As Arman got up from the floor, Kalden extended his hand to the younger man. “Be careful down there, Arman. They’ll be watching for any more intrusions. Don’t risk yourself needlessly.”
The bellmaker nodded calmly and after Nandi, Anil, and Tenzin made their farewells, the four adepts vanished from the chamber.
Kirian gazed at his friend for several minutes before stepping forward to grab him into a tight embrace. “Don’t die on me, Arman.”
“I’m not planning on it,” the big man soothed as he pulled back and laid a hand on Kirian’s shoulder. “I’ll stay away from the government buildings for a while, see what I can learn just by mixing in with people. Senga’s sigils should be enough to work with for the moment to keep tabs on Chao Rong and his cronies.”
“I’ll keep searching for some way to repair the portal,” Kirian declared with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll dig through the rubble of every old library on the surface if I have to.”
“That sounds like you. I’m sure you’ll turn up something useful. Keep my portal team in good shape while I’m gone.”
“I’ll help Skamár handle the team until Senga’s back on his feet. Let me know as soon as you’ve settled in somewhere so I know you’re alright.”
“I will, but you’d better not hover over me like a fretful old hen,” Arman teased with a wide grin. “I know what I’m doing. You’ve got plenty of other people to worry about here, Yeshe Vall.”
“Don’t remind me, Master Sijía,” Kirian glowered, placing his hands on his hips.
“Well, I’d better go see Niyal and make sure he’s set to take over the forge. I’ll take off in the morning.”
Kirian nodded but couldn’t bring himself to say anything further.
“Be well, my friend.” With a final tip of his head, the bellmaker disappeared.
The young yeshe blew out a breath and dropped his eyes to the floor. Arman was right—he had over four hundred other souls to take care of, each one fragile, each one precious. His personal needs would have to be put to the side if he was ever to get these people and Rinzen safely off of Lyonnae and find them a new home.
And at the moment, there was one other person whose safety depended on his immediate attention. After sending a brief adieu to Rinzen, Kirian shifted himself out to the wide set of chambers that served as the storage area for the colony’s supplies.
It was quiet, which meant only one thing—Minla was up on the surface making her rounds to the stashes hidden away outside of remote mountain villages. The nineteen other people on her team were scattered around the large chamber, sitting on boxes or chairs, all with their eyes closed, focused on their internal link with Minla up above.
Kirian walked over to the slender adept who served alongside Minla to direct the dedicated group that worked so hard to keep them all fed and clothed. He reached out and gently gripped her shoulder, making her start at the unexpected touch.
Nima’s wide silvery eyes flew open. “Kirian, what are you doing here?” she whispered. “Is anything wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied in a hushed voice, slipping up onto a crate beside her. “Have you noticed anything unusual tonight? Any tension or odd behavior from any of the villagers?”
“No, not at all. Why? Is Minla in danger?”
“She might be. We just pulled Senga back out of Edu. The Shitza have heard the stories about ‘magical bell people’ and I’m afraid they might start making moves out into the mountains looking for us. As long as she’s up there, Minla’s vulnerable.”
“We all watch over her like hawks,” Nima assured him. “We scan the area around the cache sites before she transports in and scope out the villagers who hide hoping to catch a glimpse of her.”
“No military or weapons?”
“None that we’ve detected so far.”
“That could change at any moment,” Kirian brooded, running a hand through his hair with obvious agitation. “Kalden’s setting up extra watches to monitor any troop movements away from their posts across the plateau.”
“Then we’ll expand the area around each site that we view remotely, Kirian. We’ll take care of her.”
“I know, Nima, but even if you don’t pick up any Shitza, she could still be shot down by any villager open to a bribe.”
The adept’s mouth fell open as she studied the yeshe’s eyes. “They love her, Kirian. It’s almost like they— Here, let me show you. Come into the link with me.”
Nima reached over and patted his hand, waiting patiently until he relaxed and nodded his assent.
