Tarke studied the seamless diamond walls with growing despondency. He had walked around the chamber twice, searching for a flaw, but had found none. Not that he had really expected to; it had been a vague hope, nothing more. He could not blame the girl for their predicament; he had urged her to tunnel into this room, and they would not have been able to enter it any other way, as it turned out. They might have been able to contact Scrysalza’s fading sentience from the outside, however, which would have been a lot safer.
For two hours now, nothing had changed. The blood beasts still sent a vague pink glow into the chamber, making him hope the Ship still clung to life, if only to release them from this prison. Then again, if it had been able to, surely it would have done so by now. Perhaps it needed to gather power, and was occupied with this. He sighed and scratched the mask’s hood, the dried fluid making his scalp itch. If he got out of this, he was going to have a long hot bath back on Scimarin.
A soft swish made him swing around as something fell from the roof and landed in the centre of the chamber. He went over to see what it was. A length of blue ganglion lay on the floor, its severed end bubbling as if it had been seared through with a laser. He looked up at where it must have hung from the roof, intruding into Scrysalza’s brain like a cancerous growth, controlling it with pain. Why had it dropped off now? Was the Envoy’s flesh rotting so quickly?
A whisper of telepathic joy touched his mind. The walls were coming alive with light, filling with bright sparkles at an incredible speed, becoming a mass of shimmering, multi-coloured brilliance. The Ship had returned, and its energy flooded back into the chamber. Already he could sense the static charge rising in the air. Streams of sparkling energy swirled around the room, the beginnings of the vast, powerful mind that would soon fill it. His disquiet grew as the implications became horrible conclusions.
“Oh, shit.”
Tarke ran to the sleeping girl, slipping on the glassy floor. Skidding to a stop, he fell to his knees and shook her. She opened her eyes with a groan, then gasped and sat up, looking around in confusion. Realisation dawned on her sleep-fogged mind, and she grinned.
“It’s alive!”
“Yes, and it’s going to kill us if it doesn’t let us out.”
“Oh.” Her smile faded, and her eyes glazed as she communed with the Ship.
Already the light around them was difficult to look at, its hard brilliance stabbing Tarke’s eyes. His hair rose under the hood, itching like crazy. Static discharges snapped and crackled from the roof as the air filled with more and more power.
Rayne called to the Ship, finding it preoccupied. It had returned from the brink of oblivion, at great cost to itself, and some pain, but now that it was back, it rejoiced. It revelled in its newfound freedom, and its power surged back into it, reviving it. Its link with the first dimension fed it vast amounts of energy, replacing that which it had lost in the third dimension, and the rest, which it had shed prior to its near death.
Scrysalza filled itself again, and enjoyed the resurgence. Gone was its apathy and resignation; now it was glad to be alive. She tried to get it to stay still long enough to explain their predicament, but it gambolled around her mind like a frolicsome foal testing unsteady legs. For several minutes she despaired of getting through to it, then her insistence made it pause long enough for her to ask it to release them.
Scrysalza was surprised and amused, assuring her that they were in no danger. It would be hours before the energy levels within its brain became dangerous. Also, it had not forgotten its friends; after all, that was why it had returned. It needed to gather a little more power before it could move them, it explained, and she slumped with relief.
Rayne became aware of the sparkling maelstrom in which she now stood. A blizzard of glittering motes of fire whirled around them, and she had never seen anything so beautiful. Static discharges illuminated the storm with sporadic flashes of blue or green, and the light from the diamond walls was almost blinding.
“It’s going to move us soon,” she said, sensing the storm twitch at her words.
Tarke nodded, and then light enveloped her, forcing her to shut her eyes. The hot brilliance faded, and she staggered a little in a far weaker gravity. Shaking her head to clear the dancing spots from her eyes, she squinted and peered around. Tarke appeared less affected than her, and she guessed that the mask’s tinted visor filtered out the more dangerous light. She sat on the ground and rubbed her eyes.
