Ardulum

by J. S. Fields

  Neek snorted and pulled her hand away. “You’re a kid, just like Nicholas. The things I am dealing with…they’re more complex than you think.”

  “Because your family couldn’t protect you? Because your world wanted to control you? You think I don’t understand that?”

  Neek stood abruptly and walked the three steps to the other side of the room. She placed her hands on the wall and let her head hang. “I’ve let this debate rest. It’s done. I don’t care if you are an Ardulan, or a Terran, or strange, mutated Nugel. What you are not is a fairy tale. You can’t be a fairy tale. You’re too real to be a god.” She was sure her voice wavered. “I need you to not be a god.”

  Emn considered. “I wasn’t like all those Ardulans that died at Oorin. They were empty—their minds were blank. Even my mother didn’t have a mind like yours or mine. I’m different from all of them. Maybe I’m more like a real Ardulan than you think, but that still doesn’t make me a divinity.” She smiled. “I’m just Emn.”

  Emn got up and walked over to Neek. She placed her right hand next to Neek’s left on the wall, their fingers centimeters from each other. “Ardulan or not, I want to find out who I am. I want to find other beings like me. I don’t want to be alone.” She wrapped her hand around Neek’s and brought both their hands away from the wall. “There’s nothing here for you, Neek,” Emn said softly as the connection between the two tightened and Emn’s presence flooded Neek’s mind. “The Charted Systems will take years to put themselves back together. Transport jobs will be limited, legal or otherwise.” Emn smiled and took Neek’s other hand in hers. Neek felt her face color. They were too close. Why were they so close?

  “My journey lies beyond the Charted Systems. I want you to come with me. Nicholas too, if he wants. I’m going to find Ardulum, and I want you there with me when I do. Maybe if we find the planet, you can finish your journey. If they’re just like us, then they’re not gods. I’m not a god. Everything can be okay.”

  Neek swallowed, her throat dry. Emn took a step closer and closed her eyes, moving her consciousness into the link the two shared.

  Please, Atalant. I need you, and I think you need me.

  Neek broke at the use of her child-name. Tears spilled down her face, and she began to tremble. This wasn’t a settee, and this wasn’t a family reunion—it was something so much more than any of that. The pilot tugged her hands away from Emn’s and wrapped her arms around the younger woman, pulling her into an embrace. She held Emn tightly for several long moments, letting the smell of andal from Emn’s hair permeate her senses. She had no intention of leaving either Emn or Nicholas, although she’d not managed to verbalize that to either of them. The last time she’d been on her own in the Charted Systems, she’d ended up clinging to life in the back alley of a spaceport, wallowing in her own self-destructive tendencies.

  Emn shifted slightly in Neek’s arms, turning her face and looking Neek directly in the eyes. “Neek?” she asked softly, her breath warm against Neek’s skin. “Are you all right?”

  Neek stared back and kept her face motionless. Emotions swirled just underneath the surface, threatening to break free right at that moment, where Emn would witness them all. Instead of letting that happen, Neek opened her mouth and spoke with as little wavering as she could manage.

  “All right,” she whispered into Emn’s ear, pulling the younger woman back and lingering in the strength of Emn’s embrace. “To Ardulum, then, or however far we can get in this rotund excuse for a spaceship. I don’t care. The Charted Systems, the Alliance, Ardulum—it doesn’t matter. Wherever your path leads, we’ll be together.”

  About the Author

  J.S. Fields is a scientist who has perhaps spent too much time around organic solvents. She enjoys roller derby, woodturning, making chain mail by hand, and cultivating fungi in the backs of minivans. Nonbinary, but prefers female pronouns. Always up for a Twitter chat.

