Thomas Gown has become an important part of the Rossem Project and his contribution may be vital to its eventual success. However, he has also become a pawn in a desperate struggle between ancient powers who care nothing for the civilisation Thomas...
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The scene in the scrying mirror was the most desolate and lifeless that Captain Phil Strong had ever seen.
Black lava flows twisted like nests of agonised serpents across the barren plains, the newer ones still smoking from dull red fissures in their surfaces. The range of volcanoes that had vomited them forth glowed like the entrances to Hell on the horizon, all of them smoking. One of them bearing the orange rivulets of a fresh eruption. The volcanic fire lit the undersurface of the dense clouds that blanketed the sky and provided the only illumination for this nightmarish landscape. And it wasn't just this particular spot, Strong knew. The whole planet was like this. Not only lifeless but incapable of sustaining even the hardiest forms of life if it were brought here. Every animal they'd put outside the ship in wire cages had died instantly in pitiful agony. The very air was poison.
"What a waste of a world," he muttered, unable to drag his eyes away from the desolate scene. "Why would the Gods go to the effort of creating a planet that cannot be lived on by their worshippers?"
"A common misconception," replied Father Blandor, the only other man currently on the bridge of the Jules Verne with him. "The Gods did not create the universe. They merely live in it, as we do. Some say that there is a Creator of All who brought all of existence into being, but I don't hold with that view as it leaves us with the question of who created the Creator. No, I believe that the universe is an accident. This planet is an accident. And as for whether we can live on it, there are currently two thousand humans on Kronos, an equally lifeless world, along with ten thousand moon trogs. Who knows what purpose the Gods may find for this apparently wasted world?"
Strong smiled. He enjoyed his conversations with the elderly cleric. He'd only known him for only a couple of months, since leaving Tharia, but he already liked and respected him more than some people he'd known all his life. He was a cleric of Caroli the Healer and had a reputation for wisdom that Strong was beginning to realise was no exaggeration. He dressed only in coarse brown robes, tied around his waist with a simple length of rope, and a pair of sandals on his knobbly feet. He was almost bald, with only a fringe of silver hair around the back of his head. The contrast with the smartly uniformed Beltharan Captain was striking, but in a way the cleric was also wearing a uniform. One that said as much about his loyalties and lifestyle as Strong's said about his.
