The Kallanon Scales (41 page)

Key-ler was
wary. He knew the four at the gates and liked them not. He crouched
behind an ornamental shrub, one of many surrounding the formal herb
garden. Strange how Force were so mean. They looked like Valleur
and acted like the Murs they fought. Everyone was an enemy.

Force made up half the population, imbued with special
abilities to fight the threat from above, but it did not make them
gods.
The rest of us are
underlings
.

He would
utilise the little western arch and use his key to let himself out.
It was guarded also, but only on the outside, and he might be lucky
enough to slip away unseen. He moved stealthily until he crouched
behind a palm. The gate was unattended. He oiled those hinges and
that lock two days back. He checked on the position of the crescent
moon. It was past midnight. Key-ler dashed across, and slid the key
in with a practised movement. He hoped the man would wait.

Despite
qualms, he was powerfully intrigued. He drew the gate open and
peered around the wall. There! The Foot relieved himself at the
edge of the compound.

The compound
was a moat-like stretch of grass surrounding the old walls, cleared
at night to mark intruders, during daylight it was the training
ground for Force of this region. Beyond the grass lay the Bent
River and the bridge over it, directly opposite the main gates.

Key-ler slipped out and moved into the deep shadow of the
high walls. What was he thinking? He could not cross unseen. He
could not swim and the current was too strong to wade. Villinar and
Tarrant would assuredly have his head for this. Key-ler wondered
how
he
managed to
get out. Biting his lip, he moved along the wall.

He saw a
number of Feet and once heard Tarrant calling from above, but no
one watched the wall itself. He crept along and halted almost
opposite the bridge. Four guarded the bridge, one near the gates,
and three more beyond.

The stranger probably left already
if
he made it across in the first
instance. Perhaps even now he was in Tarrant’s sweet care. Perhaps
the Feet waited for him to reveal himself. Brother Key-ler caught
in clandestine conspiracy.

Do not think
so much, Key-ler.

Key-ler nearly
shouted, and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Walk, Key-ler.
They will not see you.

I heard him in my head,
and Key-ler
started shaking. Against all laws, that. No one practiced
mindspeak.

I do, Key-ler.
Walk. Time is short.

Against his
better judgement, Key-ler walked, and was not seen. By the time, he
set foot to the stone bridge he shook so badly he thought he might
fall into the water.

He thought his
hammering heart sounded like drums at a festival.

Quickly now,
Key-ler.

He dashed
across and into the giant trees on the other side, veering off the
path. A firm hand arrested him and another stifled his instinctive
cry.

“It is me.
They will hear you now.”

Key-ler nodded
and was released. In the shadowy forest he could not discern
features.

“Follow me,”
the stranger whispered, and Key-ler followed. For all his
clumsiness not a sound disturbed the night, and that disturbed
him.

The stranger
halted in a small clearing, a circle of stars overhead. The man
snapped his fingers and wood ignited in a shallow pit, and Key-ler
had no more doubts.

“You are a
magician!”

The stranger
waved Key-ler over to one of five stumps around the small fire.
“No, friend Key-ler, I am a sorcerer.” He sat and placed a pot of
water on the flames.

“I should not
be here,” Key-ler said, but was so deep in the mire, it no longer
mattered.

“Sit, Brother.
I don’t bite, promise.”

Key-ler sat,
his round form setting the stump a-wobble. “Who are you?”

The man looked up and in the firelight his eyes appeared
golden. He seemed almost wholly Valleur at that moment. He must
have caught Key-ler’s thought, for his mouth twisted and his eyes
dropped back to the fire. “I
am
Valleur. Do not use my eyes to condemn
me.”

“Forgive
me.”

“No matter. I
have been living with these reactions all my life.” He looked up
and there was a trace of sadness, quickly hidden. “There were
humans in this system a long time ago. My eyes I have inherited
from a human ancestor, but the blood is negligible now.”

Key-ler
nodded, saying nothing. It was not unheard of and, as the man said,
the blood was almost non-existent today. The rare dark hair usually
bespoke that ancestry.

