Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

Glancing in Mark’s direction, Sandy raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

  “I think we probably should.” Curiosity was getting the better of him. Would they find more Traveler relics? He hoped for clues about the real Lady of the Star Wind and her consort.

  “We’ll be at the harbor,” Jagrahim said, pointing in the direction he’d been leading them. “Join us when you’re finished here. Follow the road, and you’ll find us at the water’s edge.”

  “We won’t be too long, I’m sure,” Mark said. “Good hunting!”

  The rest of the party continued along the broad thoroughfare, to the east. Tia gave a wave, and then the group drove around a wide curve in the road, moving from sight behind a complex of fallen pillars and broken statues.

  Mark and Sandy turned their horses and rode at a cautious pace down the indicated street, which ended about a quarter mile later in a half circle in front of an imposing structure. Even in ruins, the building was majestic, surrounded by what might have been gardens or orchards. One side of the ornately carved wooden door had fallen off the hinges and lay in jagged, rotting pieces on the steps. The other half of the door sat half open. Part of the roof had fallen in to their far left. An impressively large tree grew through a gap it had forced in the walls and roof, towering far above the ruined dwelling.

  Dismounting and waiting for Sandy to do the same, Mark knotted his horse’s reins around the half-broken pillar at the east end of the terrace, registering the remnant of a carving appeared to be some kind of winged beast. Checking his blaster, he took the lead on the flight of shallow steps to the half-open door. When he rested his hand on the gilded panel, it swung open on silent hinges. “After three thousand years, the hinges don’t need oiling?”

  “Didn’t need the key then.” Sandy allowed the lavender pendant on its thin chain to fall between her breasts. “This is nothing like the oasis.”

  “Nothing outworld about it, for sure. Matches the architecture in the rest of the city, or what’s left of the place. Maybe the Travelers went native when they dropped in?”

  “I hope we’ll find something to tell us more about them. About who we’re supposed to be.” She sounded eager.

  “You mean who we’re masquerading as?”

  “The situation has been fine so far,” Sandy answered. “Why does it bother you so much?”

  “Posing as someone else might come back to bite us. Come on, let’s see what we own here. Watch out for snakes.”

  Disappointment met Mark when he walked into the foyer of “their” house. The walls were painted with stylized, faded frescoes, much as he’d seen on other vertical surfaces elsewhere in the ruins, lacking any depiction of people. A partially collapsed staircase would have led to the now destroyed second floor.

  He shone his light around the room and then at the floor. A few sparkling points caught the glare and reflected it.

  “A mosaic maybe?” Sandy added the light from her lamp.

  “Maybe.” Mark scuffed his boot across the portion in front of him. She knelt and wiped the rest of the dust away with the hem of her flowing Mikkonite robe. She sat back with a gasp. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, you said it.”

  The large area where she’d removed the top layer of dirt now glowed in the light with multicolored, flat, cut gemstones set into a glossy black enameled surface.

  “If I didn’t know how fantastic it would sound, I’d say it was meant to be the Tiandromedi galaxy cluster, on the far side of Outlier,” Sandy said. “The pattern and color of the major stars are quite distinctive. Can this whole floor be a star map?”

  “Could be.”

  “Do you see any clue on the mosaic to indicate where the Travelers came from? Any special markings?”

  Mark shook his head. “You can’t see Tiandromedi from the local night sky of this planet, no question there. We’d have noticed that detail for sure. Maybe thousands of years ago you could. We’ve no idea where Lajollae dropped us. It could be a coincidence we think this is a map of a galaxy known to us.”

  Dusting her hands, Sandy gazed around the rest of the large foyer. “Shall we clean the rest? Find out?”

  “I don’t think we have the time. And what would we do with the information anyway?” He held out his hand to her and helped her to her feet again. “We didn’t come to do housework.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She brushed the dirt off her robes. “It’s tantalizing.”

  “Like so many things on this planet.” Mark swung his lamp to illuminate the walls again. “So far it’s all been a mystery wrapped in myth.”

