Shifting Stars by Gary Stringer (best fiction books of all time txt) 📗

With a huff, she shifted to falcon form and flew away, leaving Jett to find a horse and travel home the conventional way.

*****

That evening, when Dreya returned to the Black Tower after a Council session, she could immediately see Catriona’s haunted look as she gazed with unseeing eyes at what appeared to be a book of star charts.

“What’s wrong, Cat?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Bit more than ghosts, I’m afraid, Dreya,” she replied with a weak smile. “Legacy of Ulvarius.”

Despite what Jett had said, she had to tell Dreya. That repository would hold no lure for her. There was no power in it.

*****

“Did I do the right thing?” Cat asked when she reached the end. “I mean, Jett had a point: I’m aligned with the Balance. That’s supposed to mean knowledge first.”

“Light, Dark, Balance – Life, Power, Knowledge,” Dreya began. “Are they so different in the end? To me, it’s just a question of emphasis. What’s the point of knowledge or power without people to use it? What’s the point of living without knowledge of reality, and the power to change it? That’s what I’m striving for with the Council – better co-operation between the factions so that we can move this world forward together. As I once told Laethyn, when I say I want to be the Greatest Mage Who Ever Lived, I want that to mean something. Tyrants like Ulvarius and threats like the shadow warriors cannot be allowed. The loss of that ancient repository is a sad victory for Ulvarius but letting his undead army loose would have been worse. You absolutely did the right thing, and you did it, as always, in a way only you could have possibly dreamed up. I’m proud of you.”

*****

In the days that immediately followed, gentle reader, my mother viewed that ancient book of star charts as a prized possession. Unfortunately, in practical terms, without any real context, it proved to be of little use, so after about a week, it simply sat untouched on a shelf. It would be many years before its value was truly realised.

There were many more grand adventures for my mother over the next year or two, though none quite as harrowing as the story I just told. Through it all, however, she could find no trace of her old friend, Mandalee. True to her word, she wasn’t actively trying to find her, but she never strayed far from her thoughts. Through her sympathic link, she could take solace in the knowledge that her old friend was alive somewhere. She just thought it would be nice to at least hear something about what her life was like, now.

My mother was going to have to wait a while longer, yet, but one day, when the world was held in the balance, their paths would cross again.

*****

It’s a great pity that my mother was forced to flood that repository, a thousand years ago. The knowledge we could have gained over the centuries might have told us much that would be relevant even in my time. If those books were recorded when the void storms started, they might also have documented how and why. Then we might have learned how to stop them.

I can see them now, as I gaze out of my window once more, burning brightly in the sky, though currently frozen in Time. In the millennium since my mother’s time, though they continue to wax and wane, their average intensity has gradually increased to the point where they can cause tremors and quakes, reactivate otherwise dormant volcanoes and cause flash floods. The magical techniques we now possess are usually enough to mitigate the worst of the damage and save lives, but for how much longer? How long before they grow too powerful for anyone do anything about it? How long before the tidal forces they generate rip our world apart? According to official calculations, we have, at best, about ten years. But others can’t see Time like I do. They can’t see the way the void storms are tearing the fabric of our world apart. I can’t prove it, but I know we don’t have ten years. It’s less than that. A lot less.

Unfortunately, we are unable to expend the resources we would need to combat this danger, because there is an even more imminent threat.

I wasn’t there when it began, that summer evening, but I’ve seen it many times, since. Too many.

The gleaming city of Walminster, home to more than a million residents and thousands of visitors, is much changed from my mother’s time. Only the historic Council building, with its Protected status, remains the same.

Gone are the standard medieval cottages, smoky chimneys and horses for transport. Residential buildings can be whatever shape, colour and style the owners wish. A few change that night, perhaps to make room for a new arrival. In the sky, transport pods race along roads that appear only when they need to, and teleport pods provide more long-distance options for those who can’t teleport themselves. A holographic concert is underway in the nearby arena, beamed live from another world. Others seek their own entertainment with smaller displays that appear above the palm of their hands and still more people are pulling up tourist information, as well as interactive map images and directions out of thin air, as well as news and weather reports.

A recreational park is pulled out of a pocket dimension, for people to enjoy the evening sunshine. Children are soon chatting, laughing, and playing with shapeshifting magic. Eventually, they decide to go somewhere else, so they all change into a variety of birds and fly away, meeting up with another group along the way, doubling the flock size.

The sky overhead grows black, as if it’s suddenly been ripped apart to reveal nothingness beyond. Out of that void, comes a Monster. The Monster that killed my mother’s parents.

The void-creature casually shoots the flock of