Tales of the Dissolutionverse Box Set

by William C. Tracy

  “What of punishment?” Kratitha ventured.

  Moortlin waggled their fingers. “Much has been done in the Society by suspect means for the good of the whole. One is glad this one’s caste has a chance to survive. The Assembly needs more scientists, and fewer warriors.”

  “Thank you,” Kratitha whispered, before pulling the door closed behind her.

  As soon as we were alone, Moortlin creaked to the door, pulling latches locked once again. I wondered if they could save time and dispense with the action, but they finished quickly, and took three straight-legged strides to their desk.

  “Moortlin?” I asked, but the Benish fished something from deep in a pile of paper on their desk with a grunt, and passed it over.

  It was a list of Society members.

  But this was lost. Someone took it. “Is this—? Did you—?”

  “Buried in the bottom, locked drawer of Speaker Thurapo’s desk.” I was almost certain Moortlin’s craggy face showed a smile, though I don’t think I’d ever seen that expression on them. “Bethaya thought the copy was the original, and though one did not find the Speaker’s, hm, body, one found this.”

  I had missed it too, in my original haste to discover what happened to the Speaker. I remembered nearly looking in the desk before Bethaya knocked on the door. If I’d only had a few more seconds, this all would have been easier to unravel.

  My thoughts went back to the dusty scrap Gompt and I found in the records room. “And older versions…?”

  “May now be, hm, conveniently lost.”

  Then the list would not be revealed to the larger majus community after all, or to the Assembly. We still needed to fix the front gate, but tightness melted from my shoulders.

  I tried to hand the paper back, but Moortlin crossed their arms. I frowned. “Why?”

  “The Society will be disbanded, and likely sooner than later. One feels the event, hm, happening even now. There is too much damage to the mansion, and the deaths of a speaker and a majus will not go unnoticed.”

  I still don’t understand.

  “One will go back to Aben soon, and plant with a suitable group. One has said as much. The Society must be seen as dissolved for many cycles—hm, until all have forgotten about it.” Moortlin paused. “Save perhaps the Effature. That one forgets little, though is also, hm, bound by the geas.”

  I was slowly coming to realize what Moortlin meant. “You want me to keep this secret. For a long time.”

  Moortlin nodded with a crack of a branch snapping. “Until this one deems the time is right for the Society to, hm, re-emerge. It will be many cycles. This one will be the new head of the Society when that happens. Do not tell the others. One fears a larger group would only, hm, complicate matters.”

  “Surely there are other, more senior members who are better equipped—”

  “Senior, but also, hm, older. This one is one of the youngest, and most capable, members. One can see this one’s future will be…interesting.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say.” I fumbled with the list, unsure whether to fold it and put it in a pocket, or keep it unbent and frame it, or just lock it in the safest place I could imagine.

  “Say nothing. Watch and record the events of the Great Assembly of Species. Decide when the Society of Two Houses should reform to, hm, face the threats of the universe.”

  Moortlin stepped around me to unchain the door.

  Three ten-days after Moortlin gave me the list, I stood, with Gompt and Kratitha, in the rotunda of the Great Assembly. It was my first time on the crystal floor, below the seats of the maji, diplomats, and representatives.

  I was surrounded by the sixty-seven chairs of the speakers. Several were empty at any time, and my eyes strayed to the bank of five Etanela speakers, led by the imposing form of Rabata Liinero Humbano. Speaker Thurapo’s chair was vacant, as his districts of Etan had not yet picked a replacement.

  “You may begin.” The voice drew me back to the moment, and I heard the chime of the Ethulina’s hoof against the crystal floor. I looked to the Effature, who had said the words. His face was expressionless, the circlet of crystal on his brow reflecting a beam of light shining through the dome.

  Don’t throw up. Gompt shifted from foot to foot, and even Kratitha was preening her right wing. The left had been amputated last ten-day, but she was already working on a System-based prosthetic to lift her weight off the floor.