  Three gaping doorways opened off the entry. Choosing the one straight ahead of them, he shone his handlamp into the room. The light reflected off more painted walls.

  “Nothing in there,” he reported over his shoulder to Sandy. “Someone cleaned out all the furnishings here too, just like at the mountain.”

  “Why would they take the trouble? And when? Jagrahim said the records had no mention of anyone returning to the city after it was abandoned.”

  “Well, someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure the streets stayed clear. I suspect there’s more to the reality about how life in this city ended than what the legends tell.” Mark shrugged. “What’s your preference—left or right doorway next?”

  Sandy considered. “Left.” She suited action to words and took three steps to the portal.

  Mark hastened to get in front of her, blaster ready. Moonlight pouring through a skylight illuminated this chamber. Like a visible stream of light, the beams slashed across the mosaic floor tiles to focus on a table against the far wall. One object sat on the table, reflecting the light so strongly it glowed.

  Sandy ran across the room to scoop up the relic before he could stop her or utter any cautions. “It’s the Mirror of the Mother!” She held it out to him. “I’ve been hoping to find this today.”

  Her fixation on mirrors concerned him. Holstering the blaster for a moment, he held out his hand. “May I see?”

  She passed it to him readily enough. Mark turned it over in his hands as if it were a booby trap ready to explode. About six inches in diameter, the round mirror had been set in a solid-gold frame. Carved vines and flowers unfamiliar to him twined around the edges. Two female figures and one man comprised the handle. Exquisite attention had been paid to the details of their faces and clothes. Together, the three balanced the mirror disk in their upraised hands. He rotated the treasure in his hand and exclaimed in surprise. Instead of reflecting his face, the surface of the mirror was dark and streaked.

  “Maybe it’s just dusty?” He handed the mirror to Sandy. So far he didn’t see what the fuss was all about, but he had the sense not to say so. He could appreciate the mirror as a work of art, beautiful, but only a woman’s accessory, not his idea of a weapon.

  She tried cleaning the reflecting surface with a fold of her robe but had no luck shining it up.

  He stubbed his toe on something in the dust on the floor, which slid across the mosaic. When he chased the item, he found a small box lying on its side, leaning against the table leg. He picked it up, rotating the box in his hands. The container was an intricately layered assembly of different-colored types of wood polished to a high gloss, gleaming in the moonlight. On each flat surface, in variegated stone inlays, there was a rendition of the soaring bird of prey he’d seen over their oasis, surely a cousin to Sallea’s hunting bird. “Looks like a ring box.”

  “Open it,” Sandy urged, not taking her gaze from the mirror. She was examining each detail of the three figures on the handle as best she could in the available light.

  Mark set his handlamp on the table, then fumbled with the latch on the box. He didn’t want to force it, or damage the thing. At last the cover sprang open with an audible click. Now he was the one mesmerized by treasure gleaming in the moonlight. The box held a man’s ring, solid, heavy gold, set with a massive dark blue lapis. The top of the stone had been carved into a star, with the stylized shape of the
bird of prey in the center. Mark stripped his riding gloves off and plucked the ring from the prongs holding it. He slid the ring onto his left-hand ring finger where the band fit as if made to measure for him.

  He’d never been one for jewelry or adornment. Yes, he’d worn the heavy ring symbolizing his place in his Outlier Clan with pride. The empress had ripped it from his hand personally at the beginning of her attempt to break him with torture and mind games. He supposed she’d had it destroyed. He’d never worn another until this moment, scorning the Star Guard Academy class ring. Pawned that bit of jewelry the day after graduation, bought drinks for his cronies and never thought about it again. But this ring of unknown provenance felt right and proper. He curled his hand into a fist. This ring was his.

  Eyebrows raised, Sandy gazed at him. “Found something?”

  “A ring.” He held out his hand to show her. “It fits like the goldsmith made it for me.”

  She leaned closer, touching the bezel. “Interesting star and hawk motif. Am I the star and you’re the hunter?”

  “It could mean nothing,” he said. “I just like it. And this is our house, or so we’ve been told over and over. Let’s go see what’s in the last room across the foyer.”

