The Seeds of Dissolution

by William C. Tracy

  “Time was of the essence to give us a chance to catch the attackers,” Jhina countered.

  “But you didn’t catch them,” Rilan said. “I’m still not convinced the attackers were Aridori. Why target a member of the Council? That’s the quickest way to bring a hidden species out in the open.”

  “Yet we will not spread either version of the story,” Jhina said, her large eyes unusually sharp. “The Council intends to declare that Bofan A’Tof died of natural causes. We do not dare risk panic in light of this discovery.”

  Something clicked in Rilan’s mind. “You’ve already disposed of his body. That’s why there’s nothing left for me to examine. You had to get rid of the evidence before anything got out and caused more panic in the Assembly.” She shook her head, gritting her teeth. Deciding without her, again. It was left over from when she joined the Council, surrounded by members much older and more experienced than her. That was no longer the case. “If you had left some evidence for me, I could tell you if the group that attacked Bofan was similar to the one that attacked me.”

  “Attacked you?” Freshta buzzed a handbreadth above her chair.

  “When?” The sharpness was back in Feldo’s voice.

  “On the way here,” Rilan said. “The reason for my disarray and tardiness.” She briefly explained what happened, leaving out certain pieces the Council would not approve of. “The man who led them knows others who feel the same. That’s who you should be concerned about—the citizens of the Imperium attacking maji, not ghost stories still without solid evidence.” By Brahm, Ori was getting to her. Though he had reason, and was more logical than these blowhards, save Feldo perhaps. Back when we traveled the homeworlds, sleeping together under the stars— No. No time for that now.

  Rilan looked to Feldo, his eyes hidden behind a reflection in his glasses. His mouth was pulled tight. “I’ll wager you the same people encouraging these groups are planting the seed of secession with the Most Traditional Servants.” Rilan glanced over the others. No one responded. “The man that attacked me certainly wasn’t Aridori, or he would have fixed his broken arm. We don’t even know what the Aridori can do, if they are still around.”

  “Organization of citizens against the maji, influencing Assembly decisions, is preposterous,” Freshta said. “Now is time to elect new councilor, not chase rumors.”

  Now who was diverting the Council from its investigations? Rilan ignored her, and watched Jhina and Feldo. Jhina shook her head, but Feldo only watched Rilan.

  “It is as Councilor Freshta says,” Feldo agreed. “Whether your claims are true or not, we have no way to discover proof in Councilor A’Tof’s murder, now the immediate evidence is gone. The most pressing matter is to elect a new councilor for the House of Power. Only with a full council can we investigate your claims.”

  “How long will that take?” Rilan asked. “When Karendi died it took nearly a cycle to elect Freshta. Can we ignore assaults on maji for that long? Feldo, they knew I was a majus. No one in their right mind attacks maji, and I was set upon by five.” Yet Bofan required eight.

  “Then with these attacks at hand, we must decide quickly,” Jhina said. “We must hope no other maji are assaulted in the meantime. We should release a statement warning the houses immediately, though perhaps not in the same statement with Bofan’s death.”

  “So no one gets suspicious,” Rilan said. The others glared at her. She glared back. This was ridiculous. If Karendi had still been alive, Speaker for the Council instead of Jhina, the old Kirian would have tolerated none of this hesitancy. Feldo was naturally cautious, but Karendi had known how to draw out his genius at deductive analysis.

  Suddenly, Rilan wished she hadn’t stopped Ori when he tried to leave for Methiem, most of a ten-day back. At least he was trying to do something, even if it was about his voids. With the lack of evidence of the Aridori, they were at least as important as these attacks.

  “We must be fully represented, and put this matter behind us as quickly as possible, for when the Assembly resumes over the matter of the secession of the Most Traditional Servants,” Jhina said. She leaned forward. “We intend to have them rejoin the Assembly.”

