Diviner (7 page)

“Impossible to determine. We will not know until you make the attempt. Guide Exodus to the South, and I will tell you what to do when you arrive.”

“How will you get there?” Koren asked. “Since you’re blind without me, I mean.”

“As I said, I can detect every place you have been, so I will follow your trail backwards as well as utilize other scent landmarks. The guardian dragons will guide me from the barrier wall, and once I arrive at the Basilica I will use Zena as my vision host. She will be adequate for the time being.”

“I understand.” Koren imagined the staircase leading to the chamber. Of course she could go back to Exodus, but what would Brinella say? Would the original Starlighter even let her back in?

She lowered her eyes to Taushin’s face again. His expression gave away worry, as if he wasn’t sure of his plan. A wave of sympathy rose in her heart. She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek but quickly jerked it back.
No! He’s a cruel monster! Don’t let him have complete control.

Taushin spread out his wings. “Let us proceed.”

He lifted off and flew into the sky. Soon he became a black splotch in the midst of a beautiful blue canopy.

Koren frowned at the sight. Taushin was the spill of a pen, an artist’s mistake. His wickedness made him the scourge of Starlight. For generations the dragons waited for him to rise to power, selfishly hoping for a paradise—no labors, no lack of pheterone, and no pesky humans to provide for.

Letting out a sigh, she turned toward the castle. Yes, evil had awaited a greater evil, and now she had to do its bidding, or at least feign to do so. Taushin had left her here unguarded, trusting that the invisible chains she wore would keep her in line.

And he was right. She wouldn’t leave. The mysteries here were too great to abandon, and the opportunity to free her fellow slaves would be her chains. If she could keep Exodus aloft long enough, maybe Taushin really would fulfill his promise. Wasn’t it worth a try? If only the slightest chance existed, shouldn’t she make the attempt? What harm could come?

She looked again at the sky. Taushin was nowhere in sight. It felt so good to be away from him, relatively free from his influence. His hold on her had become too strong. She had very nearly shown him sympathy—that longing to touch him with tenderness had risen without a thought. Somehow she had to break loose. She had to avoid becoming a dark-hearted, fawning servant like Zena.

As she imagined the dark-eyed sorceress, a violent shudder ran through her body. She would
not
become like her! She would die first.

Koren scooped up some snow and quenched her thirst before facing the castle. With new determination firming her lips, she ascended the stairs leading to the entryway. Every step felt like walking on broken pottery. Obeying that monster grated her conscience. She would rather chew rocks, but the pain-streaked cries of her fellow slaves urged her onward.

After entering, she headed straight for the stairway and began the descent toward the star chamber. Again the whisperers assaulted her ears.

“How much gunpowder did you put in? We need enough to blow that scourge out of the sky.”

“Arxad, when you teach the new generation, do not pass on the secrets of human weaponry. They need genetics and the principles of light. Nothing more.”

“Beware. If you try to manufacture a Starlighter from the genetic code, the result could be disastrous. Allow the Creator to bring her to us at the right time.”

Koren drank in the words. Now they seemed more coherent, as if they had aligned in order to grant her knowledge. Was this Brinella’s doing? Probably not. She didn’t seem to have much control over the messages she provided. The only other option seemed to be the white dragon, but how could he send messages to Exodus?

When Koren arrived at the star chamber, she leaned over and massaged her legs. Could she take much more of this? Muscle cramps and fatigue might do her in before Taushin could.

Inside the chamber, Brinella sat in her human form, her head hanging low. An aura surrounded her, dim but noticeable. Various colors flashed across her face, new tales building up within the imprisoned Starlighter.

“I knew you would come back,” she said without looking up.

Koren stepped over to the wound and spoke into it. “How did you know?”

Brinella raised her head and aimed her stare through the hole. “I know stubbornness when I see it. You didn’t get what you wanted, so you have returned with a new scheme to obtain it.”

“Maybe I’m stubborn,” Koren said, allowing her tone to grow firm, “but maybe someone else is, too. If you would just listen to me for a minute, I could —”

“Listen to a sorceress?” Brinella straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. Indistinct images painted her face with splotches of green, purple, and red. “I should say not. If I learned anything from Alaph, it’s not to listen to a charmer’s guile.”

