by J. S. Fields
She didn’t wait for assent, didn’t bother to listen to the words Arik sent to her mind. She’d lost her mother. She’d never had a home. She would not lose Atalant.
The thundering of the palace grew louder as Emn pushed past Tik and broke into a run, heading back down the hall, following the root. She turned back past the guest quarters and raced through the gatoi commons, ignoring the half-opened doors and confused looks of those roused from the noise. Emn pressed on, out through the door on the other end of the chambers and into another long hallway. Here, she heard the sounds of the crowd again—were they still upset?—and she turned towards the throne room. This area of the palace, at least, she was familiar with. She ran faster, Arik close behind. The people were still chanting, even shouting, for the Eld. Demanding to see the Eld. Demanding the flares. The andal dogging at her heels, Emn ran to the door connecting the hallway to the throne room.
“Emn, stop!” Arik yelled after her.
Emn did stop, but only when she was pressed just against the door, the andal weaving across her feet. She could hear the crowd’s words distinctly through the wood.
“The Eld told us to wait!”
“The Eld aren’t here, and the palace is crumbling! The flares have done something to them. We have to find them!”
“We will all be killed if we stay here! Why are we waiting here, to be slaughtered?”
“Let’s just kill the lot of them!”
Arik and the other flares caught up to her. There were sounds of shuffling on the other end of the door and then the sounds of one of the thrones creaking.
“Death to the flares!” a voice screamed.
The crowd screamed back, “Protect the Eld!”
A solitary shriek stilled the crowd. A loud thump followed.
Emn shivered. We have to find the other eld.
They couldn’t go into the crowd, not like this. Those people out there didn’t understand.
Agreed. Arik gestured for her to follow, Tik and Kisak close behind. We should go back near the kitchens. You passed the corner near the Records Room and Adzeek’s chambers. There’s another stairwell there to the basement. If Ukie is there, then likely an eld is, too.
Actually, I’m out here. Ukie’s voice broke across their connection, startling all the flares. Emn hadn’t felt her reestablish the link, but her presence was clear, strong, and coming from…the dais in the middle of the throne room.
The floor began to move. The solitary root that had led the flares joined the other roots crisscrossing the floor and gathered into a thick mass, spinning into a rope. It flowed towards the closed door. Smaller roots slipped under the gap. A moment later, the door swung open, the andal separated and dispersed, and harsh whispering flooded the hall. Past the door was a mob of Ardulans spanning every don. They were whispering, but their voices were getting louder as they pushed against one another. Above their heads, Emn saw the raised dais and the three Eld thrones.
Ukie sat in the middle one, smiling. A dead gatoi lay at her feet, zir maroon blood dripping over the side of the dais and seeping into the people beyond.
The crowd exploded a moment after, screaming. Ardulans tried to climb the dais and pull Ukie down, but each time, they fell back via some invisible force. People wailed for the Eld. Hurled abuse and food, but Ukie only stood and smiled.
Come on, Emn! Arik yelled. He ran through the doorway, Tik and Kisak just behind, and began to fight through the people. Ardulans fell. Struggled to get back up. Tried to fight the flares. The flares pushed back, with hands, with cellulose.
We need you, Emn, Arik called as he reached the dais. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel Ardulum? We can link here, in this central location. We need to guide the planet.
Emn couldn’t feel anything, in fact, but the state of the palace, the lack of ceiling, and the andal roots that coated the walls of the throne room was concerning. Saving Atalant and Nicholas was what mattered, but if they were in the crowd, or on the other side, she’d never find them before the palace collapsed. She pulled away from her hazy thoughts and tried to push forward, but she was too far behind Kisak. The opening zie had created was thick again with bodies. A woman fell into her.
Then, she saw it. Strawberry-blonde bound into a braid. A mass of dark curls. Just a flash near the far wall, possibly even inside the Talent Chamber. They were there! They were alive! She just had to get to them—she could worry about the planet later.
