The Science-Fantasy Megapack: 25 Classic Tales from Fantasy Adventures

NIGHTFALL ON RONAN, by John Glasby Writing as A. J. Merak

Zanos, the small, blue-white sun of Ronan, was now well past its zenith and dipping slowly towards the horizon when Kalam stepped through the doorway to scan the green desert. He stood in the partial shade of the doorway and looked cautiously around. The emerald wilderness stretched away as far as the eye could see, featureless except for the irregular clumps of agas trees bordering the few streams that threaded their way across it — and the Temple.

This stood in the exact center of the Great Wilderness, a vast mound as big as a mountain, dominating the entire landscape. It was a colossus of metal, abraded and worn by long ages of wind and scouring sand, with the great dull doors set in the side facing to where either of the two suns stood at their highest point in the heavens. No one had ever discovered a means of opening those huge doors. No one knew what lay behind them except that it was the abode of the Great God. Whether it had been built by the Xordi after they had arrived on this world, no one knew. There were no records to tell them when it had been erected, or by whom.

He could see no sign, nor even sense, the presence of any of the Xordi. Usually, whenever they wished to converse with any of his race they manifested themselves in the form of thin, wavering columns of energy. Most of the time they were completely invisible.

There was a slight movement at his back and a moment later, Mara came out to stand beside him. There was a worried frown on her face.

“What are you looking for, Kalam?” she asked. “You’ve been on edge for hours.”

He stood silent and she was on the point of repeating her question when he said in a low voice, “Nothing in particular. It’s just a strange feeling I have that something is about to happen.”

“Something to do with the Xordi?”

“No, not them. This is something else.”

Mara saw his gaze flick in the direction of the Temple. Quite suddenly, he seemed oddly obsessed with it. To her, it seemed hat he had, for some reason, imbued it with some special significance, which had never been in his mind before.

In spite of its bulk and the mystery of what lay hidden behind those doors, no one now paid much attention to it. The Temple was there, it had always been there, just as the desert and the hills on the far distant skyline had always been there.

However she knew better than to continue to question him when he was in one of these peculiar moods. Instead, she said, “I hate these blue days. It gets so hot it’s impossible to do anything.”

A small cart, drawn by two shaggy, beak-faced voriin rumbled past along the narrow road. In spite of the frequent packing of the emerald surface by the sandrollers, the wheels sank deeply into the sand. The driver gave them a friendly wave, then reined the voriin to a halt in front of one of the houses further along the perimeter of the small settlement.

Kalam shrugged inwardly. No one else seemed to have this odd premonitory feeling that was tugging insidiously at his mind. Everything seemed normal — at least on the surface.

He eyed the setting sun apprehensively. In the opposite direction, the sky was losing its whiteness and taking on a pale crimson color heralding the rising of Toral, the companion red giant in this system. At times, he wondered why it was always light on this world. No sooner did one sun set, than the other rose, an endless alternation of blue heat and red coolness.

One of the Wise Men had once tried to explain it to him, that these two suns moved around each other in what he called space and somewhere very close to the center lay Ronan. But there were so many other things he didn’t know, couldn’t begin to understand, and it was his endless questioning of such things which seemed to place him apart from most of the others.

They were quite content to get on with their lives in this harsh, barren world without troubling themselves with anything else. But ever since he could remember he had listened attentively whenever one of the Wise Men had visited the small community to talk with the Elders. He had plied them with questions, many of which they had been unwilling, or unable, to answer.

Questions such as: when had the Xordi come to this system and where had they come from? He knew that their arrival must have been so long ago that no one remembered it. And the Xordi themselves never spoke of it. They seemed to be content with watching his people, never interfering in their lives, never giving advice, never answering any questions put to them.

This seemed utterly illogical to him. It they had come as conquerors, why had they not enslaved his people and forced them to work for them? Why, if they were so superior, had they not killed any of them?

