It was a private fight floor on the grounds of the Quad-de estate, housed in a small round building. The floor was traditional bare dirt, and Ancel could cross it in ten easy paces. Smooth metal walls rose twice as tall as Pharomond. Above were tiers of viewing stands, virtually empty. Each man had two bodyguards, and each had brought his children as witnesses.
Utz had gotten a key to the building from Jake and would lock it back when they finished. He watched the Fallstar daughters with caution. Fallstar had always wanted boys, but was given instead five daughters. Two were young enough that they were home with their mother. The older three who attended the council with their father were lithe and strong. Utz didn’t think he’d want to meet them on the fight floor. They refused his offer of refreshments and sat watching their father with impassive faces.
Utz turned to the fight floor. Up close, Fallstar looked old. His blond beard was sprinkled with white hairs, and his skin was wrinkled from a lifetime in the sun and wind. His nose ridges were sharp and deep.
“What do you think of the Ambassador’s announcement?” Seehafer said.
Fallstar shrugged. “You know that neither of us is going to Earth.” He lunged, diving for Seehafer’s legs, but Seehafer danced away quickly, leaving Ancel to slide across the dirt floor. The women cheered while Fallstar rose and dusted off his pants.
“Of course,” said Seehafer. “But what of your daughters?” He attacked suddenly, a flurry of kicks aimed at Fallstar’s head.
Fallstar casually blocked the kicks with his arms. He glanced up at the scarlet-robed women. “They are Risonians to the end.” He lifted his chin toward Utz. “And I assume the same for your son.”
“Good. We agree.” Seehafer stepped in, grabbed Fallstar’s arms and heaved him over his head to fall flat on the ground.
Utz nodded at his father’s efficiency. But he wondered if he’d missed something important. Were they talking about not getting himself and the Seehafer daughters off-planet; saying that they wouldn’t even attempt it? He stiffened. He desperately wanted to take Derry and go to Earth, but that would mean leaving his father behind. Unthinkable.
Or were Seehafer and Fallstar in agreement that they should evacuate their sons and daughters? Suspicious, Utz watched Fallstar carefully, making sure to keep his daughters in view, also.
Fallstar slowly rose and shook his head to clear it. He held up a hand, asking for time to recover.
Utz grinned at the Fallstar daughters to remind them that King Seehafer had won his position fairly on the fight floor and would defend it there any time. He hoped they recognized his gloating.
Seehafer graciously stepped back to give Fallstar a moment. “And these aliens, should we let them swim in our waters?”
“No,” Fallstar said shortly. “Never.” He stepped back into the fight and grappled Seehafer. Both bent over, heads butting and arms reaching out to find an advantage, a momentary weakness, a slight imbalance.
With their heads down, Seehafer grunted and said, “Some might say you are foolish to say no to the Earthlings.”
Fallstar shoved hard and raised up to stand, glaring at Seehafer.
Seehafer held up his hands and chided softly, like he was talking to a child. “Ancel! You can’t kill all those Phoke on Earth.”
“Why not?” Fallstar’s voice was harsh and loud. “They have killed millions of our people by delaying their decision. We should have attacked—” He stopped himself with visible effort, swallowing hard and turning his face aside.
That decision, Utz thought, was far in the past and there was no reason to bring it up except it would always be a gall to the Bo-See Coalition. They would never forgive the Quad-des for refusing them spaceships to attack. Five years ago, three years ago, they could’ve won. Easily. Utz thought of the old Navy Captain on the Earth team and his mouth curled in a sneer. But it faded fast. It was too late now for an invasion.
Fallstar continued, “Earth will finally allow us to come, but only if we agree to live in a desert. Bah!” He waved a hand to dismiss the idea. Sidling along the metal wall, he tried to get behind Seehafer.
But Seehafer turned so that he kept facing Fallstar. He shook his head. “They are harsh. We understand that they are trying to protect their planet—and by extension that means all of us who will take refuge there. We—” he hesitated, and then continued with an ironic note, “—appreciate that. But it’s too little, too late.”
