The warrior rubbed her wings together, making a disparaging sound. “Have no time for Council. They do not play in Pixie politics. Have our own maji, anyway. Warrior’s hive is strong.”
“Mother, are you unharmed?” Kratitha asked. She glared at the warrior. “Let her speak. Won’t sing while you threaten gestation section.”
The warrior hesitated only a moment before nodding and removing the knife from the mother’s throat. “No singing, or I cut this off.” The cutlass waved toward the appendage behind the mother.
“Daughter,” the hive mother said in a deep, resonant voice, and Kratitha snapped to attention. “Can rebuild, in another place. Give sister’s daughter what she wants.”
“But new sisters will not be engineers, Mother,” Kratitha said. “Will be civil war until one side wins.”
“Yet we will live,” the mother said. Her voice was low and soothing. Origon felt it in his toes, and listened to the Symphony of Communication. There was a turbulent cadenza buried deep within. Was this the control the hive mother had over Pixies in her vicinity? What did they mean about singing?
Even the warrior paid attention when the mother spoke. Yes, Kratitha spoke of the members of this hive “converting” to the viewpoint of whichever mother controlled them. It must be how so many hives fell under the warrior’s influence. Origon would have to study this later, preferably with a majus of the House of Healing. Origon stilled one shaking hand on his leg. The analysis helped him forget the sight of the Pixie exploding into bits of flesh.
Don’t think about it.
He watched the warrior leader sway just slightly. How long could she keep her loyalty in this inner sanctum of the engineer’s hive?
“Make choices quickly,” the warrior said, and lifted her blade for the strike that would sever the gestation section of the mother. Aha. Not long, it seemed. Everyone here but him knew exactly how long it took to convert an enemy soldier. It was like when another species tried to compete in a Kirian philosophical debate. They did not understand the unspoken rules.
“Will not let you take yet another hive,” Kratitha said, “No matter what Mother tells you.” The aura of the House of Grace surrounded her, though the other two wouldn’t be able to see it. She must have a plan. Origon could give her time with a distraction.
“Why is the warrior hive to be attacking the others anyway?” he asked.
“Is their drive,” the mother said. “Seek to protect, as we strive to build and understand. But has grown and warped over the centuries. Used to be a good thing. But protection has grown into conquering.” The mother’s voice was soothing. Origon could see the warrior struggling not to fall under its sway. “Warriors first clashed with religious-minded hive. Won, but the feedback and conflict between two mothers mutated. After, warriors expanded too far, too fast. Now they come for us. Think with technology the Assembly of Species offers, no need for engineering Pixies any longer.”
The glow around Kratitha centered on her prosthetic wing, and straps slackened. The House of Grace was best at making things more efficient and making objects operate easier. But in this case, he had no idea why she would be loosening her wing.
“Make choices now,” the warrior called, and waited only a split-second before raising her cutlass. “Too long!”
As the blade swung down, time slowed for Origon. Several things happened at once.
Kratitha spun, throwing the loose wing with the momentum of her body. Origon just barely got to the correct measure in the Symphony of Communication in time. He plucked one more of the notes from his core to make a breeze. The wing was designed to fly, and it took little effort to control the surface as a projectile.
The wing struck the warrior, knocking her backward, the cutlass shimmering in the lights of the hall as it rose into the air. It reached the top of its arc, hung, and plunged down toward the hive mother’s gestation section. Origon’s eyes widened, his crest spiking in fear. He imagined a sword piercing the belly of a Kirian woman, gravid with an egg.
But none of them were paying attention to Lauka. The male Pixie sprang with a scream from cover behind a thick, carved bench, his satchel clasped in both hands above his head. There was equipment inside, not just papers, for it contacted the falling cutlass solidly, diverting the weapon with a meaty thunk into the warrior’s belly. She twitched, and dropped, wriggling around the metal pinning her to the floor.
Lauka stumbled toward the corpse as if he would fall on it, his bag raised again, but the Mother turned with more speed than Origon would have thought possible, and brought her clawed foot down on the warrior’s head with a crunch. Her leg blocked the male Pixie from coming any closer.
“Come to me,” she said, and Lauka looked from the corpse to the hive mother, then sprang into her arms, the top of his head pressed firmly against hers. They stayed that way for a long moment, until Kratitha moved to retrieve her wing, and Origon discovered he could breathe once again.
“Not safe yet,” she said. Origon helped her tie the wing back on, tracing the harnesses which coiled around her body. This close, he could see the veins of blue, green, white, and brown in the prosthetic. There were at least four houses of the maji included in this architecture. It was a fantastically complicated System—a collection of changes to the Symphony held in place by the House of Potential. “More warriors coming,” Kratitha said, shooing his hands from their investigation of the contraption. “This was surprise strike, meant to decimate Mother, but larger army will arrive and convert.”
“We will go. The back passage.” The Mother rose to her feet and Origon, for once in his life, found he had to look up to make eye contact with a standing Pixie. His crest flared in nervousness.
She put Lauka down, and the male Pixie patted her hand affectionately, gathering the satchel onto his shoulder again. “Must retune efficiency calculations,” he said. “Intrusion of warriors will interfere with response times.”
