together. The scene was much clearer here than it had been in the Witnessing. There was no mistaking the passion in her eyes as she pulled back from the little man.
Details of the scene brought welcome distraction from the subject at its heart. Where were they? Somewhere in the First Realm, by the steady, safe greens of the terrain rolling away behind them. A hut stood in the middle distance, plain and forlorn. The Pevan in the image was wearing a skirt she didn't recognise, knee-length with tight pleats that flattered her, but still promised excellent freedom of movement. At least there was something to look forward to about this future, then.
Actually, she had to admit, it looked like she was enjoying herself well enough. She put that thought aside before it could turn her stomach any further. Almost as if at her command, the image shattered, the splinters tumbling into a new configuration . The picture that emerged came with an odd twinge of dizziness.
It took her a moment to realise why. On the broad sweep of a gentle hill, the trees all grew straight up and naturally, but at thirty degrees to vertical. The bird that flittered across the foreground flew at the same angle. Crossing the gravity trap might have felt the same, had they done so in daylight. Pevan resisted the urge to press a hand to her gut.
The image shook, and a wall of muddy water smashed across it. Currents swirled in the muck, spitting branches, rocks and the battered corpses of animals into the air before catching them again. Her jaw hanging open, Pevan tried to imagine the strength of the Wilder behind such an attack. How had it been achieved? Was this the danger that had motivated Chag's compliance with the Separatists?
A torrent of other visions of catastrophe poured in while her mind still reeled. The tower blocks of old Federas, hurling themselves against one another and crumbling. A Realmquake shaking a modern village to splinters. An indistinct jumble of animal shapes that might have been a heap of corpses, smeared in filth and blood.
Pevan half-retched as that image scattered. The grey blur that remained in its wake became the bare stone walls of a dark cell. Rel stood in the centre of the room, arms folded, jaw set. She'd never seen him look so angry, so proud. His narrowed eyes seemed to dress the room in fire, his whole aura radiating power. Only the depth of the shadows around his eyes betrayed his weariness.
Dora, her hair for once tidied into a high ponytail, faced him, her face slack with sadness and bewilderment. She gestured, saying something. Pevan thought the Four Knot's lips finished on the words '...be reasonable'. She'd never been able to lip-read before. Was this Clearsight at work?
Rel's response was clearer. "I stand by my judgement. The Gift-Givers have lied to us, Dora." His eyes flashed as he spoke, and Dora looked down, pain written in the cast of her cheeks, the lines framing her mouth. The Four Knot turned as something tugged at her sleeve-
Pevan blinked. The air in the cell shaped itself around a third figure, invisible, drawing Dora away. The Four Knot glanced up, met the invisible figure's eyes. A door, or something like it, shut, the viewing fading to darkness. Rel had complained often enough about Gift-Givers being invisible to Clearsight; it was easy to recognise what she'd just seen.
Her skin crawled. She fought back her attention from the Shtorq and turned her head to find Chag watching her. Despite her memory of his hand being cold, the warmth of his sympathy flowed gently up her arm. She opened her mouth to speak, and only realised she had nothing to say after he'd pressed his finger to his lips.
The world gave a lurch like the sensation of gravity reversing. Pevan's stomach somersaulted through her abdomen, forcing her half-way to sitting as she curled up. Chag groaned. Pevan let herself flop back to lie flat on the platform that once again floated at the bottom of the endlessly tall Shtorq chamber.
She looked at Chag again, unable to escape the compassion in his eyes. He held his voice to a whisper. "You see my point of view now? I'm sorry to have to ask at a time like this, but I have to."
Dimly, Pevan sensed the brass coil of Delaventrin's presence recede. She closed her eyes, raising her free hand to rub her forehead. "I don't understand enough of... of all this."
"Nor do I." She recognised the bitterness in Chag's voice from their first conversation - had it really only been that morning? The little man released her hand, pushed himself up to sitting, and gazed down at her. "But Pevan, we can't trust the Gift-Givers. You see that, don't you?"
Rel could have done something stupid enough to get himself censured. He'd come close before. He was supposed to have grown out of it. She wanted him to have grown out of it. She didn't want to have to trust the Separatists, or Chag, even if he-
Better not to finish that thought right now. "I want to speak to Rel. And Dora." The Shtorq damped the quaver out of her voice. She could almost pretend she sounded tough and determined, but somehow she doubted she was fooling anyone else.
"Well, at very least we're going in the same direction, then." Chag smiled. "They'll be in Vessit in a couple of weeks. If you join us, your first assignment will be to accompany me there to intervene on Rel's behalf. If not, well, since you're going that way, might I have the pleasure of your company?"
Wit eluded her. She was just too tired to cut the little man down to size. He deserved it, however prettily he smiled when she nodded.
***
About the author
R. J. Davnall has been telling stories all his life, and thus probably shouldn’t be trusted to write his own bio. He holds a PhD in philosophy and teaches at Liverpool University, while living what his mother insists on calling a 'Bohemian lifestyle'. When not writing, he can usually be found playing piano, guitar or World of Warcraft.
R. J. Davnall on Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/eatthepen
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Blog: https://itsthefuture.blogspot.com/
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