Hostiles (The Galactic Mage series)

by John Daulton

  Or too far away.

  How much time should he waste guessing again? But what other choice was there? He couldn’t go back and try divining now. Or perhaps he could. Perhaps Ocelot would know. She’d known before. Maybe she’d be home this time. Maybe she’d be waiting for him. Maybe.

  If not, he’d lose even more time.

  The debate with himself wasted time too. He let the seeing spell go.

  When he came out of the teleportation chamber, he found Orli seated at Tytamon’s desk and busy at work on her tablet. He realized for the first time that she must be wondering what he had done, perhaps thought he’d lost his mind.

  She did not. She looked up when he came out and smiled a tired smile at him, her teeth and the whites of her eyes bright and reflecting the bluish light of her tablet where it lay on the table before her. “Did you find him?” She asked it in a way that said she already knew he had, that she knew he’d never have come out otherwise.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I found the red sun. And a big red planet. But I can’t find water. No oceans, no lakes, not even a puddle anywhere. And no … no womb, or whatever chamber a male would have in its place. I found nothing. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Where did you look? Where in the system, I mean. How far away was the planet? How many are there, do you know?”

  “I remembered what you told me about distances from the sun. About habitable zones. I guessed at it. I made the red sun the same size as yours and mine in my mind, and on what felt like the right relative scale, started looking there. And as I said, I did find a planet too. But nothing on it. I don’t know if there are other worlds.”

  Her mouth shaped the hum that followed, and she set herself to tapping on the surface of her tablet again. She tapped for a long time. Altin started pacing, his mind racing, his heart beating with the urgency of a task he was afraid he wouldn’t accomplish. Finally he said, “We need to go see Ocelot.”

  Orli looked up at him. “Do you think she can help? Do you think you can find her?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t waste more time guessing. Guessing got us this far, but now we need something else. If this is the red world she spoke of, then perhaps she will know more.”

  “All right,” Orli agreed. “I think it’s just as well. There are some things I need too. Things from Earth.”

  His eyebrows shot up, curious, but only for the briefest span of time. They both knew the stakes, and if she thought there was something they needed, then that is how it would be.

  They went to seek Ocelot, and in the barest flash of time after returning the tower to its place at Calico Castle, the pair of them were standing at her door. She hadn’t been home when Altin looked upon returning to Prosperion, but Altin was determined to try in person anyway. An ocelot could hide itself easily, he supposed, if it had reason to, but maybe he could scare her out.

  A full moon shone above the flat-topped stone in the clearing, and a gentle breeze blew the scent of pine and a hint of ash at them through the trees. The serenity of it was startling.

  Altin knocked on the door of the dilapidated wooden hovel as Orli gazed out over the edge of the upthrust rock upon which Ocelot’s hovel sat like a hat. She wondered at the long streak of burnt forest not so far away, a wide black cut dark enough to be visible in the pink light of Luria, the gentle hues of it seemingly a reminder that even here, in this peaceful place, she could not forget that there was violence everywhere.

  The door opened and a child stood before them both, a girl, no more than fourteen. Her hair hung lank and bedraggled around her dirty face, and her clothes were barely adequate to cover her. She smiled an even smile at them, something marginally feline and turned back inside, leaving the door open behind her. She disappeared into the shadowy darkness immediately, as she had no fire tonight.

  They stepped inside and Orli tried to make out the contents of the shack’s singular room, but the bars of moonlight striping the interior did little to illuminate anything. A dull thump came from across the darkness, almost inaudible. Spots of black and gray crossed a moonbeam.

  “You’ve found the red world, haven’t you?” came the child’s voice from somewhere across the room.

  “I have,” said Altin, disappointed that she’d had to ask. “Sort of. I found where it should be. But I cannot find where it hides. We were hoping you could help us the rest of the way, since it was your guidance that brought us to it to begin.”