  Email: chlorociboria@gmail.com

  Website: http://www.chlorociboria.com

  Twitter: @galactoglucoman

  Coming Soon by J.S. Fields

  Ardulum: The Second Don

  Chapter 1: Eld Palace, Ardulum

  This is a Galactic News Network special report. Aid agency reports coming in outline a new species found on Risalian ships in the aftermath of the Crippling War. Our Risalian sources confirm the species as “Ardulan,” a nonsentient beast of burden. The bipeds resemble Terrans and Neek in appearance but have unique subdermal bruising. All specimens thus far recovered have been deceased; however, the newly-appointed Markin request that should a live one be found, it should be turned over to the Council immediately.

  —Excerpt from wideband news broadcast in the Charted Systems, December 2nd, 2060 CE

  It was his Talent day. His day to be here, in the old palace. His day to meet the Eld and complete his metamorphosis.

  Arik pushed a sheet of black hair from his face—streaked with red from a summer tending andal trees—and began a slow, deliberate procession towards the Talent room. He passed under a high andal archway built in the traditional encased knot style, reliefs carved into each aborted branch. Reaching out as he passed, Arik ran a finger over one of the raised knots, noting the texture created by chisels and pyrography. He gingerly picked his way over andal floorboards, worn to unevenness from generations of youth making this same journey. The lustrous, black heartwood reflected the sunlight falling from the glass ceiling, but Arik didn’t turn his eyes from the glare.

  Four more steps and a turn brought Arik around the final corner. He faced the door to the Talent room and paused. His heart rate increased, so Arik rested his back against the andal wall paneling, digging his nails into the soft, white sapwood. It was comforting to be so close to Ardulum’s native tree, reassuring to embed himself in it, if only slightly. His pulse calmed. His breathing slowed. Arik took two more calming breaths and pushed off the wall. He nudged the door ahead with his foot, and it slid silently open, revealing the room inside.

  As with the hall and receiving room, natural light filtered in from the glass ceiling. Here, however, it was muted. Outside, the canopy of several large andal trees swayed in the breeze, casting patchwork shadows on the floor. Arik walked forward, trying to keep to the darker, shadowed areas, and approached the rulers of Ardulum.

  In the center of the room, the three eld sat on ornate, wooden thrones, each watching him with reserved amusement. Arik supposed humor was a good sign. Perhaps the Eld had a soft spot for young second dons on their Talent day. Perhaps being the only one present meant the Eld were not tired from numerous ceremonies, and Arik would get their full attention.

  Arik stopped when he was within an arm’s length of the Eld and then let his gaze flicker around the hall. Towering sculptures of past elds, carved in great detail in black andal heartwood, loomed over the thrones and stared ominously at Arik—their freshly polished faces glistened in the baronial light.

  A deep male voice broke the silence. “You come before us, Arik of the second don, fresh from metamorphosis. What do you bring?” The male eld, who looked to be the oldest of the group, stared unblinkingly at Arik as he stroked the worn wood grain of his throne seat. His two Talents were carved into the throne base, easy for Arik to see: Hearth and Mind. It wasn’t a bad pairing to have. The Eld were the only ones on Ardulum to have more than one Talent, of course, but Arik liked the balance created when the Talents encompassing protection and construction intertwined with the Talents surrounding critical thinking and mathematics. The male eld was likely an excellent architect, which, if the palace suffered any ill effects after the next move, would be a key skill to have.

  Arik’s stomach growled loudly, and the youth sheepishly placed a hand over it, hoping that somehow the Eld hadn’t heard.

  “Arik?” the male eld prompted again, his tone gentler than before. “What do you bring to offer to us, your Eld?”

  Arik closed his eyes tightly for just a moment and brought his mind back to the present. A
ndal help him, he could smell the wood cooking, the sweet odor wafting from the kitchens on the lower floor. Arik’s stomach growled again, and his mouth started to water.

  Focus! he scolded himself as he fumbled momentarily through his tunic pockets. This is the biggest day of your life. Stop thinking about lunch! Finally, his fingers came across his offering—the form of a small child whittled from andal from his parents’ plantation. The carving was crude and made only from sapwood—Arik had never had great fine motor skills, but the figure had understandable appendages and a reasonably detailed face. Arik hoped it was enough.

