The Seeds of Dissolution

by William C. Tracy

  “Please be seated.” Jhina Moerna Oscana’s amplified voice boomed through the System the maji laid over the Assembly, and representatives drifted toward their seats, breaking up little groups discussing the day’s schedule. Jhina bent her long neck close to the Effature. Probably urging him to get this meeting started. The little man nodded sagely, light catching the diadem on his bald head while his eyes roamed the rest of the arena. His long polished fingernails tapped the arm of his chair. Anyone who didn’t know him would not see the tension in him.

  The Effature had been caretaker of the Nether for as long as anyone could remember, and his iron will held the Great Assembly together as firmly as the peace accord the species had signed after the end of the Aridori war.

  The Effature put a hand on Jhina’s, then rose from his chair. Quiet fell in waves through the Assembly, as the last delegates scurried to sit. The afternoon light from the Nether walls shone through the sheet of crystal covering the top of the Assembly—the same construction as the walls and the columns, though no one alive remembered how it was created. The Effature tilted his head back to address the Assembly.

  “Friends, today there is a topic of importance to us all.” His voice was like melted chocolate, rich and warm and much deeper than anyone of his size had a right to. “I call for level heads, and a willingness to hear all sides. This meeting of the Great Assembly is begun.”

  The Effature sat down, green and purple scaled robes of office spreading out beneath him, long sleeves draped over his armrests. He nodded once to Jhina, as even though the councilmembers were given seats on the floor, only Jhina, the Speaker for the Council, would address the Assembly directly.

  “Thank you, Effature.” The Speaker for the Council, head of the House of Grace, was tall even for an Etanela. The speakers for her species were on the other side of the rotunda, and she commanded an instantaneous presence, sitting between shorter beings. Runners began carrying messages down from the seats to the floor.

  “For months, talk of the threat of the Aridori has been higher than in living memory, with multiple reports coming in of sightings. Yet to this date there has been no true confirmation of the rumors.” Jhina’s words rolled over each other in the fluid way of the Etanela, and she looked around the circle of speakers. “Today a faction of the Sathssn, who favor increased isolation, will speak to this point. Speaker Veerga, you have information to bring forward?” She addressed one of the six Sathssn speakers, who rose and came to the middle of the floor.

  Rilan squinted at him. It was often hard to tell Sathssn apart. They were a short species, comparatively, and nearly all of them, even the maji, held that the body was sacred, not something to show about. She had no problem with that, but she had never got an answer to why they only wore black. It was like watching a parade of phantoms. If only they wore some color, I might be able to tell them apart. At least the Sathssn maji showed their colors in an insignia on their chest. She didn’t know what orator, long ago, had convinced them of that—probably a Kirian—but she commended their memory to the gods.

  “Yes, Speaker Oscana,” the Sathssn said. Like many of his species, his words lingered on the sibilant syllables. “The Most Traditional Servants of the Holy Form, they are concerned for their welfare. They believe this Assembly is no longer capable of protecting their group from outside threats, and wish their political faction to be allowed to withdraw from the Sathssn delegation. The Servants, they also wish to close their borders to any blasphemers—” Speaker Veerga broke off at a rising murmur among the delegates, the dark cowl covering his head whipping back and forth. “I apologize. I merely mean those who do not follow the Cult of Form. No offense is meant to the other species.”

  Rilan flipped through a pile of dossiers next to her chair as ripples of comments ran across those assembled. Veerga is a new speaker, raised this cycle. Hence his mistake. She flipped back a few pages, then raised her eyebrows. Three of the six Sathssn speakers are newly raised, as their predecessors died of…natural causes. Right. That could mean a multitude of reasons among the Sathssn, including their body failing to meet the strict limitations of the Cult of Form.

  “I assume proof is here?” One of the Pixie speakers cut in to the Sathssn’s request for the Servant’s secession. She should have waited for the floor, but the Pixies weren’t big on procedure.

  Veerga turned to the Pixie. “We, that is the Most Traditional Servants, have proof in a direct eyewitness of the Aridori—” The roar from those above drowned out the rest of his words. Diplomats, maji, and even a few speakers swiped their fingers across their eyes.

