Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 11

  “Lax?”

  “Ever a hotbed of rebellion. The weapons leave from Xen, unfortunately. Old weapons, hidden when the domes came down and kept in good repair by all accounts, waiting for a buyer. I have a case at the moment, a fishy export deal. They found crates of weapons. Guns, grenades, launchers, bombs and the like.”

  “Why did you not inform me?”

  “I wanted to know destination before I did so.” Reel pointed at the door. “The guy who was here is one of my informants; he told me it was Lax and also says tons of the shit has been moved. I was preparing to see the Commissioner about a raid when you came in.”

  Chaim pondered. Lax made sense, for a rebellion could hide a resistance army with ease. Lax was notoriously difficult to infiltrate. “Whom are the weapons destined for?”

  “No idea,” Reel murmured. “The export papers are generic.”

  “Can you snoop more?”

  Reel grinned. “I intend to snoop a lot, my friend!”

  Chaim laughed and rose. “Thanks for the tea. You will let me know?”

  “Anything I hear. Go well.”

  “And you.” Chaim thoughtfully left the office. He needed Jimini to help him now.

  Only a shapeshifter could pass unnoticed on Lax.

  Titania

  AS SHENENDO ROUNDED the bend in a broad aisle, his vehicle purring comfortingly, he discovered Galarth beside a similar craft, book in one hand, scroll in the other.

  There was an expression of fright on his face. Galarth was the clean-cut, athletic type, and to look at him the judgement would be cute, sexy, with little between the ears. One would be wrong.

  Galarth was the universe’s number one reasoner - his term - for all information that came to him had to be pulled apart and put back together until reason emerged from chaos. To see such an expression on his face was entirely unusual; Galarth thrived on challenge and difficulty and nothing frightened him.

  “Hey, Gal?” Shenendo called out. His car came to a stop beside Galarth’s.

  “Shedo? What are you doing here?”

  “Luvan history. Why did your vehicle stop here?”

  “Inundations.” Galarth gave a smile, a measure of confusion in his eyes. “Seems the two are linked. Look. Luvan, Senlu, and around and between both much on inundation, including Old Earth, Sanctuary, Xen and bloody Lax. And those are the ones that jump out at one - there’s a host of other inundations. Gods, I don’t know where to start.”

  That was the reason for fright. One week was not enough time to find reason in chaos.

  Shenendo smiled. “Well, if we are betwixt and between books and scrolls here, we tackle this as a team, what say you?”

  Galarth stared up at the mighty wall of information. “I say let’s do it.”

  Shenendo sighed private relief. Galarth would make huge strides where he would plod along; the man would ease this task. “Excellent. We need a work area.”

  Galarth gestured to a break in the wall of books. “There are workstations through there. I’ve claimed one.” He gave Shenendo a considering look. “Do you know if these works are on computer?”

  “No idea. Why?”

  “I’m thinking it may be simpler to write a search engine that can pull what we need from this, rather than page through it all.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure, if it’s on a drive. It’s a lot; have computers been around long enough to get this on?” Galarth waved an encompassing hand to include the entire complex.

  “Is there a console at the work station?”

  “Many.”

  “Ask it,” Shenendo suggested.

  Galarth grinned at him. “Sharp, Shedo! Let’s do that first.” Challenged anew, he led the way with book and scroll under one arm.

  The vehicles, Shenendo noted, remained stationery.

  They would work, eat and sleep there for the time remaining to them before the meeting in the Dome on Sanctuary.

  IGNATIUS KNEW AFTER ONE hour with the staff on Mariner Island that Sanctuary would not offer up secrets.

  Defeated in that endeavour, he headed for the only place he would likely uncover pertinent information - Titania.

  Shenendo and Galarth made space at the overloaded workstation for him, for Ignatius’ car stopped at the same place.

  It seemed all was linked, and Elixir’s theory was proved with every step they took.

  Valaris

  LIKE TORRULLIN, QUILLA stayed away from Valaris, until the call could not be ignored.

