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Lauren had to bite her lower lip to keep from blurting out an indictment of the inadequacies of his recitation. The two pert girls tittered obligingly in all the right places. He gave a brief history of the structures, making light of the unorthodox theories underlying their construction. The tour guide swung into his routine, doing his best to keep his listeners entertained. She couldn't afford to let anything slip not until it was time. The tingle of latent power was interfering with her concentration. Nevertheless, she resolved to be more careful. Dark sun-glasses hid his eyes, but he appeared to be looking at the most recent of the ruins, not at her. The only other person who had been near enough to hear her was a tall, dark-haired man dressed in form-fitting black. She looked down at her tour book and mumbled through a few of the sentences written there, as though she was having difficulty with the language, laying on a heavy accent as she did so. A pre-adolescent boy looked at her inquisitively. Then she looked around quickly to see if she had been overheard. Of course they're well-preserved, Lauren muttered.

Guitar shed kirkwood Patch#

A tilting stone circle, a crumbling church, and two shiny metallic parabolas, excavated into the stony soil and cupped to face the sky, crowded onto this rugged patch of ground, fringed by a copse of trees on one side, and a highway on the other. Concentrated in this small area are three of the most remarkably preserved sets of abandoned structures this continent has to offer. The girls followed the move with come-hither eyes. Neolithic, Medieval, Post-Atomic, the guide intoned in his professionally smooth voice, taking in the entire square with a sweep of one exquisitely tanned and muscled arm. They, and all the others, seemed oblivious to the ley power she could feel surging through the area like an incoming tide. He seemed much more interested in exploring the sights offered by two scantily clad girls who were giggling their way through the tour. The tour guide didn’t seem to have more than a rote knowledge of his subject, either. More recently, Seekers had visited this place and others, testing the viability of the ley lines, trying to quantify the magnitude of their instability.

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Sometime in the distant past, some of her people had traveled here, but the knowledge of how to use the ley power had been diluted, lost. They came from the same genetic stock, she and those who had built these structures. It frustrated her no end that none of the sight-seers understood the significance of the relics in front of them. The tour group had visited three sets of ruins in as many hours. She had to resist the urge to stand on one of the ley foci, to revel in the concentration of latent power, forbidden to her for more than half a year. It had been the only way she could get access to this site, where there was enough power for her to ride the increasingly unstable leys, and get back home to file her unsettling report. That was assuming, of course, that things hadn’t become even worse at home than before she had left.įor now, though, she had to appear to be just an average tourist on this very average, non-space-faring planet. She would be out of this mess soon, back home amid the luxuries of Aladon Prime. She longed for the caress of her favorite Syralli-silk kaftan. The synthetic fabric of her sun dress itched annoyingly against the back of her neck. Too much hung in the balance, for her to risk acting prematurely. Oh, to reach out and gather it, channel it, and be shed of this place, these people. Ley power lapped distractingly at her ankles. Lauren thumbed open the tour book and tried her best to blend in with the people around her. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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