The Kallanon Scales (42 page)

In finding
motion, he found other truths.

It led to this
point, this confrontation, this man. The monsters, his guilt over
his mother, his demons, were to prepare him for this event.
Manipulated into acknowledging what lay in his soul until this
man’s serenity proved welcome.

Tymall’s hand
twisted in the stones. He would lose his never-wavering beacon
these many years, the road open. He would lose his father.

He raised
tormented eyes. This man was a father to him also, was there in the
beginning, was there throughout his life, and knew him before his
father did, and now reminded him of that all-important fact.

The man said
not a word. His expression remained constant and calm, patient. He
would not force anything.

Tymall’s head
dropped. He was weary of struggling, beyond coping with the
conflict within. He was near death, and he was sick of this
altered, poisoned world.

He wanted to
live.

Had he been
stronger, had he one companion to look out for, he may have forced
the demon to come to him, goading it into crossing the clearing
with tales avidly gleaned as a child. His mind had almost
relinquished its tenuous hold on sanity, and his body was about to
succumb. He was too close to death to attempt anything, and perhaps
that was part of the plan, but he could not care.

He wanted to
live, no matter what that meant.

Tymall
laughed, a strangled gurgle, and climbed inexpertly to his feet. He
made the only choice he could.

He chose to
live.

Weaving like a
drunken man, he crossed the clearing, a dying soul, and there was
no fight left.

In a moment,
his father would be lost to him.

Another would
take his place, as he had before.

Tymall walked
into the man’s embrace and, as the two met, the essence that was
the other absorbed into Tymall’s skin, his bones, his blood, his
spirit and his soul.

They were
one.

Tymall was
free.

Desert
Valaris

Tristamil
headed toward the Lifesource.

He did not
realistically expect to find there the magical Temple of his world,
but hoped to discover the essence of the planet.

From there
would come the strength to fly home.

The days
stretched on, seemingly endless. He walked from sunrise to sunset,
feet blistering in the makeshift sandals. He knew somehow he had to
hurry. Or he would be left behind.

His patch of
verdant paradise began shrinking one morning and dwindled day by
day, and he knew it as a sign of despair.

Surely, the
Ass River would appear soon?

Behind him lay
the ridges of the Arrows, here dead and without hope, and ahead was
the growing shadow of the Assents. He came to a halt one
mid-afternoon and stared at the mountains on either side of him. He
was in the broad defile that led to the Lifesource; he needed no
watercourse to do that for him.

The mountains
are unchanging, fixed, your compass. You know them, there and here,
and you can trust them. Turn northeast.

He turned the
next morning. His paradise ceased shrinking and he smiled, sure of
his route.

It grew that
day with every step. Hope filled his heart anew, infused his mind,
and still it increased. He laughed for the joy of it and the trees
swayed as if dancing to the music of his mirth.

The two
mountain ranges closed in, darkly forbidding, windswept dead, but
he ignored their claustrophobic presences and plodded on.

More days came
and went and he wondered why distance seemed deceptive. What should
take a day, two on the outside, took many days. It was frustrating.
He sensed he had to hurry and appeared to make no headway. He
overlooked something intrinsic.

Fear crept
insidiously in, and he knew it before he saw the result in his
life-sustaining space. The great green patch ceased its spread.

He was weary
of the emotions. One day filled with hope, aware of the lessons
learned, another day filled with creeping despair and lack of
direction. The terror of waking to eternal desert.

He faltered.
If Ty does this, where
is he headed? Ty has never known hope, never acknowledged he has
choice. This will kill him, he will be lost.

He sank to the ground and fingers clawed
dust
.

Always Ty
forced me to accompany him down the avenues of despair. I am
responsible for my soul, my life, not his. I will not allow the
thought of him to rob me of sanity or return me to his level.

Something cold
moved under his scorched palm. A tiny shoot. Bright green. Hope.
Tears formed and dripped to the dead earth, as if summoned to the
shoot. It sprang up, vigorous.

I
understand.

