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

if trying to worry the memory from the depths of his consciousness.

Sandon got slowly to his feet.

"Principal, I�" he said.

"Enough. I can't wait for this tea. You're too slow, man. There's too much to do." He shook his head.

Just then, a sudden furious gust shook the entire lodge. Sandon drew air through his teeth and looked over at Kovaar, who was slowly shaking his head. He caught Sandon's scrutiny, held his look for a moment, and then tilted his head in Men Darnak's direction.

The Principal was on his feet. Outside, the wind had finally been joined by rain. Large drops were beginning to spatter against the windows and the roof. Sandon glanced outside, but all that was there was blackness. A gust threw a sheet of rain against the side of the lodge, and it drummed against the side wall and roof like hundreds of sharply pointed fingers. A sudden flash lit up the outside, followed a few moments later by a deep rumble, clearly audible over the sound of the wind and rain. He turned back to Men Darnak. The old man was standing there staring into space. His mouth was working. Sandon frowned, leaning slightly forward, trying to make out what he was saying.

It was one word, over and over. "Roge," he was mouthing. "Roge."

Without any warning, Leannis Men Darnak dashed for the door. He flung it wide, and stood there, his arms outstretched as a blast of wind and rain whipped against and past him. Sandon, Kovaar and the others shied away from the sudden intrusion of the elements. Then just as quickly, Men Darnak was gone.

"Principal!" called Sandon, but it was too late.

"Damn you, Kovaar," said Sandon. "Go after him!"

Caught suddenly off guard by Sandon's outburst, rather than questioning, the priest ducked his head and raced out the door, forcing it shut behind him. It shouldn't take him long to find the old man and drag him back.

The brief respite against the weather was giving Sandon time to think. A suspicion had been growing, and now, he thought, might just be the time to put it to the test. He believed he could trust the young man, Fran. There was nothing wily about the boy at all. It was about time that Sandon came back. The Atavist, Tchardo, had just about served his purpose.

"Fran," he said. "Can I talk to you?"

The young man broke off from his worried observation of the door. He was looking as if any moment, Kovaar and the Principal might burst back in and he'd have to deal with some fresh onslaught. Come to think of it, he was looking decidedly shaken. He nodded. Sandon looked around. There were several bedrooms leading off from the wide common room, and he inclined his head in the direction of one of these. Fran gave a brief frown, rubbed his hands on the back of his trousers and then headed for the room that Sandon had indicated. Sandon looked at the other two, but they were now sipping on mugs of tea -- how Sandon would have loved one -- and peering out the thick windows. He grabbed a lantern, followed Fran into the room, and closed the door.

There was nothing fancy in the room, a bed, some shelves, a cupboard, a lantern on a low table, but it would suit his purposes. What he needed now was privacy. He placed his own lantern down, looked Fran full in the face, and pulled back his hood.

"Fran, I'm going to ask you something, and then based on what you tell me, I might have to ask you to do something for me."

The boy nodded, his broad features guileless.

"Does the name Sandon Yl Aris mean anything to you?"

Fran thought for a few moments. "No, I don't think so."

"Good. But that's not important for the moment. You've seen Principal Men Darnak. You must feel the same way I do. There's something not right there. He needs help. Do you agree?"

Fran nodded again. "Yes. He's not good is he? He's been strange for a while now, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. If anything it gets worse every day."

"We saw him just before he tore off into the night, Fran. The news has taken him badly. We need to do something to help him. And now with Roge gone -- "

"I know. I still can't believe that."

"You have to believe it. Anyway, I'm not convinced he's getting the help he needs from Witness Kovaar, and I think we're going to need him to be strong over the next few weeks and months."

"How do you mean?" Fran was looking puzzled.

Sandon paused before continuing, assessing whether he could take the risk. Fran was still looking at him expectantly. "I'm not an Atavist, Fran. I never have been. The Principal was close to it for a moment in there. I thought finally, perhaps, he had seen through those clouds in his head and recognized me. Once upon a time, I was very close to Principal Men Darnak. I used to work for him. I used to work very closely with him. I don't want to go into explanations now, but you have to believe that."

Fran was nodding slowly. "Yes, you sometimes acted pretty strangely for an Atavist, I guess. But -- "

Sandon lifted his hand to Fran's shoulder. "I can't explain all that now, but I think there's one way we can help the Principal, but it's going to need you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"I think the Principal's other son, Tarlain is somewhere near the mines. Maybe Bortruz, maybe somewhere closer. I don't know for sure, but you have to find him and tell him what's happening to his father. You have to tell him about his brother too. You've been close enough to the Principal now for Tarlain to believe you. We are going to need Tarlain's help if we are going to make this right, and I think we have to. Kovaar's not going to help. Karin is beyond hope. It's up to us."

