by Lea Daley
“She will welcome this opportunity to assess your influence and intentions. Still, Whitehall will keep the option of brute force in reserve.”
That was probably the best I could hope for. “Where could I do this, Aimée? And how do we…advertise?”
“I think we need not promote the event strenuously. I think we need only go where there is already a crowd.”
“Which would be?”
“The very large amphitheater where Chastity once took you.”
“The perfect venue! An audience that size could spread word that Li’shayla Mar-Né appeared. And since gods should always speak from the heights, I’ll need an extremely tall tower erected there.” Because, like any Earthling of my era, I’d witnessed an obscene amount of savagery. If Whitehall ambushed me during the speech—which even I knew was a high probability—putting distance between myself and the crowd might reduce collateral damage. Bleak conjecture that I concealed behind my covert barrier.
“Show me how your structure should look, Leslie-ahn. I will make all arrangements.”
I shot her a sketchy image—slender, elegant, imposing. “Make it appropriate to the occasion, Aimée—whatever Jasharians would consider uplifting. But this has to happen soon. People need to understand that they’re on their own now.”
“I will begin at once. There are weekly gatherings at the colosseum, but first we must complete your tower. The knowledge that something new is underway will excite interest. And I will hint about Li’shayla Mar-Né. The stands will be packed.”
A nasty little thought blossomed in my brain. I tried, but failed, to mask it.
“Yes, Leslie-ahn! I must do this!”
“Damn it, darling—it’s much too dodgy! This is the downside of your ability to read minds!”
“I could not fulfill my mission otherwise. And you need this.”
We debated the proposition but I lost. Because Aimée was right—it was an excellent strategy. She’d go into the streets as one of Chastity’s monsters, gathering crucial intelligence. I was sick with fear for her, but every last one of us was at risk now. And she had more defensive skills than most.
There was one caveat though: “Leslie-ahn? Please do not watch me. I do not wish you to see me as a monster.”
“I can only see you as perfect. But how will you know what changes to make? You haven’t had much contact with Whitehall’s crew.”
“I will begin with a template of modest deformity, then adjust details as I acquire more information.”
“Also, Aimée, please visit N’yal Di’loth—as yourself. Tell him whatever he needs to know. With luck, we’ll reinstate the Council one day.”
“You are wise, Leslie-ahn. And exhausted. Please rest. You are as safe as possible here and I will return bearing news.”
I held her close, wanted to hold her for infinity, yet felt her restlessness. She kissed me quickly, made her transition in private and left. Now there was nothing for me to do but sleep and grieve and swim and summon words fit for a goddess.
Perhaps—through some miracle—a planetary-wide war could be averted. But I wasn’t counting on that. Most likely, the endless sands of Jashari would soon become armament factories, killing fields, burial grounds.
* * *
Aimée was away for more nerve-wracking, nail-biting hours than I cared to count. Once each day, she sent a mental message assuring me she was well. Holed up at my beach house, I was bored, edgy and lonely. Tired of feeling useless. Dangerously close to making impulsive, inappropriate decisions. On the third night, Aimée finally slid into my bed, warm, alive, safe. And so full of information I barely managed to steal a kiss before she began reporting.
“We have a small window of opportunity, Leslie-ahn. Very small. Whitehall has no experience leading troops. The monsters roam aimlessly and are not yet an army. Few look physically fit or combat ready. They lack training and unit cohesiveness. Also, they have no instinctive allegiance to their ‘Empress.’ Compared to Jashari’s population, their numbers are few. Still they have a disproportionate advantage—”
“How so?”
“Their deformities alone are sufficient to control the locals.”
“Because Jasharians react so intensely to anything out of the ordinary?”
“Exactly.”
“Will you describe the monsters for me?”
“They are not a discrete race, Leslie-ahn, and do not identify as a group. Let me show you.”
