by Chris Fox
“All right.” He straightened, accepting what he must do. “I’ll go to Virkon, and I’ll get your sister up from her nap. We’ll find a way to stop Nefarius, or die trying.”
“Take great care, Outrider,” Neith cautioned. “You will soon learn the full cost of being a Hound of Xal. There are worse threats than Nefarius. Be certain you do not become one of them.”
Well, that was just lovely. This trip wouldn’t have been complete without some sort of cryptic warning he couldn’t really do anything with.
8
An Offer
Kahotep crawled wearily atop the floating bed he’d been provided, the irritation at his scaly feet dangling off the edge having long since faded. It wasn’t as large as the bed on a Krox vessel, but it wasn’t so bad, and he was fortunate his quarters weren’t in an unfurnished cell somewhere.
He wrapped his wings around himself for warmth, and settled in for sleep. There was so much knowledge here, and study was the thing he’d always been most passionate about. He cared nothing for war, and if he could live in a tower somewhere, then that’s exactly what he’d do.
“Kahoooo,” a faint voice hissed through the room, like a breeze on a still day.
Kaho’s eyes shot open, and he rolled awkwardly from the bed, landing in a heap. He scrambled to his feet, and grabbed his staff from its place against the wall. “Show yourself. Who are you?”
The voice was damnably familiar, but he hadn’t heard enough of it to place it.
“You wound me, my son.” A translucent figure shimmered into existence a couple meters away, in the room’s shadowed corner. Nebiat’s ebony skin and white hair were unmistakable. If anything, that form suited her more than her draconic one. She smiled coyly. “I didn’t expect joy at seeing me, but I thought you’d recognize your mother at the very least.”
Kahotep’s hands began to tremble. Nebiat was here, on the Spellship. In his quarters. If Voria discovered this, or even Nara, they would not wait for an explanation. They would assume he was a traitor, and execute him. It’s certainly what he would do in their stead.
“Why have you come?” Kaho growled, his eyes narrowing. He took a threatening step closer, though he wasn’t certain what he could even do. “I want nothing to do with you, or your mad schemes. You’re as bad as grandfather. Worse.”
Nebiat’s face fell, and Kaho could tell he’d scored with that one.
“You have no idea how right you are.” Her shoulders slumped, and if he didn’t know better he’d say she was on the verge of tears. That would imply that his mother had feelings, and he was fairly certain that wasn’t the case. “My father had a plan to control Krox. Since you’ve cozied up with Voria I’m sure she’s told you that I am now controlling him. There is a cost. A bitter one, I assure you.”
“What of it?” Kaho snapped. He knew his temper ruled, but he didn’t care. This woman had brought him nothing but grief, and had brought worse to their species. Countless Wyrms, and far more hatchlings, had died at her command. Enough that their extinction was a real possibility.
“Well, I can see that regard for my well being isn’t reason enough to care.” Some of the distress shifted to anger. “Very well, I’ll get to my offer. Look, Kaho. See the world I have wrought.”
Nebiat didn’t move. There was no sketching, and nothing to counter. A wave of spirit rushed out of her and swirled around Kaho, seeping into his body and his mind. His senses were overwhelmed, and when he regained them he appeared to be in orbit over an unfamiliar world.
“Where are we?” he asked, twisting in the black as he struggled to locate Nebiat. There was no sign of her.
Instead, something on the world below pulled his attention. Movement. Somehow he could sense hundreds of Wyrms. Thousands. More. So many more. And these were not Virkonna’s kin or some new species. These were Krox. They were his people. More than had ever existed in his lifetime.
Had this world been hidden somewhere the entire time?
The memory faded as quickly as it began, and Kaho was back in his quarters, clutching his staff protectively. His mother had well and truly become a goddess, and now she wanted something from him. What he’d just seen was no doubt part of the bait.
“Did you see it?” Her mouth curved into an excited smile. “It is wonderful, Kaho. Our people live in peace, with no fear of invasion. Free to learn and grow, and thrive. I created this paradise, my son. I used the power I have seized to create the future for our people that neither Krox nor Teodros would have given us.”
Kaho folded his arms and eyed her evenly. “What do you want, mother? You know I am too canny to fall for your wordplay. Abandon the games and just tell me what you’re after.”
She heaved a heavy, and very nearly believable, sigh. “There are no games here, Kaho. I will speak plainly. I am trapped. My father created a prison for Krox, but the jailer is also caught. I cannot escape, and the very real possibility that Krox will devour me exists. If that happens everything I have created will be wiped away. The world I showed you will be used just as you were used, until every last Wyrm is dead.”
Kaho knew she was appealing to his sense of nationalism. She knew he loved his people. But she also loved them; of that he was fairly certain. If she was telling the truth, she’d been caught in a truly awful way. A way perhaps not even she deserved. Though, perhaps it was exactly what she deserved.
“And what is it you think I can do to help you escape this trap?” He straightened, and forced the fear away. She couldn’t force this on him or she already would have.
Nebiat’s smile faded. She hugged herself with both arms, and looked very small. “I don’t know. But I have been studying what it means to be a deity. One of our tools is the ability to invest our strength in a guardian.”
“Just like a Catalyst.”
“Exactly.” Nebiat nodded. “Except that I can consciously direct the magic. I can reshape you to make you the most powerful mortal sorcerer in the sector.”
Kaho barked a bitter laugh. “And I’m sure that carries no cost with it.”
“Not as high a cost as you might think,” Nebiat corrected. She shook her head sadly. “If you accept this blessing it will not shackle you to my will. You will be your own creature, even if that means opposing me. I’m hoping that after you see the world I have created you’ll agree that our people are more important than either one of us. You can help me bring them to dominance in the sector, Kaho. You can shape their cultural identity, and help ensure that they are more peaceful. You could help them learn to value knowledge as you do.”
“And, most importantly,” Kaho supplied, suddenly realizing what she needed most, “I will find a way to free you from Krox?”
“Precisely.” She smiled at him again. “You always were the brightest. I just want us to be free, Kaho, and I need your help to do that.”
“I have a life here now, mother. A mahaya, if you can believe that. One who is, for whatever reason, not repulsed by me. Why would I leave Frit behind?” Kaho propped his staff against the wall, then heaved his bulk back onto the bed. He turned to face the specter in his quarters, even as he began wrapping his wings around himself, preparing for sleep. “In the morning I will go to Voria and tell her that you came to me. You have until then to withdraw. I will not help you, mother. I have no ill will toward you, but I won’t help you. Simply put, you are not trustworthy, and I will not be taken in by your schemes.”
“And if I am telling the truth?” Her voice was tiny.
“Then you are paying the price for all your lies. Good night, mother. Please don’t visit me again.” Kaho closed his eyes, and prayed she would go away and never return.
“You will regret this decision, my son.” Her voice carried no malice, and in fact was tinged with sadness.
Kaho kept his eyes closed and said nothing.
9
A Plan
Surreal utterly failed to capture Nara’s new life. Three weeks ago she’d been a traitor on her way to probable execu
tion. Her friends had hated and mistrusted her, and all the people she’d once helped save called for her death.
Today she was the savior who’d resurrected a goddess. The archmage and high priestess who’d architected the return of the lady of light, Shaya, reborn as Voria—whatever that meant. The sudden and violent change in her position was more than jarring. It had caused her to disassociate from her own life, in a way.
Nara reluctantly threw back the covers and forced herself from the floating bed, the opulence a welcome change from the austere cells she’d spent so much time in recently. She summoned a bit of water magic, heated it with fire, then swirled it around her body until she was clean. So much faster than a shower.
She reached for her stealth suit, which sat on the chair next to the bed. The strange polymer was self-cleaning, and not even Pickus had any theories as to its creation. Some sort of Ternus breakthrough they hadn’t shared, and one she probably wouldn’t be able to replace. All the more reason to take care of it.