  Rilan peered at the speaker, trying to see under his cowl. The Council had been briefed beforehand, but she would bet her belt knife this Veerga was one of the Most Traditional Servants. That meant he would exit the Assembly with them, should the Assembly approve their request. A hole in the ranks of speakers was not that uncommon, but what if he took the two other new ones with him? Or all of the Sathssn speakers? How many other non-Servant Sathssn would follow this group in their exit from the Assembly?

  “How is this proof better than any of the rest we have heard?” asked one of the Lobath speakers. Zie had hir head-tentacles wrapped close around hir head, a popular style among the wari Lobath—those of the third gender.

  “This witness, he had direct contact with multiple Aridori,” Veerga said over rising murmurs. “This, I will let him tell you.”

  Another figure was descending the long set of stairs from an entrance in the middle tier of the Great Assembly. The witness. As he drew closer, Rilan was surprised to see a Sureri. Where the Sathssn were generally specist, the Sureriaj were just plain xenophobic. The two usually had little to do with each other.

  The Sureri was typical of his kind—tall and painfully thin. This one was paler than most, and the fine silky hair covering his face was nearly invisible. He wore thick leather leggings, a white ruffled shirt, and a bulging tan jacket over top.

  The Sureri walked to the center of the rotunda, and put one hand on a hip, glaring around defiantly. Veerga nodded to him and went back to his seat. The Sureri sneered after him.

  The silence stretched, until Jhina cleared her throat. “You have something to report, sir?”

  The Sureri cast her a suspicious glance before speaking, as if he wasn’t sure whether she was who she appeared to be. “Naiyul Tadisoful I am, but until recently Baldek Tadisoful I was. Yer can call me ‘Tad’.”

  “You have been disgraced?” Jhina prodded Tad.

  “Eyah. Me whole cousin-group were killed off by Aridori—” the rest of his words were drowned out by a rising drone of conversation. The Sureri quieted, glaring around.

  Jhina caught his attention when the noise died down. “You were saying, of the Aridori?”

  “They killed everyone, excepting me, and me bein’ left, the matriarchs weren’t too happy.” His gargoyle face crumpled in sadness. “They’ve turned me out, they have. I’m one of the Naiyul family now.”

  “You have corroborated this?” an elderly Etanela speaker asked Veerga.

  “That is correct, Speaker Humbano,” Veerga answered. “The Sureriaj Baldek family reports that all sixty-two of Tad’s Baldek sub-family is deceased, from the Grand Matriarch and her two mates all the way down to the youngest child—” Veerga consulted a sheet of paper, quietly hissing as he searched it. “One Baldek Tyrgithan, aged eight Sureriaj cycles.”

  “Aye, it were horrible,” Tad put in. “Them Aridori burst in the family home. Yer’d think they’d have knives and guns, but no.” He shivered elaborately, and held up one hand, tightening his long fingers into a blade. “Their very flesh changed to sharp bone, and claws. I defended me kin as best I could, but they were too powerful.” Tad wiped at one eye, his voice cracking. “They killed us all, even me old grandmothers. They were monsters, like in them stories. Took nuthin. Only wanted to kill us fer their own entertainment.” He fiddled with something in his coat. “Bess and Widders
hins were shootin’ like angry hornets, but it still weren’t enough.”

  Tad suddenly pulled two short guns from inside his leather coat. In a moment, guards appeared from the corners of the rotunda, as a hundred panicked conversations started up. The Effature held up one hand and they quieted.

  “Those were taken before you entered the Great Assembly,” he said quietly. Tad’s eyes were wide, as if he realized what he had done. He pointed the guns down to the floor, keeping his fingers away from the triggers.

  “No offense meant, yer Honor,” Tad said. “Haven’t been off me homeworld before, yer see.” He made some sort of cowing gesture, probably a sign of surrender among the Sureriaj. “They go everywhere with me, and seein’ as the Aridori are back, I don’t feel much comfortable without their protection. They’re nae loaded up now, yer honor. Them Snakeys tried to take ‘em away, but I snuck ‘em back in.” Rilan saw the entire Sathssn delegation stiffen at the slang.

