“You will never forget him,” Origon told her. “There will always be sadness, but you know what he would be doing now.” Origon had a few meetings with the man over the last twenty-odd cycles. He had been nearly as terrifying as his daughter when he saw an injustice, or a danger, or when something had to be done.
“He’d be cleaning up, and rebuilding. Making things better.” Rilan pursed her lips, then reached back and pulled her braid into order. The little white bell on the end jingled.
“Yes. Come and hear what Caroom has thought of,” Origon said.
* * *
“Targeted?” What would father do about it? Rilan was seated next to Ori on his mint-green couch. Caroom stood opposite them.
“The idea is bizarre and terrifying,” she said. The others nodded. “If it’s natural, then the coincidence is too much. If by plan, that’s even scarier.” Someone planned to destroy Dalhni? Why, when the other voids were isolated? Did they think about what it would do to the people who lived there? She kept upright with effort. She wanted to curl into a ball, go to sleep. That wouldn’t get anything done.
Father would be rebuilding.
Rather, he would start by scolding her about wasting her blessing from the gods. He had been so proud that she was a majus. She swallowed heavily and blinked her eyes. Focus. “As the news from Dalhni gets out, if anyone else has seen a void they may come forward.”
Ori’s crest rose. “The hypothetical perpetrators of the Drains, if this is not to be natural, cannot have many members.”
“Then if there are maji involved,” Rilan said, “they will be much easier to find.”
Caroom’s eyes were flickering agreement. Ori’s crest fanned out in disbelief. “Yet the Grand Symphony cannot touch it,” he protested.
“Who else could create such a thing?” she asked him. Only maji. Which means maji killed him. Maji—the only people her father had deferred to.
“The Grand Symphony cannot touch this aberration, but in order to know how to, hmmm, create such a thing, there must be input from one who knows as much,” Caroom answered.
“Then we must be going to the Council,” Ori said. “They can be directing a research project into the history of the maji to see if anyone has studied such a thing. I have certainly never heard of it before Ksupara.”
“I’m not going to them,” Rilan said flatly. Useless, all of them. “Not for anything ever again, if I have my way.” She crossed her arms. “They’re too caught up in the Aridori. They’re going to try to make the Servants rejoin the Assembly tomorrow, and if they can’t see the problems the voids are causing, I have no use for them.”
“Bofan A’Tof?” Caroom asked.
Rilan paused, her mouth open. That was no longer her problem. “Feldo said he was attacked by Aridori, but his conclusions are circumstantial at best. Back in his prime, Bofan was a master of strategy. He could have handled twenty non-maji opponents at once, though no one would have dared. More likely it was the anti-majus sentiment, the protests. People are scared.” She tapped her thumbs together, thinking of her father’s pride when she and Ori visited him after she was raised to majus. That led to thinking of her time with Ori, traveling across the ten homeworlds. Were they all so old now?
“Still, the Council should know what we know. It is our duty to inform the maji of new information,” Ori insisted, though he looked as if he had swallowed a particularly bitter grub.
“Is the loss of your apprentice giving you a sense of responsibility? I’m not interested any longer. Not my problem. They’ve made that clear.” Here, have an apprentice and get out of our hair. Except now I’ve lost her too. If the Great Assembly fell apart because she wasn’t on the Council, they had bigger problems.
She and Ori stared at each other, and Rilan felt as terrible as he looked. Father never quit. Just because he’s gone, that doesn’t mean I can. Even her defiance was pitiful.
“Fine, tell them, but go without me,” she said.
* * *
It was the next morning before Origon was allowed to see the Council—only for a short time, and only because he told Jhina he had been at Dalhni. News of the Drain had spread and the Assembly meeting had been pushed to later that day, to allow time to collect all the information available.
The location of the new portal ground outside Dalhni was just being disseminated. As such, Origon could not look for Sam and Enos. He could have made a portal to a nearby city, but the travel time would have been as long as waiting. In addition, Mhalaro had reported no new findings on the samples he took, saying they were as inert as sterilized earth. Origon was not in a good mood.
“What this time?” Freshta barked at him when he was finally let in to see the four-person Council. Origon’s crest expanded in amazement. Not four people, but five. Yet the seat for the House of Power was still empty. It was good Rilan had not come.
“If you have come to contest the removal of Majus Rilan Ayama, I’m afraid that matter has been settled and closed,” said Majus—no, unfortunately—Councilor Vethis. “There is no need to sneer,” he continued, drawing fingers across his ridiculous moustache. It extended past the sides of his thin face, waxed to within a feather of its life. Origon itched to stroke his own chinfeathers in sympathy to make sure they were lying flat, but he held his hand back. How had the slippery man worked his way on to the Council? Most likely with large sums of Nether glass and blackmail.
He pointedly ignored Vethis, directing his comment at Jhina and Feldo, the only two of any use.
“We have more news of the Drains,” he said.
Vethis rolled his eyes in the corner of Origon’s vision. “Not this again. What are we supposed to do about it?”
“It destroyed a Methiemum town. You should be caring a little more,” Origon said, then instantly regretted taking Vethis’ bait.
