Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals Page 27

  Orli wrinkled up her pretty face. “You mean the little wound-up palm-trees thing with the spinning lid?”

  “The very same.”

  Chapter 32

  Pernie’s hands trembled as she tried to pour the oleander extract into the small glass vial. Adding to her difficulty, she could hardly see. She’d been dizzy since, well, pretty much ever since the first dose of the stuff three months back. The poison had been Seawind’s bitter antidote to sugar-shrimp joy apparently. She knew that wasn’t exactly true, but the timing of his announcing it was time for her to build “immunity” sure coincided with that day of sweet discovery. All she knew for certain was that it made her feel sick most of the time. And the world got to tilting and whirling sometimes. But it wasn’t as bad as it was yesterday, and that had been better than the day before. And so on.

  The oleander oil was the last to go in as she mixed it. They called it Fayne Gossa, which translated roughly to “the flavors of nine hells.” Djoveeve said it was “all poisons and none,” whatever that meant. They’d taught her how to mix it herself a month after they’d started giving it to her. She hated that they made her take it, but it thrilled her to see it at work. They only gave her the barest portions to practice with, at least at first, but recently they’d let her have as much of it as she wanted to take with her when she went out exploring on her own.

  She’d taken to trying it out on the way to the beaches she haunted, finding things to kill with it simply to watch it work. So, as she often did, out she went into the jungle intent on having a bit of fun with it again. She started small at first, coating her knife blade and flipping it through the air at a little monkey climbing in a tree. She aimed for its back leg carefully, wanting the poison to do the work, and of course by now her aim was startling—“The truest sort of killer you are,” Djoveeve had said to her one day, “forged by the old gods, no doubt.” So the monkey fell, and Pernie ran over to watch it. It flopped down on its back and stared up at her, little brown eyes wide, its mouth opening and closing, as if gasping for air, or perhaps wanting to scream in agony. But no sound came out. The poison was wonderful that way. The extract of cottonwood was for that, the essence of muffling, augmented of course by elven magic. Its little gray limbs twitched, tiny black fingers opening and closing like a little beggar after alms, its mouth opening and closing as well. Pernie cocked her little head and studied it, her own mouth moving to mirror what she saw, shaping its unspoken words until finally it was still, looking now into eternity through wide, staring eyes. Death was interesting enough, she supposed, but dying was spellbinding.

  She jerked her arms out of the big pack she wore on her back, and threw open the flap. Tipping it over, she dumped Knot out, the insect rolling out in a ball. Pernie sent it a thought to uncurl it, and sent after that thought the idea of food, projecting an image of the little monkey lying there. Knot unwound hastily and in moments had sucked out the monkey’s eyes.

  Still needing to walk given her dizziness, she sent a telepathic poke into the insect’s mind again, the promise of pain, and it rolled right back up again. She almost never had to hurt it anymore. Which was good. She didn’t like being mean.

  She rolled him back into her pack and put it on again. Djoveeve said carrying him around was good for her and would make her strong. She told the old assassin that she would do so, but the truth was, she was too unstable to ride him very well these days anyway. The poison put her in a perpetual cloud of semi-nausea and random waves of vertigo. She didn’t want to admit to being weak. She was too close to the test now. If she could kill the orc, she could go home.

  She hated to admit it to herself, but she was losing hope for finding a suitable sea mount. She’d spent months and months chasing creatures around, teleporting across the water at them—teleporting out of their teeth sometimes (oh, how saltwater did sting when something bit into her)—but never finding one with mind enough and magic enough to properly communicate.

  She would have asked Djoveeve why that was, for the creatures on land with magic were certainly abundant enough, but she didn’t want help for that. She was Sava’an’Lansom, and they kept telling her that she “must find the way” for everything. “That is your great power,” Seawind said time and time again.

  But she didn’t think she was going to find a way to find a sea creature anymore. At least not with her whole heart. And the time was getting close for killing the orc. She would kill it with her new poison. Or at least, she would once she could see straight again.

  She pulled her knife out of the monkey’s leg and wiped the blood off on its fur. After carefully coating the tip and edges with Fayne Gossa again, she pushed the knife back into its sheath. She headed onward, this time to a beach well north of the little network of caves she’d been living in since coming here, the little network of caves that seemed only to hold herself and Djoveeve, and Seawind when he came. She never saw any other elves, only the hunters when they showed up, but that was only occasionally now. Once a month. And never anyone new.

  She still hadn’t seen a woman among them, not a girl of any kind. It was as if there were no female elves at all. Only Djoveeve stood for her sex here, and she would tell Pernie nothing about the lady elves. Nothing. As if it were some deep, dark secret to be guarded from everyone, even the Sava’an’Lansom. Some bodyguard Pernie would be if they didn’t tell her anything.

  She came upon a narrow animal trail that would take her up a long incline. It led to a particular cliff that she intended to climb down and gain access to a hard-to-reach beach. She’d seen a number of large, horned manatee-like creatures down there a few times before, and she thought she might try taming one of them.