  Rilan rolled her eyes. “They’re all the way home with the doors locked!” she exploded. “The Servants are gone. Shiv’s teeth, people—you’re far too late, and you’re not looking at the most pressing matter at hand. I’m not convinced the Aridori exist, but someone is trying like blazes to make us think they do. They’re attacking the maji and you’re trying to win back the favor of a group no one even wants around? We need to make sure no one else leaves, first and foremost. The ten homeworlds depend on each other. Perhaps one of the newer species will decide we don’t really know what we’re doing? The Lobhl are already ostracized, and we’ve put significant expense into making sure they are represented as well as the other nine species in the Nether. Do you want to explain to the Effature why we’ve wasted that investment, in time, money, and majus notes?”

  She heaved in silence for a few moments, watching the other four. Freshta and Scintien looked away, and Jhina wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring fixedly straight ahead, head raised on her long neck. Only Feldo still watched Rilan, though she couldn’t have said whether he agreed or disagreed. Shouldn’t have shown anger. I have better control than that.

  Rilan took in a long breath. “Surely the Effature agrees we need to regroup?” she tried. “Have you even brought this to his attention, or were you too busy hiding it?” She grasped at her thigh with one hand, under the table, squeezing to keep from thumping the wood to make a point.

  “We have not. Without a new councilor—” Jhina began icily.

  Rilan threw up her hands. “Fine,” she interrupted. “You want to know who I think should be the next councilor for the House of Power?” She had their attention now at least. “Hand Dancer.”

  There was a gasp from Scintien. “The Lobhl?”

  “Who better to show we intend to honor our commitment to them? We pick councilors from the best and brightest of that house, right? Do we still do it that way?” Rilan speared a glance toward Freshta and Scintien. “Hand Dancer has some of the best control of power and connections of anyone I’ve seen. Have you seen the majus play?” Among other things, the Lobhl was an accomplished musician, handling the complexities of their unique instruments. “Imagine how much we could learn with Hand Dancer on the council—about the Lobhl people, and the way they think.”

  “We will take your nomination under advisement,” Jhina said, her voice several degrees cooler than the room. Rilan knew what that meant. Like every other time, they would come to their own decision and she would be forced into agreement with whatever they decided.

  “Do with it what you will,” Rilan spat. She pushed up from the table. “If no one else wants to cultivate good councilmembers any longer, then assume I will abide with your ‘unanimous’ decision, but I certainly won’t hold back from letting the Lobhl know what the Council thinks of them. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.” She gave a mocking bow, turned, and stormed out of the chamber.

  * * *

  Origon strode toward the furious pounding on his apartment door. “I am coming,” he called. “Try not to be breaking the door.” Sam had a key to the place, but was probably still out with the other apprentices. It was dinner time, and the last few days, the young man had been inseparable from Rilan’s apprentice and her brother. He hoped it helped the young man accommodate.

  The banging stopped only when he jerked the door open, which protested loudly on its hinges. It revealed Rilan in her traveling clothes, or maybe after a fight in them. Her hair was wild, coming out of her severe braid. It reminded him of when they escaped the squalpoid pack on Loba. Origon realized he was staring. He blinked and hastily showed her in, or rather got out of the way as she stomped inside.

  “Tell me what you have been doing,” he said. And who you have killed, he bit back at the last
moment.

  Rilan’s story flowed out in a rush. Telling him how both she and Bofan had been attacked on the streets of the Imperium, her frustration with the Council. Her usual rational speech was buried in a torrent of anger and frustration. Origon watched her worriedly as he listened, catching sight of a bruise on her arm, a small cut on the side of her face. He would have insisted she let him bandage her up, save in her state, she was as liable to start shouting at him. Two members of the Council being attacked was nearly as bad as the news of his Drains.

  Finally her speech ran down and she sat—fell, almost—into a chair.

  “So I came back to the one person who has as much sense as I do,” she said. “Ori, I want to go to Methiem. Now. Or tomorrow. Soon. There is something else behind all this. I can feel it. Even your voids—”

  “Drains.” She still wouldn’t accept his name.

  “—Whatever. All this can’t be happening at the same time. At least we can research the twins’ void without being under the thumb of the Council.”