  He still felt the Lifesource was his true home. Perched over the abyss between the Arrows and Assents, with the Eastern Ocean turbulent below and connected to the land bridge between the two ranges by a flimsy lightbridge, the Temple paid homage to the Waters of Life on Valaris. The waters gushed from below the lip of the land bridge with awesome power and spectacular beauty, and was regarded sacred.

  The Lifesource Temple, besides the Valleur Throne, was regarded most sacred of all sites and was built first.

  Quilla stood on the lightbridge listening to the angelic harmonies of welcome a soul heard here, and smiled.

  The Temple endured much and yet was always new. It spent thousands of years cloaked while Vannis was incarcerated, it saw Torrullin become the One, it took Vannis’ immortality from him, it healed and soothed and protected. It was the place where Tannil, Teroux’s father, was conceived, and it saw Tannil’s madness at the end of his life. It knew destruction at the hand of Tymall, Tianoman’s father. It once moved to the Western Isles and then returned to the mountains. It was renewed and rebuilt by Torrullin and Vannis, it saw the gathering of the Q’lin’la and it also witnessed their terrible deaths. It was cloaked and uncloaked many times and, as always, it sang welcome.

  The lightbridge only appeared flimsy and Quilla strode over with purpose and without fear, the abyss below bothering him none.

  He came here to think on the singing stones, for he thought better in this space and had heard the stones sing from here in the past, many times. What he had to do next was listen in deep meditation.

  Quilla wandered through the western arch with its message of peace and then wandered for hours through the chambers within chambers listening to the music, feeling the stroking of inherent healing, and was himself renewed.

  He was ready to enter trance.

  In his personal chambers of tranquillity he sat on a soft cushion, tucking his legs under him. His hands fell open on his knees and his eyes lost focus.

  He heard the stones sing.

  Chapter 12

  When it’s too good to be true ...

  ~ Warning (Earth)

  Nemisin’s World

  PRIMA DID NOT BOTHER with the niceties when deciding to enter Nemisin’s ancient realm.

  He had been to Titania, but was stumped by the host of foretellings in the database there and chose instead to speak to a seer, and the best seer, without doubt, was Caballa of the Valleur.

  Prima sought out heat signatures as he arrived on the ledge outside the mountainous realm and transported directly into the warm kitchen where Declan ate stew as if there was no tomorrow.

  His arrival caused a brief stir.

  “Prima, what are you doing here?”

  The tall man bent an eye to the Siric. “To speak to Caballa, as you obviously are.”

  Caballa gave an inner sigh. It seemed she would be pulled back into the fold and soon she would have to face Torrullin.

  Putting on a welcoming smile, she said, “Please join us, Prima. We have enough stew left to feed ten more Siric.”

  Prima’s nose twitched. He was hungry, he realised, and then a gurgling stomach betrayed him much as it had betrayed Declan.

  Everyone laughed when he said, “I guess that’s a yes.”

  As he tucked in ignoring a grinning Declan, he was introduced to the women and three men and he, too, lingered over Sabian.

  When Saska entered a while later he nearly splattered his food on the floor in his haste to bow to her. She
smiled at him and told him to go on eating, joining everyone at the huge table.

  Half an hour later the dishes were cleared, stomachs settled and only Saska, Caballa, Prima and Declan remained at table.

  Hands curled around hot coffee mugs.

  Saska spoke first. “Declan is after Agnimus; what are you seeking, Prima?”

  “Foretellings. Three kingdom prophecies with like armies clashing.”

  She lifted a brow. “Because of the rumours?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Please, it’s Saska.” She glanced at Caballa. “I wonder if we should get Sabian in on this.”

  “Why?” Declan asked.

  “He’s a historian and well informed, and the other day he spoke about prophecies.”

  Caballa said, “He had an interesting point. He said folk regard tellings as voided now Elixir has taken us beyond prophecy, the future is written as we live it.” She gave a sad smile. “We do think that, don’t we? As if Torrullin has superseded the past. Well, it may be true, but there are unfulfilled tellings and Sabian’s point was they remain largely because they don’t mention Elixir. He may know of a few to aid you, Prima.”

