Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Most unusual of all, and a first in Alsean history, was the presence of several representatives of an alien race. Ambassador Solvassen was there, along with Chief Kameha, but what had really set the guests whispering was the entrance of Captain Ekatya Serrado and Doctor Lhyn Rivers.

  She had so enjoyed seeing Lhyn and Ekatya again. It hardly seemed possible that a cycle and a quarter had gone by since their departure. When they had arrived in her lodgings the day before, she had greeted them with a joyous palm touch and wondered if Andira had given them warmrons instead. For just a moment, she wished she could do that herself.

  Lhyn was exactly the same, breathless with new thoughts and questions, while Ekatya was more measured in her conversation. But their tyree bond had changed. Lanaril could feel its solidity, the difference between a sapling and a tree of twenty cycles. Lhyn said that a great deal had happened, but then the conversation turned to all of the events on Alsea in the past cycle, and Lanaril never did hear any more about her friends’ adventures. She was looking forward to seeing them again after the ceremony, when Lhyn had promised to share their tale.

  A deep roll of drums brought her attention back to the present, and she drew herself upright at the edge of the wooden platform around the molwyn tree. The bondmates were about to enter.

  Every head turned toward the thick wooden doors.

  At a final booming note of the drum, the temple doors opened, revealing Andira and Salomen standing motionless in the doorway. A quartet from the Whitemoon Symphony began playing, and Kyrie Razinfin, the most celebrated singer on Alsea, burst into a soaring version of the bonding ballad. Lanaril felt chillbumps rise on her arms. Great Mother, what a voice.

  And what a sight. She had the best ticket in the house as the bondmates began their walk to the molwyn.

  Andira was resplendent in her all-black embroidered suit, a shining golden breastplate bearing the Seal of the Lancer, and a full-length crimson cape with black embroidery to match the suit. The cape alone must have taken an army of crafters a full moon to finish. Lanaril had never seen anything so beautiful.

  Beside her, Salomen was in a suit that matched in every way except that hers was dark green, the color of her caste. She also wore a golden breastplate, a symbol of her obligation to care for the Lancer, though in place of the Seal it bore the tree of the producers. Her cape was a mirror image of Andira’s, black with crimson embroidery, and her dark hair swung loose across her shoulders. In contrast, Andira’s bright blonde hair was pinned up in an intricate twist. Together they made a glorious sight, and Lanaril thought that Fahla herself must be smiling on this ceremony. Surely she was here, in some way. After all, she had chosen these two herself.

  They came toward her, holding hands and smiling broadly, and Lanaril remembered a day a little over a cycle ago, when Andira had fled from her obligations and said she could hardly remember how to laugh.

  That had been a different woman. This Andira was Fahla’s Chosen, gloriously attired and radiating joy as she approached with her tyree. Lanaril wished she could go back in time and tell that past Andira that her future was brighter than she could imagine.

  Then they were in front of her, waiting at the bottom of the steps, and Kyrie Razinfin finished the ballad with her trademark drawn-out final note, lasting far beyond the breath-holding capacity of most Alseans. In the awed silence that followed, Lanaril bowed to the singer, acknowledging the beauty she had brought to this ceremony. Kyrie returned the bow, then shifted and bowed lower to the bondmates.

  A swarm of vidcams had followed the couple to the steps and now hovered all around them, recording the ceremony from every possible direction. Lanaril ignored them as she said, “Andira Shaldone Tal, Salomen Arrin Opah, what do you seek in this temple today?”

  “We seek Fahla’s blessing,” Andira said, her voice ringing out and effortlessly filling the space.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To bless the bond our hearts have made.” Salomen’s voice was lower but no less powerful.

  “Will you show us this bond? And demonstrate with open hearts the love that you share?”

  “We will,” they said in unison.

  “Then please come to the molwyn.” Lanaril moved back from the edge of the deck as they mounted the steps, then turned and led them to the heart of the temple. Resting one hand on the ancient molwyn tree, she began the bonding prayer, a call-and-response that involved all of the guests. Several hundred voices murmured the time-honored responses, all of them sharing in the union, though few understood just how extraordinary this bond truly was.

  At the end of the prayer, she stepped away from the tree and told the story of Andira and Salomen’s bond, how they had met and how they had discovered that their hearts were speaking to each other. It was a tradition she had always loved because every story was different, though this one might be her favorite. The idea of two people fighting so hard not to acknowledge the truth—it was a perfect metaphor for all of those who refused to see the glory of Fahla, though her works shone in the world around them, every day.

  But she could not tell all of their story, so she did not speak of the true nature of their bond or the role each had played in saving the other’s life. It was difficult to leave out Salomen’s heroism in particular, because it spoke so eloquently to the divine gift both of them bore. But even in this moment of celebration, security issues took precedence. When she looked at Salomen, so beautiful in her bonding suit and so untrained in the arts of politics and self-protection, she understood Andira’s concerns and felt a protective urge of her own.

