Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “I suspected. For years you have found faster, easier ways to grow food. An admirable goal and result. But you pushed too far, too fast. And the planet turned on you. You need seed, and our methods of growing. What do you offer in return?”

  “That depends on what the Cied want.”

  Genuar paused a long time. “What I want and what others want may differ. Until I am the Dragoche, I am merely first of many clan leaders. But Baakche’s health is fading. He will not live the year; by High Festival he will be gone.”

  “We may not have that much time.”

  “It must be peaceful. If we go warring, the laughter of the off-worlders shall be our only spoil of battle, as they take our gold and leave us to die. We lost many people during the rain of Alien bombs. Some tribes have scarce a dozen people left. They need to be completely restocked. Tents, clothing, weapons, herbs grown from the special buds. Some will want trine gold.”

  “And you?”

  The man met Braan’s gaze. “I want protection. So they cannot touch us again. Is this possible? I know of the overlapping shield which kept the death bombs from us, the ones that kill the ground. You have given us this defense for many years and never asked payment for the vigil. I know there is nothing in the ciedär worth protecting, yet you did.”

  “There are Nualans in the ciedär. That is enough.”

  “Can we keep the bombs away?” Genuar insisted. “Not just the death bombs. All bombs.”

  “Yes.” Braan let the word settle. “There is a new shield, recently activated.”

  “Is invasion possible?”

  “Not unless they have found the Dielaan cure or can bring enough water for an army. The new shield has openings to land friendly vessels. Unauthorized ones will be severely damaged passing through it. Unless they can build ships as we do, we are safe.”

  Genuar mulled over the words as Noah set a tray of saffra and kriska next to them. He reached for a mug and held it protectively, lost in thought.

  “If the twins are dead,” Braan ventured carefully, “this will be difficult. A synod member sows seeds of mistrust among the people. They want Cied skills but shall not forget the deaths of the royal brothers and their ten companions.”

  “Ten?” Genuar raised an eyebrow. “The traders who met them counted twelve total, but only nine bodies were spotted.”

  “We hope the planter Teloa, a tall woman, is with the twins.” Braan replied neutrally.

  “The translator. I shall inquire. Which synod member speaks against us, Atare?” The Cied’s eyes widened ever so slightly in protesting innocence.

  “You might be surprised.”

  “If it is Corymb, I am not.” Genuar took a sip of his saffra. “He plays both sides and wins the hour. But I think he has already lost. Dissent brews among the tribes. When word spread of the assassin leaving for the coast, Corymb’s support was severely eroded. He seems to think us barbarians, but the damnation reserved for king killers ... They have their own section of hell. It is true we often resort to thin lines when removing enemies. We never kill outright.”

  “Then you think we have a chance to gain Cied support?”

  “A chance.” Genuar’s gaze flicked to Noah. “Your people are well-trained, considering they grew up soft, in peace. I say the same for their Atare. I warn you now. I must convince the tribes to gather, to listen to me and to you. You must make them believe you are worthy of the ancient title you bear and the responsibility you hold in your hands. I have long suspected you would be. Prove it.”

  Braan studied the Cied. “Must I show how long it has been since I fought with cats for my life? How many necks must I break to show this?” His voice was cool.

  “You cannot pretend to be nought than what you are. Some Atares are diplomats, some warriors, some saints. The current situation may require all three. I feel and see some of each in you. Whether the priests and chieftains think it is enough?” Genuar shrugged. “Trust High Mendülay.”

  “You leave immediately?”

  “Yes. I will travel this night and tomorrow before I rest. You can still travel by day, for a time. Follow me. The grasses die. Soon even hazelles cannot brave the sands safely. Remember—by attempting to have you killed Corymb destroyed his edge. You can tip the balance.” Genuar nodded gracefully and stood. “Fare you well, Atare, until our next meeting.” Parting the beads and receiving his knife from Noah, the Cied vanished into the darkness of the corridor. Braan was not concerned about him slipping away safely.

  The Atare sat alone for some time, and then called the guaard at the door. Noah entered the main room. “I go to the Ragäree. Leave someone on the room and accompany me.”