  “Gathered representatives,” I began, trying to keep the prepared words straight. “Today we are here to demonstrate what a System Beast can do.”

  When Gompt spoke I could barely hear the tremble in her voice. “I am giving the System Beast a few commands,” she said, lifting a hatch and flipping several levers. Kratitha wrung her hands as she watched. “In light of the recent tragedy, we thought the creature that helped bring a killer to justice could also give its condolences.” Gompt closed the panel and said, “Give your package to Speaker Humbano.”

  The Ethulina stepped forward, metal hoofs clicking. The glass in its mane caught the light from the dome. There were gasps and conversation as the Ethulina walked across the circle of speakers, stopping in front of Speaker Humbano. Its mouth opened, and from the mobile lips emerged a handwritten note. One hoof split into fingers, took the note, and gave it to the Speaker.

  Speaker Humbano frowned, but took the paper, unrolled it, and read it silently. I tried not to mouth the words I had labored over for a full ten-day.

  Speaker Humbano rolled the paper up and, surprisingly, addressed the System Beast. “Thank you,” she said, “for delivering these heartfelt words. I will see they get to the Speaker’s family on Etan.”

  Her words were the floodgates. Over the next three lightenings—nearly the entire afternoon, we paraded the Ethulina through its paces, and the speakers, the Council, and the Effature debated.

  At the end of the demonstration, the Effature addressed us, his warm voice too large for his small frame and balding, elderly head.

  “This Assembly agrees to the production and use of what you call System Beasts.”

  Gompt grabbed my hand in a bone-crushing grip, and my shoulders relaxed for the first time since I had found Speaker Thurapo’s body. We did it. Our concept will be used throughout the ten homeworlds and the Nether. After all the destruction, there was one bright point.

  “But—” Kratitha whispered to us. “Will be a ‘but.’”

  “But, we would like to see the following adjustments before the speakers all agree to let System Beasts be sold on their homeworlds,” the Effature continued.

  Kratitha let out a labored sigh. I shook Gompt’s paw off before she squashed my fingers.

  “The homeworlds of Festuour, Loba, and Methiem wish the displayed intelligence of the System Beast to be reduced. They suggest their homeworlds’ citizens will be afraid to use the devices if they perceive them to accommodate their requests too easily.”

  I heard Kratitha’s low-pitched grumble, and tried to ignore the leaden lump growing in my belly.

  “In addition, the homeworlds of Mother Hive, Sath Home, and Sureri wish the ability to locate individuals removed or reduced. They fear potential for abuse.”

  Now Gompt scowled. “So they want a shiny packhorse, is what they mean.”

  The fine gearing loops of thought, the cognitive functions we’d labored over? Were they all a waste of time? The System Beasts could be so much more than what these speakers wanted, so much bigger.

  I grasped my thigh with one hand to keep it from balling into a fist, and addressed the Effature. “We can make these changes,” I said.

  There was still an upside, and I kept it forefront in my mind. Gompt, Kratitha, and I could make System Beasts with all their abilities. The Assembly only restricted us from selling them publicly.

  On the way out, Moortlin caught my eye, and waved a wide hand toward themself. I left Gompt and Kratitha with a promise I would meet them at the celebration that ev
ening.

  “There was another, hm, decision made today, by the Council of the Maji,” Moortlin rumbled when I came close enough. They swung their bald head side to side with a grinding creak as they spoke.

  A weight settled in my stomach. “The Society?”

  Moortlin nodded with a snapping sound. “It will be disbanded, the mansion condemned. This ten-day.”

  “What of the—” I broke off as a Lobath speaker strode past. “—of the members and their families? Some haven’t been to the Imperium in cycles.” Tethan might not survive moving from the mansion.

  “One has spread the word to the members of the Society. Several families will go into hiding, as those groups chose not to, hm, rejoin the mainstream maji for personal reasons.”