  She scrambled up the trail and was just about to leap over a few groping lengths of vile ivy, the name earned for its painful acidic burn, when a single pop of a twig sent her diving under it instead. The rotting-meat stench of the latakasokis’ breath blasted her as its giant teeth snapped shut with a mighty clack—right where her head had been a half instant before.

  She looked up long enough to see it towering above her, a bipedal dragon, the same as those she’d discovered on that first day, the day she’d first chased the hunt and then the bugs like Knot had chased her. That seemed so long ago now. This latakasokis stood four spans high and was twelve more from nose to tail. It snapped at her again as she muttered the two words for a teleport, which placed her behind it, crouched less than a pace away.

  She ducked its tail as it spun on her, drawing her little obsidian knife. Its head shot forward again, the mouth wide enough that she might have stood upright in it upon its tongue and not bumped her head on its jagged teeth. Two more words and she was on its back. She jammed her knife into the soft spot right beneath its stubby little wings, a little pocket like an armpit, the tender hide barely as thick as shoe leather. The elven blade slipped through it easily, and Pernie gripped its little wing in her fist as the great creature went into thrashing fits trying to get at her.

  Its eyes widened a moment after, flaring as if in surprise, then the creature went stiff. It tipped over and crashed into the brush, coming to rest against the base of a large tree, which was the only thing that prevented it from rolling down the slope.

  Despite her blurred vision and a mild surge of vertigo, Pernie managed to stay atop it. She scrambled around it as it fell and ended up standing upon its ribs when it came to rest. Once it was still, she slid down to stand on its neck. Just like she had with the monkey, she tilted her little head and watched as the latakasokis seemed to try to speak. Its great jaws hinged and unhinged, making shapeless words whose only sound was the rustling of the brush beneath the monster’s head. Then it too was dead, staring out at nothing.

  Pernie thought Knot would really enjoy eyes as big as that. Nearly as big as cawfrat eyes, which were Knot’s favorite treat.

  The monster’s head was too heavy for Pernie to lift, and it was too large and dense for her F-class teleport to flip, so Knot had to suffice with t
he one eye for now, though Pernie thought it would be fun to start hunting latakasoki now. If she’d known how easy it would be, she’d have done it earlier. No wonder the elves had made such quick work of those that had surrounded her in that pool.

  She debated going back down the slope and looking for more, but decided to stick with why she’d come. She was still a little wobbly on her feet and didn’t want to risk a mistake. She wasn’t sure she’d be so lucky if she came across two or three, and they did hunt in packs regularly.

  She decided climbing down the cliff was a safer bet, and so she continued toward her original goal, eventually making it to her destination and standing atop the cliff, looking out over the sea. The sun was well above her now, and the sky was perfectly clear. She felt like she could see forever as she stood there in the wind, her long hair shimmering like a golden flag flowing out far behind her as she watched and, in her way, waited patiently. Somewhere out there was Kurr. Somewhere out there was Master Altin—Sir Altin—and, of course, Orli Pewter too. Assuming she wasn’t Orli Meade now. Pernie hoped she wasn’t. She thought about trying to get ahold of Master Altin and asking, or even trying Fortie Nomstacker, whom she knew from her brief time at the magic school. His was the only other mind she knew, though his mind had always had something about it that made her uncomfortable. But there was no point in trying either of them. She’d already tried a hundred times. Nobody answered her. It was as if no one could hear her from this place.

  That thought kicked her out of the reverie, for it was, at least in essence, why she had come to the cliff in the first place. She looked down toward the beach two hundred spans below, but there weren’t any of the fat creatures that looked like manatees down there. She hoped that they would come, though, especially the big ones with the great clawed flippers and the forward-facing horns. They shot those horns like spears from their foreheads when they fought. She thought those creatures might have magic in them, if she could just once find one close enough to be in reach of her teleport. They were so skittish, it seemed.

  She sighed as she looked down the rock face. The wind blowing up it slicked the black rocks wet with mist from the crashing waves. Before she could even form the thought, she teetered where she stood. It was vertigo caused by the poison in her veins, not by the height she was looking down from. She held no fear of altitude, though she was not keen to fall and be smashed upon the rocks.

  She debated letting Knot climb down for her, but she doubted she’d be any better off trying to balance on his narrow sides as he tacked his way back and forth down the side. She definitely didn’t want to try it straight down, standing only on his rump. She’d be better off climbing down on her own.

  She checked to make sure her spear was firmly strapped to her pack, then belted the pack around her skinny little waist as well. Tightening the shoulder straps so it wouldn’t move about, she lay flat on her belly, then turned around feetfirst and scooted her legs over the edge, folding herself at the waist.

  Her toes probed for purchase on something, some little edge, some protrusion of any kind. She was, and essentially always had been, an exquisite climber, so she didn’t need much. She found one and, with it, gently pushed herself down, holding onto a crag near the top.

  Shortly after, she was fully upon the face of it, glad for having gotten over the edge, for that was the difficult part when climbing without a rope. She clung there like a tiny four-legged spider and looked down, searching for the next purchase for her feet. Her hair blew wildly around her face, the golden flag seemingly torn to tatters and whipping all around. She shook her head to throw it all back somewhat uniformly into the wind.

  And just like that, she was falling.

