by J. N. Chaney
“Awen,” Willowood said, moving to embrace her. “What a joy it is to see—”
Awen cut her off, fell into the elderly woman’s arms, and began to weep. She hadn’t expected to break down here in the open, but when she saw Willowood, it was like a dam that had grown too fatigued from having to hold back a body of water had finally given way. One minute, the structure looked sound; the next it had broken apart and let through a flood of tears.
Willowood was safe. Not that any of the other elders weren’t, but the two of them had formed a special bond the first day they’d met. And in a place as overwhelmingly cerebral and intellectually diverse as Plumeria, connecting meaningfully with others was important. It kept the soul grounded to the beauty of personal relationship when it could easily be lost in the chaos of galactic cosmology. In fact, given the rift that had developed between Awen and her mother, Willowood had become like a surrogate mother. Awen had often wondered if the elder didn’t get her more than anyone else in the galaxy—maybe even more than she got herself. All the emotions Awen had kept bottled up poured out onto Willowood, tears turning the elder’s robes deeper shades of maroon and black.
“There, there,” Willowood said, rubbing her old hands along Awen’s back. “You’re safe now.”
“But Matteo,” Awen whimpered. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The pain stood on her chest like a pillar of granite. “He’s gone.”
“Yet he lives in the Unity of all things,” Willowood replied. “From one form to another, and you will see him again. But what’s done is done, and Matteo’s part is over.” She pushed Awen’s shoulders up, held her biceps with aged hands, and looked her in the eye. “Your part, however, is just beginning.”
“But I don’t want to do this anymore,” Awen confessed. “It’s too much. It wasn’t supposed to go like that, and I don’t want the chance for anything like that to happen again. It’s got to be over for me. It’s over.”
“That is a choice you can make, dear, yes. And no one would blame you for it.” Willowood let go of Awen. “The time has come for you to stand on your own two feet and make your mark on the galaxy, Awen. You cannot control what is done to you, just like you could not stop those people from dying.”
“But—”
Willowood silenced her with a raised finger. “The only thing you get to control is your today. You choose, and the universe responds. The Unity can no more control you than you can control it. In the end, all you can control is yourself, and that is enough business for several lifetimes.”
“But those poor people didn’t even get to live out one lifetime.” Awen wiped the knit turtleneck’s sleeve across her face. “It was terrible. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”
Willowood sighed, holding Awen’s arms again. “No, it wasn’t supposed to go like that at all. We saw the holo-feed the Republic forwarded.” The old woman grimaced. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
“All their bodies, and the fire, it… did the report say if anyone—”
“There will be time for grieving the dead, Awen. But not now.”
“Wait. You’re saying no one survived?” She felt torn apart by the look of immense sadness in Willowood’s graying eyes. Awen searched them for some sort of reprieve, some sort of reassurance, but found none.
“I’m so very sorry,” her mentor said.
Awen swallowed the lump in her throat. “So am I.”
“Listen,” Willowood said, brushing Awen’s sleeves with her hands. “You need to compose yourself. You need to finish your mission and make a final statement. Meet with Master So-Elku. Then we can mourn together and figure out the future.”
“I would like that,” Awen said, trying her best to rein in her emotions. Her eyes felt puffy, and her ribs ached. “I would like that very much.”
“Good. Now, then, let’s get you to Elder’s Hall. So-Elku arranged a private audience.”
“Alone?”
“He figured it would be too much for you to address everyone. I agreed. Although, So-Elku…”
But Willowood never finished her thought.
“So-Elku what?” Awen asked.
“It’s nothing.” The old woman waved her hand. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s kind of him to grant me an audience without all the other elders,” Awen said. “I don’t think I could handle that many people right now.”
“And so it is. Come, let’s walk.”
Awen was grateful for Willowood’s arm. Still, Awen couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering her mentor. The two of them strode through the central hall as birds chirped in the upper arches. The calls tried to lift Awen’s soul away from the shadows that plagued her. But she was pulled back down, the sound of her boots clumping along the marble floor—boots in the mwadim’s palace—reminding her of death. It was as if clinging to Willowood’s arm somehow kept her from falling back to Oorajee.
