Chapter 20
Eltoth's home sat at the heart of the inner circle, where the city's elite lived in massive, though rather Spartan, structures. The Yolenes, as a people, had little interest in creative expression. Their society valued hard work and productivity, not ornament or individuality. Hence, the abode of the Sitter of the High Council, the most influential member of his clan, was a somewhat larger stone box than that of his neighbors.
The scale of the place made it comfortable for Romel and Hageth who towered over the Yolenes, most who barely stood as high as their chests. They had access to a private wing in the house whenever they visited the clan for extended periods of time. It meant being subjected to lengthy lectures from the rather verbose Yolene, but as Sitter it was his privilege to act as host.
Romel picked at the bland tasting meal before him trying to focus on Eltoth's words.
'I do understand that tribal borders were established to insure fair distribution of resources, but our population has tripled since then. Other tribes haven't grown. We are now being penalized for our success. How can we continue to thrive if we are not allowed to expand our territory? It lacks even the pretext of logic.'
'Eltoth, your point of view is well known. And as I'm sure that you know, your tribe is expected to grow with consideration for your available resources. You live in this magnificent house with just your wife. It is not a very efficient use of resources and a difficult place for you to make your argument,' Hageth answered with a barely suppressed smirk.
Eltoth seemed taken aback, but recovered himself and bowed apologetically.
'Surely you wouldn't penalize my entire tribe because I like the solitude that having my children as neighbors rather than housemates affords?'
They all laughed and Romel took the opportunity to change topics.
'Eltoth. I am curious about your newest council member, Ligoth. We stopped by to see the new development that he created and spent some time with him. We wanted to talk about timber allocations, but he seemed completely disinterested. Is he always so....nervy?'
'Ligoth is hard working and ambitious and is a great addition to the council. We needed younger blood and ideas and he has proven himself. I wouldn't characterize him as nervy, as you say. He is young, however, and hasn't had much experience. He may have been intimidated,' Eltoth said.
Romel shook his head. They had dropped by unexpectedly and it was probably startling. Perhaps he hadn't spent much time around arella. But the look in his eyes seemed more like anger than fear, although it was harder to read these creatures. They could be so confusing, their motivations so difficult to understand.
A shrill whistle cut through the evening air and carried through the large open window that allowed the diners to look over the main street. Yellow strobes lit up each intersection and pulsed in time with the spasmodic siren, sending out a stream of long and short blasts, giving details about the emergency. Given the frequency of mining accidents, it was a very useful warning system.
'A cave in,' Eltoth exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He peered out of the window, watching the dancing pulses of light intently. 'It is in the western quadrant. Looks like one of the newer shafts.'
‘Which way?' Hageth asked. 'We can get there faster alone.'
Eltoth gave quick, efficient instructions and exited to organize the rescue operations. Romel followed Hageth out into the courtyard and together they leaped into the sky, heading to the accident. He could see small groups of Yolenes streaming toward the western section of the town.
Romel recognized the form of Ligoth standing beside an air duct that belched a steady expulsion of smoke. The new council member was waving his arms frantically and yelling.
'My son is down there. My son. Please help my son!'
Not hesitating, the two angels climbed into the large pipe and dropped into the darkness. Romel created a small orb of light, using some of the gases rushing up the duct as fuel. He heard Hageth land below and compressed the vapor around him, causing his free fall to amend into a gentle drift.
Romel landed beside Hageth and examined their surroundings, adjusting his eyes to try and pierce the dense cloud that surrounded them. Its composition seemed to be mainly dust, with a number of gases present as well.
'An explosion caused this,' he said.
Romel nodded his head in agreement and headed down the tunnel toward the densest concentration of sentiment and gas. He waved his hand, straining the air of much of the debris, forcing particles to bond and drop to the ground.
'Is anyone here?' he yelled toward the mass of rock that blocked the shaft ahead.
No one answered. He concentrated on the rubble, trying to sense a heartbeat, body heat, the sound of movement, anything from beyond. He noticed that the pile of stone before him glowed faintly, but not with the radiance of energy being omitted. Rather, it looked as if the rock were sucking in the light around it, leaving a faint gleam as light fell into darkness. The luminous orb in his hand seemed to strain toward the nothingness of the oily blackness, like it was being pulled into it. He kept feeding it, but sensed its power being drawn away, like the last traces of dusk.
'What in the heavens?' he asked and reached out to touch the jagged wall.
