"My God, the things actually talk," Mama Cat said, taking a step back.
Papa growled, fury in his eyes. "I'll take care of this thing."
He grabbed her. He bound her with rope, then stuffed her into a burlap sack. She was too weak to resist. As he carried Ayumi out of the house, she could hear his son behind them, laughing, dancing around.
"Boil her, skin her, cook her, eat her! Boil her, skin her, cook her, eat her!"
Papa Cat carried her through the cold streets. The wind moaned and Ayumi shivered in the sack, seeing nothing, hanging across Papa's back. And she felt like she was flying again on a great bird, dyed blue and large as a whale, blind in the darkness, a bird that would carry her to a distant star.
Papa seemed to walk forever, grumbling and trudging through snow. Finally he tossed down the sack.
"They'll take good care of you, vermin." His voice rumbled. "God damn pests in my attic. Thank God for the scorpions. Fantastic race. Fantastic. War will be over soon, and butter will be back. Finally some law and order . . ."
His footsteps shuffled away. His voice faded into the storm.
Ayumi wriggled out of the sack, her limbs still tied, and fell into the snow. She lay on a dark roadside. Buildings rose around her, their walls draped with Hierarchy banners. Above she could see churning, roiling clouds, shedding snow like the ashes of burning souls. But when Ayumi, lying in the snow, craned her neck back, she could see a patch of clear sky. She could see the stars. And she imagined that great blue bird carrying her there, taking her to Earth.
Claws clattered.
The scorpions crept down the walls and across the snow.
The creatures loomed above her, saliva dripping, and Ayumi closed her eyes and trembled. As the beasts grabbed her, she clutched her scrap of torn rug. A piece of wet old cloth. An embroidered bird. A shred of her family and a memory of Earth.
CHAPTER NINE
Bay opened his eyes, bolted up in bed, and banged his head against the ceiling.
He winced, stumbled off the bed, tangled the blanket around his legs, and crashed down. At once he leaped up, pawing for his rifle.
"Scorpions!" he cried. "Scorpions attacking! Rowan! Dad! The scorpions are—" He blinked and looked at his legs, then up again. "Where are my pants?"
A woman sat in his swivel chair, watching him. "I took them off you. Pretty undies, by the way. Hearts. Nice touch."
Bay grabbed a pillow and covered his underwear, his face flushing. "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing on my ship?" He looked out the porthole, then back at her. "And where the hell is the rest of the fleet?"
She sighed. "Sit down, Bay, before you fall again. You're probably still woozy. You were hurt pretty badly."
He was woozy. His head spun, and he half sat, half fell back on his bed. The woman had removed his shirt too, he noticed, and there was a bandage on his chest, more bandages on his legs.
Bay looked back up at her, blinking. She looked familiar. He had seen her on the ISS Jerusalem. A young woman, about his age, but with an older wisdom in her lavender eyes. Her hair was long and smooth and the color of starlight. Tattoos coiled across her skin, the ink silvery-white like her hair. Despite her odd appearance, she was an Inheritor. She wore the uniform, though she had embroidered more runes onto the fabric.
Of course. He remembered now. He had spoken to her several times aboard the fleet. She was friends with Leona. But right now, it was hard to think, to remember details. The past seemed a blur—not just meeting this woman but everything before this moment.
Bay pointed at her. "You're a weaver. You're . . ." He rubbed his temples, struggling to remember. "Coral. Coral Amber. My sister enlisted you."
"I come and go as I please, Corporal Bay Ben-Ari," she said. "Nobody enlists me."
Bay rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I kinda noticed that, what with you coming into my spaceship and stealing it." He rose to his feet. "Brooklyn! Yo, you there, babe? Where are we?"
He tried to rise from bed, to stumble into the cockpit, but his head spun again. Coral rose from her chair, crossed the small hold in two steps, and pushed Bay back onto the bed.
"Rest!" she said. "That is not a suggestion. I healed your wounds, Bay Ben-Ari, but you still need time to recover. I'm a weaver, not a miracle worker."
"You're a bloody thief," he said.
Her eyes flashed. "I am a servant of the ancient light, a weaver of aether, a guardian of justice, and I am not a thief!"
"Well, you stole my pants," he said.