  Meaning, news of questionable experiments they performed won’t be well received.

  My hand rose of its own accord to the inside of my fine brown wool jacket, which I had specially cleaned and mended just for the presentation. The list of Society members was tucked inside. I have the only record of everyone, when they disperse.

  “All this is because of the murders?” I asked.

  “Bethaya was, hm, very direct in that one’s tale,” Moortlin answered. “Though that one listened to one’s request to leave certain…others out of the recounting.” They raised one finger to my chest.

  “And the geas?” I asked.

  “There is no known way to reverse it, is there?” One of Moortlin’s eyes dimmed and brightened in a slow wink. “This will keep unwarranted information from, hm, spreading—a happy side effect.”

  I watched the Benish’s straight-legged stride toward the other members of the Council, wondering at the tightness in my chest. Gompt had already offered me a place to stay with her friend group. We would have to find a new place to work in the Imperium, but the Assembly’s agreement to produce the System Beasts also came with a grant of funds.

  I silently thanked the Society for helping me. It was disbanded, but not forgotten, and I suspected my knowledge would guide all my future actions in the world of the maji. Someday, the Society would be needed again, be it ten cycles or fifty, and I promised myself I would keep track of its members, both existing and those who could join in the future.

  The conviction rose in my chest. The next time the Society of Two Houses emerged, it would be in the open.

  Changing State

  632 A.A.W.

  Moortlin felt their sap rising, heating their chest. Councilors are not known to make mistakes. “One does not believe one heard correctly.”

  Councilor Fortilath smiled briefly, feathery crest flaring upward, then relaxing. The other species of the Great Assembly had such expressive faces, compared to the thoughtful, solid, Benish. Moortlin felt every move their body made, pulling matter and connecting tissue into new configurations. Those Benish who chose to leave Aben were warned the universe moved faster than they were used to. Moortlin was still adjusting. They had made it through apprenticeship, graduating to full majus the previous cycle.

  “The Council believes you are to be uniquely qualified for this task,” the councilor said, ignoring Moortlin’s complaint. “Hearing two houses is unusual among the maji, and the Houses of Strength and Healing are exactly what we are needing. The Council has received strange reports of unnatural creatures, such as a pullbeast to be walking on its front legs, then collapsing into a pile of leaves. Other sightings are of walking flowers, or creatures that are morphing as soon as they are seen, shifting into some new shape.”

  “And this one believes it is the, hm, Aridori?” That had been the word that made Moortlin disbelieve. If that species has returned, there are larger problems than one Benish can handle.

  Councilor Fortilath held up one finger, ending in a thick, curved fingernail. “I was not saying that. Some are to be conjecturing this is the work of Aridori, but as the species is to be six hundred cycles extinct, this seems more likely a rumor growing out of hand.”

  “But this one, hm, feels a majus is still required?” Moortlin asked. Why did Councilor Fortilath recommend one for this task? It made no sense. Moortlin felt their joints shift as they moved from foot to foot, and the councilor politely didn’t mention the snapping sound. The other species were so quiet when they moved. “This one wishes me to confront these potential Aridori, hm, alone?”

  “Call it a special assignment from the Council,” Councilor Fortilath said. “We are not believing the stories, but there may be something else sinister at work, and the combination of Symphonies you hear means you are to be well suited to inquire into issues with plant and animal life.”

  The old Kirian had, for some reason, taken an interest in Moortlin, now they were a majus. More testing of the slow Benish. Why did everyone assume that simply because one thought about an answer, one did not know it? But then, Moortlin was considered reckless, instead of reflective, among one’s own kind.

  “Then one will do one’s best to satisfy,” Moortlin said. If this is no Aridori, what else could cause such chaos? The councilor must have some idea, but why choose one instead of another majus? Moortlin rubbed their left thumb across their fingers, thinking.

