Chapter 16: Finding Immarian

The Annals of Ghalensa: The Power to Remake

Chapter 16: Finding Immarian

         “We are many things to many peoples,” Nith-Lowra, the hermit, said to Gnor, “Providers, Ancients, Primordiums, Admonishers, Shimmers, Lizards. Some are not so kind,” she shifted, looked off to the horizon, and continued, “Nameshifters, Slipfaces, Wavers, Snakes, Slimetongues. Though we are none of these, we have been all of them. It is because we do not belong. We are not of your world, Gnor. We came from Maghra where we were simply known as maghren.” Gnor nodded. “In our realm the Tree was our entire world. In your realm we are prisoners of our own devices. The maghren do not belong in Urlana.”

         Many such things she spoke, yet the most important was that she knew how to get him to Seph-Immarian.

         “There is an old, lost archgate not far from here, hidden in a maze of the Tree. I have been there. I used it once to see Olrhom in a way like maghren never see it with their zoids. We can contact the Guides there and find Immarian for you.”

         Nith-Lowra proved to be much more than Gnor expected. She had mastered living outside the roots of the Tree in various holes and caves. Her swampy domain kept intruders out, though she welcomed company when it stumbled across her. She had a deep and rich knowledge of the Providers, the history of the Tree, the power, and even Vikzyrn. Most regarded her stories as frivolous tales. Gnor knew better.

         They left early next dawn for the archgate and reached it before noon. Without Lowra, he would never have found it. It was indeed well hidden by the Tree in a tangle of trunks, limbs, and vines. It wasn’t a reckless tangle. It was well patterned, as if the Tree itself sought to mask its prize.

         Nith-Lowra peered into the crystal face of her zoid, her fingers tapping in rhythm. The surface of the archgate began to swirl and breathe, then it began to glow. Soon the intensity of the brightness began to cast shadows in the reclusive, wooded copse of the Tree. Out of nothing a hollow image of a room appeared before them, floating in the air. He could see through it, yet still distinguish its features. A lone figure sat at a counter working an array like a zoid, only twice as large and fixed in place. It was a Provider. Gnor remembered them well. More than once before, he had seen the lizard-people without their shimmering cloaks. Lowra still wore hers.

         “We seek Immarian,” Lowra said.

         The startled Provider jumped out of his chair and spun into a defensive crouch facing them. He seemed to recognize the vision form of communication and began to examine them. His image was smaller than normal, about half-size. The way he moved in the air before them, he could have been right there in the copse. Gnor wondered if he and Lowra appeared that small in the Provider’s chamber.

         “I know who you are, Nith-Lowra, I know your face well. You have violated the Protocols in activating a dormant archgate. And you have violated the Origin Standards by bringing that Tender with you. You will turn your–”

         “Keep your lectures for the Council. This is no Tender, but a trader of renown from Aralon, sent with a message about your precious missing Rezkelion from Magna Kaerbon and the Crimson Bower of Vestuvia. He is prepared to request ear of the Full Council if you do not bring Seph-Immarian at once.”

         The Provider grumbled. Gnor couldn’t withhold his grin. Lowra had fronted him well. It would be foolish for him to open his mouth now and lessen the impact.

         “This better not be some trick, hermit.”

         “And if it is,” she said folding her arms, “what good does it do you to tell me it better not be? Just get Immarian so we can deliver the message and be on with it.”

         The Provider stepped out of view. After a brief absence he reappeared to tell them Immarian had been called.

         “You came at the right time,” he said. “The Guides are getting ready to enter session and Immarian should be near. But it better be worth it,” he sneered, “or he’ll have you seized. I’ve recorded your magnevic essentia. We can find you anywhere.”

         Gnor turned to Lowra, “Is that true?”

         “No,” Lowra said, “there are ways to mask the essentia, and the signature changes after several dawns.”

         “You know too much, hermit.” The Provider shifted and began to shake one long, spindly finger at them. “Perhaps we should send some Sifters after you. I’m sure they already know where you live.”

         Gnor turned again, “Is that true?”

         “It is possible,” Lowra said, “but I’m way ahead of them. They’d never find us there.”

         Another Provider appeared in the image. “Yes, I am Immarian, identify yourself.”

         “This is Gnor Frothingsea,” Lowra said, “renowned trader of Aralon, sent by Magna Kaerbon of Vestuvia with a message about Rezkelion.”