She zipped up the suit, and enjoyed the way it cradled her body. It had all the best parts of armor, but none of the restricted movement. And, as she admired herself in the wall mirror, she admitted it was rather flattering to her figure.
A chime came from the door, and Nara half turned to face it as she tucked her hair into a ponytail. “Come in.”
The door went translucent, and Pickus stepped inside. The once-mousey tech had grown in confidence, if not in stature. The freckles no longer looked goofy, and he stood straighter than he used to. The outfit completed the transformation, though. Pickus wore a deep-blue uniform, with five starbursts along the collar.
It was a marked difference from the baggy clothes the former tech usually wore, and it showed that Pickus actually had some muscles. He gave her a weary nod as he stepped inside. His demeanor was stiff, as it had been since her return. Not everyone had forgiven her. “Sorry to bug you, but Voria requested our presence. She’s in the chamber.”
“She’s always in the chamber.” Nara grabbed a Ternus chocolate chip cookie dough protein bar from the box next to her desk and peeled the wrapper as she followed Pickus out of her quarters. Just before exiting she paused, and retrieved Ikadra with her free hand. The staff still emanated magic, though the sapphire was cracked and dark. “Do you have any idea what it is this time?”
“No,” Pickus admitted. He walked briskly up the corridor, and avoided looking in her direction. “She’s still obsessed with saving Ternus as the miracle she needs to establish herself in the eyes of her followers. I think she feels guilty about what Krox did to them, though it isn’t her fault.”
“Her and Aran are a lot alike in that way,” Nara mused as they threaded through the Spellship. They passed a number of techs hurrying about tasks, each of whom took a moment to snap their hand over their heart as they passed. It was unclear if that was meant for Pickus, or her, or maybe both. “She might not be wrong. The more I understand how worship seems to work, the more clear it is that divine miracles probably get you a lot of mileage with your followers. Voria giving life to all of Shaya is a great example. The people here love her.”
Pickus nodded soberly and picked up his already brisk pace. “It’s good that something came out of the tragedy of Krox’s attack. People here will follow her, even if most of the caretakers have their heads firmly lodged up their asses.”
Nara barked a short, unexpected laugh, and blushed when Pickus eyed her askance. “Sorry. I was just picturing Ducius.”
“Guess I can’t blame you.” Pickus’s expression softened into a smile. “He’s the worst of the lot and I can’t say I wouldn’t pay a good bit of credits to see someone firmly wedge that smug face right up his posterior.”
Nara felt a little better as they reached the Chamber of the Mirror. She knew Pickus still didn’t trust her, with good reason, but he seemed to be accepting her as a coworker at least. They needed each other, for a variety of reasons, and it was good he recognized that. This would be a lot harder if he was giving her pushback.
Conversation ceased as they stopped outside the golden double doors protecting the chamber. Voria could order them sealed, and not even a god could violate the ward, as Nara understood it. It would even be safe from Talifax.
The doors opened at their approach, which shouldn’t be surprising. Voria was a goddess after all, and knowing when worshippers approached was probably a trivial divine ability.
The mirror bobbed slowly up and down as it rotated in a slow circle, a deep thrum accompanying each revolution. Voria stood before the mirror with her hands clasped behind her back. If not for the divine nimbus shining from her skin, she’d have looked exactly the same as the day Nara had met her.
“Nara. Pickus.” Voria nodded brusquely, and her attention never fully left the mirror. “Thank you for coming. I have a plan, I believe, but before I approach Ternus with it I want to see what holes the two of you can poke in it.”
Nara nodded, but didn’t say anything. She moved to stand near Voria, so that she could see the surface of the mirror. It showed a grey-green planet that sent a shiver up her spine. Many of her earliest memories came from that world, fragments that hadn’t been obliterated by the Zephyr training.
