The Seeds of Dissolution
Page 38
“That way,” Inas called, pointing to a corridor between two stalls, veering away from the crush of the Bazaar. Their group had been pulled apart by the allure of the displayed wares. Caroom stopped for a moment to admire a selection of standing poles. They knocked a complicated rhythm against one and Sam was surprised by the smooth ringing. Another musical instrument? At their apprentice’s call, Caroom stumped back.
Majus Ayama seemed less drawn in than the other maji. “Is the meeting place in one of those?” she asked, pointing to a line of wood warehouses, presumably where items for sale were stored.
Inas nodded. “It will be the one with no guards.”
“Ah. Naturally.” Majus Cyrysi was in a good mood, humming as they walked. Sam wondered if his mentor had a death wish, or just liked walking into dangerous situations. He was short of breath, both from walking, and from the lingering panic clawing its way up his throat. Even with the others protecting him, every step was a struggle. His blood rushed in his ears, and he thought he might be sick.
The third warehouse from the left lacked the Lobath and Methiemum toughs that stood around the others, and who paid them little attention anyway. Only a lone light pole stood nearby, throwing illumination. It was late—the passage through the Bazaar had taken a surprisingly long time. Behind the warehouses stood a stand of trees with no leaves, and little tendrils covering the trunk. The branches pointed nearly straight up, and some animal flitted between branches as Sam watched.
“Assume we will meet resistance here,” Majus Cyrysi told them. “Rilan and I have experience with these situations. We will be directing our approach.”
Sam felt a tide of uncertainty rise up. What’s that supposed to mean? Does he think we’re going to fight someone?
* * *
Origon noted points around the perimeter of the warehouse, entries, exits, and weak sections of wood. They would need to get in quickly and quietly. In the past, this had been Rilan’s forte, but she was likely out of practice, with her cycles on the Council. He had honed his skill during the time he traveled alone.
Several points of entry, and they would have to block any participants from leaving. The others were looking around as if they had no idea what to do. Rilan at least, had a finger to her lips, studying the warehouse.
The Aridori, however, were hard to read, though they had done nothing that could be construed as offensive, and he wasn’t as taken with the terror stories as Rilan was. He was more concerned with the news of this Life Coalition. Had no one else really understood that they might be creating Drains? How could it be possible to artificially make something no natural object could touch? The imprisoned Aridori had been taking orders from the Life Coalition, and had seemed to know a lot. It was almost a shame they were dead. No way now to determine who was giving whom information. He would wager a who-knows-how-many-centuries-old Aridori would be very good at making secret plans.
“Apprentices with your mentors,” Origon called quietly. The young ones could at least aid their maji, even if they did not have much experience. “We must be dividing into two groups to make sure those inside do not escape. Caroom with me, Hand Dancer is to go with Rilan.” The House of Strength could physically shore up weaknesses in his two houses while engaging offensive opponents, especially as Origon’s song was still weak. If he had been at full strength, he would have entered the warehouse by himself, and left the others to stand staring.
He ignored a babble of concerns, flattening his crest and turning to Sam. “What of you? Will you and the twins be able to aid us? Any problems with your panic?”
Sam gaped at him, like a fish out of water. “I, um, what are we—” He looked to Inas, moving closer to the other young man. Enos glared back at Origon.
So none of them would be much help. “Stay behind us, and follow the changes we make to the Symphony. You will be doing quite well, I am certain.” Positive encouragement always improved things.
By the weak light of the lamp pole, he quickly outlined how the building was constructed, and where Life Coalition members would likely be placed. Any place an opponent was constricted, there was opportunity.
He was relying on Rilan to remember their old tactics, back when they traveled together, though it had been many cycles and she was still distracted by the death of her father. Understandable. “You are remembering the dual-flanking action we used in the hive on the Pixie homeworld?” he asked.
Rilan stared at him a moment, blank-faced, then understanding came over her. “With the rebel group challenging the queen. Yes.” She looked to the warehouse, to Hand Dancer, then back to him. “Yes.” This time more certain.
Good. “Are we all ready?” he asked, looking at the others. There was a round of agreement. “Apprentices, be following your master’s instructions to the syllable, yes?”
Sam stared back, wide-eyed. “What are we going to do in there?”
Origon sighed. “You are going to be following my instructions.”
“But, I mean, are we going to fight them?” Origon drew in a breath again, but then saw the others watching, save Rilan, who was staring at the warehouse, calculating something.
Origon stroked his moustache down flat, and attempted to keep his crest from flaring in alarm. “We are going to be invading a meeting of hostile individuals, who have been working with an insane Aridori.” He glanced to the twins. “No offense. Potentially some or all will be maji. We must do so with surprise, silence, and efficiency. They will not be expecting us, and the more we can incapacitate and capture, the more information we will be having about the Drains.”
“As well as about the murder and attempted murder of half the Council of the Maji,” Rilan put in, and Origon waved a hand to acknowledge the point.
“Then are we ready?” he asked again. There were slow nods all around. It would have to do. He pointed Rilan’s group to the other side of warehouse, and stalked around the nearer side with Sam, Caroom, and Inas in tow.