Kirian closed his eyes and tuned into Nima’s mental touch as she rejoined the link with the entire group. The image of a craggy mountainside, aglow beneath the first stars of night, spread out in all directions from a vantage point just above a clump of scraggly trees at the edge of the snowbanks. He could feel the presence of all nineteen members of the team spaced out and hovering across the entire area, and below, sitting on a rock in front of a sizable pile of goods, surrounded by a gathering of tiny forms, was the woman he would give a thousand lives for.
Kirian’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her and he shifted his view down closer to the ground so he could look up into Minla’s beautiful face. Dressed in a long white coat, her snowy head and form emitted a layer of light which gave her a soft luminance in the deepening evening. A group of children sat around her, most of them small, looking up at her with the wide, wondering eyes of the very young.
She laughed and spoke gently to them, but her words were too soft for Kirian to make out. In her lap was a wrapped bundle that the children watched with rapt anticipation and when she began to lay back the edges of the cloth, they huddled closer, clutching their hands together in eager excitement.
Slowly Minla lifted the first delicate bell and held it up in front of her. By the shape, Kirian could tell it was one of Arman’s creations, graceful and sleek, designed to emit a single crystalline note with a specific set of hidden overtones. When Minla shook her hand, the chiming sound floated out over the heads of the children to bounce and echo across the rock-strewn slope. Mesmerized, they watched and waited breathlessly until Minla chose one of them, extending her hand toward a small girl who held her tiny palms out in front of her to receive the precious gift.
They call her the ‘Lady of the Bells,’ Kirian, Nima explained gently through a private link. Is it any wonder they believe she’s magical?
She is, he breathed, finding himself just as entranced as the Ustagi children sitting at Minla’s feet.
The next treasure his wife held up was a pair of Niyal’s finely decorated discs joined by a cord. As she rang the pair of bells against each other, the sweet tone reverberated for several long moments, holding the little ones enthralled once again. When she handed them to a wiry boy near the back, he clutched them to his chest and looked quickly over his shoulder toward a group of boulders.
What the— A fresh wave of concern rolled through Kirian when he picked up the presence of several people huddled in the shadows behind the rocks.
It’s alright, Kirian. Move a little closer so you can see their faces.
At Nima’s urging, he shifted his focus to a point directly above the boulders. Crouched with an older female and a man, a young woman smiled radiantly at the boy in the circle who was undoubtedly her son. There were tears in her eyes when she glanced at her mate who wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
These people bring their children up here, hoping to be lucky enough to see her. They know she’ll sit and talk to them and hand out the bells. We could just leave them on the ground and take the food and goods they’ve left. But look at that small horde of supplied this one village alone has hauled up the slope for us.
Kirian glanced at the heaping mound of boxes, baskets, and wrapped parcels stacked on a flat expanse of stone behind Minla’s glowing figure.
The yeshes and Makhás masters watched over the Ustagi people for hundreds of years. They haven�
��t forgotten that, Kirian. They treasure our bells because they keep them healthy, drive away sickness. You know the frequencies Arman and Niyal build into them. And they’re prized even more if they come from her.
With the last of the bells doled out to waiting hands, the youngsters jumped up off the ground and swarmed in close to Minla, squealing and giggling as they hugged her legs, arms, or from behind, grabbing her anywhere their small hands could reach. She tipped her head back and laughed while the glow around her form pulsed with brightness.
Kirian shifted again to get closer to his wife, overcome with a sudden need to reach out and touch her himself. He watched in amazement as the children pulled back and chittered excitedly while Minla listened and nodded, answering them on occasion. One older girl reached her hands out shyly and offered some small object to Minla who took it before pulling the child close for a hug.
They bring her gifts all the time. Someone in another village made her that white coat she’s wearing.
I’ve never … seen any of those things, Kirian admitted hollowly.