  Orli shrieked then, a brief outcry, and her hand darted to her leg. She clutched her calf, gripping it in the same place Black Sander’s accomplice, Belor, had cut her that night in the rain, the inkpot incision into which her clothing had been dipped, colored with her own blood to throw off any pursuit. She briefly saw the ghostly glow of cat eyes in the wan light of another moonbeam, but they vanished into the shadows with a blink.

  “Alien blood will guide us,” said Ocelot, her voice changed and older now, shaped by the tiny organ pipes of her wildcat form. She leapt up onto the stack of firewood near the nearly crumbling stones of her fireplace. She licked at her claws, lapping Orli’s blood from each in turn. She did a careful job of it, the pink tongue emerging over and over again, seemingly at the task far longer than cleaning would require. “Make some tea,” she said in a sleepy voice when she was done. And then, as if sated by a full meal, she curled up against the wall and went to sleep.

  At first neither of them could believe it. They watched and waited, neither daring to move. Ocelot obviously knew what was happening, so how could she possibly just curl up and go to sleep?

  They exchanged a pair of glances, Orli’s far more incredulous than his, but both in similar states of impatient disbelief.

  They looked back at the sleeping cat again, watched in the dim light as her sides moved up and down slowly, regularly, as she breathed. Every so often, her long whiskers would twitch, just touching a narrow band of moonlight coming through a crack, the tip sparkling like a tiny firefly before vanishing again.

  They turned to one another once more, both too afraid to say anything. What if the slumber was part of some wild Z-class divining spell? Not even Altin knew.

  “Well?” Orli mouthed, taking care to move her face into a bar of light shining down from a hole in the ceiling so that he could see. “Now what?”

  He mouthed back, “I don’t know.”

  They watched some more, but still the cat slept.

  Altin’s eyes ran around the room, more in frustration than seeking anything. He saw the teapot sitting near the fireplace next to the little box of leaves. Glancing at Orli, he saw that she saw them too. She gave him a helpless look. They both seemed to realize they had no other choice. They’d committed to this course, and now they had to see it through. And Altin knew that Ocelot had seen things with the tea before. It wasn’t such a long shot, perhaps.

  He went straight to the fireplace and found the pot already filled with water. He directed Orli to the woodpile with a gesture as he measured out enough tea and made the pot ready for a fire. Orli filled her arms with wood and brought it to him. He took the load from her, and tossed it all into the fireplace, then conjured a flame that set the stack ablaze. The tea began to brew, and shortly after steam began to drift up from its spout.

  They continued to watch and wait. They watched and waited, and the tea brewed and steamed. It steamed and brewed so long Altin was afraid that it would be too strong to work and then he was afraid that the water would all boil away.

  Finally Ocelot woke up.

  She cast a long shadow up the wall behind her as she arched her back and stretched, a wide yawn setting the curve of her tongue briefly upon the gray planks as well. Without the least hint of urgency, she jumped down onto the floor, another dull thumping sound, and padded to the fire. The young girl sat cross-legged before it then, her hands out and savoring the warmth. She took a handful of broad, flat leaves from a basket and used them to grab the teapot. She poured a cup which she handed to Orli. She filled
another for Altin, and a third for herself.

  Orli took hers reluctantly, but a nod from Altin reminded her that they were in a place in time where they had no other options but trust.

  “Drink up,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to have any noticeable effect. At least, it didn’t last time, but I didn’t make it then either.” He looked to Ocelot as if she might support his claim, but the child stared absently through the steam of her cup into the fire.

  Orli blew across the top of her tea before taking the first sip. It burned her mouth anyway.

  “It’s too hot,” Ocelot said.

  Altin, having just done exactly as Orli had, agreed. “It is,” he said. “I will cool them as I did last time.” He cast three small ice lances, finger length, handing one to Orli and reaching another to Ocelot.

  She made no move to take it.

  He held it out a moment longer before pulling it back. “Ocelot, please,” he said. “We really haven’t got any more time. And we still have other things to do. Just take it.”

  “Not the tea, teleporter.”

