Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock (22 page)

This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected])  Chapter Twenty-Four 

When will Sangolin call?

He stood, staring out over the deep red sea of fire and rock. Huge stone-bergs floated in the lava, dark lumpy shapes against the scarlet glow. Tiny fire creatures took shape just at the surface, flickered in and out of the shadow of the rocks, then faded into the flames. The sight mesmerized him as he waited, with growing anticipation, for Sangolin to call.

He sensed it then — the longing, the irresistible draw to join the others. He turned away from the heat which radiated from the sea of fire. Tendrils of cool air wisped around him as he moved toward the hollow, passing through the deserted al-cove of rock and into the tunnel. Darkness closed on him as he made his way slowly, carefully towards the beautiful rocky flesh that was Sangolin.

His anticipation rose as he approached. His breath came quicker; his blood pounded in his chest. A burning fever possessed his head, a crisp desire to plunge himself into the merge with Sangolin.

The surface was as he had remembered. He longed to run 175

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his hands over the lumpy skin, the undulating mass of merged obsidimen caught in a slow motion dance through the ages.

He reached forward to touch it, feeling a tingling at the tips of his fingers as they approached the tantalizing rock flesh.

A sharp pain shocked through his shoulder just as he was about to brush Sangolin’s skin. Someone had hit him. He turned to see a large shape behind him, wielding a staff.

The light in the cavern brightened as the staff came down again, aiming for his head this time. He reached up and blocked it easily with a quick jerk of his hands, then he went on the offensive, wrenching the staff away from his assailant in a smooth counter attack.

The light grew brighter and brighter until the walls and ceiling of the cavern dissipated. The sound of dripping water gave way to the whisper of a strong breeze rushing past his ears. Sangolin disappeared behind him, as the light grew.

Everything around him changed. Pale blue sky above, rolling grasslands below.

“Pabl, snap out it!”

He tossed the useless staff aside and struck at his attacker — a lightning quick pummel to the chest.

The blow landed, sending the obsidiman flying through the air and onto his back. But the man shrank in front his eyes, changing from obsidiman to dwarf. It was Jan.

“By Mynbruje! Pabl, look at this.”

Jan struggled to his feet, clutching at his chest with one hand, holding something up towards Pabl in the other. “You left this back at the camp,” Jan said. The statuette looked large in the dwarf’s small hands — dull green marbled with white in places. Mynbruje?

Garen. Reid. The names jumped into Pabl’s mind. Ganwetrammus. His liferock. Wracking pain jarred his bones just then. Ganwetrammus was in agony.

The smell of sulfur and fire drifted in the air, but here it This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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was mixed with the rich odor of the jungle nearby. The vision of Sangolin disintegrated completely, giving way to a sunrise over the jungle, rolling hills of grass to the east, turning to desert rock ahead where the hills became mountains. One of the mountains belched forth black smoke. Sangolin was near there.

I have not yet arrived.

And as he looked in that direction his feet moved an invol-untary step. He felt the longing again.

No. I must concentrate. “Give me the necklace,” he said.

Jan handed the pendant to Pabl, who put it over his neck.

Then he held the jade carving up in front of his face to examine it. Dull green stone in the shape of a stately-looking obsidiman on the surface. But as Palb concentrated, using his thread sight to scrutinizing the pattern of the statue, the shape gave way to impressions of Garen and Reid and Gvint.

Flickers of his brotherhood.

The little Mynbruje carving had a dense pattern with several interlocking motifs as though its primary purpose had changed drastically more than once. Pabl located a fragment which reminded him of the pattern of Ganwetrammus, then attached a thread from himself to the pattern. I should have done this weeks ago, he thought.

When the thread looped neatly into the pendant’s pattern, Pabl felt a rush of understanding. And a connection with his liferock. Smells of home came to him — the crisp searing of the Alqarat, the humid air that signaled an approaching thunderstorm. In his head he heard the hiss of wind through the Dance of Stones, the roar of the riflev falls below the temple.