A blast of fiery cold struck him at first contact. He jumped back quickly, arm throbbing with pain. He lifted his hand toward the light, studying the blackened flesh with horror. The wound resembled a negative image grafted onto the healthy portion of the appendage, creating a mottled contrast. He probed the injury with his aura, but it was not accessible to him, like that piece of him had disappeared. He saw that it was part of his body, and yet not. Without warning an intense flash of energy and a percussive jolt knocked him to the ground and all became as black as the fringes of his arm.
Barman sat at the desk, palms down, staring straight ahead. The airy room was full of light, with a view of Celebration Plain stretching out far below. Anyone looking at his location from the outside would see nothing but a sheer rock cliff, but from inside the entire panorama surrounding Mount Kol appeared to be within reach, as if the chamber were completely open. He wondered if the prisoner had ever tested that invisible barrier.
Given that arella's admirable self-control, he doubted it. The prisoner would have known that, despite appearances, he was securely imprisoned. The function of his new chamber was more obvious. It might have been a petty thing to have him moved to the most confining room available, but Barman couldn't help but get a small sense of satisfaction in knowing that the arella who had injured his charge was now forced to stare at nothing but unadorned stone walls.
The thought of Hemlan caused Barman to push more firmly against the smooth surface of the desk. The telmid had been foolish, but what made an arella attack another so viciously? Perhaps the prisoner was truly beyond hope. He seemed to have no compassion, no remorse, and no conscience.
The Kings would make that determination. He had his own responsibilities to deal with. One of those had been Hemlan. He had placed the young arella in this position and for the second time in recent months his decision had caused the injury of one in his charge.
'I will not underestimate the willingness of these rebels to do harm again,' he vowed.
He stretched his hands out, running his fingers over the perfectly smooth surface of the wood, trying to understand what motivated this prisoner. Despite his circumstances, he acted as if he were in command. How was he able to convey such a persona of control when he was powerless? He could injure without even seeming to acknowledge the fact. He seemed too impervious to intimidation. He was completely baffling.
As Barman continued stroking the surface of the desk he felt a gentle snag against the skin of his index finger. He bent over, looking at the dark surface with intense concentration. A small hole, no bigger than a pinprick, marred the otherwise blemish-free top. He sat back, palms down, covering the opening, just as he'd seen the prisoner do.
Barman rushed across the room and
grabbed a silver pitcher from the washstand. He poured a small amount of water directly above the tiny puncture and walked to the other side of the desk. He reached out and placed his hands on the desk, as he had seen Semanop do, then used his aura to gather together the fluid and push it into the rent. Almost immediately a tepid stream hit the underside of his wrist as the liquid jetted out.
Bending over he could see the exit point where the prisoner had somehow bored a channel, like a termite track, through the wood. Barman couldn't help but be impressed. It was clever. He had probably smeared ink on his hand and had enough control to push it through the small shaft, propel it up the sleeve of his guest and direct it, encrypted, onto the linen sheet.
Barman thought about the neat script of the glyphs and was even more impressed. To pull that off would require more skill than he would have thought possible. What other secrets were hidden in plain sight in this room? He looked at the desk. It was a simple design- a top, two sides, and a panel divider that kept items from being passed underneath. Small dowels bound everything together, with no need for tacks or adhesives.
Barman carefully pulled out the pegs and removed the top. As he did, the surface fell into six pieces. It was not a solid wood panel, but smaller planks crafted so beautifully that no seams were visible.
The prisoner would have learned the method of construction as he drilled through the wood. He would have known this desk inside and out to be able to bore such a precise shaft. Barman became more and more excited as he examined the individual plates of wood. The first clue was easy to find. Although it wasn't visible to the eye, the subtle carving was easy to feel with both his hands and his aura. Barman placed a blank sheet over the area and rubbed it with a piece of charcoal that he retrieved from the guard's desk. A complex mathematical formula had been etched into the interior of the desk. It was another incredible example of the knowledge and power of this prisoner.
His second find was less obvious. As he pulled apart the bottom frame of the desk, his eyes caught sight of something floating in the air. If the room had not been so suffused with light, he would have missed it, but as he looked closer he saw a number of tiny rings resting on the floor. They appeared to be diminutive circular bands crafted of fine, woven, arellian hair. Six of the miniscule creations were visible. Barman touched one with a finger and it disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Now, only four of the rings were lying there. He was sure that he had counted six. What had happened to the other band? He gathered up the remaining hoops, carefully scooping them into a small envelope, and deposited them in his satchel.
Perhaps Penemue would be able to help him decipher this mystery.