Koren cringed. The label hurt, but how could she protest? She really was a charmer. Still, this girl must know she was one herself. It seemed that she held out bait for Koren to take, daring her to object.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Koren gave in, hoping her gentle tone would calm Brinella’s ire. “Why do you call me a charmer? Don’t
your
gifts charm people?”

New colors, deeper and richer, turned Brinella’s face into a tapestry of royal splendor. “A charmer enthralls, hypnotizes, or distracts to get what she wants. I am a prophetess who draws people into a net of love in order to give them what they need.”

“A net?” Koren imagined Taushin casting a net over her head and dragging her away. “That sounds like just another form of slavery.”

“A Starlighter’s net draws those who already want to serve the Creator, but since they are enslaved to another master, a powerful force is necessary if they are to sever their bonds. The net bypasses all others—those who wish to stay enslaved. And there are many, though they may outwardly deny it, because it is easier to be led along by chains than it is to love and sacrifice in freedom.”

Koren cast a furtive glance at her wrists. The manacle abrasions seemed darker once again, though it might have been because of the star’s brilliant light. For some reason, Brinella’s words stung, as if they were tiny arrows aimed at Koren’s heart. “Maybe I am in chains, Brinella, and maybe my garment proves it. If that’s so, shouldn’t you help me? I want to serve the Creator, so please listen to what’s happening outside this chamber. Maybe you can tell me what to do to sever my bonds, and I will gladly submit to the net.”

Brinella kept her stare on Koren and gave her a slight nod. “Go on.”

Backing away from the hole, Koren spread out her cloak and began her story. Although Brinella, a Starlighter who distributed these tales, likely knew many of the facts, she couldn’t know Koren’s interpretation of them. At least now she might understand.

As Koren spoke, every character in her story appeared in the star chamber, fading into and out of existence as they were needed. In each scene, she played herself, taking on the pose of a slave during her labors and a prisoner during her captivity. Manacles appeared on her wrists, and chains weighed down her arms, feeling so real she could barely believe they were merely phantasms from her mind.

Finally, when she replayed the scene in which Taushin tortured her with electric shocks, the pain again shot through her body, stiffening her limbs and arching her back. Koren wailed. The agony seemed as awful as reality, like hot claws digging through to her heart and scratching her soul out of her body.

“I couldn’t escape!” Koren’s throat narrowed, pitching her voice higher as she lifted her chains and made the links jingle. “Taushin assaulted me with jolt after jolt, racking my body with unbearable pain. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t —”

“Stop!”

The sudden call jerked Koren out of her story. The pain eased. The chains and manacles faded away. As she shook out her stiff limbs, she turned toward the sphere and peered inside.

Brinella rose to her feet. “Your tale rings true. This vivid picture of slavery surely pierced my heart. As a Starlighter, I often show people images of realities they cannot comprehend because they have never witnessed them, so I should have known that rendering judgment against you without witnessing your trials was too harsh. I apologize.”

Koren bowed her head. “I accept without reservation. I understand your concern about my appearance and lack of knowledge.”

“Perhaps you can learn from my mistake and show the slaves images of freedom so they can witness what living in liberty looks like. This could inspire them to do more to counter their oppressors than merely licking their whip wounds.”

“What images?” Koren asked. “We’ve never been free.”

“Well …” Brinella glanced up, hiding her green eyes for a moment. “You could draw from days long ago when humans roamed the planet free of chains, but that might not be very effective. The people of that time will be foreign to them—dressed in odd fashions, acting in odd ways. To the humans of today, the humans of yesterday will be a different species.”

Koren tapped her chin with a finger. “But if I can show them the slaves who escaped to Darksphere —”

“Ah! Now that would be a trick!” Brinella paced in a tight circle, her fingers intertwined behind her back.

“Starlight has not seen their freedom, so you would have to draw from a different source, someone who has witnessed the events you wish to portray.” She stopped and pointed at Koren. “If you are a true Starlighter, you have that power, especially if you call for the images while standing within Exodus. If the people believe your words, their faith will bridge the gap between you and them.”

Koren imagined Jason walking straight and tall with his sword in hand. No slave on Starlight could ever display such confidence, such liberty of mind and body. Surely he could be a source for tales of freedom. “I think I understand.”

