Gradient

by Anders Cahill

  “Ghis did not send me, great magus Oren.”

  “Then why are you trying to find me?”

  “I come to pledge myself to you.”

  “Wait. What? I… I do not need a devotee, Socha.”

  He did not say anything.

  “How did you get across?”

  “I swam.”

  “You swam! Remarkable. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “No luck. Only the will of the gods, and the will of men who defy them.”

  I did not know what to make of that, so I said, “And Ghis just let you go?”

  “I left at night, while he and the others slept.”

  I sighed. “We cannot leave you down here, wandering the tunnels. I will take you to a place where you can sleep.”

  Socha nodded, and a smile crept onto his stern face. “Thank you, great magus,” he said, “you do me a great honor.”

  I snorted, then said, “I have done nothing yet, Socha, except to let you live. Do not try anything foolish. We will figure out what to do with you in the morning.”

  * * *

  “Eledar’s breath,” Xayes said, “he wants to pledge himself to you?”

  We were on board Reacher, on the main deck, watching a live holo feed of Socha. I had brought him to my underground quarters and locked him in. Now it was morning, light shining down through the shaft in the ceiling, and he was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, his eye closed, his breathing slow and even.

  “That’s what he said to me last night.”

  “Pledge himself to do what, exactly?”

  “We didn’t get that far.”

  “He will not be the last,” Sid said. “The more these peoples learn about us and what we are capable of, the harder it will be for us to maintain any sort of objective distance.”

  “So what do we do with him?” I asked.

  “If we keep him here, it means we have to watch him. I don’t like the idea of having him around when it is still so early, when we still have so much work to do.”

  “Maybe he can help us,” I said.

  “Help us how?” Xayes said. “He doesn’t have a field port, and you cannot be suggesting we give him one.” He scrutinized me. “Right?”

  I smirked. “No, Xayes. Not that,” I said. “But there are other ways he might be useful to us.” I paused, gathering my thoughts, trying to take the idea that was lurking beyond words and bring it into the group. “Adjet and your brother have gone to the city of Akshak in the land of Kkad. Neka and Cordar have returned to Sur, the Sagain capital.

  “They are the first ambassadors to a new world, a world none of us had predicted. If we are going to inhabit this planet, we can only do it with the full knowledge that we are not working with a blank cultural slate.”

  “Okay,” Xayes said, “but I’m still not totally tracking you here…”

  “Stay with me. The Fellowship learned a long time ago that the strongest galactic protectorates are founded on integration, yes?”

  They both nodded in agreement.

  “If we want to establish a permanent settlement on a new world, we cannot come along and strip it clean, flattening it, paving it over, forcing it to conform to the Forsaran planetary ideal. Instead, we identify planets along a spectrum of certain fundamental parameters, and then we adapt our approach, based on the particular planet.

  “We do this so well because the field allows us to access and manipulate the resources of the planet to help us achieve our goals, while minimizing the risk that our interventions will be catastrophic for that planet’s particular ecosystem. We need to do the same thing with these peoples.”

  “So you’re saying we should access their culture and manipulate them?” Xayes said.

  “Eledar’s breath, man. When you put it like that, it sounds nefarious. Look, every analogy staggers. I am not equating these people to inanimate resources to be used and abused. I am trying to say the opposite. That we must understand them so deeply, so intimately, that what we build, no matter how incredible it is, is not so alien and terrifying to them that they reject it, like antibodies attacking a foreign bacterium. What we build here has to work not just within the confines of this particular planet’s biome, but also in the context of the cultural world these people have already built here.”

  Sid picked up the thread. “Right, right,” he said. “I see what you are getting at. We can’t just build whatever we want. For instance, if our architecture is too strange, then they will see nothing of themselves in us. They will fear us. Hate us. And that will turn ugly for everyone.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You still haven’t told us where Socha fits in, pausha,” Xayes said.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Well… no,” Xayes said, narrowing his eyes at me.

