by Chris Fox
It wasn’t difficult to see where Krox was going with this. She needed a guardian if she wanted to interact directly with mortals. Very well. Lord my ignorance over me. How do I create a guardian, and what are the pitfalls I should know of when choosing one?
You misjudge me. Amusement still flitted across his thoughts. You would react the same were a being you deemed a child to ask you questions it felt were very important. I mean no insult. You are a part of me now, after all. If you wish to raise a guardian I can aid you. They are more than merely protectors. They are our agents in the galaxy. We gift them with phenomenal power, and they enact our will.
And what if they turn that power against us, as my father did?
Clever gods, Krox explained, do not invest enough power to create such threats. In my case, I had little choice in the matter. I knew my consciousness would be shattered, and I foresaw that your father was capable of healing me. In the end, I was right. The price is a small and very temporary one, I assure you.
Krox directed her at memories of his various guardians, and there had apparently been a dizzying array of them. Some were dragons, as her father had been, but others were strange alien races she didn’t recognize. When she went far enough back those creatures became unrecognizable, and were more the embodiment of magical forces than anything she would deem a sentient race.
A guardian can war on your enemies, and if they die you lose nothing but the magic you invested in them. They can inspire your religion, acting as a hero that your other followers seek to emulate. When you select a guardian, you must choose someone your children will respect, and eventually fear. They should be competent and loyal. Some gods choose to allow their guardians free will, though I did not. There is too much danger of betrayal.
Nebiat went down her very short list of candidates, none of whom were present on her world below. She loved these new children, but not a single one had proven themselves. She needed someone who’d seen war. Someone whom she trusted, but that would also look out for the best interests of the people below.
She had just the candidate, one who fulfilled all the requirements. It’s time to bring my wayward son home, I think. Kaho will make an excellent guardian.
Krox pulsed displeasure. I have seen your memories. Your son is not loyal to you. He is dangerous. Giving him this power is ill advised, unless you also plan to shackle his will.
No, Nebiat thought back, utterly furious now. Enough of your binding and your games. We see where that took my people. I am already sick of your schemes. I will elevate someone who seeks the betterment of this world, and I will not make them a puppet. I will make them an ally.
That, she realized, was what she desperately needed. A friend. An equal. Someone she could converse with. Someone who shared her goals.
Is it possible to project myself? How do I speak with a potential candidate?
If you must do this, Krox groused, then I will aid you. Create a sliver of yourself, and fill it with your consciousness. This simulacrum can translocate, as you do, and it can cast spells as you do. However, its creation is expensive, and leaves you vulnerable. If you are attacked, your consciousness can be destroyed, which makes such endeavors extremely ill advised. If you must do so, then do it quickly, speak to your candidate, and then return as fast as you are able.
Nebiat smiled, her cosmic face creasing as the expression grew. Her children would make all sorts of portents about it, no doubt. She only hoped her son would see reason.
4
Lost
Frit couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that she was a traitor one step ahead of the executioner. It followed her almost everywhere in the Spellship, and it didn’t help that passersby stared and whispered wherever she went.
She wasn’t the only Ifrit on board, but she was the only one who’d betrayed Shaya. Voria had forgiven her, and Nara had as well. Both had entreated her to stay, and as Frit had no other home she’d accepted their offer. But letting her stay and considering her one of them were two totally different things.
Frit braced herself as she stepped into the library, and almost turned around and ran. Nara was there, as expected, but she was surrounded by a dozen attendants. Most had datapads and were asking questions, then jotting down their accusatory little notes.
They weren’t the only people in the library, either. Almost every table had at least one person seated at it, and many were completely surrounded.
“Frit!” rumbled a familiar voice from a nearby table. She turned to see Kaho rise to his feet, his considerable height drawing the attention from her, for once. “Have you come to study? I’ve not seen you in a few days, and was starting to get worried. I wanted to give you your space, but, well…I’ve missed you.”
She found his nervousness endearing, especially given the frightening form he wore. Well, frightening to most people. Nothing about Kaho’s draconic visage frightened her, quite the opposite. She found him handsome and dignified. He was one of the brightest scholars she’d ever met, the path she’d have chosen if Shaya hadn’t bred her for war.
“Nara and I are supposed to have lunch.” Frit moved to lean against the table, and smiled up at Kaho. His was one of the few friendly faces to be found, and she felt a little bad for not showing more of her face lately. Depression wasn’t doing her any favors. She hated it. “I’m starting to wonder, though. She looks pretty busy.”
“Well, if she can’t break away, then I can.” Kaho brightened and gave her a toothy smile. “I’d enjoy the conversation. I’ve been reading all sorts of fascinating things. This place is utterly ancient, and every tome dates from…well, you know all this.” He gave another nervous laugh. “Listen to me. Go enjoy your lunch, mahaya.”
She’d done a little reading and learned that mahaya was draconic for single star, and referenced the idea that everyone had one star in the heavens that they were connected to. She didn’t need another reason to care for him, but that endearment gave it to her anyway.