Brinella gestured toward the hole. “You may enter again, and we will see what we can do to resurrect Exodus.”

five

 

H
is back bent and his head low, Tibalt skulked through the dead flowers in the meadow leading to the portal. Fortunately, they hadn’t recovered from the poison he and Randall applied earlier, so he could trample them safely without raising their sleep-inducing aroma. A weight at each hip kept him balanced: a pouch the size of a small gourd hung from his belt at one side and a sword and scabbard at the other.

As he passed by the bottomless pit, he grasped the hilt of his sword and sneaked a glance down into the darkness. No snatchers … yet. Those smoky ghosts were nowhere in sight. Picking up his pace, he chanted a poem Pappy had taught a long time ago:

Snatchers, catchers, keep away.

You can eat another day.

Bones I am, no juice or meat.

Eat my sister, she’s a treat.

 

When he neared the hole in the ground he and Randall had cut to free the dragons from the portal chamber, he leaned over the edge and peered in. Again, no snatchers.

Kneeling, he grasped a rope Randall had tied to a hook embedded in the ground and reeled up an attached ladder. After leaning the top of the ladder against the side of the hole, he climbed down and stepped off the lowest rung to the portal room floor. Drawing his sword, he glanced around and called out in a loud whisper. “Anyone here?”

The river rushed by on one side of the chamber, drowning out his voice. The portal wall stood on the other side. Sunlight filtered in from the opening, illuminating the horizontal row of holes in the wall.

Grinning, Tibalt flexed his fingers. “This will be as easy as playing a fiddle.” As he stepped closer to the holes, he mumbled, “Not that I ever had a fiddle, but I bet I could play one.”

He pushed the fingers of his free hand into the leftmost four holes. Then, after leaning his sword against the wall, he inserted his other fingers into the remaining holes. The wall vanished, and his sword toppled into the mining chamber on Starlight. About ten paces ahead, a stone stairway led upward, but, unlike the last time he came, no light poured in from the outside. Solarus’s rays from his own world provided only enough illumination to let him know that the front part of the mining chamber—the only part he could see from Major Four—was empty.

Tibalt sniffed, then licked his lips, grimacing. No obvious odors, but extane coated his tongue with a bitter film. That stuff tasted worse than hair tonic, though why he ever tried drinking that stuff as a child he couldn’t remember.

Using his foot, he pushed the sword the rest of the way in, then jerked out his fingers and leaped into the world of Starlight. One second later, the river disappeared, replaced by three tunnels leading deeper into the mine.

After snatching up his sword, Tibalt marched toward the stairway. “I knew I could play a fiddle.”

When he reached the top, he halted and stooped low. Ahead and above the tree line, the first hint of dawn tinted the edge of the black sky with a purplish hue. The flat ground in between stretched across the gap like a tattered black cloak, dark and lumpy with protruding trees of one kind or another.

“Well,” Tibalt muttered, “if I can’t see anyone on the ground, I’ll have to watch for those flying lizards in the sky. They should be easy enough to spot.”

He loosened his pouch’s drawstring. Digging inside, he felt around for his glow stick, whispering the names of each object his fingers came across. “Apple, vial of knockout juice, sneezing powder … Ah!” He withdrew a small cylinder the size of a finger and clutched it in his fist, ready to shake it. Then he frowned. “If I carried this beacon out there, I’d be a fool lightning bug, flashing my light like an idiot. I’d get plucked like a chicken in a hurry.”

He put the glow stick back in the bag and gazed at the dawning sky. After a few minutes, the purple edges near the horizon expanded, and a dragon flew from right to left just above the treetops. Tibalt shot to his feet. That critter was fast, but if he could figure out where it landed, he would catch up in time. If not, maybe another one would come around, and he could follow it. Even though chasing dragons wasn’t exactly a good idea for someone who wanted to keep his skin intact, it was the only option available.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the dragon, Tibalt slid his sword into his scabbard and marched forward. He tripped on a protruding stone and nearly fell headlong, but, scrambling forward, he regained his balance and stopped. As he tried to catch his breath, he shook his head. “I’ll catch up, if I don’t kill myself first.”

Then, squaring his shoulders, Tibalt strode into the darkness. Somewhere out there, Jason and Elyssa needed him, and maybe a dragon would lead the way.

