by C. Gockel
So strange.
She found herself returning to that memory, savoring it and fearing that it would eventually be drained of its potency.
In the early light of dawn, she made her way up that steep hill before the raucous crowds would form. It was Lineao she needed to see. She wanted to avoid another confrontation with Jon or Erelah.
She watched the priests file past, their shaven heads bowed in prayer. They had begun a low muttering chant. The sound was eerie; the deeper tones made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. The words were meaningless to her. The last of the priests disappeared inside the incense-laden interior of the altar chamber. Lineao was not among them.
Sela uttered a quiet curse. It was as if he were purposefully avoiding her. She needed him. He was her only trustworthy contact on Tasemar. Despite his overtures to the contrary, Lineao was more than a simple priest. He was connected . He would know someone, perhaps even a ship’s captain, who could grant her passage off this ball of dust.
A latecomer arrived, but her hope flattened. It was Erelah. The young woman regarded Sela with a measured coolness before gliding through the heavy doors. It was odd watching her like this: composed and almost haughty. Sela still expected an erratic explosion of tears or chaotic nonsense.
She turned to leave, intent on searching the rest of the compound for Lineao, and nearly collided with Jon.
He made as if to touch her, then stopped.
Sela strode past him.
He caught her elbow. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
She looked down at his hand and then up at him. Whatever her expression, it made him drop his hand.
“Sela,” Veradin said. “We’re leaving Tasemar.”
“It’s for the best, sir. The sooner, the better,” she replied flatly. The ache in her chest appeared when she looked into his eyes, the way the skin pinched there when she called him ‘sir.’ So she looked instead at the packed earth under her boots.
“You’re not coming with us, are you?” he asked.
“It’s for the best,” she repeated. A tightness invaded her throat.
The only sounds were voices and ragged fragments of music from the hillside below the temple.
“Don’t do this. Don’t let it be like this. Think about it.”
“I am thinking about this. This is the correct thing to do. You’ll be safe in the Reaches.”
Just walk away. Before you change your mind. It’s for the best, he’ll realize that eventually.
Sela turned, stepping quickly. Soon she was in the growing dawn in the small temple courtyard. A warm wind kicked into life, promising the arrival of more torturous heat as the day drew on.
But she heard him behind her. “Ty. Please, stop.”
In the narrow alley between the slouched mud buildings, she finally stopped.
“Just listen,” he said. “Will you at least look at me?”
Arms folded, she turned.
He moved to touch her. She stepped back.
“You can’t just—”
“There’s a port half a day from here. Sarmen,” she said, hoping her voice did not betray the lie. “I’m going there. Some non-reg traders have established off-world routes.”
He did not try to hide the hurt in his voice. “And then what?”
“Passage off this rock. I have skills people can use.” Sela brushed an impatient palm against her eyes, swiping away the precursor to tears.
“So what? You’re going to be a merc now?” A damning tone entered his voice.
“I’ll do what I have to.”
Then, after a long silence, he said, “Then do me one favor. Please?”
She studied him, canting her head. He held his hands up as if to say, this is not a trick to keep you here.
“I need to prep the Cass. I want Erelah to stay here where it’s safe, meanwhile.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “And?”
“Just keep an eye on her until I get back. A few hours,” he begged. “She has some…messed up notion of going after Tristic.”
Sela stiffened, recalling Erelah’s overture in the courtyard. “You don’t think she’ll actually try something?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. But I’m getting her out of here before I find out.”
She hated herself even as her shoulders sagged. “Fine. I’ll watch her.”
Sela ate like a booter at chow under the great open canopy where the priests took their meals. Across the way, she watched Erelah push her food around on her plate, eating with no real enthusiasm. She wondered if the girl was still determined to make her risky play to strike back at Tristic. It spoke of a level of bravery that Sela had assumed was missing.
One of the priests had approached Erelah and seemed to be attempting to engage her in conversation. Sela hoped it would not last. She was eager to leave the crowd before the curious glances of the others turned to questions. Some of the men she recognized from the temple compound. The rest were unknowns and therefore variables that made her uncomfortable. She thought of eyes and ears everywhere, what Erelah had described as Tristic’s own private intelligence army. The surviving members of the Veradin Kindred were right to flee, regardless of whether Tristic could infiltrate their sanctuary or not.
She felt someone approach on her left. In the corner of her vision, she glimpsed a small body wrapped in frayed brown. The boy, Sarrid.
“What,” she said between mouthfuls, not bothering to turn.
“You’re different,” he said devoid of his customary timidity. The earlier comparison she had conjured with a Fleet tech was gone. There was a backbone to the boy.
“And you’re rather short,” Sela replied, mid-chew, still watching Erelah.
“I’m only ten,” Sarrid replied defensively. He reached across her plate. Sela grabbed his wrist. The boy froze. Her action had been a reflex. She realized that in his other hand he bore a large earthenware jug filled with water. Obviously, his duty was to serve water. Sela released her grip.
He stepped back.
“Why do you have that?” He pointed at the A6 nestled in its holster against her hip.