  Altin glanced over his shoulder at Orli, who shrugged. She was doing her part by drinking the tea. Altin’s ice stick helped a lot.

  “What then?” He saw the Z-class child staring into the fire. It was burning very high. He shouldn’t have thrown in all the wood.

  Impatient that she chose this time to be so particular about that kind of thing, he teleported half the logs outside into the burnt place where he’d fought the troll, confident there was nothing there that would catch fire. “There, are you happy? Please, I’m begging you. We must hurry.”

  “Too close to the fire.” She dipped her finger into the tea.

  “Oh, for the love of Mercy,” he groaned. He teleported the rest of the fire out where the first half of it had gone. “How about now?”

  “Altin!” Orli said, fearing he would aggravate the girl with his temper now.

  Ocelot turned and looked past him to where Orli stood, a touch of a smile curving on that smudged and dirty face. “The alien would see what the teleporter cannot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Altin asked. “People are dying in great piles all across the galaxy. An entire world is about to be raped, and you make wordplay.”

  Ocelot continued to look at Orli now. “He is too close to the fire. Get him away. Then he will find it when the time comes.”

  Orli nodded. She knew exactly what it meant.

  “Men fight while women do the suffering,” Ocelot went on. “So you must let them. You will hide in the noise of their combat, a song sung beneath the echoes of mashing rams’ horns. You must find your way into his heart. That is a woman’s way. Find it, and cut it out.”

  “But how will I find it?” Orli asked. “The planet will be big. How can I possibly find the heart chamber?”

  “The blue one knows. The blue one has seen it. She will show you the way.”

  “But I can’t speak to her. Only in dreams. We can’t wait for me to sleep. Or for me to wake up from sleeping drugs. There just isn’t any more time.”

  “Hide in the thunder of the rams’ horns.”

  “I don’t understand that part.”

  “You will.”

  Altin stood watching this exchange, the side-to-side motion of his head growing more intense.

  “I knew this was a mistake,” he said. “I knew I got lucky the first time. Worse than cryptic answers were inevitable at some point from you.”

  Ocelot continued to ignore him, eyes locked on Orli’s just as Orli’s were locked onto hers. “When the time comes, you must act quickly. He will not fight long.”

  “Why not?” The way Ocelot said it frightened her. “Why won’t he? Who is he, Altin or Red Fire?”

  “The teleporter.”

  “So what do I do?” Her desperation was obvious.

  Altin wanted to get out of there. He wanted to get to Earth. To get the nukes or whatever other things Orli had in mind. He knew that had to be her intent. His people had nothing for destroying entire worlds. Hers did.

  “You will see,” said Ocelot. And for the first time in a while she looked to Altin directly. “When she does, you must let her. You will have to do your part.”

  “So what is my part? I’m fighting. I already got that. Are you going to at least tell me what kind of fight it is?”

  “Yes.” She smiled and dropped another droplet of the tea onto her tongue. “For you, it is the fight of faith.”

  “Faith?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “Faith in what, the gods? Even you resort to that?”

  “You will see.”

  He turned to Orli. “Faith?” He practically spat the word. “I could have gotten this nonsense from the priests.” He reached his hand out for Orli’s. “We are done here.”

  Orli didn’t take his hand. Her gaze went to Ocelot, who had gone back to staring into the fireplace as if the blaze were still there. “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” Ocelot said. “If you can make him go.”

  “She can,” Altin answered for her. He leaned down and took her hand himself. “We’re going.”

  “Wait,” said the girl, finally rising. She walked across the room into the darkness, bending over and rummaging through something. There came scraping sounds of something small, woody and dry.

  “What is it now?” He could barely contain his impatience.

  She came back and handed him a small cluster of something dark and brown, a stem from which grew a kind of seed, large and wooden, split open along one edge. They were irregular shaped, looking as if someone had folded each of them together rather hastily.

  “What is this?” he asked impatiently.

  “It’s a peppercorn,” Orli said, the trained botanist recognizing it instantly. “It’s exactly like the species we have on Earth.”

