Binary by Jay Caselberg (best short books to read txt) 📖

"Principal, wait!" called Kovaar.

"Where's my padder?" called Men Darnak. "Quick, quick, bring it here, man."

Within an instant, the Principal was on his animal, digging his heels into its flanks and was charging off up the hill.

"Principal," called Kovaar, attempting to mount his own beast. "Wait!" Kovaar fumbled his footing, and on the third attempt, finally found his seat. In a second or two, he too was charging up the hill. Looking flustered, the three men mounted and headed off after them. Sandon was left standing where he was, watching them disappear rapidly up the roadway.

"Dammit," he spat. His own padder was probably still in the stables somewhere. At least he hoped it was. He dashed back toward the barn, pain shooting though his joints with every hurried step.

Twenty-Two

"No, by the Prophet, they cannot all desert me. I will not allow it." Men Darnak dug his heels once more into the padder's flanks, ignoring the fact that he was already at full gallop. He was Principal. He had been Principal since...

The ground whipped past him, large fleshy plants and bare patches of muddy ground. A whitish scum marked the bare patches in places, and he paused in his considerations, just for a moment, to wonder what it might be. Funny that he'd never noticed it before. The wind rushing past him was cold, tinged with ice. He hunched against it and urged his mount on faster, faster. The padder crested a small hill, then started to slow to a canter. He was on the down slope now. A small valley ran between the two hills, obscuring his vision of any of the surrounds. Rising, blasted ground hemmed him in on all sides. Gently he slowed the animal to a walk, and looked around, but there was nothing, nothing but the same, unchanging landscape. The padder was breathing heavily beneath him. He could feel its ribs moving in and out between his legs and with noticing it, he realized that he too was panting. Up above, the clouds were thickening, filling with anger and the hate this world had for its people. But they weren't its people, were they? Why wouldn't it try and reject them? He pulled back on the reins and drew the animal to a complete halt. Yes, he could understand the world trying to reject him, but his own people, his own family. What was it that he had done?

He growled at the uncertainty as it flitted around him with the strengthening breeze. Karin, of all people. Karin was meant to support him, to love him, to stand by him as he moved into the infirmity of advancing years. Roge had too much to occupy him now, but Karin...

And then there was Tarlain. He had always been a good boy. A little na�ve, a little idealistic, but that came with youth. You grew out of that, in time. He had thought that sending him away was an act of responsibility, that making him truly work for his position would have hardened him, given him the strength he would eventually need to play in the machinations of the Guilds. Perhaps he had been too harsh. And now there was nothing for it. Tarlain was gone, he knew not where, Karin had thrown him to Aldaban's unforgiving landscape, and Roge was somewhere. Roge was somewhere. Roge was where? He had to talk to his eldest son and find out what was happening. Where was Yl Aris when he needed him? Sandon would have helped. But he had�he had�what had he done?

"Principal!" The shout came from over one of the slight hills behind him, far away, distorted by the wind, but it was definitely someone calling for him. He knew the voice. It was ... it was ... Priest. Kovaar. Witness Kovaar was looking for him.

"Principal!" the shout came again.

He sat where he was, looking down at the patchy ground, feeling the padder shift beneath him. Let them find him. Or perhaps it wasn't a 'them' after all. He shook his head. Kovaar. What did he want?

"Principal Men Darnak!"

He looked back over his shoulder. There, silhouetted on the hilltop was the Priest's figure astride his padder. Behind him, breaking through the clouds, the Twins' merged disks, struggling to force their way through the heavy blackness that roiled about them. Shafts of ruddy light broke through, disappeared, and broke through again, framing the solitary figure atop the hill with a continuously changing pattern of red and orange light. The Priest's robes stirred in the wind, adding to the unreality of the picture, shifting light, shifting shadow, the world turning around him.

"There you are. Stay there, Principal. I will come to you."

The Priest's reedy voice drifted and whipped away. Men Darnak snorted and turned away. Yes, let him come.

Kovaar cantered down the hill and drew his mount up beside.

"Principal," he said, a tone of admonition in the voice. "Where did you think you were going?"

"Did you not hear me? I'm looking for Roge."

"But what made you think you would find him out here? There's nothing here, Principal. Roge will have returned to his estates, or perhaps gone to Karin's. Would it not have been better to find out where he'd gone before charging out into the weather, especially so close to the end of the day. It will become dark soon, and I am sure the Prophet would not will you to be out here in this weather."

Men Darnak turned to face him. "So, you know the Prophet's will now, do you, Priest? You speak for the Prophet, do you? And I suppose you can tell me where my son is too. Perhaps you can explain to me his mind as well?"

Kovaar shook his head. "There is no point, Principal. You have already seen what's happened with your daughter. Why would you expect the others to be any different?"