“Do you think I can change my clothes first?”
“Change? You do look rather fetching in street clothes, you know.” Willowood cast her a wry smile. Awen laughed and felt her mood lift ever so slightly. “Never mind me. To answer your question, yes, we’ll get you to the hospital as soon as So-Elku is finished with you, and I’ll prepare new robes and slippers for you.”
“After So-Elku, though? Must it wait?”
“I’m afraid so, dear.”
“Very well,” Awen replied.
“Thank you, Elder Willowood.” So-Elku bowed to the woman, his green-and-black robes brushing the floor. He offered Awen his arm as Willowood backed away. The massive wooden doors started to move. Awen felt them close behind her with a deep whoomph.
Awen found herself in the vaulted room of Elder’s Hall, a spartan circular space whose perimeter was lined with hundreds of seat cushions and whose domed ceiling was a holo-projection of the entire galaxy. Each cushion on the floor was reserved for an elder who had achieved Seventh Level and served a star system. Awen hoped she would be permitted such an honor one day. Until then, she only had access to this hall when she was being assessed or in certain cases, such as when she’d been commissioned to lead the Jujari mission.
It felt very strange to be back. The last time she’d been here, the hall had been alive with anticipation and… something else. Her mind raced. Hope. Being selected from amongst the Order’s very best candidates for what was surely the most important mission in hundreds of years had been the highlight of her life. Now, however, the hall was eerily still with only So-Elku’s and her footfalls echoing throughout the cavernous space.
So-Elku walked her to the far side of the room, a curved wall lined with large windowed cutouts. The portals opened to a vibrant garden lined with paths and streams and covered by the broad bows of seratathia trees. Several dozen butterflies danced across the foliage, flitting from one perfect flower to the next. Awen took a deep breath of the moist air and let her shoulders relax. The scene offered to wipe away everything that had happened if she could only stay here, surrounded by the beauty of this place. But she knew such a reprieve was not meant to be.
“That’s it,” So-Elku said. “You’re safe now.” He released her arm and turned to look down at her. He had a bald pate but still wore some dark hair tight to the sides and back of his head. The wraparound connected to a thin line of facial hair that rose over his top lip in sharp angles and then ran along his jaw, missing his chin completely. He had dark, penetrating eyes and wrinkles that reinforced the years of intellectual and mystical mastery of the Luma traditions. As the grand master of the Luma, he was the embodiment of their legacy and the director of their future.
“So, you have returned from the other side of the galaxy, young Awen dau Lothlinium. Dare I ask how you are?”
“Right now, I’m tired, Master So-Elku. But I’m happy to be home.”
“I’ll have you on your way in moments, I promise.”
“Thank you.” Awen took a deep breath. “I’m sure you have
many questions for me, and I still have plenty of my own. While I can only thank you for selecting me for such an important mission, I fear that I’ve failed you and the Order in ways I can only begin to count.”
“My child, please. You have no need to thank us. It is we who need to honor you.”
“But the mission was—”
“Attempted. Sometimes, that is all we can do—attempt the improbable and hope for the impossible. You, I would argue, have succeeded at both.”
“Success is not exactly the word I was thinking of, master. If you had sent someone else, maybe things would have turned out differently.”
“If we had sent someone else?” So-Elku let out a small laugh. “I fear the team would have lost their heads long before gaining access to the mwadim’s palace. No, Awen,” he said, taking her hands, “it is because of you that we got as far as we did. No one, and I mean no one, could have done it more skillfully. That is why we sent you, child. Do not think for an instant that we were doing you a favor. We are not so foolish as you may believe.”
“I don’t believe you’re foolish.”
“Then trust me when I say that we were doing what was best for the mission.”
“Thank you, master.” She took another deep breath and rolled her neck, trying to release the tension she felt. “Don’t you think someone with more sensitivity than me would have sensed the explosion?”
“A worthy question. But do you so soon forget that you were not alone? I can think of fewer more sensitive elders than Toochu. It was hard to make everything out in the holo-feed that we received, but I didn’t see any of your team react as you did. It seems you placed a shield around you and the mwadim? The helmet holo-cam cut out after the detonation.”
