The Seeds of Dissolution

by William C. Tracy

  “Drains,” Origon corrected. “Yes, I am here with even more evidence. Not only that, but I have an important announ—”

  Jhina Moerna Oscana cut him off, large watery eyes glaring. “Tell us about the boy with you. Rilan mentioned him briefly.” Jhina was the head of the House of Grace and also the Speaker for the Council, in the Great Assembly. Like most Etanela, her words flowed together, and she topped the other councilors by at least an arm span. She bobbed her head at Sam, mane of dark hair waving with the movement.

  Origon glanced back at Sam, whose mouth was open, eyes wide and darting. “He is newly touching his song, and has created his first portal to escape a Drain,” he told them. “You are having another witness now to these abominations. In addition, I have decided to—”

  “More of your conspiracy theories,” hissed Freshta. Origon let his crest flare this time at the interruption. He drew a long breath in through his teeth. The Pixie was a weak choice for the head of the House of Communication, and he had protested her elevation, three cycles ago. Freshta’s wings beat furiously, lifting her small body off her chair. Her compound eyes glittered black, reflecting the lamps spaced around the walls. “First assassins, then impossible voids. Now you conjure allies when even the space capsule crew retracts their absurd claims.” Jhina laid a calming hand on the Pixie’s shoulder and Freshta settled back with a frown.

  “I am not making up claims—”

  “Councilor Freshta is correct, Majus Cyrysi.” Jhina stressed his title. Her words rolled over each other like a tide coming in. Origon forced his crest back to neutral. “We are occupied with escalating indications of the Aridori, who may have replaced or killed several families in the grainlands of the Nether, according to the newest reports. You yourself were present today when Councilor Ayama kept a mob from turning violent on a lone Sureri. As such, we have no time for unfounded crises.”

  So Rilan was the one who stopped that rabble single-handedly? No matter—he didn’t need credit. Origon threw one hand out to his old friend, whose lips were compressed to a thin line. “Yet you do not listen to your own councilors? I have given you proof, Speaker Oscana. The entire crew of the Methiemum capsule gave reports on the Drain they saw, even if you were pressuring them to recant.”

  “Does anyone want to ask me?”

  Origon almost jumped at the voice. He hadn’t expected Sam to speak. When he looked back, the pocketwatch was out, in one trembling hand, but the young man, surprisingly, stood tall. The councilors looked interested, so Origon stayed silent.

  “What is your name?” Jhina asked.

  “Um. Samuel van Oen,” he replied nervously.

  “Tell them what you told us,” Rilan said. She sounded calm, but there were honey colored spots showing through the normally dark copper of her cheeks. He was not the only one annoyed with the other councilors.

  Sam recounted the same panicked explanation of his escape. Rilan’s mental bandage must be all but gone, shaky as the young man was. He ended in a whisper, but got across the same details he had told Origon and Rilan about the Drain affecting his home. That would have to get the Council interested, especially when Origon told them he was taking Sam as an apprentice to help study the—

  “This happened where?” Bofan asked. “On Methiem, I presume?”

  Sam only shook his head, eyes down. He was breathing fast and Origon let the Nether translate his emotion state—near panic. He likely couldn’t do anything to help, but he at least abandoned announcing that he was taking on an apprentice for the moment. This was the most interested the Council had been in the Drains. “He says he was raised on a separate homeworld, not one of the ten,” Origon told them. “This tells us the Drain’s area of effect is larger than I originally thought.”

  Freshta’s wings buzzed in agitation and she cut one small hand through the air. Sam did a double take at the sound and stepped back. The Pixie’s eyes had that effect on some people. She addressed Origon. “First conspiracy theories, now you bring a Methiemum with outlandish stories to help you. Go back to your wandering and let us work on real problems, like Aridori.”

  “Real problems?” Origon asked her. He let his crest rise in anger. Freshta barely had a handle on the politics of the House of Communication, much less the Great Assembly. He could have done a better job as head of house, if he desired that job. “How is panicking over phantoms a thousand cycles dead a larger problem than that which destroyed the Methiemum’s space capsule a few ten-days ago?”

