Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  He was having trouble focusing on her. “No, I know better than—Lords, I’m dizzy.”

  She flinched at the polytheistic off-world oath. “We must get you to a chair. You have a delicate stomach; maybe you need more pills. If that cantinamaster is watering the liquor, I shall have his license.” She began to haul him toward a table.

  “No! No, I just want to lie down awhile. Maybe I haven’t eaten enough. Some of these liquors are strong ... and I had wine. Shouldn’t—shouldn’t have mixed ... “ He stumbled, Roe barely able to steady him.

  “Come on, then, let us go back to your room. I want to run some tests on you.”

  “I thought you ... don’t treat ... family.”

  “I shall get Elana, then!” She pulled his arm across her shoulders. “Come on, this way. We do not want the guests to think you have been celebrating all day, do we?” Roe added, attempting to force humor.

  oOo

  Fortunately they were close to the bronze doors and quickly rounded the corner into the Hall of Mirrors. Moran looked up, and the lights reflecting in the mirrors threw him into such a spin, he collapsed to his knees. At that moment Jaac entered the hallway.

  “Roe? What is wrong?” She hurried over to the couple.

  “I do not know. I think it may be the water. Help us!”

  “Is—not!”

  Jaac went to Moran’s other side, and the two hauled him to his feet.

  “You must try, Moran,” Roe said, wishing the guaard was not stationed inside the bronze doors tonight instead of outside them. “You must carry some of your own weight!” They were scarcely halfway down the hallway when it became apparent that he was not able to carry any weight. Finally the women let him sit down on the floor, Roe supporting his back and head.

  “I shall go bring a stretcher,” Jaac began, “and see if I can find Elana.” She ran back down the hallway to the bronze doors, only to meet Lyte and the under-secretary.

  The man stopped her. “What’s wrong? You—“

  “It is Moran. He is ill, extremely ill. We need Elana.”

  “What!” Lyte dashed down the corridor to the huddled pair. “Never should have left him, never!” he muttered savagely under his breath. “Can you stand?”

  “Yes. Room. Please.” Lyte grabbed Moran in a body lock and slowly hauled him to his feet.

  “Roe, balance him. Jaacav, get a doctor or somebody! He may have been poisoned!” The woman was already gone. He suddenly realized what he had said. “Oh—you’re a doctor. I’m—“

  “Forget it, I do not have my instruments. Let us hurry. If it is rav poisoning he should be lying on his back.” The two dragged him down the hall. The off-worlder woman, momentarily forgotten, followed them.

  They left the blonde at the bronze doors, Lyte promising to return to her. It was not far to the guest room, and the guaard helped; only the turns and curves made it seem long. The group had barely set Moran on the bed when Elana, Jaac and Braan entered the room. The doctor went straight to the man and whipped out a meter, passing it above his body while Roe made him comfortable. Using a tiny probe, she withdrew a single drop of blood from his arm and absorbed the fluid into her meter. Ronüviel felt her eyes widen as she read the flashing sequence of lights. Elana took an air injection hypo out of her small bag and gave Moran a shot. The tossing man immediately relaxed, unconscious.

  “What—“ Lyte began.

  “A common poison,” Elana answered abruptly. She turned to Braan. “How could this have happened?” she asked in Nualan. “Who could have followed him and done this—and why?” Braan did not speak. A guaard signaled for Jaac’s attention, and she left the room.

  “We must leave the city,” Roe whispered tightly. “Until Jaac can discover what is happening.”

  “That is not a problem. Baskh has requested we go to Tolis. I thought Lyte and Moran could travel with us.”

  “The radioactive city?” Lyte asked carefully, visibly grateful they were speaking Axis once again.

  “It will be one of the more memorable times of your life, Lyte—the trinium mines are there. And it is the most secure city on the planet—the best place for Moran right now.” Lyte nodded absently, the wheels visibly turning in his mind. Before he could frame a reply, Jaac returned.

  “Curiouser—we have a body.” The others stiffened in reaction to her words. “A cantinamaster—his neck is broken, and it could not have happened from a fall, the healer says.”

