Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock (20 page)

He approached the camp from above, careful to avoid slipping on the treacherous rocks. Jan and Chaiel slept under the shelter of the boulders, bundled up in the hot blankets that Celagri had bargained from the elves of Tri’um. Celagri, herself, was nowhere to be seen as Pabl climbed down toward the camp, his eye on the warm red glow of the dying fire.

“Pabl?” It was Celagri’s voice coming from the shadows next to the camp.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Thank the Passions, you’re back safely.” Celagri stepped into the dim red light given off by the dying fire. She extended an arm toward Pabl, touching him gently on the chest. “It’s good to see you,” she said.

“Likewise, my friend.”

“Are you all right?” Celagri asked. “Did they change you?”

“No, they did not. I am healthy. How long have I been away?”

“Two days.”

“Good, we still have time. Has anything gone wrong here?”

Pabl asked.

“No, just Chaiel’s instinctive mistrust for Jan and myself.”

Pabl looked at his brother’s solid bulk sleeping peacefully next to the tiny mass of the dwarf. “Those two seem to be get-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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ting along pretty well right now.”

Celagri let out a soft laugh.

Such a delicate sound, Pabl thought. The elf ’s laugh brought a smile to his face. “Let’s get the fire going again,” he said. “I have some things to say.” He picked up three hefty logs that had been cut for the morning’s fire and set them on the embers. Then he cast a spell to ignite them. “Jan! Chaiel!

Wake up.”

Soon the embers became a roaring blaze. Jan and Chaiel woke slowly and huddled in their hot blankets, listening to Pabl as he told about Sangolin and his experience in the Valley of the Elders. “You and I need to be careful, Chaiel, for Sangolin will try to trick us. If there were time to spare, I’d suggest that you visit the Valley of the Elders before we leave, but we cannot afford to tarry any longer. Our liferock is in danger.”

Chaiel nodded, his black eyes reflecting the fire. “I am heartened by your news and what you have learned from the Council of Four,” he said. “The Scarlet Sea is not much more than a fortnight’s walk from here. We might just find Reid Quo in time to save Ganwetrammus.”

“We leave in the morning,” Pabl said. “I am only sorry that we won’t have time to visit Tepuis Garen on our way. We will stick to the river as far as the jungle, then head south along the edge of the Servos until we see the volcanoes above the Scarlet Sea. Sangolin is near them.”

Several hours of darkness remained so they decided to get some more sleep before packing up to leave. Pabl slipped into a deep slumber just as he lay his head against the soft contents of his backpack. But sometime later, towards the early morning hours, a vision came to him in his sleep.

He dreamt of a beautiful place, a place more exquisite even than the Valley of the Elders. A river of lava cascaded over a thousand-foot cliff into a sea of molten rock below. He stood in a wide hollow, formed from a huge plateau in the This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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mountains next to the cliffs. Drifts of steam blew across the plateau — hot clouds smelling of waste and decay.

It was a wonderful place with many obsidimen, living and playing together. And in Pabl’s dream it seemed perfectly natural that these obsidimen hunted animals for food and lived in caves under stone.

In his dream, Pabl walked towards a slope of jagged rock, fallen long ago in an avalanche. A tunnel had been carved into the rock, and Pabl was drawn into it. A dark cave. White crystals of light. Dripping water.

A chill passed through Pabl as he jerked awake. He shivered in his hot blanket. What in Death’s name just happened?

He sat up, looking at the clear blue sky through the crack between the boulders. The sun just peeked over the mountain tops, barely warming the camp.

Pabl breathed deeply, relishing the icy air as he dressed in his heavy cloak. He stepped out of the shelter, careful to not wake the others, and climbed a few yards down to the edge of a tiny stream, formed from melting snow pack. He scooped clear water in his palms and washed his entire body, trying to purge himself of his dream.

What plagued him most is how a vision could come to him in that twilight moment between sleep and wakefulness.

