~ by Evan Alexander

The wind whistling sharply across the harandra outside my cave brought me out of my thoughts. Normally the near-constant howling of the sandstorms outside would be of little notice, save for an almost unnoticeable soft tone carried on the edge of that gust.  I stood, unfolding my legs as I listened to hear if it was merely the isolation playing with my perceptions.

But the sound repeated, louder this time. It tugged on and slipped past my notice, almost akin to the voices of the eldila. It repeated yet a third time, accompanied by a faint spectral image.

VWORRUP. VWORRUP. VWORRUP.

Each time the noise repeated, carrying echoes of the cosmos as it grew louder and the image grew stronger. Finally it ceased with a resounding clunk and the image that accompanied it seemed to suddenly solidify into something resembling a blue rectangular cuboid, approximately the same dimensions of one of the huts of the Hrossa. However, all the walls of the cuboid were straight and ended in definite corners. Not to mention the fact that this object was blue, a rare color on Malacandra.

However, aside from the momentary surprise of its sudden appearance, I wasn’t altogether fazed. Neither was I startled when half of the front opened inward and a short, squat being stepped out.

“I’ll have a hot drink prepared momentarily,” I informed him. “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

His sharp features relaxed slightly as he smirked. “A Time Lord is never late, or early. He arrives whenever his TARDIS drops him.”

I returned his smirk with a slight chuckle, mentally taking note that his ‘Malacandran’ had a more clipped accent, something akin to how the pfifltriggi  used to speak. I didn’t comment on it, though; I didn’t need a refresher on how his ship made the words he spoke sound like Malacandran in my ears.

“That may be,” I said, “but my view of time isn’t as… chaotic as yours.”

I eyed him over out of my peripheral vision. He didn’t look the same as how I remembered, at least beyond the superficial details. The Healer still appeared very similar to the depiction of the Thulcandran, Ransom; however, his features were sharper and angrier than before. He’d also swapped out his multicolored scarf for a black jacket.

I brought over a couple mugs of a steaming hot drink made from the leaves of a Thulcandran plant The Healer had provided. It was usually reserved for occasions when he visited, but I had acquired a taste for the concoction and had grown quite skilled at preparing it, if I may brag. Unfortunately, by the look on his face after he took the first sip, my efforts were still quite substandard.

Attempting to lighten the mood, I spoke up in a slightly jovial manner. “You know, I think this has been the longest you’ve gone on Malacandra without offering one of those confections you seem so fond of.”

His face fell before he replied. “I’ve outgrown them.”

I paused to sip from my own mug and regarded The Healer more carefully. “You know, Healer, the Hrossa would say you have hurt behind your eyes.”

Those same ancient blue eyes lit up slightly at the mention of the Hrossa. “You don’t suppose we could head down into the canyons? I’ve always loved seeing all three sentient species in harmony. It’s one in a billion and always refreshing. Kind of why I came here, actually. I need a reminder of the good in the universe.” He likely caught a glimpse of my own reaction, for he trailed off into silence.

I couldn’t stand it, so I filled the silence myself. “I suppose in some ways a Lord of Time can be late. Of the three, only the Seroni are left and I am the only Sorn who hasn’t gone to join Oyarsa.”

The Healer’s face contorted in a mixture of rage, sadness and horror. “What happened?”

I sighed. “You know before I met you, I used to think Thulcandra was an island of darkness in a sea of light. But your stories about the bent ones you’ve faced—the hnau who try to forge themselves better than they were made, and those you call Daleks, who seek to destroy every hnau that isn’t them.”

“You don’t have to worry about those anymore. They’re sealed out of time,” The Healer interjected, his voice heavy with hurt.

“Yes, well, your tales have convinced me of the opposite. Malacandra was an oasis of sanity in a bent universe. Well, all things must end, and so did the protection of Malacandra. A star fell from the heavens and struck the heart of our waters. The Hrossa were the first to succumb to the bent thing that was released into our waters. Their visage became cracked and they spewed forth the bent waters, spreading the thing within them among the Pfifltriggi and Seroni. Nearly all of the Hrossa, half the Pfifltriggi and a quarter of the Seroni succumbed by the time Oyarsa contained it within the ice.” I raised my hand to calm The Healer, who was looking at his drink with concern. “My own waters are clean of the bent thing. Oyarsa gathered all of the bent waters into a single massive block of ice.

But to complete my tale, the rest of the Malacandran hnau went to join Oyarsa, as will I, once I’ve completed my own task.”

The Healer set his drink down. “And what task is that, friend?”

“It was in two parts. First to document the end of our time on Malacandra; second, to pass on a message to you.”

His eyebrow rose. “And that is?”

I raised my hand to forestall the explanation as I dug through my notes. “I’ll find it momentarily. I don’t have the head for words that the Hrossa boast.”

It took a few minutes, but I found it. “So Oyarsa wants me to remind you that all hnau have their moment of temptation, where they are placed against the one limit the Maker has set for them. And while you are allowed the freedom to edit a sentence here or there, editing the greater manuscript is forbidden. It may be a long time coming, Healer, but Oyarsa thinks your day of temptation will come when you next set foot on Malacandra.”

I sighed and looked into his eyes again, comprehending some of the sadness, heaviness, and hurt that lay behind them as I saw them mirrored in my own gaze. “If you remember anything from your visits to Malacandra, remember this. All things, even good things, must come to an end. Farewell Healer. When you depart, I will gather my notes and go on to Oyarsa.”

The Healer stood to go and paused before he reached the door of his blue cuboid. He then turned back, water pooling around the bottom of his eyes. “This reminds me of a leader back on Thulcandra; he ordered all his greatest wise men to find a simple phrase, a little phrase that could fit on a ring. This phrase was supposed to have the power to bring happiness no matter what tragedy befell him. Now these wise men were very clever and they came up with such a phrase. The leader was overjoyed, but a few months later he put the wise men to death. Because though the phrase turned every sorrow sweet, it also soured every joy.”

The Healer went quiet and began to unlock the panel that had opened before, but curiosity burned within me, so I interjected, “What was this phrase these wise men thought up that made the leader so bent?”

He sighed and turned, standing in the threshold of his marvelous contraption. “This too shall pass.”

The panel closed and the noise echoed once again through the cave I had once called home. It grew fainter until it just barely tugged at the edge of my perceptions, like the voice of an eldil. And then I was left in silence, save for the howling of the wind across the harandra.