Abbalar Tales ~ 13

Abbalar Tales ~ 13 Jellonan

By Len Morgan

"Follow me sprout, let me show you to your quarters."  

Aldor followed him, aware of a faint fluorescence from the vaulted ceiling of the cave high above.   After further scrutiny, it appeared to be covered with large flat plates of a pale opal glass-like material.  As they approached it glowed with a blue-white light.   As they passed beneath its glow increased, to rival the sun, then as they progressed beyond its influence each plate reverted to its former state.  They were now moving towards a red glow, as they drew nearer Aldor experienced the intense heat emanating from its source, the intensity increased until he was unable to proceed further.

“Here, you will need this,” said Orden handing him a suit of stiff white material, matching gloves, and a helm that completely engulfed his head.   The eye slits were glazed with a dark brown smoky crystal.   “I had forgotten how fragile your human forms are.  We are tapping magma, from the molten core of Abbalar.”

Everything was clean and uncluttered, meticulously tidy, and completely free of dust.

 

Orden continued as if reading his mind. “Any possibility of contamination has been removed.   Even one extraneous dust mote might be enough to convert a valuable and complicated compound into useless waste.   Nothing must be left to chance, in chemistry and metallurgy, if we are to obtained consistent results.   But, they are my speciality, not yours.”

 

In his mind, Aldor mentally contrasted the inside of the cave with its arboreal exterior.   The overgrown mountain slopes were covered with strange unfamiliar plants, growing wild but in profusion, beside more familiar plants, trees, and shrubs.  

"Humans have always avoided this place.   It is reputed to be haunted and inhabited by a dark demon sorcerer.   Nobody would dare enter the Enchanters Wood uninvited, yet here in this cave is a level of technology men could not hope to achieve, unaided, within the next millennium."  

“Yet, you have no towns, no fields for crops, and no apparent commerce with anyone beyond these mountains?”

“This mountain existed long before life began on Abbalar.   It was and still is an active volcano.   We channel its forces, its destructive energies, for our own ends.   There are natural pipes, shafts, and channels, leading from the molten source to the hearth of our forge as you will observe during your stay.

“We live below, follow me.  A private space has been provided for you within.  Somewhere you can be alone and at peace with yourself.”

Aldor followed him through winding twisting tunnels cut into the solid rock.   Without his guide, he knew he would very soon have been lost.   Eventually, they came to a staircase leading down.   One floor down, Orden indicated a number depicting the floor they were on, the symbols were unfamiliar, but at 17th level, they entered a corridor with opposing doors at regular intervals.   “You will be in room 53, eighth on the right,” said Orden presenting him with a bronze key.

“Thank you,” said Aldor viewing the symbols on the eighth door.   "Fifty three," he said under his breath.

"The language is galactic standard, you will need to learn it in order to take full advantage of your stay here."

The key turned smoothly and silently in the lock.   He identified a faint smell of orange Blossom as he opened the door.   The room was dimly lit but as he entered the intensity of light gradually increased.   He deposited his belongings, including the heat resistant suit, inside and looked around.   The walls were of a smooth hard white material that felt warm to the touch.   There were several simple unadorned chairs and a cot bed, covered in white linen sheets.   There was a second door, but suddenly he felt heavy-legged and too tired to explore.   Instead, he simply undressed and reclined on the bed.  He felt exhausted.   As his head touched the pillow, his eyes closed and he slept. 

.-…-. 

He awoke to the familiar and seductive aroma of food.   Bacon, eggs, new bread, and sausage, he smiled, another dream he thought.   He opened his eyes, in darkness.   But, the action of sitting up was enough to activate the ceiling panels, he found himself bathed in cool diffused blue light.   He could hear activity, on the other side of the door, he'd had not yet explored.   He went through and there was Orden with a welcoming grin on his face.  

"Sit down and break your fast sprout," he said, pulling a seat out for him at the table and placing a plate before him piled high with food, “It's about time you woke up, eat heartily it’s going to be a long day.”