As much as he had gleaned from the past few weeks told Sandon that he was right.

"But how will I find him?"

"He's the Principal's son, Fran. People will remember. He has to get supplies; he has to become visible. He's not going to hide in a cave somewhere."

Fran nodded, trying to take in everything Sandon was telling him.

"Bortruz?"

"Yes, I think so. It's a good starting point. Just as a suggestion, there's a bar in the center of the town. You could ask around there. The people who own it, Milana and Benjo, they're good folk. If you need to, then trust them, though I wouldn't trust any of the Principate or Guild official there, despite what you may think. Oh, and one last thing. When you find him, tell him that Sandon Yl Aris sent you."

"But -- "

"That's my name, Fran, but I need you to keep that to yourself for now. Can I trust you to do that?"

Fran's eyes got a half vague, wide look about them for a moment. "I never expected anything like this."

"I don't think any of us expected anything like this, Fran. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can, Tchardo, um ... what do I call you?"

"Tchardo's fine for now. Nobody else needs to know at this stage. I guess you should wait for the storm to ease. Set off in the morning. It makes no sense to go out in this. You know how to get there from here, don't you?"

Fran stepped back for a moment, looking down at his feet. "Listen, Tchardo, I want to do it, really. But what am I going to say to the others? I can't just leave."

"Don't tell them anything. Let me look after that. It all depends. Do you want to truly serve your Principal?"

He looked up with a touch of slight offence on his face. "Of course I do."

"Then you'll do what I'm asking."

The boy still looked troubled, but he nodded slowly.

"All right," said Sandon. "We should go out and join the others. I really need some hot tea and I would think you could use some too."

Sandon was starting to become truly concerned. Three hours had passed, and still there was no sign of either Kovaar or the Principal. Outside, the storm still raged, lashing rain against the sides of the lodge, and intermittently blasting the landscape with huge crashing sheets of light. Sandon was starting to eye the others nervously. They surely couldn't be content to just sit here. Everything seemed to be in turmoil: the weather, the Guilds, the Kallathik, even Men Darnak himself, not to say anything of Sandon's own existence. But all that was of lesser importance right now. What mattered was what had happened to Men Darnak. He pulled himself to his feet.

"Shouldn't someone go and try to find them?"

"You can have it, Atavist," said one of the men. "I'm staying right here. If the old man wants to go wandering off into the night, then that's his business. I'm staying by the fire. We've done enough chasing him all over the countryside."

His companion nodded. Meanwhile Fran looked up, a slightly guilty expression on his face, but clearly about to leap to his feet. Sandon waved him down. "I'll go," he said.

"Do what you want," said the first man, with a shrug and not without a touch of resentment.

Sandon moved to the door, found his coat and pulled it on. He couldn't remember seeing whether Kovaar had taken a lantern with him or not. He looked around, located a spare one, lit it and headed back to the door.

"Tchardo..."

"No, you stay, Fran. I'll be fine."

Outside the door, the wind threatened to throw him up against the wall. He pulled his coat around, trying to shield the lantern, pulled his head down against the wind and rain, and headed out. He had no idea where they might have gone. He only hoped they might see the lantern, if he didn't see them first, though seeing anything in this tempest would be like a miracle. The wind howled past his ears, and despite the coat, within moments he was soaked through, streams of water running down his neck and beneath his clothes. Witness Kovaar and Men Darnak had been out in this for hours. What state must they be in by now? Head down, buffeted from every direction, he stumbled forward.

Twenty-Five

Jarid scanned the grounds as he rode in, taking note of the characteristic fingerprints of a man devoted to precision: Neatly sculpted hedges, straight lines everywhere. Ky Menin had stamped his presence all over the grounds. The stables were placed well behind the house, hidden partially by the building, but still visible, not enough to be intrusive.

The household staff would not have been expecting anyone, but a neatly liveried groomsman met him at the stables all the same. Just as quickly as he had appeared, the man relieved him of his animal. That's what you got being head of the Guild of Technologists -- a box of tricks to play with. Jarid should have gone into Technology. It would have suited him, suited the way his head worked. It just offered so many playthings to explore. Primary Production wasn't too bad. It had its own positives, one of which was the fact that Technology was reliant upon Primary Production to source everything it needed. That was going to put Jarid in a unique position once everything was dealt with, but still sometimes he wondered if he might not have made a better choice. He headed out from the stables,