Mara suddenly clutched tightly at his arm. She pointed into the blue-hazed distance. “Someone comes,” she said tautly.

He followed the direction of her pointing finger, squinting into the glaring sunlight. He could dimly make out the indistinct figure in the distance moving purposefully towards them. The ripping heat-haze made it impossible to discern details with any clarity.

As the stranger approached, Kalam saw that he was a tall, white-haired man dressed in a white robe that shone brilliantly in the fierce, glaring rays of the setting sun. He carried a long staff in his right hand.

“One if the Wise Men,” Mara said in an awed voice. “What do you think he wants with us?”

Kalam shrugged slightly. “Such men come and go all the time. He may be journeying to some other community and merely seeks food and shelter.”

As the Wise man drew closer, Kalam saw that he was old, incredibly old, his features deeply wrinkled. But his eyes were still keen and alert. He paused in front of them, leaning heavily on his staff.

“Greetings, Kalam,” he said, in a thin, reedy voice. “I have journeyed a long way for this meeting. I must speak with you on matters of great importance.”

Stunned that the other knew his name, Kalam stood staring, open-mouthed for several moments, then pulled himself together with a conscious effort. He stepped to one side, throwing a swift glance at Mara as the Wise man brushed past him.

“I don’t know how you know my name,” Kalam said slowly as he motioned the old man to one of the chairs at the table. “Nor of anything of importance which concerns me.”

A faint smile twitched across the thin lips. “I know many things, young Kalam. But there are others, which are, unfortunately, beyond even my knowledge. Perhaps if you have some water and—”

“But of course,” Mara broke in. “You must be hungry and thirsty. I’ll get you some food and drink.”

She went into the small kitchen at the rear, returning a few minutes later with meat, fruit, and a flask. Setting them down on the table, she moved away into the corner as Kalam seated himself opposite their guest.

The Wise Man ate ravenously, remaining silent until he had finished eating. Then he pushed his plate away and sat back in his chair. Kalam eyed him with some trepidation. It seemed abundantly clear that the old man had traveled all the way across the Great Wilderness in the blistering heat of Zanos. How one so old and frail had succeeded in traveling all that way on foot was beyond Kalam’s comprehension.

“You say there are matters we have to talk about,” Kalam began hesitantly. The feeling of disquietude that had plagued him for some time now abruptly increased, knotting the muscles of his stomach. “But why me? Why not one of the Elders?”

“Because you are one of the few with a thirst for knowledge. You question things. You do not merely accept them as others do. You wish to know why things as they are. You seek a meaning beyond all of this.”

The old man waved an arm to encompass the house and the desert that lay beyond the open door. “Unlike most of the others, you’re not content with knowing just the simple, everyday things. You wish to know what lies behind them.”

“But—”

“Listen well to all I have to say. You may not understand all of it but I will try to answer any questions you may have.”

Kalam rested his elbows on the table and waited for the other to go on. He was acutely aware that Mara was watching him closely from the corner of the room.

Drawing in a deep breath that seemed to pain him, the Wise Man began, “You know of us, the keepers of the ancient lore. For thousands of years this knowledge has been passed down through the centuries. Unfortunately, over such a long period of time, some of it has become so garbled that it is difficult to sift the truth from myth. Furthermore, much has been irretrievably lost which should have been remembered.

“What I have to tell you concerns a prophecy which comes from the very beginning of time. It is said that there will come a day when the Night and the Blackness will fall upon Ronan and it is then that the Great God will speak to everyone from the Temple.”

Kalam shook his head numbly. “Night, The Blackness? What are they?”

The Wise Man pursed his lips into a thin, straight line. He glanced about him, then pointed towards the doorway where the shadow fell across it.

“I know nothing of Night,” he said. “But there, in the doorway. Blackness is like that but far more intense than you can possibly imagine. In it, you will see nothing. Yet it is also said that great wonders will appear in the sky once the Blackness falls, to herald the coming of the Great God. You must prepare yourselves for this, you and all of your neighbors.”