  “Cantinamaster?” Braan repeated sharply. “From what station?” Jaac told him, briefly describing the man. Braan nodded slowly, and then spoke softly. “Lyte, there is nothing we can do for Moran now, except let the antidote run its course. We shall depart on The Nova with the tide, if you have no objections. Try to relax the rest of this evening—Roe is better qualified than any of us to care for Moran. She has the vested interest in his future.” Elana nodded, her gaze upon Braan. Then, with a nod to Roe, she swept out of the room, Jaacav following.

  Lyte looked at Braan. The Nualan was pale; this had clearly frightened him. The warrior looked almost reassured at Braan’s reaction as he slowly walked out of the room. Only after Lyte exited did the two guaard leave, the woman setting the door slightly ajar and stationing herself in front of it.

  “There is one great problem, Roe....” Braan whispered.

  “What?” she asked, not looking up as she loosened Moran’s collar and cuffs.

  “The drink of Dramiera—the cantinamaster meant it for me.” Roe’s head shot up, and they stared at one another a long moment. Braan turned to leave. “At tide.”

  Chapter Four

  TOLIS, NUALA

  FOURHUNDRED TWENTYSEVENDAY, VESPERS

  The council room was a dome of leaded glass, the floors polished to a brilliant ebony. By night the universe would settle on their heads, and by day, on a clear day, they could see almost to Amura’s mountains, the council room being the highest point in Tolis. No benches—the synod of this city had stood during their meetings for as long as memory stretched; it made for shorter and more concise gatherings.

  Today the room was almost deserted, echoing from Tinyan’s footsteps. She had waited the afternoon there, her mind on one thing: Who had Baskh Atare sent? The prime minister was off-planet. Perhaps Tal, the heir? She prayed it would be Braan or Ronüviel. Only they understood....

  It was cool. Even this short distance north, the year had begun to turn. She drew the sides of her woolen poncho close as she stepped up to the side of the dome, trying to absorb the last rays of light.

  A subtle scent of evergreen and spice reached her nose, and Tinyan knew her husband Carad had entered the dome He preferred traditional skin boots, and his silent tread was the walk of an elkita master, but she knew his favorite cologne.

  “Nowhere on Nuala does Holy Mendülay paint the sky as it is seen above Tolis,” she remarked, not turning.

  “The brilliance of fire for a burning city,” Carad replied, stepping to her side.

  “They come,” Tinyan went on, her voice still conversational. “Whom do you think he sent? The guaard on the transmission would not say.”

  “As long as it is not one of Dielaan’s jackals, I do not care.”

  She did not miss the edge to his tone. “When Corymb comes, he comes on his own. Baskh Atare is many things, good and bad. A fool he is not.” They stood awhile in silence, watching the sail top the horizon and swiftly approach the harbor.

  “The winds of autumn begin. Rare for the southerners to come so late,” Carad began.

  “There is need,” Tinyan answered, almost cutting him off. “Perhaps more than we suspect.” She turned from the dying starlight. “Quahna must be informed.”

  “Not necessary” came Quahna’s voice from the chamber doorway. They looked up to see the archpriest, his white robe blood-colored in the last rays from Kee. Tinyan managed a smile despite her mood. She had not seen her secondhusband in two days. They stood silent, the eternal triangle, as it had been since they were children pl
otting to have Tolis acknowledged the power it could become. So Tolis had ... and why not? Did they not mine the trine gold? The radiation of the deeper veins held no terrors for sinis. Had a sini not created the Nualan metal, vandrun, which was inert, distasteful to the irradiated sinisus microbe? The keys to Nuala’s return to the Axis had been found scant kilometers from Tolis.

  There was a price to pay for such power; family, privacy, personal needs and desires had been swept aside. Many times over they had paid it. Only Tinyan had desired it, to become a co-minister; she had paid the highest price of all. Quahna, to his amazement, had been chosen archpriest scarcely a year ago. Carad preferred his old ambassadorial post, but the city needed him as a minister. There were no laws against a married couple holding the joint office; reluctantly, he had accepted the position, and had proved a fine minister.

  “I wonder if the children might come.” Tinyan left her voice musing, not quite a question.