  LIFE SHELTER

  TWOHUNDRED FORTYSEVENDAY, MATINS

  Lyte sat near the outer doors, staring at the stars but not really seeing them. Around him the many healers moved silently, blending into the faint light of the glows. The only thing he was truly conscious of was the sound of his son having his first meal. Shinar’s remarks punctuated the baby’s, fluctuating between delight and difficulty mastering the nursing.

  Standing, the man moved over next to the bed. Shinar was laying on one side, a folded comforter under the child to make it easier for him to reach the breast. She seemed shrunken again, tiny, the long, thick hair like a cascade of light around them both. She glanced up at him with a sleepy expression on her face, trying to relax but looking uncomfortable.

  “I thought breast feeding was a normal, natural thing,” Lyte said.

  “It is. A lot of ‘normal, natural things’ are not the easiest in the human condition—at first. Remember your first time with a woman? It is one thing to watch someone feeding and another to do it yourself.”

  “He’s not going to go hungry, is he?”

  Shinar laughed. “He is not even getting regular milk yet. This special fluid is higher in protein and helps stabilize his immune system, among other things.”

  “Did I ever tell you I delivered a baby once?”

  “No! When?”

  “In a war zone. A civ went into labor, and the unit medtech was dead. Fortunately it was her fifth or something like that. She told me what to do and I did it. A healthy girl.”

  “No wonder you took it so well. It was your second.”

  “You were fine,” Lyte whispered in reply, touching a tiny hand. “At least it—he—wasn’t too premature.” He was unaware of Shinar’s intense scrutiny, his mind spinning. His son. His gift to the planet. What could it give him in return? Did he want anything from it? Shinar—but she was a loan, not forever. For some reason he kept thinking of Corymb. The man did not like him, of that Lyte was certain. Not because of Moran, or being off-world, or even the Axis. Corymb hated anyone with grit, anyone who could outmaneuver him in thinking. If this baby boy, this manchild, grew up with even a fraction of Lyte’s own attitude toward hypocrisy and high authority ...

  For a season Lyte had dug and pounded beneath the mountain, often working side by side with Braan Atare. Their forced partnership had led to a grudging admiration on Lyte’s part, and he had been careful to make sure that Braan had no justifiable criticism of him. All this time Lyte had sworn to himself that he did not belong here, had no desire to be here; but where else would he belong? Not CSSI. He could not stomach returning to the Axis, even if that was possible. For all he knew, he was outlawed. “What is his name?” he asked suddenly.

  Shinar looked surprised. “I would not name him without asking you. Look, he is staring at you, he is a watcher. I wonder how much he sees. This may be your only chance, Lyte. If you find a high house woman—”

  “I know, strict naming rules. We have thirtyday until baptism at the earliest, there’s no rush.”

  “What is watcher in your tongue?” Puzzled, Lyte repeated her Axis word. “No, no, your native tongue. Every planet has its own.”

  “Not Secundus CSSI.”

  “You jest.”

  “It is believed Axis roots are in the CSSI system; old Terran, you know
. The first colonies. My grandmother was Caprican. A maverick, although it was grampa who bucked the system by marrying her. I take after her, I guess.”

  “Do you speak Caprican? What is watcher in that tongue?”

  Lyte thought a long time. Shinar did not speak as the minutes passed. “I think it’s ried.”

  “Ried. A good name for an observant baby, do you not think so?” she asked, trying it out on her tongue.

  “Ried reb^Shinar. Too simple?”

  “If it were three or four syllables, we would end up shortening it, like the Ragäree’s name. It is the R that bothers you. I do not think it is common on Nuala for names, because of the word reb, ‘child of.’ Shall we think on it?

  “I like Ried. I shall think on you both often.”

  Shinar was silent, not pointing out the Nualan syntax in the Axis tongue. Then she asked, “When are you leaving?”

  The man glanced up. He had just reached that conclusion for himself. “I may not. I’ll go to Braan and find out what needs to be done.”

  She reached out in response and touched his cheek. “I am glad.”

