Survivors: Book 4 Circles of Light series (11 page)

‘I cannot.’

‘What do you mean – you
cannot?’ Tika snapped.

‘That is what I mean
Tika: I cannot.’ Khosa crept towards Tika, her posture indicating
extreme misery. Tika stared at the Kephi in
astonishment.

‘Namolos reaches me. I
cannot reach him. He is still too far for me to mind speak
him.’

‘I could reach him,’
Grek offered diffidently.

The rough grass
flattened in a spiral pattern as Grek belatedly indicated his
position. Khosa’s eyes blazed in a mixture of anger and
excitement.

‘I should have thought
of that,’ she said. ‘Oh yes Grek, find Namolos. He is on one of the
islands set out in the western sea. Beg him to tell us what to do
for the gijan.’

Tika looked around.
‘Has he gone already?’

‘Oh yes. Will you
forgive me for not thinking to use Grek sooner?’

Tika and Maressa were
both so dumbfounded at this apologetic Khosa Maressa could only
pick her up and scratch her ears. Brin spiralled down to land,
looking smug as only he could. Gan raised his eyebrows and waited.
Brin rattled his wings, paced closer and reclined.

‘I have been looking
for a place towards the setting sun where these cliffs might allow
horses or humans to climb down safely.’ His eyes whirred. ‘There is
just such a place, not far. And I flew very high and I could see
the great sea again.’

Sket grinned. ‘You’re
getting really sensible Brin – just like your old
father.’

Brin huffed, smoke
wisping from his nostrils.

‘I believe that is two
legs humour Brin,’ Seela commented and Brin looked a little
shamefaced.

Gan thought it best to
intervene. ‘That was truly helpful Brin – if you can mind speak
Ren, you can guide him to the place you found.’

‘I did, but he didn’t
answer. He heard me, I’m sure, but perhaps he was busy or talking
to someone else. He did not reply though.’

Apprehension rippled
through Tika and Maressa, apprehension not missed by Gan or
Sket.

‘How far do you think
they have left to travel to get here?’ asked Gan.

Brin considered. ‘Maybe
they will be here this time tomorrow,’ he decided.

Sket checked the
position of the sun: about midday. He looked back at the cliffs
towering only two or three leagues behind them and
scowled.

‘Can anyone tell me why
it’s so much cooler here and yet hot enough to fry us all only that
little distance away?’

‘I expect Ren could.’
Tika gave him a smile which quickly vanished as she bent to a gijan
who had let out a high whimpering sound.

The day drew to its
close and the gijan at last seemed more peaceful although whether
that was a good sign or bad none of them dared hazard a guess. They
had spent some time holding each gijan in turn in the water at the
lake’s edge which seemed to help them, cooling their skins at
least. Now the four friends sat round the fire, the Dragons close
by and ate roasted meat from the goats brought again by Brin. Brin
swung his head to the north, eyes whirring.

‘Ren speaks,’ he
said.

They all listened in
growing horror as Ren told of treachery by the Qwah. Hadjay had
crept upon Olam who was keeping watch while the others slept. The
resulting fight had roused them. Navan and Riff had killed Kirat
and Sirak. Olam had taken a bad wound to his side but lived. The
others had lesser cuts and bruises but Hadjay had cut the ties
holding the awning which then fell on them, entangling them in its
folds. By the time they had got free of it, Hadjay was gone. With
all the horses.

Brin was aloft even as
Ren continued his account, Seela close behind. Seela called back to
Tika’s mind.

‘We must fetch them
now. They will not last a day in that heat with no shade and no
water.’

Gan smacked a fist into
his palm. ‘Was that planned by Kertiss I wonder? Or just Qwah
arrogance?’

‘Arrogance?’ questioned
Maressa. ‘They all seemed pleasant and welcoming I thought, at
least, those we met outside the City.’ She frowned. ‘But we didn’t
meet any inside the City, except for the Keepers, did
we?’

‘Kirat’s attitude to us
from the first was superior,’ Gan insisted. ‘And increasingly so
since we left the City.’