They were in the bizarre fantasy land of one of Scrysalza’s air chambers. The scenery was the sort of thing a child might dream up, with frothy green moss and weird growths sprouting from a landscape that travelled up the walls. Mist hid the distances, and warm winds blew from nearby tunnels, carrying musty scents of damp and rot. Vapour settled on Tarke, dewing his clothes with tiny pearls of water. Rayne stood up and pulled off the shirt he had given her.
He held out his hand for the garment. “Where are we now?”
“In one of its breathing chambers.” She held the shirt behind her back. “You look better in what you’re wearing.”
Tarke glanced down at his form-hugging tunic, which revealed every well-defined contour of his torso. “This is underwear.”
Rayne giggled at his indignant tone, her mood buoyant, her worries vanished with the danger. The last of her aches and pains had healed in her sleep, which had also lessened her fatigue, and the Ship’s miraculous recovery lifted her spirits. A nagging emptiness still plagued her, but she was becoming used to it, and the touch of the Ship’s mind had infected her with its child-like delight. Most of all, she was aware that her time with the Shrike was running out, and soon they would go their separate ways. In a desperate bid to forget that, she dared to flirt with him.
“You’re a prude,” she said. “Don’t you want to wash off this dried gunk? There’s a lake further up this chamber, full of clean water.”
“I prefer the privacy of my ship, and hot water.”
“You’ve got a thing about privacy, don’t you? Scrysalza is still gathering its power. I doubt it’s going to send us back to our ships until it has. In the meantime, we might as well enjoy this place. There may be no food, but we can drink the water, and I can heal your wounds.” She motioned to the dried blood on his trousers.
“I’m okay, and I’m sure the Ship will send us back if we ask it to.”
“I’m in no hurry. Are you going to ask it?”
“If I must,” he said.
“Then I’ll ask it not to. I was its friend before you. Who do you think it’s going to listen to?”
“You’re being silly.”
“And you’re being a grump.” She walked away, gaily waving his shirt.
Tarke followed her after a moment. Two flashes of light nearby made her jump, and she turned to find his sword and the fighting blade lying on the moss. Scrysalza was cleaning house, it seemed, and she did not doubt that its clean-up crews were even now dissecting the Envoy’s remains while its soldiers dispatched the females. Tarke picked up the weapons, sheathed his sword and hung the fighting blade over his shoulder by its straps.
Rayne sat beside a clear, sparkling lake and scooped up handfuls to slake her thirst. He squatted nearby and did the same, studying the weird scenery. In the distance, a strange, crab-like creature trundled along the wall, a bunch of something brown in its claws.
She said, “I’m going to have a bath. Care to join me?”
“No. I’ll just have my shirt back.”
She flung the garment into the lake. “Fetch!” The shirt sank, and he jumped up when she started to undo her suit. She giggled at his reaction. “Are you going to watch?”
“No.” Tarke spun on his heel and walked away.
Rayne watched him leave with regret and puzzlement, longing to run after him. She wanted a bath quite desperately, however, her hair stiff with dried slime, her skin and clothes coated in it. Although it had no smell, it itched. She stripped and waded into the tepid water, diving under to soak her hair. The lake was quite shallow, and she scrubbed her clothes as well, emerging refreshed.
Tarke sat with his back to a column of pink crystal topped with a bright yellow flower-like cup.
She flopped down next to him and held out his wet shirt. “I washed it.”
He took it and pulled it on. “Thank you.”
“You’re not normal, are you?”
“What’s normal?”
“You know...”
His head turned towards her briefly. “You mean I don’t react to your flirting. No. But then, I’m not human. If you knew more about my people, you wouldn’t act like that.”
“You mean they were all prudes?”
“Yes; absolutely.”
“Did I offend you?”
He shook his head. “I just wouldn’t advise you to act like that around human or Atlantean men.”
She plucked a handful of moss and dissected it. “You said I could stay with you if I had a good enough reason. What would you call a good enough reason?”
“You really should think up your own.”
“Oh, I will. I just need an example.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Now I’ll never believe you.”
“Just tell me. What can it hurt? I know you won’t let me get close to you, anyway. Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Yes, you are.” She smiled, concentrating on the moss. “I just want to know what it would take to get your attention.”
“You have my attention.”
“But not your sympathy.”