This new connection to Ganwetrammus pulled him completely out of his trance. He forgot Sangolin, and brought his sight back to the physical world, focusing on the face of his dwarf friend who stared at him with a look of puzzlement.

Pabl smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

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“Could I please have my staff back?” Jan said. “If you’re sane once again, that is?”

Pabl handed the staff to Jan. “Did I hurt you?”

“A little,” he said, placing his hand against his chest. “I’ll have a bruise.”

“I’m sorry.” Pabl looked around. He was startled to find Celagri behind him, dagger drawn.

She gave him a smile, but did not sheath her dagger. “You attacked Jan —”

“I understand,” Pabl said. “But I think I’m free of Sangolin’s influence for the moment.” His memory was coming back to him. They had camped at the south edge of the jungle and had been preparing to cross the narrow strip of desert to the volcano where they would begin the search for Sangolin. He must have wandered out of camp. “How far have I come?”

“Our camp is over a mile north of here, up near those trees.”

Jan pointed toward the edge of the jungle. “Luckily, you aren’t very hard to track.”

“We should get back,” Pabl said.

“Yes.”

They walked back in the early light of dawn, traveling along the trail of trampled grass that Pabl had made on his way out. Jan walked next to Pabl, but Celagri walked behind.

It would take some time to regain her trust, Pabl knew. And he didn’t blame her; he didn’t know if he could trust himself.

But with the thread tied to the statuette, he felt stronger, more able to resist Sangolin, as though he had Ganwetrammus and Garen and the brotherhood on his side, anchoring him.

They arrived at camp — backpacks and blankets lay at haphazard angles around the remnants of last night’s fire.

“Where’s Chaiel?” Pabl asked.

“Don’t know,” Jan said. “He was here when we left. Said he’d watch the camp ‘til we came back.”

Celagri circled the fire. “His pack and weapons are gone,”

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she said.

Pabl looked around for sign of him, but he was nowhere. A second trail of trampled grass led out of the path in the same direction that Pabl had gone. “He went south,” Pabl said. “He must have passed around us when we were fighting.”

“What does that mean?” Jan asked.

“It means,” Pabl said, dread pooling in his gut like animal grease. “Chaiel has succumbed to Sangolin.”

This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected])  Chapter Twenty-Five 

Reid tried to leave Sangolin again a few days later.

He got half way up the path out of the hollow when he felt the call. His thoughts of Ganwetrammus vanished instantly, and he went to his sweet Sangolin. He went gladly. And the anticipation of the merge was as precious as ever; the yielding to the collective mind as pleasurable as always.

Yet, when Sangolin released him from the union, he made his way back to his cave, feeling empty and alone. He wanted more. He wanted to remember himself. He wanted to know his liferock and his brotherhood.

Ganwetrammus held the answers.

Reid made more plans to leave. He tried again, but again Sangolin called to him, and no matter how strong was his desire for answers, he could not resist the call. And when he merged with the mottled flesh in the dark cavern, he wondered why he had ever considered leaving. How could he have contemplated an existence without Sangolin? It was incon-ceivable.

Later, as he sat and stared out at the sea of fire, doubts and 180

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questions crept back into head. The pain from Ganwetrammus arced through his body like lightning, and he thought about leaving again. This cycle continued for longer than Reid could remember.

Until the stranger arrived.

He was tall with loose burlap trousers, and a broad chest painted with swirls of indigo and green. He bore a huge sword on a finely crafted metal belt and carried a brown cloth backpack. His strides were long and purposeful as he made his way down the narrow, steep trail into the hollow.

Reid moved up to get a closer look at the stranger, waiting at the floor of the hollow as the new one took the final steps down the trail. Reid knew that the stranger had been drawn by Sangolin as many strays had been drawn in the past. Sangolin was still hungry for fresh obsidimen spirits to feast upon.