  Origon pursed his lips at her refusal to call the Drains what they were, but wisely held his tongue. He kept his crest neutral—no need to show too much excitement, though this was like the young woman he used to bring on adventures across the ten homeworlds. A thrill ran through him at the prospect of another adventure, or even another night, close to her.

  When she had been elected to the Council—the youngest member in many cycles—he knew he had lost her for a time; almost eleven cycles, as it turned out. Maybe a change was coming. He forced his crest down. No need to look like an overeager schoolboy—she could read him well enough as it was.

  “I have been speaking with Mhalaro Ipente Riteno these last several days,” Origon told her, keeping his voice level. “He believes he has a new device that may let him investigate the Drains where the song cannot.”

  “The professor?” Rilan asked. “Have you even spoken to him since we…since I joined the Council?” Since they had gone their separate ways, she meant.

  “We were catching up on old times, and I was persuasive,” Origon said. If he was convincing enough, then maybe there was another chance for the two of them.

  Rilan grunted. Origon kept silent, watching her, his crest rising despite his control. She would have to be the one to initiate their plans. She had nearly used her position on the Council to forbid him, before. If all went well, he might be able to research the Drains with Rilan accompanying him.

  “We’ll have to bring the apprentices,” she said. Origon let out a breath.

  “If you talk to yours, I will be addressing mine,” he said. “Tomorrow, you said?” He almost said more, but stopped. He didn’t want to risk her changing her mind.

  After a moment, Rilan gave one sharp nod. “Tomorrow morning, we travel to ChinRan.”

  Now Origon let his pointed teeth show in a smile. His crest was expanding in anticipation. “I am already packed. Would you like to be getting some dinner downstairs?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Rilan said, pushing up from her chair.

  * * *

  Sam rubbed grit out of his eyes, squinting against the brightening light from the walls of the Nether. It glistened off the Spire’s column, perfectly curved to focus the flat light on his face. He looked around the little open space, lost among the flora and sculptures that dotted the open areas between the houses of the maji. An orange thing like a rabbit crossed with an armadillo hopped into the bushes across a bricked path, which ended in a wrought iron gate. He hadn’t been here before, but something from the previous night was still dulling his anxiety. That, or I’m too tired to care. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

  He had come home late last night to find Majus Cyrysi sitting in a chair, staring at the door, his crest like he had been electrocuted. Didn’t even let me get washed up before he started talking.

  It had been his first tentative foray into a Festuour tavern. The others had booked a private room with the majus’ money, to keep most of the noise and music at bay. It was in High Imperium, but the twins kept close on the way there. They had forgiven his questioning about the Aridori, and after a couple days of rest, Sam was ready to go back out, noting new landmarks to guide his way in the strange environs.

  The Festuour food had been rich, filled with the furry alien’s equivalent of butter and cheese. The bubbly drinks had been powerful—not exactly alcoholic, but including some ingredient that made Methiemum hazy.

  He had a vague recollection of Rey, standing on the table, telling an outlandish story about a creature that lived in the basement of the House of Potential. The aliens’ drinks had pushed Sam’s anxiety far down, where it didn’t affect him. One hand cupping Inas’ cheek, the other holding Enos’ hand. Did I kiss him? Kiss her? What will they say? Whatever happened, I think I enjoyed it. He’d made out with both Molly and Phillip, back home, but no further. He had always been too nervous. This was different, like a puzzle piece falling in the right place. His home was very far away, but right now, he could accept it.

  Rey, at least, was sleeping it off back at the House of Potential while Sam was out here, in the far too bright light from the walls, and underneath the hulk of the Spire. Sam glanced up at Majus Cyrysi. The Kirian was pacing as if they had a timetable, his aqua robe—with bright green and yellow slashes—swishing as he passed. They had been out here for more than half a lightening.

  “Where are we going again?” Sam finally asked. The majus’ excited speech last night had been almost too fast to follow, and Sam hadn’t been thrilled about talking this morning. The majus’ pacing, and his large yellow leather duffel bag beside the iron gate, was raising Sam’s heartrate, despite his fatigue. He gathered it was something about the Drains, but they couldn’t be traveling yet, could they? He hadn’t had enough time here.