  If Lyte heard the catch in the Nualan words, he did not acknowledge it. Good-byes were too hard as it was. “Good luck, Ried. With your mother’s flair, my hedonism, and Kal’s discipline, you’re going to be something. Don’t ask me what.” Reaching out and touching the now-sleeping baby’s hand once more, Lyte kissed Shinar’s fingertips in parting and stood to leave.

  RAGÄREE’S PEAK

  TWOHUNDRED FORTYSEVENDAY, MATINS

  The silence on the mountain was almost unnatural. Ronüviel sat watching the planets spiral above her, fingering the sharp blade of her knife, thinking on Braan’s words. Her brother sat across from her, watching for reaction. But she did not allow any.

  “Where do you want us to go?” she finally asked.

  “There is a meditation peak that has been prepared for Arrez. It is above my quarters, almost to the tree line. Go there. Take the children, take Liel—tell Arrez and Gid where you go, no others. Have you chosen guaard?”

  “No. I do not think Liel has, either.”

  “Noah and Jaac’s second in command will take care of it for you. At least six—I would prefer more. Under no conditions see any representatives of the house of Dielaan. And see Odelle only when the guaard is present.” Roe eyed him, thinking his precautions excessive. “What if the next assassin is a child? I would rather you see only those you know personally. And please order those Cied supplies from the other cities at once. I want them here in a fifteenday.”

  “You go to the deep mountains?”

  “Yes. I will take a guaard with me, or perhaps Lyte. I will ask him.”

  Ronüviel looked mildly surprised. “You trust him?”

  “In so many words. He will feel obligated, whether he personally cares for my welfare or not.”

  “He is a better man than even Moran thinks.”

  “I agree.” Braan faced her. “You have studied the writings, all we know of Cied. I need you, but ...”

  “Elana does not think it wise. I shall know when I am strong enough. I may even follow you.” Braan chuckled. Roe raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. She sighed. Staying up this late increased her exhaustion. Standing, she went to the window. “There is something missing; what you tell me of Genuar’s words and actions confirms it. The twins, my twins, are important, and so is their relationship to you and the throne. That seems simple enough, but the Cied are people of signs, of superstition, even. We may win the battle on the basis of that and at least feed our people.”

  “And lose the war?”

  She regarded him steadily. “Possibly. But is it not a chance we have to take? If we believe, they will. And they cannot go to war claiming deceit if we treat with them in good faith.”

  Braan looked puzzled. Glancing outside, he stood. “Night lengthens. You can explain that later, if we are spared. I—”

  Roe moved over to him quickly, holding him close in a long embrace. “Come back safely. Bring my man back to me. And ... I hope they find Teloa.” The expression on his face did not change, but Roe felt him tense in surprise.

  “Look to yourself. And guard my heir and throne.”

  oOo

  TWOHUNDRED FORTYSEVENDAY, LAUDS (MOONSET)

  The corridors were very dark, the glows set on their lowest level. Braan had forgotten how dark a cave was, especially far from the outlets. The small pack slung over his shoulder seemed incredibly light, the chain around his neck insufferably heavy. Noah moved with feline grace beside him, the guaard’s tread as noiseless as his own. Another level up and over and they would be at Lyte’s quarters.

  “Late for a stroll, isn’t it?” Noah already had his knife out. The silvery man moved toward them. “What brings you to this part of the mountain? No sense in going up, I’m here.”

  “Looking for you, Second Officer,” Braan replied easily.

  “Just ‘Lyte.’ What a coincidence, I was looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “The Atare is gracious, but his words are first,” Lyte said ceremonially.

  Braan smiled. Even when Lyte seemed to concede an edge, he did not. “I go to ciedär to confront the Dragoche and to bring back as many of our people as live.”

  “Oh? And how do I fit?”

  “The only substitute for a guaard is a commando. They will not let me out of here without one or the other. Care to come?”

  “Why?”

  Braan did not pretend to misunderstand. “It is your battle too. Moran and Jaac wanted you there. I do. Come with us Lyte. Find your place on this world.”