  “Have you seen reports?” The Pixie waved a paper at him. “No. Because you are not on Council of Maji. You have been traveling outside Nether; have not seen protests here over Aridori threat. Have not seen unrest in Low and Mid Imperium. You do not get to decide what maji do.”

  Origon’s thoughts went to the crowd and the frothing Methiemum who led them, and he glanced to Rilan. She locked eyes with him, then looked away, obviously thinking of the same thing. Was it really that big of a problem? “I know enough about the Aridori—a scare-story being brought up every few cycles to satisfy ignorant people’s fears. I know—”

  This time Rilan cut him off. “The Aridori problem is not going away, Majus Cyrysi.” Her use of his title, and her clenched teeth, convinced him to quiet. She jerked on one arm of her dress. “Whether it is real or not, perhaps we should return to the reason you are here.”

  “Indeed. What do we do with this newcomer?” a deep voice cut in. Mandamon Feldo, head of the House of Potential, stared at Sam through dark glasses. Sam shrank down beneath the focus. Pouches and strange instruments hung from the councilor’s deep brown formal suit. Feldo turned heavy eyes on Origon, who just stopped from stepping back himself. The house head was a dusky-skinned, stern Methiemum, with a thick bushy beard and mane of hair, once black, but now more white than not. He had kept the Council on course for many cycles, since before Rilan had been raised to majus.

  “That, at least, will be settled easily,” Origon told them. Finally. He straightened, settling his crest. “The portal he came through was ringed in the yellow of the House of Communication.” As well as another color, but no matter. Training would bring the young man’s secondary color out for sure. “I am taking Sam as my apprentice, both to help my study of the Drains and to help him find his homeworld.”

  There was a collective shuffling as the councilmembers sat forward—even Rilan. Origon let the corners of his mouth pull up. That had made them pause. “Then it is no problem if you would rather take on the threat of the Aridori. I will be collecting maji on my own to study the Drains.” He looked over the six councilmembers. “And report my findings, of course.”

  Freshta buzzed up off the chair, her wings twitching in agitation. “No. We need apprentices to track Aridori. If he is Communication, then I can take him.” Origon stared daggers at her. Sam made a small noise and Origon glared at him, letting his crest rise slowly. Sam closed his mouth. Now was not the time.

  “My apprentice and I have already come to that decision between us, as maji and apprentices have always chosen.”

  “Maji usually are choosing who they shall train while enmeshed in the culture of the Nether,” said the last member of the Council. Scintien Nectiset, head of the House of Strength, absently tugged her pink and green shawl tighter around her fleshy bare arms. Now she joined in the Council’s debate? She was as useless as Freshta, though Scintien largely kept silent, knowing her weakness. The Kirian’s topfeathers ruffled in anticipation of stymieing him. “These times call for stricter measures in making sure our apprentices are adequately prepared.”

  “Yet the final decision still belongs to the majus,” Origon stated.

  “Does it? Then maybe time to look at apprentice processes again,” Freshta said. She darted a look at Rilan. “With so much crisis over Aridori, what does Council say of revoking maji rights to choosing apprentices, for a limited time?”

  Scintien actually looked thoughtful at the ridiculous request. That egg-sucking
daughter of a grub-digger. Origon thumped one fist into his thigh. First disbelief of the Drains, now interfering with a majus prerogative? “It should not be questioned whether I may take Sam as my apprentice.” He risked a look back. The young man’s head was up, scanning across the faces of the councilors. “Am I needing to make this an issue for all maji? Perhaps during an Assembly meeting? I am certain others will have objections as well.” The whole Council could not be so wrapped up in this drivel about the long-lost Aridori species.

  “A vote, then,” Jhina said. “If the Council agrees to Councilor Freshta’s suggestion, you may make an appeal formally, if you wish, though the boy will be hers for the time being.” As Speaker, she had authority to call consensus votes, and Origon felt his crest go rigid with anxiety, but he had no response. Surely a majority would back him up? They could not take this away. He was so close to discovering more about the Drains.