Obsidimen don’t dream in their sleep. They dream only when merged.

When he was clean and dressed again, Pabl drank deeply.

Then he sat cross-legged on a rock and performed his wizard’s karma ritual. He removed a small stick of chalk from his pouch and drew a perfect circle on the rock. Pabl channeled magical energy from astral space through himself as he inscribed an equilateral triangle inside the circle. The magic propelled his fingers, letting him draw smaller circles and triangles until he had to use astral sight to see them.

His ritual forced him concentrate on the geometry of per-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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fect shapes, the art of magic theory and its practice in pure form. And for the moment, while he focused on his ritual, his dream faded into the recesses of his mind.

For the moment, his vision did not haunt him.

For the moment.

This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected])  Chapter Twenty-One 

Reid could not sleep. Every time he tried to rest, he felt the pain of his liferock far away. Ganwetrammus.

Sangolin did not want him to think about it. Did not want him to remember. But the memories were always hovering just below the surface of his consciousness, disorganized and jumbled, swimming in the recesses of his mind.

Waiting to emerge.

Reid entered his cave and lay down to sleep on his pallet of animal skins, desperate for some reprieve from his exhaustion. But the pain of his liferock wracked through him and kept him awake. He stared up at the rough arch of the cave’s stone ceiling, and remembered . . .

A younger Reid stood in a crowded city, the peaks of three huge pyramids dominating its skyline. Mounted griffins and flying chariots traveled across the sky, carrying the elite of a strange people. And down below, in the streets, Name-givers of all races intermingled in business exchange and social meetings.

An old obsidiman sat on a stone bench next to Reid, his back hunched. Reid knew him, watched him straighten up 160

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and put his hand out toward Reid, palm open.

Reid removed a small necklace from his under his cloak, black metal chain with a opaque green statue of . . . of . . . some-one. He placed the necklace into the palm of the old obsidiman.

Wrinkles cracked in the old one’s face as he squinted at Reid. He admonished Reid for relinquishing the item. “It may not look expensive,” said the old obsidiman, “but it has value.

More value than is required for payment.”

But Reid made him take the necklace because Reid did not have anything else to pay him with, and Reid knew that the old one — Garen was his name — would take good care of it.

Garen clenched the jade carving in his fist. Then he put the chain around his neck and proceeded to teach Reid about the fine line between illusory magic and other kinds. “Trick-ing the senses involves using magic to lie,” Garen said. “We are similar to troubadours in that way. Except that our me-dium is not words and stories. Our palette is colors and sounds, our canvases are the minds of the unwary.”

Garen’s voice dissipated in a shock of sharp, present-day pain that shot through Reid. Then the memory gave way to another . . .

Reid floated in the collective consciousnesses of many obsidimen from all over Barsaive — a momentous Gathering to share knowledge about the coming apocalypse. Reid, himself, had organized the Gathering in an effort to bring communion to an obsidiman world which would soon be forced to fragment for hundreds of years.

Inside this Gathering he felt a nudge, a tickle against the side of merged mass of obsidiman bodies. He felt pressure from outside like gentle prodding in his mind, and he knew something was wrong. Somebody was intruding on their pri-vacy.

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He emerged from the Gathering, joined by a few other obsidimen. The plateau had been empty when they had entered the Dreaming months ago, but now the broad space was filled with dwarfs and men and orks, scurrying and frantic, dressed in chain armor. They waved swords and axes.

Several dwarfs told him that their army was pursued by an onslaught of Horrors. They said that everyone must run, try to escape the certain death which approached just beyond the mountain ridge to the north. The dwarfs wanted to know if there was an escape route or a stronghold nearby. Their questions gave way to pleas as they grew desperate for Reid to tell them that they had a chance, however meager.

He could not.