Sela turned, shooing his hand away. “Want to see eleven? Don’t be so bloody curious about me.”
The boy hurried away, sloshing water in his wake.
When Erelah finally left the mess tent, Sela watched her go directly to a smaller sanctuary with only one visible point of access. The area looked cramped, and she had no desire to interact with the young woman any more than necessary. If she wanted to starve and throw herself into prayer and lamentation, Sela was not about to intervene. Satisfied that she could watch the doorway of the smaller temple from a vantage in the courtyard, she took up a post there, suffering the occasional awkward glance of the Order’s members. Very few pilgrims were armed like she, it seemed. Sela found that acceptable.
The low rock wall on which she was perched was bleached bone white under the punishing suns. Surprisingly, green vines were being trained to climb its height. The shock of color was vivid against the murky browns of the desert beyond the garden. She realized that this was the spot where she had held vigil for Atilio, and quickly climbed down.
“You’d be wise to find cover from the suns, Tyron.” She turned to see Lineao striding up to her. “They can be powerful.”
“I’ll manage,” she replied, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. She kept her eyes trained on the door of the small temple. A mother carrying a toddler on her hip exited the curtained entrance. Sela tensed.
Lineao looked over his shoulder to the doorway. “Erelah is quite safe in the shrine to Brilta. Only women and children may enter. It may be some time until she leaves.” He turned back to her. “Do you know the story of Brilta?”
“Let me guess. Another Fate?” Sela asked. The skin across the back of her neck felt tight with the distinct beginnings of a sunburn taking root. Why would they build a place in the desert with such limited shade?
&nbs
p; “No. A simple mortal that lived long ago, a shield maiden, in fact,” Lineao said. “That is what they used to call female soldiers. In the days before the Expanse, Brilta served an ancient house called Novia.”
“I know what a shield maiden is,” she said with no real enthusiasm. It was as if Erelah were purposefully trying to torment her: stuck under the blazing suns and forced to listen to more morality tales from Lineao.
“Brilta was loyal and true and a courageous fighter. She loved the lord of the house, well beyond her duty as a soldier. But the Lord Novia knew nothing of her.”
Sela shifted on her feet, realizing why Lineao had chosen this story to tell.
“One day, the Fate, Metauri, appeared to Brilta and promised to make Novia love her. In return, Metauri would later come to claim her payment. Brilta agreed. And soon Novia came to love his shield maiden. He made her his lady wife and together they had a son. True to her word, Metauri returned to claim her token for joining the Paths of Novia and Brilta.”
“Their son, right?” she asked. What a bunch of evil bitches. Why would anyone bother to worship them?
Lineao nodded. “Brilta and Novia waged war against the Fate. Many of the lord’s men were lost. His lands lay scorched and wasted by battle. All seemed lost until Miri intervened.”
Sela snapped her attention back to the doorway of the temple, realizing her distraction.
“And so, Miri stood between the armies of her sister and of Novia. She could not bear to see the suffering. She offered a deal to Novia. ‘I shall give you a choice: your kingdom or your son?’ Novia did not pause. ‘Take my kingdom. I shall live as a pauper if it means I can keep my true wealth, my son.’”
Sela directed a surprised frown at the priest. “And Brilta retaliated? She sought revenge against Metauri?”
“That’s not the point.” Lineao shook his head.
“The point to what?”
“The story.”
“What a waste of resources.” She turned back to watch the shrine.
The priest uttered a low chuckle.
“What.”
“The response of a soldier,” Lineao replied. She detected the slightest bit of exasperation in his tone.
“Sorry to disappoint.” Sela moved away from the wall into the thicker part of the courtyard’s garden, making sure her line of sight was not impaired. How long could one woman pray? She heard the priest behind her.
“Have you considered talking to the Three?” he asked. “It occurs to me, you would have a great deal to tell them. And they, in turn, might offer guidance, should you choose to listen.”
Sela countered, “Not going to happen.”
He gave a strange shrug that suggested he was unconvinced, then bent to pinch off a dead leaf among the vines.
“Didn’t think much would grow here,” she said, desperate to change the subject. “Just dust and rocks.”
“With the proper attention, one can nurture growth in the most unlikely, inhospitable places.”
Somehow, Sela knew he was not just talking about plants. She rolled her eyes. Conversations with him were minefields.
“Jonvenlish tells me that you have chosen to remain on Tasemar,” Lineao continued. He granted her a knowing glance under the shade of his hood. “Oddly, I have never heard of Sarmen.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Sarmen had been a lie to push Jon away. The decision still made her feel bruised and wrong, but she continued to tell herself it was for the right reasons. They were vulnerable together, too willing to make rash decisions and take insane risks. This would keep him safe. In time, he would see it. Beyond seeing Jon and Erelah off into the nebulous unknown, she had no plan. It most certainly did not involve remaining a permanent fixture within the Temple of Miseries, however.
“It’s just better this way,” she returned, not certain of who she was trying to convince.