  “I bring you this gift,” Arik said slowly, his voice wavering and squeaking to a higher pitch on the last word. “May it show my devotion to my spiritual journey, so I can leave my childhood and discover my Talent. Please accept this offering and guide me onto my new path.” With shaking hands, Arik knelt and held the carving up over his head. The coarse weave of the andal mat dug into his knees, and Arik had to stop himself from reaching down to scratch.

  A cool hand touched Arik’s wrist briefly before removing the carving. “We accept your offering, Arik of the second don.” The female eld reached down and put a small finger under Arik’s chin, lifting his face up. “Rise and receive your Talent.”

  Arik got to his feet, suddenly aware of how close he was to these mystical individuals. He’d never been this close to the Eld before and likely never would again, so he took a moment to study their faces. They were old, older than the oldest third don Arik had ever seen—and yet, their fingers were elegant, their bodies strong and well-muscled. The male eld looked to be from one of the southern provinces. His hair still had dark streaks shooting through a mass of silver, and his skin was closer to olive in its translucency. The female, blessed with Talents of Mind and Aggression, was tall, her sharp chin well above the other elds’ heads. Her hair was uniformly cinnamon save for her temples. She, too, looked to be from the south. However, the gatoi, of Science and Hearth, was much paler, zir skin containing next to no melanin. Zie was from the farthest northern province, then, where sunlight rarely penetrated the thick andal forests. The birth rate was skewed in favor of gatois in that region, although Arik wasn’t certain whether that was a natural phenomenon or whether it came from parental selection.

  The male eld cleared his throat, and Arik again snapped back to the present. The Eld were still staring at him, unmoving. Was his offering not enough? Was there another component he had forgotten? His mother and talther, his gatoi parent, had helped him carve it, staying up late each night since Arik’s emergence and guiding the young man’s wavering chisel with steady hands. A week wasn’t much time to construct an offering. Did others bring more elaborate gifts? Should he have done something in line with what he hoped his Talent might be? Dizziness threatened to topple him, the smells from the kitchen permeated, and he had to work to control his breathing. His mind wandered. The increasingly saturated smell of cooked andal spun through his head. Was he in the kitchens? It certainly seemed that way now. How had he ignored the intensity of the smell before? It was almost like standing in the rotisserie himself, the scent of sweet spice invading his nostrils.

  The female eld smiled slightly at the male, who gave a knowing wink. Arik teetered in a near panic, vision straying between reality and his wandering delusions.

  “Peace, young one,” the gatoi eld said as zie stepped forward. In zir hands, zie carried a small wooden bowl filled with pale mucus. Zie dipped two fingers into the bowl, coating them, and then held zir hand out towards Arik. “Step forward to begin your journey.”

  Arik’s empty stomach rolled. He knew the mucus was synthetic, but what it represented brought the taste of bile to the back of his throat. Determined to not embarrass himself further, Arik took a confident step towards the gatoi eld and closed his eyes. For the past year, he’d been instructed in the ritual that was about to take place. He would not mess things up now—not on his Talent Day, no matter how strange and ostentatious the performers or how heavily the air hung with the smell of food.

  “I am Eld,” the gatoi eld said steadily as zie outlined Arik’s face with the mucus. “I am the vessels that transport power.”

  “I am Eld,” said the female, taking the bowl from the gatoi. She swirled her smallest finger in the mixture and then coated Arik’s nose. “I am the fibers of strength.” She handed the bowl to the male, who had stepped forward as well.

  “I am Eld,” the male said, pinching Arik’s chin between two mucus-coated fingers. “I am the rays that store our knowledge.”

  Arik counted silently to fifteen in his head as he’d been instructed. The tingling at the mucosal contact points radiated from his face down to his neck, absorbed into his skin, and congealed into a tight, painful lump just above his heart.

