by Hugh Howey
“Go,” she said.
Cole turned and went. He left the graspers behind and threw the glowstick ahead of him, crawling toward it on his palms and knees. When he reached the stick—barely glowing now—he scooped it up and tossed it further ahead, repeating the process until the light of the tunnel’s mouth came into view.
Behind him, something shrieked, a high and piercing wail that surfed down the skin of solid rock all around him. Cole looked over his shoulder for Molly. He stumbled forward, away from the blackness and toward the growing light. The peals of something newborn and powerful shot out again, the voices overlapping and resonating now that there was more than one of them. Cole scrambled the last few meters, dove for the edge of the tunnel, fell out to the shaded rock beyond and rolled to an aching, sore stop. He looked back to the hole in the cliff. The screams came in triplicate, now. Molly tumbled out after him.
“C’mon,” Cole yelled.
The shrieks from the tunnel mixed with moans from the canyon walls, the combination causing Cole’s heart to race. He reached for Molly, tried to pull her toward Parsona’s open bay, but she darted out of his reach and moved up against the cliff face to one side of the cave. She waved Cole over to her side, her arm wheeling in fast and tight circles, beckoning haste.
Cole dashed over, obeying. He took up a spot between Molly and the mouth of the cave, shielding her with his body. He felt her hands on his shoulder, on the side of his ribs. Her arms were trembling, but not with fear. He looked back to see the barest of smiles on his love’s lips, a sight that nearly erased the terror of the approaching screams and the harsh clack of claw on solid rock.
Cole put his arms around Molly and held her close while the awful sound grew and grew.
The first Wadi shot out of the cave in a shimmery blur. It shot out and kept moving, its feet not touching the rock, its body not falling toward the floor of the canyon. It burst out in a straight line, there was the leathery pop of fabric flapping straight in the air, and then a graceful curve up into the canyon winds.
“What the flank—?”
Cole traced the soaring flight of the Wadi as the next blur whizzed by to join its mate. The wings popped straight, the breadth of them several lengths of a man, and up the creature went, its colorful scales bursting with brilliance as it left the shade and met the light of the twin stars above.
Cole turned to Molly, wondering if she knew about any of this. He felt his own mouth agape as her hands clutched his flightsuit with a renewed vitality. He turned and saw her looking up at the two circling Wadi, a wide smile on her face, tears welling up in her eyes.
“So beautiful,” she whispered.
Cole wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her hips. They watched in silence as the two animals spiraled up on great, unflapping wings, catching the strong Winds of Drenard. They forgot about the third Wadi until its head emerged beside them, its claws gripping the edge of the cave.
The sudden presence startled Cole, but Molly was unnerved. She moved around him and stepped closer to the animal as it extricated itself from the tunnel and unfolded its wide wings.
Molly reached out, her palm down, her fingers extended as if to touch the Wadi, but she didn’t move any closer. Cole watched as she stood there, arm outstretched, eyes closed. It was like watching someone communicate with a red band on. Her face flashed with emotions, and tears that seemed not for sadness rolled down her cheeks.
Cole waited, transfixed, while the two seemed to share something between them.
After a moment, the Wadi strode forward, two large wings extending from where most Wadi bore ancient nubs. It bent low to the stone, flexed its spindly legs, then threw itself up in the air with a shuddering leap.
The wings did the rest, catching the perpetual winds of Drenard, powering the animal up and into the bright light, soaring high to circle mightily with its newborn brethren.
53 · Unions
Anlyn Hooo stood before the clockwise gate of the great Pinnacle. If she imagined Drenard’s thin habitable band as a ring, this was the jewel on top, the meeting place for the Great Circle, walled off from the winds and filled to bursting with the flora and fauna of the Milky Way’s lusher worlds. A haven for life, the Pinnacle forever stood as a reminder to the Circle of what they fought for.