“Who are you?”
Key-ler asked again.

“My name is …”
the stranger began, only to pause in amusement when the Brother
stared at him. “Well, friend, I reckon after your activities this
night, you deserve to know.” He grinned when he received an
emphatic nod. “I am Caltian.” He reached across the fire and
Key-ler grasped the man’s arm in ritual greeting.

“I am honoured
to know you, Caltian,” Key-ler said and meant it. Then the import
of the man’s name hit solidly home. “Hued Heavens!” He put a
trembling hand to his lips.

Caltian stared
into the fire. “Beast Breacher, yes.”

“Oh, my.”

Caltian
laughed, but did not look up. “Now you know why I do not spread my
name around.”

“What father
names his son thus?”

“A father who
followed the old ways, and scried for his son’s future.”

Key-ler sat
turned to stone with his expressive eyes sympathetic. Mindspeak was
anathema. Sorcery was outlawed. Scrying was considered an
abomination.

“I am no
demon.”

The bleak tone
pierced Key-ler’s heart. “Of course not! It could not have been
easy for you.”

“No.”

“Is that why
you joined Creed?”

“You do not
join Creed; it finds you and when it does you have little choice in
the matter. With a name like mine I was bound to attract them, and
did, but it was seen over the scrying bowl.”

Key-ler shook
his head as if to negate what he heard.

“Key-ler, how
do you think Force holds its own against Murs and Mysor? Talent for
battle? Genius strategy? Yes to both, but that is not enough for
the sorcery of the Murs.”

“They are
imbued.”

“With
what?”

A lengthy
silence. “I see.”

“They have the
old ways near to the surface, as do others, secretly. Before you
ask, yes, including Creed.”

“Why the
double standard?”

“You catch on
fast, Brother. There are too many Valleur now and have been for
some while. Sorcery in such numbers would have revealed our
location many centuries ago.”

Key-ler tried
to assimilate the new information.

“Atrudis is
about to be torn apart by war and I need to reveal to you certain
facts, for it will gift you the authority you require. Folk will
look into your eyes and although they will not hear these words
between us, they will know sub-consciously what you say comes from
knowledge that alters.”

Key-ler’s
mouth puckered. “They didn’t listen to you.”

“I saw that
building come alive with a different purpose. Villinar studied the
prophecy for the first time in seventy years. Force is watchful,
and not only for Murs. They heard. You are here now.”

Key-ler
inclined his head, conceding. “Tell me,” he murmured, accepting the
duty.

“Good man,”
Caltian smiled. “I knew I could count on you. Simply, Creed is the
Keeper of the Taliesman. The prophecy is not mere symbolism,
Key-ler. A Dragon-man comes and when he does, war follows.”

“Why?”

“The Dragon is
evil incarnate and with the Taliesman he assumes his destiny, and
we have to stop him. If we cannot, he will forever alter the
universe. Have you never wondered why we are exiled from the
greater universe? To war here, where the destruction will not
impact on life everywhere. We knowingly undertook this task on
fleeing into the Zone. The Murs form a barrier, one the Dragon-man
may have difficulty passing through. For ages they have aided in
keeping us secret from those beyond.”

“They want the
Taliesman, too.”

“Like seeks
like.”

“It seems to
me we have stopped nothing. If, as you say, the Dragon-man
comes.”

“It was to
prevent false claimants, Key-ler. The real Dragon-man must be the
first or we would have fought this battle many times. One Dragon,
one Dragon-man, one final war.”

“If we
lose?”

“Ages of
hiding were for naught and Atrudis is finished.”

“If we
win?”

“We have
earned the right to go where we please.”

“Oh,” Key-ler
whispered and then, “There must be more.”

“There is, but
our time is too short and much is unclear. Even Creed cannot be
sure of all intricacies.”

“When will it
come to pass?”

“No more than
three weeks, probably less.”

“By all gods
and goddesses!”