“Ah.” He sounded relieved for some reason. “Well, if you were an outlaw, being hunted by the authorities, I might consider taking you on. Or if you were a slave, and I freed you, I might consider employing you.”
“I was almost a slave, and you rescued me.”
“Almost isn’t good enough.”
“So I have to have one of those things.” She gestured to her throat. “You know; a collar.”
“Something like that.”
She pulled a face. “I think I’d rather be an outlaw.”
“It’s a dangerous life.”
“I’ve had one of those for years.”
He appeared to stare into the distance, presenting her with the mask’s strange profile.
She sighed. “I suppose you’ll be taking your ship back, when you go.”
“Keep it.”
“I can’t do that. It’s far too valuable.”
He shrugged. “I have plenty more. I don’t need it.”
“Thanks. I guess I can use it to come and see you in five hundred years’ time, when you keep your promise.”
“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“I hate liars.”
He plucked at the moss. “I’m sorry about that. At the time, I almost meant it, but I didn’t think we’d survive. You’ll probably get to see me when Tallyn catches me one day. Doubtless he’ll display my corpse on the council steps, as he did the others.”
Rayne shuddered. “I wouldn’t want to see that.”
“It would satisfy your curiosity, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought we were friends. I like to look into a person’s eyes when I speak to them. It’s not just curiosity. I don’t really care what you look like. It doesn’t matter if you’re ugly.”
He chuckled. “That’s comforting.”
“But you’re not, are you?”
“I’m not purple with green spots, no.”
“Would you take it off if I held a laser to your head?”
He laughed. “No.”
“You’d rather die?”
“You wouldn’t kill me.”
She shredded the moss in irritation. “Are we friends?”
“If you want.”
“What would it take?”
He turned to look at her, the mask glittering. “Even my most trusted people don’t know what I look like. It’s not about trust. From time to time, my enemies try to learn my secrets by kidnapping my people and prying into their minds with powerful telepaths. Once, a close advisor had to remove my mask while I was unconscious, after I had been injured. I had a head injury, so he had no choice.” He plucked more moss. “I had his memory wiped, for his safety.”
“Why would your enemies want to kill you if they knew what you look like?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
As she pondered her next question, she sensed the gentle brush of Scrysalza’s mind, asking her if she was ready to leave. The Ship was in no hurry, it said, but the people outside were growing worried. Rayne assured it that she was not ready to leave yet, and it withdrew to attend to other business. When she looked at Tarke again, he faced her, and she sensed that he was watching her.
“The Ship’s ready to send us back, isn’t it?” he asked.
“No,” she lied. “It just wanted to ask me something.”
He stood up. “Well, I’m ready to go.”
“No, wait.” She jumped up and grabbed his arm. “I want to talk to you some more.”
“There’s nothing more to say. I’ll never answer your endless questions about my secrets, and our work here is done. Go back to Atlan and enjoy your fame. Forget about me.”
“What about Tallyn?”
“He can’t catch me aboard Scimarin.” He pulled free. “Scrysalza, I’m ready to go.”
“We could talk about something else. You can’t just go, so soon, after everything we’ve been through together. Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does, but it’s over now. There’s nothing left to say.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“I’m sorry, Rayne.”
A sheath of white light engulfed him, and when it faded, he was gone. She sank down in the moss, a terrible numbness stealing over her as she stared at the place where he had stood. His departure drained her joy and let in the howling emptiness of the void the Envoy had left in her mind. Doors to blank spaces opened, letting in the unimaginable loneliness of one who has been to the brink of death and returned. She would never see him again. Tears ran down her face as her mind grew cold and distant. He was the reason she had returned, and clung to life when she should have died. His promise had held her in this cruel world, but he had broken it and left her alone with the mental abyss of the Envoy’s scars, which threatened to swallow her.
Scrysalza brushed her mind with alien concern, sensing the loss that caused her sorrow and the growing blankness inside her head. It rushed in to heal the damage, closed doors that let in the shadows and sealed them with soft light. It filled the emptiness with fluffy pinkness, a blank something on which she could write her thoughts. Frivolous, mundane ideas replaced the howling void in her head, simple thoughts that blocked the threatening dimness, banishing it to wait behind the sealed doors that led to the nothingness beyond. She wiped away her tears as Scrysalza’s soothing presence dulled the pain like ointment on a wound.