  The ceremony went by in a blur of song, music, and prayer, until it was time for the great Sharing. Andira and Salomen had long ago worked out the order of the two lines and given the lists to the Whitemoon Templars. The guests were ushered into their places accordingly. Two of the Lancer’s Guards, Gehrain and Vellmar, were accorded places of honor very near the bondmates, while some of the more prominent politicians found themselves farther away than they probably felt they deserved. The ultimate places of honor, in direct contact with the bondmates, went to Colonel Micah and Shikal Arrin. Of course everyone understood why Salomen Opah would choose her father, but the Lancer’s selection of her Chief Guardian was bound to set tongues wagging. Her positioning of the Gaian captain and her bondmate in the second and third places was equally shocking. Tomorrow’s headlines were writing themselves.

  Two pairs of attendants removed the capes and breastplates from Andira and Salomen, then unbuttoned their suit jackets and shirts. Lanaril took her place between them, her heart beating faster at the import of what she was about to do. She rarely had the opportunity to officiate at a tyree bonding ceremony, and so far as she knew, no living Alsean had ever officiated at a ceremony for tyrees bearing Fahla’s divine spark. She didn’t know what to expect. But Andira smiled at her, and she reminded herself that this wasn’t just a divine tyree. This was her friend.

  She slid her hand inside Andira’s open shirt, finding the point where the energy sang through her skin, then did the same for Salomen. When her hand slipped onto the curve of Salomen’s breast, the connection sealed itself and the power of it stiffened her spine. It was an order of magnitude stronger than anything she had felt before, and she needed a tick just to get it under control before she could trust herself to send it outward.

  When she finally released it, she heard it traveling through the guests. Exclamations, sighs, and murmurs filled the temple as each guest felt the glory and strength of a tyree bond, and Lanaril stood at the very center of it, her body serving as a power converter. Never in her life had she felt so close to Fahla. This, this was the divine spark, coursing through her body, electrifying her skin, making her hair crackle and stand away from her scalp.

  She could have stood there for eternity, glorying in this connection, and indeed held it longer than normal. But she had a
role to play. Many guests made soft sounds of protest when she pulled her hands away, and she took some comfort in knowing she was not the only one to feel bereft.

  The attendants refastened the bondmates’ shirts and suits, reattached the breastplates and capes, and melted away again as Lanaril turned to the guests for her final pronouncement.

  “You have all felt the power of this bond, Shared with open hearts by Andira Shaldone Tal and Salomen Arrin Opah, now Lancer and Bondlancer of Alsea. Every one of you is a witness to their love. From this day forward, none may challenge their status as bondmates, for you have blessed them by your presence, as Fahla has blessed them by hers. I am Lanaril Faramon Satran, Lead Templar of Blacksun, and I say now for all to hear: this bond is sealed by Fahla and can never be broken, except by the will of Fahla or the bondmates themselves.”

  She turned to Andira and Salomen, who might as well have been alone for all the attention they were paying to her or the ceremony. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

  Laughter swelled through the temple, and they blushed as they straightened and faced her.

  “Your guests await your lead,” she finished. “Let the celebration begin.”

  The temple bells rang out in a joyous scale, telling the world that a new Bondlancer had come into her title. A deep boom sounded in response, the first of many fireworks that Whitemoon would be launching as it swung into a citywide party.

  Her final words were the cue for the new bondmates to lead their guests out of the temple and into the surrounding grounds for the bonding feast. By tradition, they would thank Fahla for her blessing by resting their hands on her molwyn tree as they passed, though some chose to linger and offer a prayer. As Lanaril waited, listening to the bells, the fireworks, and the beginnings of many conversations among the guests, Andira and Salomen walked to the tree. They lifted their hands to the bark, standing side by side as they prayed.

  And Fahla answered.

  Lanaril had read about it so many times, and in her heart of hearts she had hoped it would happen tonight, but she had never really believed. She, the Lead Templar of Blacksun, had not had enough faith.

  Her jaw dropped when their hands began to glow with a golden flame. They quickly became too bright to look at directly, four tiny suns radiating in the center of the temple. The flame spread to the trunk of the molwyn tree, briefly lighting the area around their hands before it suddenly flashed the length of the trunk and burst into a radiance that sent Lanaril to her knees.

  “Fahla, O my Goddess,” she murmured. Tears sprang to her eyes as the flame continued outward, traveling along the limbs and branches until it outlined every single leaf. The molwyn tree blazed with a glory that defied understanding, and she wept in gratitude that Fahla truly had blessed this bond, that she was here in the temple with them right now, not an abstract idea but a physical presence that no one could deny.

  She glanced to the sides and saw every guest on their knees as well, overcome to a person by the power filling the temple—even the Gaians. The only ones still upright were Andira and Salomen, standing calmly at the center of a tower of fire, bearers of Fahla’s divine spark who had already been seared by its conflagration and thus were immune to its heat.

  The tree burned for several long ticks, its light reflecting off the walls and the glass above, and Lanaril wondered if it was visible from outside, a column of light beaming up into the night sky. At last the flame diminished, retreating from the leaves to the branches, thence to the trunk and finally back into the hands of the tyrees. The temple seemed dull and dim by comparison.