  He looked to Ocelot and, with the last of his reserves, asked, “Are you going to tell me what it’s for, or is this another one of those ‘you will see’ things?”

  “I don’t know,” was Ocelot’s reply. “It is what I saw.”

  The rumble in Altin’s chest was the only warning Orli got, and with that, they were back at Calico Castle again.

  Chapter 43

  Altin took a moment to cast a seeing spell back to Crown City, placing his vision at the top of the lofty steps that climbed to the Temple of Anvilwrath. He saw that the temple was embroiled in a bitter battle, right up to the last stair. The priests of Anvilwrath fought hand to hand with orcs by the score, and huge demons were bashing against the columns, trying to knock them down, a few at least that they might squeeze their huge bodies in between to get farther inside, cracking the shell, as it were, to get where the soft meat was. He could tell immediately that the columns had been enchanted with great strength, for the size of many of these creatures was simply astonishing. Altin wondered as he observed if this moment was the explanation for why that insane-seeming forest of columns had been built, remembering how long it had taken him and Orli to run through it to the courtyard only a few short hours ago. He suspected it was. They must have divined it, the builders, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, saw the need for it this day and made it so. Or else it was simply a clever tactical design. Either way, the demons would not get inside any time soon. At least he hoped.

  He couldn’t afford to wonder about it long, however, and he made a quick survey of the rest of the city. A huge section of Crown was burning, a great wedge cutting in wide from the decimated southern wall and funneling straight through the city, bashing down and burning through buildings on a straight path to the Palace. He knew instinctively that was the goal even before he pushed his vision around the temple to verify.

  Sure enough, beyond the temple, the broad sweep of once majestic Unification Avenue seethed with activity. It was the point of the spear thrusting toward the city’s royal heart, all its glorious towering oaks had been ripped out like weeds, the statues of the great kings and quee
ns all gone. Now it was broken and swamped with a tumultuous crowd of war. At its farthest end, the Royal Army was being compressed against the Palace walls like twenty thousand grapes in a wine press made of demons, the libation of their bodies, their red blood, running through the filtering heaps of the hacked apart and dying, an intoxicant for the invading horde.

  Altin wanted to look for Orli’s father, but knew he couldn’t take the time to sort through all that activity. He also realized as he thought about the Earthman that there was no laser fire coming from above. He looked skyward and recognized that the fleet had stopped helping them, even from the safety of orbit. He also noticed that Citadel was back. The great sphere of it hovered, barely visible against the clouds. He saw no redoubts in the air and figured that the wizards must have gone to the Palace walls.

  He came out of the spell right after and went to where Orli sat at Tytamon’s table, once again tapping away at her tablet.

  “Asad and the others are no longer helping them,” he said. “The laser fire has stopped, and Citadel is back at Crown.”

  “I figured as much.” The quizzical look that ensued upon his face prompted her to fill him in. “When you brought us to Mars, on the way out to Red Fire, you stopped in orbit, and I saw another one of the big Hostiles had returned. Not as big as the one you guys sent into the sun, but big enough. I had a feeling Nakamura would take that wrong.”

  “They could have just taken Citadel back and gotten rid of that one too.”

  “True. If they’d known it was there. But how would Citadel have found out about it? It’s not like anyone on Earth could call them up and tell them another one had come.”

  Altin wanted to shout, to vent the pressure of his frustration, but he held it back, plunging his fingers into the muss of his dark hair instead, blowing out exasperation in a long, low hiss. “Surely the director must realize by now …,” Altin began, but let it die. Of course he didn’t. “I need to let Aderbury know.”

  Orli nodded that she thought that was a good idea, and so Altin sent Citadel’s leading wizard a telepathic nudge. Unlike last time, he did not get an immediate response. In fact, he knew he was making contact, but Aderbury wasn’t answering. That did not bode well, and wouldn’t if they’d needed Citadel. He needed Aderbury alert up there, ready to go.