There was a large door on this side, in shadow, and they had seen two more, on other sides. He would let Rilan pick her entry. As they pressed against the splintery wood of the door, Origon cocked his head to listen for voices. He let the Symphony run through his head, cataloging applications of Communication and Power. In this tight a space, he would only be able to use each one once, or maybe not at all if another used something similar.
Suddenly, yellow light bloomed around his apprentice as notes bridged two melodies in the air, one farther off and fast, the other near and slow. Conversation surrounded them.
“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Sam jumped.
“I figured out how to do this this in the cave the Sathssn trapped us in,” he explained. “I thought you wanted to hear them better.”
Origon tsked at his apprentice, letting his crest expand in annoyance. “Do not be using your song before I say so, boy. We must be sparing with application.” He attempted to mute the sound of their footsteps, but his attempts encountered resistance. “May your ancestor’s beards fall out!” he cursed, quietly. “The effects are too similar. Do not do anything without my telling you to!”
He pointed a finger at Sam, intending to continue, when a low rumble came from behind him. “Hmmmmm. Perhaps these gathered should listen to the advantage this one has given?” asked Caroom innocently. Origon scowled at them, but cocked his head to hear the now clear voices.
“—time yet, Nakan,” one was saying. “If we move too soon, the Council, it will not be properly prepared. Past the date and we will miss the Assembly sessions.” So, two Sathssn, at least, one speaking and one the mysterious Nakan. They were speaking of the timing of the Drain, maybe?
“A squad, can we not send it into the city at the same time?” Another voice spoke, even more sibilant than the first speaker. “We attacked for a reason. Not only for distraction.”
Other voices chimed in at that, and Origon picked out three, four, five, six. Put a rough estimate at ten of them, t
hen.
“Where are they?” he asked Sam.
“Um?” The young man looked baffled.
“You were redirecting their sounds toward us. Where did they come from?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Sam stuttered, folding in. “I just made it happen. I’m not sure how.”
“Perhaps this group should, hmm, enter,” Caroom interrupted. They stepped forward, their whole body sheathed in a thin sheen of green, freckled with their bland personal color. Inas was behind his mentor, looking into his right hand. A sheath of green climbed down his arm, mimicking Caroom.
The Benish reached for the slat door, one large hand pushing to one side. There was a moment of hesitation, then a slight pop, and the door slowly slid on tracks.
Origon hastily grabbed for the shrill notes that would become a shriek of metal on metal tracks, muting them with a couple of his notes.
Caroom turned their wide body sideways, slipping through, and Origon took his notes back, breathing in at the return of energy.
Origon shooed Sam and Inas ahead of him. It was dark in the warehouse, save for one light in the distance. A chemical tang filled the air. Crates, barrels, pallets, and a few metal containers were stacked to their sides, lining the entrance. Origon peered around them, through the gloom. At least they would have plenty of cover.
* * *
Rilan waited in the darkness, a familiar tightness in her shoulders. Enos and Hand Dancer stood to one side. She motioned the Lobhl closer—she could hardly see in this gloom. “As our illustrious leader gave us a locked door to enter, can you find a weak point, quietly?”
Hand Dancer assented with one hand and stepped to the rough planked building. She splayed both large and crooked hands against the door, and rivulets of orange and dull gray splashed out, running along cracks in boards and circling nail holes. They centered around the lock, and began to glow. The boards grew warmer, smoking, as condensate appeared on the metal of the lock.
Hand Dancer got a firm grip on it with both hands and tugged. The lock popped in half with a small squeak and Rilan winced. The heat in the door faded as the orange aura did—Hand Dancer reabsorbing her notes. The Lobhl went through first, followed by Enos, and then Rilan.
Inside were stacks of shipping containers of all sizes—items to be sold in the Bazaar. Enos sniffed audibly. The scents of spices, tar, and drying teak filled the air. Though the large marketplace was technically illegal, the Effature turned a blind eye. It earned a tidy profit for the Imperium in trade, and introduced rare items to the Nether. Warehouses like this contained objects that couldn’t be found without a trip to some remote place on one of the ten homeworlds.
“There’s a light over there,” she said, pointing. All three peered around a wall of stacked barrels.
At a quick count, there were twelve figures at least, all in black cloaks, standing around several lanterns resting on top of crates, and directly in front of the main door. Vish’s knees. Good thing we didn’t come in that way. Rilan ducked back behind the barrels and the others mimicked her. They hadn’t been seen—likely the group of Sathssn was night-blind from staring at the lanterns.
“What do we do?” Enos asked in a whisper. There was so much unknown about her apprentice and her brother. Unfortunately, nothing Rilan could do about it now. She’d rather have the young woman in her sight than out of it. Just thinking about the Aridori brought to mind the fleshy, pulsing, thing in the cell. It was enough to make her feel sick.
Trusting them is the greatest stupidity. It is the same in all the stories. It is how they infiltrated, by gaining trust. I cannot let my guard down for a moment.