Two ornate gates led through those high stone walls, one entrance on either side of the ring. Anlyn surveyed one of those gates, collecting herself. She could feel her heart fluttering with some unknown alloy of nerves and excitement. She could hear the trill of cloudswifts from beyond the walls, their high pitched laughter seeming to beckon her inside. She was only dimly aware of the guards to either side of the gate, standing at attention and awaiting her signal to open them.
Anlyn considered the unthinkable event she was about to step into, the forbidden joy hidden deep within those tall walls. As she pondered the occasion, she became mutely aware of her escorts standing to either side of her. The significance of the moment washed over her for quite some time, and when the sensations ebbed, she remembered that people were waiting on her. So she rallied her nerves, stretched herself to her full height, and nodded to the gatesmen.
Oiled hinges and perfectly balanced steel swung silently open. Anlyn grasped her outer tunics, held their edges off the stone walk, and stepped through the arch of the clockwise gate and into the great and gorgeous Pinnacle.
The colors and vibrant hues immediately assaulted her senses.
Anlyn saw that the Pinnacle had been draped in its finest celebratory regalia. The predominate shades were orange and blue, customary wedding hues symbolizing the union of hot and cold and serving as a temporary celebration of each. But there were other colors mixed in: The bright yellows of hope, the black of peace, even the purple of empire. It seemed every banner, bunting, and flag from a hundred settled worlds had been gathered on Drenard and raised for the occasion, even though Anlyn doubted Ryke’s rifts would be abused for such a trifle as herself.
As she wandered into the full splendor of the bountiful decorations, Anlyn felt herself purple in embarrassment at the ostentatious show. It was a lot more than she had expected for such a simple affair, especially since her union remained controversial for so many; she knew it was still whispered among her people with sideways glances. Anlyn turned to Molly and her Aunt Ralei—her two chosen bridal escorts—to gauge their reactions to the festive gardens.
Molly was smiling from ear to ear, a welcomed sight to Anlyn’s eyes. Her dear friend had done her best to feign happiness the past weeks, trying not to chill Anlyn’s warmth, but Anlyn could forever sense that a deep ice had taken hold of Molly’s heart. Watching part of that coolness melt, seeing her friend’s eyes flit about, her cheeks blush as Molly struggled to take it all in—it was enough for Anlyn to justify the ludicrous lengths the decorators and gardeners had gone to.
Anlyn looked next to her Aunt Ralei and saw that the elder statesman was ignoring their surroundings. Her eyes were fixed solely on Anlyn, her face beaming with pride.
“It’s a bit much for a wedding,” Anlyn said.
“Nonsense,” her aunt replied. “And it’s more than just a wedding. Two empires celebrate this day. Think of it as a galactic union.”
Anlyn smiled and nodded. She loved the analogy. She turned, and the trio of women set down the adorned walkway, heading counterclockwise around Drenard and toward the Pinnacle.
As they entered the path of reflection, the three women had to fall into a single file, the blooming bushes and bursting flowers pressing in on either side. The walk was measured out to take four hundred and eighty steps, and they were to be walked in silence. It was a time for meditation and for dwelling on the upcoming promises to be made.
Anlyn lost herself in the path of flowers, her bare feet trampling the thick petals sprinkled over the stone walk. She reveled in the garden’s lush elegance, the feeling of the Horis’ reflected light warming her skin. She closed her eyes for a few steps and felt as if float
ing in a dream-like state of perfect contentment.
When she opened them, she noticed for the first time the crowds of women lining the path ahead of her beyond the four-eighty mark. So many! A dozen deep, they crowded the bushes to either side, pressing together and clutching bouquets or holding aloft video recorders. Anlyn felt her cheeks tighten, her lips quiver. The silence of the reflection walk became unbearable, the looming crowd positively vibrating with stifled energy. When Anlyn reached the end of the sprinkled petals and walked her last step of silence, the crowd of women erupted, cheering and waving and throwing flowers and paper-thin Wadi shells painted all sorts of bright colors.
Anlyn felt a stream of tears course down her face. She was awed at the sight of so many eyes directed her way and twinkling with their shared joy. The roar from their throats rang in her ears and lifted her up, making her feel light enough to soar up to the Horis. She wanted to take them all with her, wanted to run to each of the women, throw her arms around them, and celebrate together.
