Zein: The Homecoming (19 page)

‘You can’t extinguish that goodness, that inbuilt reaction to do the right thing,’ said Hechkle, emotion
creeping into his voice. ‘I, you and many people owe our lives to Tyson, and we will find him.’ Amelia smiled and wrapped her arms around his and rubbed his shoulder, thanking him for the kind words. A faint blush spread on Hechkle’s cheeks but he didn’t pull away. They sat like that for a while; each with their own thoughts, knowing that over the next few days’ events would test them to the full, taking comfort in the presence of each other.

Tyson sat quietly in his cell. A few hours had passed with plenty of food and water on supply, curing his hunger pains. Wernion stood guard facing the open door not engaging with Tyson’s attempts to talk with him. The power of the young human’s magics was eroded by his surroundings, but his ability to enter people’s thoughts was undiminished. He concentrated hard and allowed his mind to reach out and connect with all living things in his immediate radius.

He first encountered Wernion who was playing back what he had heard in the Ceremony Hall and he saw that his guard was confused about what he believed in. Then Tyson picked up thoughts from other brethren, feeling the fear and apprehension and realising that some great event was occurring which was sending shockwaves through the community.

Tyson listened hard and found mainly older female and children’s voices. Very few older males. He experienced fear and trepidation, a mother soothing a crying child who called for her father, only to receive no reply.

Odd, what was happening?

He searched for senior brethren but there were none. He tried the Queen but Festilion was impenetrable, surrounded by a curtain of seeming invisibility, which not
even Zylar exuded. Tyson had never experienced so much power in anyone he had met so far in his travels.

It was during this wide search for information that on the outskirts of his ability he sensed a different mind-set. Some thoughts resembled those of the Pod but were different. He sensed the strong magics within them. Tyson then picked up Zeinonians’ thoughts who were accompanying a small force, similar to…yes the Changeling…like Zebulon.

He pushed his mind hard and picked up their leader, who was similar to Zebulon and on the same wavelength, same strength of purpose but subtly different. A hatred. A hatred that was so intense it hurt Tyson. He let out a stifled grunt as the strong personality pushed back on him. He rocked back and forward in his seated position.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Wernion, jumping into the cell. He saw Tyson with his head in his hands. His face was creased up in pain. Tyson didn’t answer. He was busy extracting his mind from the powerful grip of the leader of the group.

‘You are all in danger.’ It had been a painful experience but it yielded a disturbing piece of information.

Wernion felt the worry emanating from Tyson. He tasted it, all his body sensitive to the surroundings around him.

Tyson’s body tightened. ‘You have the magics?’

‘We all have the magics. We are the magics,’ said Wernion.

‘No, you have taken it further. You have already changed,’ said Tyson carefully as he probed the tall Pod’s mind. Wernion wore an uncomfortable look on his face.

‘You can tell me?’ cajoled Tyson. He licked his lips as the taste of the magics cascaded over him from the young Pod as he released his secret he had kept from his father.

‘I wanted to know what it felt like,’ said Wernion, scuffing his bare foot against the ground as a naughty child would when found doing something they shouldn’t.

‘What felt like?’

‘The magics of course, letting it, and allowing it to live with you, inside,’ Wernion said quietly and with an element of regret.

‘You didn’t like what you found, did you?’

Wernion shook his head.

‘Instead of you controlling it, it is controlling you?’

‘Yes, I thought I could but I feel it growing inside me. Stretching and magnifying everything around me,’ said Wernion, uncomfortably as he rubbed his stomach.

‘I know the feeling, Wernion,’ said Tyson, seeing his gaoler for the first time in a new light, now understanding what had attracted him to this tall creature. They were kin, of sorts.

‘You have to let me go.’ Tyson stood up and Wernion, who had inched into the cell, suddenly realised his surroundings and his duty.

‘No, I can’t, my father would never forgive me.’ Wernion stood in his way, blocking his escape, hopping from one foot to another, clearly agitated and fighting inner conflicts of his role guarding the prisoner clashing against his liking of this strange alien in front of him. His confusion flooded across his features. Tyson repressed his impatience, knowing instinctively that he needed this creatures support. You didn’t win support by force; well, not the kind he needed now.

‘Something is happening, Wernion, there is a group of Changelings and Zeinonians approaching your brethren. They mean to poison the water and kill you all.’ He had his attention now.

