The Book of Ominiue: Starborn

by D. M. Barnham

  ‘And if pure rejection occurs?’

  ‘It is extremely rare but it has occurred in the past and as such has caused serious trouble, but today the Unions are likely to accept that choice. In the end there is always a nation that will welcome us, always other lands. From what I can see the biggest issue on this planet is the Fa’Orian.’

  ‘They will always keep their promise if you keep yours,’ Níurthan assured.

  ‘I meant there would be uncertainty concerning colonisation behaviour from our side. I am unsure how it would unfold. There will be large interest and will remain so for as long as we know they are a unique species. Our city will be a tourist city. People will come to see the Fa’Orian and there will be demand upon expanding. Whether it will occur or not, I cannot tell you.’ The monk nodded in understanding and as a thank you. Slowly they walked from the building.

  ‘The curiosity directed to your technology and knowledge; how long will that last before any predictions of rejection?’

  ‘If there is acceptance of technology, then when that technology becomes freely available to the people is when resentment typically begins to rise.’

  ‘Then why offer it if you know it will likely cause trouble?’ the monk was curious.

  ‘Because, if we hold everything back it will cause greater unrest, it is a strange occurrence but it is fact, either approach people will eventually become unhappy. We offer what we can and provide it at the slowest rate possible until signs of negative impact occur. When that happens we adjust what the natives want. It is a balancing act and we’ve had plenty of practice.’

  ‘Do you think it would be better if your people never came here?’ the monk’s head tilted a bit as he scrutinised the Earthman. They started to cross the throne room; there were a few people casually wandering around with the guards keeping vigil.

  ‘I believe so, but orders do not come from me. I have no say in the colonisation process and I doubt any man really does. There are those back on the home worlds who protest any colonisation of a world already inhabited by intelligent life, but the system we live in is like an animal of its own will, to thwart it is to destroy our empire, and who would willingly and knowingly do that?’

  ‘It would take a brave man,’ Níurthan admitted. ‘But I see unnecessary customs upon our half for the sake of yours.’

  ‘It is the nature of life to strive to survive,’ Shayne acknowledged. ‘The evolutionary track of our society was flawed from the beginning. Taken from the primal days and pushed into the modern to the point where it must keep going for us to continue. I do not see how it could possibly continue without eventually failing.’

  ‘And what would become of all the worlds you have influenced since?’ the monk pondered. Shayne remained silent; he saw the dilemma all too clearly.

  The dining room was full of polite talk and pleasantries. Many approached the Earthmen and conveyed their support for their request for a new city, regardless of whether they believed it or not. Some remained clear; looking upon their strangeness and technology as ill omens and some stayed away just simply because they always stayed away from that which was not like them. The mind games had already begun with some Southerners; most notably those involved in the disputed lands, trying to gain favour.

  Faygin’kalídur the blacksmith formally introduced himself. He was tall enough to be an Earthmen and he often laughed in a booming voice. Of all the Chancellor he was the most open and the most interested in their technology. He exchanged a few friendly words with an equally friendly smile before stepping aside; there were many people who wished an audience with the Earthmen and the Master Armoursmith was always considerate of others. When he had gone the Bohanese Varda approached him. She wore the red and orange colours of Bohaníde. Though she looked splendid, her gown was modest compared to some of the human royals. Standing on either side of her was Pan’arden and the Bohanese general, Tay’mearan, both with their tiger companions.

  ‘Afra’hama,’ the old queen bowed. ‘It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.’ She smiled warmly at him but she also searched his face; glad to be able to finally gaze upon him.

  Shayne bowed in return, ‘I am sorry we were not able to pay our respects to you within your own nation. You showed great kindness to us and we are forever grateful.’

  ‘One is always happy to provide for those who need it. I hear you rode well upon my gift. I am glad to hear it,’ she added with half a smile, ‘and that the stallion was of use to you.’