  “And I want to hear his views on Ancients,” Declan muttered, and glanced at his colleague. “Should we get him in? Saves repetition.”

  “Do you trust him, Siric?”

  “I do not know him, but sense no threat.”

  Prima shifted his gaze to Saska. “Do you trust him?”

  “I believe so.”

  Caballa added, “He is a great addition to this little community. We watch all who come and sense only good intentions.”

  Prima studied Caballa next. “Have you no tellings of three kingdoms?”

  “I do.”

  “Why do we need Sabian?”

  “Because he possesses broader knowledge and could read between the lines. He can also confirm what I say,” Caballa responded.

  Prima nodded. “Very well.”

  Declan got to his feet. “Let me; I need to stretch my legs.” He left the kitchen.

  Prima glanced around. “Nice. Homely.” He focused on Saska. “My Lady, you have achieved greatness here.”

  “Thank you, but I had help.”

  Prima inclined his head to Caballa. “We know, and thank you also.” He drew breath to add, “We should speak in more formal surroundings. This comfort lulls the senses.”

  “You speak of Sabian,” Saska murmured.

  “He is an unknown quality, and we should be cautious.”

  Caballa said, “The Throne-room. Sitting where Nemisin held court is pretty formal.”

  Prima smiled. “Excellent.” He stood and stretched. “Where is that Siric?”

  IT WAS SUMMER - the dry season - and the days were long.

  The sun drew interesting patterns in the Throne-room as it filtered through the creepers, and would continue to do so for a few hours more. The Throne-room was not so much formal as steeped in antiquity, and all felt it as they entered.

  Sabian’s eyes were wide as he gazed around. “I have not been in this part before. Amazing.”

  Prima gazed about him as if he was in the presence of royalty. “Is it all right to be here?”

  Caballa and Saska glanced at each other, and Saska said, “We still feel it, but it’s fine. We won’t be interrupted here.”

  Declan picked up on something else. “Is there another entrance?”

  Saska nodded. “Quite a few. This isn’t a stronghold; it’s a place to live.”

  Sabian gave a grin. “I came through the lower tunnel, Declan, with Igor. The poor man nearly gave out on the stairs there.”

  Declan held a pacifying hand up. “Just checking.”

  Sabian’s grin widened. “I have decided you lot must be suspicious in your line of work to do as you do, so I am not going to take offence. No, I cannot transport, but Igor can. I told him I heard of this world and he brought us. We did not expect to find anyone here.”

  Prima frowned at Declan. “What of this Igor?”

  Caballa spoke for the old man. “Igor owed someone money on Lax and after they took all he owned in payment and found it wasn’t enough, they were to take his life also. Thanks to Sabian, Igor gets to see sunshine a few years more.”

  Prima had one last question. “What were you doing on Lax?”

  Sabian grimaced. “Looking for a scroll.”

  Saska snorted in surprise.

  Sabian bowed in her direction. “My Lady, Titania has a list of missing works either stolen or never acquired. A while back I placed myself at the library’s disposal, kind of a bloodhound. They pay me a pittance, I find the missing books and scrolls and in return I am allowed access to Titania’s database.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Caballa asked.

  The man shrugged. “It is not easy to admit you are a kind of lowlife.”

  “To good purpose, surely?” Saska said.

  “Yes, but still a lowlife to most folks, especially when I need to steal books that were stolen. Folk get riled.”

  “Too bad, I say.”

  Sabian bowed again. “I thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  “Which scroll?” Prima demanded.

  “The life cycle of the Blue Carrion monkey,” Sabian laughed. “Nothing earth shattering.”

  Declan raised a finger. “Wait. Titania curtails usage of the database?”

  “Naturally. Certain materials will ever be sensitive.”

  “I wonder if Torrullin knows,” the Siric mused.

  “Elixir, I believe, has complete access.”

