Trion Rising, page 28
“Shh!” Oriannon helped him to the top of the sand hill and craned her neck. “There! See it?”
“I don’t see any … oh!” He clapped her on the back. “Any closer and we would have crashed right into the city, huh? I told you!”
For once Margus had a point. But right now all she could do was run ahead to the base of the cliff, slogging through puddles and mud.
“How long before those three other ships get here?” she asked over her shoulder.
“At the rate they were going? I’m guessing fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”
Which didn’t give them much time, hardly enough to climb the stairway to the city. She hurried up to the first landing, only to have a young Owling jump out of the shadows to block their way.
“No farther!” The husky boy hoisted an ironwood spear, pointing it at her chin. “Who are you and what are you wanting here?”
“Oh!” Oriannon stopped short, put up her hand. “Listen, I’m a friend of Suuli and Wist, and I have to see them right away. It’s a matter of life and death!”
“Suuli’s dead.” The young guard growled.
“I know. I only meant that—”
“And how do I know you’re not part of another attack?”
“You don’t. But I was here before, when Jesmet—”
“You know Jesmet?”
“Of course I know Jesmet. He is— he was my mentor. Now, please.” She stepped forward, pointed the end of the spear away and down. “There’s an attack coming any minute, and I’ve got to get up there and warn people right now.”
The guard hesitated long enough for Margus to step around and hold him back.
“Let her go,” Margus demanded. “She’s telling you the truth. Go, Oriannon! I’ll take care of him.”
By this time Oriannon wasn’t waiting for the boy’s permission, just leaped past him and up the stairs. And now she would have to take them two or three at a time. She did hear an alarm bell ringing from below, and as soon as she made it halfway she added her shouts to the noise.
“Wist!” she yelled, hoping someone would hear her. “Wist!”
No answer. But the bell below kept ringing, and as Oriannon climbed on she noticed curious faces peering down at her from the railing above.
“Get away from there!” she shouted, but they didn’t seem to understand. So when she finally mounted the top of the stairway she stumbled toward them.
“You’ve …” she gasped. “You’ve got to get out of here! Hide!”
They only stared at her and backed away, and of course Oriannon couldn’t blame them for thinking her crazy. But as she stood at the edge of the main plaza, chest heaving, she heard a gradually increasing hum behind her, then felt a rush of air and mist that stood her hair on end.
They’re here, she thought. It’s too late!
And she turned to see three fully loaded Security shuttles drop out of the gray clouds before coming to a close hover over the pipeline below.
“See what I’m talking about?” Oriannon shouted as she ran up to a man and his wife. Didn’t they know danger when they saw it? Hadn’t they figured it out from the past attack? Despite the rain the woman held a baby in her arms, and looked back with wide-eyed surprise when Oriannon tugged on their arms and tried to pull them back from the edge.
“Not to worry,” said the man, holding on to the railing. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”
“Not like this it doesn’t. They’re—”
“They’re just breaking up the logjam.” He pointed as if she didn’t understand, as if she was a friendly alien who didn’t know their language. Didn’t any of them recognize her? “We’ll be going back down in a little while and plug it all up again.”
“No!” Oriannon trembled as she turned to the others. “It’s not a game! Not this time. Please listen to me! They’re going to wipe out Lior, the whole city. You’ve got to hide! Now!”
But still they all just stared at her, then moved to the railing as if trying to decide. Oriannon didn’t even need to look; she could already hear the hum grow louder and feel static crawling on her skin as the shuttles rose into position.
“Why are they coming up here?” wondered a little Owling boy. Without warning he picked up a fist-sized rock and heaved it over the side. “I’ll stop them!”
“No, dear!” His mother grabbed his arm, too late. The rock clattered harmlessly down the side of the cliff. And now Oriannon pulled on the woman’s hand.
“Please, I’m just telling you what I know. Go to the buildings next to the cliff instead of those hanging out here. Maybe they’re safer. I’m begging you, please go before it’s too late.”