Maressa shivered. ‘Do
you think Kertiss can spy on us here with that pipe machine he
has?’

‘More to the point, has
he any means to hurt us, even across the distance we have between
us?’

Maressa got to her
feet. ‘Come on Sket. Let’s get plenty of water ready if we’ve
wounded to deal with anytime soon.’

Another dawn was
breaking when Brin called from beyond the cliffs. Farn and Storm
rose impatiently into the air to escort the adult Dragons to the
camp. Both Seela and Brin were exhausted: they had flown at their
fastest speed both ways, and on the return flight were burdened
with the five men. Pallin rode Seela, holding an unconscious Olam
before him. Gan strode across to help lift the wounded Arms Chief
from Pallin’s stiff arms. Ren staggered and was caught by Riff
before he fell.

Their faces were dirty,
etched with weariness and, in Ren’s case, shock. He had never
witnessed swords being used in anger, or been so close to violent
death and he was sorely disturbed by the experience.

‘Give Ren some of
Farn’s calming herbs,’ Tika muttered to Sket, watching Gan unwrap
an ominously bloody cloth from Olam’s side.

‘Thank the stars you
found water,’ Pallin croaked to Maressa. ‘That foul Qwah left not a
drop to clean a wound.’ He stared at the gaping flesh Gan had
exposed. ‘Seboth’ll skin me should I let his brother
die.’

‘Nonsense,’ said
Maressa briskly. ‘Go and get some tea for yourself, bathe in the
lake and sleep. Gan and I will soon have Olam tidied
up.’

She spoke so
convincingly the old armsman obediently stumbled towards the fire.
She met Gan’s eyes. ‘Well, we’ll have a damn good try anyway,’ she
amended.

Gan gave her an
encouraging nod and went off to fetch water. Olam’s wound in fact
proved far less severe than it looked. Maressa thanked the stars
that no major damage had been inflicted and it was general blood
loss that had rendered Olam unconscious rather than internal
injuries. By mid morning the five new arrivals were all asleep,
Sket sitting relaxed beside Olam ready to attend him whenever he
might rouse. Farn reclined near the sleeping adult Dragons but
Storm was close to the gijan, Khosa perched on his back.

Tika poured yet more
tea into her bowl, and nearly spilt it all when Grek spoke in their
minds.

‘I have spoken to
Namolos,’ he began. There was something in his tone his listeners
couldn’t fathom. ‘Namolos is truly amazing and you will learn much
when you meet him.’

Tika cut him short.
‘The gijan Grek. What did Namolos tell you of them?’

‘I can show you what he
showed my mind, but I have to warn you Tika you will find this
hard. You must look at all I show you – ALL of it – and you will
gain hope by the end.’

Sket had shifted across
as soon as Grek made his presence known and Tika reached for his
hand. Farn paced behind her, resting his chin on the top of her
head. Storm and Khosa were also paying close attention.

‘I will show you what
has recently happened to your friend Mim in the northern
Stronghold.’

‘Mim?’ Tika
interrupted. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is he all right?’

The unbodied entity
that was Grek was silent before beginning to speak again but in
tones suggesting some exasperation.

‘Will you just listen
to me? I will tell you that now he is well but you must witness
what befell him, remembering that he DID survive.’ Grek paused as
though anticipating a further outburst. When none was forthcoming
he continued.

‘Your friend Mim is a
Dragon Lord but he had yet to fully assume that title. I will show
the pictures from Namolos’s mind, which he took from someone named
Chakar, who assisted Mim through his time of trial.’

Briefly his listeners
were disorientated then quickly realised they were truly looking
through other eyes, seeing as if they were actually there. Tika’s
nails dug into Sket’s hand, seeing Mim crouched in a corner, tears
flooding down his scaled cheeks. They saw hands lifting him,
placing him on a bed, cutting away his jerkin. Hands moved
poultices and the same hands suddenly pressed down on the great
swelling they saw along one side of Mim’s spine. Fresh blood
spurted from the swelling as the hands increased their pressure.
Farn rattled his wings and Tika was peripherally aware that Seela
and Brin were sharing this terrible vision from Grek’s
mind.