Horrific images blossomed in my mind. People with more eyes or limbs—or fewer—than typical humans. People with organs outside their bodies. Some grotesquely tall, others far too wide. People sheathed in lumpy skin. Or scales. Or bony plates. I’d been here long enough to recoil from those visions. And if I was unnerved, the average Jasharian would be paralyzed with terror. “How awful, Aimée!”
“Each made me shudder with distaste. Yet they also evoked pity, Leslie-ahn. I could feel their desire to be accepted, to be free. If given an opportunity, most would ultimately adapt to life on Jashari.”
“But could Jashari adapt to them?”
“That is an open question just now.” A warning tone had crept into Aimée’s voice. “If anything unites the monsters at present, it is the rejection every one of them suffered on Earth. The extreme physical perfection of Jasharians—combined with the revulsion these latest Returnees provoke in them—might incite the monsters to carnage.”
I groaned. Bad enough to be an outcast on my dystopian planet, but doubly awful in this beautiful society. “Bloody hell! What’s the probability?”
“Quite high. They are frightened, of course. You remember how disorienting it was to wake here, even though you had support. And Whitehall has promised the monsters unlimited power. Violence may easily erupt.”
“So what’s our best approach to these…people?”
“You must kill them all—”
“Kill them, Aimée?”
She took my face in her hands and kissed me sweetly. “You must kill them all with kindness, Li’shayla Mar-Né.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Arrangements were underway for my big moment at the colosseum. As I awaited word that my tower was complete, I read Serenghi cover to cover. Yet again. Hoping to absorb strength by osmosis, I suppose. And I roughed out an urgent appeal to my audience. Since it contained concepts difficult to express in Jashrine, Aimée would translate as I spoke. Still, every aspect of the affair remained sketchy in my mind, fluid and subject to sudden revision. Because so much depended on circumstances beyond my control.
Whitehall surely knew I planned to make an appearance. And where, and when. There were a million ways she could disrupt my scheme, innumerable possibilities for a very grisly, very public end to my career as accidental change agent. She also possessed deep knowledge of native culture, psychology and behavior. Knew exactly how to manipulate the populace. How to create disequilibrium. How to strike terror in the Jashrine heart. Worst of all, she had the big guns, in the form of the Medical Reception Station—in fact, she had the only guns. As I sorted through these problems, I felt many things…but none was a sense of omnipotence.
Sooner than expected, the time was upon me. “Everywhere I travel, Leslie-ahn, there is much whispering about the event. Are you ready?”
“Sure—just can’t wait.”
Aimée took my hands, held them in hers. “You are more than you believe, my love. You have a most peculiar power—I have experienced this personally.”
I cocked my head, an unspoken question.
“You know this: in your presence, I have become far more than intended. Which will be true for all Jashari.”
I felt the weight of this strange new world settle on my reluctant shoulders. “Let’s hope you’re right, Aimée.” And she knew better than to quote probabilities just then.
* * *
On the eve of the appointed day, we stayed with Honoré Blanchard, who lived near the colosseum. Our host offered dinner, showed us to a little guest house a
nd had the good sense to leave us alone.
For the second time, I thought it was the last time I’d lie in Aimée’s arms. Sleep was out of the question—besides there was something I wanted more. She read my mind, of course. “Please, Aimée! I can’t think why we never tried it.”
“Perhaps you were frightened, Leslie-ahn?”
“Maybe afraid I’d burst into flames.”
“That is possible. I will try.”
Aimée’s eyes were glowing, her cheeks deliciously flushed. She drew me close and when she opened her mind to me, I wondered how I’d dared question her humanity. Because now I didn’t simply feel the depth of her love, I was living it. I didn’t feel the intensity of her passion, I was immersed in it. No more questions. No worry about disappointing her. I knew exactly what she experienced, exactly what pleased her most. As she’d always known those things about me.
And what pleased her most just then was my tongue at her ear. First whispering endearments, next curling inside. Setting her ablaze. And what pleased me most was her mouth on my breasts. Kissing. Sucking. Pearly teeth grazing each nipple till I cried for release.