  ‘It was a gracious gift, thank you,’ Shayne motioned for her to sit with him; she accepted the gesture and took a cup from the table, filling it with a dark wine. ‘I would be happy to return Ulossa to you, as we have no need of him anymore.’

  The Varda looked across at Shayne with mild surprise, ‘It was a gift, Afra’hama; one does not return a gift.’

  ‘I am not sure how I can care for him though,’ Shayne spoke earnestly. ‘Not by myself, I have much work to do, and I am afraid she may be neglected. I would love to keep the horse but it would not be happy to live with me.’ The queen’s expression became thoughtful before she smiled at him.

  ‘In that case Ulossa can stable in my castle and you; Afra’hama, can visit me and we shall ride in my country.’

  ‘I would like that,’ Shayne replied, though he held no real interest in the thought. They exchanged some words before General Hendingson politely asked the Bohanese guests for Shayne’s pardon and took him to their seating where they discussed some things before the recess was over.

  The ending of the break brought the crowd back into the Grand Council Hall. The mood was more relaxed, the Earthmen presence was almost considered normal amongst the members and the food in their stomachs quelled any earlier frustrations. Instantly they moved to the decision making of the three locations.

  ‘I do not like the idea of them settling in the plains,’ the prince of the southern coastal nation of Garathy called out. His nation has had a very long and lasting peace with all around them. They held the sacred location of Banadama where the dragons last gathered before their final departure. A great shrine stood there now and pilgrims from all over Dífrun ventured there to pay homage. They also received pilgrims from the southern continent, where they honoured Anótole and Ominiue for setting them free from a tyrannical nation that gripped the land before the dragons’ flight.

  ‘Access would be more difficult for us; though I see the advantage in the land I would like it to be more central, as all agree.’ There were murmurs.

  The holy king of Isradia also stood against the location. ‘The fields are also sacred. They were once the open hunting ground of dragon-kind. Are we to abolish them from the realm of one extinct Orian and drive them to another? It would be hypocrisy.’ The savannah was considered somewhat sacred and therefore the reason why no town was erected there or claimed by a surrounding nation, but the circumstances between the two was vastly different and difficult to express.

  ‘I do not see the problem with one city being built in those lands,’ the Kíbaroth Varda answered carefully, ‘but to open the lands once shut, even to a new people who are now homeless would also open the rest of the land to settlement, and I think I agree with the Hankída in that this should not be compromised. If the dragons were to ever return —’

  ‘The dragons are dead!’ snapped a human sitting in the last row on the far right. ‘Why hope for something that —’ the words of the human were drowned in the explosive anger of the room, from all sides and all nations.

  ‘Silence!’ Far’galanmír shouted from the box, suddenly standing, with her hand angrily gripping the frame in front of her. She had to repeat herself several times before the rooms unrest dissipated and returned to an angry silence.

  ‘Well it looks like the north is out,’ The general joked, and Shayne deleted the mark in the plains of Ámel Merodan. This seemed to further deny any attempt to fight so the crowds anger abated. After much discussion between the two remaining locations they dec
ided against Tallagar, mainly due to its difficult and remote terrain, despite it appearing the better location on the map. Advantage in the remaining location was that it was not real territory; residing on the foot at the Beldon Mountains, backing onto the Corha-Rhí desert and uninhabitable to the primitive people. Its closest neighbours were both human dominated which kept the Southern people happy but it was still within the middle kingdoms and that kept the lionmen happy. Some were not pleased but that would occur regardless of outcome, including the Nakáda lionmen who were never happy with change of any kind.

  The final settlement on the Corha-Rhí location was not the end of the discussion. Afterwards they went into great depth over technology sharing and promises. The Last Western Front policy stated that if one nation desired a power and another said no then no person should have the advancement. They only shared with the indigenous population if all nations agreed to the use and none objected. The countries that fought all the way did pose a problem at first, denying everything but they struck an agreement to allow the other nations whatever they desired so long as it did not impede upon them or threatened them. Often Shayne had to remind the council delegates that it was a unison agreement, his eyes darkening every time he had to repeat himself. The basic constitution of trade was made, with the points recorded and agreed upon. All that remained was for the papers to be written out and signed, but that would not occur until the following day.