Perhaps it already was. The parents in the group looked at each other, and a little girl started to cry.
“Please!” Oriannon repeated. “I’m a friend of Wist’s. I’m trying to save your lives!”
By that time she knew it certainly had to be too late. Wist and Becket came rushing into the little plaza from one side, while the three Coristan ships rose higher along the cliff to hover only a few hundred meters away. Their blue lights blinked and glittered off titanium skin, painted with the blue and white tri-star markings of Coristan Security.
“Oriannon!” yelled Wist, and her face showed that she understood the danger. How could she not? “You came back!”
Wist reached out a hand while Becket held her back and the three ships maneuvered much closer, deadly silent except for their humming. Without delay, ugly black disruptor tubes disengaged from the front with a whine of hydraulics— and aimed straight at them.
But then Oriannon heard another voice, much lower than Wist’s— and much clearer.
“The rock, Oriannon.”
She slipped her hand up to her ear, just to be sure the earbud wasn’t still somehow in place. Of course it wasn’t. And in any case, the voice did not belong to Margus. She glanced around the plaza to see who had called her name. A dozen Owlings all stood like statues, as if hypnotized by a yagwar. And again the voice called her name.
“Pick up the rock, Oriannon! Throw it!”
Puzzled, she shook her head. But she knew the voice, and this time she knew how to obey— no matter how strange it seemed, no matter how much it seemed like a story from the Codex. Pick up the rock? She reached over to pluck a good-sized stone from the little boy’s hand, and he didn’t resist.
“Now, Ori. Throw it now!”
This time she could not ignore Jesmet’s strong voice, even if she was just imagining it. And it was his voice. It could be no other. So she backed up a couple of steps and wound up, then let fly so hard the rock might have taken her arm with it.
And as they watched, the rock made a perfect arc and landed with a satisfying plink directly on the nearest shuttle’s nose, bounced once, and tumbled out of sight.
Instantly a translucent blue force field appeared as a thin cloud around the ship, shimmering with energy. And now Oriannon knew what to do. She stood at the railing, waving her arms, jumping, shouting. Anything to get their attention, including throwing rocks. Now it didn’t matter— because whatever they might do to her, they would do even worse to the Owlings.
“OVER HERE!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. If they were going to take down Lior, city of the Owlings, they would have to do it with her standing right here in front of the whole disaster. And they would have to know it was her. “Look over here, you idiots!”
For good measure she scooped up another rock and let fly again. Of course this time it fizzled in a cloud of sparks off the edge of the force field, far short of the three hovering craft. She could still wave and shout, though— even as she heard the peculiar high-pitched whine of disruptor tubes charging. Any second now, the tubes would fire, blowing away anything in their sights.
“It’s me!” she screamed, tears now running down her cheeks, mixing with the rain. “Oriannon Hightower of Nyssa!”
Her shouts echoed off the side of the cliff city, yet she had no idea if anyone in the ship would hear her. “My father is an elder on the Assembly. Are you going to kill an elder’s daughter? His name is Tavlin Hightower. What else do you need to know? Do you want my ID number?”
Sobbing with emotion, she scrambled to the top of the rock wall, held her arms out to both sides and took a deep breath. Because now she knew:
This was why I came here. To stop this attack, or die trying.
Still the disruptors whined, louder and louder, and she knew she had only seconds to breathe. Wist and the others there in the plaza fell to their knees with their hands covering their ears.
Oriannon stood fast and shook her fists.
“And if you destroy this city, I go with it!” Her voice cracked with the strain. “How do you want to explain that to my father? DO YOU HEAR ME?”
Did they hear her? She held her breath, teetered on the top of the wall, hardly noticing small hands gripping her ankles. A long moment later the whining slowed, and the disrupter tubes pulled back slowly, while a probe released from a small hatch on the ship’s underside. Still she didn’t move, just grit her teeth as the probe flew up to her and scanned her eyes with its obnoxious red beam.