He needed to
live his life for himself. He deserved to love and be loved. He
needed to care. He could help shine the light in the dark. He
waited for the release, expected permission, when he was the one
strapping a life down to mundaneness. He needed to release his own
restraints.

Whatever ills
befall me, I am to be true to myself. I am not responsible for my
twin.

A roar of
sound. A spray of mist.

The
Lifesource.

All around,
everywhere, across the entire planet, paradise. Permanent,
unassailable paradise.

Tristamil
sprang to his feet, as vibrant as the waters rushing from the
mountain, unafraid of its power, revelling in it.

He laughed.
Whistled. Whooped. Danced. Wept.

The wonder of
inner freedom.

Tristamil, in
ways beyond a sorcerical manipulation, at last, was truly
released.

Tennet
System

They swung into
wide orbit around Tennet, a tiny angular dot about a gigantic
star.

The light
blinded, literally. Visors remained lowered.

Neolone was frantic on Torrullin’s chest, impatient beyond
bearing.
Go to Atrudis, go to
Atrudis.
Thus they knew where the
taliesman lay hidden.

Between them
and Atrudis laid the Mysor and Murs worlds, their presence tracked
by Vannis, Taranis and Torrullin alike. Caution was their greatest
defence. There was also the issue of the Kallanon. They needed to
know where the huge reptiles gathered for this onslaught, and found
no trace.

Thundor could
shed no light. The Thinnings could not summon communication with
his kind, and was shocked into thinking the Thinnings of Tennet
were no more. Perhaps discovered and silenced. After shaking his
head, Thundor vanished.

The traveller
was equipped with an array of sensors to analyse atmosphere, the
presence of animal life, the viability of ground water, and the
conditions of the ground, to detect plant life. What could be
exploited, what could not. The array was vast. Matt employed them
to find the enemy on the outer perimeter, and a viable landing
site.

He studied the
three outer planets.

Plural was
dead. The enemy was there, a small force in a natural bowl formed
by surrounding mountains. A small force could raise the alarm, and
thus the ship tracked away.

Kish had thin
atmosphere and was deserted, a parody landscape of great rusted
girders, powdery slabs of old stone, landfills containing waste
from technological to biological.

Lucan had
atmosphere, water and plant life. Greenery covered rounded hills,
rivers connected five great lakes. Matt, Cat, Rijk and Santori
rechecked data.

It seemed too
easy, and yet it was there, waiting, and there was no threat.
Torrullin ordered the dark side visors opened and sent out his
unique tracking sensors.

He told Matt
to land.

Chapter
41

Play with keys
long enough and you might just be a locksmith.

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

Academia of
Truth

C
altian took his leave the following
morning and both Tarrant and Villinar were glad to see him
go.

Key-ler was
unhappy, trouble was on the way. Atrudisins were cannon fodder.

He understood
the ideal of the Nine and could even agree with the subjugation of
inherent talents, but the distortion of truth was ill conceived.
What Caltian, and others like him, did was noble, but too little,
too late. Generations of brushing aside the tales needed
overturning, without causing panic, and he could not see how, not
in a way wholly to prepare for war.

War, and we
hate and love Force in equal measure. Will we support or vilify
them? Only they stand between us and annihilation.

Force has
sorcery, do they?

Key-ler
watched Tarrant over the next week. Life returned to a semblance of
normality. Frantic storing ceased, the task complete. Key-ler
placed a well-chosen word in a receptive ear here and there. It was
the most he did, while watching and waiting.

Finally, he
was rewarded.

Tarrant
oversaw placement of cannon on the battlements. The cannon were
leftovers from human occupation. A unit in an empty catacomb
manufactured cannonballs while another developed fuses. One
wondered whether the ancient devices would fire, hopefully not to
blow up in innocent faces.

The organised
defence gratified Key-ler. Maybe Tarrant was good for
something.

It did occur
to him a few well-chosen words were whispered in Villinar’s ear
also; for a potential hoax, there was much preparation a-foot.

