Abbalar Tales ~ 23

Abbalar Tales ~ 23 Off-worlders 

By Len Morgan

 A garish green florescence emanated from a small attic window, partially obscured, in the upper levels of the house of Baal.   It had been chosen purposely, for its situation, it would easily escape the notice of all but the attentive observer.

From the swirling incense laden smoke, within the room, a presence materialised; something alien.

'You have done well my bride; you have built up the basis of a small but fervent following within the centre of this heathen culture.   However, I am here to give warning.  There is one you are holding in the cells below who will cause problems if he is not neutralised…'

"Skaa will either be killed or assimilated very soon lord Bedelacq you have my word on it." she answered with confidence.

'Do not speak aloud,' he admonished.   'You maybe overheard, and you know well that I prefer to read your thoughts on such matters.'

'I-I'm sorry my Lord.' her thoughts filled with penitence, and something else.  Fear…

'The Huren is not the one to whom I refer.   It is the man who came seeking the girl who accompanied the missing prince.   Wizomi is his name, he is of the weirdly way yet, I sense something more in him, he may be an agent of the Jellonan.   He is a dangerous unknown force and must be dealt with sooner rather than later.   It is essential that you either turn him - and make him our creature - or, kill him.   I sense he is allied with prince Ahlendore in some way, and will not be susceptible to your more subtle forms of mind control.   I will leave you to do what is necessary.' 

The manifestation and the fluorescence faded as quickly as it had come.   Jazim shuddered involuntarily and relaxed.   Bedelacq always had that affect on her when he visited.  

It was interesting, that he was perturbed by the storyteller.   She recalled detecting tiny ripples of manipulation in Wizomi's handling of Skaa.   When they met in Mandrell, she had been sceptical about what had actually transpired but, since his suggestion suited her purpose, she had seen no reason to take issue with it.   Even so, she found the man was intriguing, purely because of the subtlety of his action.   The actions of most men of the weirdly way were as subtle as a hammer blow, whilst he wielded magic with the precision and delicacy of a surgeon healer, very refreshing, she would relish pitting wits with him and mayhap even enlisting him in the name of Bedelacq, if she failed he would still provide an acceptable sacrifice to 'the god of vengeance'.

.-…-. 

Aldor picked up Wizomi's trail with remarkable ease.   Whilst people do not consciously record the passage of one of the weirdly way their subconscious mind is remarkably sensitive and registers all, other than routine, contacts.   Moreover, the subconscious has fewer tendencies to distort, misrepresent, or manipulate the truth for its own ends.   Just a fleeting glance, a smile or eye contact would yield all the information he required and more.   A simple visual picture revealed to ten minds in as many seconds, was so effective he couldn't help wondering why it was not more commonly practised.

He began his enquiries in the main reception hall of the palace; where to his growing surprise nobody showed any sign of recognising him.   Even those who professed to know him very well showed not the slightest reaction to his presence.   He could not resist a childish peek, a foible but, he was disappointed to discover their feelings toward him ranged from mild liking to mild dislike, there were no wild extremes.   All this he was able to glean in passing.   The big test would be Jazim's sons; both were older than he and knew him intimately.   He sought them out observing them from a distance.   He was gratified to discover, they held a genuine warmth towards him, verging on affection but, he was even more surprised to learn they were not Jazim's natural children, neither were they in any true sense her stepsons.   He became conscious and alert to the fact, they were aware he, or somebody, was inside their minds, they seemed to be familiar with the experience accepting it as normal.   They registered his presence as he delved in their surface memories, and as he dug deeper made no attempt to hide anything, and that was when he made a startling discovery.   They were all natives of Bluttland, including their mistress, it seemed, they served Jazim as either servants or slaves.   They were all fanatical followers of the god of vengeance Bedelacq.   Neither man showed any sign of recognition as he passed close by.   He smiled and made eye contact but they simply ignored him and moved on.   He maintained contact with Bodley, the younger, and was surprised to discover they were not even brothers.   He learned they had been summoned to carry out a task on behalf of their mistress, at the house of Baal!?   He did not dwell on these new revelations, but assimilated them and followed at a safe distance; the contact was well worth investigating, especially in the absence of a viable alternative.

   He had mixed feelings, as they approached the house of Baal, some good, mostly sadness at the senseless death of Eldoriel.   He could still picture her in his mind, warm and smiling, waiting in that locked room.  He felt a reaction stir in the mind of Bodley and realised he must have unconsciously projected her picture into his mind.   He explored the memories now surfacing, learning in the process that Eldoriel had been marked for blood sacrifice.   At that time her husband had been a new recruit and had pledged her to Bedelacq as part of his initiation, then, she had been slaughtered, out of hand, before the appointed time.   Because he had been responsible for her wellbeing prior to the conjunction, Bodley was blamed; his punishment was swift and painful.   There were others now in the cellars below the house, who would prove suitable substitutes during the conjunction - when Vexen occluded Veinen and the light turned blood red - Bodley smiled the time was close at hand now.    Aldor was stricken with horror, as crude caricatures of Wizomi and Genna appeared in Bodley's mind.   All three men gazed up at the attic window bathed in sickly green.

