Chapter 31

In Neron Alarast, a vertical line appeared. It did not emit light, nor did it swallow it. It was a line of refraction, producing an effect like looking at a piece of glass side on, or staring at the junction of water and air in a fish bowl. The line shot up, out of Image Valley. Clouds near it ceased their regular motion across the sky, swirling instead, some around and into it, others moving sideways slightly, as if the line was surrounded by some cloud-lens. The net effect was to create a gap in the clouds above. A jagged gap in the cloud cover, orthogonal to that line, stretched across the sky, directly westwards.

Plarit, the Watcher, saw the line, at first not believing what he was seeing, but then recognising it for what it was – an incursion. Rushing, he climbed down from the watch platform on the roof of his monastery, if that is what it could be called. That is what is had been, once, but what was a monastery without monks?

He began the ritual of awakening the others, using wild gesticulations to communicate why. Their old stony bodies clambering slowly back to life. The Watchers never died. They had stood beside the Nul to help Garon fight off Cennon, all those years ago. Instead, they slept, each standing watch for a year before awakening the next and returning to the circle of unbreakable statues. The villagers nearby worshipped or feared them, depending on the political climate in whatever kingdom this was. When they worshipped, things were good; they tended the monastery and kept a watch tower available. When they feared, things were bad; they would attempt to ransack the monastery and pull down the watch tower. Then the watchers had to kill, and they were kept alive to prevent killing.

Thirty watchers in all. Each was once a person of greatness, and could be again should they give up their immortality, but what what the point of that? If they did not defend, then their world would die. They had fought, millennia ago, when Garon had first come under siege, severing the arm of Cennon in this infinite plane. Renaming this realm from Joy to Sorrow, which is what it became. Its denizens corrupted and twisted by the strange forces.

The watchers would fight well. Some were great warriors. Others master strategists or great kings and queens, having rules enormous empires before the Strike. They even counted hazeshapers amongst their number. They would not be enough for Cennon's second Strike. Plarit hoped that Garon had made preparations. Perhaps he planned his own counter strike. Plarit could not hope to know the mind of Garon, by definition he understood less. He still did not consider himself worthy of the title Watcher. Others deserved it more. The oh so swift Sharok, the Brade brothers – brutal Kamron and resilient Jason. Or Cado and Blucks, the mysterious Otherlanders from Demun Adanred, possibly the most powerful hazeshapers ever to walk the soil of Neron Alarast. Who knew what they would be capable of after all these years? But what was special about him? Nothing. Oh, he could push things around without touching them, but that was common enough – at least in his home world, where one was born every hundred years or so – and a hazeshaper could do that with relative ease.

The watchers would need a new title to reflect their new task. Plarit considered what it would be. Sealers. Cutters. The Nul would grant them purpose, but he didn't know what it would be yet.

He could abandon his post at the watch. The others would be fine. They would be slow as they awakened, but they were impervious to all but the most terrible of blows. He went down to the village. He had been treated well on his watch, he wanted to make sure they were safe.

When he arrived in the village, the peasants stopped their tasks, turning to look at him in respect. These didn't worship him – they worshipped the Lesser Four – but that was not necessary for his compassion. Perhaps that was why he was chosen? Compassion mixed with moderate ability. Garon only knew how they were chosen, but with the gifts of being chosen, well, existing abilities often paled in comparison.

He had stopped in the crossroads at the centre of the village. Small flurries of dust were being blown westwards, at least that hadn't changed yet, and villagers were beginning to gather around. The ability to speak and be understood by your audience was one that was granted upon accepting the Task.

He stood perfectly still, as if Watching, for a few minutes, until people began moving away again. That was as many people as he could expect. He turned, faced the intrusion and raised his hand to point at it.

“People of Image, you have to leave this place. If you have family far away, go to them. Take your trade and professions elsewhere. If you can't, learn to beg or work on someone's farm. This valley is no longer safe for you. I will hold off the intrusion for as long as I can, but even if I am successful, you will have a few days, at the most, to get as far as you can. Spread the word! This world is large enough for you to find a place!”

Before the villagers could respond, or perhaps they responded and he ignored them, he was gone, back to the circle. They would need to contact the Nul. They would have known this was approaching, but they would not know it had begun. At that thought a chill crept down Plarit's spine. They would also need to fight again.

The watchers had awakened by the time he returned.

“Welcome back, Plarit.” That was one of the Brades, he couldn't tell which. The twins looked identical. Of course, it was Kamron. Jason was gone, but he still got confused at times.

“Kamron.” Plarit nodded. “I have told the villagers to run. I will hold back the hand of Cennon for as long as I can. Someone needs to inform the Nul.”

Immediately, Blucks winked out of sight. Blucks was always so frustrating, never communicating unless absolutely necessary and always so aggressive and blunt when forced to talk. Cado was a little more docile, but equally reluctant to converse. Plarit sighed. He remembered the internal conflict that had led them to decide to sleep the aeons away with only one watcher standing guard.

“I was thinking Sharok should go.”

“Certainly,” Sharok sped off in a blur. Within seconds he was out of sight, nothing but the gleam of his plate armour showing. Armour which should slow him down but in fact it did not encumber him whatsoever. Plarit had wanted to take suggestions on this, but done was done.

“I'm going to try to force the intrusion back out, as best I can. The rest of you should prepare however you need to.”

And with that, he was off again. Further down the valley, to that dip in the centre. Image valley was not truly a valley. It was a crater.