  That night many of the ambassadors made their way to the gathering square in front of the temple. Entertainers of various kinds were present. The Teaching Hall Musicians played upon a stage all dressed in their distinctive blue cloaks, constantly switching singers and instrumentalists. Various songs rang through the night. The rhythmic beat of drums constantly rolled as people ate and danced. The dancing moved between free-flowing to tribalistic depending on the music played. Their rhythm and movement was hypnotic, everything they did seemed beautiful beyond expectation and every dance they performed held a specific meaning and sacredness, rooted in primal worship long forgotten. As darkness descended, great torches were lit; covering the square in warm firelight and constant moving shadows which drew Shayne’s attention.

  Sometime during the festivities Kíe’arathorne made his way through the great mass of people to the honour tables. A Karmoníth shytarda barred his way; denying the lowly ranked journeyman entry, but Hanniver spotted him and came to his rescue by grabbing him by the arm and guiding him passed the guards to their seats.

  ‘Afra’hama,’ he bowed his head slightly to Shayne who still seemed lost in his own thoughts. He then turned to the other Earthmen. ‘Hama Ta’Orians.’

  ‘Come and sit with us young lionman,’ Hanniver patted a spare seat.

  Kíe’arathorne sat himself and looked upon the plates of food before him, a gleam in his eye. ‘You do not mind if I help you clear the table?’ he asked causing Hanniver to laugh, even the general let slip a single chuckle. The lionman then began to help himself, stretching over the table to reach what took his fancy.

  ‘So, when are you singing?’ Hanniver asked, Kíe’arathorne chewed for a second, allowing himself to finish his mouthful of oxen-meat before replying.

  ‘I doubt I’ll sing tonight,’ he confessed. ‘It is a big celebration that was not planned. If they had every journeyman, training apprentice and master singing we would be here all week. Besides Christov, there are far greater singers amongst us tonight.’

  ‘What’ve you been up to since returning to your home?’ Hanniver had to speak louder as a new song began.

  ‘Reading mostly,’ the scholar half shrugged as he took some more meat from a plate and began to chew on it. ‘It was an unexpected visit so I also helped the masters with some copying.’ He pulled a face to show his dislike for that job, ‘but now I prepare to ride back to Danarie to retrieve my belongings. There I’ll wait for the replacement from Taríth; if orden are not there already, then I return here and wait for your call for the apprenticeship.’

  They sat in silence for much of the night, listening to the songs. A haunting instrumental tune began to play, far different from the joyful atmosphere the musicians had created. The song drove the listeners into a respectful silence and when a female voice joined the chorus the crowd all held their breath for her voice was by far the fairest. When it ended they began the teaching songs. Kíe sighed deeply as his eyes lingered on the singer, watching her as she retired to one of the masters’ tables.

  Hanniver flicked him with his hand, pulling the scholar from his gaze, ‘Come, now ask her to dance,’ at that Kíe’arathorne almost turned red under his thin fur coat before smiling broadly.

  ‘Only if you join me.’

  ‘For the ladies!’ Hanniver agreed and they both rose up.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Hendingson warned the Brigadier. ‘Get back here!’ Hanniver looked across at the dancing natives, his eyes glanced over a few pretty females before he sighed and returned to his seat. Kíe’arathorne also went to sit back down but Hanniver pushed him back.

  ‘You,’ He pointed firmly to his friend, ‘go and ask her to dance.’ The journeyman gave a sheepish smile before he was lost in the crowd. A couple of times Shayne thought he saw him with the female lionman in question, but the crowd was packed and most faces were quickly lost.

