Chapter 14: The Empty Places

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 14: The Empty Places

         Time seemed different too. Garrold could have been hanging in the utter blackness of this forsaken part of Olrhom for several dawns or more for all he knew. He slept a number of times and he had no clue how long each interval of sleep had lasted. But he had not died as far as he knew. Why couldn’t the Imitor help him? To hang in nothingness with only your thoughts was grueling. Would he go mad?

         Something sparkled, a tiny blue speck, very distant. It was less than a mere dot, but it was all he had.

         He willed to move toward it. He reached out mentally to embrace it, to head in its direction. He moved. He felt a bare sense of motion, yet everything stayed the same and looked the same. Was he still moving? He could not feel it anymore, and the speck lingered unchanged. He could have been hanging still again. He wanted to scream, but he had no voice either. Would he be like this forever? How would he even know when he died? Would he become a permanent part of Olrhom, his body dead, but the fragment of his mentality captured in the realm of the power of the Tree? A Spectre for all time? Was he already a Spectre?

         Damn it. Choices. Very well, he chose anger. This was absolutely preposterous. The speck was everything, his only hope. He had to get to it even if it took forever.

         I need to get there now. Move. Go. Faster.

         The blackness blurred. He felt the motion again, faster motion, accelerating motion. He made forward progress, minuscule, but at least it was something.

         The speck grew larger, he was sure. Riveted on it, he watched as it doubled, then tripled, then it was in his face. An enormous blue and green orb with white swirls hanging in nothingness. He stopped, immersed in it. An entire world stretched before him. He now understood the empty places between worlds.

         Was it Maghra? Maghra was supposed to be a red world with a red sun. This was a blue and green world with a yellow sun. And there was also that brilliant tiny blue speck. Lost for a moment in the brightness of the world around it, the speck now stood out in the wash of light from the yellow sun. It was not that it was brighter, just different. Much different.

         He could feel the speck. It was a lost fragment of Tree, searching for contact with the power from which it came. Garrold smiled, or at least he thought he did. He understood. The blue and green world was void of the power and the lonely speck called continually, searching for its home. He had responded. He waited now for the speck to recognize him, to see its contact, to see its way back to the power.

         The speck changed. It found him. It now focused all its power on reaching him. It reached out with a tiny stream of power to probe for, to find, and to unite with the very stream of power that projected Garrold through Olrhom to this powerless world in the empty places. And when it found the larger stream, it threw itself into it. The new connection jolted Garrold. He felt it in his entire body.

         His entire body? Good, it was still there. He must be alive.

         The fragment indeed shared the power of the Tree, but it was not of the Ghalensa Tree. It came from another Tree more venerable, sacrosanct. This Tree went way beyond Ghalensa. Maghra, he thought. Yes, that was it, a fragment of Maghra itself, the original Keethon Siah, somehow lost in this powerless world. And now it bolted for him, directly for the center of his chest.

         It gained incredible speed, streaking blue across the sky. He drew back. Was it motion? Was he retreating? The speck had closed more than half the distance. He knew its intention. With a menacing determination, it sought to join him, to pierce him.

         He backed away faster. The blue world shrank out of sight, its yellow sun also dwindling as he accelerated in reverse, back into the nothingness of blackness, the empty places between worlds. The fragment gained, intent on hitting its mark. It closed the distance to within ten paces. He studied it, watching it take form. It had a point, a sharp point, and a handle. It was a blade, a small blade, a dagger, inching ever closer. Something gripped its hilt, the illusive outline of a hand, and beyond that a body not too unlike his own.

         He strained to go faster. He could not let it pierce him. A blade in Olrhom could destroy what was in Olrhom just as surely as an actual blade could kill a body. Why did it strike for his heart?

         “I mean no harm,” he declared. “You must stop.”

         The inevitable collision came as the blade accelerated through the last three feet that separated them. His arms came up in defense. His real arms. They were there again. His sense of body washed into him. His back pressed against the floor, and in a brilliant flash of blue, the blade struck.

*      *      *

         The council argued back and forth about the merits and risks of sending Gnor to warn Ghalensa. In the end Kurdevon addressed their concerns and they all agreed, though some reluctantly, to commission him. That finished, they laid the task before Gnor in detail with the message, “Deth-Rezkelion, conjuror of vile power, summoner of the taint of the Dark Heart of Morbidity, stands poised to annihilate the Tree.”

