Cheilin Saga ~ 33

 Cheilin Saga ~ 33  Contact from Orden

By Len Morgan

 

‘Aldor what is happening, why do we keep losing contact for long periods?’  Orden asked.

Aldor had just returned to the Eternal City; via the portal. 

‘I have been away from the city visiting with friends.   For some reason, their location must be a blind spot to our mental form of communication.  I will warn you when next I go,’ he said. 

‘You were right, it seems, the Blutt forces have pulled back from the Stalbech and we have gained a further six months grace, mayhap more,’ Orden confirmed.

‘Do you have any news from our mutual friend in the north?’

‘Still no word from Wizomi, but I cannot bring myself to believe he is gone, I know deep down that he still lives,’ said Orden.   ‘It’s strange that both you and Wizomi can disappear so completely at convenient times and places.   You must talk me through one such location sometime.’

‘When I have time to spare’ Aldor agreed. ‘Have you been following events through me?’

‘I have, but to be honest there is one thing that is causing me confusion.’

‘Which is,’ Aldor enquired.

‘The young woman Constance.’  He paused for effect, hoping to draw out some comment which was not forthcoming ‘not the natural choice for a bodyguard I’m thinking?’

‘She is a talented telepath who agreed to monitor the minds of those around the Emperor; for me.’

‘How did you find this young telepath?’ Orden enquired.

‘In the usual way,’ Aldor replied.  In answer to silence, Orden’s unasked question, he added ‘I advertised.’

‘I really do not follow everything you are doing, contrary to your beliefs’ said Orden.

‘Then let me say simply that our minds touched and we developed an affinity…’

‘There is something between you?’ said Orden, a glint in his eye.

‘There is nothing, are you familiar with a god known as Geoffe?’  Aldor asked.

‘Just another nonexistent pagan idol’ Orden said.

‘Well, she is one of his followers and, their Order believes me to be his messenger.   I cannot tell you more save to say they are working with me in the interests of mankind.   I asked them for assistance and they sent Constance.’

‘Stay in touch,’ said Orden and was gone.

Aldor smiled, Dan is right, the truth works every time. 

.-…-. 

Dragor was buried with honours.   Many colleagues from sectors all around the city attended, as well as his own watch, and many of the local inhabitants also turned out to pay their final respects to a popular and consistent champion of law and order.   There were eulogies from all levels.   Aldor was present but kept a low profile, he noted that Sloan stood unashamedly with tears on his cheeks, normally unemotional; he did not even try to conceal his depth of feeling at the loss.   Aldor was surprised also to see Doreeta and Bordek also among the tearful mourners.  

.-…-. 

Sloan's anger smouldered as he left the scene.   Some very good people had died, ostensibly in the service of the Empire, but Sloan wondered.   Obviously, the Tylywoch had a vested interest in the Emperor's survival but, he had recently learned that Aldor was not born to them.   It was possible that his agenda might be quite different.   Thus far he had acted consistently in Dan’s best interest but for how long might that continue?   He had followed Aldor, out of curiosity, and witnessed him disappear through a solid stone wall; that was not normal, in Sloan’s eyes, and he was deeply suspicious of things and people that did not conform.

.-…-. 

  “He returned through the same stretch of wall, through which you say he disappeared,” Faux confirmed.

“Goodman,” said Sloan “Your replacement will be here shortly, get some rest and return for your shift this evening.   Until further notice, this will take priority over everything else.   I want this place under 24-hour surveillance.”   As Faux left, Sloan slipped into the shadows to await the next watch.   Fifteen minutes passed before a young man appeared.   He seemed to linger close to the spot.   Sloan was about to call out and ask him what had kept him, but a sixth sense made him hold fast.   On closer inspection, the man proved not to be Militia.   Sloan watched as he moved, quickly to the wall, with his palm out in front of him.   Sloan made an instant decision and ran at the man.

.-…-. 

Brother Ignatius was instructed to keep Aldor informed on the progress of the five captive brides.   Since Aldor had exorcised their demons their minds had regressed, to childhood, they remembered nothing after the green light.   All had an aversion to the colour green.   When allowed to roam free for short periods they were unable to move freely, in open country, where grass and leaves caused them to become catatonic.   They were, in essence, seriously disturbed thirteen year old children.   Aldor had suggested that they be kept away from the trigger colour until he was able to return and assess them fully. 