No, I suppose you haven’t, the adept replied quietly. She keeps them all in a container at the back of the main storeroom. Ask her to show you sometime.
Kirian’s chest constricted at witnessing this glimpse into the private life of his beloved wife. She had never questioned his reticence to have a child of their own, never pressed her own needs, never shared this aspect of her interaction with the Ustagi, but it was painfully plain to see how deeply these children affected her.
Minla rose to her feet above her tiny admirers and raised a hand in farewell as they scampered off in all directions toward waiting family members scattered among the rocks. Several adults stood and waved their thanks to the lady in white, hoping to catch her eye before she turned back around toward the pile of goods.
Now do you understand, Yeshe Vall? These people love the Lady of the Bells and would never betray her—or us. They mourn for the lost Makhás. Minla is their last tie to something sacred.
Yes, I see that now. Thank you, Nima. I should have come with you a long time ago.
Minla raised her hands in the air before her voice came into the link with her hovering team. Alright everyone, time to go to work. Last batch.
The invisible web of a transport matrix formed in the air around Minla and the bulk of the cache. As the group of adepts gradually increased the sound through the internal link, the goods and Minla’s form slowly dissolved from sight off of the dark mountainside.
Kirian opened his eyes and jumped off the crate as Minla and the stacks of boxes appeared in the cavern in an empty space by the far wall. She lowered her arms and turned in surprise when she heard the rush of his footsteps behind her.
“Kirian? What are—”
With trembling hands, he grabbed both of her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her fiercely in an uncharacteristic display in front of the entire team of astonished adepts. When he released her mouth, he held onto her shoulders and looked down at her, unable to speak, his entire length shaking with need. Minla blinked in bewilderment before her black-ringed silver eyes dilated in response.
“We’ll take care of this stuff, Minla,” Nima’s voice called out. “Go!”
With a quick mental check, Kirian knew exactly where he wanted to be. Thrusting through a transport matrix, he shifted the two of them to a desolate spot near the base of a snow-covered mountain peak. The steam from burbling water rose in the air beside them, lifting a faint waft of sulfur into the crisp stillness.
Minla smiled when she recognized where they were and slithered her hands beneath his robes, running her palms slowly up his soft ribcage and chest. “What’s gotten into you, big man?” she asked with a languid expression.
“You.”
Gingerly sliding the long white coat off her shoulders and divesting her of the rest of her garments, Kirian slipped out of his own, piling them carefully on a dry ledge before stepping down into the hot water, taking Minla’s hand to guide her into the deep pool. When the water reached his shoulders, he scooped her into his arms and sank down into the soothing heat, spinning gently, their long white hair floating in wisps near the surface of the pool.
“You take my breath away,” he murmured, reveling in the feel of her body tucked in close against him. He sent his eyes all over her face, rediscovering each nuance, each graceful curve with a renewed sense of wonder. “The Ustagi think you’re a goddess.”
“Ah, you saw that,” she said with a wistful laugh. “I admit, I add the glow just for a little bit of fun—and to see what I’m doing. Nothing mystical. We all learned how to make light balls when we were kids.”
“Don’t minimize who you are,” he admonished with a light kiss. “Those people see more than glowing lights, much more.” She smiled quietly and he searched her eyes, looking for the hidden parts of her that he had so artlessly missed. “Tell me what you want, Minla.”
Her delicate brows rose at his unexpected question. “I want our people to be safe and happy.”
“No—tell me what you want.”
As she gazed at him, her soft smile faded and a flicker of melancholy touched her eyes. “I want you, Kirian. I want … a family.” She blinked once and tipped her head back into the steaming water, looking up at the wide expanse of stars overhead. “And I want to leave the caverns and live in the light of a star—it doesn’t have to be Sirius. Any other radiant star will do. Pick one, my love.”
Kirian’s heart caught in his throat. He waited until she lifted her face and captured her mouth in a desperate rush, pressing his hand into the small of her back to pull her tightly against him. When he felt her body open and ignite, he broke his mouth away.
