The Dark Between the Stars

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Suddenly an Ildiran man sprang out of the crowd, a noble kithman dressed in unremarkable clothes. She had glanced at him, seen a face that appeared normal and placid, but now it was transformed into a twisted expression of hatred and revulsion. He produced a curved crystalline dagger, shoved other spectators aside, and bounded toward Nira, shouting, “To keep the Ildiran race pure!”

  She tried to duck as the man slashed with his dagger. He caught one of the fragile condorfly wings on her back, shattering the sapphire membrane. Someone screamed. Two attenders lost their hold on the chrysalis chair, and Jora’h’s palanquin lurched.

  Nira tore herself free and spun to face her attacker. The man raised his dagger to come at her again.

  His mouth spewed blood as Yazra’h thrust her crystal-tipped katana through his back. Yanking her ceremonial spear free, she stabbed him again and drove the man to the ground, where he gurgled and died. Yazra’h held up her bloody weapon, her eyes flashing, taking one step closer to Nira in an instinctive protective move.

  Nira gasped. “Why—?”

  A howling woman from the artist kith bounded forward holding a cutting tool and a sharp-ended cudgel. She flailed both, trying to reach Nira as she screamed, “You corrupt the thism!”

  Yazra’h stood to defend Nira, but Muree’n lunged forward to intercept the artist. Without hesitation, she swept her katana sideways and neatly decapitated the second would-be assassin.

  A third person, a burly worker kithman, charged forward like a bull. He held a metal-tipped mallet, which he swung from side to side. The mallet struck Muree’n hard on the shoulder, though her armor protected her from serious injury. She recoiled briefly from the pain, recovered herself in a flash. She and Yazra’h used their weapons to drive the worker kithman back from the procession, and then Yazra’h ran him through.

  Muree’n looked around at the bodies, at the spilled blood, then up at Yazra’h. “That was my first kill.”

  Yazra’h stood close to her, raising her weapon again. “It may not be your last one today. We need to get the Mage-Imperator out of danger. All of you—back to the Prism Palace!”

  Jora’h sprang out of his chrysalis chair and landed beside Prime Designate Daro’h. He was outraged. “Why are they trying to kill Nira? I felt an uneasiness in the thism, but nothing from those Ildirans.”

  The crowd was churning now, people gasping and screaming, some trying to flee—yet there also seemed to be an undertone of anger.

  Though terrified, Nira grabbed Jora’h’s arm. “Understand this later—we have to get to safety now.”

  Yazra’h and Muree’n began to herd Jora’h, Daro’h, and Nira away, leaving the toppled chrysalis chair behind in the road. Though disoriented, Gale’nh straightened. Helping their brother, Osira’h and Rod’h followed the group at a brisk trot as they retreated toward the path that led up to the Prism Palace.

  Nira’s heart pounded, but she couldn’t ask questions now. Jora’h was already growling, “I will order an investigation. What caused this?”

  As they hurried away, Nira looked back at the Ildirans who had been cheering them only moments before; they now appeared sinister, and she feared that another assassin would spring after them.

  EIGHTY-THREE

  ARITA

  King Peter and Queen Estarra made brief formal farewell speeches before Reyn’s much-anticipated trip. Arita made a point of looking cheerful and excited, to show good optimism for his sake. Reyn’s glance met hers, and they both understood. She silently, but fervently, wished him luck, and she held their farewell hug for an extra few seconds.

  Queen Estarra gave her son a warm embrace, as did King Peter, and Reyn climbed aboard the Ildiran cutter accompanied by several Solar Navy officers and noble kithmen who had been dispatched by the Mage-Imperator to escort him. An entourage of Confederation ministers, traders, and protocol advisers also went along, supposedly to watch over the Prince, though he said he didn’t need them. Arita shaded her eyes and watched as the colorful alien ship launched up through the open forest canopy.