Kalam tried to swallow in a throat gone suddenly dry. “And when will this happen? Do you know?”

“Soon. That is all I can say. Much of the prophecy has been lost over the thousands of years since it was first given to us. Perhaps the Xordi know more. I have asked, several times, when they’ve condescended to speak to me. But they either know nothing, or they refuse to tell me. Maybe they will speak to you.”

“The Xordi?”

Kalam felt a shiver of dread pass through him. No one knew anything about the Xordi. His father and grandfather had spoken of them so they must have come to this world a long time before.

Certainly they had never acted as attackers. Most of the time, it seemed that as far as the Xordi were concerned, his race didn’t exist.

He ran his tongue around his lips. “And the Great God who dwells in the Temple yonder — why does he not show himself? Does anyone know that he really exists? Or is that just some old legend?”

“He must,” the old man insisted. “Otherwise, why does the Temple exist?”

Kalam could think of no answer to that. He knew that whenever some great calamity threatened the people, some of them muttered prayers to the Great God but whether they were answered or not, he didn’t know. As far as he was concerned, the Temple was nothing more than a monument built by his remote ancestors to serve some unknown, and unknowable, purpose.

The old man gripped his staff and rose shakily to his feet. “Have the Xordi ever communicated with you, Kalam?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Kalam admitted. “But they never tell me anything important and they never answers any questions I put to them.”

“That isn’t surprising. In the past there has been no urgency. But now things are different. My advice to you is to seek them out. It may be they know far more than I do. If they know how short a time there is left before the fulfilling of the prophecy, they may be more inclined to talk.”

He turned and moved with shuffling steps towards the door.

Mara stepped forward. “Won’t you rest here for a time? You’ve clearly traveled far and—”

“Thank you, but no. I must visit all of the communities in this region before my task is gone and there is now so little time.”

Kalam stood in the doorway and watched him walk away.

Even before Zanos had dipped below the horizon, Toral had lifted much of its large red bulk above the opposite skyline, flooding the desert with a deep carmine glow. The air became appreciably cooler. Although Toral was far larger than Zanos, it emitted appreciably less heat and Kalam preferred the red days to the blue ones.

The majority of people on Ronan slept during much of the blue days for it was almost impossible to work in the fierce heat of Zanos’ blue-white glare.

“What are you going to do?” Mara asked. “I heard the words the Wise Man spoke but they made no sense to me. What is this Blackness, which is coming to Ronan? There is no such thing.”

“Perhaps not,” Kalam admitted. “Perhaps it’s just another myth like the Great God.”

He was still terribly contused but now there was a strange urge in his mind, an intense desire to find out more of what the old man had told him.

Whether it was some compulsion put upon him by the Wise Man’s hypnotic words, or something which had been growing inside him for some time, he didn’t know. But it was there and there was no way he could fight it. He had to find one of the Xordi and try to get some answers.

“There’s only one thing I can do. Somehow, I must question one of the Xordi.”

“And how do you do that? I know very little about them but from what I’ve heard they only speak with us when they wish it. And why is it up to you to do this?”

“Didn’t you hear anything the Wise Man said?”

Mara’s face hardened. “I heard enough to know he spoke of some prophecy thousands of years old. And I know enough to realize that these old stories are nothing more than superstition.”

She turned and went back into the house. Kalam could hear her rattling the dishes in the kitchen in her exasperation.

He waited for a while to give her time to calm down. By now almost the whole of Toral’s immense disc was clear of the horizon with only a small segment still hidden behind the rim of the world. He eyed it speculatively. It looked far too large to hang up there in the sky without crashing down upon Ronan. Large, irregular dark spots marred part of its surface and occasionally, long streamers of red flame spouted from its surface.

Its carmine light made the sand of the desert appear darker than during the blue days and it threw few shadows apart from the massive one cast by the looming bulk of the Temple.