Fallstar smiled wickedly. “Then we agree?”
Seehafer smiled back. “Agreed.”
The men straightened and bowed to each other, the sparring done for the day.
Seehafer slapped Fallstar’s back and they turned to the door in the wall.
“One other thing,” Fallstar said. “What will be do about the young Quad-de who wants to fight you?”
“I have an idea about that,” Seehafer said. The door closed behind them shutting out the conversation.
Utz let himself relax slightly. This had gone well. The Bo-See would vote with a united front, as tradition demanded. Somehow, though, he felt like he’d missed something. There were deeper issues than he understood. It was like Fallstar and his father understood each other without speaking.
Utz found himself wishing that he could discuss the day with Derry. Where was she this time of day? Still in the lab? She would immediately identify the tiny thing that was bothering him.
He mentally reviewed the discussion again but saw nothing unusual. So why did it leave him with a deep unease?
The Vote
The Earth team chose to swim Risonian waters again, and had swum far into the night, only returning about midnight. Famished after the exercise, they ate and talked about the Risonian sea life and only found their beds in the early morning hours. Jake had slept two hours and woken unsettled.
He spent a half hour talking with Swann, who also couldn’t sleep, and finally, gone for a walk. He slipped out the front doors of the Quad-de estate. He wanted to wander the streets of Killia, the city of his childhood. He loved this city and wanted to wander its streets one last time.
Walking across the courtyard, ash kicked up at his heels. Soon, the servants would arrive to sweep it clean again, such a futile effort.
He strolled the main boulevard of Killia for a few minutes, seeing ghosts of his past: his barber, his favorite pastry shop, his doctor’s office. Finally, he turned onto a familiar street leading toward the city’s park. There, he climbed a grassy hillock that gave him a vista of the city. Despite the smog, the city skyline was familiar. The newly risen sun was at his back, bathing everything in a golden glow: the dome of city government, the delicate spire of the art museum, the bulky stadium that housed a popular fight floor, and the banking buildings that his ancestors had built.
From here, the volcanoes loomed dark on the horizon, lazily spewing out white steam. He turned away, trying to ignore them.
The streets were deserted this early. An ash-covered kriga, a monkey-like creature, scampered across the grass and leapt into a tree; it was scrawny, probably the pet of someone who had died, and it had gone feral. It reminded him of his pet kriga, Bell, whom he hadn’t thought of in months. Leaving Bell behind had been wrenching. That was so long ago, when he was just a child.
A noise, just at the edge of his awareness, suddenly caught his attention and held it: the songs of the volcanoes. Musical and deep, like a bass soloist. Underneath Killia’s traffic noise and the morning vendors just opening shops, magma burbled, chugged and whooshed. The song was almost lulling, a constant noise that told Jake to relax because he was home. The planet was singing under his feet, singing the song of a water planet with a molten core.
He stopped short.
No, it wasn’t comforting. It was the sound of a time bomb gurgling away the moments until the end.
He turned back to the Quad-de estate, alternately stomping and running. Those stubborn Bo-See! The Phoke needed that cure, and the Risonians needed a new home. Today, they had to fight smarter a
nd harder. Em needed a cure. He vowed to himself again, “I’ll do anything.”
Only much later did he remember the beauty of Killia and weep for its loss.
Swann Quad-de, Prime Minister of Tizzalura, rose to speak. “Esteemed leaders, welcome to the second day of our council concerning the Earthlings request to do emergency medical research in our southern seas.”
The murmuring stopped, and all eyes turned to the Prime Minister.
Jake suppressed a yawn from the late night.
“To shorten the process,” Swann said, “I call for an immediate vote on the matter.” His authoritative voice carried across the room. One by one, delegates nodded approval.
Surprisingly, Jake heard no objections. That either meant all was well, or all was lost. Blake, again wearing his dress whites, tugged Jake’s shirt and pointed to his ear with an annoyed look. Jake had forgotten about being a translator and quickly caught up.