Jason rode low on Fellina’s back, holding his scabbard close to his thigh while gripping a spine in front. Their approach required ultimate stealth. If the wicked dragon sisters detected a human passenger, the rescue mission would end before it began. At each side, Fellina’s wings beat in a consistent rhythm, steady and strong, even as a hefty breeze from the right buffeted her body.

Sneaking a peek back, Jason watched the dragon trailing them—Xenith, a smaller female dragon who flew with the same grace and power her mother displayed. Elyssa rode low as well, nearly invisible in the darkness.

A gust knocked Fellina to the side, forcing Jason to regrip the spine. The breeze seemed cooler now, and a slight glow at the horizon signaled dawn’s approach. Fellina had provided a filling meal of bread and sweet potato paste and then insisted on waiting until morning before embarking on this journey. She explained that the dragon sisters had locked the mill’s victims in an inaccessible cage during the night and would march them to their execution shortly after dawn. Only then would it make sense to attempt a rescue. No matter the hour of the night, one of the sisters would be awake and standing guard.

In spite of his anxiety, Jason had slept a few hours on a mat in one of the cave’s tunnels while Elyssa and Madam Orley passed the night hours in the slaves’ quarters. The food and nap helped. He felt stronger than he had in a long time.

He looked back at Elyssa. In place of the lumberjack ensemble, she now wore a red vest over a white, flowing shirt with frilled cuffs at her wrists. Fellina had retrieved it from her own sleeping quarters, explaining that Arxad once brought it home from a Promotions ceremony. In earlier days, the dragons dressed up slaves for the ceremony, and this was one of the vestments.

Fellina slowed and began a descending orbit. Between wing beats, a small flame appeared on the ground, maybe a torch or a campfire. It seemed to burn at the floor of a basin, but with only the barest of light illuminating the area, the topography remained indistinct. The basin appeared to be a sinkhole in the otherwise flat terrain, with steep drops from the circular precipice.

As quiet as an owl, Fellina settled near the precipice, her left flank toward the edge. Xenith did the same at the rear, her wings lifted to hide her rider.

“Dismount immediately,” Fellina whispered, “and conceal yourself on my right.”

Jason slid off her back and dropped to the ground, touching first with his toes and bending his knees to absorb the impact. Without so much as a sound, Elyssa copied his move and hid under Xenith’s right wing. She clutched her own sword, keeping it close to her body.

“As we move toward the edge of the basin,” Fellina continued, “move with us. Mallerin and Julaz have keen eyesight and hearing, so you will have to peer around our bodies with great stealth if you wish to view the obstacles you are about to encounter.”

Fellina and Xenith shuffled to the edge and sat on their haunches, their faces toward the basin, with Xenith on the left and Fellina on the right. Jason dropped to his stomach and motioned for Elyssa to do the same. They crawled over a blend of prickly heather and pebbles until they settled against the dragons’ scaly sides, Elyssa between them, and Jason to Fellina’s right.

Once in position, Jason gazed over the rim. The dawning sun provided misty light, giving shape and depth to the basin. It appeared to be about thirty feet deep and three hundred feet in diameter. A monolith stood at the center, its top nearly as high as the basin’s rim, but lack of light kept any details from clarifying. Still, the form of a dragon stalking near the monolith’s base was clear enough. Her wings stretched out, and her mouth opened wide, as if she were yawning. As she passed by a flaming torch mounted in a bracket at the monolith’s side, her size became obvious. She was considerably larger than Fellina, at least in girth.

Jason looked to his left. Elyssa lay there with her chin propped on her folded hands, her stare locked on the scene. She would be the first to know if the dragon sisters noticed their human audience.

A shout sounded from the basin, a dragon’s voice speaking in the draconic tongue. Fellina whispered to Jason. “This is Mallerin, the older sister. She wants to know who we are and why we are here.” She then answered in a series of deep grunts and a variety of shrill whistles.

Xenith lowered her head and provided the translation. “I am Fellina, mate of Arxad. My daughter, Xenith, is here. With Taushin’s rise to power now a reality, I wish for Xenith to witness the consequences of human rebellion so that she can employ the appropriate passion when warning the slaves in our domain.”