“I fear you may have to redo all your calculations,” Origon told him. “I cannot be certain how long until you will be able to return here.”
Lauka frowned, for once looking into Origon’s face. “Then calculations will take quite a while.”
The mother did not fly, though her wings buzzed. There were not much larger than a normal-sized Pixie’s. Maybe they helped her keep her feet, even in the lesser pull from this homeworld. There was little question why hive mothers never visited the Nether. She would collapse under her own weight.
Kratitha, her wing now reattached, flew in front of the mother and spun in the air. “Maji first. Will be more warriors at the back passage, surely.” She looked over the Mother’s shoulder to Origon. “You will help, yes?”
She was relying on him. Finally, recognition. Once Origon returned with the grateful hive mother’s thanks, the Council would have to listen to his pleas for them to be more involved with the ten species. His crest rose, and he stumped around the hive mother and Lauka. “I will help. It was to be my intention from the beginning to stop this senseless war as much as I was able.”
“Good,” Kratitha answered. “Keep alert.”
They left the back of the mother’s chamber and up a sloping tunnel just big enough for Origon and the mother to pass through. It was steep, aiming directly for the surface. At first, there were intersecting corridors, then only dirt and stone, with little ornamentation to tell this connected to the hive mother’s chamber.
“Made for quick passage,” Kratitha said as they half-crawled up the passage. The mother was making good time, though her gravid appendage throbbed in time with her labored breathing. Origon hoped he wouldn’t be required to carry the giant Pixie. It wouldn’t be…dignified.
Fortunately, they rose quickly, with neither incident from outside forces nor from the mother and Lauka. The male Pixie seemed contented to walk by the hive mother, occasionally touching her hand or shoulder as if to confirm she was still there. At least he had resigned himself to completing his calcu
lations later.
“Not hurt?” he asked at one point, and the mother responded with a negative. “Have surgical tools with me, in case.”
Origon’s hopes rose as they did. Perhaps they would escape without incident. Now that would be a story to tell the other maji back at the Spire.
Above them, a square of orange light grew, and the tunnel grew warmer. Origon could practically feel the sun beating down on his crest. Dry and scratchy feathers would be worth seeing the hive mother off to safety. He was visualizing how Kratitha might sponsor some of his ideas to the Council. Surely the elder majus had more clout in the House of Power than he did…
They emerged from the tunnel to find a thousand waiting warriors.
Origon froze, his crest spiking. His dreams of showing the Council what he had done evaporated as quickly as the moisture in his feathers. He looked to Kratitha, whose hands were clenched in front of her. She looked as if she might dive directly into the army, but not even the House of Grace could save her from that.
Origon felt himself pushed to the side as the mother strode out from their protection. Lauka was riding on her shoulders, yelling at the warriors. He brandished a short dagger he’d gotten somewhere.
Kratitha was the first to move, but Origon found his feet and surged after her, letting the notes of the Symphony of Communication flow through his mind. There was so much going on. Should he try the pressure trick from the mother’s chamber? He knew how to adjust it so it wasn’t fatal—he’d never make that mistake again.
Origon began the change, then stopped, shaking his head. There were too many soldiers, and the Symphony wouldn’t let him repeat the pressure difference too close in time or space. He’d have to find another offensive use of the Symphony. Maji were not taught those.
Then a low soothing cadenza flowed up from the bottom of the Symphony. It wasn’t his doing. Was there a majus among the warriors?
He realized what it was. The hive mother was singing.
It was a powerful song, though in a range Origon could not physically hear. He tracked its effect in the Symphony as the nearest warriors fell from the air, crashing to their knees, their weapons clattering around them. They were genuflecting. No wonder the warrior kept her from singing in the mother’s chamber.
But the song did not penetrate the entire army, and the warriors farther away drew bows, and cocked spears to throw.
“Defend me!” The mother sang, and the words were low enough for Origon to comprehend. Seven warriors sprang into the air, one catching two arrows with her body, only to fall back dead to the ground.
Origon took the opportunity to close the distance, Kratitha buzzing right beside him.
“You take left!” she shouted, and Origon gave a sharp nod, veering to one side of the mother, who was already moving.
The mother cleaved a path through kneeling warriors, some of whom popped back up to defend her. Others stayed on the ground, and still others shook their heads and took up their weapons again when the mother passed.
Origon conducted the Symphonies of Communication and Power with the notes from his core. He could hear Kratitha in the music with him, wrapping connections between warriors in perpetual loops of notes. When they shot projectiles, or slashed at the mother’s new honor guard, half the attacks went wide. The rest felled their former sisters.
The air around Origon was wild with his attempts to divert the showers of arrows flying toward them. He felt his chest tighten with the effort of tracking two Symphonies, keeping up with the mother, and not getting stabbed by overzealous Pixies.
He glanced toward the edge of the army. They were making good time, but the mother’s stride lessened with each step. What else could he do? The Symphony was resisting his changes. He could only think of so many ways to divert the air. There were only so many combinations of notes.