Coral rolled her eyes. She grabbed his pants from under the bed and tossed them at him. "Here. For pity's sake."
He pulled on his pants. "Now will you give me some answers?"
She sat beside him on the bed. "Mind if I sit here? Your chair squeaks."
"I thought you come and go as you please," Bay said. "So sit. And talk!"
She heaved a deep sigh. "The scorpions attacked our fleet, wounded you, and knocked you unconscious. I stole your ship. I didn't mean to steal you with it, but I couldn't leave you to bleed to death on the hangar floor. So I stole you too."
He blinked. "You defected from the Heirs of Earth?"
"I didn't defect," she said. "I just escaped from the brig and went AWOL. Totally different. And I would again in a heartbeat. Because your dad is a stubborn, ignorant old fool."
"You're preaching to the choir, babe," Bay said. "But he's still fighting the good fight. Battling the scorpions. Saving humans. And I'd sort of like to rejoin that fight. Ra, the old man must be worried sick about me. Or he thinks I fled the battle and he's pissed. Either way, not good. So what say we fly back now? But let's stop for pancakes on the way. Rowan got me hooked on the stuff. Buy me a stack of flapjacks at the nearest space station, and I might just forgive you for kidnapping me."
Coral gripped his shoulders—painfully. Her fingernails dug into his skin. She sneered at him, eyes glaring.
"You do not understand! I don't flee from battle. I seek a weapon! The Godblade! A weapon that can change the course of the war. The scorpions are chasing it too. It's an ancient artifact, forged by weavers thousands of years ago. We must find it first! We must beat the scorpions to the Weaver Temple and retrieve the Godblade! Your father refused to believe me. He thinks weavers are like parlor magicians. His arrogance will kill us all. But I will find the Godblade. I will learn its secrets. And I will defeat the Hierarchy!"
Bay blinked at her. His mouth opened and closed several times in silence.
"So," he finally said, "it's a no to pancakes."
Coral groaned and rose from the bed. "I'm returning to the cockpit. Sleep."
"Wait!" He reached out to her. "Coral, wait." He rubbed his aching head. "Dude, I'm going to have to agree with my dad here. Ancient, magical artifacts? Spells and myths? It doesn't sound very . . . scientific."
She sat back down. "Bay." She placed a hand on his knee and stared into his eyes. "There's no magic here. I'm not a magician. I'm a weaver. I gaze into the Empyrean Firmament."
"The what now?"
She slapped her forehead. "You really are ignorant, aren't you?"
"About mucking spells and magic—I mean, sorry Imperial Furballs or whatever? Um, yeah, I tend to be kind of ignorant when it comes to voodoo like that."
She groaned again, louder this time. "Ra above! I liked you better unconscious. Fine. Crash course. Listen up, all right? The Empyrean Firmament is another universe. A universe parallel to our own. You do believe in parallel universes, right?"
He nodded carefully. "Yeah. I think so. I mean, scientists talk about them sometimes. But I thought parallel universes are beyond our reach."
"Well, weavers can access the Empyrean Firmament—to a degree. Imagine it as a bright universe, filled with light, hovering in a dimension above our own. It's filled with a luminous substance called aether. In fact, we see evidence of the Empyrean Firmament everywhere in our reality. Dark matter? That's the shadow aether casts onto our own universe. Wormholes? Those are passageway
s that lead through the Empyrean Firmament. Ever traveled through a wormhole?"
Bay nodded. "Yeah. A few times."
"Well, buddy, you were traveling through the Empyrean Firmament. The light you saw around you inside the wormhole tunnel? Aether."
He blinked. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish again. Finally he found words. "But the wormholes are ancient! Nobody knows who built them. People say they're a million years old."
"They are," Coral said. "A race of ancient aliens constructed them. They were powerful beings. Eventually they became so powerful they left our universe. Today they dwell in the Empyrean Firmament, where they have no physical forms. At least not how we understand physical bodies. But the ancients still watch over our universe. And we weavers found a way to communicate with them."
Bay blinked. "So you talk to invisible ancient aliens living in another dimension. Got it. Yep, makes perfect sense. How could I ever think it was magic and spells when really it's so simple?"