  “I am Arik of the second don,” he said when he finished the count. Gently, slowly, Arik moved his consciousness into himself to where the lump lay just under his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He watched it for a moment, external stimuli forgotten. He was both slightly revolted and slightly in awe of this thing, this synthetic chemical compound that would, in just a few seconds, stimulate his adrenal gland and cause the production of a massive number of hormones—hormones that would determine how he would spend the rest of his life.

  Arik let his mind touch the lump. The mass dissolved, its components seeping into his bloodstream and heading directly for their target. Arik’s body became warm—and then hot. He broke out in a sweat, the salty liquid beading on his yellow skin and reflecting in the bright overhead lighting. He shut his eyes and was forced to his hands and knees when the chemicals hit his adrenal gland and the hormones began to affect his other cells.

  Cells changed. Cells morphed. His blood circulated in the normal direction, paused for a fraction of a second, and then reversed. His metabolism increased, and his internal body temperature shot up even more. Veins bulged in his wrists and began to burst, blood seeping under the skin and forming bright-violet bruises. Arik felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. The heat was too intense. He began to pant and fell onto his right side, body curling into a fetal position.

  As abruptly as it began, the heat began to recede. Arik could feel his cells calming, the veins in his wrists closing. Sweat stung his eyes, seeping past his eyelids, and Arik brought his left hand up to wipe them clean. When his vision cleared and he brought his hand away, Arik saw his new markings for the first time—three linked, black circles on the inside of his wrist surrounded by a bruised haze of extra subdermal blood. His smile grew slowly as he moved into a sitting position and looked up at the Eld.

  “I am Arik of the second don,” he said clearly, his voice resonating, crisp and strong, through the chamber. No wavering. He could be proud of that. “I am of Science.”

  “And there your Talent shall lie,” the female responded. “Stand, Arik, and leave this palace. Return to your home and begin your apprenticeship.”

  Arik’s face broke into a broad grin. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood, his previous discomforts forgotten. Arik took a moment to straighten his tunic before bowing to each eld. “I thank you, Eld, for showing me my way.”

  The Eld smiled back but remained silent. Remembering that he was to leave promptly, Arik turned and took several confident steps towards the door, being careful to stay within the confines of the woven mat. Pride filled his chest—pride at his Talent, pride at the way he’d conducted himself, and pride that he could go home and apprentice to a Talent that would not take him away from his family or his andal saplings. With the Talent of Science, he could stay and work his ancestors’ andal plantations—could tend the young trees he’d grown up with. His entire family was of Science. They would be proud of him.

  Several steps into his departure, the smell of the cooked andal began to waft towards him again. What should have been a pleasant, understated smell was pungent and slightly curdled. He tried to ignore it, quickening his pace. The soft slack slack slack of Ari
k’s bare feet hitting the polished andal floor was suddenly joined by the deep sounds of a heartbeat.

  Slack du-dumn, slack du-dumn, slack…

  Arik spun around, confused, and looked for the source of the noise. It took another three seconds of du-dumn du-dumn before Arik realized that it was his heart he was hearing, the beats becoming more rapid in his agitation.

  Arik swallowed, his throat dry. His muscles twitched under his tunic, the fibers itching his skin. He glanced at the Eld, a peculiar expression on their wrinkled faces.

  “I…I don’t feel well,” Arik said, mostly to himself. He cringed when his own voice sounded too loud in his ears. His heart was trying to escape out of his chest, and no amount of controlled breathing seemed to help. The smell of the andal wound through his head and then down his throat, causing Arik to gag. Thoughts of simultaneous choking and hyperventilating filled his mind. Unsure of what else to do, he moved his consciousness back inside himself, trying to find the cause of his distress.

  What he saw shocked him. This wasn’t the body he knew—did not resemble anything of his. Here, capillaries burst just under his skin and leaked perpetual blood out of his circulatory system. Hormones raced everywhere, transmitting across his chest and up into his brain. Something was happening near his throat, too. Loose blood pushed ligaments around, unwrapping and changing their positions, and pooled just under his larynx. Cartilage scavenged from around his thyrohyoid ligament sidled closer, surrounding the blood.