The Complete Tales of Transition by Gareth K Pengelly

Author:Gareth K Pengelly [Pengelly, Gareth K]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-11-02T06:00:00+00:00

***

This was an ocean once, Roubain tells us. An expanse of salty water larger than the eye could see, or the mind comprehend, home to aquatic creatures innumerable, and bustling with vessels bringing trade and tribute to the great Pen. Perhaps once, but not anymore.

As we’d emerged from the servants’ tunnels that led down to the underground docks of Merethia, the air that caressed our skin so cool and refreshing following the closeness of the tunnels, we’d expected our first glimpse of this mythical ocean.

But now, as we blink our eyes against the sunlight, we see only vast, empty ruin.

“What happened?” breathes Arlee in confusion and not a little fear, her eyes wide as she surveys the vista before us.

Huge, ocean-going ships, leviathan-large, lay smashed like wooden toys upon the rocks. The stone harbour buildings, blasted to ruins. And where there should be inky depths of briny sea, now nothing more than an expanse of bare rock, larger even than the Northern Plains and scorched and blistered as though by some incandescent heat.

“The Sundering,” Roubain answers. “See that ruin, that crater over yonder?” We follow his questing finger with our gaze. “That was the Beacon tower. It loomed a thousand feet, so that all could see the Portal and witness the end of worlds. But the first runestone reduced it to nothing but slag.”

I stare out across the great expanse, to the island that remains in the sea of rocks. Even now, after long years, the craggy outcrop still glows in places with heat, torturing the air with a shimmering haze. I shudder to think of the destructive power that must have been unleashed.

“You said the Portal remains?” It’s Nantak who speaks, his question directed at the Hillsman. “Yet how? Nothing could survive such… destruction.”

Roubain shakes his head, even as he begins to descend into the dry harbour, making his way carefully down the scree lest he stumble and slide fifty feet to the bottom. We follow as he replies.

“The Portal nestles in a cradle, forged by Stone himself out of the same indestructible obsidian as his Glaives. The cradle focuses and contains the unearthly powers involved in forming the Portal. And though the tower might have been turned to ash, the cradle remains, of that I have no doubt.”

Silence now as we make out way along the seabed, threading our way twixt the giant, hollow skeletons of charred and blackened ships. As we walk, Nantak draws near to me, his face sombre, tone low and serious.

“Are doing the right thing, Pan? We don’t know this man. Granted, he helped free us from Pen Argyle, but we know so little about him. And hiss tales… so outlandish. How do we know we’ll even find Seelah?”

The horrors of the last two days are clear to see on his face. As is the fear he feels within, the very same I feel in my own breast even now. The fear that perhaps, after all we’ve endured, Seelah might not even be found. That perhaps she’s already dead.

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