He needed no second askance, he tucked in.   The food was as good as its aroma implied.   Having eaten his fill, he returned to his sleeping quarters and found his pack resting against the external wall. 

“There’s an assortment of linen and clothing in the wall compartments” Orden explained, pushing a small blue dot on the wall.   A panel opened revealing a wide choice of clean casual clothing within. 

.-…-. 

The days sped by, a constant round of exciting new discoveries and ideas.   Each filled with new concepts, challenges and revelations.   Nothing was for free, he had to tease, coax, and guess before Orden would divulge anything.   He soon learned that he needed to be dogged, determined, single-minded, and above all to take nothing for granted.   Days became weeks, of constant learning, of mystique and magic giving power to ideas and creations.   His hours were filled with theory, research, and practical experience.   But, in all that time he never once met another living creature.   Orden was vitally alive and responsive, full of energy and enthusiasm.  He kept Aldor occupied from the rising to the setting of the sun.   He collected him from his quarters each morning, and returned him there in the evening, too tired to do anything but sleep.   At mid-day, they would stop briefly to eat lunch, belch and drink ale, before returning to the soul-cleansing roles of student and teacher.   It was in many ways an idyllic situation except he was ever conscious that time was passing, and he had an overwhelming desire to return to Genna as quickly as possible.   Here he felt strangely unsatisfied, he wanted something more, he felt there was something lacking in his existence.

Late one afternoon, Orden had gone to his forge to work on a personal project, Aldor knew better than to question him on such matters Orden would divulge nothing until the appointed time.   So, in Ordens absence, Aldor was expected to continue working on his current projects.   Instead, he went to the stairs.   Descending to his own level (17), then continued on down into the bowels of the earth.   Every ten levels, he explored, but found only the same white corridors and locked doors.   He tried opening these with his own key but, without success.   Beyond the hundredth level, the atmosphere became distinctly hot and stuffy.   A further ten floors down it became foul, and he found it difficult to breathe, he considered turning back but decided instead to check some of these deeper corridors.   They looked equally white pristine and virginal, just like all the others above, but he decided on impulse to try his key in each of the door locks anyway; as before none would open.   Then inspired, he went to the eighth door on the right, the one corresponding with his own, ninety-odd floors above, to his surprise and delight the key turned.  He opened the door gingerly and was immediately assailed by a sickly scent of decaying vegetation.   He screwed his face up, nausea churning in the pit of his stomach.   On impulse he wedged the door open before entering, trying hard to retain his stomach contents.   The room was humid, much hotter than he had ever previously experienced and shrouded in mist, Lit only by a dim red glow from above.   As he moved into the room he stumbled over something warm soft and yielding.   He heard a snort and a heavy blow knocked him from his feet.   The air was clammy and heavy with moisture, breathing was difficult in that heavy vapour filled atmosphere.   He backed slowly towards the door, he had no idea what was in here, he realised his life could be in danger.   As he reached the door, a high pitched bellow, unlike anything he had heard before shook both the air and the floor, deafening him momentarily.   He turned the handle, his mind filled with primordial terror, which he was only able to control after slamming the door firmly shut behind him.   For some time he stood, breathless and trembling, his clothes soaked through; his shirt front covered in green slime, smelling of partially digested vegetation.   For some time the occupant of the room vented its fury against the walls of its quarters, bellowing and pounding on the door.   The noise subsided eventually, and surprisingly there were no answering calls from the adjoining rooms.   He retraced his steps to the stairs and made his way painfully back to his own quarters.   He changed his clothing and cleaned up before returning to the surface.   Where he found Orden was still busy at the forge and seemed unaware of his exploratory trip.

.-...-.

Next morning, he awoke to the aroma of cooking as before and went through to the kitchen and sat at the table.  

Orden set a plate before him, "You have questions to ask me," he said without preamble.

"How many levels are there below us?"

"500" he answered at once.

"I travelled down more than a hundred yesterday.   What was that thing," he asked.

"It seems time for me to tell you my story," said Orden after a long pause.   He laughed nervously, "you’re the storyteller so you will let me know if my delivery is off?"

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan