Mourner

by Irene Radford

  “We must trust that Harmony has guided our predecessors into making changes more appropriate to modern times,” Andrew insisted.

  Silence. She could hear her own heart beat louder than the reconstruction hammering along with her labored breathing. So much dust in the air. Most of it seemed gathered in this room. And the incense. Day after day they burned incense to cleanse the room of Discord. It clung to the dust and grew thicker. Every evening she ordered the room thoroughly cleaned. Yet every morning the dust and the incense robbed her lungs of breathable air.

  She coughed and wheezed, fighting for air, any air, even that laden with dust. No acolytes were present to hand her an inhaler. She fumbled in the pockets of her robe and came up empty.

  Iron-tight bands bound her chest, refusing to allow her lungs to expand. Her knees wobbled, forcing her to slump into her chair.

  “My Laudae?” Penelope stood over her, rubbing her back.

  Blackness encroached from the sides. A single bit of light pierced the dusty gloom through the stained glass opening in the ceiling. It shone down on the center of the table, arcing prisms through the crystal array.

  “Lady Harmony,” she finally gasped as the shafts of colored light coalesced. “Grant us wisdom and peace.” She couldn’t hear her own words past the roaring in her ears. But she had to say what Harmony told her. “Remember the Covenant and keep it true. Remember . . .”

  She coughed again. And again. Until she had nothing left to fight with.

  Something in the distance banged. Louder than the construction noise.

  More light filtered through her.

  “Enough!” Jake shouted, accompanied by the loud bang of the double doors reverberating against the stone walls.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Jake shoved an inhaler into Sissy’s mouth and released the asthma drugs into her system. She took one shallow breath. Life-giving air seeped into her. Another breath and she had to cough it out again. Too much too soon.

  “Breathe, Sissy. Breathe, dammit!” Jake forced the inhaler on her again.

  “No outsiders are allowed in this sacred space!” Laud Andrew shouted.

  “Bare-faced troll, remove yourself!” Maigress echoed.

  “Bare-faced?” Sissy gasped.

  Jake rubbed the angry, raw place on his left cheek left over from Doc Halliday’s less than gentle treatment—nanobots followed by dermal abrasions. Then another shot to kill off any lingering nanobots left over from Pammy’s ministrations. Mariah Halliday acted like she’d enjoyed the process of making him uncomfortable.

  “General Devlin, what brings you here?” Laud Guilliam asked mildly.

  “Lord Lukan summoned me. Apparently the planet, and your neglect, is killing her,” Jake replied. “She can barely breathe.” He kept his gaze on Sissy, watching for any signs of change, good or ill. A little color crept into her cheeks, and the blue around her lips faded.

  Still pale. Skin still clammy. She wouldn’t be better until she got that filter in her lungs changed. Which he intended to see happen very soon.

  Until then, his options were limited. He peeled an oxygen patch from its protective foil envelope and slapped it onto the back of her hand. It needed the force of the slap to activate and to stimulate her skin into accepting it.

  “Oxygen patch,” Jake explained to the room at large as a wave of disapproval launched from the other end of the table.

  Sissy kept breathing. No sign of the wheezing, choking, coughs returning. Yet.

  “Thank you,” Penelope whispered. “We didn’t know what to do, and she wouldn’t tell us what was wrong.”

  “All of the physicians are occupied with the sick and injured left over from the last quake and fire,” Gil added. “No outsiders are allowed in this room while we are in conclave. No one considered summoning a physician, even a lauded one. Not even our acolytes or priests from other temples may attend.”

  Jake cursed fluently in three languages under his breath. He added a few clicks and whistles from the Maril as well. Then he straightened and faced the room full of priests and priestesses, some hiding behind beaded veils, most not. Counting faces, Sissy had nine of the fourteen on her side.

  “I believe the purpose of this conclave is to elect a replacement for Laud Gregor. If I remember correctly, Laudae Sissy has the authority to appoint the new HP, just as Laud Gregor appointed her to replace her predecessor.” He looked them all in the eye, even the ones obscured by chains of sparkling beads. None of them had Badger Metal stars entwined with the crystals. That special adornment belonged to the HP and HPs only.

  “We thought to make the process more open,” Laudae Penelope said. She didn’t sound convinced. “Let all of those assigned to Crystal Temple have a say.”

  Jake slapped another oxygen patch on Sissy’s hand before replying. Her eyes brightened a bit, like she was thinking again.

  “Don’t talk yet. Give the meds a chance to work,” he whispered, then turned back to address the conclave. “I bet the naysayers have used the more open process to delay and stall until Sissy became so ill they can just take over without protest. I say, enough. My Laudae, who do you appoint as High Priest of Harmony and all her colonies?” Jake leaned over her, peering in concern, as well as to get close enough to hear her whispers.

  “Laud . . .” she coughed. “Laud Guilliam,” she said as loudly as she could.

  Jake and Penelope repeated her words.

  “Good choice. He’s been running Crystal Temple for years. He knows what needs to be done and who best to do it,” Jake confirmed.