“We grind rebels, to be sure,” Mallerin replied, “but will she be able to tolerate the disposal of useless slaves?”

“Warning slaves to be industrious should carry the same passion,” Fellina said. “This is reality, and Xenith is of age.”

“So be it.” Flapping her wings and carrying a whip, Mallerin skittered to the right along the basin floor until she reached the wall, where, with sunlight now streaming in, a large hole had become apparent. Blocked by a gate made up of a matrix of slats, it appeared to be a prison cell.

Mallerin blew a jet of fire at the side of the gate until it popped ajar. Then, using her wing, she swung it outward. “Come forth!” she called, this time speaking the human language. “Or you will be cooked where you stand.”

Jason shifted his gaze back to the monolith, now clearer in the brighter light. A ladder in front led to the top where a hole lay open, wide enough for humans to enter. Near the base of the monolith, a wheel was mounted against the left side, similar to a sailing vessel’s steering wheel, though only a single handle protruded outward.

“The grinding wheel,” Jason whispered.

Elyssa glanced his way. With her brow furrowed deeply, she needed no words. The details were all too clear. The victims had to climb to the top of the monolith and drop into the hole. Then the dragon would turn the wheel and grind their bodies.

A loud crack sounded. Jason jerked around. With another crack, Mallerin snapped her whip across a muscular man’s bare shoulders. Dressed only in short trousers, the man led a procession of humans. A girl followed, her long hair tied in a rope in the back and her ribs clearly visible on her narrow frame. Dressed in the same manner as the man, she lowered her head as she inched along, her hands wringing.

“The girl is a slave from the cattle camp,” Fellina whispered. “She was likely too weak to fight for the morsels, so she became malnourished and failed to enter puberty. Now too old to remain in the camp, she went unclaimed by the Breeders. The only option is to grind her into bait, which the guardian dragons use to lure dangerous beasts into traps. We cannot afford to lose the stronger slaves to the jaws of wild animals.”

Jason kept his stare on the line, hoping Fellina’s voice was low enough to prevent the dragon sisters from hearing her explanation in the human tongue.

Two adolescent boys trailed in the procession, walking with a fully clothed man between them. One of the boys appeared to lack a lower leg and used a hefty stick to keep from falling. The other boy crossed a withered arm over his stomach, while the man walked with a slight limp.

Jason rose up a little, squinting. Could it be?

“Your father,” Elyssa whispered. “No doubt about it.”

A growl erupted unbidden, spicing his low reply. “I can’t wait any longer. I have to rescue my father.”

“Patience,” Fellina warned. “Our only chance will come when he is atop the grinding tower. You will ride on my back, and we will pluck him from the top. With enough speed and with the advantage of surprise, we should be able to avoid an attack from the sisters.”

Jason nodded at Mallerin. “But there is only one of them and two of you. Can’t we try to rescue all the humans?”

“Julaz will come. She would never miss a grinding.” Fellina let out a sigh. “Look to the left. Even now she emerges.”

A second dragon appeared from a cave on the opposite side, batting her wings just enough to scoot her hefty body toward the stone. When she arrived, she stood close to the wheel and waited, using a wing to stroke her shimmering scales, reddish in the rising sun.

“If we attack at their level,” Fellina continued, “the two of them will easily defeat us, and I will not subject Xenith to such a battle.”

“I am not afraid of them,” Xenith said, her own growl emphatic. “I can —”

“Silence!” Fellina cleared her throat and lowered her voice again. “When I fly with Jason to pick up his father, it will be your duty to distract them. Stay out of fire range. If they give chase, hurry with Elyssa to our refuge. I know for certain that you are faster than they, even with a passenger.”

A proud tone flavored Xenith’s reply. “Neither one of those fat hens can keep me in view.”

“Remember humility,” Fellina said, though her chastisement carried the same proud tone. “Your speed will serve you well as long as the Creator is pleased with your spirit.”

As the slaves approached the grinding stone, Jason tried to calm his heart. If they had to wait for his father to climb to the top before launching into the basin to pluck him from the stone, their timing had to be perfect.

The victims continued a slow march. The girl behind the lead man dragged her feet. Edison Masters, as well as his escorts, faced straight ahead, marching like mindless animals.