  She wiped the tears from her face. Before today, she had only read of miracles. Now she had witnessed one—along with the entire Alsean population, or at least the majority who were watching the live broadcast. How could their lives ever be the same?

  Perhaps, as she had once joked to Andira, she would write the next religious text after all. If miracles were still occurring, then wisdom and interpretation still had insights to provide future generations.

  Pulling their hands from the now-dark trunk, Andira and Salomen turned back to their guests. In a clear voice, Andira said, “Thank you for sharing this moment with us. We are grateful to Fahla and to you for being here tonight and blessing our bond.”

  “We invite you now to join us outside for the feast,” Salomen added.

  They turned and walked out, leaving behind several hundred stunned Alseans who gaped at each other, barely comprehending what they had seen and hardly knowing what to do next.

  At last Lanaril said faintly, “Please join the new bondmates in their celebration.” It was the traditional end to a ceremony, but after that display of power it seemed ridiculously banal. Still, it was what the guests had needed, and in twos and threes and then groups and streams, they rose and made their way out to the grounds of Whitemoon Temple.

  “Oh, my fucking stars,” Lhyn whispered as they climbed back to their feet. “I can’t believe it. That was incredible.”

  Ekatya rubbed her eyes, still dazzled by the display. “So much for your embellished oral history.”

  “No kidding. Do you realize what this means? There’s a Seeder here. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Well, I’m not quite ready to go that far—”

  “Ekatya, really. Maybe you could explain it with technical wizardry today, but that wouldn’t apply to the same thing happening a thousand stellar years ago, or two thousand. This has been happening for a long time.”

  Ambassador Solvassen came up to them, his eyes wide. “What in all the purple planets was that?”

  “That, Ambassador, was a reminder that neither the Protectorate nor the Voloth hold the greatest power in this corner of the universe.” Lanaril had joined them, a serene smile on her face. “And Lhyn, I believe I once told you that if I ever saw this personally, I’d consider it the most fortunate day of my life. Well…here we are.”

  “I can’t wait to see the vids,” Lhyn said. “Who do I need to speak to for access?”

  “Ready to pick it apart, are you? You and half the secular scholars on Alsea, I imagine, along with all of the templars. It’s going to be an interesting few moons watching this play out. And if I were a betting woman”—her smile turned slightly knowing—“I’d lay odds that I’m about to acquire many new worshippers in my temple.”

  “I might be one of them,” said the ambassador. “You really didn’t manufacture that?”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “She didn’t,” Lhyn said. “Look there, over the main entrance—haven’t you ever noticed what the banner of Alsea is showing?”

  His eyebrows rose when he saw what she was pointing at. “The tree is in flames. Holy Seeders, no, I never realized it.”

  “Lanaril, would you like to tell him the story?”

  Ekatya left them discussing past and present and made her way out of the temple. Though there was already quite a crowd milling around the brightly lit, elegantly landscaped grounds, she spotted Andira and her tyree in an instant. Not only were they impossible to miss in their bonding suits, but they were also being given a wide berth by guests who apparently did not know how to approach them.

  “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to keep your true status a secret?” she said when she reached them. “I realize I was ship-lagged and not quite thinking at full speed last night, but I’m pretty sure I remember that.”

  Andira smiled and shook her head. “We didn’t know that would happen.”

  “Not that it would have stopped us had we known,” Salomen said. “I understand Andira’s caution, but I’m tired of secrets. Besides, if Fahla meant for us to hide her gift, she wouldn’t have advertised it to the whole world.”

  “That she did,” Andira said, drawing her in for a kiss on the cheek.

  Once again Ekatya marveled at just how much her
friend had changed since their parting two stellar years ago. Some things didn’t transmit by quantum com. Andira looked younger, and while some of that could be explained by the smiles and playful humor that so marked her now, there was something else as well, something physical. Lhyn had mentioned it too, commenting that she’d love to run a DNA scan and see whether an Alsean tyree bond had some sort of reverse aging effect. Ekatya had pointed out that she would need a base scan to compare it to, which ended that bit of wishful thinking.

  “You’ve found the perfect match,” she said. “Someone who enjoys shaking the tree just as much as you do. Lhyn’s in there asking Lanaril for access to the vids so she can analyze the living Hades out of the footage, Ambassador Solvassen is planning his next dispatch even as we speak, Lanaril is already counting her converts, and in the meantime, nobody out here has worked up the courage to come near you.”

  “Micah was already here,” Andira said. “Giving me an earful about advertising to the whole world.”

  “Just you? I seem to recall two pairs of hands on that tree.”

  Salomen’s smile crinkled her dark eyes and brought out a pair of lovely lines at the sides of her mouth. “Corozen has known Andira all her life. He’s known me for a little over three moons. As far as he’s concerned, I can do no wrong.”

  “And you’re going to harvest that for as long as you can, aren’t you?” Andira asked.

  “Of course.”

  Ekatya laughed. “Just remember that works both ways.”

  “Oh, yes, I know. Father thinks Andira hung both of our moons, and Jaros thinks she snapped her fingers and the universe came into existence.”

  “That might be a tiny exaggeration, tyrina.”