“Cleaned it up, you mean,” the oily man answered. “It’s gone, now.”
“Enough,” Jhina said, a little sharply. “What is your news, majus? We are busy today.”
“The Drains are not natural,” Origon said.
“You have told us this before,” said Feldo, his dark eyes boring into Origon from behind his round glasses. “Well?”
Origon wet his lips. “I have said they were unnatural. Now I am saying they may not be naturally occurring.”
“You play word games,” Vethis said.
Jhina held up a hand, silencing him. “Do you claim—and think very carefully before you answer this, Kirian—that some person or persons may be responsible for making the voids? Because that would be an act of war against the Great Assembly.” The speaker bent her long neck, fingers twitching.
Origon didn’t pause. “I do.”
“Don’t believe you,” Freshta said in response. Scintien Nectiset had been silent, but shook her head as well, her crest flaring in surprise and disbelief.
“I do not either,” Feldo drawled. “Yet.” The others turned to him, and he shook his head. “Strange things are happening lately, and I would like to give full consideration to all tales brought to us by reputable people.” He glared at a snort from the other end of the table. “Majus Cyrysi is reputable, Councilor Vethis, no matter what we may think of his ways. In fact, I would like his viewpoint on my own recent issue.”
“That is business of the Council only!” Vethis was actually pouting, and Origon ignored him, turning back to the head of the House of Potential. If anyone from this inept bunch was fit to lead the Council, it was Feldo.
“I am making it the majus’ business,” Feldo said. “He is friends with one who I still hold in greater respect than you, Fernand.” Vethis shrank down in his chair, glaring death, which affected the other councilor not a bit. Origon kept his crest flat with an effort. At least he could pass on Feldo’s opinion of Rilan. It might cheer her.
“Do you still say the Aridori are an illusion?” Feldo asked Origon.
“I have not seen true evidence of their presen
ce,” Origon answered carefully. He knew the Methiemum councilor aimed at something, and Feldo was rarely without a reason. “Thus I am concerned the Drains are not getting the attention they are deserving.”
The councilor nodded along, and took up when he finished. “Then if you bring me evidence—real evidence—they are not natural I will give you more attention on that matter.” He fell silent for several moments, fingers idly playing with his bushy white moustache. Jhina began to twitch, and he spoke again. “What would you say if I told you I had been attacked, as were the Councilors Bofan A’Tof and Rilan Ayama?”
Origon’s topfeathers went rigid. Three councilors? Half the Council. “I would be saying we have a serious problem.”
“I agree,” Feldo said. “Further, what would you say if I told you I captured one of my assailants, and conclusively proved it is one of the Aridori?”
“You have it captured still?” Origon asked.
“I do.”
“It changed shape before you?” This had to be another trick—another false alarm.
“It attempted to mimic my face as I overwhelmed it,” Feldo said. The lines in his forehead were deep with worry.
Origon’s mouth worked. By the ancestor’s egg teeth. The Aridori were gone; a children’s story. A live Aridori would be definite proof. He looked at the other councilors, found they were all—even Vethis—deadly serious. They waited, while responses flew through his head, most inane. Feldo wanted another viewpoint.
“There are too many coincidences lately.” Origon crossed his arms and rubbed them under his brightly-colored sleeves. Cold shivered down his spine. “The Aridori, the Drains, the Sathssn secession, the attacks on the maji— There is to be something connecting them. There has been relative quiet among the ten homeworlds, save petty rivalry, since the Lobhl joined fifty cycles ago.”
Feldo gave him an approving nod. “Some citizens of the Nether have begun to speak of the coming Dissolution, since other old myths are returning.” The councilor tilted his head one way, then the other. “I find I am less disinclined to believe them than I was before.”
Were any old stories false? Would the monsters outside his window take him away if he did not finish his grubs? “Would I be able to see this Aridori for myself?”
Feldo wobbled a hand through the air. “That would be something the full Council would need to agree upon.” Origon resisted looking at Vethis. “For now, I wish whoever is responsible brought to light, and soon.” He stroked his beard. “You seem to have already begun on this path.”
“Feldo,” Speaker Oscana said warningly. “The Council has its arms full with the Assembly.”
“The more reason we should allow a small group to investigate,” he replied.
“Not them,” Freshta complained.
“At least Rilan will be occupied,” Vethis said, looking thoughtful. Councilor Nectiset glared at Origon, her crest flat and antagonistic.
Feldo studied his fellow councilors, and Origon had enough sense to stay silent. He had a feeling the councilor had tolerated him over the cycles mainly because of his competence, though he would take one ally instead of none.
“What better group to keep this quiet than one with a former councilor?” Feldo stared down the others from under bushy black eyebrows. One by one they looked down, not disagreeing, in any case. Origon would take what he could. Feldo turned back to him.
“Sort this out,” the older man said tersely. “With as little mess and exposure as possible.”
Origon heard the dismissal but ignored it for one more moment. “Then we will be having your support in the investigation?”
“At the moment, the void is believed to be a natural, if unfortunate, event,” Jhina said, her words sharp and distinct. “The Council is heavily involved in the cleanup, but if we wanted this conspiracy public, we would do it ourselves. Figure out who is behind the voids. Then ask us for favors.”
