by J. S. Fields
There was a squishing sound and then an arm curled around her bare shoulder. “Atalant?” Nicholas asked, worried. “Are you hurt? Is there something I can do to help?”
“I am covered in mucus!” Atalant screamed again. “Fuck Ardulum, it’s everywhere.” She shook her arms violently. “I can’t. It’s too much. My head will not shut up. The leaves won’t leave me alone. Damn it, Nicholas, the wetness is disgusting!”
“Okay, okay,” Nicholas placated. “Stand up, and we’ll get you out of the dress. That should help.” He helped Atalant stand, whereupon she frantically grasped the front of the dress and ripped it apart, shedding the whole garment in one throw. The pieces landed on her feet in a sticky pile.
“Get it off!” she yelled, hopping from the puddle onto a clear patch of floor, kicking the remains of the dress away as she did so. She crossed her arms and stepped farther away, breathing heavily as Nicholas joined her. The tips of the andal roots followed her as she moved, but without the dress, for some reason, she was feeling calmer.
“Better now?” Nicholas asked.
“Yeah,” she responded noncommittally. The rustling had fallen back to a whisper, so Atalant tried to collect herself. The resulting breeze from the caved-in roof was cool against her skin, the sky above dotted with stars. “I need to find something else to wear, I think.”
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Nicholas asked. He tilted his head and looked around Atalant’s back. “You fell hard and didn’t respond for a while. If you have a concussion…” Nicholas trailed off and took a step behind Atalant, staring down at her legs. “Neek,” he said, slipping on the name. “You’re twenty-nine? Today wouldn’t be your thirtieth birthday, would it?”
Atalant rolled her eyes. “Nicholas, is that really a pertinent question right now? What are you even looking at?” She craned her neck around, trying to get a similar vantage point.
“I don’t see…” Except, there they were. Three equilateral triangles all meeting at one apex on the very bottom of her left calf, near the ankle. The markings for a Mind Talent. Bruising surrounded the new pattern, tinted blue.
“There’s another one,” Nicholas said cautiously, “on your right side. I can see the start of hexagons from here.”
Atalant lifted her right arm and looked down. Seven tiny, linked hexagons hovered just above her hipbone in an elongated oval shape. The markings for an Aggression Talent. Of course.
“First don lasts twenty years,” Nicholas breathed. He moved to face Atalant and clasped his hands behind his back. “Second don lasts ten years.” He nodded at the andal root tip that was pointing now at Atalant’s calf markings. “Happy birthday, Atalant.”
Atalant slowly worked through all the information her brain was trying to process. Today was her birthday—she had completely forgotten. Who kept track of those things when you were an adult, anyway?
The andal was here, in the palace. It was alive, as far as she could tell, and sentient, each tree with a distinct identity, and they were all in her head, chatting and waving. And somehow, inadvertently, she’d agreed to be an eld because she’d had chapped lips and hated her fingertips being dry. Why was she an eld? Why her? Was there no one else of suitable age around? Was it some sort of joke where the andal got fed up with the Eld and picked a Neek in retribution? How in the world was she going to explain this at home? How was she going to explain it to Emn? She poked at one of the markings and winced at how tender the area was. Was this how Emn had felt, coming out of the chrysalis? Had her whole body hurt with the stupid tattoos of Ardulum?
Emn. Her priorities crashed around her. Please stop destroying the palace, Atalant sent fervently to the rustling in the back of her head. People are in here that I care about.
The din Atalant hadn’t realized she was hearing came to a halt. Weaving roots fell slack to the floor, and a calm overtook the shattered room. Every branch, every root, stilled and hovered, waiting for directions. At least part of her telepathy was back, although she’d have much preferred talking to Emn than a bunch of roots.
Nicholas stared, wide-eyed, at Atalant. “Not at all creepy. I guess that explains your piloting skills though. You had a Talent, just not the markings. Weird.”
“I wasn’t…I mean…” Atalant brushed her hand dismissively over her hipbone and then winced at the pain. “It isn’t supposed to work like this! I’m a Neek.”