  “Anything is likely to be a letdown after the mirror and the ring.” Sandy tucked the mirror into her side pocket. “But we might as well see it all.”

  “Odds are we’ll never be back this way so we shouldn’t waste the opportunity,” he agreed.

  He paused on the threshold of the last chamber. This room was a mess, as if most of the household inventory, other than the table with the mirror and the ring, had been thrust, thrown, and stacked in the available space by people in a great rush. There were pieces of furniture, dishes, and goblets, scrolls such as the ones Jagrahim had pored over at the Mikkonite settlement, and dozens more items. There was no order or sense to the collection.

  “Nothing here like what we found at the mountain,” Sandy said after they’d spent a few moments sifting through the stacks and pulling out items at random. “No high tech.”

  “This is all local stuff for sure. Jagrahim might want the scrolls.” Mark wished he could read the local language. The answers he sought might be on the papyrus in front of him and he’d never know.

  “We can ask him. He wasn’t too keen on taking anything more away from this city.” She wandered off to examine something else that caught her eye.

  “Though why not—” Mark broke off in midsentence. “Come look at this.”

  “What?” She came across the room to him, following his pointing hand. “Tzerde!”

  Three of Lajollae’s bubbles lay scattered on the threadbare remnants of a once-lush carpet.

  Sandy retreated as if to avoid even inadvertent contact. She tugged at Mark’s elbow.

  “I wonder where the globes would take us?” Mark said.

  “I wonder why they’re here. Did Lajollae stop in Amaraten at some point? Or did the Travelers carry a supply of their own?”

  “Well, we’re never going to know.” He sought her concurrence. “Are we?”

  “No. We’ve done all of her kind of Traveling I ever want to do. And you don’t tolerate it well. Don’t touch them.” She grabbed at his arm again. “We can’t take any chances.”

  Sandy’s wide eyes and shaky voice conveyed her deep concern, compelling him to remind her that Traveling hadn’t been simple to initiate. “I had to smash the one on Freemarket to make it work.”

  “I don’t care. The globes make me nervous.”

  “At least we’ve established the people who lived here had some connection to Lajollae and the Travelers.” He shone his lamp fully on the globes, noting how each appeared to contain clouds.

  “I want to show you what I found, over here.” She led him across the room and pointed at the wall. “What do you see?”

  At first he couldn’t make out a thing, but the longer he stared, Mark began to see two silhouettes in the moonlight—man and a woman. The woman was seated, the man’s hand on her shoulder. He moved closer. “Like a sketch, as if the artist was beginning a commission when the disaster struck.”

  She reached out and brushed the wall with her fingertips. “If only he’d drawn the faces. I want to know, to see—”

  “I don’t think we’re meant to.”

  Ignoring him, Sandy moved farther along the wall, shining her lamp at the next figure that stood behind the man. “This one doesn’t seem human. A local god maybe?”

  Mark studied the faded outline. “Definitely reptilian. Unfinished like the others. No one said all the Travelers were human. Lajollae sure wasn’t.”

  “Oh, surely you don’t think alien beings walked the streets here?”

  A loud shout from outside interrupted their discussion.

  “Time to go, I guess.” Mark took her by the elbow and guided her out of the room. “Hope Rothan and Tia found what they traveled here for.”

  “The two of them and their allies have gone to a lot of trouble,” Sandy said.

  “Hard to believe this crown is going to make a difference in the political situation.” Mark was curious to see what Sandy’s opinion might be.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes symbols have a lot of power to influence the people. Depends on many factors.”

  “Depends on this person we’ve never met, this prince of theirs, Tia’s brother. He’s the unknown quantity.”

  “We don’t know enough about any of it to say for sure.” Before mounting her horse, Sandy took a lingering look at the ruins of the dwelling. “So frustrating. I think we might find some real answers in there if we had time to sift through the one room full of stuff.”

  “Which Jagrahim won’t let us do.” Mark heard another yell from the general direction of the main street. “We’d better rejoin the others.”

  When he and Sandy walked their horses toward the sound of the shouts, Djed came running along the street alone. Short of breath, agitated, and upset, the archer saluted Mark. “You must come at once, my lord.”