The Drenardian women kept up their cheers all the way to the grand steps leading up to the balcony. Wave after wave of renewed jubilation soared all around the Pinnacle, sustaining itself on the infectious quality of an excited crowd as confetti, petals, eggshells, and birds vied for airborne supremacy.
At the steps, a contingent of the royal guard stood at arms, saluting her. Anlyn scanned their faces, seeing a few she recognized, including the young captain that so briefly had barred her and Edison from the Circle all those sleeps ago. She gave him the barest of nods, and he smiled, exuding obvious relief at the kind acknowledgment.
At the top of the steps, Anlyn had to pause and catch her breath. The sight of what awaited her stole the air from her lungs: All along the Great Balcony, stretching off in both directions around the low circular Pinnacle, stood a dense collection of the empire’s mightiest. Circle members, planetary regents, entire lines of the royal lineage, they were all gathered there and dressed in their heaviest and most colorful tunics.
So much status gathered in a single place caused Anlyn to reflexively bend her knees and bow her waist. Without even thinking, she found herself scooping up her outer tunics and lowering herself to the ground, her eyes falling to her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Molly repeating the gesture. No sooner had she succumbed to the weight of so much power and authority, Anlyn became self-conscious of her humble position and stood.
When she looked back to the crowd packing the Great Balcony, she found every one of its occupants had fallen to their knees.
Anlyn dropped her tunics and fought back the tears. To receive the blessings of so many—and for such an unorthodox union—her cheeks hurt from trying to hold it together. It was too much. A military victory had bled over to her personal ceremony, carrying with it the exultation of an end to war. It was too much and also too wonderful to bear.
Anlyn suddenly felt herself glow in anticipation, positively radiating purple as the trio made their way through the circle of shade cast down from orbit. The ensuing coolness was symbolic for something—something about having left the heat behind—but her brain was too overwhelmed to seize upon the ritualistic meaning. She stepped through the great old doors of the Pinnacle and another crowd erupted, and again she was overcome with emotion. There he was, across the building, walking through the counterwise door on the far side of the pinnacle:
Her Edison.
Large and handsome and bedecked in the finest honeycloth tunics. Even across the great distance of the bowl-shaped building, Anlyn could see his broad teeth spread across his face. She fought the temptation to run to him. She concentrated instead on each step as she descended toward the Circle below.
Behind her, Anlyn heard the high-ranking guests from the Great Balcony file down after, all of them eager to become part of her retinue. She looked up from her careful steps and glanced to either side at the thick crowds standing among the benches. Thousands of blue faces were turned in her direction, silent and expectant. Anlyn had anticipated a fraction of their number; she had been embarrassed to even hold the ceremony at the Pinnacle. She looked up and saw that the balcony was packed as well, and again she found it difficult to breathe.
Across from her, she could see Edison struggling to match her slow pace. He took each plodding step one at a time, his foot extended and hovering over the next tread as he waited for her to catch up. Anlyn nearly burst out laughing, and she silently thanked her love for again keeping her grounded. For the rest of the descent, she kept her eyes on him and remembered just why they were there—and how lucky she truly was.
As they reached the end of the long flight of steps, Anlyn and Edison stopped at the circular table while the most honored guests filed down from behind and took their seats. Anlyn noticed the ambassador bridge had been set up on Edison’s side. It was sometimes referred to as the treaty or peace bridge, reserved for the signing of great documents, royal affairs, and the occasional wedding. Ahead of Anlyn stood the original bridge, its ancient wood still speckled with blackened spots from the day, not too long ago, when Edison’s lance had erupted, and her speech had paved the way for all else that had occurred since.
Anlyn began dwelling on the significance of that day, but her drifting thoughts were startled back into focus as the Pinnacle bells tolled. She glanced back at Molly, who stood dutifully to her side and behind her a pace. Anlyn’s aunt reached out and squeezed her shoulder. The members of the Circle bowed and took their seats, their dozens of tunics rustling like distant thunder.