The Ship knew all about pain. Its life thus far had been filled with it, yet it had survived. So would she, it assured her, and she would grow stronger from the suffering, just as the Ship had done. The scars the Envoy had inflicted on Scrysalza were healing, and, as before, it forgave the abuse quickly; already the memory of his domination faded. Rayne’s scars were deeper, however, and permanent. It warned her never to look behind the doors or court unhappiness that would erode the seals of light it had put on them. Just as Rayne healed flesh, the Ship could heal minds, and it had done its best for her.
It also warned her of the deep scars it had found in the man-thing’s mind, which had never truly healed. Rayne’s reliance upon him was dangerous, the Ship said. He was a broken staff; to lean on him was to court calamity. It urged her to find someone who was reliable, dependable and most of all, sane. Rayne agreed, since the advice was unnecessary, but sounded good. She would never see him again. The Ship made her promise to obey it before it turned its attention to other things.
It was eager to return to its home, and a brief leap into the first dimension would transport it there. Rayne was reluctant to let it go; its loss, so soon after Tarke’s, would only compound her sorrow. Scrysalza offered to take her with it, and she gazed around the vast breathing chamber with its soft breezes and gossamer mist, wondering what it would be like to live in this strange environment.
The Ship told her it could provide whatever she wished, and its kin would be delightfully curious about her. Rayne would be trapped within it, however, unable to see the wonders outside, or to appreciate the places it took her. She was fond of Scrysalza, but a gulf of cultural and species differences yawned between them. No, she decided, she must return to her own kind and make a life amongst them. Should the Ship ever return, however, she would welcome it as her friend.
Their leave taking was long and heartfelt, steeped in the kind of sorrow that cannot be expressed in words. Unlike Tarke’s abrupt, cold departure, Scrysalza left her in no doubt of its sadness, which made their parting that much harder to bear. She would always blame him for leaving, but she could only share the Ship’s grief and give it her own. When the sheath of light released her on Shadowen’s bridge, her eyes stung with fresh tears. She sank onto her chair and stared out at the massive crystalline entity that was her friend, hardly hearing Shadowen’s soft greeting.
The beams of brilliance that lanced from the Crystal Ship’s wings to slash space no longer seemed alien and threatening, but merely majestic and beautiful. The Ship hung like a huge, scintillating jewel against the inky backdrop, outshining the stars, its filigree wings of crystal radiance spread to catch the sun’s light. Its wings folded and shrank as the vast crystal spears slid back into its body. Rayne ignored the space line’s chiming, transfixed by the Ship’s alien splendour, feasting her eyes on it in the last moments before it vanished.
It departed with startling suddenness. A shell of Net energy engulfed its light for a moment, then it winked out of existence like a star in the dawn sky. A ripple of warped space swept from it and rolled away, leaving the area empty. Rayne bit her lip, fighting the tears that threatened to overflow again, and ordered Shadowen to answer the space line.
Tallyn appeared on it, looking worried but triumphant. He smiled, his black eyes studying her. “Are you all right?”
She returned his smile, glad his first question at least showed some concern. “Just tired.”
“We were starting to worry. The Shrike left over an hour ago.”
“Did he? And you let him go?” She clicked her tongue in feigned disapproval.
“It didn’t seem like an appropriate time.”
“I should think not. I had some unfinished business, that’s all.”
Tallyn’s triumphant smile widened. “You did it.”
“I had help.”
“But you killed it.”
“Not exactly. It’s a long story, and I’m really tired. I’d like to rest before I face an enquiry, okay? The Ship’s returned to its galaxy, and Atlan’s safe.”
Tallyn nodded, trying to hide his disappointment rather unsuccessfully, and she broke the connection. She sighed and leant back, gazing at the stars.
“What I need right now, Shadowen, is to sleep for a week.”
“Feel free,” the ship replied.
Rayne rose and stumbled to her cabin, where she flung herself down on the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.