  As if reading Moortlin’s thoughts, Councilor Fortilath’s crest ruffled, as if that one had a secret to tell. “I am also to be able to hear two Symphonies, young majus,” the councilor said. “Those of us with such abilities must be supporting each other.”

  So that was the hook. The councilor was giving a simple job to one who could benefit from its success—a welcome advantage for a new majus with few connections. The notice of one of the six council members is nothing to ignore. A success could increase one’s standing greatly.

  “One will, hm, be happy to help, Councilor,” Moortlin said.

  A few lightenings later, Moortlin’s gnarled toes gripped the cobbles of the street, pulling them forward in a steady pace, while passersby twitched at the snap and crack of their movement. It was a rare occurrence to see a Benish in the Imperium—the group memories from Moortlin’s progenitors told them that.

  Well, Moortlin wasn’t planning to return to Aben soon. They were just beginning their career. There was plenty of space to rise in the hierarchy of the maji—if nothing unpleasant happened, like botching a personal assignment from the Council. Their associates back on Aben warned Moortlin would come to a bad end, making such a quick judgment about leaving the homeworld, but Moortlin was willing to take that chance. And now Councilor Fortilath—another maji with access to two houses—had presented an opportunity.

  The disturbances had been reported near the docks on Lake Thaal. The lake was on the other side of the capital city, and Moortlin could tell when they crossed into Low Imperium. The cobblestones grew scarcer until the street was reduced to packed earth. Pedestrians tried to avoid the main avenues, where an occasional freight cart rumbled past, pushed by ten to twenty people followed by an overseer. This close to the docks, there was a lot of cargo moving through the streets, but Moortlin doubted much of it belonged to those who lived here.

  They stopped as a flicker in an alley caught their eye. There had been something…off about the scurrying creature crawling through the gutter. It might have had too many legs, or perhaps…was its fur moving independently? Is this one of the strange creatures?

  Moortlin hurried after the animal, listening to the Symphonies always playing in the core of their being. Yes, there were odd chords present in the music that underlay the universe, in this place. Most combinations were natural, despite their oddness. The universe was a big place, and there were many strange things living in it. These notes, however… Moortlin tapped the side of their head with a thick finger, as if that would make the music fall into a more pleasing rhythm.

  They wound through the close corridors near the lake, following the trail of discordant notes first from the little scurrier, then to an odd growth of buds peeking through an open slat in a building, then to the corpse of something that looked a mont
h dead. Moortlin couldn’t tell what it had been when alive, or even how many legs it had. They were glad they didn’t have as refined a sense of smell as some of the other species boasted. Benish were better at listening than smelling.

  None of the music they followed was wrong, as such, but there were sections of notes sounding as if an inept majus had dismantled them, then put them back in almost the right order. The councilor had been correct. This must be a majus’ doing, not an Aridori. Rumors and panics arose every few decades about the extinct species, of how they would return to infiltrate the other species once more, but the rumors always turned out to be false. This situation was the same—something else caused it. But what?

  As they continued down the street—it was more of an alley between houses that had grown next to each other—Moortlin could feel they were getting closer to the source of the disturbance. A new theme was growing in the Symphony of Healing. The music that thrummed and vibrated through this part of the city sounded as if some person had wrung out the music.

  Their body creaked and snapped—there were no other species in this dark alley to stare—and Moortlin pushed the music of Healing aside and listened to the House of Strength.

  Where the Symphony of Healing was high and melodic, sometimes even shrill, the Symphony of Strength was solid and low. Vibrating strings, matched chords, rhythms built upon each other until the result was a massive chorus.

  Some of the voices were just out of sync, as in Healing.

  Moortlin stopped near a cross-street, where a vine crawled up an abandoned building. The oddness in the music was stronger here. They raised one hand, thick fingers surrounding the leaves of one tendril.

  The vine was bleeding—thick purple blood.

  What is this?

  Moortlin drew their hand back and wiped the mess on the open tunic they wore—an affectation to keep away questions from other species more than for its protection from weather or its comfort.