Doctor Who: Planet of Fire Read Online Free PDF

child. Now, he was Chief Elder of the Sarns, who would turn to him for guidance in the testing days ahead. Perhaps, he thought gloomily. his own misguided benevolence was in some way to blame for the hardship they were about to endure. He turned to the young boy at his side. ‘Of course, in my father’s time, Unbelievers were sent to the fire.’
    ‘That was barbaric!’ replied his companion, appalled at the brutal customs of the not so distant past.
    The old man smiled. ‘A little over zealous, perhaps. But in those days, Malkon, people did not tolerate dissidents as they do now.’
    ‘The Unbelievers are harmless, Timanov.’
    The Chief Elder looked uneasily at his young protégé.
    The boy had picked up too many liberal opinions. ‘It is still a wise precaution to send an occasional freethinker to his death. A burning encourages respect for our traditions.’
    The boy seemed nervous. ‘I could never order a burning!’
    Timanov sighed. He was fond enough of the child, but a Chosen One should be made of sterner stuff. He put his arm on Malkon’s shoulder. ‘You will be given strength.’
    The young man looked sad and frightened, overwhelmed by his responsibilities. ‘Don’t be worried, my boy,’
    continued the old man. ‘It can be a most rewarding experience, and a blessed relief for those who are consumed in the flames. Doubters are such unhappy people.’
    ‘Is it not sometimes good to doubt?’ asked Malkon gravely.
    Timanov was near despair. How could Logar have wished on them this milksop for a leader? How could this soft-hearted youth, with his scruples and his cringing sensitivity, be the child who had emerged from the Sacred Fire? He would need to be stronger with the boy. ‘Come, Malkon.’ He pointed towards the Hall of Fire. ‘It is time for you to speak to the people.’
    Malkon stared unhappily at the faded mosaic on the floor. ‘Why me?’ he pleaded, as he had pleaded a hundred times and more with his elderly tutor.
    ‘It is the will of Logar, Lord of the Fire Mountain!’ the old man cried. He drew back a corner of the boy’s white robe and with his gnarled hand grabbed hold of Malkon’s slender arm. The boy could not bear to look at the fateful birth mark, the two overlapping triangles branded into his flesh.
    ‘You carry his sign,’ the old man reminded him, ‘You, Malkon, and you alone.’
    Roskal and Amyand were very frightened. The higher the two men climbed the hotter it grew and the more densely swirled the clouds of choking, sulphurous smoke. The ground trembled, there was an ominous rumbling and the two climbers looked fearfully towards the summit. For a moment they hesitated, appalled by the power that might, at any moment, be released, and in awe of their own audacity; for no man before had dared climb the Mountain of Fire.
     
    ‘I can’t breathe,’ gasped Roskal. ‘My feet are burning.’
    Amyand was as terrified as his younger companion, but hid his fear. ‘Perhaps Logar will be waiting with a cool drink and new shoes,’ he joked nervously.
    Loath to confront what lay above of them in the crown of black, fissile rock, both men rested for a while. The valley stretched beneath them–mile upon parched, grey mile of sterile pumice, calcinated rock and arid clinker.
    But it was not an entirely sombre view. In myriad strips of fertile soil, crops awaited harvesting and flowers of every colour bloomed. Across the valley lay the city, with its fine houses, paved streets and grand public buildings, which, though crumbling, had survived the destruction of every other settlement. Yet no one knew who had designed such munificence, least of all Amyand and Roskal, as they clung to the shaking slopes of the Fire Mountain.
    ‘We must go on,’ said Amyand.
    Roskal nodded grimly. If they gave up now. nothing would stop the burnings and the human sacrifices to the Lord of Fire.
    The last few yards to the summit were the worst.
    Smoking rock seared their feet and blistered their