  Jhina spoke. “You thought bringing them here was a good idea?”

  “I would nae come without. Not with Aridori traipsin’ around. Can’t trust no one. Lucky them guards didn’t search me again.”

  “You will have to give them up to continue to speak before the Assembly,” Jhina said.

  Tad nodded, a jerky gesture, and laid the weapons to one side, stealing glances at them.

  The Effature spoke a word to a runner next to his chair, who sped forward and gathered up the guns. He opened one hand to Jhina, who sighed. “What did the Aridori look like?” she asked.

  “Ah well, yer know, like Sureriaj.” Tad cocked his head. “They were hiding their true shapes, like in the stories, lookin’ like me family. But once they started changin’, we could all tell what they were. Slimy beasts they were, all teeth and claws. It were too late, then.”

  Conversations whispered through the Assembly. Murder inside a sub-family, and even inside a great Family-nation, were rare, though there were wars between Family-nations. It was a strong piece of evidence for Tad’s story. Still, something didn’t sit right with Rilan. There was another piece else here—something familiar. She pulled a hand down the pleats of her braid, thinking.

  “As you can see, Speaker Oscana,” Veerga said from his seat, “the Aridori, they are coming back from where they have hidden the last thousand cycles.” He raised a gloved finger. “The Sathssn, may I also remind you, they historically headed the extermination squads that hunted down the last remnants of the Aridori after the war, and as such, our species no longer feels safe. Even now, these beasts may be in the Nether.”

  There was more muttering and warding signs against Aridori at the implication, and Rilan watched the thousands of members of the Great Assembly. Any one of them might already be replaced. No. That’s stupid. Get a grip on yourself. Ori’s most likely right that these tales are being blown all out of proportion. She hoped she wasn’t just rationalizing.

  “We must protect and insulate ourselves,” Veerga said. “Therefore the Most Traditional Servants maintain their petition to withdraw.”

  * * *

  Sam followed the gangly Sureri, Enos and Inas. This was his third time across the spreading grounds of the Spire, but he kept his head down. I’ve been here before. I’ll be here a lot. He noted a tree with a curving branch that bent to the ground. A little further was a rotating sculpture with panes of some material that sang in the slight breeze. Landmarks, for future walks.

  They passed around the curvature of the column, like a wall of solidified light. The three others were joking and talking in front, and every so often Inas or his sister would look back, but they seemed content to let him bring up the rear. Sam trailed a hand across the crystal surface of the column and the six colors of the maji cascaded behind him, following his touch. Faint music spun through his head, too far away to make out the notes, though he mentally grabbed at them. He could see inside the column, where the base met the floor of the Nether several stories below. The House of Grace, on the other side of the grounds, was refracted and distorted when viewed through the column. The vision made his head swim and he looked away.

  He paused at the delineation from the purple and blue leaves of grass to cobblestone, taking in a deep breath. Past this is the Imperium. He held his watch up to his ear for a few moments, timing his inhalation. The others didn’t notice him lagging. I’ve been across the Imperium before. He practiced one of his breathing exercises. The buildings are closer together, like it’s inside. Think of them as rooms of a house.

  He pressed after them before he could think too hard, passing down several wide streets and around a few citizens of the Nether. Rey chattered excitedly to Inas in the front, throwing out a long-fingered hand to some of the obviously expensive shops selling jewelry and fine furniture. Music filtered from one—a hired street performer singing a folk song. Inas had a hand on his friend’s shoulder as they walked. Enos dropped back next to Sam and he turned to her eagerly. Anything to help me stop thinking. He focused on Enos’ round face. Human contact helped.

  “The restaurant is not far,” she told him. “We are near the divide between High and Mid Imperium. Any farther and apprentices would take too long at lunch.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you well? You seem upset.”