A man turned, noticed her, and punched her in the gut. Another Ardulan shoved her onto her stomach, and a booted foot came towards her face.
I don’t have time for this! As gently as she could manage, Emn pulled cellulose from the flooring, bound it, collected the energy, and pushed it at the Ardulans near her. They flew back, knocking into others, but were otherwise unhurt. Emn stood and repeated the process again and again as more Ardulans came towards her. She began to walk towards the thrones, which sat in the middle of the room. She had to get around the dais before she could reach the Talent Chamber. Taunts followed.
“Mutation!”
“Unclean!”
“Killer!”
Emn pushed three women to the side. A gatoi stepped into her path, a wooden staff in zir right hand. Zie spoke before Emn had a chance to send zir away. “Where are the Eld?” zie asked. The gatoi gripped the staff with both hands and braced.
A crack opened in the floor, right underneath the gatoi. It widened too quickly, and before Emn could react, the gatoi’s foot had fallen through and zie was on zir back, yelling for help. Emn reached down to the gatoi and tried to help zir up.
Emn! We don’t have time! Ukie yelled from the dais as four more Ardulans fell back from her, smoking from the ears.
The gatoi smacked Emn’s hand away, so she stood and tried to find a way around zir and past the others. You can’t just kill them, Ukie! Emn fought through her own panic, desperate for options. She needed to get to the other side of the room! Could she push all the Ardulans back and maybe pin them to the walls? No, there were too many. Force them out the door? No, that would take time to corral them that she did not have. Make them unconscious, maybe?
Yes, and the flares could help. It would forward their goals as well.
Here. Emn pushed herself into the minds of the other flares. Do what I do. Watch. Emn reached for the first cellulose she could find. She followed it as the disordered areas hopped along the crystalline matrix, gathering each adjacent strand and then the strands touching those. Meticulously, she mapped the strands within the palace—from the floor and walls, to the woven tapestries and small pots—against the pull of the people in the hall. She skirted the people and moved into the detritus in the soil upon which the palace stood. When she had mapped every millimeter of the palace, she shifted into the mind of the gatoi on the floor, still struggling against the floor gap. She rifled through zir brain until she found the spot that controlled consciousness. Then, she addressed the four flares.
Push here. Gently. Just enough for them to collapse. Have in your mind the basics of the operation. When I pull, I’ll send the energy to you. Each of you can then disperse it to as many minds as you can reach. If you hold the idea of what you want to do in your head and don’t get distracted, the process should automate. Don’t screw up. We can fix them after the planet moves. It’ll just take me a bit to figure out how. Ready?
Eager assent came back from all of them.
Here we go.
Emn let her mind calm, probing the edges of her cellulose net. When she was sure of the boundaries, she collapsed the framework and brought every strand together.
A thick, crystalline structure materialized at her feet. The crowd around her fell to stillness for a brief second, and then everything happened simultaneously. The palace, devoid of its wood matrix, crumbled to the ground as bits of lignin and paint rained down on the crowd. The shell that remained was entirely composed of living andal roots, weaving together and continuously changing form. Microscopic fissures opened in the g
round where Emn removed decaying plant matter, leaving unseen weak spots that sent many of the milling Ardulans to their knees. The crowd quelled, shocked, but they did not pass out. Instead, they began to wander, confused, bumping into each other as if they had no concept of their surroundings. Their minds sent confused images to Emn, which she worked desperately to sort through. It was as if…
As if…as if their minds had been fractured.
Like the Risalian Ardulans.
Like her mother.
Emn held the energy for a moment, the horror of what she had accidentally done slowly bleeding into her mind. The stillness of the moment swung delicately in front of her. The flares looked at her expectantly. She had too much energy. Again. It had to go somewhere, and the chain reaction was already in place. The flares were already pulling at the energy, desperate to try the trick themselves.
Don’t, Emn sent, barely able to breathe. Please don’t.