He twisted at a yell from Lauka. He was bent over the mother’s shoulders, and she was holding her middle. The shaft of a spear was sticking from her. The male Pixie reached down, but his arms were too short to touch the spear from his perch. Faster than thought, Kratitha was in front of her, catching her. The mother’s song stopped, and the warriors in her impromptu honor guard were slowing, some already shaking their heads.
“The shield!” Origon crowed. He knew there was something he had done, but his travels through the hive had driven it completely out of his head.
He reached deep into the rhythms of the Symphony of Communication to find the melody of a patch of air he hadn’t yet touched. The Symphony of Power was easier, as he’d used it less during their fight to give Kratitha free reign.
Origon pressed the heat away from them and into the growing bubble of air as he poured notes into the music. A spear and then a patter of arrows clattered off the hardened air.
“Get her moving!” he yelled, and pushed the mother—carefully—from behind. The shield was just big enough to encapsulate all of them, and it scooted Pixies out of the way as it moved with him.
Lauka hopped down from the mother and pulled at her hand. She was bent forward, limping, but Kratitha held her upright.
Once they shoved past the edge of the army, the going was easier, though Origon felt as if he had lumps of lead attached to his boots. The warrior Pixies largely didn’t follow, though a few buzzed around the shield at all times. He risked a look back and saw the ones nearest the hive rising in the air to stab at something beneath. He hoped the engineer-minded Pixies were putting up enough of a fight to let their mother get away.
The next stretch of time was the longest in Origon’s life. The effort to keep the shield of air up while they moved was extraordinary. Partway through he felt Kratitha layering her notes on his, bolstering the effect of his change. Even with her help, there would be a point where he could no longer hold the change.
It was another eternity before Kratitha held up a hand. “Enough.”
There were only two warriors still buzzing nearby, and Origon kept an eye on them as he gratefully dropped the shield of air and heat. Notes rushed back to him, and he regained a little of his strength, but that was like comparing walking the length of the Nether to doing it twice. Either one was enough to drain you.
Kratitha levered the mother to the ground, then buzzed like a shot toward the warriors. They backed away, turned, and ran. Kratitha came back to them.
“Must attend to her,” Kratitha told him. “She is…everything.”
Origon bent to the mother’s wound. If only he had someone from the House of Healing with him.
Lauka crawled forward, taking a complicated looking device out of his satchel. Origon had last seen it in the glass-fronted case in his room. Lauka raised it to one compound eye and leaned into the shaft piercing the mother’s belly.
“Hands here,” he said, then when no one moved, he waved an arm toward Kratitha. “Hands here.” He pointed to a spot just beside the shaft.
“Can heal her, Lauka?” Kratitha asked as she pressed small hands to the mother’s belly.
“Possible,” Lauka said, then fell silent. His whole attention was focused on the mother’s injury. Origon stood up, watching for more warriors. From the discussion about his efficiency calculation, Origon knew the male Pixie would not rush into something unless he knew he could finish it. They had only to wait until Lauka saved the hive mother. Then Origon could return to the Nether, confident he’d helped.
* * *
“The mother was to be saved, though Kratitha and Lauka were not telling me where they would take her,” Origon said. “They advised me to return before they left our improvised campsite that night.” His hands were clasped behind his back to hide their nervous twitching. He hoped his crest wasn’t lifting again. His gaze flitted down to the carved image on the front of the table. He wondered if the species of the Assembly ever actually worked together as in the depiction. Probably not, as the new figure representing a Lobhl balanced the void where a figure on the other side had been removed by chi
sel. People regarded the Aridori as little more than terror stories these days.
“I see,” said Speaker Karendi, peering down at him from behind the large table in the Spire of the Maji. Her crest was flared out in displeasure.
“We have complaints coming in from the hive mother of the Five Hive Plateau,” Councilor Huar grumbled. “Seems they don’t much like maji interferin’ in their business. As we told you.” She pulled her floppy hat tighter on her head
“The warrior hive mother is not to be fully recognized yet by the other hive mounds.” Origon raised a finger. “With the engineering hive mother to be safe, there is precedent to—”
Speaker Karendi banged a fist on the top of the table, making the jug of ice water rattle.
“There is no precedent for a majus to interfere in a homeworld’s internal politics!”
“The maji cannot always stand apart,” Origon shot back. “Majus Kratitha—”
“Majus Kratitha, she already has certain…issues in her past record,” Councilor Zsaana interrupted, and two of the other six councilors nodded along with him. “She, we do not believe is a good influence, especially for one of your…attitude.”
There went any hope of Kratitha sponsoring him in the House of Power.
“Then my good work in this case is to be erased?” Origon asked. “The Council will simply ignore that a Pixie hive mother would have been murdered if I was not to be interfering?”
“The Council cannot recognize such a flagrant abuse of power,” Speaker Karendi said. “Fortunate the Pixie government is not to be bringing a formal complaint before the Assembly. Yet.”
Origon leaned onto the front of the table, his hands gripping the top. His curved nails bit into the wood. “So I may be clear: the Council says it does not recognize an act of altruism save if there is political gain from it? Is that the official stance of the maji now?”
“If it serves the greater peace of the Assembly? Yes.” Speaker Karendi’s crest rose with her voice.
Tales of the Dissolutionverse Box Set Page 4