         It did not matter how they knew, just that they knew. It could have come from the empty places between worlds, for all he cared. What mattered is that he completed the mission. He would seek out the Guide, Seph-Immarian, and warn him with the exact message given to him by Kurdevon and the council, along with the other details they gave him. The most important thing was to convince Immarian that Rezkelion not only desired to destroy Ghalensa, but that he also had the power to do it.

         Gnor’s inroads to the underground trading infrastructure of Ghalensa made him a perfect choice for this mission. Finally a functionary, he thought, a mission all my own. He had to excel. He had to see it through to the finish in detail. Never had he focused so much on getting where he was going to get his business done.

         Despite his focus, part of him balked about going back to Ghalensa. Seventeen years had sailed by since he last set foot on the land of the Tree that was the Tree. Seventeen years of building his name in the underground to epic proportions. First, he leveraged his absence by fabricating a mysterious persona. Then, by watering, pruning, and nourishing it, he cultivated this persona into somewhat of a legend, Gnor Frothingsea, Great Trader of Aralon, Mighty Merchant and Trafficker of Tree goods.

         They knew the name, not the person. What would they think when they actually met the mighty Gnor? Would he live up to their image? Would the Great Trader of Aralon damage or destroy the reputation he so cunningly devised? Nevertheless there was a mission to accomplish. He could not fail. He refused to jeopardize the mission for his image. Yet there was still the possibility of somehow using the mission to further magnify the legend of Gnor.

         Even so, his legendary status in the underworld was a guarded secret from the outside world. To the outside world he was simply a successful trader and a business partner of Catharfa Carts and Crates. This legitimate business, which prospered significantly in its own right, provided tremendous cover for his true occupation as an operative and trader in illicit goods. The two were well suited to each other. He always sent his own carts and crates to transport the Tree goods from Keistowne to their various destinations throughout Aralon.

         Why had the council chosen Seph-Immarian to receive the warning? Surely the Galamandyrs all knew he stood against them. He drove himself to convince the Ring of Elders to send an Admonisher to Aralon to warn the jennah and restrain them under a stricter practice of Magnhemistry, and to disband all the renegade magnhemists. It was all wrong. That would only give certain magnhemists the means to control their Bowers with even more authority and more power, concentrating it in the wrong hands.

         The greatest check and balance would be to divide the power evenly amongst all the magnhemists. This is exactly what the Society of Galamandyrs sought to do. By separation of power and authority, they sought to prevent the concentration of control in any individual or group. This would provide for the greatest stability of the power throughout the land.

         Seph-Immarian hated the Galamandyrs and every group like them. But Kurdevon assured Gnor that Immarian was the only one who would respond to the message. Furthermore, he was not to tell Immarian that he was sent by the Galamandyrs, rather, that he bore a message from Magna Kaerbon and the Crimson Bower of Vestuvia. Kurdevon told him to even speak before the Full Assembly of the Providers, or any other councils, if necessary.

         Having other functionaries prepared to receive him and trade horses, as well as some providing carriage rides while he slept, was a brilliant idea the council had. It sped him along the great salt-trade road, Rhyven Way, so that he found himself heading into the magnificent seaport city of Keistowne in just over five dawns.

         Keistowne was just as he remembered it. A bustling city of trade, highlighted by the salt trade. Wagon after wagon of salt rolled into town headed for the docks, where it would be loaded onto salt galleys and shipped to Ghalensa. There, the Tenders would use it to tend the Tree. The Tree needed salt to thrive and propagate. It was not a plant of the land, but rather a plant of the sea. Like any sea plant, it grew in salt water. Only this sea was not salty enough, hence the need for more salt.

         Gnor secured passage on one of the galleys and climbed aboard at the call of the first mate. He hoped going to Ghalensa would be all he expected and more. He hoped the people he met would regard him with honor, a Tender who became an independent trader and business owner in Aralon and made a name for himself. He was proud of his accomplishments.

         He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to arrange a meeting with Immarian. But he had a plan. He would go to Syndra, the central city of Ghalensa, find Yash-Heskernon, an Orbwright who supplied the black market, and determine from him how to contact Immarian. He knew Heskernon had contacts that served in the Prime Council and League of Guides.

         “Ho there, mate, what brings you to Ghalensa?” A rather short Tender with longer than usual tusks saluted.

         They were both standing on the deck rail looking out over the Staved Channel. The fellow eased his way closer to Gnor.