When he considered that Mara might have entered a more stable, logical frame of mind, he went back into the house and stood in the kitchen doorway. She did not look round although she knew he was there.

“I’ve made my decision,” he said finally. “I have to do as the Wise Man advised and try to get some answers from the Xordi.”

Without turning her head, she said, “And where do you think you’ll find any of them? They could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it. For all you can tell, there could be one standing right beside you at this moment.”

“I think I’d be able to sense it if there were,” he replied. “But as to finding them, they’ve only come when I’ve been completely alone, away from everyone else.”

“So you intend to go off and sit by yourself somewhere in the desert?” Mara sniffed and spread her hands in resignation. “I can see you’ve already made up your mind and nothing I say will stop you in this foolishness.”

Kalam sat cross-legged in the dim shadow of the Temple and tried to empty his mind completely. It was not easy for even though he closed his eyes against the crimson light, stray thoughts kept nagging at him, demanding his attention.

How long he sat there it was impossible to tell. Utter silence enfolded him like a cocoon. Then, abruptly, he opened his eyes. Was it his imagination, or was there the feel of presences all around him? He could see nothing. But then he hadn’t really expected to. Unless the Xordi intended to communicate, they wouldn’t show themselves. He shivered. The Xordi were so different to himself that even being in their presence was uncomfortable. Not that they ever made any show of aggression but—

His train of thought suddenly gelled inside his head.

A voice, cold and sexless, suddenly echoed in his mind. ‘You come to seek information from us.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. I wish to know what you can tell me about the Blackness.”

‘The Blackness? Then you are aware that it approaches swiftly, that soon it will fall upon this world.’

“So I’ve been told. But can you tell me what it is and when it will come?”

There was a long pause and then: ‘We cannot explain to you what the Blackness is for it is something beyond your comprehension. But this we will tell you. You know of the two suns of this world, the small blue-white one and the large red one. What you do not know is that there is another sun, one which does not shine like the others.’

“Then why have we never seen it?”

‘Because for many thousands of years it has been elsewhere. We cannot explain where it has been, you lack the necessary knowledge to understand. But heed this. It will return by the second mid-blue sun from now. What its coming portends we do not know.’

“Is that all?” Kalam asked.

‘That is all we can tell you. All you can do now is warn the others of your kind.’ The echoing voice faded into silence inside Kalam’s head.

Kalam shook his head mutely. Another sun but one that only appeared at intervals of many thousands of years? A sun that did not shine at all? He did not doubt the veracity of the Xordi, but it made no sense. He could see no way by which it tallied with what the Wise Man had said. Yet, somewhere, there had to be a connection.

Just before the middle of the second blue day the entire community was out in the open. All of the houses were empty. Word had spread quickly, not only through their community, but through all of the others around the perimeter of the Great Wilderness.

Ever since Zanos had risen that day, Kalam had experienced a resurgence of that strange apprehension which had gripped him just before the coming of the Wise Man. Now it was so strong, so powerful, it seemed to blot out everything else from his thoughts. Throughout the community there was an expectancy in the air which he had never known before.

Zanos climbed slowly towards its zenith.

The sense of premonition in Kalam’s mind mounted swiftly until it became an irresistible compulsion. He had to go to the Temple! Unable to help himself, he began walking across the sand towards the towering doors only vaguely aware that all of the others were doing likewise, moving like automatons without a will of their own.

From all of the other communities, from every direction, the people were converging on the Temple. Hundreds of them; thousands. A dark mass that covered much of the desert.

Kalam heard a few brief snatches of muttered conversation around him but for the most part the vast multitude was silent; waiting.

Waiting for what? he wondered.

Something made him turn his head, away from the massive doors of the Temple, towards the glaring sky. He experienced a sudden shiver of superstitious awe. Something was happening to Zanos! From one side of the sun, a huge mass was moving slowly across it.

