The Nemisin Star (22 page)

His father
paused in the doorway. The shadows were back in his eyes. “Never
have I been this deliberately guilty in my life,” he murmured, and
turned onto the balcony walk, his tread firm.

Saska, thank
the gods, was not in their chambers.

He swore under
his breath repeatedly as he wondered where she was.

Half an hour
later they stood in the courtyard.

Tristamil
listened while his father spoke earnestly to Pretora, Kismet and
Pianote, but did not hear anything. He searched the balcony hoping
for a glimpse of Skye, but she did not appear.

Perhaps her
father would turn in his grave if he knew a son of Torrullin’s
propositioned her to become a kept woman, but Lanto was also such a
romantic he might have told her to grab happiness in whatever form
it presented.

He knew it was
not ambition driving her to ask him for a real commitment and he
wanted more than anything to make her dreams come true; it
degenerated into a hopeless, useless argument, leaving nothing
solved and both of them furious.

The balcony
remained deserted. His father touched him on the arm. Pretora and
Kismet were inside and Pianote checked the Dragon doors. The
courtyard was empty and light from inside threw long streaks across
the cobbled surface.

“You are deep
in thought, son.”

“Who would you
have me marry?”

“I have not
given it much thought.”

“And if I
didn’t marry her, but got her pregnant?”

Torrullin
pinched the bridge of his nose. “You would lose Skye if you did
that.”

Yes, that
appeared likely. “I want to wed her, father.”

“And you would
pay for the mother of your heirs for the rest of your
relationship.”

“Would my
heirs be recognised?” Tristamil insisted.

“If the
Valleur woman, and her father, agrees to such an arrangement and a
child is conceived, then yes. However, you would have to wait until
after the birth of the child before you could marry another.”

“In the event
it is a girl?”

“No, that you
will know at conception. In the event he is stillborn. If you
father a girl-child you would have to wait longer.”

Tristamil
nodded slowly,. “I would like you to tell me sometime soon who you
would consider blooded enough to carry the heir.”

Torrullin
studied him in silence. After a while he said, “Fine, but I urge
you to think this through with great care.” He looked up at the
silent balcony himself and added, “I did not think and it almost
cost me the one person I love beyond all else.”

“You worked it
out.”

“The circle
isn’t always rounded; do not automatically think it will transpire
as you hope.”

“Love wins in
the end.” Tristamil sought reassurance.

“I hope so.”
His father could not give it. “Where is Vannis? He said he would
see us before we go.”

“Hold your
horses, I am here,” Vannis muttered, materialising before them.

“Gods, you
were outside the valley?”

“I was at the
Graveyard. Are you off? We have matters in hand here. The Dinor
dead have been dealt with and I have dispatched a delegation out
there, highly visible, to make contact with the living. We should
have movement on that front soon.” Vannis paused. “Where were you
today?”

“At the
Lifesource.”

“Saska was fit
to be tied. What did you say to her?”

“Vannis, you
know better.”

“I do not see
Cat about. Is she at the Lifesource?” Vannis asked.

“Yes,”
answered Torrullin.

Tristamil
gazed at his father.
Ah.

Vannis shook
his head. “You are mad, Torrullin. You will drive her away
permanently this time.”

“Perhaps that
is how I want it.”

“Yes, I got
that in Grinwallin already, but she will not be the Lady
forever.”

“Long enough
to lose her way. Long enough for nothing to remain of us.”

“You cannot
think like that. You love her and she loves you.”

“Love wins in
the end?” asked Tristamil.

Vannis looked
at him. “Not always, Tris. Sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes
love remains only in parting.” He faced Torrullin. “You would
prefer to love her at a distance. All very well, my boy, but you
are hands-on; that will not work for you.”

“I haven’t
thought about it.”

“Clearly,”
Vannis said. “You must go, yes, I know. I will keep the peace here,
relax.”

“I meant to
have a word with Matt, Vannis. Will you tell him where Cat is?”

Vannis’ was a
long-suffering sigh. He embraced both Tristamil and Torrullin. “You
two watch yourselves.”

“You, too,”
Torrullin returned. “Tris, we go.”

Quilla had
supplied co-ordinates. They went.

Vannis glanced
up at the balcony. No farewells from there.

It was worse
than he thought.

When a sun is
weak a world is cold and life shrivels with time. When an
atmosphere alters components a world is poisoned and life shrivels
swiftly. And yet life is amazingly tenacious. Lift a rock in a
desert and find it there, hidden ... thriving.

~ Ancient
Oracles

Cèlaver

T
he sun
shone and it was bitterly cold.

Within seconds
they gasped for air. Tristamil fell to the sterile earth clawing at
his throat. This was his first time in alien air; it was entirely
unlike a transport through the spaces where there was no air - it
was akin to dying. He needed to learn fast how to summon his added
biology to the fore.

To aid the
stricken young man Torrullin needed first to acclimatise; it was
not hard, merely a matter of knowing, yet he understood well how
debilitating it was the first time.

He knelt
beside Tristamil and lifted his prone shuddering form. “Look at me.
I am breathing. Concentrate now, look within.”

Tristamil’s
face was blue. He fought both the alien air and himself. Drawing
strength from the apparent normality he saw in his father, he found
the means to recognition. Gradually his colour returned, and
eventually he grinned sheepishly. Torrullin patted him, more
relieved than he cared to admit.

“Next time it
will be easier. Now the next factor to bear in mind is that we are
lighter here. Take small steps or you will spiral ...”

