The Crucible by Mark Whiteway

Author:Mark Whiteway [Whiteway, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-19T22:00:00+00:00

Part Four: The Ruins

As Quinn swam towards consciousness, his nose filled with a heady perfume that triggered a distant memory. He reached for it, but it fluttered like a butterfly just out of reach. He frowned. His most recent memory had been the orange-eyed stares of the dart’s crew expressing shock, disappointment, or contempt—he wasn’t sure which. Then… nothing. He shifted position. Something beneath him rustled. Curiosity tugged at him like an impatient child. He forced his eyes open.

He lay in a patch of reeds, surrounded by sumptuous blooms—bells, trumpets, and lanterns of red, yellow, and gold. Off to his left whispered the susurrus of flowing water.

“You are awake.”

With an effort, Quinn propped himself up on his elbows. Sitting among the reeds in front of him was Zothan, cross-legged and with his single claw resting in his lap. His official robe was gone.

“Have you recovered?” Zothan asked.

Quinn ran his fingers through his tangled hair. His eyelids were lead shutters, and his chin stubble felt like sandpaper. “I-I’m fine. What happened?”

“You collapsed.”

Quinn had hoped for a more detailed diagnosis, but Zothan was an engineer, not a healer. Was the headpiece responsible, or was this merely the latest symptom of his worsening Shade affliction?

“I do not like this place,” Zothan continued. “A profusion of living things locked in constant struggle. Each consumes the other. It is… chaotic. In the volothi, the desert, life is swift. Death is clean.”

Quinn watched the butterfly land. “This is a cushatra, a traditional Kimn home. Are we back on Pann?”

“No, Quinn. We are aboard the Shasallah, the surrendered Kimn vessel. These are Syn-moon’s quarters. She felt the environment here would assist your recovery.”

An insect with four iridescent wings and a glowing tail floated past like a lighted taper. A long, multisegmented creature emerged from a bulbous pink flower and wound its way down the stem. A gentle breeze blew, presumably generated by the ship’s air-recycling system. Quinn’s heartbeat slowed.

“Is this what Earth is like?” Zothan continued.

“Uh, some parts are quite like this. Others are more like your world.”

“And what of the place where your omesku resides?”

“You mean Ireland? Ireland is… Ireland is very green and very wet, and you’d probably hate it.”

Zothan bent his head one way then the other in a gesture Quinn could not fathom. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you would wish to leave us.”

Quinn lowered his eyes. “It has nothing to do with the climate. I’m needed elsewhere—that’s all.”

“You are needed here.”

“You don’t need me. Your people are united now. You are more than capable of taking back your world without my help.”

“You are Shade. You have the blackened epidermis, the accursed gifts. You are one of us.”

And it’s killing me slowly. Quinn fought down bile rushing into his throat. “I will never be Nemazi. I’m not even sure I’m still human.”

“If Quinn does not belong on Nemazi, and he does not belong in Ireland, where does he belong?”

Quinn shook his head. “All I know is if Vil-gar dies, then his avatar will disappear, and the Damise will take over the Haven in short order.

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