Alium, page 57
“Oh, Somnam in far greater detail than any planet,” said Sylna, “or even many of the other moons—it is quite a close one. But let Elts use it first.”
Sylna waved her hand, and with a pleasant whirring and euphony of clicking the grand telescope slowly unlocked the many segments of its narrow body from the vast lens which looked out through the roof, its tuba-shaped body turning ever so slightly as it descended so that the thinnest point—a soft, burnished, wooden eyepiece—was upturned at about the level of Elts’ chin. “Go ahead,” said the witch.
Elts peered cautiously into the glass, her tails twisting over the floor. Through the lens she beheld at first fuzzily, then with stunning clarity a nacreous blue sphere, soft-faced as satin, partly encircled in a sickle shadow which blended seamlessly into a background of black gauze. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “And certainly not any planet known in Xoldra.”
“I call it Kellod,” Sylna said grandly. “I think there must be great oceans beneath that shell of ice, oceans which perhaps harbour diverse organisms. I’ve written many stories involving them, their ways of living and even their societies…” She blushed suddenly and trailed off, but then her face became severe and stoic. “The environment is hellish, without atmosphere and cold as the vacuum, but it is not impossible for biology to take shape in such conditions. We certainly have our extremophiles here on Altum.” For some reason she found herself looking across the room to Byron as she said this.
“I would love to read your stories,” said Ogwold grinning.
Now the redness was back at Sylna’s cheeks, and she glanced at an enormous stack of paper stacked very neatly and carefully upon a shelf. “You’re welcome to it.”
Ogwold’s eyes expanded as he took in the extent of her work. “Perhaps when we have some time to spare. At least I should see your inspiration!” Already he was hovering over Elts’ shoulder and following with watery irids the magnificent length of the instrument as it broadened out into the ceiling, doing his best to imagine what she might be experiencing.
Elts stepped calmly away from the eyepiece, and Ogwold leaned so close into it—having to stoop very low—that his massy brow closed upon and wrapped about the brass, squeezing with curiosity. Even before that eager grip had settled, he gasped; but just as quickly he grew deeply silent. “Another world,” he said at last, the assimilated viewing stem moving with the motions of his speech. “Really, but for the moons I only thought there were stars in the sky.”
“And what are stars?” Sylna implored.
“Well, the Nogofod say they are the houses of the lesser gods; but the Nogofod are quite wrong about things lately.”
“On this point they are not entirely misled,” Sylna assured him. “But this idea of lesser gods is not quite right, if you mean that Caelare is greater. Really, she is a lesser god herself, as most who occupy the different stars and watch over the worlds in orbit which they’ve made are of like power.”
Elts nodded. “Our sun is just another star, the closest star to Altum, such that to us it appears much larger and brighter. In all, it is an average star, middle-aged and moderate in size—though, next to Altum it is a titan. We Xol study all of the observable stars very closely, and I can tell you that there are some behemoths out there which could swallow a hundred suns.”
“Yes, of course Elts is correct.” Sylna grinned, seeming to enjoy very much the company of another astronomer.
Ogwold rose reverently from the eyepiece. “I don’t know what is more astounding,” he said. “That you know all of these things, or that you can both agree so precisely across cultures. Aren’t the Xol and Novare sworn enemies?”
Byron grunted from across the room. “All students of the Fabric have agreed upon one cosmology for thousands of years.”
“You are full of surprises,” Elts said, turning. “I thought the people of Lucetal were savages.”
“Some of them,” said Byron scowling.
“But he’s from Molavor!” Ogwold said smiling. “Oh, right. He doesn’t like to share personal information.”
“Molavor?” Elts said aghast, staring at the mercenary. “The Lost City of Molavor?”
Ogwold laughed almost out of surprise. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course,” Elts said. “For centuries the Molavorians and the Xol lived in harmony. That is, before Zelor.” Elts sighed, her eyes downcast. She had quite forgotten the other evil in that sorcerer’s history, as she had been so focused before on understanding the loss of Xirell. She wondered whether Byron had pursued Zelor out of some more personal offence than the destruction of Molavor, but she said only, “Now I see why you came here.”