         “I’m looking to make some trades in Syndra,” Gnor said.

         “What have you brought with you to trade, I might be interested.”

         “What have you got?” Gnor asked, “I might not be interested.”

         The fellow stood silent at Gnor’s response, visibly disturbed.

         “Hey, just trying to be friendly. Sorry to intrude.”

         “No, that’s all right. The fault is mine. I’m all wrapped up in thought here, wondering what everything is going to be like,” Gnor said. “It’s my first time back in seventeen years.”

         “Whoa,” the little Tender’s eyes widened, “you don’t live in Keistowne then, I assume?”

         “No, I’m from Catharfa. Ever hear of Catharfa Carts and Crates?”

         “As a matter of fact I have. Some of the crates I’m using for this shipment are from that company.”

         “That’s my company,” Gnor said, standing a little more erect.

         “No kidding. You own it?”

         “Half of it, but I run the whole thing.”

         “It’s nice to meet you. A successful urlani business owner from Aralon. I’m impressed.”

         “Thank you for your kindness. I have good connections, good people to work with, and some of them are even jennah.”

         “Really. That’s amazing.” They both paused. Then the little one continued, “So what’s your name, anyway?”

         “Oh, sorry, I’m Gnor Frothingsea, and you?”

         “Ruck Redspire, nice to meet you.” They slapped hands, clasped thumbs, and then both resumed looking out over the Staved Channel.

         “Quite a beautiful sight,” Ruck said. It lingered like a question.

         Gnor turned and said, “Do you have any contact with the Providers?”

         “Nope.”

         Gnor nodded, sucking the cool moist air deep into his lungs.

         “Know anyone who does?”

         “No, but there’s a hermit, one of the Providers, not far from Kroden, she knows everything about them. I don’t know her personally, you see, but I know of her. She’s not that hard to find.”

         “Who is she?”

         “Don’t know. I just know she’s there. There are folks who can guide you to her, for a price, of course.”

         “Yes, of course. Very well. I need the services of one of these guides and I’ll give you a peck of silver to hook me up.”

         “It’s done. You just stick with me when we disembark in Kroden.”

         “Good, what about a good place to eat?”

         “No problem. The inn where we’ll find the guide serves the best steamed mussels in all of Ghalensa. I should know, the cook is my brother. I’ll set you up just right, Gnor.”

         “Is everyone in Kroden as friendly as you?”

         “No.” Ruck turned and pointed at Gnor. “I think you just got lucky.”

         “Really, well, I don’t believe in luck,” Gnor said. “You make your luck by hard work. It’s not the breaks that make you lucky, but being in the right place at the right time to find the right opportunities and make the right choices. It all depends on choices, Ruck.”

         “Well then, you chose well.” Ruck smiled, put his forearms back on the rail, and looked out over the channel.

         Even before disembarking, Gnor had a contact. He was in the right place at the right time to meet Ruck and to make choices. This might be easier than he thought. If this hermit knew a Provider that could get him to Immarian, he could maybe forgo the trip to Syndra and avoid the contact with the underground, which could endanger himself and others anyway, especially the Orbwrights. Perhaps he would never even have to leave the inn where Ruck’s brother cooked.

         Steamed mussels were an urlani favorite. He couldn’t wait to eat many of the dishes that only the urlani could make. Jennah food was okay, and you could find the occasional ethnic urlani eatery in Aralon, but nothing compared to home cooked urlani food. He’d been missing it for seventeen years. This trip was going to be great. But he couldn’t lose focus. The mission was paramount.

         “Hey, Ruck,” he turned and propped himself with his elbow, facing the well-tusked Tender, “you got any really good caranine tea? I’m not talking about the stuff the jennah can get. I’m looking for some really good stuff. Know what I mean?”

         “Oh, I know what you mean. I stay away from the stuff. Addicting, you know. Very tasty, and the euphoria, very appealing. But you keep drinking the stuff and the next thing you know you get cranky, irritated, paranoid. You think everyone is trying to make your life more difficult. No, it’s not for me. Sorry Gnor.”

         “I wouldn’t be so critical of the stuff. I happen to be a regular drinker and very successful business owner. It doesn’t have to get the best of you, if you don’t let it. I’m not cranky.”

         “Oh no,” Ruck slapped him in the arm with the back of his hand, “you were perfectly gracious when we met.” He laughed heartily.