The stillness broke. The consciousness of the other flares bled back into her mind, and Emn couldn’t fight the pressure. She sectioned the energy to the flares and felt them reach out and touch the minds of each Ardulan in the palace. Eyes glassed over. Dialogue ceased. The crowd stopped.
“You’re brilliant, Emn!” Arik said when he expended the last of the energy. “It would have taken us hours, maybe a day to reach that many people.” Arik hopped onto the dais, joining the other flares.
Emn couldn’t move, staying rooted to the floor, witness to her destruction. A child to her left toddled on uneven steps. Zir eyes were unfocused, zir hands pulling at zir tunic and then gliding over the fabric as if zie had never touched it before. Why was there a child here? Why had someone brought a child with them from the market? A third-don woman allowed herself to be moved by the crowd. She offered no resistance, her eyes blank. A man and a gatoi huddled close together, backs to the wall, trembling.
Kisak lumbered from the dais and cleared a path to Emn, pushing Ardulans to either side as zie walked. “Adzeek is dead. Ukie confirms Asth is dead through her doing, and she found Savath’s body laid out in a death shroud. We don’t have time to dally. We can repair their broken minds later. We haven’t gotten to them all yet, anyway. Right now, we need your help.” When zie grabbed Emn by the arm, she pulled back, but Kisak’s grip was strong. All the fractured minds pulled at her, threatening to drown her in their vacant swirling.
She was hauled onto the dais, her arms linked with Kisak’s and Arik’s. Flare minds pushed the other Ardulans away. “NO!” Emn screamed at them, adding weight to the words with her mind, but Arik pushed his consciousness deeper, bringing her to focus.
“Emn,” he said, too calmly. “Would you just listen?”
An oppressive weight landed in her mind, pushing it down. It smothered her thoughts with a million sprigs of consciousness, unwilling, teeming, trying to break free.
Emn struggled to breathe. Her mind was in danger of ripping apart. “I feel…covered,” Emn said to Arik, no longer struggling against the flares. She couldn’t. The weight of the planet was too much, its need too great. “The andal feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong. Like I am being crushed. The planet is going to come apart, isn’t it?”
Arik’s response was distant due to the weight of the andal. “Yes, but we can guide it. It will fight us, but we are its only choice.”
“What do we do now?” Emn asked as the sense of urgency grew. Something, something unfathomable, shrieked into her head. Her skin felt like it was cracking apart. “I’ve never done anything like this before!” Emn yelled. “What do we do?”
Arik gestured to where one of the thrones had once stood. “We save the planet, Emn. Just like the Eld.”
Chapter 29: Eld Palace, Ardulum
Current tally of outfitted Charted Systems ships:
Fourteen Risalian cutters
Three hundred and twenty-two Risalian stellar skiffs
Eight Minoran galactic liners
Eighty-seven Oorin dredgers
Five Alusian barges
Two hundred and fifty-one Alusian tramps
Twelve Terran shuttles
One hundred and eighty-six unidentified tramps
In addition, fifteen of our skiffs and four cutters are now completely cellulose-free.
—Report to the Markin Council, January 8th, 2061 CE
EMN WAS ALIVE.
Atalant saw her, grouped with other flares, on a metal dais in a sea of people who were…confused? What had happened? They’d been upset just moments before and now the lot of them were acting like the Risalian Ardulan woman they’d met on Neek—before she had disobeyed the Risalians and saved all of their lives. And what had happened to the ceiling? The two things weren’t related, right? They couldn’t be related. There was no way Emn would do…whatever this was… Right?
Atalant would have to get to her to ask, regardless. At least Emn’s—Atalant’s, technically—flight suit was distinct from the cream-colored outfits of the others, her height unmistakable. Atalant wanted to reach out, to call to Emn, to ask what the hell was going on, but all she could access was the twisting consciousness of the andal and the flares, just beyond, holding hands with their eyes closed as they tried to interface with something far beyond their capabilities.
The tight patchwork of andal roots above shielded her from the falling remains of the palace. With the walls down and no more physical barriers in place, she could see the remains of the marketplace and the inn where they had stayed. People stood near their homes, their closed-down carts, staring blankly. Children sat on packed dirt, crying out for comfort only a parent could provide.
