Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy (The Lightbound Saga Book 1)

by S. G. Basu

  3: Ride to Shiloh

  The early morning sky was beginning to catch a few swirls of pink when Maia took a seat next to Herc atop the small stagecoach. Bander and Jolt broke into a lively trot downhill toward the valley floor. Across the sleepy village of Appian they went, and along the brick road that cut through the center of the dale and descended into a state of disrepair beyond the village. They ambled through the covered red bridge, over the dry riverbed of Anjouni, and around the dusty curves of the Eilen Ward.

  Herc pulled the horses to a stop when they reached the highest point over the Ward, a customary pause on their monthly journeys to Shiloh. Maia took in a deep breath, relishing the nippy morning air that smelled of dewdrops, her eager eyes sweeping over the vista she cherished. The Anjouni River marked the edge of the Ward; sandy fields lay beyond its eastern shore, sprawling forward all the way to Shiloh. But it was the Dorgashian Folds that easily overshadowed the scene with its looming presence. No matter how many times Maia saw it, the unobstructed panorama of the plains sweeping up the lofty Dorgashian Folds to the north always took her breath away.

  The Folds stretched across the Second Continent like the curved blade of a sword, a cold and menacing divide between the northern and the southern territories. On the tiny planet of Tansi, their colossal presence was practically unrivalled, their treacherous terrain nearly impassable since the Solianese era of a century ago.

  That was a time when Tansi was still united as one nation under the Solianese, long before the Jjord seceded from the Union and sealed the borders of their under-ocean colonies. Tansi was then at its glorious pinnacle. Sprawling megacities of iron and steel pierced the skies; soaring motorways crisscrossed and bridled the Folds into submission. That splendor and opulence did not survive the terrifying times of the Scarcity—the period of devastation that followed the death of the immense civilization. As the remnants of the past faded, the deserted cities fell in ruins. The towering roads that snaked across the mountains slowly crumbled, and now, a hundred years later, the peaks stood wild and free again.

  Maia looked at the dust-covered path before them and sighed. It was barely a road anymore, trampled out of its original form long ago; its distressed shabbiness was pitiful. Still, there was a quiet triumph in its ruins. This was the one corridor across the Folds that had survived the Scarcity and the century that followed, now the solitary link between the lands of the far north and the provinces lying south of the ranges. Maia squinted hard to trace its threadlike form as it emerged at the foot of the Dorgashian Folds, crept south in a long and flat roll until it reached Shiloh, circled the town, and then turned sharply westward toward Appian.

  Herc broke the stillness as he clucked his tongue at the horses.

  The horses clomped forward, slowly, across the sandy fields that stretched lazily eastward, glistening in the pinkish glow of the early sun. In the distance, the first warm rays of sunlight tried to nudge and wake a small and indistinct Shiloh. Sleepy wisps of smoke rose from a few chimneys and disappeared in the thin veil of mist that hugged the town like a feather wrap.

  These monthly journeys always followed the same pattern. It started with a visit to the morning market for items that Emmy had noted in her all-important must-be-picked-up list. Next was a visit to Doctor Hsu’s Dispensary to fill Dada’s prescription, lunch at the Tavern by the Troughs, and finally a trip to the fancy market in the evening.

  “Miss Maia, we hafta find ‘em potatoes for Emmy,” Herc announced as they neared the morning market that sprawled over a platform propped up by short stilts. “She needs ‘em for Solstice dinner.”

  “Want me to look?” Maia offered.

  “Nah.” Herc shook his head vigorously. “They’re special kind—spotted ‘cross the top and jus’ the right size. Hafta get ‘em jus’ right . . . yeh know Emmy.”

  “Hmm,” Maia replied with a loud grunt. Knowing Emmy and knowing Herc, this did not bode well for their plans; the morning was as good as gone.

  Just as she had expected, Herc plunged into his quest for the perfect specimen with the zeal of a two-year-old searching for his favorite shiny toy, moving rapidly from one trader to another, examining their wares and shaking his head in despair. After following him in a few misadventures, Maia was bored.