Now she wanted me atop her, licking, biting, sliding. Slipping my tongue inside, slipping it out. Again and again. While I wanted her lively fingers coaxing and stroking me to the point of madness. At last, we wanted to hold one another in constant motion as we turned to liquid and all boundaries evaporated and we were fused forevermore. So it went through a night both sweet and hot. Thrilling and unforgettable. Far too short. The memory I’d leave my love if I failed once more.
I was still awake at dawn, longing for a reprieve from unsought obligation. But Aimée pulled me upright, smiling with profound tenderness. “Arise, Li’shayla Mar-Né. Destiny awaits.”
We made our way to the amphitheater to inspect Aimée’s structure. She’d borrowed elements from ancient cathedrals, though no earthly architect ever had access to this building material—whatever it was. Clear as diamonds in some areas, opalescent in others, it roared toward heaven, a glorious uplift of arches. Standing at its apex, even I might mistake myself for divinity. I descended, bowed deep gratitude to Aimée and then we returned to Honoré’s for morning tea.
* * *
What does a goddess wear to address the multitudes? Surely something simple and understated. Because if anything mattered this day, it would be my message. I dressed in a green so pale it might almost have been white, then twisted my hair into an unadorned swirl at the nape of my neck. Cloaking myself to avoid detection, I walked down the broad avenues of Li’LuzAhn surrounded by friends. Suddenly aware—keenly aware—of the beauty of that city, which I finally felt was my home. And piercingly conscious of the perils we faced, the losses we might sustain at Whitehall’s hands.
In the colosseum, I hugged my companions goodbye, then ascended the tower alone. Where I’d stand in shadowy wings, gathering my thoughts, calming my nerves. Far below, Aimée settled herself, preparing to forge raw English into melodic Jashrine. And if I knew nothing of current technology, I knew Aimée. Each syllable we spoke would be audible to every person in that immense, open oval.
Which was filling now. Even from so great a height, I saw the crowd was punctuated with Returnees—my people. On their best behavior, they could never come close to the dignified demeanor of Jasharians. Because they walked with unselfconscious confidence. Had out-sized egos and big voices. Took up half-again the space of any native. And I was almost overwhelmed with love for them. They stared at the tower, unabashed, craning for the first sight of me. The locals, of course, were far too polite to follow suit before my speech began. But I knew they’d be casting oblique glances upward, rigid with anxiety.
Once the last seats were claimed, I had no excuse for delay. I conjured Bahji’s face to remind myself why this mattered. Then I stepped into the brilliant light of a Jashrine afternoon and walked to the end of that long, cantilevered platform. Where I stood motionless for several heartbeats, bathed in golden rays, just as I’d planned. When every eye locked on me and every breath stilled, I raised up my voice. “Mi’lana va’tir!” The universal greeting, almost the only Jashrine I’d utter in these next pivotal moments.
“Many of you were present when I revealed myself as Li’shayla Mar-Né. None can forget the slaughter of an innocent child on that tragic day. Now Bahran’aji Hemingway’s murderer has declared sovereignty over you, trampling on the traditions of your ancestors, threatening your families, disrupting your peace.
“Some may follow this ruthless usurper, fearing to oppose her. Their children will be sheltered. Their households will prosper. And who does not cherish such security?
“But others will defy her. Their homes will be ravaged, their children’s safety forfeit. And only the strongest would willingly accept such a fate.
“For you—who have never known war—cannot imagine the violence Chastity Whitehall will rain down on all who resist her. It is vicious beyond telling, a thing to be avoided whenever possible. Yet at times, the price of appeasement vastly exceeds the cost of engagement. This is such a time.
“A time that will reveal heroes among you. A time that will expose cowards. Because only those who value honor will risk everything for its sake! Only those who revere truth! Only those who treasure justice! And their legacy will long endure.” I stood silent as Aimée translated, wondering how I—a staunch pacifist—had been driven to advocate war.