Aldor closed his eyes and cast around for Wizomi but, he was not answering.   He thought of Jazim and cast his mind up to that distant room.   It seemed he was able to enter her mind, but then he felt dizzy and had to retreat back into his own mind.   In that brief oblique contact, he learned she was at least his equal at mind dwelling.   She had warning systems, steel shutters, and traps, set for just such an eventuality.   Her mind was a maze that would overwhelm and destroy the unwary mind, or capture it forever like a fly in amber.    He only escaped because she expected an assault to involve direct force but instead, he sidled up, rather than rushing in, whilst she was distracted by the presence of Bedelacq.   He lay passively in Bodley's mind when she invited them up.   She took hold on Bodley's mind as though he were an unruly dog on a leash.    Constantly questioning and demanding, until she was satisfied all was well.   She massaged their minds affectionately treating them as her pets.   Lingering absently, pushing and coaxing, he was unable to stir without giving himself away.   When they headed for the rear entrance he followed, out of sight, knowing exactly where they were heading, whilst part of his mind remained bonded to Bodley.

.-…-. 

'It is time for us to get properly acquainted Jazim,’ Aldor thought.

‘It cannot be avoided forever,’ Orden affirmed.

'I know a concubine is able to get into places a mere wife would not be privy to, but inside the mind of a man like Bodley is not the place I would choose, likeable as he is…'

Her nose quivered, 'I thought I sensed a foreign taint, which is why I waited to make your acquaintance,' Jazim replied.   'You've changed a lot since last we met, but, seeking me out here was not the act of a sane man, I am intimate with every dark crevice and wrinkle of this battleground.   I trust your body is well hidden,   For even as we speak Harby is seeking it out.   'Alls I need do is hold you're presence here until he throttles the life out of your physical form, then as you fade, I will know you have been eliminated.   I'm sorry it has to happen this way, you would make a truly wonderful blood sacrifice, but you are far too dangerous to be allowed to live…'

He remained still as Harby approached, and focused his mind through the jewel.  As he entered Harby's mind, all the doors opened and he knew every evil deed the man had committed.   He saw, he judged and watched without mercy as the shades of his misdeeds did their work.   At that moment, back in the mind of Bodley, he realised she did not have the power to affect him; even as he walked unopposed to the attic room where she lay in her light trance state.  

'Harby is no more,' he said simply.  

She took a sharp intake of breath, sitting up with a startled jerky movement the effects of vertigo showing on her face.  He knew immediately, she no longer inhabited Bodley’s mind.  

"What have you done to him!" she choked, through her rough-dry throat, assaulting him with all manner of mental missiles that would have killed a normal man, but simply bounced harmlessly off the shield his mind threw about him.

"I have done no more than press a switch you created and primed, many years past when first you met him."

She bounded to her feet, eyes blazing with anger and hatred, as she threw herself at him with all the strength she could muster.   Aldor felt the impact.   She smiled, her eyes filled with triumph, as she took a backward step glancing down at her handiwork, inviting him to look down at the dagger sunk deep in his chest.   He smiled and drew it out slowly, throwing it disdainfully at the door frame, it quivered and stopped.

"You really should know better than that he chided,"

"You fool!" she said contemptuously.   "You don't think I would rely on an untreated blade do you?   It was coated with a slow-acting poison called blacquero!   There is no antidote,” she added triumphantly, and lay down, effectively blanking him from her mind, in favour of going to the aid of Harby her faithful servant.

He approached her prone form, placing his forehead against hers, the jewel began to glow.  

She was confused; Harby was asleep and unharmed.   Aldore’s words had implied that he was dead - Harby is no more - she recalled his words…

'He is also no less,' Aldor spoke in Harby's mind.   He looked straight into the eyes of her ethereal form, 'How came you this way?'    His voice was filled with concerned.   She was silent a moment, then tears formed as she started to recall.  

   'I was taken as a child, I became this way when I was made a bride of Bedelacq - the god of vengeance.   I had a choice' she said, 'I chose to live.   We were all conditioned and made over in his image, by our Lord himself!'   She cried out in anguish, her voice rising to a crescendo as the strange green florescence infused the space within Harby's mind.   Flee for your life, he is coming!'    She yelled, her terror evident, ‘best make it fast,’ she warned.

'You would really help me?'    He said in surprise.

