The Echolone Mine (2 page)

“You suspect
if we research the past not influenced by the Valleur, we may find
our personal future is not clouded.”

“I hate not
seeing what is coming. Yes, I hope research is more than
interest.”

“Why, Elianas?
Gods, for once we do not have to look over our shoulders every
minute, or stress about what comes next.”

Elianas placed
a hand flat on the table. “You think eating and buying a sword
roots us? You think touching this old piece of wood here makes us
real? We are swerving spaces, Torrullin, and we have no purpose.
What will we do? Skirt around this hefty question and intent
between us until we drive each other mad?”

“Ten tension
free days meant nothing?”

“It meant
everything
, but now we
must
move on or it will mean
nothing soon. And it wasn’t tension free.”

A smile. “I
guess not.”

“Why not start
with Beacon?”

Torrullin
pulled a face. “I hate Beacon.”

“More reason.
If we find something there, where is the limit? We may even
discover new respect for Beaconites.”

“I doubt it,
but I get your point.”

“Fine. You
lead, I follow.”

Torrullin
wondered what the real purpose was, but he owed Elianas far more
than the man owed him.

He thumped the
table.

“Innkeeper,
how many coins are due?”

Magic in the
most unlikely places has the power to astonish.

Book of
Sages

Beacon

I
t was spring on the giant city-world, but there was
little sign of the renewal season.

Here and there
a tree blossomed and boasted emerald leaves, but trees were a
minority. Buildings great and tall assumed majority space. Even the
ocean was built over.

There were
people everywhere.

“Gods, maybe
this was a bad idea,” Elianas muttered as they walked along a busy
road between skyscrapers.

“It was an
excellent idea. We should start at the nearest library.”

“These people
rely on computers, not books.”

“Which the
library will let us use,” Torrullin said and steered Elianas
towards a city map glazed against one wall of a mighty building.
“Stay clear of uniforms; we do not want questions.”

“We have
nothing to hide.”

“Beacon
requires a special passport; without it we would be in jail. Bloody
Beacon; serve them right if we vanish from under their noses.”

Elianas
grinned. “They must know who you are.”

“Then the
whole universe will hear of it.”

“Ah.
Incognito.”

A laugh. “You
like it.”

“I might enjoy
the cloak and dagger, yes.”

“Read the
bloody map,” Torrullin grinned.

The library,
when they eventually found it, was an imposing building of at least
thirty storeys. The circled L on the city map had not promised
quite this. The entrance could admit an army and the stairs leading
up were almost as many as Grinwallin’s great stairway counted.

Teighlar of
Grinwallin would be horrified to realise concrete could mirror the
great task of building with stone. Then, having now finally
travelled, Teighlar probably knew, and
was
horrified. The
Emperor was sure to expound on it sometime.

Once inside
the hallowed halls of knowledge, quiet reigned. Banks of flickering
monitors detracted from what should have been an academic
atmosphere.

Torrullin
suffered another bout of misplaced amusement; he and Elianas were
the staid ones. What did they expect? That the universe would
remain trapped in their kind of past? The look of pained
astonishment on the dark man’s face eloquently revealed he would
prefer those old ways.

A uniformed
guard/guide asked if they needed help, and Elianas, after a moment
of inner debate whether to run or not, explained about research
into early history. They were led to the twentieth floor using an
elevator at least two hundred years old. It was in good order,
fortunately.

“Early history
is only partly computerised,” the guide explained. “It seems some
scholars prefer working with books - an outdated notion, but, then,
they have grants.”

Torrullin
nearly laughed aloud as he let them off, pointing out a workstation
before going back down.

The two men
sat before the monitor and looked at it as if it would attack them.
What now?

A young woman
giggled, rose from her seat before a similar contraption and ambled
closer. “I’m guessing you’re not from Beacon.”

She was
pretty, and kind, for she showed them how to access the necessary
files, explaining the numbers beside each work denoted whether
computerised or in bound format. Books, she said, were across the
hall beside the elevator. They thanked her, began pushing buttons,
and were soon lost.