Nicholas was talking to her—she was aware of the sounds but not able to process the words. Instead, the andal whispered to her in whipping tendrils of vibrations and smells. Atalant felt the determination of the andal to relocate, felt its desire for a new start, to begin a new line. She felt it push back against the flares, recoiling at their touch. Through the hair-like roots that rested on her shoulders, she felt the very matrix of the planet begin to make a subtle shift. The movement was jerky, somehow uncertain. That did not give her a great deal of confidence.
“Hey, are you even listening?” Nicholas’s voice finally registered. She turned. He seemed different, too, as he wobbled, trying to keep his balance on the uneven ground. Maybe he was a little taller, or maybe it was the way he stood now, fully upright instead of slouched, sounding confident and snarky where once he had only been whiny. His shoulders were broad. Strong. He looked…competent, she admitted to herself. Adult.
“I need your help, Nicholas.” The words didn’t taste as funny as she had worried they might. “I have to get to Emn, and I have to deal with the flares. This all has to get sorted so I can babysit a giant root ball across space.” Atalant smiled a small but genuine smile and held out an open palm.
Nicholas grinned and clasped her hand. “What’s the plan? Take out the flares? Save the damsel?”
Atalant opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it as two thick andal roots surged forward, the long and golden robe of an eld stretched between them. It was Asth’s robe. Atalant recognized the stains. The andal roots paused in front of her feet and drew back, the robe falling into her hands.
“I don’t like this,” Atalant muttered. She rubbed the fabric between her fingertips. Silk? Silk and andal rayon? It was smooth, whatever it was. Atalant brushed dirt from the robe, the bloodstains crumbling off in tandem and powdering to the floor.
“Better than being mostly-naked?” Nicholas shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe?”
“I suppose,” Atalant grumbled as she slipped the garment over her head and tied the waist sash. The urgency of the andal was increasing exponentially, threatening to tear her mind apart along with the planet. The whispering presences bucked against the flares, tried to throw them off and out, but their combined strength tethered the andal in place and caused it to pull against itself. The ground trembled. She didn’t have time to care about clothing—or what it signi
fied.
“Nicholas, I need help getting to that platform.”
“On it.” Without waiting for further instruction, Nicholas pushed his way into the crowd. The people stumbled from him as he gently herded them, opening a path. The andal trailed after, roots twirling together in thick, trunk-like clumps that held back the crowds from recovering the space.
With the andal wisps still on her shoulders, Atalant moved down the aisle, being careful to step around the divots in the dirt. Eyes stared at her from behind the andal fence. Occasionally, a hand reached out and then retracted. Whenever an Ardulan brushed the roots, Atalant received an impression of their mind. They were tortured and unsure, swirling and searching, with no refuge from the confusion in their heads.
Nicholas reached the center. The andal surged around the dais, creating a buffer. Another tremor hit, sending Ardulans to their knees. Atalant’s path was now completely clear. Nicholas looked back to her, saluted once, pushed back into the sea of people, and disappeared from sight.
What did he think he was doing? Gah, Atalant didn’t have time to chase after him and stop whatever silly-yet-heroic act he had in mind. Atalant reached into her boot and pulled the knife with the curved tip from the sunken sheath—the knife whose use she finally understood. A Dulan knife, once used by the Risalians to keep their Ardulans under control. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Ardulum was responsible for its creation. Corccinth had discussed it with her in the marketplace before they’d reentered the palace. Guided her through Ardulan anatomy. Showed her how to sever the primary artery in the Ardulan spinal column, bringing death. Atalant didn’t want to use it, but would, if necessary. There were too many lives at stake. With quiet footsteps, she approached the dais, knife at her side, her grip tight.
Again, the ground rocked. Atalant barely felt it. She hopped onto the platform and circled to Emn. The flares remained linked, eyes closed, unmoving.