  After her brother was gone, Arita returned to her quarters and began gathering the equipment, supplies, and clothing she would need. Her own expedition would be much closer to home, but she was excited nevertheless. Thankfully, she didn’t need a large crowd with her. She had so much to explore, so much to see and learn—by herself, in the distant, sparsely inhabited continent of the Wild.

  Unlike Reyn, Arita managed to depart without ceremony. She took a small flyer and raced across the undulating canopy, rising high enough to dodge cumulus clouds, and then passing over the narrow sea to the shores of the Wild.

  Being on the wilderness continent would fulfill a deep need within her, a mission she wished she could have undertaken as a green priest, but she would do it anyway. . . .

  While she continued her studies in the Wild, she could survive on whatever the worldforest provided: berries, fruits, nuts, fungi, and edible insects. She could take care of herself. Water would be no problem. Shelter was everywhere.

  Though she wanted to be alone for her studies, Arita chose an area not far from where Kennebar and his isolationist green priests had gone. Just in case. She was also interested in finding her reclusive aunt Sarein, whom she suspected was a kindred spirit.

  Arita circled until she found a meadow broad enough to land. Everything around her was lush and unexplored, much like when the first colonists had landed from the generation ship Caillié, more than two hundred years ago. She had brought hundreds of sample cases, five types of imagers and DNA modelers, so she could keep accurate biological records of new species she catalogued. She might be a Princess, but in her heart she had always wanted to be a naturalist.

  She could study fascinating flowers on one day, beetles another day, or maybe worms that tunneled in the deep forest mulch. She kept journals of climbing berry-vines, and leather-jawed predatory plants that could crunch through the thickest insect armor. Theroc was amazing, and she wondered if even the green priests felt the same sense of wonder as she did. To her, the Wild was like a huge, open book just waiting to be read.

  After setting up camp, she was eager to start her project. She ventured into the forest, doing reconnaissance of her surroundings. The tapestry of surging life in the Wild seemed to intensify the force of the verdani. Her head ached, and she could hear echoes and whispers of thoughts that were not her own. They seemed to emanate from the millennia of the worldforest’s experiences. But her sensitivity to the trees was just a mocking leftover from when the verdani had tested, rejected, and altered her without making her one of them. Arita stopped and listened. The voices remained just out of her mind’s reach, just out of hearing.

  Choosing the nearest worldtree, she pressed her body against the golden-scaled bark. She wrapped her slender arms around the immense trunk and closed her eyes, willing the trees to reconsider, begging them to let her in now, to accept her as a green priest after all.

  But she only heard the sounds of ghosts. She went back to gathering specimens, now feeling a sadness instead of joy. . . .

  The following day, while gathering interesting plants and insects, Arita sought out Kennebar’s settlement. The green priests lived in the trees, and she heard them gathered up in the high fronds, reading to the worldforest, singing together.

  Kennebar was the first to notice her. The others acknowledged her presence, but did not climb down to welcome her. “If you needed to speak with us,” Kennebar called down, “you could have sent a message through any green priest.”

  Arita knew she sounded defensive. “I’m here for my own purposes, compiling an exhaustive catalog of species.”

  “Oh,” Kennebar said. “The worldforest is aware of all species. Any green priest can access that information. Is there something in particular you need to know?” He seemed to think that if he answered her questions, she would leave.

  “Other humans don’t have that information,” she said. “I mean to compile a catalog to help naturalists
across the Spiral Arm.”

  “Oh,” Kennebar said again. “Then we won’t disturb you at your work. We have our own tasks.” The priests climbed higher in the fronds, out of her reach.

  When the others were gone, though, Collin dropped down to the forest floor, grinning shyly at her. “It’s nice here, but I miss you. Did you get my message?”

  “Yes, but I would have rather said goodbye to you in person.”

  Collin looked away. “But it wasn’t goodbye. You came here.”

  “I have a camp out by the meadow.”

  “We know. We could all see it through the worldtrees. We watched you land.”

  Arita should have known this. “Now that I’m here, you could help me find specimens—like we used to do.”

  “Maybe for a little while, but I have my duties to serve the trees.”