Nicholas snorted. “You’re an eld, too, looks like. It’s kind of funny, if you stop and think about it.”
Atalant glared at him. “I could terminate your contract right now. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have anyone to corroborate your story, your eldness.” He pointed to the giant gap in the wall. It was now completely filled in with writhing andal roots. “If you’re ready to move on from this weirdness to something worse, that should be the way to the throne room, if you can convince the andal to move. I can hear the people more now that the tree has died down, but it looked stable before our roof caved in. Might be a good place to start. Maybe it’s still in one piece.”
Atalant nodded and began to pick her way carefully to the gap, grateful that her boots were still intact. She simply motioned for Nicholas to follow. Three andal roots snaked after them, trailing a respectful distance behind. Atalant chose to ignore them.
As they reached the mass and Atalant reached out to prod a thin filament, the andal roots became active again. Six shot across the gap and a seventh smacked her hand away. “Apparently we are not going this way,” she muttered. She threw up her hands in defeat. “Okay, I give in. Which way are we going?”
The andal responded by retracting from the gap and slithering across the broken floorboards to another, smaller, oval door on the opposite end of the room. It had been hidden by a throne before, Atalant thought, or maybe obscured by one of those ridiculous statues. Two thin roots wiggled beneath the lower frame, and the door swung open, revealing steps with a dim light coming from below.
“Ominous,” Nicholas commented. “This is creepy as fuck, Atalant. What is going on?”
“I am working on a theory that this planet is actually a giant, sentient ball of andal.”
“I don’t do sentient trees.” Nicholas walked to the open door and peered down. “I can’t hear anything down there. Your call. You’re the god.”
The whispering in Atalant’s mind increased slightly in pitch as she neared the doorway. She could barely hear anything outside the andal in her head. Root tendrils lapped at her ankles, urging her forward. “I don’t think I’m being given much of a choice,” she murmured.
Cautiously, she moved down the steps, Nicholas close behind. A damp dirt smell filled her nose, and she coughed as the relative humidity increased. Her last hop off the stairs made a squelching sound, but in the dim overhead lighting, Atalant could only make out a dark puddle below her.
Nicholas brushed past her shoulder—she flinched when she saw the dark liquid ooze up between his bare toes. “Atalant, the andal.” Nicholas pointed to two thick roots that were skirting the edges of the puddle, which ran in a wandering stream to an unlit section of the chamber.
Forward. The word rustled in Atalant’s head, sending shivers down her spine.
“Nicholas,” she began softly as the andal’s touch lightened. “I am being given hazy directions from a planet.”
Nicholas considered for a moment and then gave a lopsided smile. “That falls under the same category as sentient trees. However, I think if a planet talks to you, you listen. Where sentient andal leads, you follow.” He gestured towards the wet trail. “After you, your highness.”
“I really don’t like you sometimes,” Atalant snapped.
When Nicholas remained silent, she took a deep breath and began to slowly follow the trail. Several times, she attempted to step out of the liquid and onto the dry packed dirt, but the andal kept her on the path. The squelching of their feet was sufficient to drown out the remaining noise of the crowd above, but noth
ing seemed to override the rustling in her mind.
“Oof.” Nicholas stumbled, catching himself on Atalant’s shoulders. “Sorry, Atalant. Why didn’t they install lights over…” he trailed off. Atalant followed his gaze downwards. There was a vague form a few meters on their left, but it was too dark to make out much more.
Curious, she closed the distance and nudged the lump. It emitted a low groan, and Atalant could see labored movement in the shadows.
“Hey,” Nicholas said as he edged his way past Atalant into the darkness. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
Atalant crouched down to get a closer look, but stopped just short of the floor. The smell that filtered through her nostrils was unmistakable this close to the source. She could almost taste the metallic odor.
The groan came again, followed by more movement. At an achingly slow pace, a hunched, female form emerged from the shadows, supported by Nicholas. Her long cinnamon hair was matted in blood, her clothes dripping. Atalant recoiled from the stench.