  “On behalf of all of the people of the planet Eaiph, Socha will become their first intergalactic ambassador.”

  Part 3

  Loss

  22 Threat to Peace

  “Socha,” I said quietly.

  I had watched him for a moment before interrupting. He had been kneeling in the simple waiting chamber, his eyes closed, taking long, slow breaths through his nose. When I spoke, he lifted his head to look up at me with his seeing eye.

  “They will call for us soon, I think. Are you ready?” I said.

  He nodded and stood up. He was wearing his heavy, flaxen cloak, held together at the neck by the small clasp of silver we had gifted to him when he pledged his service to the dream of Manderlas: two rings overlapping to form the unbreakable chain, the sigil of the Fellowship. And now, it served as the symbol of the new world we were trying to forge here on Eaiph.

  In the past year, we had made significant progress on Manderlas, carving out a small settlement at the base of Lanthas, the lone peak that capped our isle. We named the mountain for Ai Lanta, twelfth scion of Eledar, and first astronomist of Forsara. Her maths had become the groundwork for a whole school of astronomic thought that ultimately opened up the galaxy to our Forsaran ancestors, the first settlers, the first to seed human life across the galaxy. We were building what was to become another link in that galactic chain, a new capital to unify the multitude of city-states that spanned the twin river lands of Kkad and Sagamer, uniting all the warring peoples.

  While Sid, Xayes, Socha and I had been busy on Manderlas, Neka and Cordar had returned to the capital city of Sur in Sagamer, and by all accounts, their formal overtures to the Sagian nobility had been met with cautious optimism. And by invoking an ancient religious prescript, Adjet and Xander had managed to bring almost all of the prominent Kkadian factions together in the city of Akshak, a gathering held safe beneath the banner of their council of clerics.

  Thanks to those efforts, looming hostilities between the Sagain and Kkadie had been forestalled. But something had gone wrong in Akshak. Three days ago, word had come from Adjet that Ghisanyo was fomenting unrest, and tensions in the city were starting to boil again.

  She had pleaded with us to come as quickly as possible, but the data packet had somehow become corrupted, and her message was cut short before we could discern the details. After that, we were unable to reestablish communications, either with her or Xander. Fearing the worst, I’d left Sid and Xayes with Reacher, and brought Socha in hopes that his presence might serve as a sign of cooperation amidst any threat of conflict.

  We landed the hopper out beyond the edge of the city, walking in on foot. I’d wanted to find Adjet and Xander without drawing attention to ourselves, but it was a foolish hope. Word of our presence rippled through the populace, and within a few minutes of our arrival, a small troupe of guards had surrounded us, demanding we follow them. Now, we stood in the antechamber of the holy temple of Akshak, waiting for an audience with the council of Kkadian clerics.

  “This will not be easy,” I said.

  “Nothing of this year has been easy, great magus,” he said, rising to his feet, “but I did not follow this path to find ease.”


  I paused for a moment, appraising him. “You don’t seem nervous.”

  He gave me a long look, the milky white film of his sightless eye glistening in the torchlight while his seeing eye searched my face.

  “My worries are of no consequence,” he said. “I have made my pledge, and my life is not my own. Though I have neither the gilded tongue of a noble nor the sacred wisdom of a cleric, I will do whatever need be done for the good of my people. For the good of all people. I’ve seen too much blood shed - shed too much of it myself - to let us turn again to war.”

  As Socha spoke those words, a guard emerged from the interior chamber of the temple. There was fear in his eyes as he looked up at me. By now, I knew the look. It was the same look every other person had given me as Socha and I made our way through the dusty streets of Akshak to the temple at the center of the city. But the man’s voice did not waver as he gave us the summons.

  “The council is ready for you,” he said.

