.

“I feel we are
prey this night and I aim to conceal us.”

“Thank God,”
Agen said.

Torrullin
flashed a grin and lifted his hand. There was a discernible shift
in the air, a slight pressuring, and his hand dropped and
everything was the same.

“Let us close
in,” Torrullin said, and strode across the field.

The others
followed with Krikian in the rear. Thousands of eyes bored into his
back and he liked it not. They were prey, yes.

They skirted
the farm buildings and headed for town, the land flat, vaulting
over low fencing. There was the smell of manure, but no animals.
Torrullin walked into a low shrub and turned to stare at it once
passed. Not only did the leaves and twigs make no sound against his
legs, but also it did not return to its natural position.

There were a
number of industrial buildings. Half-buried water pipes lay
everywhere, and they used them to flit from shadow to shadow. There
were dwellings, lights on, the aromas of many suppers, but it was,
if possible, quieter.

Matt peered
into a window, a tricycle lying on its side in a well-kept garden.
Food on the table, steam drifting off. It smelled good and his
stomach growled and then knotted in anxiety. There should be people
seated at that table set for four. He hastened to catch up to
Torrullin and saw him retreat from a different window thoughtfully,
mouth set.

Normality was
left behind on Valaris.

Torrullin led
them into a shed. “Folk were here minutes ago and there is no sign
of hurried departure. Two explanations come to mind, one being Ceta
has powerful sorcery and felt the signature of our arrival. They
drew a concealment as we have - plausible, but improbable. The
other is implausible, but likely closer to the truth. Time itself
is frozen or slowed; while we move with abandon in it, the people
and warm creatures of this world move so slowly we cannot see
them.”

“Both require
extraordinary power and we are indeed prey.” Vannis dragged a hand
through his hair.

“We get to
that ship fast, use the manipulation,” Taranis said.

“It could be a
trap,” Matt pointed out.

“It is
definitely a trap,” Vannis said.

Torrullin led
them out again. From that point, he bothered none with shadows and
stealth, but chose instead a direct route through the town, running
on soundless feet. Nobody raised the alarm and unease
increased.

He halted on
the edge of a gigantic concourse. Across the massive expanse lay
the hangars, hundreds of them, doors closed. It was no-man’s-land
to it, and lit like the noonday. He waited until everyone caught
up, and asked Matt, “Which hangars are most likely?”

Matt studied
the buildings opposite. There were signboards above each doorway,
but he could not read them. “I don’t know. One or two should say
Beacon or, wait, Fultari Industries. They manufacture cargo ships
to order, best in the universe. Beacon would use only the
best.”

“Can’t see the
names,” Santori muttered.

In the strange
light, Torrullin’s eyes altered into clear silver and swept from
side to side over the hangar signs. “There,” he said, pointing to
the left. “Fultari Industries.” His eyes returned to normal and he
set off at a sprint across the concourse.

“Jeez,” Agen
muttered, nudging Cruper, and they were off. Hearts hammered, sweat
was cold with fear, and legs pumped.

They fetched
up against the darkness of the hangar beside Torrullin. Matt looked
up. Fultari Industries.

“Locked,”
Santori whispered.

Torrullin
dealt with that and Santori dragged one side of the huge door open
a scratch and slipped inside.

The beam from
the door revealing the presence of two ships.

“Matt, are
these the travellers?” Torrullin whispered.

“Can’t see,
Santori, push the door wider.”

The door
widened and so did the beam. Two gleaming white, squat-looking
ships were revealed.

“Yes!”

“Choose one,
hurry!” Taranis said.

Matt soon saw
there was not one iota of difference and that the manufacturing was
top grade. He chose the one easier to roll out. A short run from
the hangar and they could be aboard and off this planet.

Finding a
control panel, he called to Cruper. “Get this ramp down.”

Cruper’s
fingers flew, punching in codes, and after four attempts he had it.
“Fultari’s code.” The ramp lowered.

“Go!”
Torrullin commanded. The Xenians disappeared inside. “Krikian, go
with them. Tell them no lights, no sound, until take off.”

Krikian
sprinted up the metal incline.

Taranis and
Vannis went to the doors and pushed them open.

Torrullin
retreated to the back of the huge craft, where he listened, senses
on alert.

The ship began
to move, usually hidden wheels squeaking under the great weight. It
was as simple as lifting the struts and releasing the braking
system. Natural momentum, agonisingly slow.

The craft
cleared the doors and Vannis and Taranis began dragging them
closed. “Leave them,” Torrullin whispered, walking behind the ship.
“Get aboard now.”

They ran
alongside and jumped onto the ramp to vanish into the ship.
Torrullin walked steadily behind, waiting, waiting. Bugger
propulsion. He would lift the craft into orbit.

The ship came
to a halt and he walked to the ramp, seeing Vannis’ ghostly face at
the hatch above. “Tell Matt to touch nothing.” Vannis’ face
disappeared.

He searched
for first signs, a sound, a moving shadow, a touch of wind. Nothing
yet, but it approached. The expectancy escalated, he felt it as a
shivering inside. One foot poised above the ramp, the other
remained on the ground. The instant he set both feet to the ramp,
it would begin. He needed to move faster than time.

“Torrullin!
Come on!” Vannis hissed from the hatch.

Shut up.
Wait.

There.

The tree
moving.

Time to
go.

Torrullin
inhaled and bounded up the ramp, slamming it closed with a flick of
his hand, his mind simultaneously dragging ship and crew from the
ground, sucking against gravity and time.

Vannis lurched
as he felt the lift, and jumped in, melding minds to assist him.
Taranis waved the petrified Xenians into acceptance with a grimness
they were forced to obey, and noticed through the porthole beside
the hatch how Ceta erupted into frantic activity, floodlights shot
into the heavens, dogs rushed onto the concourse, soon in the way
of human traffic.

A rescue
vehicle deployed and military transports fired up.