Origon pursed his lips, but carefully kept his crest neutral. He gave a minute nod to Feldo and Jhina, and left.
* * *
“A real Aridori? Feldo has it captive?” Rilan asked. Undeniable proof, though of course they’re unwilling to share. If this got out, there was no way the Most Traditional Servants were coming back to the Assembly, and she was sure the Council wouldn’t tell them, with their fears of being persecuted for hunting the species. There was little chance of the factional group even showing up to the debate today.
She paced Ori’s apartment. Every thought not on the voids or the secession twisted inward, to her father. Proof of the Aridori gave her something else to think about.
“We have to find where he’s holding the Aridori,” she told Ori. They would need to tell Caroom. They were involved now, and she missed their clear head in these matters.
Ori was shaking his head, large purple eyes tracking her movements. “Feldo made it very clear this investigation was to be below the water line. I am not thinking the Council will want us close to their prisoner.”
“Since when have I cared about what they said?” she asked him, taking another turn around the small room.
He held his hands up to make peace. “I agree, yet you are no longer on the Council. You have power, yet you do not have the same political heft.”
Rilan tossed her head, letting her braid swing with a satisfying smack against her back. As much as she was enjoying being rid of the blowhards, she didn’t have the power to go against them. The prisoner—an Aridori—would be held in the tightest security. No telling what it was capable of.
“Ah, this may not be the best time—” Ori continued, de-railing her thoughts. She glared at him, but it slid off. He could be stone-like when he wanted.
“What?” Maybe the rest of the species have left the Assembly. Or Ori has decided to climb to the top of the Nether.
“They have elected a new councilor for the House of Healing.”
Rilan’s brow pulled down, though she didn’t stop her restless walk. “Though not one from the House of Power to replace Bofan? How did that happen?”
“It may have something to do with their selection of councilor,” Ori said. He was tapping his fingers together, his crest spiky. He was nervous now, but not when he told her bedtime horror stories were real?
She sighed. “Who is it? I assume Vethis has propositioned one of his important friends to take the post.”
“Ah. Not exactly,” Ori said. “It was to be more,” he paused, “direct than that.”
“More direct?” Rilan stopped her pacing. “You can’t tell me he—?” The look on Ori’s face confirmed it. “Shiv’s ears! How did he wriggle his way into that? Will I never be done with that no-talent, boot–licking, manipulative, immature—”
Ori patiently waited for her to run down. “He would technically be in the candidate list, since he has been a majus nearly as long as you.”
“Maji aren’t picked on their age, they’re picked on talent and merit,” Rilan shot back. “He has precious little of either. At least that’s how councilors used to be picked. They probably picked him because he knew too much. Ever since the Council chose Freshta, it’s all gone downhill.”
“You had a hand in that,” Ori reminded her.
Rilan waved a hand at him. “I disagreed. The others wanted one of the newer races to be represented, and the Pixies were ready to start a war if one of their own wasn’t chosen. Freshta was the least unqualified at the time.” She gave him a long stare. “You know you could have had the position if you had bothered to show up.”
Now Ori looked hesitant, his crest drooping. Fear, from him? “So much responsibility and red tape would have been killing me,” he said in a pained voice.
“Is that why you never took an apprentice until now? You didn’t want the responsibility?” It was one reason she took the position on the Council when Karendi offered it, back when the old Kirian had been Speaker. She mentally weighed the good she had done, in such a visible position, aga
inst traveling with Ori. She still wondered, every once in a while, what the other choice would have meant.
“Speaking of our apprentices,” Ori said. He was changing the subject, but he was right. They had to find out what happened to Sam and Enos. It was another failure—how could she have lost her apprentice? She would either have to wait for the Council to share news about the secessionists, or attend the Assembly as a majus. She wasn’t doing that.
“Did you get the location of the new portal to Dalhni?” she asked.
Ori nodded. “From Aditit Baska on the way in. Most of those in the House of Communication have it now, and it is being passed to the other houses.”
“We should go look for them before too many others return,” she said. Enough of this. The secession is not my problem any longer. Neither is the Council.
“Now?” Ori looked surprised.
“You have more pressing business than finding Enos and Sam?”
“No—I was only assuming—” He cut off. “You are willing to go back?”
“I have a few things to tie up in my old home town.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bars of Music
-For cycles, the Great Assembly has pampered its maji, teaching them only of the scientific and diplomatic uses of their song. What of war? It is often in war that the greatest breakthroughs are found.
Toblerimat Unnistratude, often called The Heretic, 483 A.A.W.
Sam woke on the ground, cold, with something wet seeping into his pant leg. It was pitch dark, but he heard dripping water. Where am I? He sat up, pulled into a ball, hands around knees. A shiver ranged up his back, and he nestled fingers into his vest for warmth. Where did they take me? One hand gingerly felt the lump on the back of his head. A headache threatened to form, or maybe to reappear.
“Enos?” he called. Did they take her too? I can’t see anything. Did they do something worse? Dunarn was a majus. Why would—
The Seeds of Dissolution Page 25
