Paul Thompson - Destiny

Showers of rain trailed across Inath-Wakenti like filmy curtains. From the elves’ camp in the center of the valley, the entire panorama of clouds and clear sky, sunlight and rain, was laid out like a magnificent mural. Gray clouds advanced rapidly across the heavens, bursts of rain alternating with shafts of sunlight that reached down with golden fingers to caress the ancient white monoliths.

Gilthas stared at the beautiful vista and saw none of it. He was sitting alone in his palanquin at the edge of the great stone disk, recruiting his strength. The explorers he’d sent into the tunnel were overdue. Repeated shouts into the pit had evinced no response. There was no shortage of volunteers ready to go down after the explorers, but Gilthas forbade it. He wouldn’t risk more lives.

Even more bitter was Kerian’s absence. She had a habit of overcoming long odds, but a trip alone to Khuri-Khan to spirit away the Khurs’ most holy priestess might be more than even the Lioness could handle. He intended to use the platform’s power to call to his wife and the missing explorers, as he had spoken with Hytanthas before. None of them knew the scope of the valley’s strange influence. If Gilthas could shift a gigantic monolith with one hand, perhaps he could send his words beyond the valley’s confines to wherever his wife might be. It was the only thing he could think to do for her.

The shaft of sunlight that briefly illuminated the platform was swallowed up by a new squall. The golden light seemed to race across the white granite, trailing rain in its wake. The palanquin had a canvas shade to keep off sun and rain. Gilthas found the sound of the rain pattering on the canvas surprisingly soothing.

He had need of such small comforts. Other problems had worsened. Food supplies continued to dwindle. He authorized more foraging parties, but they returned with frustratingly little sustenance. A few bushels of herbs, some dandelion greens, and a smattering of wild mushrooms would not sustain a nation. For the first time, he questioned his decision to bring his people to Inath-Wakenti. He wondered whether he had made a disastrous choice. Perilous as their existence in Khurinost had been, there they faced enemies they could see and fight. In the valley the foe was a situation, exacerbated by an army of silent phantoms. The elves had paid a high price to get here. Many had died during the march across the desert, and those who survived heat and nomad attacks found death still stalking them, death by starvation.

Could he have chosen another path? Kerian had never wavered in championing her dream of retaking their homelands. Yet Gilthas knew without any doubt that that was beyond their power, at least for the moment. Her secondary plan, to seize Khuri-Khan and hold it as a citadel, was completely outlandish and would have resulted in slaughter and suffering on a terrifying scale. Their one and only advantage—the sanctuary they’d purchased from the khan—would have been lost. Every hand would have turned against them.

The rain fell harder. He shouldn’t delay any longer. He stood too quickly. His legs nearly betrayed him, but he bore down hard on his staff and did not fall. Droplets of rain fell on his face. He ignored them and approached the platform. The granite was more finely grained and purely white than any he’d seen before.

Fifteen inches showed above ground. More lay buried. Gilthas should’ve been able to leap onto the slab in one easy bound. Instead, he struggled as though scaling a mountain.

When he finally succeeded, he was gasping. The rain soaked his hair, streamed over his eyes, and ran off his chin. Rather than a hindrance, the rain was pleasant, almost warm, which was odd since it came from the lofty mountains. Its effect was unexpected. It acted like a tonic, giving his thoughts new clarity, his body new strength of purpose. He pushed forward, making for the center of the huge circular monument.

The tip of his staff slipped on the wet granite, and he went sprawling. He skinned the knuckles of his left hand and got a nasty knock on the jaw. Undeterred, he got himself back onto his feet. Rain rinsed the blood away.

When he reached the exact center of the platform, an odd thing happened. The rain continued to pour down on him and splash onto the stone, but it made no noise. It was weird to observe the fall of rain yet hear no sound of it at all. Curious, he clapped his hands together. They made no sound either. He drove the butt of his staff into the granite. Nothing.

The unnatural silence allowed other sounds to come forth. These grew louder as he concentrated. They were the voices of his people in camp. By facing slightly left or right he could make the voices louder or softer. He shifted an inch here, an inch there, until the voices were gone, then drew a breath and spoke the name closest to his heart.

“Kerian.”

His ravaged lungs permitted no loud cry. He spoke in a normal tone. In the noiseless void, his voice rang like a high, clear bell. “Kerian, this is Gil. I pray you can hear me. I’m waiting for you. Don’t give up!”

Water dripped from his face as he lowered his head to gather his composure. When he could trust his voice again, he called to the lost explorers. “Hamaramis, this is the Speaker. Come back if you can. We need you. Everyone is needed. Come back.”

A beam of sunlight swept across the stone disk. It passed over him like a seashore beacon.

“Come home, everyone. I need you. I need you all.”

With that his store of strength was done. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the rain-washed stone.

Hunched low over Eagle Eye’s neck, Kerian shook her head. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Sa’ida asked.

“That buzzing sound.”

Sa’ida did not. She suggested Kerian’s ears were congested from flying. Her own had popped painfully several times as Eagle Eye climbed higher in the sky.

“It sounds like music or a voice.”

“None could reach us up here, could they?”

That was true enough, ordinarily. But Kerian recalled how far her voice had carried when she stood on the huge stone platform in the center of Inath-Wakenti. She described the great disk to Sa’ida and explained how it brought voices to her ears from a great distance and likewise projected her own voice over several miles. Perhaps what she’d heard was another such distant call.

If so, Sa’ida reasoned, then why hadn’t she heard it too?

They had no answers, and Kerian felt a growing sense of urgency. Beneath them the untamed desert flowed by. The view was unutterably dull to the Lioness and her impatience rendered the endless vista even more unbearable.

For her part Sa’ida never tired of the view. The blank sands were broken now and then by a narrow circle of green grown up around a well or spring. Nomads in sand-colored gebs looked skyward when the shadow of the griffon flashed across them. Even at this height, elf and human felt their cold hostility. The nomad children were not so unfriendly. They raced madly below the passing griffon, obviously thrilled to behold such a rare sight. Pointing, jumping up and down, the children waved at the soaring flyers.

Once they plunged into a bank of clouds, a very unusual occurrence over the desert. Warm mist flowed around them. A dark shape loomed out of the murk on their right. Kerian immediately turned Eagle Eye away, banking sharply left.

“What—?” Sa’ida swallowed her question as the dark shape grew more distinct. Long and gray, it resembled a ship’s slender hull, bare of masts or sails. Glass portholes dotted its curved side. Lights gleamed within. White steam billowed from a pipe at its stern. The steam was feeding the cloud, thickening it. Mist closed in behind the machine, and as silently as it had appeared, the strange device was gone.