  “All for the new proposal?” Freshta raised her hand for Communication, as did Bofan for Power and Scintien for Strength. His own houses, and his own species voted against him. He kept his crest down, grinding his teeth together.

  “Against?” Jhina asked, and Rilan raised her hand. After a moment, Councilor Feldo raised his as well, watching Sam. Jhina looked over the other councilors, one long finger tapping against her chin. Was the Etanela actually considering voting against him? She was the voice of the Council to the Assembly. She was supposed to be impartial, enacting the rules and traditions of the maji. As Speaker, she had the final vote, and counted for two in a tie. Origon realized he was holding his breath. With his song so disturbingly reduced after piloting the Methiemum’s capsule, he needed all the support he could find to raise word of the Drains.

  “Even apprentices can be of use in our situation,” Jhina drawled, musing. “They can open portals, helping traffic between the homeworlds and the Nether. Even if they do not have the control of a full majus, they would be icons of authority, helping to quell fears of the Aridori. They could be sent to the different cities of the Nether and homeworlds, where allowed, improving our reach. There is something to be said for the Council directing apprentices where they will be of most help to the Great Assembly of the Species.”

  Now Origon let his crest flare in utter incredulity. Was she really suggesting they abandon the approach the maji had taken for hundreds of cycles, letting apprentices learn the topics they were most interested in, bettering themselves, and rising to the top of their professions? There was a reason maji were regarded as near celebrities, besides their small number—several thousand, compared to the billions on the homeworlds. Squashing new maji into whatever space was left over in their house would lead to dull minds and incompetence.

  “Do I get a say, since I’m the one being sold off like a slab of meat?” Once again, Sam surprised Origon. He turned to the young man—no, his apprentice, whatever the Council would say.

  “Let the boy speak,” rumbled Feldo. Rilan nodded, and Jhina waved a hand in acceptance.

  “I don’t…don’t think I’ll be much help to you,” Sam told the Council. He was stiff, breathing fast. Origon saw a bead of sweat roll down his face, but Sam swallowed and carried on.

  “I don’t know how things work here, so I won’t be much help as an icon of anything. I’d never heard of the Aridori until this morning. Before that I was trapped in a freezing house—” Sam cut off, staring forward, bottom lip pulled in. The Nether translated it to Origon as possibly fear? Maybe grief.

  Sam drew in a breath. “I’m not good with new people and places, so I won’t be going through portals until I get my bearings, if then.” He blinked rapidly, hands in pockets, then smoothing out his shirt, then back to his pockets.

  “Even if you forbid me, I’ll still help Majus Cyrysi find out about the Drains. I…have to. One killed my aunt.” He looked down, then back up, eyes red. “I have to find out what happened.” He looked across the Council again. “That’s—that’s all.”

  Origon heard one of the windows creak in the silence.

  “Hm. You have an interesting apprentice, Origon,” Jhina said, steepling her fingers. “Frankly, I would rather him be a burden to you than to a majus working toward the Council’s goals.” She looked across her fellow councilmembers. “I vote against.”

  Origon slumped, hearing Sam give a quiet cry of triumph. “Will the others concede?” Jhina asked. The Council always showed a united front outside of chambers.

  “Bah.” Freshta waved a hand in the air. “I don’t have time for apprentice anyway. Especially not this one.” Bofan and Scintien watched her, then nodded their assent. The Pixie glanced to where Rilan sat on the end. “I think we will revisit this concept, though.”

  Origon watched Rilan, his one-time student, his old confidant, whose brows were creased in a frown. She would have to keep fighting the Council on this half-hatched idea by herself for now.

  He bowed to the councilors. “I am thanking you for your consideration.” Like pulling feathers from a live raptor. “I believe my new apprentice and I will be having much to do.”