“There is a
gathering in progress in the Murs and Mysor enclaves. They have
retreated from Atrudis. Two days ago, we detected a ship,
approaching with stealth. It has been a century since a ship dared
the Zone, and we suspect the Dragon-man is aboard. If they are
merely lost or crazy, with no threat aboard, they will go
unharmed.”

“The Murs will
harm them.”

“If no Dragon
is aboard we cannot interfere with their fate, you know that.”

Key-ler was
miserable. “That is unfair.”

“We remain
hidden until the Dragon comes, Key-ler, that is the way of it.”

“How were they
detected?”

“Sorcery.”

“How?”

Caltian lifted
a dark eyebrow. “You want to know about sorcery itself. Are we
trained in that talent, chosen to become adepts? For a brief moment
I shall touch your kernel of recall. Go back to the time when the
Valleur came here and feel the magic inherent in us … yes?”

He studied
Key-ler for a moment and continued when he saw realisation overcome
the brother. “Release now. The Valleur have always been sorcerers.
We subjugated it to cloak the signature. The Dragon, Key-ler, was
the creator of both the prophecy and the Nine. We believe we follow
the Ancients’ path, but we have in truth utterly lost our way.”

“What will we
do? Half the population will have no defence.”

“We will do
what we can.”

“And you,
Caltian? The sorcery?”

“Some never
subjugated. My father was among those.” The pot sputtered. Caltian
bent to it. “Tea?”

“Please.
Surely people should at least know what is coming?”

“Precisely
what I am about and what you will further.” Caltian commenced the
steeping process.

“Has Creed
sent others out?”

“Atrudis is
large. Naturally.”

“The Academia
stores scrolls, for Aaru’s sake!”

“And others
sharpen weapons. The Force puts battle plans to table as we
speak.”

Key-ler
slumped. “That is a relief.”

“Is it?”
Caltian looked up, his gaze drifting into the dark forest around
them. “We are wholly unprepared, if you ask me. After so long, we
are more vulnerable now than the time the Nine fled here with that
golden coin.”

I am your
worst nightmare.

~ Favourite
words of every Darak Or

Jungle
Valaris

T
ymall was not alone.

He had never
been so utterly alone.

Insanity was
close. With the disappearance of Vicke and Renar, he floundered for
strength and purpose. Their presence kept that knot of lucidity
from unravelling.

He struggled
for strength, for purpose he no longer recognised.

He could not
confront his monsters.

He fled around
the perimeter of his mind more times than there were stars in the
heavens.

Some were
humanoid, and therefore bearable. Others were animalistic,
nightmarish, yet recognisable. Yet others shifted shape
incessantly. The latter shattered him, for they began with images
of his mother, shifting into pawing cathrons into wolverines into
demonic creatures into snakes and rats, but none of it in the known
sense. Each retained a feature of his mother, but with gaping maws,
protruding veins, globs of acidic saliva, mangy fur and bloody
scales.

From these he
ran screaming. In periods of clarity, he understood he punished
himself for his treatment of his mother.

Infinity
laughed at him the most, crooking her finger, arousing him each
time. Often he snapped from his mind’s visions to find he held
himself, vice-like, seeking desperately to cut the flow to that
treacherous part of him.

He was
losing.

While his mind
wandered the closed circle, his body wandered without conscious
thought. He unknowingly drank of poisoned water and retched for
days without awareness of the spasms. He did not eat, did not sit,
and did not rest. He never slept, not permitted to, and day and
night blurred beyond distinction.

How long he
could not say after, but the time came when a new presence intruded
into his clearing, brightening it, changing it.

Body and mind
came to a standstill.

He was at the
metaphorical fork in the road.

He had to
decide.

Or die.

He could not
talk, could merely stare, for he knew who regarded him serenely
from the other side of the clearing. He was as unmoving.

How long they
stood there, Tymall would never know. A minute, an hour, a day? It
was eternity.

He was doomed.
Until the moment this particular presence stepped up, it was not
too late for him, and longing drove him to his knees.