  She was desperate to find something remotely interesting when a striped peak of red and white towering over the tops of the last row of shops caught her eye. A circus? Maia blinked, hardly believing her eyes; it was not every day that a circus visited these parts. She tried to peep through the gaps between the shops to get a better view, but only managed a glimpse of the small crowd gathered in front of the imposing structure that had made its home in the fairgrounds. An enormous sigh made its way out of her chest as she stood rooted to the spot, gazing at the tent, yearning to look at it up close. Maia reached for the ends of her pigtails, her mind racing to formulate a plan to convince Herc.

  Just when Maia’s day had begun to show some promise, Herc managed to get into some trouble with a vegetable lady. The woman’s resentful voice rang loud and sharp through the humdrum of the market; she was clearly not amused by Herc’s disrespectful assessment of her merchandise. Herc’s meager apologies were not helping, and between Emmy’s list and the slighted shopkeeper, the poor man was stuck in a hard spot.

  Maia made her way back to Herc, jumping in to pacify the woman. It took a while, and not until Herc had agreed to buy some of the very potatoes he had dared to insult, did she let them leave. As Herc’s face eased with relief at his getaway, Maia realized it was the perfect time to ask him about the circus.

  “Herc?” she started.

  “Yes, miss?” His voice had a hint of a tremble.

  “While you shop around, may I walk over to the fairgrounds? I could meet you at the Tavern, maybe?” she asked.

  Just like Maia had hoped, Herc nodded, barely paying any attention. Maia’s heart leaped. Not wasting another moment, she took off in the direction of the giant tent.

  4: The Boy with the Levehs

  The tent was beyond gigantic. Maia’s keen, observant eyes appraised it quickly—it was about six times taller than her house, and the base that stretched across the dull-brown expanse of grass was proportionately large. A colossal central peak loomed over two smaller ones that stood to each side. “The Solianese Circus” announced a bright sign that hung over the entrance, proudly proclaiming its heritage. Around the mammoth tent lay a maze of animal cages, painted wagons, and carts. Workers scurried to attend to last-minute details while the performers readied themselves for the afternoon show.

  The circus had started to attract eager onlookers, mostly young children and a handful of adults. Maia stopped briefly at the animal enclosures, drawn by the antics of the Spotted Simians, one of the reviled “introduced” species that the first colonists’ carried with them when they dispersed from their mother planet half a millennium ago. Next to it was the pachyderms’ corral. These woolly, four-tusked behemoths were clearly indigenous, with likely ties to the wild herds that roamed Tansi’s Fourth Continent. Maia stood mesmerized by their training routine, moving forward only when the crowd around her began to swell.

  She strolled past the performers’ coaches and around the right side of the big top, stopping in front of a smaller tent of red and gold. From its quiet prominence, Maia imagined it to be the living quarters of one of the star performers or even the owners. She stepped closer, admiring the intricately woven design that covered the structure, depicting kings and warriors, horses and chariots in battle. She wanted to study the delicate filigree on the ivory curtains, but her attention was diverted instead toward the fenced paddock next to the tent.

  There, gleaming in the sun, were two Levehs—single-rider glider crafts. The pilot’s seat was sunk in the middle, right where the long wings met the streamlined body. A pair of fuel-powered jet exhausts peeped out from below the wings. In front of the seat was a small raised controller unit that housed the basic maneuvering equipment. One craf
t was striped red and gold all over, while the other was white with splashes of bright red on the tips of its wings, tail, and nose. Guessing by the way the gliders shimmered, they were obviously well cared for.

  Maia knew this was a rare sight. The Solianese were not allowed to build such craft anymore; these foreign-made machines had likely been smuggled in at an exorbitant price. Such smuggling, although illegal, was not unusual. Goods trickled in, not just crafts like these, but many amenities that were considered luxuries. The Jjord who monitored the trading posts did not care much about such occasional trafficking, since they knew very few could afford to buy such things.