Frit squared her shoulders and marched through the tables, and then through the students and aides seeking Nara’s attention. She walked right up to the newly appointed high priestess. Nara’s irritated gaze came up, and Frit wilted.
“Frit.” Nara blinked a few times. “I’m sorry. I thought you were another acolyte.” Her face softened into a smile, and she rose from her chair and took Frit in a deep hug.
Nara possessed fire magic, and that meant she was one of the few people Frit could actually hug. She took full advantage, and squeezed her friend fiercely. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Nara took a step back and her smile grew. “So what can I do for you?”
“We were supposed to…” Frit trailed off.
“Oh, my.” Nara’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Frit. I can’t. We’re trying to research a ritual that will restore Ternus, and Voria plans to take us there in the morning. We need to get this done. Is there any way we can push lunch to tomorrow, or the day after?”
“Of course,” Frit replied cheerfully, dying inside. “Do what you need to. I have lots of studying I want to get done anyway.” She gave her friend a smile, and then turned and all but bolted.
“Frit!” Nara called, but Frit plunged away from her friend, not wanting Nara to see the tears. Her sycophants would prevent her from chasing Frit in any case.
She wound deeper into the library, threading through the stacks as she sought to master her emotions. That was growing more and more difficult. She just felt so damned alone. Theoretically Kaho should make her feel less lonely, but the way he’d eagerly adopted his studies, and the way he laughed off the blatant racism leveled at him every day, made it hard to relate to him.
Frit couldn’t tell him about problems when she knew that if he ran into similar problems he’d shoulder them without complaint. That made her feel petty. She knew it wasn’t Kaho’s fault, but it also made it difficult to confide in him, about this at least.
She finally stopped when she rea
ched a part of the library she recognized. Frit hurried to the history section, and circled the shelf until she found the knowledge scale she was looking for. It wasn’t quite a hologram, per se, but it was almost as good. The library was full of historical accounts, some written in the first person by the actual witness, and while she didn’t know where or when they’d lived she found their lives fascinating.
She brought the scale to a table, and tried to think about how much fun it would be to read, and not how devastatingly alone she felt.
5
Blessing of Voria
Voria manifested in the sky over the great tree, the tree she herself had created to replace the original, and made herself known to her people. The survivors of Krox’s wrath had already begun constructing homes on the upper branches, those that had been deemed the most valuable on the original tree.
That had only been the case because there were enough people to fill every branch, and spill over the roots at the base of the tree. Now? Only the top four branches had significant settlement, with a few more on lower branches set up by groups that valued privacy.
Faces turned skyward as she descended, a literal lady of light. She basked in their attention, their worship she realized. It strengthened her as a sun strengthened the plants at winter’s end. They believed in her, despite all reasonable evidence to the contrary.
Voria fortified herself with their worship as she shrank to a more human-sized form. She landed on the uppermost branch in the center of an amphitheater Ducius had shaped from the tree’s whorled red wood.
As expected, every seat was occupied. Ducius had appointed dozens of new caretakers, each with different areas of the world as their stewardship. That hadn’t been surprising. What did surprise her was the number of drifters among the assembly. There were even a few humans.
Necessity had forced Ducius to tolerance. There simply weren’t enough survivors for his Shayan superiority to flourish. Not any more.
“Welcome, great mother,” Ducius intoned as he stepped forward to greet her. He bowed, but not as low as he would have for Eros. “We receive you with joy, and greet you with honor.”
“And I greet you, honored child.” Voria did not bow, though she inclined her head respectfully. She turned her attention to the assembly. “Caretakers, it is a pleasure to see you gathered and working together to restore this world. The best revenge we can have against Krox is ensuring our children live free and prosperously.”
“The best revenge,” Ducius shot back, his tone acidic, “is actual revenge against Krox. I still do not understand why you haven’t taken your forces and pursued that thing into the Rift. What guarantee do we have that he will not wait until you are gone, and then return to destroy us all?”
Voria briefly entertained a fantasy where she disintegrated Ducius on the spot, even though she knew how impractical that was. Gods but she loathed this man. She folded her arms, and delivered what she hoped was an imperious stare. “Krox fled back to the heart of his strength, and he did it carrying an unparalleled god-slaying weapon. Worldender is enough reason to tread lightly. The fact that Krox is dramatically more powerful than I am is a second. The fact that Nefarius is about to rise is a third. The landscape is shifting, Ducius, and I need to act quickly to secure what allies we have left. Ternus needs us, whatever you might think. They were here for us when Krox came. We must do the same.”
Ducius frowned darkly, and the expression was mirrored on a number of caretakers. They wore their hostility openly, which didn’t say much for their faith in her.
“Voria,” Ducius began, as if instructing a child, “If you believe you can make any difference on that doomed world, then you are a fool. Your magic is not limitless, nor is the faith of your people. We are weary. We are grieving. A war of vengeance we can stomach. Call for our aid, and we will ride into the Rift. But presiding over a planetary funeral in the guise of helping? I won’t be a party to it. Your magic is vast, but we know what gods are now. We know that you are no more divine than when you first blasphemed in my presence all those years ago.”