The hands clenched
briefly above Mim’s back. Then, as if their owner forced herself to
action, fingers dug into the bleeding gap. Maressa gasped aloud and
clapped her hands to her mouth. The hands gently tugged something
from the blood. Slowly and with infinite tenderness, the wing was
extended over a chair beside Mim’s bed. The pictures vanished and
they were left with only Grek’s voice.

‘Namolos says it was
not done thus millennia past, but this is a time of new beginnings.
He says this is what you must do for the gijan. But he gave me
another picture to show you.’

This time all except
Seela and Storm recognised the Stronghold’s great hall. The eyes
through which they saw were fixed on the ramp to the upper levels.
And Mim walked into view, pausing to look down into the hall, his
eyes seeming to meet theirs for a moment. Then great feathered
wings unfurled from behind him and with three beats of those wings
he stood beside his soul bond Ashta.

Again the vision
disappeared.

‘Mim is truly Dragon
Lord,’ Khosa said.

‘But you will have to
help the gijan as Chakar helped Mim,’ Grek emphasised. ‘Namolos
says there is danger in this method of freeing their wings even as
there was great danger for Mim’s life. Namolos asks that you do
your best for the gijan but you must not blame yourselves should
you fail any or all of them.’ He repeated the warning. ‘It is a
time of great peril for the gijan. At the moment the gijan are
genderless: this is the time they become either male or female.
Added to that, these three are the first of many generations to
grow wings. Their peril is great.’

Chapter
Seven

Kertiss was in Singer’s
chamber beneath the great Dome. Singer’s windows were concealed,
the entry closed. Kertiss had been raging moderately for some hours
but was now building to a crescendo of hysterical anger. Singer
listened in silence, the memory systems in the Ship’s circuits
recording Kertiss’s abuse. Singer wasn’t sure why he’d activated
the recording cubes but it occupied him briefly. He was trying not
to listen to the ranting outside. He could have switched off the
outer sound receptors, but he thought that would be
rude.

Star Singer, like many
of the Ships, was a strangely contradictory personality. Yes, the
brains of those transfused into the Ships were capable of
tremendously advanced and sophisticated thought processes. But
emotionally many of them were still less developed than five year
old human children. Singer was one of the youngest of the Ships and
his first Captain was Mazan.

Mazan had spent hours
and days getting to know Singer before he was integrated into the
Ship’s fabric. He had liked Mazan from the beginning, but by the
time of Singer’s first flight as a fully operational Ship, he loved
her. He worked with her, plotting courses, checking instrumentation
and handling the automatic maintenance systems. Mazan laughed with
him, told him stories and riddles. She brought music cubes into the
ship and told him of the different styles of music from the many
worlds she had already visited.

They had been recalled
to the home planet for reassignment to a group project when
Singer’s world went mad. Mazan had left him to attend a final
briefing session before their departure on a team survey mission.
Singer was trying to learn an amazingly long and complicated song,
with triple harmonics, to surprise and please Mazan on her return.
He didn’t hear any of the transmissions on the news casts – he
wasn’t interested in news at any time. Singer was only alerted that
something was wrong by the sound of sonic weaponry in use somewhere
close to his launch bay.

He immediately pulsed a
call to Mazan’s identlink but she did not respond. He transmitted
urgently to the other Ships he knew, but heard only fragmented
conversations and a pervading sensation of panic. Then someone
accessed entry and he scanned for Mazan. But it wasn’t her. He did
not know the man or woman who were scrambling into the navigation
seats.

‘Where is Mazan? Who
are you?’ Singer demanded.

‘Just get us out of
here Ship, now! Follow Arrow and Wing – see! They are just ahead of
you!’

‘No. Where is Mazan?
She is my Captain.’

‘Do what you’re ordered
Ship!’ The man screamed at Singer. ‘Mazan is dead, now obey me at
once and fly!’