Elianas sent
her a desperate look and she giggled again and came back. Shooing
them away, she punched buttons to return to the system.

“I’m working
on my thesis, political boo-ha, so I could use the distraction.
What are you looking for?”

“Settlement
sites,” Elianas said.

“Sorry?”

“Sites from
the time Beacon was settled.”

“No such
thing. All available land is used commercially or
residentially.”

“Artefacts?”

“There are
some in the museum in the southern hemisphere, but, really, it’s
nothing special.”

Torrullin
said, “What about tales of early settlement? History, legend, myth,
that sort of thing?”

“Let us see …”
She punched and looked, punched and looked, and then gave a sigh of
satisfaction. “There. Aisle 6. Bound format.”

“Thank god,”
Torrullin said. “Books I can handle.”

They thanked
her and headed towards the hall. Elianas paused. “If you are doing
a political thesis, why are you up here in Early History?”

The young
woman smiled. “The Bridge of Dreams.”

It sounded
interesting. “And what is that?”

“It’s the
bridge built around settlement time. A huge economic disaster that
led to major political upheaval. I’m trying to prove we should hark
with hindsight to the future.”

Maybe not so
interesting, but one never knew. “Very astute,” Torrullin murmured.
“Where is this bridge?”

She gave
directions and they thanked her again and headed out.

Left of the
elevator was an arch leading into the bound format section. Books,
to the simple-minded. They spent hours paging through a variety,
but did not learn anything significant. By the time the guard
called closing time, both wanted nothing more than to leave
Beacon.

Outside it was
dusk, but the city-world barely registered coming night. People
hastened everywhere and with seeming purpose.

“We may as
well have a look at that Bridge of Dreams.” Torrullin yawned.

Elianas
shrugged, disheartened by the fruitless day.

“Come. An hour
more and we can leave.”

Elianas
followed.

It took more
than an hour to get to the bridge, for they were soon thoroughly
lost.

Directions
were spuriously given by passers-by, proving anew most Beaconites
were rude, some obnoxious. Having spent the time, however, despite
frustration, they did not want to leave without seeing the mythical
bridge.

Then the
edifice was upon them, and jaws dropped.

It was
beautiful.

Of pale pink
stone, it was an arch bridge. It had a span of two hundred feet and
the semi-circular arches were perfectly cut forms united by ornate
iron clamps. It had the look of benevolent antiquity and was
probably one of the few spaces where buildings had not encroached
to hide something striking.

The stone
glowed in the city lights, appearing surreal. It reposed in
splendid isolation. Once it spanned a river; now it arced gently
over a green field. The faint smell of flowers rose from below.

They closed
in. This, at least, was worth the effort.

“I wouldn’t do
that,” a rough voice murmured. A drunk lolled against a light pole
for support. “They say it’s cursed.”

“A Bridge of
Dreams is cursed?” Elianas asked.

“So they say.
Nobody dares cross. They say the last time someone did the river
dried up.”

“Who are
‘they’?” Torrullin asked. He was finally intrigued.

“The Brothers
of the Bridge, strange lot, very cliquey.”

Really.
Smacked of a tale. And a curse should be harked to until proven
false. “Where do we find them?”

The drunk
pointed wildly and then eyed them. “Why you want the Brothers?”

“We are
archaeologists. We want to talk to them,” Elianas offered.

The drunk
cackled. “With swords? Then my mama’s a lady!”

Torrullin gave
the man money and they walked on, hoping the wildly pointing arm
would prove a useful lead.

They came to a
narrow four-storey house overlooking the green field. The bridge
was twenty feet away. Lights were on inside and they headed for the
front door.

It pulled wide
before they reached it and a young man stood framed in light,
holding a shotgun in steady hands. The light haloed his fair
hair.

An avenging
angel.

“What do you
want?” he called out. The weapon moved slightly - right onto
target. One of them could sport a massive hole in the chest before
long.

“We would like
a word with the Brothers of the Bridge,” Torrullin called as they
came to a stop. “We hear they live here.”