  Arita glanced up into the high trees where she could still see some of the isolationists. “And what exactly do you do to serve the worldforest?”

  Her question surprised him, and he searched for an answer. “We came here to the Wild where we can better serve the trees, uninterrupted.”

  Arita sniffed. “How does that make sense? The worldforest thrived on Theroc for ten thousand years or more without any green priests.”

  “Others tended the worldforest in the past. Even before humans came here, the verdani weren’t always alone.” Collin just looked at her. “I can’t explain it to you because you wouldn’t understand.”

  The words stung.

  He accompanied her through the trees, led her around thickets, and ducked under branches that seemed to ease aside for him while scratching Arita’s skin. He led her directly to a cluster of wriggling condorfly larvae, then to a towering conical fungus whose rotting stench seemed to attract a particular species of green moth.

  As they went along, Collin frequently brushed the trunk of a worldtree, as if to check in with his fellow green priests, afraid to be out of touch for too long. He sighed. “I wish you were a green priest, Arita.”

  “Because we can’t be friends if I’m not? Other couples have done it.” She still felt that he had abandoned her. They had been so close, had even shared a first kiss.

  “Not just that. There’s so much more. Even when I’m not touching the worldforest, I can hear the song of the trees. Words, knowledge, memories, legends, things I can’t understand, but they’re part of me anyway.” His words were a breathless rush. “The verdani mind is everywhere. It’s like being part of everything.”

  He did his best to describe it, pitying her, but his words only emphasized how deafeningly silent the worldforest was for her. Seeing her forlorn expression, Collin was embarrassed to have brought up the subject. “I should be going back to Kennebar. Can you find your way back to your camp?”

  “Of course,” she said a little too quickly.

  Before bounding off, Collin called, “If you get into trouble, we’ll know. The worldtrees are always watching you. Don’t worry.”

  He left Arita with her specimens and the whole continent to explore. She got back to work.

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  PRINCE REYN

  After the Ildiran cutter landed on a high tower platform of the Prism Palace, Prince Reyn emerged into the brightest sunlight he’d ever experienced. Until his eyes adjusted, his noble escort gave him a pair of thin filmgoggles. “Human visitors are often blinded by the dazzling beauty of Mijistra.”

  “Maybe it has to do with all those suns shining down,” Reyn said, shading his eyes.

  Located in the Horizon Cluster, Ildira was surrounded by many nearby stars, but the main suns in the sky were the system’s orange K-1 primary, the nearby Qronha binary star, the Durris trinary system, and the blue supergiant Daym. Reyn understood the basic astronomy, but at the moment he had no great desire to locate all seven of the nearest suns in the sky. It was too bright.

  Now the other members of the Confederation entourage stood blinking, looking about for their Ildiran counterparts so they could get to business.

  A beautiful young woman came to greet him, singling him out. She had ethereal Ildiran features with a decidedly human caste. Her hair was pale and feathery; her eyes large, her smile genuine. Reyn’s Ildiran entourage placed fists against chests in a gesture of respect for her. One of the dignitaries bent close to him. “This is Osira’h, daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h and his consort Nira.”

  He certainly knew who Osira’h was—she had fought the hydrogues at the end of the Elemental War when she was just a girl.

  She extended her hand. “Prince Reynald of Theroc, I will be your liaison here. Since my mother was a green priest and my father an Ildiran, maybe I can help you bridge the two cultures.” She gave him a more personal smile. “I was looking for something interesting to do, and you seem interesting.”

  He realized he was blushing. “I’ll try to be.” And, yes, Osira’h was very interesting, too.

  The Solar Navy officers, the noble advisers, guard kithmen, and the Confederation representatives were ready to accompany Prince Reyn into the Prism Palace, but Osira’h grabbed his arm. “You must have felt so crowded on that ship. Growing up on Theroc with its big open skies, you probably just want a little space. Follow me.” She glanced at the others. “I will take care of him.”