  “They would have called first, Tinyan,” Quahna gently replied.

  “Of course.” She bit off the words, stiffening as she straightened the folds of her poncho. “Let us prepare the feast. They may bring off-worlders, we must have appropriate food.” She brushed past them into the corridor, disappearing into darkness.

  oOo

  Quahna reached out for a piece of hair which had caught on a splinter of the doorsill, absently wrapping the long, crimson strand around his finger.

  “Over a thousand years to this end. Amazing we never thought past the moment of triumph,” Quahna said aloud. The big black man nodded his agreement. Quahna glanced up, his own short, trim physique dwarfed by the mighty Carad. Age had not dimmed the co-minister, though his hair was now prematurely white.

  “Gid could be on board, you know,” Carad replied. “He loves to surprise us.”

  “I hope he is, she could use such a boost. I miss his dry humor and his relentless logic.” Quahna paused. “It is hard to be the head of a city whose stated purpose is to remove the need for its existence, is it not?”

  “She does not see the end in our lifetime, and does not dwell on it,” Carad said heavily. “She is proud our children were sent beyond the walls at birth. But it is hard, very hard. Let us prepare for our guests. The tone of the evening shall be set by the first off the moonraker. I wonder how they will phrase their report when they discover we base our findings on ‘feelings.’”

  THE NOVA

  VESPERS

  Ronüviel was alone as she watched the mother star, Kee, set. The flaming ball dropped like a stone to the water’s rim. Sea sounds overwhelmed her—the creaking wood, the crying birds, the fine mist whipping against her face. An arm slipped around her waist, and she turned sideways to see Moran. He looked much better than he had at dawn; a day of sweats and trembling had left him weak and drawn, suspicion clouding his features. Roe’s stomach knotted again as she thought of the consequences—Braan’s drink, Moran’s life. What is happening to us? The pale shadow that was Lyte stood behind her lover—he was never far from Moran’s side. He was worried, too, though he never mentioned it.

  “Time to get into suits?” Moran asked, referring to the protective gear they would wear during their stay.

  “Soon.”

  “How do you know when to get into suits?” Lyte asked.

  “Every shipmaster has his own system,” she explained. “This one waits until he can see the engravings on the dome. A small ship would have different ways. The marine life, the flora tells you if you know what to look for....”

  “Someone said not to drag our hands in the cargohold water. I didn’t realize that even the land is more radioactive here, much less the ocean. Some of the sailors have already changed,” Lyte observed.

  “A moonraker is too large a ship to be left unattended while people suit up. The new shift will not have to becalm the boat, as a smaller ship might. We should go below. Already I think we are too close.” She gestured for them to follow.

  “Do we wear them all the time?” Lyte asked.

  “Except when we are in our own rooms, which are especially treated and sealed. Everywhere else we accommodate them. That is why Braan left Zair behind—we do not make suits for animals.”

  “Does Gid have to wear one?” Moran asked.

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought his parents were sini.”

  “The leaders of the city or something?” Lyte added.

  “They are,” Ronüviel replied, ducking a low sill. “But Gid is not. He is as vulnerable as we are. Tinyan, his mother, is a mild sini, a mock sini. We can be in her presence without suits for hours. Carad, Gid’s father, is very hot—it is unusual that both his children are cool.”

  “How long has Braan known Gid?” Lyte asked suddenly. Roe glanced up—she sensed more behind the question.

  “Since they were children. They were best friends, and shared everything together. Gid feels a responsibility to the city of his birth, however, so now they see each other rarely. It is true there are fanatics in Tolis, as anywhere, Lyte, but Gid reb^Tinyan is above suspicion. He would die for Braan, and he has no reason to hurt Moran.” Desiring no more questions, Roe directed them to put on their climate-controlled suits. Always the garment had repelled her; she did not care that it was comfortable, impossible to rip and took care of every bodily need. She felt alien within it. Only Braan wore it as if he was born in one—and only she knew he also dreaded wearing the suits. But it was wear a suit or remain isolated in a room. She demonstrated how to put one on and activate the functions, and then led them back to the deck. Braan and Gid awaited them, the two men already encased in suits.