Voria began to laugh, and reveled in the reminder that she could still experience human emotions. She stilled her mirth and shook her head. “Oh, Ducius, please don’t ever change. To you I am simply a glowy mage, yes? Like you, but a hair stronger? You have no idea what I can perceive now, Ducius. And long after you, your descendants, and their descendants are dust I will be here, unchanged, fighting to protect this sector from those who mean its citizens harm. I am a goddess. I can assure you of that.”
“So you’ve come here to lecture us then?” Ducius demanded, shifting the battlefield since he knew he’d lost ground.
“I have come to offer my blessing.” Voria raised both arms, and intense golden light flowed from her. “Once, Shaya did the same, and gifted key followers with the ability to heal. She gave them life magic, so they could protect. I make the same gift to you.”
Life magic pulsed from Voria, rolling out over the assembled caretakers in a crackling wave. It washed through them, changing and enhancing as it bonded to each mage. Voria gave each a small sliver, enough to cast basic life spells, and was shocked by how little it tapped her reservoir to do so. Several hundred new mages blinked at her in wonder, and in that moment she was certain she’d made the right choice.
She turned back to Ducius, who’d received the same gift as the others. His expression hadn’t softened. She didn’t care. “I’ve given you the tools to protect this world, Ducius. There is only one more thing I can do.”
“You’ve done quite enough,” Ducius sneered, the hatred once again making him ugly.
“Oh, I think you’ll like this last gift.” She rose into the air in as dramatic a fashion as she could manage. “I’m going to leave, Ducius. Without me here, with no Catalyst, you are no longer a target. Yet you also possess the magical strength to protect yourselves. That’s all I ever wanted. You will be safe, for a time, with me gone. Wish me luck, Tender, for if I fail, your reign will be nearly as short as Eros’s.”
She translocated before he could get the last word. Petty, but so very satisfying.
6
Expected
It took Aran almost the entirety of their three-day flight to figure out why the crew was avoiding him, especially Rhea. He walked slowly into the mess, and moved to the food thingie and thought about eggs and bacon. Davidson had hooked him on the dish, and claimed that over sixty percent of Ternus citizens broke their fast with it.
He took the plate over to the far side of the room, and sat with his back to the door. No one else was in the mess, and short of being in his quarters it was the most privacy he usually got. He’d been seeking a lot of it, because he understood why the crew was so horrified.
Aran had drained magic from the Inurans in precisely the same manner they utilized, which begged the question: How was he really different? And what might he become if he kept draining magic? Had taking a sliver of Nefarius’s magic from that ship been enough for Talifax to see through his eyes in the same way he could see those who’d taken from Xal?
There were so many questions, but he had neither Nara nor Voria to help him find answers. That was what he missed most, really. He’d become a decent enough commander, he figured, but he lacked their knowledge of history, magic, and the gods themselves. That kind of data was critical, because it allowed you to anticipate your enemy.
That meant if he were going to obtain that data he’d have to rely on himself to get it. That made this mission even more valuable, to his mind.
“Eggs, bacon, and two pancakes,” came Davidson’s drawl from behind him.
The newly minted lieutenant moved to sit across from Aran, and began wordlessly spooning eggs into his mouth. The self-demotion in rank had seemed to make him much happier, and Aran understood why. He didn’t much enjoy command either, and it was nice knowing someone else would make the final call.
Aran slowly spooned eggs into his mouth, silently eating next to Davidson until
both parties had run out of eggs. He set down his fork, and broke the silence. “You think they’re right to be scared?”
“Figured it out, then. I shouldn’t be surprised.” Davidson sawed off a piece of pancake and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. “Yeah, I think they’re right to be scared. We got a saying.”
“Ternus has a saying for everything. Most of them involving beef, or grit.”
“True,” Davidson allowed, “and I don’t even know where this one originated. Terra I imagine. Sometimes to kill the devil you got to become one yourself.”
Aran considered that. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” Davidson set down his fork, and clapped Aran on the shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, brother. If you ever go bad I’ll quietly put a tank shell in the back of your skull.”
“Ugh, why don’t you two joost get married already?” Kez called from the doorway. She gave Aran a wink as she moved to the food thingie, then settled at a neighboring table armed with a slice of apple pie. “Lieutenant tight-pants says we should reach the coordinates in joost under ten minutes. She sent me down to get you, and I figured I had joost enough time for something to fortify me ‘fore we walk into whatever this mess is.”
Aran snorted a laugh at the tight-pants comment, and noticed that Davidson was hiding a smile. They all liked Rhea, but she was a stickler for protocol. “Guess I should head up there.” He gave Davidson a grateful nod, then deposited his plate back in the food thingie before heading up to the bridge.
Rhea, Crewes, and Bord had all taken a matrix, with Rhea commanding from the center. Her hair had been brushed into a tight ponytail, and her midnight flight suit was immaculate, not a wrinkle to be found. She was a marked contrast to Bord’s rumpled trousers and shirt, which still bore chocolate stains across the chest from his last shift. Rhea was pretty, in a severe sort of way, though knowledge of her true nature muted any attraction Aran might have felt.