  Five years had passed since Maia had flown a Leveh into the skies above Miorie, but the memory felt even more distant. Her lips curled into a small, playful smile as she reminisced—the sting of the cool wind sweeping over her face, the rise and fall of the ground below her, the joy of making that perfect spin or that flawless touchdown. Even while she willed herself to turn around and walk away, Maia found herself kneeling greedily in front of the paddock, admiring the gliders and longing for them.

  “Don’t you just love them?” a friendly voice came from behind, making Maia jump.

  A boy stood smiling. He was almost as tall as Dada, Maia noted, rather too tall for someone who otherwise looked not much older than herself. His long-sleeved white shirt was well worn, but it still boasted of fineness, albeit in a muted sort of way. A long sword hung from the leather belt circling his slim hips, its gold handle gleaming in the sunlight. A dark red headband stretched across his forehead trying to force some order into the unruly mop of jet-black hair that fell past his ears in curly waves. Noting his dark eyes, his bronzed complexion, and the hint of a nasal twang when he stressed a syllable, Maia presumed a connection to the First Continent.

  “They look awesome,” she said in a hurry.

  “They are awesome,” replied the boy, his eyes shining with pride. “Say, can you fly?”

  “Yes,” Maia replied.

  “It’s so hard to find someone my age who can. I’m Kusha, by the way,” he tilted his head toward the big tent behind him, “and my parents own the Solianese Circus. We’re from the First Continent, but we travel so much that I hardly remember the place where I was born. It gets a little too tiring sometimes, this unending trek around Tansi.”

  He paused for a moment before fixing his inquiring gaze on Maia. “What about you?”

  “I’m Maia, from Appian. It’s a small village of about thirty families further west on the East-West Highroads.”

  “Oh yes. I remember passing it on our way to Shiloh. It was very late at night so we didn’t stop, but it looked . . .” Kusha’s words trailed off as a wistful look glazed his eyes, “well, it felt nice and peaceful, like . . . home.” A veil of sadness swept across his face, and then disappeared as quickly as it had fallen. He nodded in the direction of the gliders and smiled. “Would you like to try them?”

  “Try what? Your Levehs?” Maia’s mouth fell open at the incredulous proposal, and her heart picked up the pace.

  “Sure, you can try Pæks, the white one,” the boy offered generously, brandishing a key that he pulled from his pocket. Brisk hands unfastened the lock that hung at the entrance to the enclosure and pushed the sturdy gate open. “I’ll take Emperor. We don’t always have the Levehs ready to fly; you know how difficult it is to get them fueled. But last night this loony guy named Moritz came by and offered to charge them up.”

  “You mean Moritz of Moritz’s Mechanical Miracles?” Maia blinked in disbelief. “He was here? They banished him from Appian after he blew up one of our wind turbines. He’s been in hiding ever since.”

  “Yes, he was here with his rusty wagon full of stuff smuggled from the Jjord, including a whole lot of fuel. He fixed one of the gears in the main tent, but now that I know he can blow up turbines, I’ll tell my father to have the repairs checked,” Kusha said. He leaned back to look Maia squarely in the eye. “So, are you coming or not?”

  Maia tingled from head to foot, overwhelmed by the tempting offer, but still she hesitated. It had been five years since she had left Miorie, five years since she had last flown. She was unquestionably out of practice and risking a stranger’s beautiful Leveh just did not feel right. But then again, it was a calm day, she reasoned. And he had asked her, not the other way around. She was all set to leave for ThulaSu in two weeks; surely that justified one last flight?

  Stepping forward gingerly, she stood next to the gleaming white Leveh, quietly admiring its elegant form. With a little trepidation, Maia reached for the raised control deck; the metal felt warm, smooth, and very inviting. As she ran her fingers across the buttons and the levers, the memory of every flying lesson she ever had flashed across her mind. A tremor of excitement ran up her spine and shook her a little. The realization of how badly she wanted to fly again surprised her, but only briefly. Trying to ignore the little knot that had formed at the pit of her stomach, Maia took a deep breath and grabbed the steering handle.

  “Let’s do it,” she said.