The mercenary simply nodded.
“What a day,” said Ogwold, scratching his head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised that other folk have heard of Molavor or can speak so knowledgeably about the stars. It seems that everything about anything was withheld from my people.”
“Well, the Lucetalians themselves do not believe that there is anything beyond our own night sky,” said Elts. “At least regarding the size of the universe, they trusted you with equal awareness.”
“Look,” Sylna broke in, “you would like to see Somnam though?” She strode to the great desk covered not only by many papers and books, but also outfitted in the great panel of dials and switches which Nubes had built there to control the telescope more easily. Her hands flew lightly over the switches, and with a deep and easy whirring the telescope adjusted its focus, though it seemed it hadn’t moved at all. “Well, there you are then!”
Ogwold stooped over the eyepiece once again, and there was the surface of Somnam, that same ghostly dark navy complexion, magnified to such a scale that it was as if he merely peered out of a window on another tower built upon the moon itself. But as the wonder of the moment settled, he realized that the place was quite featureless, but for its many shallow craters. It was a vast field of hills and dust and rock, unbroken by even a distant mountain and certainly devoid of plants or animals.
“Not what you expected?” Sylna smirked. “Quite a dead place for the source of all dreams, as they say.”
Ogwold laughed. “I think it’s lovely,” he said, stony brow deposed raptly to the eyepiece. “What does it mean to the Xol, Elts?”
“We call it Lofos, but its signification is the same. It is also for me a special one, regardless of its look.” Having herself approached the desk, Elts indicated with one tail a series of very dusty switches arranged in rows to the far right of the panel. “What are these for? They seem long unused.”
“Oh, they are like these others; they represent celestial bodies which the telescope can quickly locate based upon last known positions. Really the calculative faculty of the thing is astonishing. We can even predict the locations of undiscovered objects by analyzing inconsistencies in the orbits of some solar systems which are more or less known to us. Kellod, for instance, was found only because its movement around the gas giant Kel caused the slightest elongation in that planet’s barycentre. Nubes deduced that there must have been a large body influencing the system, and so by determining the mass and orbit which would cause such a shift we predicted the presence and even precise location of Kellod! It’s fascinating stuff really.” She looked hopefully into the glazed grey eyes of Ogwold.
“So, these switches… They find… certain things.” The ogre’s expression of deep understanding was so earnestly contrived that even Elts snorted and cracked a smile. He grinned at her sheepishly.
Sylna relaxed a little as she smiled. “Yes but, I’ve gone off on a tangent, haven’t I? As to the switches which Elts indicated, I don’t know what things, exactly, they find. Nubes forbade me to touch those.”
“Well, I don’t see the old wizard around.” Ogwold put his great eye back to the glass, looking again over the impossibly real surface of Somnam. “Just imagine what sorts of things he was into.”
“Oh I can’t imagine.” Sylna tugged on the sides of her hat anxiously. “But every time I do something that Nubes forbids me to do, I always end up suffering the worst consequences.”
“What if someone else does it while you’re not looking?” Ogwold turned from the eyepiece and grinned evilly, his broad teeth looking like tombstones.
“I too am interested in what the old man was so set on hiding,” said Elts.
Sylna sighed. “Most things, really. Fine then. I suppose we deserve some sort of reward for defending Pivwood without his help. Besides,” she eyed the switches nervously, “it won’t be the first time I’ve disobeyed him.”
“As you said,” Elts said, showing a rare, thin smile. She flipped the topmost switch of the forbidden set. Almost as it moved, so too did the telescope slightly adjust, making some subtle calculation, aligning with some infinitesimal angle, almost too fine for the eye to tell from its former position.
Ogwold, being nearest, looked into the lens. “Now, I’m no expert, as it’s been made clear enough; but these are no worlds!”