‘They can’t do that!’

‘Why not? Your kind has attacked the Zeinonians’ sites with impunity,’ said Tyson, challenging the young Pod’s defence.

‘We only did that to protect ourselves.’

Tyson decided he needed to share what he was hearing with Wernion to provide the necessary wakeup call. Decision made, Tyson deflected the horrific thoughts of the leader of the group now making its way closer and closer to its final destination. The thoughts hit Wernion like a runaway train and if he could go pale then now was the time. His hands shook as he heard of the plan from the thoughts collated by Tyson.

‘Let me go? I can stop them.’

‘No, no, I can’t,’ Wernion refused but the unpleasant thoughts he was passed by Tyson’s nimble brain, hurt him, cut him deep – threats to his family and friends in an organised genocide. In despair he gave his acquiescence to the request.

‘Good, you have done the right thing,’ said Tyson as he stood up and moved to the front of the cell. As he approached the front entrance, Wernion stood in his way forcing Tyson to stop in his tracks. Tyson let out a frustrated yell.

‘Move out of my way, Wernion.’

‘I am going with you.’ It was a statement not a request.

‘Your father wouldn’t forgive you,’ said Tyson, looking up at the fearsome creature.

‘Too late anyway, I can’t hide my magics anymore. The Queen will pick it up and I will be executed in accordance with our law,’ Wernion replied. ‘At least allow me to save my family and friends?’

Tyson thought for a moment and then agreed. It would be useful to have someone with him who knew the tunnels. He told Wernion the direction from which he had heard the voice. The young Pod predicted roughly where the strike-force were; it would not be long before they reached the reservoir. They set off down the adjoining corridor
until they reached the main interlinked Pod grid. Wernion leaned into a closet built into the rock. He pulled out two large coats, like raincoats. Tyson was puzzled.

‘We have to pass through the Mygolwich to intercept them.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Mygolwich in our tongue means “Provider of Life”.’ When Wernion saw the confused look still on his new companion’s face he elaborated. ‘It is where the liquid that sustains us collects. It comes from the winter and what you call the reflection period, channelling down into ancient deep pools.’ Tyson now understood, what he was describing was the reservoir. At that point they emerged into a huge cavern that stretched for miles. The silent, still, expressionless water lay as far as the eye could see. High above the water the huge stalactites hung menacingly from the rock ceiling, each one the size of an inverted electricity pylon, yet still they seemed well into the distance, such was the cavernous height of the natural ceiling. Moisture dripped into the lake, causing small ripples where it entered into the embrace of its fellow droplets. The water lapped up gently onto a shore strewn with fine black sand. The whole picture was breath-taking and Tyson stood at the entrance of one of what were many tunnels into this great hall of nature.

Suddenly, Wernion grabbed Tyson by the collar of his raincoat and pulled him back into the tunnel and thrust him into an alcove. Tyson’s anger flared and then he saw a patrol materialise out of the murkiness. Twelve strong, no weapons except the vicious claws that Tyson had come to respect. The patrol moved with easy strides as they swept the end of the cavern for any threat.

‘The patrols are weak tonight,’ said Wernion, watching his brethren undertake a task that he had completed
many times in the past. They moved past them and then disappeared down one of the other tunnels. He saw the puzzlement on Tyson’s face from his comment. ‘I thought you could read minds!’

‘Usually, but the closeness of this ore and water seem to be suppressing it,’ said Tyson, ruefully.

Wernion didn’t answer immediately as he scanned the nearest reaches of the cavern for any other patrols. Assessing it was relatively safe to assume that there were no other patrols in close proximately, he explained his point.

‘They are massing to attack the Aeria Cavern tonight,’ said Wernion, quietly, still concerned that they may run into a patrol.

‘I need to get back. My friends are there.’

‘Many of my friends will die tonight, but we need to halt these people coming to kill my people,’ Wernion’s eyes flashed. Tyson knew he was right.

‘Where next, alien?’ Wernion growled.

Tyson ignored the barbed comment and looked at the different corridors. He fed his magic out. It licked the floor, walls and the rocks as it tried to penetrate the suffocating stillness.

The ore was overpowering. It combatted, fought against his magics. It seemed to resent his power. Tyson was rebuffed, once, twice and then he subtly shifted his mind and began to merge with the ore. He felt it enter his mind, getting used to his alien DNA. He began to realise that the ore was not a mineral but a living organism.

