William Greenleaf - Clarion.pdf - William Greenleaf - widez2

Prologue

THE MAN HAD BEEN WAITING IN THE SHADOWS OF

the alley for an hour when the first explosion came

from the far side of the temple. The two sentries at

the courtyard entrance turned instinctively in that

direction, and the man stepped quickly across the

road to flatten himself against the wall. He waited,

hardly breathing. The sentries were only boys, but

they were deadly.

The second blast was followed by distant shouts.

The sentries drew their side arms and left their post

at a run. The man grasped the top of the wall,

pulled himself over and dropped lightly to the

other side. Still crouching, he scanned the court-

yard.

"I'm over the wall," he whispered. The small

communications device was pinned to the neck-

band of his black fatigues. "Nobody around. Set off

the rest of the caps in thirty seconds, then get out of

here."

The courtyard was long and narrow, paved with

stone. In the pale starlight he could see scattered

crouching shapes that he took to be benches and

William Greenleaf

clumps of low vegetation. Farther back was the

great dark form of the temple building. Light

flickered at the arched entrance. A single spire

curved upward twenty meters, ghostly white

against the night sky.

The man's name was Cleve Quinton. He had

prepared himself as well as he could for this night,

but as he crouched there looking up at the spire, he

felt the danger of this place settle into his stomach

like a hard knot. All his muscles were tensed for

him to scramble back over the wall and escape into

the darkness.

Stay calm, he told himself. He breathed slowly

and forced his muscles to relax, one by one. But he

couldn't take his eyes off the slender spire.

From behind the temple came a rattling crescen-

do of explosions. The sound startled him even

though he should have expected it. The commotion

of voices told him the temple guards were still back

there trying to find the source of the explosions. He

drew a handgun from an inside pocket of his

fatigues, checked the bead cartridge for a full load

and made sure the scatter nozzle was in place.

Keeping close to the wall, he made his way carefully

across the courtyard to the lighted archway that

was the temple's entrance. He climbed the shallow

steps and ducked through the archway without a

backward glance. To his left was the wide doorway

that led into the sacred chamber. The flickering

light came from there.

For a moment he stared into the chamber,

then turned right and went through another low

doorway and along a short passage to a flight of

stairs.

"I'm going up," he said, surprised at the steady

sound of his voice. The stomach pains of danger

grew more acute now that he was inside the temple.

The light over the stairs was dim and he knew he

CLARION

would have to be careful; the steps had been

designed for feet smaller than human. A ventilation

grille was affixed to the wall just below the second-

floor landing. Quinton moved past it to the landing

and checked the door to make sure he could get

through it quickly. That would be his escape route:

up to the roof, down along the wall on the far side,

out into the darkness of the road—with, no doubt,

the Sons of God shrieking after him.

He went back to the ventilation grille and re-

turned the scatter gun to his pocket, then unslung

his canvas bag and opened it on the landing. It took

less than a minute to select the tool he needed and

remove the grillwork fastenings. Then he was

squirming through the horizontal metal duct. His

hands and elbows stirred up choking dust. Ahead

of him a dim square of light marked another

ventilation outlet. He moved to it carefully and

looked through. Below him was a vast circular

room.

"I've reached the chamber." His eyes went to the

center of the room. "I can see the chauka." Despite

the anxiety, he felt a slight disappointment; from

here the chauka looked to be nothing more than a

shallow metal dish about two meters across. He

was unsure of its color in the dim light—grayish, he

thought, or dull blue. Its base was hidden from

view. Protruding from one side just below the edge

of the dish was a single slender rod.

According to High Elder Alban Brill and his

cronies in the Holy Order, the chauka was the most

sacred of the holy relics of the Tal Tahir.

"Doesn't look like much," he said softly, think-

ing of his friends who had died because of. the

chauka. He edged forward so he could see the rest

of the room. The light came from several flickering

globes that were spaced along the far wall. "There

are a lot of. . ." He paused, trying to think of a way

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to describe the strange-looking objects that were

scattered across the floor like clumps of stony,

slab-sided vegetation. They ranged in height from

knee-high to a few that were taller than a man.