The stranger seemed eerily familiar, with russet skin like Reid’s, and black eyes. He stared around him, looking not at, but through Reid and the other obsidimen who gathered to watch him merge with Sangolin. Reid thought he recognized him. But how can I know him? I’ve never seen him before, have I? Reid couldn’t remember. More questions to be answered.

Vecrix came to greet the stranger. The old, deformed obsidiman escorted the newcomer through the crowd and into the Sangolin cave. Pangs of sadness penetrated into Reid’s bones as he watched the two of them disappear into the maw of the cavern below the rock fall.

Why do I care so much, Reid thought. Why can’t I just feel nothing?

And a few minutes later, Vecrix returned to the clearing.

He walked up to Reid in his awkward, limping fashion. “The new one is from your brotherhood. Now you shouldn’t feel so alone here anymore.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Chaiel is his common name,” Vecrix said. “I don’t know This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ [email protected]) Liferock 

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his true obsidiman name.” Vecrix gave a lopsided shrug. “It doesn’t matter; he will soon lose that to Sangolin anyway.”

“I don’t remember knowing him,” Reid said, but he felt a heavy weight drag on his shoulders. What is my true obsidiman name? he wondered.

“It’s for the best,” Vecrix said. The muscles of his face tried to smile, but managed only a crooked grin. “Once Sangolin has been transformed completely into a liferock, we will all get new obsidiman names.”

Reid looked at the disfigured obsidiman in front of him.

“Do you really believe Sangolin can be made into a true liferock?”

“Don’t you?”

Reid turned away and walked toward the end of the hollow. Toward the cliffs. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always believed that if we had enough obsidimen, we could fashion a brotherhood, we could create a bond through Sangolin and blood magic. You convinced me. But now . . . now I’m not sure.

I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

Vecrix hobbled alongside Reid, struggling to keep pace.

“Well, cast aside your doubts, my brother. For I have nearly completed the spell which will transform Sangolin, our sweet Sangolin, into a liferock forever. When enough obsidimen merge with Sangolin, I will be able to weave parts of their souls into the pattern of Sangolin and imbue the whole with the life-forces of each brother. It will be a glorious day; the in-extricable union of each of our souls, our blood and our flesh sacrificed to create the new spirit of Sangolin.”

Reid did not look at Vecrix. He stared at the cliff edge approaching. He is insane, Reid realized suddenly. Completely insane. Why did I not see this earlier?

Reid turned on Vecrix, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“How can you believe that Sangolin can become a liferock?

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rocks are living entities, spirits of elemental earth and astral energy. You might create something with your insane magic, but it will not be a liferock, and it will condemn us all to mil-lennia of slavery to that . . . that thing.”

Vecrix shook himself free of Reid’s grip. “Obviously, you don’t understand the power of blood magic. With Sangolin’s help, I have accomplished feats of magical prowess you can’t conceive of. I thought you might help, since you used to be quite adept at illusory powers. But I see I was wrong.”

Vecrix turned awkwardly away from Reid and walked a few steps before turning back. “Sangolin and I will succeed, you know. With or without your help. Sangolin will become a true liferock. And we don’t need your magic. All we need from you is your body and spirit. In fact we only need five or ten more obsidimen before we have enough to proceed.”

Vecrix winked with his bad eye, the dead flap of his eye lid coming down over the polished chunk of amber he sometimes kept in the empty socket. “Don’t try to leave again,” he said.

“Face it; you’re as dependent upon Sangolin as the rest of us. As addicted as the new one, from your brotherhood. Attempting to escape is a futile gesture; Sangolin won’t allow any of us to leave.” Vecrix turned and walked back into the cavern, leaving Reid alone with a bone-numbing chill coursing through his body despite the heat radiating from the lava ocean behind him.

He is right, Reid thought. I can never leave. I have tried countless times, and I always fail.

A wave of sadness passed over him, forcing him to his knees on the hard smooth stone. He wished for the days before he had felt the pain from Ganwetrammus, before he awoke to realize that he was a zombie, walking through time like an automaton.