  Kusha’s face broke into a huge grin. Together, they pushed the gliders out to the open area behind the red-and-gold tent and seated themselves. One press of the ignition button, a solid run across the rolling field, and Maia took off into the blue sky. The engine purred smoothly behind her, and before long she could feel the steady updraft of a giant thermal under the Leveh. On reaching a cruising altitude, she cut off the engine and soared with the thermal. Kusha floated next to her within moments, waving in excitement as they swirled around the column of air, turning along its edges and flying in and out of the vortex.

  On their sixth turn, Maia sensed a smaller thermal rising a little distance away. This narrower and more turbulent column of air beckoned her with the intrigue of the forbidden. The call was simply irresistible, especially after this taste of uninhibited freedom she had been denied for so long. It could not be too complicated, she thought, simply a matter of leaping from one column to another. Ready to restart the engine in case she missed the smaller thermal, Maia dipped off the larger column of air and nudged her craft away. Plunging headfirst toward the ground, she fell fast until Pæks touched the edge of the precarious pillar of air. Maia pulled the levers to try to ease Pæks into a steady, stable position. As the right wing of the Leveh tipped up suddenly, the tiny craft lurched into a vigorous spiral while continuing to plummet. Alarmed for just a fleeting moment at the loss of control, Maia soon savored every thrilling moment of the fall. Faster and faster she went in a corkscrew, letting Pæks sink as low as she could before restarting the engine.

  There was just enough time to straighten the craft before its tiny wheels scraped the grassy ground. Pæks grated awkwardly across the field, wobbling and teetering all along, screeching to a halt barely an arm’s distance from a horse grazing in one corner of the field. The startled animal stared, snorted, and clopped away with a look of contempt as Maia pulled herself out of the craft. She was still nervously inspecting the Leveh when Emperor landed next to her with the grace and dignity befitting its regal name. Kusha jumped out and ran in her direction, anxiety written all over his face.

  “Are you all right? That was a tight landing,” he said, panting.

  “I . . . I came up a little short. I’m glad that your craft isn’t broken,” Maia flushed, mortified at her impulsiveness of moments ago. “I shouldn’t have jumped thermals.”

  “I’m glad you did though, or I would’ve never seen that amazing maneuver,” said Kusha, his voice swelled with admiration. “You were absolutely grand.”

  “You really think so?” Maia asked with a sheepish smile.

  “Of course. You practically did the Siroccan Spiral up there. How long have you been learning?”

  “Learning?” Maia frantically searched for the right words that would tell the truth but still avoid the details. “A couple of years—”

  “Just a couple of years and you can already do the Spiral? Wow, you’ll get an entry to
the contest for sure. You’re here to take the Selectives with the Xifarians tomorrow, right?” asked Kusha.

  It was Maia’s turn to be surprised. “Selectives? What do you mean?” she asked, a dread filling her heart at the mention of the Xifarians.

  They had rolled the two gliders back to their enclosure. Kusha stood up and peered at her. “You don’t know? You’re joking, right?”

  “No,” Maia answered bluntly. She bristled inside. Although she did not understand what he was talking about, she did not like being thought of as an ignorant girl, certainly not by a boy she had just met. “I thought they held the annual selections for the labor camps only in spring. What are they doing here now?”

  “You haven’t seen the pamphlets then?” Kusha said as he settled down in the shade of his family’s tent.

  Maia shook her head.

  He spoke with the solemn passion of a philosopher, ready to unveil the deepest mysteries of life, “They’re not here to fill the mining camps. These are the tryouts for the ‘Alliance Initiative,’ and I’ve signed up for it.”

  “The w-what?” Maia stuttered.

  Digging into his pocket, Kusha pulled out a piece of paper. Maia’s fingers trembled as she reached out to grab the small square parchment that was falling apart along the folds. She could tell that it had been read many times over. Gently she pulled it open and laid it flat on the grass.

  5: The Alliance Initiative

  The pamphlet was the color of honey, but even with the smudgy fingerprints all over it, the piece of paper felt cold and sterile. Maia’s eyes glanced over the stylishly scripted bold, black letters that stood out on the textured paper with haughty indifference.

  Are you between the ages of 10 and 16?