The silence around him intensified. Then a sudden loud cry jerked his head around. The—Blackness? — moved in an irresistible wave across the world. It began at the edge of his vision, far off, moving over the sand. It slid across the great metal doors and two things happened almost simultaneously.

Above their heads, the Blackness stretched across most of the heavens — but it was not empty. It blazed with points of light; lights of all degrees of brightness, twinkling across a range of colors.

And then, in front of them, the massive doors slid open without a sound. The chamber inside was vast, almost beyond Kalam’s comprehension, and it was lit by enormous arrays of multi-colored lights.

Driven forward by the weird compulsion in his mind, Kalam went through the gates with Mara at his side. He felt utterly dwarfed by the sheer immensity of the cave. Soundlessly, the multitude followed.

Then a voice reached them from some hidden source. It was not unduly loud but it could be heard by everyone there.

“Welcome, people of Ronan. Now is the time for you to fulfill your destiny. More than twenty thousand years ago your motherworld became uninhabitable due to the total destruction of the protective ozone layer in its upper atmosphere. It was then that the decision was taken to send chosen groups to all of the inhabitable planets within a radius of one thousand light years, to colonize those worlds and, when the ozone layer had replenished itself, to enable you to return to your homeworld.

“Those whom you know as the Xordi are not newcomers, they are the indigenous inhabitants of Ronan. You are the interlopers but all knowledge of that was erased from the minds of the first colonists. Only the myths surrounding the Temple and the Great God were allowed to remain.

“We knew of Kalder, the dark star in this system. Only when it returned after twenty thousand years in its eccentric orbit would its shadow open these doors to allow you to enter. Now go forward and be not afraid.”

The message ended. In the silence that followed, Kalam turned to face Mara. Without a word being spoken, she took his hand and led him forward. Others followed in a long, winding column, not knowing where they were going or what would happen next.

Then, when they were only a little distance from the far end of the chamber, the entire wall slid aside. Kalam gaped at what he saw. It was a long, gleaming shape, tapered slightly at one end. He could see no windows but there was a rectangular aperture in the side with steps leading up to it. A faint bluish light gleamed from inside.

There was also something near the bottom of the steps, twin metal poles, each surmounted by a glittering crystal, these forming some kind of barrier. Cautiously, he passed through with Mara on his heels. Halfway up the steps, he glanced back. Many of those attempting to pass between the poles were unable to do so. It was as if something invisible prevented them, forcing them back to one side.

Mounting the steps, they passed inside the machine. Here, there were long rows of padded seats along each side. Awed by the sheer size of everything, Kalam sat down and waited tensely. To Mara, he said, “It would seem that only a small number of us have been allowed to enter the Temple. For some reason, the Great God did not allow most of the others to follow.” He frowned, looking about him. “And only we younger people seem to have been chosen.”

Outside, once those who had been selected had passed through, the portal vanished and the wide aperture in the side of the gleaming shape closed soundlessly.

The voice came again, loud and urgent. “All those remaining in the chamber must leave the area immediately. You are in danger if you remain. Leave at once!”

Kalam and Mara heard nothing of this. All of the seats around them were now occupied and a different voice spoke. “You are the chosen ones. There is no need to be afraid. This ship is fully automatic. The Dejener engines enable it to travel far faster than light, otherwise the journey would take many more years than any of you have left.”

Kalam stiffened abruptly in his seat. A low, muted humming had begun, just at the limit of audibility. It rose swiftly until it was an ear-piercing shriek, then faded almost instantly as it passed into a range where his ears no longer registered it.

There was a faint lurch, a transition too swift to be taken in. Although he had no visual awareness of it, Ronan was gone, lost in the void. A curious twisting sensation gripped him briefly as if every molecule of his being had been turned inside out. He was aware only of Mara’s hand gripping his own as the starship, which had waited with an infinite patience for twenty thousand years, headed into the blackness, to return their race to the planet of their birth — a world waiting to be reborn.