         Gnor bit back his defense. He couldn’t upset Ruck. He needed his help. So he gave a couple low snorting laughs in return.

         Ruck got serious again. “When we get to Kroden, my brother knows folks who drink the stuff. We can ask him.”

         “Well, I’m going to go make me a cup of tea now. Inferior stuff. Would you care to join me? You could have regular tea.”

         “Sure, why not, it’ll make the time pass.”

*

         Three hours later, Gnor was somewhat inebriated, and they were into their second game of palisade, a board game played with specially designed sticks and pebbles where you wall the most territory off to win. Ruck had won the first game and Gnor was ahead in the second when the port call bell began to ring.

         “Well, it looks like you won’t be able to finish your task,” Ruck declared with a piercing gaze that spoke volumes more than just about the game.

         Gnor thought about the mission. “What are you talking about, Ruck, you have no idea what needs to be done?”

         “What needs to be done where?”

         “In Ghalensa, my message for the Providers. I will not fail. There is a great evil that threatens.”

         “Whoa, is that the tea talking there? I spoke about the game, finishing the game.”

         Gnor looked down at the game pieces. Suddenly it all seemed so trivial. Just a game. Each side trying to protect themselves, walling the enemy out. You win some and you lose some. He couldn’t think straight. He had too much tea. It was all just a game. He laughed.

         Ruck was puzzled. That was even funnier. Gnor laughed harder. Ruck grinned. Gnor’s infectious laughter broke him down until he laughed too. Gnor flipped the board up and the pieces went flying. He laughed harder, bending and slapping his side. Ruck was stunned just a second before rejoining the mirth.

         “It’s all just a game,” Gnor said in-between his uproarious laughs, “And I win because I flipped the board first.”

         “You’re crazy,” Ruck said. It wasn’t a cut, Gnor figured, it was all he could say.

         The wave of laughter passed and Gnor calmed down. He began to gather the strewn pieces with Ruck’s help. They both knew the game was over when the bell rang. There was no sense in playing on.

         “You really didn’t win just because you were ahead,” Ruck said.

         Gnor laughed again, but not much. “I wasn’t talking about palisade, I’m talking about life. It doesn’t matter who’s ahead when the bell rings, it’s over. That’s it, finished. There is no such thing as who would have won once it is over, so you have to make your victory, just flip the board, move on, and make your victory.”

         “I’m sorry, I don’t follow you.”

         “That thing about the Providers, and the message, that’s between you and me, right?”

         “Hey, a business deal is a business deal. You want me to find you a guide, and the reason for that is yours to know and mine to forget. That’s what makes good business.”

         “You would do all right on Aralon,” Gnor clasped Ruck’s shoulder. “Maybe you should return with me.”

         “I’ll think about it.”

         “Excellent, let’s go see that brother of yours.”

*      *      *

         Sorenna took refuge in an upper chamber of the Teal Bower, working her zoid. Off went the report to her brother of all that she and her Interceptors accomplished in the past five dawns. By quick and easy victories she secured both the Blue and Teal Bowers for him. The scrawk-mounted dervijn were unstoppable. They took few losses and scattered the Boors like chaff in the wind, terrorizing them, burning their towns and villages, eating every living thing, and slaughtering the magnhemists. Mopping up the remnants of those who fled into the mountains would be sport. Surely their will was broken.

         After taking the Blue Bower and destroying the Boors at Ikik, she saw an easy opportunity to take the Teal Bower and leave Calindred to bear the brunt of the northern Boor army alone. So she struck into the heart of Brugundia, the second province of the Kingdom of Boravia, and met little resistance. Her scrawk-mounted dervijn surrounded the Teal Bower from the air and easily bested it. They fed every magnhemist to their hungry mounts. The jennah within the walls of the small fortified town fared no better, being taken house by house.

         Few escaped, fleeing to the surrounding hills. Boor scouts watched their brethren eaten alive by the voracious creatures. She could have hunted them out, but she wanted some to escape to their kin to weave their tales of terror. Fear of her and her scrawks would spread throughout Brugundia. With broken spirits they would melt away before her as she purged the land.

         Calindred took heavy losses for his part in Rykor. His tattered army would simply dissolve away in the next campaign against Sandemar. Everything moved better than planned. Within a thirdspan, she would negotiate with the Magnabulary of Dyram and use his forces to take the well guarded and fortified Province of Vestuvia. If she had more forces she would just take it herself. As powerful as her Interceptors were, they were few in number compared to fielded armies. It was therefore necessary to manipulate some jennah into cooperation as with Calindred and soon with Magna Adoff of Dyram. Later she would purge both provinces of the jennah scourge, saving only those who could be used as slaves.