“Let me see,” Sylna said, coming over. She pushed her big, droopy hat back on her head and looked too into the scope, rising onto her toes. What she saw was a great black spaceship, soaring through the void. The only reason she could even make it out was for its bright red lights, which cast the whole array in shining blood. In its wake she now beheld numberless more such vessels, like sleek cephalopods jetting through the void. “Gods,” she said, drawing away and sitting at once in one of the great chairs. “They look just like Zelor’s figurine.”
“What?” Elts returned to the eyepiece. “Xeléd Down! These are the black ships from my vision, made in like form to Duxmortul.” The chill word blossomed like an evil flower in the room. Staring into the telescope she began to shake with fury, her tails hissing taut over the floor. The mercenary and ogre were surprised, more by her vigour after such calm than by the strange name of Duxmortul, which they had not yet heard.
Sylna rushed to the desk. “The distance and trajectory should be here,” she said, pulling out from beneath the surface a flat wooden plane, such as one might sit and write more comfortably upon. Here was a great sheet of paper, and over that surface already a sudden blue ink scrawled swiftly as from nowhere. Scrupulously she leant over the esoteric figures, pulling at her hat.
“Who is this Duxmortul?” Byron called to Elts. “Your enemy?”
“And yours, if it was Zelor’s actions that brought you here,” Elts said coldly, turning from the telescope. “Duxmortul is the very Shadow which possessed him and assaulted the wood. It is an evil which cannot be reckoned, but we know at least that it is connected to a figurine which I took from him. It is an odious little idol, all black and tentacled with columns of red eyes.”
Byron crossed his arms, grunting. “I remember well the day my brother found that hideous statue, and wore it thence around his neck. He said it came from the stars. Never let it out of his sight. I found him praying to it often.” The mercenary sighed raspily. “All who were close to Zelor and our family knew in time that this object was the true evil, though it became hard to distinguish the man from his collar. Still, the elders of Molavor composed this poem to remember his fate, and I have kept its words close in my journey.”
Above the stars, a new light interposed
The cosmic dark, like teardrop slowly massed.
Now freed against the stained-glass cheek of night,
It shone for Zelor, dreaming where it led.
“Lord, Byron! What verse!” Ogwold laughed. “That was beautiful!”
Elts too had listened attentively. “It is a sorrowful lyric. I shudder at the perceived divinity in an artifact so evil.”
“Evil indeed,” said Byron. “But to Zelor it was a beacon of hope, and so we always try to remember that it was a true Molavorian who fell under that spell, and not one who desired ill for our people. The tale in itself is a reminder that brilliant things are not always to be trusted.”
“Those are wise words, mercenary. I can imagine it would be hard to think a falling light from heaven was something so foul as Duxmortul’s totem.” Elts said, turning to Sylna, “Where is it now?”
“It is secure, and we needn’t show it to him,” said the witch over her shoulder. “Description will suffice, and its presence may be perilous.”
“Sylna is right,” Elts murmured. “The figurine you speak of must be the same as we found.”
“Its effect on him was slow, as evil things often are.” Byron’s hard green eye scoured Elts. “It had never occurred to me that this statue was the very image of his master. But now it seems true. Many times I have seen it in my dreams, though I had thought this a fantasy of fear.”
“I too have had the dreams,” Elts said. “But I can say confidently that they are real, for when I held the idol in my hand, it transported me to the seat of true evil. Here, look for yourself.” She stepped away from the telescope.
Byron appeared in a step and looked through the lens, arms folded. Then he spat on the ground. “Aye. And you have the accursed thing here? Why not destroy it?”
“It can’t be done,” Sylna replied mutedly.
“It matters not,” said Elts. “But Duxmortul is coming. We will have our revenge.”
Byron raised an eyebrow over his empty socket. “You are a warrior, Elts.”
“While there is a threat to what I love, I shall fight,” she replied. “There was a time in my journey where I forgot this principle, and during that time Duxmortul slew my oldest and greatest friend. But there is still much in the world to fight for. I may not have known the Zelor you once called a brother, but I did know a Zelor worthy of trust and respect. I wanted to believe that he could overcome the Shadow. He would never say Its name, such that I thought he might find some way to escape.”