Of course the world looked different now. The glittering corona of satellites, space stations, and ships was utterly absent, leaving the world naked. The space elevator, which was normally visible extending up into orbit, was…gone. Aran had described it to her, and she winced as she pictured something that titanic slamming into the world below.
“I’ve used life sense, a basic ability, to ascertain how many people still live.” Voria stretched out a delicate hand, and very nearly caressed the mirror. A pulse of gold flowed from her palm, into the shining surface. “I estimate twelve million survivors. I don’t know how, but they must be a hardy people to have survived the sudden doubling of gravity on their world.”
“Ma’am,” Pickus all but whispered, his eyes shining. “There were four billion people on that world. Maybe more, if you count all the tourists. You’re telling me all that’s left is twelve million?”
Voria nodded, the ghostly glow around her dimming slightly. “A remnant, but an important one. Saving them will do more than allow the survivors to re-colonize some other world. It will show the sector that we can resist a god.”
“And it will also legitimize your religion, which still needs a name,” Nara pointed out, aware of her own lack of compassion. Someone had to be the pragmatic one. “The sector needs to see you as the rally point against Krox, and theoretically, Nefarius. Save these people, and you’ll have proven we have a divine counter. There’s no way to give people hope without that counter. We need a god to stop their god, and people know it.”
“Surviving Krox’s assault was a good start,” Pickus pointed out. He scratched at the back of his head as he studied the mirror. “It showed we can push back, and you wallpapering the planet with trees helped too. Are you going to do something similar with Ternus? Where are the survivors going to go?”
“That’s where your knowledge comes in.” Voria waved a hand and the view on the mirror zoomed out, then in on a planet further out in the system. It was smaller than Ternus, and the surface swirled with snow. “That is Ternus IV. Is it not?”
“Yeah,” Pickus allowed, his confusion evident. “It’s not fully terraformed, though. The atmosphere is a methane soup, and the only inhabitants are within a few research facilities. There’s a terraforming station, but we’re a hundred and eighty years from that world being livable. Even then it’s going to suck ten months out of a fourteen-month year.”
“What if the planet was moved into the same orbit as Ternus, and the atmosphere magically cleansed to perfectly match the original Ternus?” Voria gave a satisfied smile as she folded her arms, a habit Nara was used to. She was glad it had survived into godhood.
Pickus blinked a few times, and seemed to struggle with the location of any words. Eventually he scrunched his eyes and
looked from the mirror to Voria. “Let me see if I understand this. You can basically move a worthless planet into the same position, and terraform it instantly so those twelve million people have a place to live?”
“Precisely.” Voria’s smile didn’t slip. If anything, it grew. “I have the power to accomplish both of those things, provided we can get the people off that world. It will require a little research, I think, mostly on Nara’s part.”
“Why not simply translocate them all?” Nara wondered aloud. “You could do everyone at once, right?”
Voria shook her head, and her mouth creased into a frown. “That was my first instinct as well, but as Shaya pointed out, the amount of magic required is massive. We need a less expensive way, magically speaking.”
Nara considered that. As she understood it, the amount of people being transported was the problem. “Voria, mass increases the amount of magic required, right?”
Voria nodded silently and eyed Nara with curiosity.
“What if we shrank them?” She blinked, and wondered if it was a stupid suggestion.
“That…that might actually be possible. I have access to the greater path of Nature, which allows me to create and modify life as I see fit. I believe I can shrink these people to be a fraction of their current size. We stuff them aboard the Spellship, which is powerful enough to break orbit even with the increased gravity. Then we build a new home, and I return your people to their original size.”
Nara couldn’t believe the audaciousness of it. She loved it. “I’ll get to work calculating the requirements. I’m worried about side effects from changing their size so dramatically, and then changing it back.”
Voria nodded impatiently. “I assume there might be cognitive issues especially, so we’ll need to solve that before we can rescue them. For now, it’s time we translocate to Ternus. Let them see that we’re doing something. I’ll begin terraforming Ternus IV, while you find a way to safely morph an entire population.”