“Why do you
seek them?” The shotgun remained steady.

“Historical
interest in the Bridge of Dreams,” Elianas answered. Softly he said
to Torrullin, “Is this frustration worth it?”

“I get the
shotgun - Beacon’s a dangerous place - but did you hear his tone
change when we mentioned the Brothers? Let’s give it a while
longer,” Torrullin whispered back.

“Why?” the man
called out.

“Because
research has shown nothing old exists on Beacon except this bridge.
We are curious,” Elianas called back.

The shotgun
lowered, fractionally. “Do you know what they say about
curiosity?

Elianas
laughed. “Different things on different worlds. Largely to do with
cats.”

“Where are you
from?”

“Sanctuary,”
Torrullin replied.

Long moments
of silence ensued and then the barrel lowered to point downward and
the man stood aside. “Come in.”

“I think if we
were Beaconites, he would pull the trigger,” Elianas muttered from
the side of his mouth as they approached the rectangle of
light.

“You’re right
in saying nothing of beginning times remain,” the young man said
over coffee a while later.

His name was
Weth, the current and only Brother of the Bridge. “You must know
Beacon’s reputation - exploit, exploit, and exploit. It was no
different on home soil back then. The bridge remains only due to
the curse.”

“Curse?”
Elianas echoed.

“Any who
misuse it, die. This is a fact.”

“Surely not?”
Torrullin murmured, his gaze drawn to several paintings of the
bridge on the wall opposite. Different angles, different light.
They were good.

“Some fall
off, others die later of other causes, but it’s true. Misuse -
die.” Weth sounded satisfied.

“The Brothers
have nothing to do with these later causes, I take it?”

Weth
smiled.

“Who did
those?” Torrullin pointed his cup at the wall.

“Most by my
great-grandfather, but others come from further back.”

“They are
excellent,” Elianas said.

They were in
the formal drawing room and Weth inched forward on an old, stiff
armchair, pushing untidy fair hair off his face.

“So tell me
why two men from Sanctuary would be interested in Beacon’s early
past.” He looked at Torrullin. “Particularly when one of them is
the Lord Elixir.”

He was a young
man, yes, but something in his eyes belied genuine youth.

A wry smile
came from Torrullin. “I hope you won’t repeat you have seen
me.”

“I stay away
from the authorities, believe me. Hypocrites, all of them.”

“Good, then we
can talk. Elianas and I attempt to discover the past of those less
connected to the Valleur. We chose Beacon as a starting point.”

Weth nodded.
“It’s about time someone with the years, ability and will
investigates the greater view of history.”

Elianas set
his cup down. “That is how we reason it.”

“I think you
might have a few of those necessary years,” Torrullin murmured.

Silence, then,
“But I have a duty here.”

Torrullin
waited. Elianas’ eyes narrowed.

There was an
odd glint in Weth’s eyes and for a young man he was self
-possessed.

“There’s a
tale surrounding the Bridge of Dreams and it speaks loudly of our
early past, kind of the mirror of Beacon, if you know what I mean,
and the Brothers’ were tasked with remembering. You won’t find this
tale in a book.” He shrugged. “I am now the last; so it is as well
I’m able to share it before it’s lost. Will you listen?”

“Yes,”
Torrullin said.

Elianas
nodded, fascinated.

Weth leaned
back, steepling his fingers.

“Beacon was
settled around thirty-five thousand years ago. We were spacefarers
already, thus the building of a new world presented little problem.
If Beacon did not have the required material, we found it on a
neighbour world. Fuel was soon an issue, but geologists and
engineers swiftly discovered reserves in the sea. Of course, we
knew what happened when one tampered with continental plates’
lubrication, so we were careful, and found other reserves on other
worlds as soon as we were able to. Beacon’s exploitative nature
began in the beginning. Clear oceans, wide rivers, flora and fauna,
everything a new world had to offer, and now this. We spread out,
settling all continents simultaneously - with travel and
communication it made sense - and trade flourished. This region had
something special, however, and it led to strife.”