“There’s a big hole at the base of her spine,” Nicholas wheezed as he tried to pull the woman straighter. “And there is a lot of blood. Looks like hers.”
Choking back bile, Atalant ran to the other side of the woman and relieved some of the weight from Nicholas. Her arm wrapped around slick, wet fabric. It wasn’t until they reached the light streaming from the door from which they’d entered that Atalant was able to get a good look at whom she was carrying.
“You’re one of the Eld, aren’t you?” Atalant glanced behind the woman and saw the large cut in the back of her gold robe, blood still flowing freely from the wound. “The andal led us here, but I don’t know what we can do. Neither of us have medical training. We could try to stop the bleeding maybe. Do you have some bandages or towels somewhere?”
The female eld shook her head and coughed, the sound wet and harsh. “I am Eld Asth. The andal whispers of you, Atalant.”
“Yeah, well, andal is pretty chatty,” Atalant retorted. She released Asth, and without the extra support, the older woman fell to her knees, taking Nicholas partially with her. “Where is Emn?”
The eld doubled over, her forehead touching the dirt floor. Andal roots spooled around her ankles and traveled over her legs and torso, weaving into a tight net. Nicholas backed away, startled by the sudden increase in activity. Atalant smacked a third root that was heading for Asth’s head.
Leave her be! she shouted at it. She owes me answers. The root stopped, hovering just over Asth’s head, its tip pointing to the center of her forehead.
Asth began to chuckle. The sound was low and muffled, but Atalant could see her chest vibrating even through the layers of andal roots. “Flares must learn control, young Atalant. Unchecked, they will tear this planet apart and crush the minds of all its inhabitants.”
Atalant grabbed a handful of bloody hair and yanked, pulling Asth’s face up to hers. “Where is Emn!?” she yelled. “I don’t give a fuck about your damn planet!”
The eld opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the hovering root plunged into her forehead. Her skull cracked in two and fell apart, each half splashing into the small puddle of blood that surrounded the torso. Roots surged from the walls and floor, covering the body and pulling it back into the shadows across the wet, sticky trail Nicholas and she had just walked down.
“I am officially uncomfortable with this situation.” Nicholas grimaced, and Atalant thought he looked a bit ill. “We need to find Emn and get off this planet. Come on, Atalant.” Hopping over one of the skull fragments, Nicholas grabbed Atalant’s wrist and began to climb the stairs to the main floor.
Atalant followed silently, her mind a cacophony of wisps and images utterly alien to her. When they reentered the Talent Chamber, Atalant stopped walking. The gap in the wall had been cleared, and she could see directly into the throne room. Looking up, she could see moons in the sky through the hole in the ceiling, their light burning away most of the stars. Tendrils of andal snaked across the remains of the roof, coming together to form complex geometric patterns that formed and reformed continuously. The yelling of the crowd, that she had only just been able to make out before, completely died away in Atalant’s mind. The whispers of the andal turned into trumpeting, and Atalant found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the ceiling. Sounds rang in her ears: the sounds of the forest, the wind in the leaves, the pit-pat of andal sap oozing from a broken stem… Images followed, visions of new andal forests springing into life on virgin soil and heavy winds dispersing seed pods across a field.
Realization snapped Atalant out of her trance. Wide-eyed, she turned to Nicholas, grabbed his hand, and sprinted towards the gap in the wall.
“What the hell, Atalant!?” Nicholas sputtered as his toes caught on debris.
“You’re right, Nicholas,” Atalant gasped as the andal roots spiraled from the door and it opened into a crowd of people. “We can’t waste any more time. The planet has decided to move itself. Now.”
Chapter 28: Eld Palace, Ardulum
Testing is complete. Xylan weaponry is online, and all Alliance ships are equipped. Per your instructions, cellulosic materials have been minimized and replaced with petrochemical counterparts. There will be a sacrifice of speed and accuracy—however, we trust your advice in this matter.