“That does seem like resistance,” said Byron. “Names are powerful things, especially to the Xol. I can believe that Zelor held off the sway of this thing for a while, but only as he lay dying did I recognize him. My only regret is that I might have slain him before the fall of Molavor.”
Elts’ tails swished abjectly. “Perhaps he might have wanted that. The only thing he hated more than his own truth was Duxmortul. At least I can take up that quest in his stead.”
“Elts,” said Ogwold, his oafish voice dissolving the tensity of the moment. “What else do you love about the world?”
She smiled. “The trees, I suppose.”
“The trees!” Ogwold slapped his hand to his huge naked head. “I’ve failed them! Elts, I cannot begin to apologize. Hesgruvia; Hesflet; another Xol! I met her in Fonslad, and she knew Xirell and—”
“Out with it, ogre,” laughed Byron.
“She had a cure for the curse!” Ogwold gasped. “But… It is gone. I’ve lost it. It was burned up with my hair and the Fonsolis and my clothes. It was a seed, Elts, which she said could be planted in Xoldra to restore the trees to their natural state!”
There was only stunned silence. Elts gawked.
Sylna suddenly rose from the desk, kneading her forehead as she faced the room. “The fleet is about two parsecs from Altum, and moving towards us near the speed of light… They will arrive in no less than seven years.” Silently these numbers hung in the candled air as she returned to the busy page upon the desk. “The largest of Duxmortul’s ships is about the size of Somnam,” she added. Noticing the strange quietude of the room, she looked from face to face. “This is far more pressing than the curse of the Xol!” she shouted.
“What you’ve said is unbelievable to me, Ogwold,” said Elts. “At least it is some notion that there is even a hope for Efvla’s trees.”
“I’m sorry. I should have held my tongue.”
“No. I am happy to hear it. Maybe there are other ways. One day I shall find this Hesflet. Surely I must if she was a friend of Xirell. But the trees will have to wait,” Elts said gravely.
“Right. Seven years does not seem long at all,” Ogwold wondered aloud.
“Indeed…” Sylna said, now hurrying back to the telescope and pressing her face right up to the lens. “Seeing how far away are these ships, though, and just thinking where they must have come from, moving at this speed, influencing Zelor so many years ago—Duxmortul must have an enormous psychic ability. Imagine what It can do physically! And… And Nubes knew about this all along! That toadstool!”
“He certainly didn’t warn me either,” muttered Ogwold. As if on cue the mysterious sphere swept out of his cloak pocket and carried on round his head.
“Yet you were instrumental in Zelor’s demise,” Byron said, watching it. “Maybe your purpose here has something to do with Duxmortul as well.”
“An excellent point,” Sylna mused. “The Alium is undoubtedly wrapped up in this. ”
“Oh yes! So what is the Alium?” asked Ogwold. The sphere buzzed in his ear, bounced off of his forehead, and began wandering about the room aimlessly.
“We have no idea,” Sylna announced as though she knew everything in the world, “but that its impression upon the Fabric is unlike any even the gods might leave.”
“Fozlest knew little else,” said Elts. “She reasoned it might provide us a great advantage over Lucetal. But now, I think she knew about these ships as well. I only discovered near the end of our journey that Zelor conspired to destroy the Alium, thus keeping it from Fozlest as well as Duxmortul.” She looked cautiously at Byron.
The mercenary grumbled solemnly. “Sounds like Zelor.”
Sylna threw off her hat, and it floated softly into an armchair. “Why couldn’t Nubes just tell me! We don’t know anything!” Swooping up the hat she flopped down onto the red seat and sank deep within its cushioning. “I suppose all we can do now is seek the Alium.”
“Agreed,” said Elts. “Let us go at once.”
“Is your aim to destroy it as well?” Byron’s metal voice was difficult to judge. The silver sphere seemed to stray from its dizzy wandering about the capacious room, as if it meant to listen in a little more closely.
The sorceress flicked a tail. “What do you care?”