  She could see the edge of the cliff slipping away as she plummeted, a glimpse of perfect blue sky. Arcing her head back, she looked for the ground instead, deciding in that instant whether to teleport back to the top or wait until she was in range of the beach.

  She hadn’t tried timing a jump like that before—if the teleport she’d need could be called a jump—but somehow in the calm of that plunge it came to her that the bottom was an option too. So she curled up her knees briefly as she tipped her head way back, looking as far around toward the beach as she could. Her body followed her gaze, and she gently rolled over, at which point she flattened herself out into the fall again, now looking down at the rocks and sand.

  They seemed to be hurtling up at her. She twisted and glanced toward the water, looking for a good spot to land. She had to wait the split second until she was in range. She could only teleport fifty spans, and even with the short two-word version of the spell, timing would be everything.

  She wished she wasn’t so dizzy now.

  The craggy black shapes of the rocks were almost upon her when she barked the two words out. And then she was standing on the sand.

  Her little chest rose and fell rapidly as she blinked down at her feet. She’d done it.

  She looked around a little wildly, staggering as a wave of vertigo hit, poison and the descent combined. Then she looked back up to where she’d just come from and laughed.

  With a quick glance around, seeing that there were no great magic manatees around, she trotted back to the cliff, where she began to climb with a huge, ecstatic smile.

  She wanted to do that again.

  Chapter 33

  Orli drew her blaster and pointed it where Altin indicated he’d be teleporting the decanter to. He directed her to move down the stairs a ways, so she could have cover—or a head start—if there was need for a getaway. “Don’t shoot it, though,” he said. “Only if I tell you to.”

  “Or if something jumps out and eats his head,” Roberto added over the com.

  “That’s not funny,” she said.

  “Just trying to lighten it up,” Roberto said. “You two are making me nervous with all that readiness. We all know you can’t shoot for crap, Orli, and Altin just said you guys had that thing with you when you got here the first time. Altin put it there himself.”

  “Yes, well, it didn’t have life signs then,” Orli said. “So something is happening.”

  “Did you look?” Roberto asked. He had, after all, been the one to point out that it was radiating human body temperature. “I mean before you put it there to begin with?”

  Altin glanced up at Orli upon hearing that. It was a good point.

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well, that’s all I’m saying. You guys are making me nervous, and whenever you pull a gun, I get this overwhelming desire to run and hide.”

  She let herself grin and started to come back up the stairs, but Altin held up his hand. “No, just in case. He’s probably right, but a little caution costs us nothing.”

  She nodded, and he began the teleport spell that would bring the decanter up to the battlements. Casting took him barely beyond a second, and then there it was, sitting right before him on the flagstones, a tall, slender thing made of clear crystal, shaped like a pair of palm trees that have wound round and round one another as they grew. The stopper was made to look like leafy palm fronds, sharp spikes of flat green glass that had spun freely with the force of the wind, and it continued to do so even after it arrived, though it was clearly losing momentum now that they were out of the storm.

  Orli shifted her grip on the blaster as Altin watched the decanter, prepared to send it right back out if he had to. He glanced up at her, then right back, both of them anxious to see what might appear. If anything.

  Slowly the little palm-frond stopper stopped turning, and at last the thing was completely still. Nothing else happened.

  “Wasn’t it empty before?” Orli asked. With the movement of her head, she directed his attention to the fact that it was full to the top with a gray-green liquid of some kind.

  “It was,” Altin agreed.

  “So what is it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You know,” said Roberto, cutting into the t
ension in the tower’s inner atmosphere, “for being the big-shot wizard on Prosperion, I have to say, you say that a lot. I thought you read books all the time.”

  “I do,” he said. “But it seems the more I read, the less I know. It’s like every new book simply reveals the existence of whole new stacks of information that I also haven’t learned.”

  “Well, that’s not very useful right now.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “So what do we do with it?” Orli asked. “Do you take it to Doctor Leopold and have it divined? Or maybe Ocelot?”

  “I’ve had about all of Ocelot I can stand,” Altin said. “But I’ll get it to the doctor when we get time. For now, let’s stick to the mission, and go speak to the Queen. Whatever this is, it has been sitting up here this long, so I’m sure it will be fine waiting a little longer for Doctor Leopold.”

  “Maybe you should just put it back out there,” Roberto suggested. “Just in case, you know, like the wind or something in the atmosphere was working like a refrigerator on that thing. Whatever is in there might just need to warm up before it comes shooting out and opens up a whole new can of whoop ass that nobody really needs right now.”

  “It was in Tytamon’s collection,” Altin said. “I doubt it harbors some awful monster or unspeakable plague. He was not the sort of man to leave something like that lying about on a windowsill.” To prove his faith in that idea, he went to it and picked it up. It was warm to the touch. “Interesting,” he said. He really wanted to open it, but resisted the temptation.

  “Well, then let’s go,” Orli said. “I want to get this discussion with Her Majesty over so we can get Yellow Fire on the road to recovery. Do what you’re going to do with it, and let’s start moving.”

  Altin’s jaw worked back and forth for a time, and then he closed his eyes. A moment after, the decanter vanished from his hand with a pop of collapsing air.