“Glow for me, Lady of the Bells.”
As Kirian made love to his wife, the resolve his chest blazed into a white-hot torch. If he did nothing else before he stopped breathing, he would find a way for this beautiful creature to live in starlight once more.
“We need more ships. We’re dying out there!”
Magnus slammed his fist down onto the polished round conference table in the spacious meeting room of Krii’s Great Hall complex, the central headquarters for the High Council of Tarsus. Across from him sat the glowering leaders of the councils from each of the seven land masses covering the planet’s 3rd dimensional shade.
“It’s been nearly five Tarsian years since the Drahks invaded. After Caledon launched the Appin a year ago, not one new ship has been finished on Tarsus. We’re down to eleven, twenty-seven for the whole fleet, and Salaal’s forces just keep growing. It’s damned hard to stay alive!”
“We understand the difficulties you face, Captain Talrésian,” Dieter van der Meer, high councilor of Andara, replied with stiff formality. “But as we’ve explained, the money just isn’t there for more than what we’re already supporting.”
Asta Gunnarsen bristled, quite openly as outraged as her younger colleague. “So you’re just going to cut us adrift, let the rest of us die out there?”
“No one said anything about cutting you adrift, Captain,” Dieter answered with a frustrated sigh. “We’ll continue to fund repairs and improvements for the ships we have in the air.”
“And what if more of us go down?” Alasdair wondered aloud, sending a stern look to each of the councilors on the other side of the table. As the newest captain of the Tarsian vessels, he was all too aware of how often Alcyoni officers had been promoted due to the loss of ships and crews since the war began. “Without building more ships, we won’t even be able to maintain the defenses we have. We’ll be backsliding.”
“The Chi’ans are still producing new ships, and so are the Ki’ans and Niemians,” Magnus pressed vehemently. “The Ubadi don’t fly, but they’ve put every crystal master they’ve got to work trying to invent something to compete with Drahkian technology. We’re the most populated planet in the system—we need to be spearheading the Alcyoni effort, not lagging behind.”
“We’ve been bearing th
e financial brunt of this war from the beginning,” Roy Carmichael of Caledon shot back, his thick brogue punctuating his words. “I’m proud of what Tarsus has contributed. I’m proud of all of you. But we have to ask ourselves what good it’s doing to keep sending expensive technology against the reptiles that doesn’t seem to work. The Drahks are still breaking the portals, still able to shift anywhere at will while all of you are strapped to using those ancient rings.”
“Has anyone been able to salvage any Drahkian equipment for our engineers to study?” Dieter asked, sending a questioning look to Miros.
The admiral shook his shaggy dark head, his mouth twisting with chagrin. “No, nothing larger than fine rubble, and no matter what we’ve tried, we haven’t been able to capture any of them. Surrender must not be in the Drahkian vocabulary—they fight until they’re dead.”
“Top-down culture, like Yuri said nearly two years ago,” Al grumbled, glaring at no one in particular. “At least the Maians won’t give up. Thank the Prime they’re Pleiadian.”
“And so are the Meropeans,” Magnus hammered. “They’re family! We can’t give up on them. With Ngama’s loss last month, millions more Meropean lives are down the sewer, but the billions on Sahara, Dashen, and Bandu still have a chance.”
“We’re not without sympathy for the Meropeans—that’s why you’re there,” Roy replied. “It just feels like we’re throwing our funds and the lives of our own fleet away on someone else’s deteriorating war. We have better things to spend our budgets on.”
“Like what?” Magnus snapped heatedly. “Are we going to sit around and wait until we’re all slaves under the Drahks? What if we’re next on the list?”
A firm hand on his back made him bite back the rest of his words and sit back in his chair. Miros’s steely countenance told him the admiral was just as angry as he was, but apparently he believed there was nothing further to be gained for the moment by continuing the argument.
Descent of the Maw Page 8