Men Darnak sighed heavily. "I expect something. Something. I don't know what I expect." He looked up at the sky. The weight was growing in him, building darkly like the cloud mass above. He looked back at Kovaar. Reaching out with one hand, he grasped a handful of the Priest's robes. "You're a man of the Prophet, Kovaar. Tell me. Tell me what to do. Tell me what the Prophet wills. Let Him make this right."

Kovaar reached up and gently removed his hand. "It is not our place to demand of the Prophet. He guides us. He shows us the way. You can listen to his wisdom, deep inside. His will shapes things into what they must be."

"Pfah! No, no more. Damn you Priest. Where is Roge? We have to find Roge." He turned away, scanning the empty hills as if to find his eldest son sitting waiting for him. Kovaar sat watching him and he turned back to face him. "Damn you, Priest."

He dug his heels in and whipped the reins savagely. He headed the padder toward the hillside in front, urging it faster.

"Principal, wait!" yelled Kovaar behind him.

Sandon walked quickly past the still-open garage and headed for the stables. The broad door was closed, presumably against the weather, and he pulled at its edge, trying to ease it open far enough to slip inside and find his padder, if it was there at all. He'd have to saddle it, find the rest of his belongings. Who knew what they might have done with them? Inside, he was still cursing fate. Every time he seemed to get anywhere near the Principal, something conspired to wrest him away. There had to be a reason for that. There was a reason for everything. He was putting his weight behind the door, heaving against its bulk when one of Ka Vail's men appeared around the corner, looking pale.

"You," he said. "Where's my padder?"

The man stopped, looked blankly at him and shook his head. "I can't help you, Atavist," he said. "Such terrible news." He shook his head again.

"What is it?" asked Sandon, pausing in his efforts.

The man stared into nothing. "Principal Men Darnak. The new Principal."

"What? What is it?"

"No, of course you couldn't have heard. There's been an accident. He's been killed."

Sandon felt the ground move beneath him, but it was no quake. "What do you mean? How could he...?"

The man kept shaking his head. "For some reason he took a groundcar when he left the other night. What possessed him to do that, I don't know. The Guildmaster's youngest son was with him. It must have failed. The storms. Jarid Ka Vail has just managed to get back with the news not a few minutes ago."

Sandon's mind was running in confused circles. None of this made sense.

"What are you talking about? Tell me what happened."

"I told you. An accident. The groundcar. Jarid is unhurt, thank the Twins, but Roge Men Darnak didn't survive. According to the boy, there was no chance for him. I don't know what we are going to do. The Guildmaster has sent out a group to try and help, but there's nothing to be done, apart from retrieving the body. We need a firm hand in the Principate, not this. To lose him so young, and so soon into his time as Principal, it's shocking."

Sandon felt himself unable to move. He was barely able to close his mouth. He had to do something. The Principal. The real Principal -- Leannis Men Darnak. He couldn't possibly know.

"Has anyone been sent to tell the old man?"

"Which old man?"

"Principal Men Darnak. The boy's father. What old man do you think?"

The man looked confused. "No, no, I don't think so."

"No, of course not," muttered Sandon, then to the man. "Quick, help me find my padder."

The man didn't seem to register that he was suddenly being ordered about by a bedraggled looking Atavist, and he moved to help Sandon with the door. "This way," he said, leading him toward the back of the stables. All the while, Sandon's mind was racing. The Principal had not been acting himself for some time. His headlong flight into the countryside in search of Roge, the insistence upon coming here himself, none of it made sense. The implications for the structure of the Guilds was enough on its own. How was Men Darnak going to take the news of his son's death? It really didn't matter now; he had to be told. Sandon had a duty to tell him.

Sandon's padder was in a stall right at the end. It looked up at their approach and grumbled, then gave a mighty snort. His belongings had been bundled unceremoniously into one corner. He was thankful, at least, that the padder had not seen fit to use the things as a place to leave a nice reminder about its digestive processes.

"Here." Ka Vail's man had disappeared and returned shortly after with Sandon's saddle. He assisted getting it on, then tying the pack to the animal's rear. Sandon led the padder out of the stall, thanked the man, and then headed outside, an empty hollowness ringing inside him. Roge Men Darnak dead. What could be worse? The Principate and the Guilds would be in chaos. The old man would have to step back in if they were going to restore some sort of order.

Which way would he go? He looked around, remembering the path that Men Darnak had taken and grimaced to himself. Where would he be? The men had taken off after him. Witness Kovaar was in pursuit, but the landscape, full of rolling hills and valleys, stretched for miles about. He had no idea where the Principal might be. "Where the Prophet wills," came unbidden to his mind, and he gave a wry, humorless grin.