  “And as new HP, I intend to keep my team of six acolytes to maintain the symmetry of seven,” Guilliam proclaimed. “I also declare the headdresses and veils outmoded. Laudae Penelope has already designed something simpler, but distinctive, to replace these heavy domes that we’ve been hiding under for centuries.” He nodded to Jake.

  Jake hoped that meant he’d found pictures in a cave mural showing Dragons wearing bead strings.

  People shouted, both confirmation and protest at Laud Guilliam and at Sissy. Sissy closed her eyes. Her neck muscles strained as she fought for enough energy to speak.

  “One more thing, love. Take your time and remember to breathe.” Jake patted her hand, checking the oxy patch. Dry. He gave her another, then he bent over her and pressed the inhaler into her hand. “One more shot if you have to. Then you overdose.”

  She nodded and accepted one more burst of medication directly into her lungs. “I never wanted to be HPs. I never expected it.” She paused and breathed. “But Harmony found me and showed me what needed to be done.”

  Another pause. Too long. He considered violating Doc Halliday’s dire warning about over-using the inhaler.

  Sissy nodded, and rubbed her cheek against his hand where it rested on her shoulder.

  “I have done what I can to shift our lives back toward the path of Harmony. I can do no more.”

  When she lifted her head, her eyes glazed over and her voice took on the echoey quality of prophesy. “Your work here is done. Now you must take my messages back to the stars and First Contact Café. Another must take your place here.”

  A moment of silence while Sissy hung her head and breathed deeply. When she looked up, her eyes were back to normal.

  No faking this time. That had been a real message from the goddess.

  At the other end of the table Laudae Maigress preened and started to stand.

  “Laudae Penelope is most senior. She is also the mother of twin girls who share the gift of prophesy,” Jake reminded them all.

  “I request Laudae Penelope to preside over you, beside her beloved consort Laud Guilliam, to be guided by the wisdom of the gods as revealed by her daughters. And to abide by the Covenant Stones as they were originally written.” Sissy’s voice trailed off at the end. The energy gifted by the goddess deserted her.

  Jake gave her another oxy patch and an emergency stimulant patch as well, right over the jugular and the carotid.

/>   Then Jake tenderly cradled her in his arms and carried her out of the dusty conclave.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his neck.

  “I know.” He kissed her briefly and continued carrying her toward Lord Lukan’s town car. Her girls already awaited them.

  “My bag!” Sissy protested, reaching back toward her suite.

  “This one?” Bella held up the purple cloth tote.

  “The sacrifices, from the ritual,” Suzie said.

  “Yes, that one. Now I can give you back your emblem of rank, Jake.”

  “Not necessary, but I thank you anyway.” He kissed her again. “Now, can we get married?”

  “I feel like we already are.”

  “Good.” He noted Gil and Penny dashing toward them. “Just to be safe, Laud Guilliam will you say the words? And then I’m not letting Sissy out of my sight for the rest of our lives.”

  Martha slowly peeled petals off a red rose and dropped them into the moist soil around the circle of plants. It was quiet here in the gardens. Occasionally the buzz of an insect reminded her that something still lived. Her head had gone as quiet as these gardens. No static, no stray thoughts, nothing.

  She heard only her own lament of sadness.

  Ianus had finally passed about two hours ago. He’d fallen asleep here in his beloved garden and not awakened. She wondered if he’d taken her telepathic talent with him.

  She didn’t care. Except she would miss working with the aliens, learning their languages and culture. That felt important. Nothing else in life mattered to her right now.

  She had no one who could appreciate the depth of her sadness.

  A crunch on the gravel to her left told her that one of the gardeners approached. They’d grown used to her and wouldn’t bother her.

  “Martha, are you okay?”

  “Sissy! Dad!” She jumped up and threw her arms around them both.

  The tears came then.

  “We heard, punkin,” Dad said. “We knew he hadn’t long to live from the first day he came aboard. I’m surprised he lived as long as he did. I’m sorry we didn’t get home two hours earlier so we could be with him, and you, at the end.”

  “It was the gardens. He loved it here. I think he clung to life longer just so he could smell the roses,” Martha sobbed. “And me. He said he loved me. He taught me so much . . . so much . . .” She had no more words, just tears.

  “He told me once that if he couldn’t live long enough to see Earth, that he wanted to be buried there. We’ll make it right. We owe him a lot in helping us conquer the Dragons. We owe him a lot for bringing a little humor into a dire situation. And to his people for introducing us to telepaths again. And helping you come to terms with your talent, Martha,” Dad said, sounding more like a dad than a general.

  “We’ll do a grief blessing tonight,” Sissy said. Her hug felt weak.

  “First we get your lung filter changed,” Dad said. He looked down on Sissy with so much love shining from his gentle expression that Martha felt like an extra wheel.

  “Are you together now? For real?”

  “For real,” Sissy said. Her smile lit up her entire face, including her eyes, despite the heaviness of her breathing. “Later we’ll have a wedding ceremony for all the station, but Captain Kalek said the words before we jumped to hyperspace outside Harmony.”

  “Tell me what to do. I need to grieve for Ianus and see his remains shipped to Earth.”

  Jake released them long enough to walk a full circle around the rose bed. “We’ll do it here.” Then he looked up at the starscape projected on the ceiling. “And I know just what to do.”

  Jake took a deep breath, counting the number of people sitting in folding chairs around the roses. Twenty-three telepaths, including their children, Sissy and her girls, and Martha with Marsh and Ashel sat huddled in little groups clinging to each other. Then he noted Doc Halliday and many of the medical staff, who all had worked with Ianus. And around the edges, watching and noting everything, the remnants of Pammy’s staff. The right people were here. All who needed to be here.

  Sissy tapped a crystal and stepped away from the impromptu altar she’d set up on Martha’s bench.

  Jake hefted the guitar he’d borrowed from a cabaret singer on 6C and walked slowly, respectfully toward the center of the rose gardens, directly under the starscape he’d programmed. “Leave the candles burning, please,” he said.

  Then when he’d gathered his courage and buried his nerves—he thought he’d left this part of his life behind in high school—and faced the people who’d come to mourn Ianus.

  “There was a time in human history when slavery was a given. Even though many accepted slavery as natural, all those who were slaves did not. They longed for freedom. There was a time when a great nation was divided north and south and went to war to end slavery. They succeeded for that one country but not for all humans everywhere. Those slaves who lived in the south, before the war that freed them in law if not in mind, when they got the opportunity to escape, they ran north. They knew if they could get far enough north, they would be free. And the stars were their guide.”

  He paused for breath and pointed upward. “That is what the night skies look like from Earth. The bright star in the middle is Polaris, the North Star. The rest of the stars wheel around season to season. But that one remains constant. It always points north.” He used the remote to brighten the constellations around Polaris, paling the North Star in comparison. “They couldn’t always find Polaris, but they could see the Big Dipper.”

  A gasp went through his audience. They all saw the constellation.

  “And two and half handle lengths from the end of the Dipper is the Little Dipper. The end star in the handle is Polaris. The slaves called it the Drinking Gourd. And they sang this song to help guide their way, knowing that at the end of the journey they would find freedom. Ianus found freedom here at First Contact Café. We mourn him, granting him the dignity and respect he deserved, in death if not in life. Tomorrow he goes home to Earth. He will follow the Drinking Gourd.”

  Jake propped his right foot on the bench and rested the guitar on his knee and sang.

  When the sun comes back

  And the first quail call

  Follow the drinking gourd

  The old man is waiting

  For to carry you to Freedom

  Follow the drinking gourd.

  Follow the drinking gourd

  Follow the drinking gourd.

  All of the assembled sang with him in mourning and in tribute to a lonely young man who had touched all of their hearts.

  Epilogue

  “Prometheus XII Landing Control, this is Admiral Pamela Marella aboard CSS destroyer Valiant. I need landing clearance for atmosphere-approved shuttles.”

  A raucous laugh replied.

  “Prometheus XII, please be advised that as a condition of your application for membership in the Confederated Star Systems, you are required to undergo inspection by an approved CSS team of military officers.”

  “Yeah, yeah, General Jake called and told us you’d be making a call.”

  Jake! “What else did General Devlin tell you?”

  “Not much we didn’t already know. Seems like them sharp-beaked birdies are making nice-nice with you guys now, so there’s no need for us to join up so you’ll protect us. Bye-bye, Admiral. We like the offer and the attitude of them Dragons better.”

  “You did hear that I am aboard a destroyer class vessel, fully armed. I am prepared to make you comply by force.”

  More laughter. “Only person who defied us and lived to tell about it is your General Devlin. Or maybe he’s not yours after all.”

  “I repeat, I am fully armed and prepared . . .”

  “We see your destroyer and up you three pirate cutlass class ships, armed with weapons looted from three different empires.” An audible click terminated the conversation just as Pamela’s screens exploded with imagery. Not just three cutlass class ships, a
dozen more ragtag vessels bristling with weapons.

  “Hey, Admiral,” the anonymous pirate called back. “General Jake says you can go back to Earth for all he cares. Seems like they like you even if he doesn’t. Or you can go purgatory. His words, not ours.”

  “Purgatory!” Ideas whirled inside her head. Beyond CSS control and restrictions and insistence upon rules and regulations. “Purgatory. The only pirate planet with a worse reputation than Prometheus XII. Captain Marquez, set a course for Purgatory. We have a new base of operations.”

  Copyright & Credits

  Mourner

  Confederated Star Systems #3

  Irene Radford writing as C.F. Bentley

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-572-4

  Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative, December 22, 2015

  Copyright © 2015 Phyllis Irene Radford

  Cover Design by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

  Publication team: Sherwood Smith, beta reader. Sara Stamey, proofreader. Vonda N. McIntyre, formatter.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Digital edition: 20151110vnm

  www.bookviewcafe.com

  Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

  P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624

  About the Author

  Irene Radford (writing as C.F. Bentley) started writing stories when she figured out what a pencil was for. A museum-trained historian, Irene was raised in a military family and grew up all over the US. Her interests range from ancient history, to spiritual meditations, to space stations, and a lot in between.