  * * *

  There were almost two dozen of them, the clerics, resplendent in their ceremonial garb. They sat at an oblong table beneath the vaulted ceiling of the temple hall. At the far end of the room, a fearsome visage molded in intricate detail rested atop an altar. It could only be the face of Akshak, the god for whom the city was named.

  The table was made of polished cedar wood, a precious resource in these arid, mountainous climes. The clerics shifted in their seats, turning to watch us as we walked in. Each one represented both a god and the settlement of people over which that god ruled. They were all dressed differently, as if their collective goal was to see who could be the most ostentatious. It was an impressive sartorial display.

  I glanced around the group, but saw no sign of Adjet or Xander. That worried me. At the head of the table, a woman wore a towering hat made of cream silk and gold ribbon, perched on her head in a way that made me think of a giant lizard egg. The bright silk of the hat contrasted against her hazel skin, and her eyes were painted thick around the edges with a dark pigment that gave her a penetrating look, like some bird of prey.

  A shirtless cleric sat towards the end of the table closest to us. He was skinny, with thin, bird-like bones, but he had an incongruous little pot belly sticking out over the waist of his flowing trousers. A sequence of circular glyph tattoos ran up the vertical centerline of his bare torso, climbing from beneath his waistband and up across his belly and chest, all the way to the remarkably large lump of cartilage that protruded beneath the skin of his throat.

  Across from him, a woman who looked to be the eldest among the group wore a magnificent silk cape, embroidered with a menagerie of different animals. It was midnight blue, fringed with gold, and it draped her shoulders and arms, concealing her whole body, the fabric spilling down the sides of her chair, pooling on the floor.

  Socha and I came to stand at the end of the table, holding a respectful silence beneath the weight of their collective gaze, regarding us as they did with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and animosity.

  “Socha!” one of them cried out. A man towards the middle of the table stood up and started walking towards us. His head was covered with a tight halo of gold that left his bald pate exposed, glowing oiled in the torchlight. Thick ceremonial lines were drawn with gold pigment across his cheeks and chin, forming a sparkling beard on his face.

  “Well, this is an unexpected surprise!” he said, walking up to us. He glanced up at me, taking me in with his sharp, dark eyes, but he did not bear the look of fear I’d seen on so many others in this city. He brought his attention back to Socha. “What a pleasure it is to see you again, old friend.”

  Socha gave the man a modest bow. “Greetings, Prelate Ofir,” he said.

  Looking past them, I saw the shirtless cleric with the thin bones and pot belly lift his hand in the air. A younger man emerged out of the shadows, and leaned in as the cleric whispered something to him. The man nodded, then turned and hurried out of the chamber through a far entrance.

  Prelate Ofir clapped Socha on the shoulder. “Lord Ghisanyo said that you fled his service in the dark of night. But that doesn’t sound like the man I know.”

  “I did not flee,” Socha said. “I chose to commit myself to something greater.”

  The potbellied cleric let out a rude laugh at that, the gorge in his throat rising and falling like a plumb weight.

  Socha kept his eyes averted, maintaining a respectful neutrality in his expression, but the cleric Ofir turned and glared at the man, reproaching him with a sharp look.

  He turned back to Socha. “We’ve seen too much loss in these trying years, old friend. It gladdens my heart to have you back among us.” He gave Socha’s shoulder one last squeeze then went to sit back down.

  We stayed standing. I cleared my throat, trying not to fidget as they continued to stare at us, wondering whether I should say something. I glanced at Socha, but his face was a mask of calm.

  Then, perhaps by some signal I was not attuned to, the clerics all turned and looked at the woman at the head of the table with the tall, cream-colored hat.

  Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she spoke. “So the stories are true,” she said. “You are as imposing as they say. You are the one they call Orenpausha?” My name sounded foreign with the emphasis of her accent.