He gasped.

‘What?’ Wernion had seen the strange expression form on Tyson’s face.

‘It, it’s alive…,’ Tyson spluttered. Wernion smiled, his fangs poking out across his bottom lip.

‘Took you long enough, alien.’

Tyson swallowed hard.

‘Don’t you get it?’ said a now serious Wernion, ‘Why do we fight against the magics? Why do we fear the Malefics?’ Tyson shook his head, still taking in the recent information.

‘The ore is the first indigenous race of Zein – we evolved after and you are all aliens here and it resents that,’ said Wernion. ‘When the Malefics immersed themselves in the ore magics they became the host, living long and not having their own identity.’

Tyson recognised the truth of this feeling. He felt the magics gnawing away at his very soul but somehow his body fought back.

‘But we have this same ore on our planet which we never knew about. Are you saying that we are aliens on our own planet? We evolved there, it has been proven.’

Wernion shook his head. ‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘We evolved on Zein in close proximity to methir. We became one with our surroundings and accepted methir for what it was; a powerful living organism. It sounds like you grew and changed with the planet with very little contact with the mineral you call “zinithium”. That’s different.’ He then paused as if countering his first thought. ‘Mind you ask yourself the question who evolved first?’

Tyson was quiet for a moment. ‘If we choose to, though, we could leverage the magics this ore or organism produces?’ Wernion shrugged, not altogether interested in what may or may not happen on a distant planet. For Tyson it was a momentous issue. If the humans understood the great magics they could tap into, would they reject the chance of power due to the side effects? He knew the answer, magics first, worry about anything else second.

Wernion tugged his arm. He switched back to his study of what was around them. He picked up the Changelings and Zeinonians and pointed to a corridor off the great
reservoir. Carefully they made their way to the entrance, keeping a wary eye out for any patrols. Tyson’s coat dragged on the floor but he ignored it. The coat worked, keeping the condensation and constant drops of water from soaking him to the skin.

The corridor was flanked by rough granite rock with flaming torches in holders lighting the way. They had travelled around half a mile in the dull spectre of the poorly illuminating torches until they stumbled into a break in the corridor where four tunnels met. They could hear voices emitting from a tunnel to the left of their tunnel, sound echoing against the bleak rock walls that glistened with water from the natural coldness of the stone. Wernion reached across Tyson’s chest and pushed him into the wall. Their position enabled them to see into the converging intersection and the three separate entrances. It was the one with the sound growing louder and louder that drew their attention and they saw the flickering light from a torch expand as the semi-darkness was consumed.

Tyson waited as he felt a strong surge of power in the magics and a quick glance at Wernion confirmed that he had felt it as well. It was menacing, not as dark from what Tyson had felt from Zylar but twisted, unrelenting and with a stone cold certainty to it. Tyson felt intimidated for the first time since he had experienced the magics affecting him. He wanted to run away but the strong arm of Wernion held him in place. Tyson felt the flare of the magics grow in him and his hands began to emit the comforting blue glow. The force-field wrapped around his arms and lazily travelled up his forearms. Wernion’s arm was beginning to struggle to hold the power in his grasp. Tyson felt Wernion’s fear at the strength of the magics inside his human companion.

The raiding party stepped into the cross section. Tyson heard Wernion gasp and he followed his gaze to the strange creature that stood regally at the front of the small group. He was a man but not like any other Tyson had seen. The flickering light of the torches caught his unusually coloured eyes, which shone in the semi-darkness.

Tyson drew in a deep breath as he remembered the Fathom clan members in the Core and their blank white eyes. His dread dissipated quickly. This was different. He felt an attraction, caused by the magics, to this powerful figure and the magics were also present in the other, similar creatures, he was with. He noted the different coloured tunics of the soldiers and there was a beautiful young woman talking in whispers to a vain, sallow looking man. A couple of the soldiers carried rucksacks that clinked with whatever was within them.

It was not Tyson that gave up their pitiful hiding place. Wernion suddenly pushed Tyson away and charged towards the commanding figure at the head of the raiding party. Tyson picked up what Wernion must have felt that this creature had come to destroy the Pod; the magics could not hide the drive and ambition of mass death which flooded the pores of this creature.