The path the dwarfs had taken from the north was narrow and bundled between great sheets of rock, leading down from the high plains above. They explored the plateau, but found only what Reid knew they would. The hollow was surrounded on three sides by a tight arc of steep mountain slopes, and it was bounded on the fourth by the cliff edge — a thousand-foot drop into molten stone below.

The army lost hope when they saw the fiery sea below and no escape. But yet they decided to make a stand in the hollow.

They’d try to fight. What else could they do?

As the dwarfs and men and orks prepared for the onslaught, Reid removed the scarab brooch from his cloak and sent his vision flying. Over the mountains and to the plains of rolling grass beyond. Through the beetle’s eyes, Reid saw the fires which swept across the plains, and smoke billowing black and heavy into the sky. The Horrors crawled and skit-tered along near the line of the fire, moving inexorably towards the retreating army like jungle ants. There were millions of the ugly creatures — large and small, quick and slow, but all deadly.

Reid called the scarab back to him, telling the dwarfs of This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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what he had seen. Then he had merged with the Gathering to show his fellow obsidimen the images of the approaching Horrors.

Whatever happened to my scarab? To my magic?

Vecrix had taken charge after that. Vecrix had saved them all from death.

In his mind, Reid saw the side of the mountain lean over and cover them, pummeling the unfortunate dwarfs in the process. The memory dissipated as a sliver of pain jabbed him in the back of the head, making him wince and squeeze his eyes closed.

What is happening with Ganwetrammus to cause me such pain? I must try to find out.

He stood up then, pushed aside the burlap curtains and wandered out of his cave. He knew now that caves were unlikely places for obsidimen. Sunshine and clear sky were more appropriate. Forests and clean water were what his race loved the most.

How do all these memories fit together?

Another vision filtered into his head as he walked along the ledge toward the central hollow. In the memory, Reid sat cross-legged on a tile floor, staring at a spur of rock which rose up out of the floor and glowed a deep red at the tip. Other obsidimen sat around him. His brothers, he knew, though he could not remember all their names.

Three of them stood near the spur of rock, the Alqarat.

Yes, that was its name. Two of the three wore braided cloth skulldresses of auburn and black. Horklas.

Now, as he walked, turning away from the glowing sea of fire, Reid touched the bare crown of his head involuntarily.

What ever happened to my horkla?

In the vision, his horkla was made of thick indigo thread, interwoven with black, magenta and tiny strands of orichalcum. He’d been proud to wear it. When had he lost it? When This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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had he lost everything? Why had he forgotten so much?

Ganwetrammus must have these answers. I will leave this place and go to Ganwetrammus.

Reid passed into the main clearing, noticing a group of painted obsidimen dancing around the ashes of last night’s fire, drums beating in a jovial rhythm. Reid focused on the dance as he crossed the long space of the hollow. Anything to avoid thinking about what lay the other way. Reid watched the haphazard dance of his companions, but continued his steady walk toward the far wall, toward the path which led up the mountainside and away from Sangolin.

Step by step he plodded. On his left, Reid caught sight of the remnants of the avalanche out of the corner of his eye. He passed the tunnel which led to Sangolin, trying not to look down into the black barrel of his obsession. Trying not to think about sweet Sangolin. If it called him now, he would go.

He knew that and hated himself for it. He lost himself every time he merged with Sangolin. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, and he was sick of not caring.

Now, he wanted to know himself. Something out there needs me, and I will go to it.

Reid inched his way past the entrance to Sangolin’s cavern, pushing himself, concentrating on the rock curve of the cliff beyond. Maintaining focus so that he wouldn’t think about . . .

Then he was past the tunnel and across the clearing, the sound of drums dampening behind him. He moved slowly and deliberately, trying to avoid the impulse to run. He must not attract attention to himself.

Reid reached the path, and began walking up it. He did not look behind him as he put one foot up the slope, then the other. He didn’t know how far he would have to go to get away from Sangolin’s call. He didn’t think anywhere could be far enough.

He had taken only a few steps up the path when a voice This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 