  Sam waved a hand, realized his watch was in it, and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I’ll be fine. I just…It’s all so new, here. A lot to take in.” She’s going to ask something else and I’ll have to explain, and that will make me nervous, and— He grasped for another topic, nodded forward. “They’re good friends. They can’t have known each other that long.”

  “About twelve days,” Enos said. She still eyed him, but was evidently willing to let his tension slide. “Rey is friendly, for a Sureri, and you know them. He’s taken a liking to Inas.”

  Sam cocked his head at her. “I don’t, actually.” Maybe I can learn about these species. He tensed as something lizardlike ran from a hole in one wall, in front of them, and up the farther wall.

  Enos ignored the scuttling creature, and raised her chin after a moment. “Ah. Well, the Sureriaj have two fathers and one mother. Their species is about two thirds men, so Sureriaj men on their own often gravitate to males from another species.”

  “What about you?” Sam asked. The more they talked, the more he could ignore the unfamiliar buildings crowding up and around, and the occasional view of a silvery column. They passed a Lobath and an Etanela, one shorter than him and rubbery, the other half again as tall. “Have you found any friends here?” He tried to hold her gaze, but nervousness made him look away.

  I could be one. I could have a friend again.

  He needed all the friends he could get, and Majus Cyrysi and Councilor Ayama didn’t really fall in that category.

  Enos paused a moment before answering. The city was changing from straight streets to the warrens of Mid Imperium, and Sam forced his breathing down to a regular cadence as the walls started to close in overhead, trailing purple vines with white trumpet flowers.

  “My brother finds friends easier than I,” she said.

  Sam could see how. Inas was smiling with Rey, joking back and forth. He also had the kind of wide face, high cheekbones, and expressive eyes that made Sam like him on instinct. Enos shared his features, but she held herself tightly, closed off.

  “Where are you from?” he asked. Enos skipped a step. “I mean, I can see you’re human, that is, Methiemum, like me.”

  “We spent several cycles in the northern mountains near TaiRapa.” At Sam’s blank stare, she added, “On Methiem.”

  “Is that a big city?”

  “We did not stay in the city. My family moved around often, in our caravan. We were merchants, you know, so we had to go where we could sell.” Enos watched her feet.

  “All over Methiem?” That sounded scary, but also exciting. Living in a moving home, always under the open sky. He suppressed a shiver.

  “All over the ten homeworlds,” she corrected, lookin
g up. Then she looked thoughtful. “Though most of the time was on Methiem.” They skirted around a trio of Methiemum talking and laughing. Sam ran his fingers along the stone blocks of the nearest building, letting the cold material ground him.

  Another topic. Anything to keep his mind from settling on one thing. He clasped his hands, using the motion to check his pulse, thumb on wrist. Too fast. The buildings swirled around them. Ask something else. “I haven’t seen any of the homeworlds yet,” he said. “Are they pretty?”

  Confusion drew Enos’ thin eyebrows down. “You were born in the Nether, and you still don’t know about the species and the maji?”

  “Oh no,” Sam laughed, a shaky thing, then sobered at her frown. “I really just got here. I come from Earth. I think I’m the first.” That sent his mind spiraling back. Freezing air, crumbling white hair, sightless eyes. I’ll get back again. I promise. The strain was building, threatening to take him down, but Enos’ steps slowed. Sam took smaller steps to accommodate. If he stopped moving, he wouldn’t start again. He tried to focus on her instead of himself. His reaction was normal, to what happened back home. He was normal. He couldn’t let it paralyze him.

  “You are Methiemum, surely?” Her round face showed confusion.

  “That’s what they tell me. Councilor Ayama said we share the same biology. But where I come from, we call ourselves ‘humans’.”

  Now Enos looked faintly sick. “She can tell all that by talking to you?”

  Sam shook his head. “She looked in my head, with her song.”

  “We’re here, so cease yer jabber,” Rey called back. Enos turned away, pulling her arms in, hands clasped together in front of her chest. Did I say something wrong? She probably thinks I’m an ignorant bumpkin. He checked his pulse again. Will she want to talk to me anymore? He couldn’t tell if it was the walk or his nervousness making his heart race.