  “There’s an assassin looking for you,” Lyte said conversationally. “Leaving Nuamura is probably the best thing.”

  “Why?” Noah said abruptly. Braan flicked a glance at him. It was rare a guaard would break into an Atare conversation.

  “Because I have a vested interest in keeping you alive,” Lyte said. “I’ll need a robe and a water gourd.”

  “And a blaster. The grass withers and desert returns. The great predators stalk the ciedär nights. Meeting a katt with only a sword or knife is not pretty. Go. We will wait on the stairs.”

  “How do we leave without being seen? The synod won’t be thrilled about this.”

  “The south exit.”

  Lyte shook his head. “I personally know the Dielaan who watches it—casually, of course—after dark. Perhaps I’ll go pay him a visit before I go off on one of my nightly jaunts. While you slip past.”

  “Agreed,” Braan replied, making a mental note to have a private exit built. Lyte slipped away. Braan turned to Noah and removed his chain of office. He held it out to the young man. “I go now. Keep this against the return of myself or my brothers ... or my sister’s son, if all else fails, though I do not see him reaching maturity if we do. And guard Dylan. He is your charge if Corymb Dielaan takes power. He is safe until then, as he is no threat to Dielaan’s plans, only a mark for revenge.” Braan started to remove the new seal ring, his own crest now bordered with a chain of office, the mark of an Atare. He hesitated.

  “Any could use it, Atare, if it was taken, and you not alive to defend it,” Noah said gently. “I shall keep it safe until you return if you intend to go through with this.”

  “I do.”

  “Then Holy Mendülay be with you,” Noah finished, and, spying Lyte bounding down the stairs, added in a voice loud enough to be overheard, “And if you do not guard him well, off-worlder, then I shall personally cut your throat. I do not advise you to appear again without him.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYONEDAY, COMPLINE

  The hazelles loped along in their constant, almost staggering gait, their hooves causing the sands to bark like a cavern of yelping puppies. The strange scuffing noise was almost soothing to Lyte, who had ceased to look ahead toward the mountains. Another set of mountains ...

  “Far enough” came Braan’s voice out of
the darkness. Lyte straightened on his saddle blanket and stretched as his beast halted next to the leader. He could barely make out Braan’s beige robe in the faint light of the rising firstmoon; the embroidery appeared black.

  “Do we travel by night yet? I thought you wanted to go on,” Lyte said.

  “I do. But something is wrong.”

  Lyte’s hand went to his blaster, safely tucked back under his robe for the first time since landfall nearly two hundred sixty days before. “Direction?” he whispered casually.

  “Not katt. Weather.”

  Lyte hauled impatiently on the reins of the pack animal, stopping its attempts to wander off. “I thought the rain was over. Long over.”

  “It is. But pressure changes can bring wind storms. I am not exaggerating when I say one summer’s wind can grind a stone column into sand.”

  The warrior did not like the sound of that at all. “Where do we go?”

  “These boulders. That is why I stopped. I hope there is an opening large enough to take the hazelles through. Without them I doubt we would survive.” Braan jumped off his hazelle and reached into a pack. Lyte heard the sound of something striking against rock. “Close your eyes and hold those animals! I am going to check for katts.”

  For once the off-worlder was glad of his authority-response training when a flare erupted before him. Braan quickly found a cave opening to his liking and tossed the cylinder inside. Leaping back, the Atare drew his blaster and reached to calm his hazelle. There was an explosion of high-pitched sound from within the dark hole, and hundreds of tiny winged creatures fled to the black skies.

  “What?”

  “Vaaze. Harmless, but they have a habit of passing their droppings when artificial light strikes them. If you need to seek shelter without time to use flares, be prepared for a damp head!”

  Snorting his disgust, Lyte slid off the beast and began to drag it inside.

  oOo

  It was not long before they had a small fire burning and water boiling. Lyte once again secretly marveled at the tiny pressed disks, which, when burned, gave off considerable and long-lasting heat in a multitude of colors. Braan dropped some sealed pouches into the water to heat and then reached for the plates.