He watched as
Tarrant leaned over the interior wall to check on the hoist from
the courtyard, his shoulders bunched as he lent a hand to haul
impatiently on the rope. Then the Force Justice straightened, eyes
unfocused, and a shiver passed through Key-ler. He was near enough
to hear Tarrant mutter, “Stranger comes …”

The Brother
moved to the outer wall and saw Caltian striding across the bridge.
There was no earthly way Tarrant could have known, he faced the
wrong way and nobody raised the alarm. He swung around to find the
Force Justice watching him. An expression of resignation crossed
the man’s face.

“Welcome him,
Key-ler. It is time.”

All gods.
Key-ler ran down the stairwell. Caltian was right, Force had
sorcery. Thank the gods for that.

When he
attained the courtyard, huffing, Force surrounded Caltian. Key-ler
pushed his way through. “Justice Tarrant bid me welcome the
stranger.” They did not heed.

Tarrant’s
voice behind them said, “Let them go.” It carried and Feet melted
away.

Caltian and
Key-ler clasped arms, and Tarrant muttered, “The Overlord
waits.”

He was. He
stood on the fourth floor balcony.

Well! Key-ler
thought. They knew more than they let on.

“Let it go,”
Caltian murmured as he passed Key-ler. “Come with me.”

“It was
necessary, stranger, to prevent panic,” Tarrant said as he preceded
them up the old stairs.

“Keep telling
yourself that,” Caltian said. “Now time is up and they are not
prepared.”

“Time is up?”
Key-ler squeaked.

Caltian did
not answer and Tarrant showed no reaction.

The Overlord
waited in his audience chamber, ramrod straight. Villinar was not
an academic; he was the law of this region and Tarrant’s superior -
Father Bree was the Academia’s leader. Rarely seen, Villinar rarely
interfered. Key-ler only once had a conversation with this man.

“You have
news?” he demanded.

“A ship landed
on Lucan this morning. We believe the Dragon-man is aboard.”
Caltian did not show subservience, and Key-ler wondered at
that.

Three weeks
ago, Villinar nearly caused this man death by torture and now he
listened intently. Tarrant was at the door, guarding against
intrusion.

Where is my head?
A ship? On
Lucan?

“They fell in
with the plan, then.”

“Yes,
Overlord.”

“Plan?”
Key-ler squeaked.

Villinar’s
eyes pierced him. “Key-ler, you are here because you guessed
accurately. Do not presume.” He focused on Caltian. “What
else?”

“Overlords are
informed and standing by.” Overlords were Creed. Keepers of the
Taliesman. The web of magic.

“I am the
last?”

“Yours is the
final outpost before the wilderness.”

Villinar
smiled, his thin face transformed. He understood the stranger left
him to last. “Forgive me. I was wrong.”

It was an
unexpected admission and Caltian blinked. “I understand.”

Villinar gave
a brief nod. “We are no longer passing each other by, stranger.
Will you reveal your name?”

“I am
Caltian.”

Villinar did
not at first react, although Tarrant drew a sharp breath. Then
Villinar smiled again and there was … relief? Key-ler was utterly
confused.

“Caltian.” The
Overlord’s voice was soft, on the edge of laughter, an amusement
primarily aimed at his own stupidity. “That has come to pass as
well.”

Tarrant edged
closer to see Caltian’s face. His own was ashen. “By all gods, I
did not know!”

Key-ler shared
his gaze between the three, thoroughly at a loss.

Caltian
grinned over his shoulder at Key-ler and winked. Key-ler returned a
half-hearted grimace.

“I was not
able to reveal before,” Caltian said to Villinar, ignoring Tarrant.
“The time was not right.”

Villinar
inclined his head. “The eleventh hour, I understand.”

Tarrant
demanded, “How did you come by that name?”

Caltian turned
cold grey eyes on the stocky Justice, and Key-ler shuddered.
Tarrant was not the one to fear in this room. “You imbecile. Do you
really think anyone would lay claim to this name?”