  The city now loomed on the horizon. Its similarity to Amura was apparent even from a distance. Tolis was lighter, however, as if made of white marble. It was built of pieced stone from the surrounding region. Why import expensive materials to be damaged by uranium breakdown? Roe studied the beautiful inlaid mosiacs and the ancient rock fortifications. Tolis was a city of contradictions, one of the most beautiful and deadly places on the planet. It occurred to her that it was not unlike the planet Nuala as a whole.

  “They are not wearing suits,” Lyte said suddenly. She squinted to see the wharf. A large crowd had gathered, the color of their robes muted in the twilight.

  “Of course not. We are the aliens here. You will find the desert clothing comfortable, Lyte. We shall wear it within our own sector.” The man turned and walked toward the stern, apparently watching the night creep in. Ronüviel felt a stirring of compassion—Lyte was more disturbed by this visit than he would ever admit. She reached for Moran’s gloved hand, and his responding grip was firm. “You will like Tinyan, Carad and Quahna. They have fought many battles to reach what they want. They are individuals of great strength and courage.” She could not tell whether or not he was reassured.

  oOo

  Their hosts were prepared for the huge crowd and quickly whisked them away to the ministers’ beautiful, austere home up in the cliffs. Normally the arrival of the throneline Atares would have required a feast, but it was the secondday of High Festival, and that precluded formal entertainment. Roe was told that Quahna was needed at services and would join them later. In the meantime Carad and Tinyan offered their gracious hospitality in the form of a light meal and good conversation.

  Dinner was a skillful blend of off-world and Nualan delicacies. Lyte sat at the bar watching in fascination while Carad tossed the main course together with the seeming abandon of a master. Carad’s dinner contained the first meat the Nualans had offered Moran and Lyte, except for at the feast, but it was a tiny portion of the whole. Roe had no concerns about how free from radiation the meal would be, and watched silently as Tinyan sought Gid’s help in preparing a steaming alcoholic beverage. When everything was ready, the newcomers went into the next room and removed their outer suits. Roe and Braan arrived last, carrying two-thirds of the dinner and drinks. Carad opened the drapes and, to Gid’s amusement, waved through the nonreflective glass.
An excellent intercom was activated, and with the tables as extensions of the wall, Roe occasionally felt as if they were all sitting in one room and talking. Certainly conversation and good humor were not lacking. Tinyan, glowing over the surprise of her eldest’s visit, was in unquenchable spirits.

  Roe studied the woman and her dark son, who were sitting so close together that only the thickness of the glass separated them. Gid was the image of his father, as close to Afrikanis as any man in the Axis Republic—that was the fault of Carad’s family, fanatics who married only the blackest, the hottest. Carad gave up his past to marry the pale, red-haired firebrand Tinyan, and this little gathering was all the family he had: these friends, Quahna, and the three other children. How strange, to be cut off from roots ... it was not the normal Nualan procedure. And how beautiful Tinyan was, as if she had not aged a day since Gid’s birth over twenty years before....

  The thirdmeal dishes were being dropped in the autoton, and dessert and hot saffra being served when there was a knock at the main door. Tinyan answered, and ushered in Quahna. Carad pulled out another mug and plate.

  “You are in time for saffra, my friend! Will you join us?”

  “Thank you, yes, Carad. Now that the old man has arrived, it is time to get down to serious matters.” Quahna’s voice was gentle but unyielding, and Ronüviel felt a chill. Now was the time for what they had come for—the true meaning of all the preceding pleasantries. The priest sat down next to his wife and took a sip of saffra. He stared through the glass at the visiting group, and finally began to speak, choosing Axis over Nualan as a courtesy to their guests.

  “Braan, there is no way to express our gratitude for your arrival. We are aware of Enid’s failing health, and give you our sympathy for your pain.” Braan appeared untouched by the words, but Tinyan’s fingertips against the glass in a futile outreach shook him visibly.

  Carad continued the speech. “All the more because what you have come to hear is brief and cryptic, and what you will see are but pieces in a great puzzle. We are but pawns, whatever my pride may shout in argument.” Carad paused, apparently uncertain of how to proceed.