  She led him at a brisk pace away from the entourage, who were surprised when she abandoned them. As they entered the tower halls, she said conspiratorially, “Ildirans don’t like to be alone—you’ve probably noticed that already. Come, I can take you the back ways, and we’ll encounter fewer people, if you’d like that?”

  At the moment Reyn would have liked anything she suggested.

  They passed many soldier kithmen, ferocious-looking guards with body armor and prominent weapons. Reyn frowned to see so much security. “I thought Ildira was a peaceful planet. Are these just ceremonial guards?”

  Osira’h hesitated. “There was a recent assassination attempt, and no one can understand it. Some people tried to attack my mother during a public festival.”

  “Ildirans rising up to attack? What caused that?”

  “No one knows—the assassins were like a silence in the thism. My mother would have come to meet you, but she’s being kept under special guard. You will see her at the banquet.”

  Osira’h guided him along back corridors, through an empty sculpture exhibit, and up a winding spiral staircase to another tower of the Prism Palace where she led him to his guest quarters made of curved crystal adorned with colored lenses.

  Regarding him with her large, strangely opalescent eyes, she said, “My inclination is to show you everything right away, drag you from tower to tower in the few hours before our banquet, and then tomorrow take you to all the planets in the Ildiran Empire.” She let out a quick laugh. “Maybe I’m being overly ambitious.”

  He chuckled. “You are. I’m exhausted just hearing your plans.”

  “We’ll have time,” she said. “You look weary. You should rest.”

  Later, he followed Osira’h to the dining chamber where attender kith bustled about. Mage-Imperator Jora’h gave Reyn an effusive welcome, and Nira asked him about Theroc, even though she had visited recently for the funeral of Father Idriss. The rest of the Confederation entourage sat at a different table.

  Her eyes sparkling, Osira’h took a seat beside him and explained the variety of colorful foods, fruits, meats, and confections (some of which were indistinguishable from the decorations). Ildiran musicians and singers performed an odd sort of atonal music with water-bubbling flutes; Reyn pretended to enjoy it. They both listened in rapt silence as a rememberer told a brief story from the Saga of Seven Suns.

  His hosts did everything possible to make him feel welcome; nevertheless, Reyn felt a sense of uneasiness in the chamber, as if the Ildirans were subdued.

  Osira’h introduced him to her brother Rod’h. Though he was a year younger than Osira’h, he seemed older, harder, and extremely serious. “There is an uneasy mood on Ildira,
” he said, “a dislike for outsiders . . . like a kind of shadow.”

  Osira’h flashed a quick glance at her brother, as if exchanging a secret warning, then she turned to Reyn. “We will protect you, don’t worry.”

  He hadn’t been worried about that at all, but now he reconsidered.

  Yazra’h, a strong and feral-looking Ildiran woman with flowing hair, rose to her feet. “We have no results in our investigations yet from the incident at the procession, Liege. We spoke with the families of the attackers. We studied their work, their homes. They had no connection to one another, no prior suggestion of violence.” She struggled with her words, wrestling them out. “It is baffling.”

  “I should have foreseen it through the thism, ” Jora’h said. “But they managed to hide their thoughts. The attackers were blank to me.”

  “It is one of the ways the Shana Rei attacked us, during the ancient conflict,” Rod’h said. “Through our fears, through a weakness in the thism.”

  Reyn felt uncomfortable as he finished his meal. Perhaps this wasn’t a good time for his visit to the Ildirans after all, but he needed his own answers as much as they did.

  At a time of the day when only three of the bright suns were in the sky, the Ildirans noticed the diminished illumination; for Reyn it meant he could remove his filmgoggles when Osira’h took him to the lush greenhouse at the top of a palace tower. “The Mage-Imperator made this place for my mother,” she said, stroking one of the young worldtrees. “I thought you might feel more comfortable here.”

  The well-lit chamber was full of exotic Ildiran plants, but the centerpiece was a small grove of worldtree saplings, each one taller than Reyn. He chuckled. “I’ve only been here a day, Osira’h. I’m not too homesick yet.”