—Tightband report from the Ittyrr to an unknown recipient, January 5th, 2061 CE
“THE PLANET IS going to tear itself apart.” Emn braced herself against the wall as another tremor shook the ground. They’d left the guest quarters where they’d surfaced and were now angling through the hall to the decorative rooms, which Adzeek had shown her, in the center of the palace. She vaguely remembered the route they’d taken to the Talent Chamber as well, but she wasn’t entirely confident they still wouldn’t end up in the kitchens. “I don’t know if killing an eld was a wise choice so close to the move.”
Privately, Emn wondered too what the death of Adzeek had done to the crowd in the throne room. She could still feel them all, but their emotions were chaotic and dense enough that it was difficult to pick apart meaning. Without the Eld’s influence, had they reverted back to a mob? Would they still be intent on the death of the flares?
Arik stumbled and caught himself. As the tremor eased, he gestured towards the middle of a common room, where they were currently walking. If they turned left or right they would enter the gatoi chambers. If they continued forward, they would eventually hit…what? The kitchens? Emn couldn’t remember well enough, so she turned around and headed back the way they’d come.
“I think we have to turn around. I think.”
Arik shrugged and followed. “Wise choice or not, it had to be done. Your story is different than ours. You don’t understand. The Eld killed hundreds, possibly thousands, of flares, because they needed to lighten the load for the move. I was taken from my family, leaving them unable to care for our plantations. My saplings will have died by now. Thousands of andal trees, thousands of flares, dead. They’re dead because of this.”
He stopped, turned to Emn, and pulled up his sleeve, revealing his markings. “You know this pain. I’m not looking for your approval, but I do need your help. You don’t know where your Neek is, and I don’t know where the other flares are. We’ve only got the andal for help, so let’s try and work together, all right?” They passed the guest quarters again, this time exiting into a hall.
Arik pointed to the snaking root that was coiled next to the door as if preparing for a nap.
“Those smaller doors lead to the basement, where we were. The circular chambers down there are the original flare containment cells, back when we were routinely culled. Corccinth had a map of the underground parts for us in her bags at the gazebo. I can’t feel the other flares, so likely they’re in containment. That is where I am going. That is where the andal points.”
Emn hesitated. She’d heard Atalant yelling for Nicholas above, not below. If he was trapped—if Atalant was trapped…
We
don’t have time! Arik sent. If your Neek is crushed, there is nothing we can do for her. The flares need us. Now! Ardulum needs us now!
A crash came from behind the oval door. The andal shuddered. Another crash followed, and the door burst open, releasing a large cloud of dirt. Tik’s and Kisak’s presences bled into her mind, bringing with them a surge of adrenaline. A moment later, the flares themselves appeared at the top of the stairs. Both were covered in brown dirt, and Kisak’s limp had gotten worse—but they were alive.
“Ukie?” Arik asked, embracing Kisak. The gatoi, much to Emn’s surprise, hugged back, zir head resting momentarily on Arik’s shoulder.
“Not with us,” Tik said. “No one was with us. The andal went wild, broke the doors off the cells. We climbed up.”
The andal root quivered, almost like it was pleased with itself. The hair on Emn’s arms rose. More cracking sounds came from above, as if trees were falling over. There was a thunderous bang, and then a rumble began that grew steadily in pitch. As it got louder, the ceiling above Emn’s head began to shake. She looked up and then back at the root, the end of which was bobbing right at head level. That was even more disturbing than it emoting. What was going on?
Suddenly, a yell rang out in the distance—a yell in Atalant’s voice. Emn forgot everything else.
“Atalant!” she yelled down the hall. “Where are you? I’m coming! We’re coming!” Almost in response, the andal shot off in the direction of Atalant’s voice. Was it…leading Emn to her? Did it care? Did Emn care, as long as she found Atalant? She needed to go, but she couldn’t just leave the flares, either. She needed them to come with her, before even more things unraveled.
“Atalant is being crushed!” Emn yelled. “We will be too, if we don’t move. We’re only missing Ukie, and there are no more basement doors in this hall. There might be on the other side of the gatoi chambers, which is also the way the andal is leading. We can go through there, find Atalant and Nicholas, and then check the basements.”