“When we first met, you asked me how long ago I chose to desert the life of a soldier. I was not entirely honest.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m not shocked.” She watched an errant gust of wind move the curtained doorway to the shrine.
“It was in the time of the Purge… when First decided to rid the Known Worlds of the Humans. I was a Seeker then, fairly new to it but trained to hunt and eradicate. My mission brought me to Tasemar. There were rumors of the rebels sheltering Humans and other fugitive species.”
“A Seeker?” She was impressed.
“I was ambushed by smugglers and well outnumbered. Ironically, they feared I was here for their stolen goods and weapons. A cleric to the Fates, Mahir, saved me, set my body to healing. None of the Order knew my identity or my true intent. I spent many weeks here. In time Mahir came to entrust me with his secret, for he was quite old, dying.”
“His secret?” Sela looked at him.
“Mahir had been sheltering children…Human children, orphaned in the Purge. A mere handful. By this time, it was easy to think of myself as abandoned here by the Regime.”
Lineao paused to look at her. Sela knew she was meant to see the similarities in their stories, both abandoned on this dusty world by the Regime.
“In the faces of these Human young, I could see no difference between them and a Eugenes child. The young ones regarded Mahir with such trust. And, after a time, they came to trust me as well. I was becoming part of this place. The Fates always have other plans, do they not?”
“I’ve noticed.”
Lineao examined a lone yellow blossom on a melon vine as he spoke. “My fellow Seekers at last came to extract me. They arrived in the night, dragging Mahir into this very garden. On his knees, he pled up at them. Offered his life for those of the Palari children.”
“And?”
His eyes were hooded from the harsh sunlight.
“I did what must be done. What the Fates had expected of me. Why they had placed me here.” His tone was matter of fact. “To the Regime, those Seekers were another small set of casualties. Lucrid Eno perished with those trained murderers. That night he became Jarryd Lineao, a simple novice of this divine Order.”
He did not have to tell her the rest. Sela imagined that somewhere deep in the desert surrounding Macula was a shallow unmarked pit in which rested the members of his former Seeker brethren. Or, perhaps more poetically, their bodies had never left this garden.
“And the fugitives?” she asked. “I mean…the children.”
He held his hands out, making a scattering gesture. “They were separated, sent to other places. But I remained.”
Sela froze, considering. “Is it possible that two of them went to Argos? A boy and an infant girl?”
Lineao shook his head. “It has been many years. Dozens of Palari called this sanctuary at one time.”
What were the odds that I’d end up seeking refuge in the very temple that once housed my captain and his sister as refugees? Sela disliked the thought. If it were true, then what other things in her life that she thought ruled by chance or achievement, had been destined or constructed by unseen hands?
This was his attempt to persuade her to stay with Veradin, she guessed. Everything with her captain was so damaged, confusing. It felt hopeless to try to make sense of it, especially after this morning.
“I’m leaving.” It was an announcement, though she was uncertain whom she meant to convince. “The moment Veradin returns. I need you to set me up with a contact. Someone with a ship—”
“Yes. Yes. I know a few pilots. Some of them are even trustworthy,” he said. “But tell me, where do you expect this ship to take you? Certainly not on your destined Path.”
“My path is to leave here.”
He tilted his head. “If that is your wish.”
“What?” She had expected another argument about duty or destiny to serve, assigned by the Fates.
“If that is your wish,” he repeated with a patronizing smile. His tone was that of an adult addressing a small child who had just outlined an impossible fantasy they would like t
o see come true.
Lineao shuffled off, leaving her deep in doubt.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Erelah was careful to keep the hood pulled over her head as she maneuvered through the crowded marketplace. She avoided contact with anyone. If even a casual touch could conjure the Sight, she feared what being in the midst of a crowd would bring.
She paused in the shade of a boarded-up building to scan the crowd for any sign of Tyron. A sea of strangers flowed past. No one seemed to notice her. She was simply another pilgrim wandering Macula. Satisfied that Tyron was still probably waiting for her outside the shrine to Brilta, she said silent thanks for Brother Lineao’s help in distracting her bodyguard.
Briefly shutting her eyes, Erelah dug into the memories she had stolen from Tyron last night during their confrontation in the courtyard. Erelah found that these were easier to handle than the actual act of sharing Sight with another. It was more like thumbing through image captures in a frame: their frantic return to Tasemar, a hectic search for intel about the Temple of the Miseries and, questioning patrons in the taverns that lined the high street about Lineao.
She opened her eyes and studied the faces of the buildings nearby. There.
A building across the busy street, farther down the hill. That was the place. It was a gambling house with metal-latticed windows and a faded sand dragon standard over the door. That was where Tyron had sensed danger from the men inside. Mercs. Bounty hunters. If they were enough to make Tyron feel wary, then they would do for Erelah’s plan to work. She needed something to spur matters on. It was a chancy move, but in the early hours of dawn, it seemed like the perfect plan.
She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. Then froze.
How do I even know this will work? I’m no soldier. I’m not even an engineer anymore. What do I think I’m doing?
“Didn’t ’spect you to be so pretty.”