The council’s secretary read out the names of the delegates:
“Lord Jochen Bates of the Adler Nation in the far north.”
“Aye.”
“Lady Ettore Edwards of the Christie Islands of the north.”
“Aye.”
The northern countries were allies of Tizzalura, so this wasn’t a surprise. Neither were the next three votes from the Bo-See Coalition.
“King Pharomond Seehafer, King of the Bo-See Coalition.”
“Nay.”
“General Yancy Pender, General of the Bo-See Coalition.”
“Nay.”
“Lord Ancel Fallstar of the Bo-See Coalition.”
“Nay.”
The battle would be won or lost when the Bo-See’s neighbors in the south voted.
The secretary called, “Lord Albion Kulig of the Chadja tribes of the south.”
The Chadja delegates sat next to General Pender. The General leaned over and patted Lord Kulig’s arm.
Lord Kulig nodded to the General and called, “Nay.”
And so, it went. The southern delegates voting no, and the northern delegates voting yes. With each negative vote, Jake’s stomach cramped harder. The Bo-See and its neighbors were going to vote down the expedition.
Suddenly, the secretary paused reading names. He swayed, frantically clutching at the table.
A quake!
The planet was shaking harder than Jake had ever felt. Was this it? Would the planet implode, killing them all, and making all of this a moot question?
Jake counted seconds: one, two, three, four, five, six. . .
The shaking stopped.
Jake looked around. Was anyone hurt? One of the Fallstar daughters had fallen and her sisters were pulling her up. General Pender lay sprawled halfway to the doorway, probably an instinctive reaction to run. King Seehafer gripped the arms of his chair, and his eyes were wide.
“Doomsday,” said someone.
And then, looking around, everyone was fine. A nervous twitter broke out and spread.
The room shook again, though, harder this time, knocking things off the wall. The floor tilted one way and then another.
Only five seconds.
But this time, people weren’t so surprised. They either sat still in their chairs or sat on the floor if needed for balance. Stoic. No one cried out and no one ran.
Jake found that he was hugging the back of his step-father’s chair. As the quake quieted, he gulped, tried to straighten, and then hesitantly, he turned loose. The floors were intact and not buckled, but a couple framed portraits of Quad-de ancestors had dropped to the ground, frames shattered.
Ancel Fallstar rose and pointed a hand at Dr. Mangot. “Go home, Phoke, before you die here. You’ll never sail the seas of my world. Never. You’re alien. Go home. Leave us to die in peace.”
With a nod to his daughters to follow, the scarlet-clad family strode out of the room.
Silence reigned.
Despair gripped Jake. Fallstar was an expert Navy man, even if he didn’t call his troops a Navy. Smugglers or Navy, it made no difference because they were still the troops that would prevent Dr. Mangot from finding the cure for Em.
He remembered the last time he’d seen Em, walking on Coldingham Beach in the frigid Scottish air. He had put the amber mermaid necklace around her neck and then kissed her, a moment that split his world into before and after. This, right now on Rison, was after the kiss. And he was committed to bringing that cure to Em or die trying.
Grimly, he thought, I may die trying. Somehow, they had to get to the southern seas. Quickly.
Teeth clenched, Jake strode to King Seehafer and stood with his legs spread wide, and his fists on his hips. He demanded, “I will fight you for leadership of the Bo-See Coalition.”
King Seehafer was still seated, and at Jake’s words, looked amused. “I won’t fight a youth such as yourself. Let me put it in Earth terms, since you’ve lived there so long: It would be like slaughtering a sacrificial lamb.”
Jake’s stomach twisted in shame and anger. He could do nothing for Em.
“However, to show our respect for your offer, we will allow you to enter the fight floor against my son, Utz Seehafer. We doubt you’ll last even five minutes.”
“I’ll make it five minutes,” Jake said with renewed hope. “And when I do, you’ll allow us to go south.”
Seehafer shook his head, like he was admonishing a very simple-headed child. “No. If you make it five minutes, we’ll let you live.”
Behind him, Jake heard Swann suck in a breath. But as they had agreed, Swann said nothing and didn’t try to interfere.
Jake gulped. “When?”
“Now.”
The Fight Floor
Back in his room, Utz unrolled his knife bundle and considered which to choose for the fight, as they were allowed to bring three knives onto the fight floor. First, he chose his favorite dagger, used for thrusting or stabbing. For his left hand, Utz preferred a simple T-handled knife, a grip that lent power to a thrust. Likely, he’d only use the dagger, but he wanted blades in both hands just in case there was an opening. He fingered his gut-hook knife made for disemboweling an enemy. But this wouldn’t be a fight to the death, so he left it in the bundle. Instead, he picked up his spear-pointed knife, another good knife for thrusting or stabbing. That one he sheathed at his waist for easy access.
King Seehafer walked in alone, his bodyguards waiting outside.
Utz’s anger boiled over. “You have me fighting that weakling?”
“Don’t underestimate him. He studied with Master Bru Paniego.”
Utz stopped short. “I knew he’d studied with someone from Bo-See, but I didn’t know it was Master Paniego. Then he’ll know something about knife fighting.”
King Seehafer nodded. “Before he went off-planet, he was the best Tizzalurian knife fighter I’d ever seen.”
“We watched that fight together.” Utz nodded. “Then why—”
“Because I want to see what he’s really made of. Will he fight well or will he fight as a coward?”
“But why?”
“There are many strings to pull,” said Seehafer simply.
Utz understood that. As a child, he’d played the string game often. Groups of Bo-See children entered the fight floor. One child was IT and watched the others. Each child held a long string and a partner took the other end. Then, they wove the strings, dipping over and under, around and through other children until everyone was hopelessly tangled in a nest of string.
IT tried to untangle everyone. Sometimes, IT pulled on a string to see where it ended and what effect it had. IT ordered this child or that to go under, over, through or around to untangle everything. Usually it ended in laughter when IT gave up, but Utz never gave up. He held the record for the longest string game, refusing to allow any of the other children to leave until he had them untangled. Utz had always understood that it was training for politics, that actions and events often originated in places you didn’t expect.
But what did that childhood game ha
ve to do with the Quad-des?
The audience thronged into the ceremonial fight building and crammed onto the benches. It was larger than the practice building used by Seehafer and Fallstar the day before. But it was still a private fight floor, so it wasn’t meant for many spectators. No one wanted to travel far after the quakes that morning, though, so they agreed to stay on the Quad-de estate. As it was, some refused to enter the building for fear of being trapped in a quake.
Seehafer and his retinue sat on the south side while Swann and his retinue sat on the north. The referee was Lord Albion Kulig, the Chadja delegate. He swore to be neutral, but Jake knew that he was aligned with the Bo-See Coalition, so he expected no quarter.
Jake expected no mercy, just as he would give no mercy. He and Utz were well-matched.
Both young men were stripped to their fighting pants. Each carried two knives, one in each hand. Each had a third knife in a sheath at his waist. Jake worried that he hadn’t practiced knife fighting enough lately. But he had stayed in shape, and as Master Bru always said, “The fight is won or lost in the mind.”
Jake had the motivation needed to win: Em’s life.
But Utz was motivated as well: the honor of the Bo-See Coalition.
The referee motioned for both fighters to raise their hands in salute. When the referee dropped his hands, the fight began.
From his days with Master Bru, Jake expected Utz to attack immediately. He watched Utz’s hips for a change in direction. When Utz lunged left, Jake shifted right and swiped with his right hand.
A tiny red streak appeared above Utz’s navel. First blood!
A roar reverberated in the room, but Jake focused on Utz. Jake saw something change in Utz’s face, like he’d been playing around but decided he had to really concentrate.
Good, Jake thought. I earned his respect within five seconds.
Before Utz had time to recalculate his strategy, Jake rushed Utz, forcing him against the wall, and then when it came, he danced out of reach of Utz’s dagger thrust.
Pilgrims Page 7