Tristamil took
a giant step and went twisting out of control. Fortunately the
atmosphere of Cèlaver was sufficiently dense to slow him, but
strange manoeuvres ensued to regain a level descent; by the time he
landed back on solid ground he was more than a little green.

“Will you
behave now?” Torrullin questioned in exasperation.

Tristamil
nodded and Torrullin set off towards a mountainous outcrop to the
north. Small steps.

Cèlaver was a
world of angular stone. Tones of grey and deep black shadow, with
periodic patches of pure white. Small sharp stones littered every
inch of the hard surface, while massive boulders dotted the
landscape, some sporting wicked spikes probably shaped by severe
sandstorms, frequently so.

At intervals,
clusters of boulders piled together and formed recognisable shapes.
They could well be contrived landmarks in an otherwise featureless
landscape. Piles of metallic shale rose in tiny pyramids and
despite uniformity were natural deposits.

The land rose
and fell in undulating waves as the two hiked toward the outcrop.
At one point they crossed a level area that was a floodplain in
ancient times. Rocky underfoot, it was more yielding, as if there
was fine sand below. Long dry riverbeds meandered and there they
discovered the first rounded stones; ancient water-eroded pebbles
gradually uncovered by the ferocious winds of Cèlaver.

It was
fortunate indeed said winds were absent at the time of their long
hike.

They walked
for hours, with few words. The thin unfamiliar air was taxing, and
the planet’s heatless sun dipped ever lower, eventually reaching
the horizon and barely lighting their way. On Valaris it was a new
day, the day that heralded Dark Moon, which meant the start of
winter proper, but here there were no seasons, and they seemed no
nearer the outcrop. An already cold world was about to become
freezing.

“Draw a bubble
now,” Torrullin said, and both men drew a small comfort zone about
themselves, feeling instantly warmer. It was something they would
not easily maintain as they hiked and thus they searched for a
likely place to halt for the hours of darkness, and had settled on
nearby boulders when the sun slipped into oblivion.

It felt like
abandonment, for the dark was impenetrable.

For two
strange minutes they endured the pitch of black, standing unmoving,
before Cèlaver’s satellite hurtled into the heavens and the grey
sterile landscape transformed into beautiful silver.

They were no
longer alone.

Others
employed the two minutes of utter dark to their advantage,
approaching the intruders with uncommon stealth.

A large team
of fur-clad forms surrounded Torrullin and Tristamil, each pointing
a sharp spear, and they were not sure whether to be frightened by
the overt menace or relieved at this certain sign of
habitation.

One shone a
battery operated torch first into Tristamil’s eyes and then
Torrullin’s, blinding them. It was disconcerting. He barked
gutturally, pointing at Torrullin. Not comprehending the words, but
understanding the intent, they simply did not move with hands
meekly raised, and shook their heads. He barked again, this time at
those around him, and spears intruded into their comfort zones to
prod at them, shattering the illusion of warmth; bone-chilling cold
set in. They began to shake uncontrollably.

Another bark
issued forth and they were roughly handled onto a broad wooden
sled. A pile of furs was tossed over them and tacked to the sides
to form a cocoon, none to gently, and the cold receded
somewhat.

Their packs
were hauled off as they were thrown onto the sled and these now
dropped jarringly onto their legs, but the added weight aided
insulation.

A mad dash
commenced. Six men in traces loped fast and sure over the rocky
landscape, dragging the sled behind them uncaring of their
captives’ welfare. In a sense they ensured it, for they obviously
hastened towards shelter before the cold worsened. Torrullin and
Tristamil held on, flashes of fur flitting, surreal against the
silvery moon. Rhythmic grunts accompanied the race across the
hostile planet.

About an hour
later the moon vanished and all was then lightless. A great
reverberating boom sounded, like a giant stone slab dropping into
place, and the sled came to a halt.

Harsh commands
erupted in the dark and frantic activity exploded.

Metal spears
scraped and clinked against stone and electric lights came on,
shining bright from a string of naked bulbs overhead. A massive
stone square stood in Torrullin and Tristamil’s backward view; the
source of the boom a few moments ago.

They were
inside.

It has to
be the interior of the outcrop
, Torrullin thought, for they
entered without the motion of descent.

“Handy,”
Tristamil whispered to his father. “We didn’t have to look for them
and
we are inside.”

A furry form
blurred in front of him and Tristamil’s head snapped back at the
violence of the blow. He would have retaliated had not Torrullin
gripped his arm.

Do not
antagonise them. We will play their game for now.

The man who
loosed the blow nodded his satisfaction and barked at two others to
stand guard.

They were in a
cavern. The internal rock was yellow and smoothed as if eroded by
the long passage of running water. The cavern was congested with
packing crates and sleds standing end-on against the walls. Leather
traces hung from wooden pegs and grain bags stacked atop each other
to form a low warren of spaces.

It will be
interesting to see what exactly the crates and sacks contain
,
Torrullin thought,
for it will reveal much about the
Cèlaver.

The team that
found them - and probably tracked them until the brief period of
dark - removed their fur outer garments and stripped to fur loin
flaps held in place with leather strips about their waists.

Tristamil and
Torrullin gradually eased their coverings aside, for it was warm
inside and both sat up cautiously. They did so under the watch of
their two guards, who were content to ignore them as long as they
made no sudden moves and remained silent. Others relieved the two
shortly to take their turn at disrobing.

The Cèlaver
were taller than the Valleur, humanoid with seven-fingered hands,
seven-toed feet, and a dark brown skullcap that at first appeared
as a decorative accessory, but was a protective evolutionary
outgrowth of chitin scales.