“State your name,” it demanded.
“I told you. Oriannon Hightower.” She parked her hands on her hips, spit the words out in a challenge. Better to give it the full pedigree than just her first name. “Oriannon Hightower of Nyssa.”
The probe paused for a moment until it flashed its green light. It could tell who she was. And now everyone in the shuttles would know as well.
“You will board the Coristan Security vessel immediately,” barked the probe.
But Oriannon shook her head.
“Not a chance. I’m not moving from this spot.”
She didn’t dare look down, but ducked when the probe flew straight at her head without warning. Pebbles worked loose from the wall and tumbled hundreds of meters down, far down to the pipeline. She slipped a half-step backward, and then she was waving for balance, losing it, and tumbling backward.
“Oriannon!”
Falling, she heard her name once more. But this time she tumbled into the arms of … Wist!
This time they both nearly fell to the wet paving stones, but managed to stay on their feet. Dear Wist!
“What are you doing?” asked Wist, wrapping her arms around Oriannon in a hug. “What’s going on?”
“Immediately!” the probe repeated, buzzing by their heads once more like an angry bird of prey. “You will board …”
Twanng!
Before she could flinch, a thousand pieces of smoking probe showered across the little plaza, sending Oriannon, Wist, and the other Owlings scurrying in all directions. Had the attack begun? Shards of shattered microchips spiked her in the back of the neck as she dove for cover behind a bench.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” Margus slipped in next to them with a shadow of a grin on his face. He gripped a gnarly spear in his hand, obviously his weapon of choice, borrowed from the guard at the foot of the cliff.
“Margus!” cried Oriannon. “Where did you come from?”
He nodded toward the top of the stairway a few meters away. “Same as you. Took me a little longer to climb up, though. That’s the longest bunch of stairs.”
“Are you out of your mind?” She didn’t need to ask what had happened to their guard; the boy came stumbling up to the plaza just then. Oriannon glanced back over the top of the bench to see if the ship had sent out any more probes.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he answered back. “Did you really think they would call off the attack just because of you?”
“It’s not over yet.” She took his hand as he helped her up, only to tumble back down again as the earth jolted and shook as never before.
38
Oriannon rose slowly to her feet when the earthquake had finally played itself out a minute later— one minute that had seemed like one hour. She held out her hands for balance, just in case, looking around at the damage.
“We’re still here,” croaked Wist, pulling herself up as well. Just like everyone else, she wore the same wide-eyed expression that told the world she was glad to be alive— but perhaps a little surprised that she still was.
Even more surprising was the fact that their cliffside city still hung on. Bruised and battered, yes, as it had been after previous quakes. Several more cracks had appeared in the plaza, while loose stones littered the narrow lanes. But like its Owling people, Lior seemed just too stubborn to let go.
Yet the thing Oriannon now noticed most was a strange, almost eerie quiet— and it hit her in the eardrums with almost as much force as had all the noise.
No more rumble of earthquake, only the soft crumbling of gravel, tripping down the hillside, and a distant baby squalling his or her little lungs out.
No more drizzle of rain, rare as it had been, only the dripping of water from rooftops.
No more whine of disruptor beams, threatening to take down what the earthquake could not.
No more hum of the three Coristan ships, hovering like dragonflies.
“They’re gone, Oriannon.” Wist announced the obvious as they rose from their knees. “You did it! They’ve gone!”
Oriannon glanced over to see Margus’s reaction, and she guessed he might be thinking the same thing. Maybe the Coristan ships could have retreated to hide around the side of the mountain.
Why? Oriannon couldn’t be sure. However, Wist was right about one thing: The three ships had turned and disappeared, quickly enough and in the middle of the earthquake so that no one had noticed exactly how or when.