  “What’s up? Did Rothan find the crown and whatever it is?”

  “Scepter.” Djed corrected him. “No, my lord. The Mikkonite led us to a complex of buildings, part of a palace, half fallen into the sea. Jagrahim told Rothan what he seeks is in a room drowned under water at high tide. Once the tide withdrew from the ruins, my captain went to retrieve the treasures but hasn’t given us any sign as to how he fares. Jagrahim says he can’t help or hinder. He and his people are allowed by ancient treaty to act as guides only, on penalty of death. I’m afraid for Rothan—what if he’s gotten trapped in the ruins? The waters will come in, and he’ll drown.”

  “Does he swim? Do you?”

  “Swim? You mean like a fish of the deep?” The mere idea apparently astounded Djed. “No, nor do any of my archers. You haven’t seen the creatures swimming the waters. Legend says one of Khunarum’s own daughters was tipped from her pleasure boat and killed by the fanged hunters in the river. When even a boat isn’t safe, no sane man risks himself naked in the waters.”

  Sandy pulled her horse away from grazing on nearby brush. “Sounds like we’d better stop wasting time.”

  “Right.” Mark held out a hand to Djed.

  The archer backed away, shaking his head. “I’ll run beside your horse.”

  “Suit yourself. Let’s go.”

  A few moments later, the road ended at the edge of the harbor. The Mikkonite were clustered beside the chariots and the other horses. The men were playing a game of chance, while Jagrahim and his daughter chatted off to the side. Tia and the rest of the archers were close to the edge of the muddy tidal flats, gazing at the ruins revealed by the low tide.

  Mark brought his horse to a halt, stood in the stirrups, and reconnoitered. The pavement ended at the cliff edge. There were parts of enormous buildings and immense statues, broken rotting ships, and unidentifiable rubble protruding from the wet sand below as far as he could see, all the way to the h
orizon. Slimy, dripping, green and brown seaweed festooned the ruins like glistening carpet. Another long fragment of the road stood about thirty feet from the base of the cliff, leading to a cluster of ruins perched crookedly on a small rise, as if the seas had tried to remove them and tired of the task. The blue and green ocean gleamed in the soft predawn light, waves breaking in the distance. The sets broke closer each time.

  Mark dismounted. “Where’s Rothan?”

  “He’s gone to what remains of the inner palace of Khunarum.” Jagrahim pointed with his chin at the cantilevered ruins way out in the harbor. “The crown and the scepter were left there, in the vaults below the throne room.”

  “Below?” Mark leaned cautiously over the cliff’s edge, gauging the high-tide mark on the rocks below, and then straightened to assess the advancing ocean. “How long till high tide?”

  “The tides run on six-hour cycles, my lord. We began this venture at low tide.”

  “So we have some time but not much. All right, I’ll go out there and see what’s keeping him.”

  “I’m coming too,” Djed said. “You may need help if he’s trapped.” He addressed Tia. “With your permission, my lady.”

  She waved one hand in consent. “Rothan insisted this task was his alone, but now I’m afraid for him. Surely it can’t offend the gods of this place for you to go to his aid.”

  “Be careful.” Sandy dismounted and came to Mark’s side, staring at the ruins. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “We’ll be fine, I promise. I swim like a fish, learned at the academy.” Mark kissed her cheek, breathing in her sweet scent. “Come on, Djed, let’s get going.”

  The two men rappelled down the cliff, using ropes Rothan had affixed earlier for his own descent. As soon as he reached the ground, Mark yelled for the Mikkonite to toss him another coil of rope.

  He checked the charge in his blaster, shouldered the new rope, and marched off, the archer on his heels.

  The muck and wet sand made for torturously slow going, but as soon as he got onto the road, broken and disrupted as the pavement was, Mark quickened the pace. The slippery surface was strewn with seaweed, but it provided better footing than the muck. Exhilarated by the smell of fresh salt air, he filled his lungs without irritating them the way the dead air in the city itself had done. Mark drew in a second deep breath.