Another groan. "Ra, you are a sarcastic little bugger. It's not like I can pick up a comm and give the ancients a call. It's not that direct. See, thousands of years ago, the first human weavers were, well, literally weavers. They wove rugs, spun fabric, embroidered garments, and so on. One day they discovered that by using silver threads, by embroidering specific shapes into fabric, they could open a portal. Think of it as a tiny wormhole to the Empyrean Firmament. Using these symbols—which we call runes—the weavers could access the ancients. And the ancients gave them bits of aether. Bits of power."
Bay looked at the silvery tattoos on her body. He pointed. "So those are . . ."
"Runes." Coral nodded. "Like the first weavers embroidered on their fabric. I have only basic runes. I was an apprentice only a year ago. My current rank in the Weavers Guild is journeywoman. It's the lowest rank above apprentice, sort of like a lieutenant in the Heirs of Earth. Some weavers are masters, even sages, and they have mighty runes I haven't yet earned. The ancients grant us these runes. The wisest among us gain the greatest powers."
"So . . ." Bay chewed his lip. "Why do you need this Godblade? Just pray and ask these ancient buddies to smite the scorpions for us."
She sighed. "Not that simple. See these runes on my body? They're called power runes. And yes, they are powerful, as their name implies. This rune?" She tapped a tattoo shaped like a serpent coiling around a staff. "This is a healing rune. It's how I healed your wounds." She pointed another tattoo, this one shaped like an eye. "This rune gives me stronger eyesight. Power runes often amplify our own human abilities—healing, eyesight, hearing, strength, and so on."
"So no pancake runes, I imagine."
She gave him a thin smile. "Look, Bay." She raised her hand. Another tattoo appeared on her palm, shaped like a sunburst. "This is a key rune. Key runes are different from power runes. Key runes let us unlock artifacts. With the rune on my palm, I can unlock my runeblade."
She drew a dagger from her belt. It was carved from a single block of gleaming white material. It looked like crystal. The blade itself was small, barely longer than a finger, and the pommel was the size of an apple. The same sunburst tattoo was engraved into the pommel.
As Coral brought her tattooed hand near the weapon, both runes began to glow—the one on her palm and the one on her dagger. The blade too began to shine, gleaming as if starlight were trapped inside.
"See how they glow?" Coral said. "That means the rune on my hand is unleashing the power in my runeblade. Now you hold it."
She handed Bay the weapon. As soon as he took it, the light vanished.
"Creepy stuff," Bay said. "So this weapon is an artifact? And the tattoo on your hand unlocks it?"
"A rune," she said, "not a tattoo. A key rule to unlock artifacts. The earliest artifacts were looms used to weave wonderful rugs, works of art that were beloved across the galaxy. Even today, most weavers—the few of us who remain, at least—only use their abilities for actual weaving. But some—we call ourselves battle weavers—have been expanding our abilities. Gaining many power runes and key runes. And seeking artifacts."
"And I suppose you can't just build a new Godblade," Bay said.
She shook her head. "No. Only sages—that is the highest rank of weaver—can forge artifacts. No sage has lived in this cosmos for thousands of years. My order has lost the ability to forge new artifacts, but we still seek the ones forged in antiquity. And the Godblade is the greatest artifact ever forged. It's a runeblade, like my own, but infinitely more powerful. The legends say it can destroy entire planets, shatter entire fleets."
Bay leaned back in bed. "So here we go. Back to legends and myths."
Coral sighed. "I suppose. I give you that one. But tell me, Bay, have you ever heard of Chrysopoeia Corporation?"
He frowned. "From Earth? Yeah. I heard about them in the Earthstone. Big corporation in the twenty-second century. If I remember my history lessons, they became the biggest company in history, surpassing Walmart and Amazon. They built starships and mines and just about everything else. They built the entire army Einav Ben-Ari led in battle."
Coral smiled thinly, and a secret light filled her eyes. "They were weavers."
"Pull the other one," Bay said.
"They were! Everything they built for humanity—from warships to refrigerators—that was just a front. Just a decoy. Their real purpose was to seek the Godblade. But they failed."
"Oh, I see." Bay finally dared rise from bed and test his wobbly legs. "So a giant, massive corporation with fleets of starships couldn't find the Godblade, but the two of us—in this tiny shuttle—are going to succeed."