'Your mother was always a good friend to me.   She risked her standing and received personal abuse because of me, and on more than one occasion.   She is a caring and very compassionate woman.   Until today, I assumed you were your father's son, but you spared Harby, then I realised you have a lot of your mother in you.   Go now, if your life is of value, for inside this mind you are his.   Outside there are rules, ask the one who made you!   Ask…'

He did not wait to hear more, he knew she spoke true, he returned to his own body to find himself frozen and unable to move.  

'So, you are Ordens latest and shortest-lived disciple.' said the shade of Bedelacq.

He closed his eyes, ‘Orden,’ he yelled.

'Please do not deafen me sprout.   I see you have met the other side.

The HM is attuned to us, so I wouldn't even have to cry 'violation', the moment you strike at him I will retaliate and you know you would not stand a Karaxen's chance with a second strike against me Bedelacq, - Jellonan v Tzandoean?   I know all your secrets and there could be only one outcome.'

Bedelacq looked daggers in Jazim's direction.

'Leave her, at this time she is human, and out of your jurisdiction.'

'There will be another time Jellonan, when your pets will not be so prominent in Universal affairs.'   He said pointedly.

Ordens eyes blazed with anger 'Let us hope so,’ he said.

'Wait until they discover how fleeting your support actually is Jellonan' the shade smiled and burst into mocking laughter.

'You go too far…' Orden yelled, but the fluorescence was already fading and with it the god of vengeance.

'What did he mean by prominent in Universal affairs?' Aldor asked.

'He, heh, there are certain things it would be best, for the moment, I keep from you.'

'I think you had better explain?'  Aldor pressed him.

  Well, it is true you are currently quite high profile at council.'

'Would it hurt you to clarify that statement, what precisely do you mean?'    Aldor worried him like a dog with a bone.

Orden was distinctly uncomfortable.   'It huh, is not important at this time…’ he floundered.

'The truth may be the easiest way to extricate oneself from a hole when one has burrowed too deep,’ he suggested expectantly.

'Mmn oh, very well!' said Orden grudgingly.   'Bedelacq is the ambassador of a race known as the Tzandoean.   They were our main adversaries in the recent disastrous wars.   Though hostilities have long been over between us, and we are now equal partners, jointly administering the Federation, we frequently take opposing viewpoints on issues.   They control one faction of the ruling council, known as the outer alliance, whilst we Jellonan's are leading members of the opposing faction, known as the inner alliance.   There are many satellite factions, pressure groups, driven by a common interest.   Individually they are too small to influence events, however, because the Federation is currently so finely balanced they are able to wield and influence power way out of proportion to their actual size.   These satellite groups currently view you as the underdogs and are casting their decisive votes in your favour.   But, if it suits their purpose to do so, they could just as easily go the other way.    In your language I believe, the word is fickle.'

'So what in your opinion are our chances of keeping the floating voters on our side at this time?'  Aldor enquired.

Orden remained silent as Jazim began to stir…  

She smiled and stirred, recalling again how young prince Fazeil’s eyes always followed her hungrily every moment she was in his presence.   She was his father’s concubine.   Caliph Endrochine had long been totally under her influence but he was ageing fast whilst she remained forever young.   He had however for a considerable time, provided her with the perfect cover, enabling her to develop and nurture a wide power base for her cause.   As a concubine, she enjoyed free run of the palace of Corvalen, and was able to travel freely where his innumerable wives could not.   They remained virtual prisoners, restricted to their private quarters in the harem complex.

Fazeil was attracted to her like a bee to honey, and she did everything in her power to encourage him.   As a young man, he was suggestible, and eagerly involved himself, in the many dubious schemes she set up to draw him in.   She smiled again, a contented little sigh escaped her lips, she had trained him well.   She had relied on the family inclination, towards promiscuity, to ensnare him.   She knew she could provide what no other could and he was willing and eager to pay the price, whatever she asked of him.   Under the circumstances, a little religious commitment seemed a small price to pay.   He quickly grew to crave the hunt, the excitement of the kill, for which he grudgingly endured the letting of blood.   Initially, he rebelled against her, refusing to join in with her, in the practice of blood rites on human victims.   Her answer was swift, stingingly, and immediate; she withdrew her favours, severing all contact with him.   He predictably caved in, as she knew he would, after only a few days becoming just another of her many tame creatures.   Within ten years, the prince was a devout worshiper.   Soon after the death of his father, Faziel began the conversion of his people.  Those closest to him, his supporters, and their families, none dared refuse.   Soon, she thought, the god of vengeance will reign supreme to the nor-west, right down to the slopes of the Sabre Tooth Mountains.   One day the whole of Abbalar would be under his divine power.   Her smile changed to a frown, doubt shaded her dream, she was no longer sure that would be a good thing but, her future was inextricably linked with the master, and failure would mean death.   But, would that be such a bad thing?   She was tired…

 

 (To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan