Jora’h could no longer tell. He had no idea whatsoever.
“Nira . . .” he whispered to himself, but no one answered.
He recalled when Anton Colicos had brought a catatonic Rememberer Vao’sh back to the Prism Palace following their long, isolated journey of escape from the black robots. As Mage-Imperator, Jora’h had felt a distinct echo of the anguish Vao’sh had endured. But he had never imagined it would feel like this.
Trapped in nightmares, he could not forget how his son Thor’h had been drugged and locked in a sealed room — by Jora’h’s own order. The power generators had failed, shutting down the bright blazers in the chamber. Thor’h had died alone and in the dark, a hideous fate for an Ildiran. . . .
Jora’h pressed himself closer to the bright blazers mounted on the wall, but even the light did not help.
Feeling faint, he doggedly sent out his thoughts yet again, trying to find any echo out there. He tried for hours . . . or perhaps it was only minutes . . . until he was too exhausted to keep trying. He let his thoughts drift aimlessly in the cold, black wasteland.
Unexpectedly, familiar strands of thism brushed the edges of his mind. The mental touch startled him, and he reached out to grasp the threads so desperately that the tenuous connection almost scattered. Almost. The distant thoughts drifted back toward his. He struggled to recognize them, but it was so hard to think straight.
Finally, it came to him — Osira’h and her siblings! Once he understood who they were, the connection strengthened. They helped from their end, securing the link.
“Osira’h!” he said out loud, and the children seized his wandering mind like rescuers throwing a lifeline to a drowning man. Their connection through the thism grew bright and clear. He caught flashes of Ildiran refugees sheltering in mountain caves, absorbed secondhand memories of searing fire.
Slowly, Jora’h began to understand exactly what had happened on Ildira. He had had only the vaguest fears before, but now he learned how Rusa’h and his fireballs had driven everyone from Mijistra and taken over the Prism Palace. The Empire itself was trembling, on the verge of collapse.
Jora’h used their thoughts as an anchor and drew strength from them. But his determination was his own, as was his outrage over what Chairman Wenceslas had done to him.
Yes, now he had the strength and the will to last until this warliner returned to Earth. And then he needed to find a way to save the Ildiran people.
40
Osira’h
Huddled in a small rock-walled alcove in their underground shelter, all of Nira’s children joined together and searched with their minds for the Mage-Imperator. Osira’h had suggested the idea even before the faint thism pulse from her father had gone so silent.
Though the rest of the Ildirans were stunned and disoriented by the abrupt change in the comforting mental web, she didn’t believe her father was dead — only lost. And if Jora’h were lost, then Osira’h vowed to find him. She simply needed the help of Rod’h, Gale’nh, Tamo’l, and Muree’n.
Together, they could achieve what other Ildirans could not.
Earlier, in comparatively “normal” times, the five half-breeds had generated a strong rapport through touching the lone treeling atop the Prism Palace. The children had used a synthesis of their mother’s telink and their Ildiran thism to form a unified new force that was stronger than, and different from, anything either Ildirans or green priests had ever known. Unlike other adherents of the thism/telink philosophy, the five special children had been able to protect themselves by cutting off the vulnerable paths through which Rusa’h had tried to burn them.
Throughout their time here in exile — while Prime Designate Daro’h, Yazra’h, Adar Zan’nh, and Tal O’nh struggled to piece together a military solution, and refugees in hundreds of scattered camps hid or died according to the whim of the faeros — Osira’h and her siblings continued to shield themselves.
But she believed that their skills gave them a responsibility to do more than hide. So the five of them had linked their minds and cast out into the thism in a concerted search for the Mage-Imperator. For days, no matter how far they spun out the soul-threads, he simply wasn’t there. Osira’h had refused to give up.
Finally, they found him.
When the five children came running into the central chamber, Daro’h looked up, startled. Osira’h knew that some people wanted the Prime Designate to undergo the ascension ceremony and become the new Mage-Imperator, but if Daro’h acted too soon, the results would be catastrophic.
She called out in a high, clear voice. “The Mage-Imperator is alive! We found him in the thism.”
The Prime Designate lunged to his feet, and Zan’nh and Yazra’h could not hide their joy; O’nh remained seated with a contented smile on his ravaged face. With overlapping chatter, the half-breed children explained how they had come upon Jora’h’s drifting thoughts; the Mage-Imperator had been driven nearly insane by loneliness and isolation, but he was alive. Captive, but alive.
Osira’h and her brother Rod’h had to raise their voices into the outraged clamor as they told how the Hansa Chairman had kidnapped Jora’h, seized his warliner and Ildiran crew, and tried to coerce him into recanting his support for the Confederation.
“They isolated him,” Rod’h said, his voice shaking with horror at the cruelty. “They cut off the Mage-Imperator from any contact with thism. He has been alone, star systems away from the nearest Ildiran.”
“How could anyone survive that?” Chief Scribe Ko’sh said.
“Through us.” Osira’h let herself show a small smile. “He might have survived alone, but he was getting weak. Now he has our help and strength. We will not let him give up.”
“Also,” Rod’h said, “we know how to find him now. The human military commander is returning him to Earth’s Moon.”
Zan’nh and Yazra’h wanted to launch an immediate attack against the Hansa, but Daro’h reminded them that the Solar Navy did not have the strength, equipment, or manpower to engage in such battles. Though many warliners remained safely in position at the edge of the Ildiran system, they could not tackle the entire human military.
Tal O’nh said in a quiet voice, “Rusa’h wants nothing more than to find the Mage-Imperator. Even if we brought Jora’h here, the faeros would gladly destroy him. Perhaps he is safer where he is.”
“Then what do we do?” Ko’sh said.
“Now that we know the Mage-Imperator is alive, I will hear no more nonsense about the ascension ceremony,” Daro’h said. “If he can survive his ordeal, then we can survive ours.”
Adar Zan’nh squared his shoulders. “We have learned one other thing. The Mage-Imperator cannot help us from where he is. We are on our own.”
41
Sarein
Working in Queen Estarra’s devastated greenhouse was somehow therapeutic for Sarein. Her sister had loved this conservatory, where she’d planted and tended representative Theron flora to remind her of home. But Basil had ordered everything killed. Out of spite.
Only a few of the flower beds still held shriveled brown plants; the rest were bare dirt. Sarein had set flats of small flowers, seedlings, and dwarf fruit trees on the edges of the planters. She hadn’t been able to get any new Theron plants, though she still kept a few in her own quarters, but these would have pleased Estarra, nonetheless. Sarein went about her work with quiet determination, getting her fingers dirty, planting what she could. She remembered too many times when she’d been unable to intercede in Basil’s decisions, to prevent him from going to extremes.
When the guard escort brought Nira into the conservatory, Sarein pushed aside all her qualms. The female green priest remained in the Whisper Palace pending the return of the Mage-Imperator in another day or so. At least Basil had allowed that. By now, Nira must be frantic with worry about Jora’h, but Sarein had no way to allay her fears. She could, however, do something else.
From the doorway, Nira spoke in a sharp voice. “Replanting a f
ew flowers and shrubs won’t atone for the destruction that’s been done.”
Sarein drew a long, slow breath. “I’m doing what I can. A lot of us are.” She picked up a small cluster of geraniums and pushed a hole in the dirt to plant them. “It’s a very delicate process, and you don’t always see what happens behind the scenes.”
Nira remained aloof. “Did you know Theroc was attacked by the faeros? I found out through telink on the night of the coronation.”
Sarein recoiled. “Why didn’t you tell me? If Theroc was in trouble, they should have called us to help!” As she spoke, Sarein knew how foolish it sounded. Even she could never have convinced Basil to do that.
Nira gave her a withering look. “King Peter didn’t think the Hansa would offer assistance. Think of it — your own sisters couldn’t call upon you for aid. To me, that speaks volumes.”
Ignoring the insult, Sarein concentrated on the real concern. “Is the attack over? Did the worldforest survive? How much damage?”
“The verdani fought off the faeros with the assistance of green priests, Roamers, wentals, and even Admiral Willis’s former EDF battleships. They all fought to defend the trees—everyone but the Hansa. Your brother Beneto was also there. He’s dead now.”
Sarein stiffened. “His treeship?”
“He burned fighting the faeros.” Nira’s voice held condemnation. “And where were you during all this? As the official Theron ambassador, shouldn’t you have been involved in this crisis? Aren’t you supposed to have the best interests of Theroc at heart? You replaced Ambassador Otema. What would she have done?”
Stung, Sarein could not stop herself from lashing out. “Otema was murdered by the Ildirans. You were her apprentice, yet not only do you willingly remain with them, but you became the lover of their leader.” Just as I became Basil’s lover. “You and I are not so different. Loyalties change as circumstances change, and we don’t always have freedom to take the purely noble course of action.”
“Right and wrong don’t change.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. When Sarein looked into the other woman’s eyes, she saw strength there, along with the scars from countless rugged wounds. Even before Basil released the story to the Hansa newsnets, Sarein had heard about some of the nightmares that had fundamentally changed Nira from the bright-eyed young green priest Sarein had met in her younger days on Theroc. But if Nira could survive and retain her strength and her humanity after all she’d been through, then surely Sarein could. . . .
“Why did you bring me here?” Nira remained distant.
Sarein looked over at the guards and dismissed them. “We wish to talk in private.”
The royal guards seemed uneasy, but she remembered one of the men as a close companion to Captain McCammon. She gave a slight nod, hoping he was the ally she expected. The guard gestured to the others. “Let’s give Ambassador Sarein a few moments. The Chairman would want us to follow her instructions.” They stepped into the hall outside the conservatory.
Sarein led a suspicious Nira around some of the planters toward a thicket of dry twigs that had once been a dense flowering bush, now brown and partially uprooted. Here they were blocked from view. When Sarein brought out a small potted treeling, Nira’s eyes lit up.
Sarein said, “I’ve been cut off from my mother and father and sisters for so long. All I ask is that you send word. Tell Estarra that I wish her well. Has she delivered her baby yet? And Celli — tell my littlest sister that I miss her. Is it true that she’s taking the green herself? And my parents . . .”
Nira narrowed her eyes. “Why should I trust you?”
“As you said, I am the Theron ambassador. I helped Estarra and Peter escape. I arranged for Nahton to send messages about their plight, and to warn Theroc.” She lowered her voice. “Can you guess what the Chairman would do to me if he knew what I’m telling you?”
The green priest softened somewhat. “I’ll send your messages.” She touched the treeling, and within moments she was lost in telink, her lips moving quickly and silently as she described all her news. Sarein waited anxiously, sure that the guards would come back and see what they were doing.
When Nira withdrew, Sarein pressed her. “And what is the news? Do you have anything to tell me?”
“They are rebuilding on Theroc. Many died in the faeros fire, but most were saved. Yes, Celli is now a green priest. Yes, Peter and Estarra are now the proud parents of a little boy. They named him Reynald.”
Tears welled up in Sarein’s eyes.
Nira’s brow furrowed as Sarein hid the treeling again. “Now all the Confederation has to worry about is what foolish action Chairman Wenceslas will take next.”
42
Orli Covitz
Deafening alarms rang through Kotto’s research dome. An enormous EDF Juggernaut streaked overhead, spitting fire, while clan ships darted in and out like wasps. So far, the Roamers’ defense didn’t seem to be having much effect.
“It’s all right. We’re safe here — I think.” Kotto looked up at the broad skylights. “I don’t see why anyone would target this particular rock.”
“They seem to be shooting at everything.” Mr. Steinman’s eyes darted from side to side.
The three compies clustered together not far from the hydrogue derelict. “If we are safe here, shall we continue working?” GU suggested. “Or have we finished with our research for today?”
DD suggested, “I can organize and collate the previous results so we do not duplicate efforts.”
KR seemed to be the only compy who understood their precarious situation. “This is quite a conundrum.”
Through the dome skylight, Orli watched Roamer cargo ships and armored courier vessels harass the Mantas. One of the EDF cruisers soared directly above their nondescript laboratory station, firing jazers at any reflective metal. An energy bolt struck a nearby floating fuel tank, which erupted in a silent fireball.
Even the lab’s reinforced dome could not withstand the shrapnel hurled by the shockwave. Three of the transparent triangular panels cracked, splintered, and finally shattered. In the sudden outrush of air, four more of the geometric panels failed, blasting out into space.
Orli’s ears popped. The roaring and whistling air seemed deafening, though some of the Roamer mitigation films snapped into place. But not enough. Trying to protect her, Mr. Steinman tackled her to the smooth floor. Caught directly beneath one of the gaping holes in the dome, GU was drawn into the vortex of evacuating atmosphere. He lost his footing and rose into the air, but KR shot out a polymer hand and caught his companion by the ankle. The compy yelled for help as GU continued to be sucked toward the open ceiling. When KR lost his footing, as well, and began to fall upward, DD clasped his foot. The Friendly compy also had the foresight to grasp the lip of the sphere’s open hatch to anchor them. The waterfall of wind tugged at the chain of three compies who continued to call for help.
Kotto staggered across the floor and grabbed Steinman by the back of his shirt, propelling him and Orli along. “Get into the derelict,” he shouted, but his words were barely audible in the thinning air.
Steinman got to his knees, pushing the girl ahead of him. “Come on — seal the hatch.”
The air was disappearing rapidly and the chamber was growing very cold, but Orli stopped at the doorway. “I won’t leave DD out there.”
“He’s a compy, kid. He’ll survive,” Steinman said.
“Not if he gets blasted by those weapons. DD, can you get inside?”
“I would have to release my grip on KR.”
“I have another idea,” GU announced. At the end of the chain, dangling close to the jagged hole in the dome, he bent over to clasp the second compy’s arm on his ankle. Then he began pulling himself back to the floor like a man climbing an upside-down rope. When he could reach far enough, GU grasped DD’s shoulder and clambered toward the open hatch. Orli helped pull the battered compy into the derelict, while KR followed GU’s example. Everyone w
restled to bring them closer. Finally, all three compies collapsed inside the derelict chamber.
Kotto had already run to the central controls in the small sphere, where he stood trying to figure out how the derelict worked. “We used vibrating membranes to open the hatch in the first place, but now I can’t remember how to shut it!”
“All of the control documentation should be in the database,” GU said, getting to his feet. Roamer analytical equipment sat beside the incomprehensible crystalline nodules that the hydrogues had used to control the vessel. Together, KR and GU quickly found the correct systems. With a thump, the diamond hatch anchored itself into place.
Orli crumpled to the floor. Mr. Steinman’s hair floated around his head like a dandelion puff. Thin streaks of blood came out of his ears, and the whites of his eyes had hemorrhaged.
A second fuel tank exploded outside, but they were unharmed inside the transparent sphere. GU pointed out, “King Peter and the Hansa engineers left us with enough information to fly this ship, if we wish.”
“There’s a transportal, too,” DD pointed out, “though I am reluctant to go through to unidentified coordinates. In order to operate it, I would require all of my memory capacity and perhaps the capacity of KR and GU as well. Shall I tell you the story of how I — ”
“Not now, DD,” Orli said.
“No transportal for me,” Mr. Steinman said. “I’d rather just fly out of here.”
“Let’s test the engines,” Kotto said. “KR and GU, you may take the helm.”
Riding the current of the last evacuating air, the diamond-hulled derelict floated up through the twisted framework and transparent plates that had formed the dome. The portable comm system squawked with overlapping shouts, accusations, and commands.
The Ashes of Worlds Page 14