Oddly shaped notches had been cut into the base of

each. After a moment he realized that the objects

were arranged in concentric circles that radiated

outward from the chauka.

"Pedestals of some kind," he said at last, and

made an effort to describe them. Then he heard

shuffling sounds from the outer chamber. "The

ceremony's about to start. I'll have to keep quiet

now."

Through the ventilation grille he could see the

first of the deacons as they came, two by two,

through the archway. They filed by ten feet from

Quinton's watching eyes and formed a neat line

along the curve of the wall under the light globes.

There were ten of them in white, calf-length robes.

They stood perfectly still with their eyes fixed on

the dish of the chauka. Quinton's eyes went back to

the archway as the six elders began to file through,

straight-backed in appropriately regal style. They

took positions closer to the chauka, just inside the

inner circle of pedestals. They, too, fixed their eyes

on the metal dish.

For a long moment the room was held by heavy

silence. Then two more figures moved slowly

through the archway. The most striking was a tall

man with pale skin that contrasted sharply with his

red, ankle-length robe. Quinton recognized him

instantly—Alban Brill, High Elder of the Tal Tahir,

leader of the Holy Order and the most powerful

man on the planet. A palm-sized silver disk

gleamed at his throat. The Godstone. At his side

walked a thin boy with short dark hair. The boy's

smooth cheeks reflected the light and gleamed with

health.

CLARION______________________;

The boy was the initiate; tonight he would be-

come a member of the Sons of God.

A slight shudder passed through Quinton. He

caught himself, thought: Now, what was that forf

Alban Brill was only an old man, and the Holy

Order was made up of blind fanatics.

Dangerous fanatics, he reminded himself, and

carefully pulled the scatter gun out of the deep

pocket.

High Elder Brill and the boy walked together past

the deacons and elders, and stopped in front of the

chauka. The High Elder's eyes were invisible in the

pits of shadow beneath his brow. Quinton gripped

the handle of the scatter gun, wondering if the

proper moment had come. Brill was within easy

range. But something made him wait. Curiosity'!

Sudden movement brought Quinton's eyes back

to the far wall. As if they had all received a silent

signal at the same instant, each deacon extracted a

long, flutelike instrument from the folds of his

gown. They lifted the instruments and began play-

ing. Quinton had heard the music of the priams

before—if it could be called music. But there was

no melody, only a series of low hums and high-

pitched tones that merged from time to time into

an eerie chorus.

High Elder Brill stood rigid in front of the

chauka with the young boy a half step behind him.

Then Brill's hands went wide and the full sleeves of

his robe billowed. The music ceased abruptly. In

the dim light the High Elder's narrow face shone

white like a skull. Staring intently at the empty

space above the dish of the chauka, he began to

moan softly. Then his voice broke into a series of

short, choppy syllables. Quinton strained to hear.

Brill was speaking gibberish—or a language

Quinton had never heard. Then he fell silent, his

eyes still on the chauka. The boy stood rigid beside

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him. Brill spoke again, this time in Basic. His voice

had lapsed into the singsong tones of a chant:

"Oh Great One, who comforts us,

King of all holy places,

Lord Tern the Almighty,

Come, we ask you, hear our prayers."

The elders repeated the chant in a chorus of

mixed high and low tones, their voices echoing

around the chamber. The deacons back against the

wall remained silent. Brill spoke again:

"Hear this our song to you,

Monarch of monarchs in whose name

Our enemies are slain.

We praise thee!"

This last was followed by a sudden clapping of

hands that made Quinton jump a little. The elders

echoed the chant. Then High Elder Brill knelt

down on the paved floor in front of the chauka and

held his hands out to it with palms open, as if he

were warming them over an open fire. The elders

began to chant:

"Lord Tern, Lord Tern, Lord Tern . . ."

Brill reached to his throat, and Quinton thought

at first he was going to unclasp the robe. Then he

realized the High Elder was removing the

Godstone. Brill fondled the round disk and fitted it

into the palm of his hand as if it offered cool

comfort. Through all this the elders continued the

droning chant. Then Brill reached out slowly and

brought the Godstone into contact with the rod

protruding from the edge of the chauka. Quinton

heard a faint snap\

William Greenleaf - Clarion.pdf

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