The next part of my message, appallingly radical by aboriginal standards, would be nearly impossible to render. “Aji, Jashari!” I cried. “The world turns! Times change! The Harmonious Whole is no more! For there is no harmony without equality. And there is no wholeness without common cause. Each of you, individually, must now choose a new way of being. Will you live enslaved? Or have you sufficient courage to resist the one who would rule you?
“Before this day, no Jasharian ever had to confront those questions. But centuries ago, on my home world, a great hero provided counsel on the struggle for liberty. Hear now the words of Lutan Serenghi.”
I paused, willing my heart to slow, feeling anticipation build. “Courage is not about calculating odds or covering bets. Nor is courage an inborn trait granted to a mere few. Instead, bravery is the traveling companion of unshakable belief, the one force tyrants cannot withstand. Courage wells up when personal conviction collides with historic forces.
“Opportunities to display valor seldom occur in clear-cut conflicts or in battles where acclaim is certain to follow. Instead, life hurls unexpected challenges, catching us off-guard and ill-prepared. Traumatic events dare us to defend principles we didn’t know we had, often at great personal sacrifice. For the effect of a heroic act is never assured at the moment of choice. Poised on the precipice of decision, one can neither know nor control the outcome. One must simply embrace the leap, taking pride in doing that which is righteous and true.”
I waited for Aimée’s voice to go quiet before saying, “This wise woman also reminds us that no positive good can result from negative action. Therefore, Jashari, your decision carries great weight. Those who choose virtue in a time of war may find that family, friends and community turn away, leaving them outcast. Jashari’s hallowed customs have not prepared you for so wrenching a severance from the Whole.
“Yet in this time of trial, I ask you to chance isolation. I ask you to choose justice, to follow the path of uncompromising resistance. I ask this in the name of Bahran’aji Hemingway. I ask for the sake of your children. I ask in memory of all freedom fighters throughout humanity’s history. And I ask this for each of you.”
As Aimée finished translating, a shocked hush settled over the colosseum. In that deep silence, I heard a stirring behind me. Johansonn! Stepping onto my platform! A jostle of motion beyond him—some unknown number of monsters, ready to enforce his will. Stifling a scream, I squared my shoulders and faced them, while Aimée signaled frantically.
Stay where you are, love! I urged. There’s no time!
But Johansonn was prolonging the moment, enjoying the drama. Posing in the light for a second, then padding closer, ever closer. A golden lion, teasing his prey. Exquisitely aware of the audience. Excruciatingly sure of himself. Grinning at me. Gaining on me.
Crowded to the edge of the platform, I had no room to maneuver, no hope of escape. My options were few: imminent capture by the enemy or death on my terms. I’d made the decision weeks before. Johansonn was close enough to strike now, reaching out.
I pivoted. Felt the platform cool and firm beneath my feet. Summoning all I knew of diving, I flung both hands overhead, flexed my knees, launched myself into a flawless downward arc.
I heard the collective gasp as I began that long descent. But serenity overtook me. It seemed I was floating, not falling, toward the distant floor—until my fingertips struck the hard-packed sands of Jashari.
Chapter Forty-Five
Somehow I wasn’t surprised to feel my hands break cleanly through that surface, slipping smoothly between shifting grains. A sensation much like walking through any wall on this planet—that not unpleasant surge of atom past atom. Only it seemed to go on forever. If this was death, I could handle it.
I breached the crust of Jashari. Fingers, then wrists, then arms, regained normal sensation—and I could see again! What I saw was infinite space. An encircling firmament of girders stretching beyond sight. A crossbeam just within reach. I became a pendulum, swinging high above nothingness. Journey to the Center of the Earth, I thought stupidly. Because this was the core of the asteroid, improbably illuminated by a sourceless silvery glow.
My shoulders throbbed from supporting my weight. As I struggled to fling one leg over that girder, a voice said, “Let go.”
Why the hell not? I released my grip. Found I was tumbling in slow motion. Down. Down. Down. At last I came to rest on some resilient invisibility—and fainted dead away.
* * *
Sand in my hair. Grit beneath my nails. Aching muscles.