         Sorenna sipped her wine waiting for a response from Rezkelion. There was a sharp rap at the norshwood door. One of her private guards announced the arrival of Narth-Jessium. She waved him in.

         He strode to face her and bowed. “I have completed the conversion of the Teal Bower, my lady.”

         “Excellent, Jessium. Soon we shall witness the end of Ghalensa, and the rule of Keethon Siah, the true Tree. We have waited long for this dawn and we deserve to relish this victory. Come and sit, have some wine with me.”

         “We only have three bowers, my lady, and we need four,” he said as he accepted the wine she poured for him.

         “Not so. Yesterdawn we gained the Green Bower of Rudivia. The Admonishers convinced the Grand Holder who helped them to convince the Magna to tap into the Actinic Orb. They are now in full cooperation with their beloved Ancients.”

         They both laughed.

         “So nice to have them in such reverence,” Jessium said, “the perfect cover.”

         “Here’s to Keethon Siah.” She lifted her goblet.

         “Yuhss’yhori,” they said together, and drank.

         Jessium placed his goblet on the serving table beside him, saying, “Are they rounding up the magnhemists of Rudivia for elimination?”

         Sorenna set her goblet down too, staring at a narrow green ray of sunlight from Synar. The light pushed its way through a crack in the shades she had drawn over the western window in the upper chamber. Her air-stone, made of the Tree and energized by it, frothed in the corner to moisten the air and fill the chamber with the welcome smells of her lair. Though not a true quality of air, it was sufficient for periods of survival away from the Tree.

         “The magnhemists will die,” she answered, “hordes of savages– uh, wörlics, they’re called– they wait with the fomented hatred of centuries of angst to stampede into Rudivia and annihilate every jennah. Their lust for war is great. We will let them satiate themselves before we round them up for our service.”

         “But the Bower?”

         “It will be spared. They have been told that the Bower and compound belongs to the dervijn. They will stay away.”

         “If they’re savages, how can we trust them? Why do we even need them?”

         “We do not need them.” Sorenna poured more wine. Jessium drank.

         “Then I don’t get it,” he said.

         “They will spend themselves. They are great in number. A war with them now would be long and destructive, distracting us from taking Aralon.”

         Sorenna sipped her goblet. Jessium stared into his.

         “The jennah will fight the wörlics,” she said, “and when the wörlics have spent themselves destroying a few provinces, we will contain them or finish them off.”

         “So when will this stampede begin?”

         “After Ghalensa is destroyed, probably not more than two dawns.”

         “Are we sure Ghalensa will truly be destroyed?”

         “Jessium,” Sorenna shook her head, cheeks drawn tight, “I’m surprised by your doubt.”

         “It’s not doubt,” Jessium drank, “I just don’t quite understand how all of Ghalensa will be destroyed. If they survive to come after us, we will have bigger problems on our hands than the jennah.”

         Sorenna stood. “Your fears are from the empty places,” she said. “They cannot survive. Their fate is sealed.”

         “How do you know? How’s this going to happen?” Jessium downed his last swill of wine.

         “I’ll tell you,” she said. She turned her own goblet up to empty it, then went to pour more from the bottle. It merely drizzled into the gaping mouth of her goblet. She slammed it down on the table. The ray of green light in the western window had faded. Synar slipped lower and lower in the sky. Soon it would be night.

         “The jennah of old,” she said, “in all their wild use of the power, learned how to make orbs explode. Cortheon discovered their secret. It was buried in the ruins of Vikzyrn. He left this knowledge for his eventual successor. For two circuits now, our companions in Ghalensa have embedded thousands of these orbs throughout the roots of the Tree. They have been precisely placed to sever every major thoroughfare and to flood every division of sub-Ghalensa from the center out to the remotest tendrils.”

         “Is it enough?”

         “Enough? We didn’t stop with enough. My brother ordered an entire second layer to be embedded. We have exceeded by more than double what even the best engineers say we need to annihilate the false Tree. Beside, the Ambition of Keethon Siah is with us. The power of the true Tree will rule again. We will not fail.”

 Next  "Chapter 15: The Warner"