Would the new councilor, Hathssas, be here? The one Enos had impersonated? Rilan flexed her fingers, and checked her belt knife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A Surprise Meeting
-The House of Grace is little understood to those who have not some personal experience. Its Symphony envelops all aspects of everyday life, making them easier. The most advanced maji of the House of Grace can walk through a packed crowd of people carrying a saucer brimming with water, yet touch no one and spill not a drop.
Jhina Moerna Oscana, on the House of Grace
Origon contemplated the group of Life Coalitioners, gathered around three lanterns placed on a large crate. All were facing inward. Were they so confident they set no guards?
As they carefully crept closer, he reassessed his original count to more than ten. He glanced around at the squeak of wood against wood.
“Sorry,” his apprentice whispered. “Boot got caught.” Origon sighed and slid one eye around a storage chest with a rounded lid. There was something fragrant, like rich incense, inside. One of the cloaked heads rose slightly, then lowered. The sheer number of untrained members in his band would give them away.
A scrape and a shuffle made his head whip around, crest ruffling. Inas was off balance, leaning into a large banded box. Origon sent an incredulous glance his way, and reached to help the Aridori back up, but his boot twisted under him on nothing more than a division in the floorboards. Origon pitched forward into the massive Benish’s arms, scraping fingertips on rough bark-like skin. Contrary to their bulk, Caroom began to tip backward.
Origon barely caught his balance. Otherwise, the four of them would have ended up on the floor. Only then did he see the faint blue haze hanging just at the floorboards.
No one was this clumsy. “House of Grace,” he whispered. The practitioner was skilled to steal the grace of others. It would require a permanent investment of the majus’ notes.
The robed figures were repositioning. “Be very careful when you move,” Origon said, keeping his voice low. “You are more clumsy than normal.” Hopefully they would exhaust the trap’s stored notes soon.
The gathering of black cloaks was silent, arranged and alert. Eight were on the outside, four inside that circle. The nearest one scanned left to right, dark hood twitching with the movement. Gloved hands threw the hood back and a chill ran up Origon’s spine. The person was Methiemum, not Sathssn. Why were other species wearing the clothes of the Cult of Form?
“We have lost our surprise.” He would have liked more time to prepare offensive phrases and melodies. “Caroom, to my left. You are on defense, with Inas. Sam, follow my lead.”
The Symphony of Power was thrumming a base beat of connections—three separate measures, one for them, one for Rilan’s group, and one for the Coalitioners. The Symphony of Communication trilled above, air currents chiming with quick motions. Origon began composing with his reduced song, keeping his hands low so the color would be hidden from any Life Coalition maji.
* * *
“What by Shiv’s great hangnail is that oaf doing?” Rilan muttered at the scuffles and creaks from the others side of the warehouse. The figures around the lanterns had turned outward save for four, who faded into the center. A defensive posture, and she would wager the four inside were maji.
“They’re going to get slaughtered,” she said. “Let’s see if we can’t provide a distraction to let Ori get his act together. Hand Dancer, is there anything that could smoke or catch fire nearby?”
Hand Dancer made an agreeable gesture, then grasped the air with one hand, leaving a trail of orange leading back to a package wrapped in layers of cloth above their heads. she signed.
She made a quick jump and caught the edge of the package, bringing it down. There were dark fibers inside. She busied herself with them as Rilan gauged the situation.
“Enos, can you do your—” She trailed off, waving a hand vaguely and looking a question at her apprentice. She couldn’t believe she was asking an Aridori to perform what generations of people had used to scare their children.
Enos shook her head, hair swinging. “It will take far too much tim
e. Besides, I would rather help as majus, than as something you look at in fear.”
Rilan lofted an eyebrow. A fair argument. “Then try to be helpful,” she said. “I assume you no longer have an objection to using both physical and mental techniques?” She saw confusion on the young woman’s face for a moment.
Then Enos nodded. “I will attempt to follow your mental changes too.”
Rilan snorted. So her apprentice’s resistance had only been to keep her from discovering Enos’ species.
Hand Dancer had the fibers ablaze in one arm, and her orange and gray herded the smoke and flame in front of them as a screen. Under cover, they made their way forward, Hand Dancer’s free hand conducting her melody. A snake of pure flame, wreathed in dark smoke, rose above them.
Three figures headed toward Ori’s group, but with a noise like a tram rushing by, a fierce gust of wind staggered the Life Coalitioners. It also made Hand Dancer’s flame dip to the floor of the warehouse. Rilan swore by all the gods under her breath. She should have remembered Ori’s predictable opening move.
“Keep it steady,” she told Hand Dancer, who flipped an agreement with two fingers. “He rarely does two of those.” She could see him now, stooped. Before the space capsule, he had performed far more complex actions without pausing.
Something whizzed past her face and she shifted to one side. Crossbow bolt. “Smoke them,” she told the Lobhl, and the flame flowed to the group, trailing thick smoke. The dark cloaks fell back and several took down cowls to wrap them over their mouths.
They aren’t all Sathssn.
She counted two Methiemum, a Lobath, and a Sureri. The Lobath went for the door, but Hand Dancer sent the serpent of flame dipping and coiling to block the path. The Life Coalitioners were trapped with them in the warehouse.