"We have something they didn't. The location of the Weeping Weaver Guildhall." Coral stood up, grabbed his arms, and stared into his eyes. "The planet Elysium. It's a holy place. It was there that Gadriel the Good, the greatest of weavers, lived and worked and forged his artifacts. For thousands of years, nobody knew where the Weeping Weaver Guildhall is. But now we know! I saw its location on map Admiral Melitar gave your father. But we must hurry. The scorpions are racing forward. They too will be seeking the Godblade."
He frowned. "There are scorpion weavers?"
Her eyes darkened, and she looked away. "Yes. I would not have believed it myself. But I saw one. In the swamps of Akraba. Your sister and I battled it." She looked back into Bay's eyes. "His name was Sartak. He is the scorpion who killed Jake Hawkins, your brother-in-law. I saw him, Bay. I fought him. A scorpion with a white shell—white like my hair. When weavers gain their first rune, their hair turns white. With scorpions, it's their shell. I saw the power runes on that shell. If there is one weaver scorpion, there will be more." She shuddered. "We must find the Godblade first."
Bay had to lean against the wall. "So these ancients of yours. They're not too picky about who to bless, are they? I mean, if they're giving power to scorpions too."
She sighed. "There is a truth I don't like contemplating, let alone speaking of. But Bay . . . not all the ancients are benevolent. They too have nations, empires, good and evil. The ancient I speak to is named Sandalphon, and he is wise and kind. But there are ancients who are evil beyond what you can imagine, creatures of searing fire and eternal torment." She shuddered. "As there is a war waging in our universe, there is a war raging in the Empyrean Firmament as well. All that happens in our universe is a shadow of theirs."
Bay's head hurt. He was skeptical about all this. And yet, he had seen Coral's runes glow. And she had healed his wounds. When he peeked under his bandages the cuts seemed weeks old already. There was true power to her. Could she be speaking truth?
Bay heaved a sigh. "Brooklyn is going to freak out. I assume you placed her in sleep mode, yes?"
Coral nodded. "I had to. She was babbling on about ants."
Bay couldn't help it. He laughed. "Oh Ra. Oh Ra above. Giant scorpions are flowing across the galaxy, I'm on a quest with a crazy tattooed lady to find a magic sword, there are ancient angels and demons of eternal fire living above us, and my
talking starship has a phobia of ants. What the hell happened to my life?"
Coral laughed too. An actual laugh that made her seem almost like a normal human. She embraced him.
"It's crazy, Bay. I know. But thank you. For being here. For not strangling me for stealing your starship. And your pants."
"And my sanity." A sudden shadow seemed to pass over him, a chill to his belly, a tremble to his heart. "Coral, I don't remember how the battle ended. My family. Rowan. Are they . . . Did you see . . .?"
"When I left, they were still alive," Coral said. "The other starships were fleeing the battle. I don't know how it ended."
Brooklyn was flying on autopilot through warped space. Bay could see the curve of starlight through the portholes. They were too far to communicate with the other Inheritors now. Even a signal broadcast at light speed would never catch up with the fleet. Some starships had wormhole generators, able to open tiny tunnels—only a few atoms wide—to other ships and communicate faster than light. Some ships used quantum entanglement portals to communicate instantly across any distance. Such devices were called ansibles, and they were tremendously expensive. Even the Jerusalem didn't have such technology, let alone little Brooklyn. They were all alone here, cut off from the rest of humanity.
Worry for his family and friends filled Bay like bad grog.
I miss you, Dad, Leona, Rowan. I miss all of you. Stay safe.
He looked back at Coral.
"I don't suppose you have a walkie-talkie rune, do you?" Bay said.
She shook her head. "Sorry. No runes for pancakes or walkie-talkies. Our best hope for saving the others is to find the Godblade. We will return with it to the Heirs of Earth. We will have a weapon that can defeat the scorpions—and any other enemy of humanity."
Bay looked into her lavender eyes. There was a strange light there, a deep eagerness, and Bay wondered. Are you truly interested in saving humanity, Coral Amber, or in the secrets of your order? Where do your loyalties lie—with Earth or with the Weavers Guild?
He did not know, and he dared not ask.
A Memory of Earth Page 9