  “Time to go,” he murmured to Sam, and the young man nodded vigorously. They left the Council chambers, Sam right beside him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Crisis of Apprentices

  -The Sathssn are unusual among the ten species, in that nearly eighty percent of the population follow the same religion—the Cult of Form. Only around the hottest tropical regions of Sath Home do inhabitants fully spurn the concealing black robes, gloves, boots, and religion, which typify this founding species.

  Excerpt from “A Dissertation on the Ten Species, Book V”

  Rilan started awake at an insistent knocking.

  “Uh. What? I’m coming,” she called blearily. She pushed out of the warm covers, grumbling around the room until she found enough clothes to be decent. The council meeting had lasted until late last afternoon, debating new policies to enact in the face of the rising panic over the Aridori. Terrifying as the reports were, Rilan didn’t want to change long-accepted traditions in the maji. But Freshta had been adamant about revising the apprenticing process, so they had ended with no resolution.

  She had met up with Ori and Sam for a quick dinner before they left to requisition a bed and some basic supplies for the young man. Apprentices lived with their mentors and Ori had never had one. The past few ten-days had been the longest she had spent with him in the last several cycles, though thankfully his attention was on Sam. That kept her from foolish actions like inviting Ori over for late night drinks. They had been too long apart. Her place was on the Council, not gallivanting across the ten homeworlds.

  More banging on the door. Rilan pulled on her shirt and glared out a window—a perk of the apartment for the head of the House of Healing. It was around fifth lightening, the light from the walls barely strong enough to make out details, and far too early for anyone to be hanging on the knocker.

  “Hold on!” She bumbled to the door and jerked it open. “Who are you and what do you—oh.” Rilan’s eyes were drawn down to the Pixie buzzing happily, then back up to the short girl beside her. Just because the gods-cursed bugs didn’t sleep didn’t mean they had to inflict it on everyone else. “What do you want, Freshta? Who is this?”

  “This is new apprentice, for you,” the councilor said. Her face was serious, compound eyes wide and innocent, but the Nether didn’t let Freshta disguise her body language. If her wings were any indication, vibrating every few seconds, she was viciously happy about foisting this girl off on Rilan.

  “My apprentice? I didn’t agree to this. Wasn’t the debate in the council chambers yesterday enough to remind you maji choose their own apprentices?” The girl held her head high, though her dark eyes flicked between the Pixie and Rilan. Her hands were folded in front of her red silk shirt, tucked into sturdy canvas pants, but her fingers tapped as she listened to the exchange.

  “We talked a bit, after you left,” Freshta admitted. “Rest of
Council was unanimous. More apprentices need quality training to get ready for Aridori threat.” The girl twitched at that, her head turning to the blueish Pixie half-floating beside her. Anyone would get nervous at the mention of those monsters, especially treated as reality.

  “Why me? Why now?” Rilan pressed. Training, hogwash. The Council was tying her down with work so she couldn’t make waves around Ori’s voids. “We’ve only had three new apprentices able to hear the Symphony this cycle. They don’t just appear out of portals.”

  “This one did.” Freshta’s smile stretched across her face. “Very strong. House of Healing.” She urged the girl forward with one small hand.

  “My brother and I were recently orphaned.” The girl finally spoke, her voice on the knife edge between control and grief, and Rilan reassessed her age a few cycles higher—a woman, not a girl. Might be around Sam’s age, or a little older. She was compact, for a Methiemum, one of the Northern continent ancestries, maybe from the Ofir archipelago.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Enos, Councilor.”

  “Anything else?” Maybe names were different up there.

  “Just Enos.”

  “So. You get along,” Freshta broke in. “Must get back to important work. Your friend has good ideas, taking on apprentice now.”

  Shiv take that Kirian, Rilan thought, as Freshta buzzed off. She wondered how many other councilors would get new apprentices to “prepare” for the Aridori. If any did, they were likely able to choose their own. She drew in a long breath, let it out.

  “You might as well come in,” she told the young woman, backing into her apartment’s entrance hall. Enos followed, as stiff as if she’d been stuffed.