Anlyn looked across to Edison and nodded. They both began to ascend the steps of their respective bridges, which reached over the unbroken circle of the great table. At the top, they turned and bowed to the gathered. They next faced one another and bowed again. And then they descended into the center of the circle, each of them walking out to occupy one of the two spots of light shining down from above.
For Anlyn, it was the Light of Speak from Hori I, the same light that had bathed her during her great speech. Edison took his place a few meters away in the Light of Turn from Hori II, the same light he had given to her in order to conduct the speech. Anlyn smiled up at Edison and received an even bigger grin in return. She sighed at the sight of her love’s fur, neatly groomed, as it shimmered in the concentrated starlight. The two of them stood alone in the great circle for a few breaths. Past Edison, Anlyn could see Cole and her uncle, the Empire’s King, standing on the far side of the counterwise bridge. She knew without looking that Molly and her Aunt Ralei would be doing the same behind her.
She paused a moment, gathered in a deep breath, and attempted to take it all in: the rapt throng of spectators, the warmth of the light of Hori, the seated circle members. She scanned the great table and saw that Edison’s chair and her own were draped with honor cloths. She saw Bodi’s empty chair, and a brief pang of undeserved sorrow fluttered through her. His disappearance was still a mystery, and the trial that had exiled him had thus been mostly symbolic. She noticed there was no mourning cloth draped over his seat, so she assumed she was alone in her pity. She continued around the circle and came to Dani, Tryl, and even Bishar from the Great Rift. She saw Ryke, Ryn, and Scottie, and the girl with the burn-red hair. They were all smiling at her, and she felt her cheeks cramping with joy.
As the ringing of the bells subsided, the minister of ceremonies rose from his seat and ascended the bridge behind Anlyn. She turned to watch.
“Current and future Drenards,” he bellowed. “Welcome!”
The crowd erupted, cheering for the sheer joy of cheering—cooing and clapping and stomping their feet. The minister waved them down, taking quite some time to do so.
“Today we celebrate much, including the union between two of our Circle members, two of our finest Drenards, and two heroes of the Bern War: Lady Anlyn Hooo and Lord Edison Campton!”
He paused and scanned the crowd while he waited on another round of cheering to subside. Finally, raising his hands, he chanted: “Gifts presente
d, promises made, lights divided, two become one.” He dropped his hands and nodded down to Molly and then looked across in Cole’s direction and nodded to him as well.
The minister made his way down the steps and into the circle. Anlyn watched with pride as Molly rose up the steps behind him. She admired her friend’s choice of all-white tunics draped in modest layers. The two friends smiled at each other—both seeming on the verge of laughing as Molly approached. Anlyn glanced back over her shoulder to get a look at Cole, who was wearing dark green tunics, and wearing them nobly. Cole bore Edison’s lance in both hands. He handed the large device to Edison, who received it with a slight bow. Anlyn turned back to Molly, who held out a small cloth bag for her to take. Breaking decorum, Anlyn accepted the bag, then pulled her friend into an embrace, pressing her head against Molly’s shoulder.
The cooing and sniffles from the crowd assured Anlyn she wouldn’t be thought poorly for the slight break with tradition. She pulled away and turned to face Edison as their two witnesses, Cole and Molly, took their places to one side. High above, a chain began rattling down from the domed ceiling, signifying the start of the wedding ceremony.
Edison spoke first: “My gift to you is this lance,” he said in Drenard, his voice booming and filling the Pinnacle. He held it out level, his palms flat. “Power turned to peace, harm transformed into harmony, electricity made electrifying. I give it as a symbol of what your own tinkering has transformed within me.”
Anlyn smiled, flushing with pride. Edison stepped out of his light and walked over toward hers. He bowed low and gingerly laid the lance at her feet. After he returned to his circle, she held up the bag Molly had given her with one hand and opened her other palm beneath it. Slowly, she tipped the bag on its side. The crowd bristled with anticipation at what her gift might be.