  Majus Cyrysi stopped his pacing to watch Sam for a moment. His feathery hair was all over the place. “You are seeming to be fitting in to life in the Nether well,” he said, incongruous.

  “Ye-es.” Sam drew the word out. He swallowed, now uncomfortably awake, taking in more of his surroundings. Behind the gate was an open space, fenced on all sides. One lone being stood in the middle of it—a Methiemum, from the height and build. Sam patted at his pockets. Still have my watch.

  “Your practicing is going well, yes?”

  Sam nodded. Not that you helped. He had been able to hear the Symphony six more times since his first success, but the notes still slipped through his grasp when he tried to change the music. “What are you getting at?”

  The majus opened his mouth, and then closed it again as a look of relief came over his face, looking over Sam’s shoulder. His crest laid flat.

  “Rilan—finally,” he said. “You are bringing your apprentice. Good.”

  “Are we ready?” the councilor asked. She also had a large duffel bag, hers of a dark cloth. Gone was her usual white and green dress, replaced by sturdy, clothes. A jerkin, dark and tanned, fit snugly against her chest, over a loose shirt. She had a pair of soft leather olive green gloves and boots, which Sam thought might even stop—or at least slow down—the long sheathed knife hanging at the hip of her heavy cloth pants. If she had ever looked uncomfortable in her formal attire, she looked like she had been born in these clothes.

  Sam made eye contact with Enos, behind the councilor, trying to get an idea if she knew what was going on. Or what she remembers about last night. Oh lord. There went his heart again. He palmed the watch, raised to one ear. Enos gave him her half-smile, but was obviously distracted, eyes flitting in all directions like she expected one of the trees to pounce on her.

  “We are, as soon as Mhalaro gets here,” Majus Cyrysi said, hefting his bag. It looked heavy.

  “Where are we going?” Sam said, louder.

  The councilor looked to Majus Cyrysi. “You haven’t told him? Come on, Ori. He needs time to accept changes.”

  “We are leaving the Nether, aren’t we?” Sam
said, one hand creeping to his stomach, the other still clutching his watch. Now he wished he wasn’t so awake. He glared at his mentor, who looked away, crest drooping, and scuffed one boot against the ground. “New places, remember?” Sam bent his knees, blowing out.

  “Rilan came to me last night, while you were out. She insisted we leave this morning.” Even to Sam, the majus sounded like he was making excuses.

  “I did not insist you breeze the idea past your apprentice, who has a known aversion to traveling. Really, Ori.”

  When Sam looked up, the councilor was in front of him. She pressed a cool finger to his head. There was a flash of olive and white, and his nausea dissipated, though he was still agitated. “We are traveling,” she continued, speaking low for Sam’s benefit, “but it is necessary. Apprentices must travel with their mentors. Knowing Ori, he probably didn’t tell you I was attacked yesterday.”

  Sam looked up sharply. “Attacked? How? Why?” The focus pushed his anxiety back a little.

  “A long story,” the councilor said, shaking her head. The little white bell at the end of her braid chimed. “I believe it has something to do with the fears about the Aridori. The Council is,” she hesitated, “undecided at the moment, but I feel it is best if I put distance between myself and the Imperium for the time being. We’re going to Methiem, to investigate the void Enos and Inas told you about. The nearest portal ground is in ChinRan.”

  Sam heard his mentor mutter something about Drains under his breath. “Why can’t we go straight there?” he asked. If he had to travel, they could at least cut down the time he was away from Majus Cyrysi’s apartment.

  “There are to be specific places where portals are allowed, by order of the Assembly. Another control of the maji,” the majus answered. His crest signaled irritation with the limitation, though his attention was obviously not on the conversation. He was watching the space between two of the houses. “We could not be making a portal from ChinRan straight to the site of the Drain either, as they are being too close together. Portals must connect distant points. Any closer than a quarter of the way around a homeworld puts undue strain on the majus involved due to the songs of the two endpoints overlapping.”