  As the night wore on Shayne sat silently listening to the music, once again becoming oblivious to his surroundings. He looked beyond the dancing natives, sinking into his thoughts which followed the beat of the drums. In his mind he saw Níurthan, the odd and strange manner in-which he held himself. The weird glint he occasionally saw behind the mask and the power that seemed to emanate from him.

  ‘He is not the Afrada ala Hama!’ he heard someone shout, it sounded almost distant, but it was powerful enough to break Shayne from his daydream.

  ‘Shame!’ a native human called out as the guards held him back, his fist was raised at Shayne as his eyes stared threateningly into his. Shayne rose from his seat, the other Earthmen followed his lead. ‘Shame on you, you claim the title so you can claim our lands!’ the human cried out. ‘Do not trust him. Do not fall for his emptiness, for he will be our doom!’ as the man called out and the focus of the crowd was upon him another native human broke the guard and charged at Shayne with a curved short blade in hand. Most people were so intent upon the outspoken one that they did not see the assassin, except for Shayne. With the ease of ingrained training he sidestepped the man rushing at him. Shayne then grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it. He applied pressure to the wrist lock, the sound of bone snapping caused the native to drop his blade and cry out in pain. He then released the man who fell to the ground cradling his arm. The guards picked him up and dragged both the natives away.

  The crowd fell into stunned silence at the sight of the Starborn quickly and easily dispensing an armed opponent in the same manner and speed as a member of the Kerwin monks.

  Kíe’arathorne pushed his way through the crowd and back to their table. He placed his hand upon Shayne’s shoulder; a question of concern upon his gentle face as he looked down upon the Earthman. Shayne pulled away from the journeyman and sat back down. He was the only person who saw the attack before it was too late, not even the android saw it, though that might have been because of his classification as a Star Born Victim. Shayne knew he was lucky; the would-be assassin was nothing more than a thug; if he was properly trained it would most likely have ended poorly.

  ‘I’m glad you saw him,’ Hanniver smiled weakly at Shayne. ‘You move pretty quick for an old bloke.’ The music began to play again, in an attempt to bring order back to the festivities, and slowly the people did fall back into celebration.

  ‘What good are these guards if they allowed that to happen?’ Hendingson glared at the armoured humans and lionmen around him. Two senior guards had since appeared, both extremely fierce lionmen; one of which had an even angrier looking Dikean-wolf. The other guards shifted uneasily as the two looked accusingly at th
em, but the effect was renewed vigilance.

  ‘Should we return to the castle?’ the Brigadier suggested.

  ‘And show the natives we’re afraid? I would rather have my eyes gouged out.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure I’d be happy having my eyes gouged out to save myself from embarrassment,’ Hanniver replied. The general glared at the officer with the level of intolerance he was famous for. They decided to stay for half-an-hour longer before retiring. Afterwards Kíe’arathorne and the guards accompanied them to the palace where the Imperial Shytarda’s took over; the look of displeasure towards their city kin unmistakable with the dismissal given. The city guards retired in shame except for two who escorted Kíe’arathorne back to the Halls. Shayne returned to his quarters, exhausted he decided to go straight to bed, but the rush of the attack kept him awake for hours. It was well past midnight before he finally drifted off to sleep.

  He was standing in the field, looking out into the distance towards the slight rise; he knew the man with the eyes of light was out there. The black fox jumped across into his sight, its front paws ready for flight. It looked up at him with its dark brown eyes and wide grin. It then bounded playfully towards the hill and Shayne followed after it. He felt a joy as he ran and he smiled as he felt the long grass pass him by.

  They slowed as they came to the rise, where the darkness of night gave way to blinding light. The native stood upon the rise, his back facing them. Shayne took a few steps towards him, expecting him to turn, but instead he heard a shifting sound from behind; alarmed he spun around just in time to see the assassin. The native charged, throwing himself on top of the Starborn; a curved knife in hand. Shayne grabbed the man’s wrists but he was too strong and he fell backwards. He tried to call out to the fox but it was gone along with the field, and he was now alone in the entertainment court.