To Walk the Path 2: The Ruins of Galairel.
By Paul Smith.
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To Walk the Path 2: The Ruins of Galairel
Paul Smith
Copyright 2014 Paul Smith
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is purely coincidental, and bears no malicious intent.
ISBN: 9781311820280
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'Here be dragons...'
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Author's note:
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2. The Ruins of Galairel.
Timo stood beyond the Boundary. Two steps backwards and his wardrobe would become appropriate again. Up here on the ridge there were normally no visual clues to its presence. The Nym had purposefully set the seferik barrier up around the stony rim of the caldera that housed their hothouse paradise. The only thing that might clue an observant woodsman in were differences in the mosses and lichen. There was of course usually the lush rainforest below as well, for anyone who walked to the edge.
But following the attack the Boundary had become a one way mirror. Light came in, but did not exit. Nobody stood on this side could see in any more.
“Paradise lost.”
He jumped, turning to scowl at Ikari, who stood wrapped in so many layers it was difficult to tell he was bipedal.
“Can you even feel your feet any more?”
“Yes.” But not my toes. He rolled his eyes, stuck his tongue out at the Nym, who was giving him that tolerant look.
“What...?”
“Nothing.” Ikari produced a cigarette from somewhere (he and a few of the other Nym had finally given in and nailed the production process outside the Garden), took a drag before offering it to Timo, who smiled his thanks. “Turning into a regular little prophet visionary you are.”
“What are you talking about?” Timo passed the cigarette back, reached up to settle the mane of his hair about his shoulders in what he hoped looked like a natural gesture.
“Let's see: there's physical trials. Testing yourself against the elements...” he gestured about at the beautiful snow covered peaks “...not to mention the pilgrimages into the wilderness.”
“You told me to take those!”
“Yes but nobody suggested you disappear for a week. Or that you do it more than once.”
Timo scowled. “I needed time to think.”
“Yes, well. One could understand that, given how popular you're getting round the fire in the evening. You know I don't think I've ever heard of an outsider getting quite so much attention in the grotto.”
“It wasn't my idea...”
Ikari raised mitten-clad hands. “I'm well aware of that. I think Kina's still a little put out over the fact you're queer.”
Timo grinned. But his expression sobered as he saw the look in Ikari's eyes. “We've had word haven't we?”
“Better: we've a visitor.”
“Who? Not...”
The Nym shook his head. “We should be so fucking lucky...”
It was brief, but Timo caught it again: the odd expression that overtook his friend's face at mention of the Wraethi. There was some sort of friction there, but try as he might he couldn't decide what it might be. In the Efljos' company Ikari was unashamedly open and courteous. But in his absence...
“Who then?” he asked, shaking off the urge to pick at the scab.
Ikari raised an eyebrow, settling back on his heels. “I'll give you a clue: if it weren't for his paramour I suspect he'd be rivalling you for offers this evening...”
“Rivan! He's here?”
“Calm yourself! Maggie's balls, he's only just arrived, the guys not going anywhere.” The Nym gestured him back across the Boundary, the familiar frisk running through his soul as they stepped through.
“Well, least I've learnt one thing,” Ikari offered as they set off down the path, Timo carrying some of the Nym's shed layers.
“What's that?”
“How to get you back inside in a hurry –No! Not the ribs!”
Laughing, Timo gave up the chase, waved the Nym on as he went back for the coats he'd dropped.
Rivan shook his head, taking a swig from his mug of wine. “I still can't get over how much you've changed...”
Timo raised an eyebrow, sitting back in his seat. Looked down at himself pointedly before fingering the long queue of hair hanging over one shoulder. “Don't really see it myself.”
“Oh I don't mean physically. Though there is a little more meat on those arms if I'm not mistaken...?” Rivan grinned at the boy's blush “...and there's the self conscious kid I remember materialising with his Drake.”
The mentioned of the dragon brought them both up short. Rivan spent a few moments quietly staring into the depths of his mug. Even now the boy would disappear on his own sometimes into the forests about the Grove, or beyond. The Nym had long since revoked the constraints keeping him here. A wise move it had turned out as one such sojourn had seen him stumble into Praesus' lair. Not only had the boy survived the experience (unlike the dozen or so envoys the Imperials had sent up river in the last half year), he'd gained the Queen's trust. Neither Grifarne (who'd been seeing to the bulk of his tutelage) nor Ikari (who'd been supplementing with the Nym's own brand of reality bending) could explain how the boy had managed such a leap, given he'd never been to Carpassan. Both had observed him perform his 'translocation', Grifarne wandering off afterwards muttering Isklarian oaths. Ikari's response was a little more prosaic, though he professed to be as baffled as the Isshjarta. His best guess was that it had something to do with the map function the Virgins had given Timo at the gates of the Dragon's Graveyard.
“So go on, what's your secret?” Rivan asked, deciding it was his turn to break the silence. “I refuse to believe any of this lot are up for sparing sessions...” as he gestured about at the gathering of emaciated aliens conversing in quiet groups. Ikari poked his head up from the collective slouch he currently occupied and stuck his tongue out. Rivan returned the gesture good naturedly, which drew the desired laugh from the boy opposite.
“Actually it's probably the Isshjartan corpa'ku Farn's been having me practice.”
“Hmm, yes. Ikari mentioned something about sitting out in the snow in your pants.”
This time the laugh had a little more gusto. “It's not all that. There's a lot of meditation, yes, but the physical discipline is important too. It's all about finding your centre.”
Rivan nodded. “A necessary skill, I suspect, if you're going to have your heart carved out.”
Timo shivered. “Do they really do that?”
Rivan shrugged. “You've seen the scar I presume...?” They both shared a moment's dreamy eyed reverie “...yes, well.” Rivan cleared his throat. “Anyway. You're closer to him than I am, you ask!”
“What?! No...!”
“Okay, well. Just saying: enquiring minds would like to know...”
Timo held up a hand. “Ask him yourself. You're the one with the wiles.”
“Yes but they only work on people that like tight buns and big cocks. Which, far as I can tell, our illustrious northern friend doesn't...”
Timo glanced about to be sure the individual under discussion wasn't present before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, I'm not entirely sure he has a preference. We've been to the baths together a few t
imes and I've never seen him bat an eyelid at anyone, and some of the caravan girls we get through here are gorgeous, if you like that sort of thing...”
“You've been to the baths together...? Do tell...”
Timo smirked lasciviously. “I believe you had your chance on the deck of the Run.”
“I was distracted! We were about to enter mortal danger.” Rivan sat back, pulling out his smoking pouch and raising an eyebrow at Timo, who shook his head. “Besides, that one was a bit of a case of 'spoilt for choice'.”
“And you still managed to miss everything.”
“Those wet suits are complicated!” Rivan finished rolling and began the obligatory hunt for his lighter.
“Allow me.” Timo snapped his fingers, producing an enthusiastic flame on the end of his thumb.
“Show off.” Rivan placed the end of his cigarette into the flame and puffed it into life.
Timo stuck his tongue out. “So, anyway: spill!”
“What do you mean?”
Timo treated him to his best 'what the fuck?!' look. The boy did it well. “I believe one of your recent dates involved a boat ride...?”
Rivan shook his head. “Is nothing sacred around here?”
“Only the