  I bowed my head to her. This woman clearly carried significant authority among the conclave. “Yes. My name is Oren Siris. And I assure you, your eminence, I’m not here to impose anything. We come under a banner of peace and goodwill.” Over the past year, with Reacher and Socha’s help, I’d become quite fluent in the local dialect.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, “many of my companions think your presence here an ill omen, magus. And to hear you speak makes me wonder if they are not right? You use our words, you speak our tongue, but your voice gives you away. You are a stranger here, and though you claim to come in peace, our people are on the brink of bloodshed.”

  “My companions, Adjet and Xander, warned us as much. We thought,” I gestured to Socha, “that we might be able to help. But I’m surprised that they are not here.”

  An awkward silence settled over the council chambers. Clerics exchanged loaded glances, saying nothing. The god Akshak glared at me from his altar across the room.

  The elder woman in the midnight silk cape finally broke the silence. “My fellow prelates are too delicate to say so outright, magus, perhaps for fear of angering you,” she gestured towards me, “but my years are waning, and I’ve no time to spare for beating the ground to chase snakes from the brush.

  “Your companions,” she met my eyes with a challenging stare, “are the cause of our troubles.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. Adjet had said nothing of this in her missives to us. By all her earlier accounts, she and Xander had been welcomed amongst the Kkadian people. And from what we could glean from her most recent message, it was Ghis who was stirring up trouble.

  “If I’ve learned nothing else in all my years,” the elder cleric went on, “it is that the gods do what they will, regardless of our foolish mortal prayers. As clerics, it is our duty to interpret the will of the gods as best we can, so that all people can live as we are meant to.

  “But that is no easy task. People are too easily fooled or misled, and the powers you wield are seductive and disruptive. Your kind claim to have come from the stars to bring peace, yet it seems you could destroy us all if you so chose. How can you ask us to trust you with that?”

  Before I could answer, the sounds of commotion came from behind us. Everyone turned, looking past us as the door swung open and Lord Ghisanyo En-Shul came barging in.

  * * *

  Ghis looked fierce and handsome, his beard running down from his chin in a thick braid, threaded with gold. His clothing was finer than when last we met, flaxen cloak dyed with purples and greens, leather boots fringed with camel hair, and the sword scabbard hanging from his waist traced with gold to match his beard.

  Gasps and grumblings fill
ed the chamber as he marched in, four armed men trailing behind him. They had disarmed the two temple guards at the entrance, who hung their heads with shame as they marched in front of the armed intruders, swords at their back.

  “Lord Ghisanyo,” a voice said above the tumult.

  I turned to see that many of the clerics where standing, shock and dismay on their faces. But the woman at the far end of the table with the tall hat was still sitting. She projected an authoritative confidence.

  Ghis came up short. He held up a hand, and his armed footmen halted behind him.

  “What blasphemy is this?” she said.

  “Blasphemy, Volda?” he snarled. “You accuse me of blaspheming when you bring this… this filth into the hallowed chambers of Akshak without the knowledge of the people?”

  He spat a glob of phlegm at us. It landed near Socha’s feet.

  “Lord Ghisanyo,” Socha said, bowing his head low, unerring in his respect even in the face of Ghis’s bile.

  Ghis was about to retort when the woman he had called Volda interjected. “A stranger arrives from out of the desert on the eve of a council gathering, and with one of our own at his side. What would you have us do? Let them roam the city wherever they please?”

  Ghis scowled, reaching his hand up under his long hair and rubbing the back of his neck while he glared at Socha. But he said nothing.

  “My father,” came another voice, “would prefer it if we informed him before our every decision, so that we might meet with his approval.” A young man sitting close to Volda. He wore a handsome indigo robe, and his face was shorn clean. It was Ghis, twenty years younger!

  Ghis snorted. “You know, boy, there are some who still believe blood means something. You would do well to learn that lesson.”

  “Ah. Of course, father. After all, you’ve done so very much to inspire my loyalty. But then what use would Torto be to you,” he nodded towards the potbellied cleric, “if not to keep you apprised of all the goings on inside these chambers?”