Okay, here we go again! I've posted this as Fantasy rather than sci- fi due to the nature of the chapter, although the book as a whole still remains a sci- fi story. All will become clear very soon... If you haven't already, please read the prologue a couple of posts back. This image is also uploaded full size too... Chapter 1; The Old One Malian sat on the cold hard floor of the small cave and waited as Old Mother searched through her few possessions. The summons had come early, the rising sun had barely warmed the desert sand and purple shadows still hung deep and dark between the dunes as Malian made her way to this sacred place. Nearly an hour had passed since, during which neither her nor Old Mother had spoken, the older woman intently studying the younger, her grey and rheumy eyes seeking signs and evaluating portents. Suddenly she had stood, decision made, and proceeded with her current quest for some item of importance. So Malian waited in silence. A warm breeze disturbed the worn curtain at the entrance, and the harsh light of day filtered between the boards that closed off half of the cave mouth, yet the bright sun could not compete with the ruddy glow of the Sevren Fungus that clothed the back wall and tainted the air with its thick and pungent odour. Edible and harmless in its lesser form, the fungus was used extensively as part of the people’s everyday diet; this particular strain, however, was poisonous to most, and a source of wisdom for the Old Ones. Their rare tolerance to the fungus allowed them to use its hallucinogenic properties to enhance their perception and to “see” the truth in the world, an invaluable asset in such troubled times. “Aah, here it is!” said Old Mother triumphantly, “It’s been so long I had almost forgotten what it looked like.” She returned to Malian and knelt in front of her, the carefully wrapped item held reverently in her hands. She bowed her head, eyes closed and wrinkled brow knotted into a concerned frown. For a moment she was silent, then, “Malian, how long have you been Guardian of our people?” “Since I was seventeen, almost five years,” replied Malian. “And in that time, have you ever seen the Grey Ones?” asked Old Mother. “Once,” she said, “when I was patrolling the Dark Valley. They were distant, but I saw them clearly. I thought I was discovered when their red eye passed across me, but they just moved on…” Old Mother’s head snapped up at this, and her old eyes resumed their scrutiny of the young woman. A twinge of a smile briefly creased the corners of her mouth, then carefully, almost in a whisper, she asked, “And have you seen any… other strangers out there?” “Forgive me Old Mother, but there are no others. The Colony won’t venture this far, and the Grey Ones are rarely seen. We are all but alone on this world.” Old Mother faced Malian’s confusion with renewed doubt. The time was right, the signs were there, but something was missing. She breathed deeply and reached one bony hand into her leather pouch to extract a small piece of the deadly fungus. She chewed it in silence, closed her eyes and seemed to drift, deep in thought. “Two will come. Two souls with one heart. One heart with three minds. One cannot be seen, one cannot be touched, one is not known. “One among us will see them and will become part of them. One among us will become protector and saviour when the Mother of the Grey Ones rises again. This I have seen.” Children’s stories. Why was Old Mother telling children’s stories? This was a tale that parents told to make their little ones feel safe. Malian’s own mother had told it to her many times as she lay in the darkening night listening to the sandrats burrowing outside their cave, allaying her shivering and fears with tales of heroism and god- like deeds. Like all children, she had grown up knowing of the mysterious and enigmatic duo that roamed the land protecting the innocent and confronting the wicked. “Old Mother…” she said quietly. “The time is now,” said the old woman, “One of us is the third mind. One of us will be part of them. Tell me child, have you ever… felt a presence, believed yourself watched? Do you see signs where others cannot?” Malian nodded slowly. It was the reason she had been made Guardian of Thorkis. As a child, she had been painfully aware of the location and numbers of sandrats as she moved around, avoiding injury and possibly death on a number of occasions. As an adult, she had the uncanny ability to evade the Grey One scout parties, knowing with a degree of certainty when they moved and where they were going. Only the once had she ever let her guard down, and only that once had she ever seen them. Old Mother dropped her gaze to the bundle in her hands, loosened the ties and pulled the cloth away to reveal a dull and ancient looking dagger. The hilt was as black as night, inlaid with a huge glassy red stone where it met the lifeless blade. No gleam of razor edge, no hint of keenness could be seen. The grey metal was flawless, flat and dead. “This blade was found by the Sevren gatherers over three hundred years ago. It doesn’t come from the Colony, nor does it belong to the Grey Ones, it is far older than either. We Old Ones have kept it safe, knowing that the one I spoke of would own it one day, and that it would be needed. “Take the blade, Malian,” said Old Mother, turning the hilt toward the young warrior, “take it and follow your path.” “But Old Mother, I’m not…” stammered Malian. “If you are not, then we are doomed. My uncertainty is small, and I cannot permit it to stand in the way of our only hope. Take the blade, and pray that you are the one.” With trembling hands, Malian gripped the hilt. Old Mother’s hands closed over her own, and held tight. “Pray, girl, with all your heart. This must be right. “Now go, and wait for the two to find you. We are done here.” With that, Old Mother stood and turned away from Malian, dismissing her utterly. Dazed and confused, Malian pulled aside the curtain and stepped into the hot mid- morning sun. She looked at the blade in daylight; the dead metal seemed to swallow the light, reflecting nothing. Useless as a weapon, Malian failed to see its importance. She tucked it away out of sight, grabbed her spear from against the cave wall and made her way back across the sand dunes toward Thorkis and home. ************************************************* Old Mother waited as the soft footsteps of the girl receded, then consumed another chunk of the Sevren fungus. Closing her eyes, she focused on the events of the past few days, questioning her own actions. Was she right? Was the girl the one they had been waiting for? Would she save them all? Or, was this another ploy by the golden effigy of the Old One’s dreams, misdirection, a nail in the coffin of Humanity? Such were the dangers of visions and predictions. Such were the fears that Old Mother had lived with all of her long life. Only time would tell… { Time… Your Guardian, not mine…} Old Mother’s eyes flew open, and fear gnawed at her old bones as she shivered in the warm, red- lit cave. ************************************************* I hope you all enjoy this, it feels good to be writing again and, as ever, I would appreciate comments and feedback...