Gone, gone, gone! Never mind the terrifying shake-up. Wist began dancing, grabbing Margus by the hands and skipping in circles. She giggled like a little girl as they spun, skipping and singing a tune Oriannon had never heard before. They still lived and breathed, the Maker be praised! To Wist and the others, that was enough to celebrate.
But Oriannon stepped off to the side, away from the spontaneous party— because she knew in her heart that Wist was very wrong about something else.
“I didn’t do it,” she whispered, stepping closer to the edge than she should have. She fingered her Trion necklace just to be sure she still had it. “It was nothing I did.”
She had done nothing to turn back the Security shuttles, only stood up on this ledge, and it made her shake now to realize how close she’d come to falling. She looked down at the plaza, followed a crack with her eye, and noticed the shadow lengthening at her feet.
What was this? She stepped a little closer, just to be sure of what she could not be seeing. She shook her head to clear her mind. But Wist and the others must have noticed as well, since the dancing had suddenly stopped.
They all saw the same thing she saw, out over the rugged beautiful landscape of Shadowside. And silently they watched what had most surely turned the shuttles around. Not the rock-throwing or the shouting, and not the shaking of her fist. None of that had ultimately made any difference.
Together they looked out at a view that no one had ever seen before, as clouds cleared overhead and the sky changed from its usual dark blue ink to azure and then over to the lightest of gold, orange, and pink. The brightest stars that had always watched over Shadowside began to fade. Even the pretty hues of the Southern Lights slipped away, replaced— if it were possible— by an even more awesome spectacle.
Oriannon’s mouth dropped open in heart-stopping wonder as she took it all in, watching what she had never experienced, something she was certain she had no words for. Neither did Margus; he had fallen to his knees. Only Wist knew what to say.
“It’s dawn,” whispered Wist. “It finally came.”
And with this dawn came something else that Oriannon did finally recognize— something perhaps the others would not know. She pointed to the horizon.
“The Trion.”
Of course the actual Trion resembled neither the necklace nor the stained glass window picture. Yet even Oriannon’s necklace seemed now to come alive. It pulsed with life, warmed but didn’t burn. Wist held her hand to her chest the same way, and they exchanged glances with a little smile. Oriannon was not the only one here with the same necklace.
At the same time the other Owlings pointed and gasped as they recognized what was happening. More Owlings filtered into the plaza from the city. Now there was no mistaking the triplet suns, rising for the first time in many millennia on this side of the planet, lighting up the sky as Oriannon had seen them do every day of her life— before she had come to Shadowside.
Some greeted the light of the three suns with their hands in the air, as if they’d been waiting for these three suns to rise all their lives. Others watched the plains come alive in blazing red and gold and everything in between. Had it really been so full of color before, but hidden in the twilight of Shadowside? No longer. From somewhere down the cliff she heard a twittering of small birds, singing softly at first, then with growing confidence. A whisper of warm air hit her face, full of the promise this new day delivered. And then she heard the song.
Now everyone froze with awe as Oriannon heard clearly the voice she had heard with her heart only minutes ago. There could be no mistake this time, no ghosts, no imaginings. Only … how? The Owlings crowded to the railing, looking to see what they must all be hearing.
“Jesmet!” Oriannon and Margus whispered the name at the same time as they saw him approach the base of the cliff. And there was no mistake: He wore the same robe he’d worn to the execution. She could make out the scorch marks.
But the Song removed all doubt as Jesmet’s clear, strong voice drifted up to them.
Who else had ever sung that Song, but him? Only now the words made sense, and the Song finally made sense— glorious sense. Oriannon mouthed the words she’d heard once before, adding her harmony as Jesmet sang them aloud.
“In the morning, when all is new …”
THE OWLING
ROBERT ELMER
1
Oriannon jerked awake, jolted by the shuttle’s sudden dive and the high-pitched whine of ion boosters. The unseen hand of several Gs squeezed her squarely back in the padded seat, and she gasped for breath.