         Immarian turned and frowned at his colleague, then said, “Does the renowned trader have the inability to speak for himself?”

         “Enough of this,” Gnor said, “a grave danger faces you and your people, and many of mine who also live in Ghalensa. Let it be known that you, Immarian, were specifically chosen by name to receive this message. You are thought to be the last best chance to believe what you are about to hear and to actually do something about it. Deth-Rezkelion, conjuror of vile power, summoner of the taint of the Dark Heart of Morbidity, stands poised to annihilate the Tree.”

         “That is ridiculous,” Immarian said waving his arm, “if he destroys Ghalensa, he destroys his home, the very place he needs for his survival. Magnhemistry would cease to be, making him powerless. He would accomplish nothing by such a foolish thing.”

         “Have you not wondered how he has survived all these years? He has a source of power far to the north in Vikzyrn. It is the power of the Tree, but it is not Ghalensa–”

         “You’re not suggest–”

         “I’m not suggesting anything, I’m telling you plainly there must be another Tree, however small. We are not mistaken. His forces have begun to move in the northern provinces by way of False Admonishers. Their success was not known at my departure, but we surmised, given the evidence, that King Calindred Pen Ather had joined them.”

         Immarian stared with distant, yet fervent eyes, like two lost coals from a forgotten campfire, burning out their last glory in a midnight breeze. His fists tightened at his sides.

         Gnor swallowed then said, “The Seers have discerned his intention. He seeks to destroy Ghalensa and the Prime Bower so that he may rule the power of the Tree. We know the attack is imminent. Your actions must be immediate and precise if you are to survive.”

         “How could he have done this without being detected? Our Sifters are experts in such matters. We have brilliant magnhemists who would certainly have discovered these things, and a network of Tenders throughout Aralon. How do I know you are not from Rezkelion? How did you know of the hermit anyway? Rezkelion knows her, he has visited her before.” Immarian hissed, his forked tongue slipped in and out. “She shares his lineage.”

         Gnor turned to Lowra, “Is that true?”

         “It’s not how he makes it sound. He is– ”

         “It is true,” Immarian cut in, “and I don’t trust you, Gnor. Whether you are of willful mal intent or you have been duped, I care not. Your words, your message fails credibility.”

         Gnor stared, his face cold and wet. Immarian refused to believe. How could he convince him? He couldn’t fail the mission.

         “I have yet many things to tell you,” Gnor said, “but you will not even believe I am genuine.”

         “You have given me no basis for your authenticity, and there are many unanswered questions.” Immarian’s eyes still burned.

         “Very well then, I must request ear of the Full Council at once. It is my right as an emissary of a Magna. But be warned, by the time you plan the session, and the time it will take me to arrive for it, it may be too late. I will check back with you at dawn for instructions.”

         “If that is what you wish, then I will make the request to the Full Council.”

         Gnor shook his head. “You have given me no other choice. It is all I can do.”

         “Then we are done here,” Immarian said shifting back, “when you inquire at dawn I will have others to question you further before we allow a session, and we’ll want proof of your credentials.”

         Gnor’s precisely concocted credentials fell short of the immediate need. True, they would easily get him a hearing in the Full Council, but it would take several dawns and that might be too late. Right now he had to say the right thing. A sharp twinge shot up his shins and his arms felt like two sacks of rice hanging off his side as his bones told him more than the moment revealed. This was it. The Galamandyrs hadn’t prepared him for this. He was on his own. He had to open his mouth and speak and it had to reach Immarian.

         “Think about it, Immarian. You know these things. You have searched for Rezkelion for years, yet he has eluded you. He has not been idle. Check it out yourself. Far to the north in Vikzyrn. Turn your zoids there. You will see.”

         Immarian dispelled Gnor with a wave and retreated out of the floating image. Gnor motioned Lowra to close the gate. The hollow images dissolved and the copse fell empty and silent. He stared where the image had floated. He had failed to reach Immarian.

         An icy tear trickled down his cheek to the edge of his jaw. It hung there on the precipice of his face, swelling, gathering the strength to fall. Something morose lingered in the air. An impending doom. He flicked his tear to the ground, giving his own life-salt to the Tree. It was the least he could do as a Tender.

 Next  "Chapter 17: The Woe of Ghalensa"