.-…-.  

Brother Ignatius returned to the portal, deep in thought.   A quick look around, to be sure that he was alone, then he reached out for the entry pad.   As the portal opened something hit him in the back.   He fell forward, knocked unconscious by the force of his entry, into the portal.

.-…-. 

Sloan gazed down at the young man, with concern, turning him over to check that he was still breathing.   ‘There must have been a hidden catch’ he thought.   No, he knew it could not be so; he’d checked the other side thoroughly and knew for certain that the wall was solid.   Why had he even considered it?   At first, the place was in total darkness, now he could see the young man’s face.   Unless his senses were failing him there was a faint luminescence, growing brighter, emanating from the ceiling.   The floor was smooth and warm to the touch.

“Where am I,” he said aloud, hoping there was somebody within hearing.   He listened and consciously registered a barely audible hum coming from a door opening to his right.   Straight ahead there was a door, he tried it, inside there were two single cot beds covered in a soft white material.   After a moments thought he went back to retrieve the still unconscious young man and lay him on one of the cots.   He rubbed his hand across the top of the door and inspected his fingers, no dust, obviously in fairly regular use he thought.   He went back into the entrance hall to examine the walls.   They were off white smooth and warm to the touch, similar to the floor, the ceiling had lightened appreciably now almost as if it sensed his presence.   He followed his ears into the doorless room seeking to locate the source of the hum.   He noted there were two moulded seats of material unfamiliar to him.   He sat on the nearest, it was firm but remarkably comfortable.   As he looked at the table a panel began to glow revealing some unfamiliar symbols.   Below the panel, he saw an oblong plate set into the surface of the table, covered with a regular pattern of offset square tiles each bearing familiar, but stylised, letters and numbers.   He tapped some of the half inch square tiles and the letters were duplicated on a flat glowing tile set into the wall behind the table and above the glowing panel.   He tapped the letters ‘A L D O R’ which appeared white on a dark blue ground.  

‘You are not he…’ came the immediate response in yellow letters. 

 ‘N O,’ he tapped. 

 ‘Who are you’ came the reply.

‘S L O A N’

‘Ah a standard… no, a latent Revisionist!’

‘What does that mean?’ he typed.

‘I could awaken your senses.’

‘No!   You do nothing to me I am happy to be normal.’

‘Oh but, you have never been normal, you are a loner neither one nor the other; an in between.   Contrary to what you say you are unhappy and should make the choice, one way or the other, you would however be wasted as a Standard.   Let me…’

‘NO!’ he typed angrily.  ‘I am normal, a standard if you like…, he slammed the pad angrily.

‘Careful with my keys’ said the voice in his mind.   ‘You are certainly not normal even amongst Revisionists; you would be far from the norm.’

‘How are you doing that’ he thought, looking at the blank space where the words had been.

 ‘Do you not think it a far more efficient means of communication?   No chance of deceit or misunderstanding…’ said the voice.

‘I will ask again, who are you, where are you’ he demanded.

‘I or should I say we are the Portal.   This place is just a control centre, just one of many on Abalar, would you like to see the others?’   Before he could answer the screen lit up a map of the city appeared.   A small pink light winked in the middle of the screen.

‘This is where we are, the light turned blue, and these are all the others;’ the Eternal city shrank rapidly to a dot and a map opened out like a flower to reveal the whole world, and thousands of tiny pinpoints of light flashing like stars…

‘Aaah,’ He cried out in surprise.

‘You are not alone; you could travel anywhere, simple as passing through a door,’ said the voice in his mind.

‘Which door?’  He asked.

‘Just tread the blue line at your feet,’ was the answer.   He looked down and saw a luminous blue line had indeed appeared on the floor, leading out into the entranceway and to the left of the room in which he’d laid the unconscious young visitor.

‘Where would I go.’ he asked.

‘You have the world to choose from, you can go where ever you want’

“Where did Aldor go?”

‘The Abbey at Samishaam,’ said the portal.

“Then I will go to Samishaan,” he answered, speaking aloud.

‘Then you would have me awaken your senses?’

He paused “I don’t know,” he replied.

Copyright Len Morgan