  “When were you last on Titania?” Prima asked.

  “A few months back. Since then I have been hopping ships and eventually landed up on Lax following a lead.” Sabian sighed. “Happy?”

  “I am done, yes,” Prima said.

  Declan paced away. “Sabian, I will give you a brief overview of our mission for you to understand subsequent questions.”

  Sabian waited and Prima said nothing, and that signified agreement.

  Declan told of a missing Kaval member suspected drawn back into time; he told of rumours and explained their tasks.

  Silence came and all looked at Sabian. He took a breath and let it out.

  “Well, that is quite something. Time and prophecy, the two are linked always.” He gazed at Prima first. “I have a mind like a sponge; I remember everything I read, hear and see, thus do not be surprised when I start quoting at you. Every word and punctuation mark is mine to recall.”

  Prima rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”

  Saska and Declan laughed. Caballa studied the man with a frown.

  “Declan, I do not know much of Agnimus other than what was forwarded to Titania from the Valleur Academia of Luvanor. But as to the Ancients - I could bend your ears for years.”

  “Excellent,” Declan echoed Prima.

  “A warning, much known of Ancients is supposition and also confusing. You will need steer through fantasy and fact and could still be wrong.”

  “I need to be specific, then,” the Siric muttered.

  “As far as specifics can be applied.”

  “Right,” Declan sighed, pacing away. “Prima, go first. I need to gather my thoughts.”

  The tall Kaval man lowered to the polished floor and Sabian did likewise, sitting close without being intrusive. Saska and Caballa sank down, while Declan continued pacing within hearing range.

  “Let us begin,” Prima murmured.

  Drinic Homeworld

  PORTALS, SHIFTS, DOORWAYS, rifts, rents, flaws, entrances, breaches, one and the same in intent and meaning. A gateway between two places, whether of city, world, reality, universe, death or time.

  There were varied ways of employing such gateways. Physical entrance of the usual kind, accidentally, magically, death itself, reincarnation, induced trance and even force.

  Erin had to find one single answer to a massive riddle.

  She commenced her search on the Drinic Hom
eworld.

  The Drinic were once Afterlife fanatics, and constructed portable doorways between realms to investigate what lay beyond. This took on extreme importance twenty-five years ago when Agnimus used the knowledge to open a portal to Digilan and brought forth a million draithen to destroy Torrullin and Torrke on Valaris, and then brought through a further million. The draithen were dealt with, the first wave by Torrullin - the reason he stayed away from Valaris - and the second wave by Tracloc, a caste of trackers sent by Tymall from Digilan.

  Agnimus escaped. Agnimus was an Ancient, and Agnimus also knew of doorways and times long passed beyond memory. His knowledge of portals was Drinic in origin and while the old Drinic no longer existed, it was a good place for Erin to start.

  Drinic Homeworld was a pastoral land, a race of farmers. Wholesome. Amunti, Drinic by virtue of association with the Homeworld, was once a farmer.

  Erin smiled as she arrived. Ahead lay patchwork fields and flowering hedges. Smoke rose lazily from stone chimneys and the farmhouses were pretty and appeared well maintained. A river ran somnolently through the countryside and hills were green with spring growth. Horses neighed in paddocks and cows wandered placidly, stopping to tear off sweet grass every few steps.

  She could live like that, she thought, had not her life taken unexpected turns. She was what was called by some a priestess, others a witch, and yet others, shaman, muse, augur, prophetess, and a host of other titles, none of which described her.

  A peaceful way of life would not bring her peace.

  She headed along the decline to the nearest farmhouse. Amunti’s mother lived there, now an old woman and regarded as an expert in portals.

  Amunti should have been given this task, for he was closest to the intricacies, but Amunti was mortally afraid of knowing too much of what lay beyond. An immortal who was mortally afraid, Erin mused with only a little amusement; she knew how that felt. Amunti’s mother believed her son dead; it was the only way a son protected a mother when Drinic immortals started dying twenty-five years ago. His manufactured death meant he could not be used against her.