“Yes,” she said, “but it wasn’t strong enough to save him. It barely saved me.”
“It’s a wonder you survived at all, then.”
“I wouldn’t have, had it not been for a certain Marine.” Her thoughts flitted back to Magnus like a butterfly seeing a flower it liked. She had trouble remembering the details of how he’d done it, but she knew he’d saved her and made sure she got out alive when all the others hadn’t. “I couldn’t save them,” she added. “I couldn’t even save myself.”
“That may be the case, but you were the right emissary, and you had the right team. Nothing more, Awen. Some things are just out of our control.”
“Like the war forming over Oorajee,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. She could feel the fatigue betraying her emotions, which were coming to the surface more quickly now.
“Yes,” So-Elku said, lowering his head. “That is unfortunate. I fear that we may never…” The master lost himself in thought. Awen wasn’t sure if she should interrupt him. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to her face. “Forgive me, child. Sometimes I lose myself in the Unity.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” she said, putting her hands on a smooth sandstone ledge. The two of them stood, observing the flowers and butterflies under the shade of the seratathia trees. Awen soaked it all in, looking forward to a long night’s sleep after her medical review. She was so tired.
“I did notice Ambassador Bosworth speaking with you before the mwadim called you to his dais.”
“That’s correct, yes.”
“May I ask what he said?”
“You may ask anything you wish, master, of course. He threatened me.”
“Threatened you?”
“Yes. He said he would hunt me down if I gave the mwadim the microdrive with my research.”
“No one likes their secrets used against them,” So-Elku said. “Best never to keep any.”
“As you’ve said.” Awen yawned, excused herself, and covered her mouth with her sleeve. Am I really this tired, or is there something in the air? Her body yearned for a bed. Any bed. “Master So-Elku, is there anything further you need from me? I don’t mean to be rude, but I would like to get checked out, and then I just want to sleep for a while. May we reconvene tomorrow? Perhaps even later today?”
“Of course, my child.” He turned, took her other arm, and began walking with her back toward the entrance.
“Thank you, master,” Awen said, hoping she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about the reprieve.
“Awen, I nearly forgot.” So-Elku paused to face her in the middle of the hall. “Would you mind telling me what happened to the stardrive?”
Awen looked at him, curious. “The stardrive?” She had nearly forgotten herself. Of course! How could I have been so inept? But the fatigue was dulling her senses, and she could hardly blame herself because of how sleepy she felt.
“Yes, the stardrive from Oorajee,” So-Elku clarified. “Where is it?”
Awen was about to reach into the satchel when something odd occurred to her. “I never mentioned any stardrive, master.” She looked into his eyes and noticed the smallest tic in the corner of his mouth.
“Of course, you didn’t, child. We saw the mwadim hand it to you.”
“Ah, forgive me, master.” She reached down to the satchel, opened the flap, and removed the cylinder. So-Elku’s eyes darted to the device as Awen offered it to him.
“We both know it’s no good to me,” he said, palms raised.
Despite his words, Awen felt that he desperately wanted to take it. But it was hard to think, and she yawned a second time. “Should I open it now or wait for the others?”
“You may open it now,” he replied.
“Very well.” Awen closed her hand around the cylinder and prepared to press the activation button. It contained a small needle that would extract a droplet of blood from under her skin. The device would become inert if it determined a mismatch between her brainwaves and its record of encoding, so she let her thoughts drift back to Oorajee, to Oosafar, and then to the mwadim’s palace.
Awen winced as the memory of the explosion sent her sprawling into the mwadim. Her ears rang, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Fire lit up the room like the inside of the sun. She saw the mwadim’s face, or what was left of it, and felt the prick in her hand. Then Awen placed her thumb on the stardrive’s button, and—
Something was wrong. Not wrong with her memories, but wrong with this moment, here with So-Elku.
“What is it, my child?” the master said.
“I’m… I’m having trouble remembering.” Awen opened her eyes and saw a trail of sweat on So-Elku’s temple.
“Keep going,” he replied. “You’ll find it. I know it’s difficult.”
Awen closed her eyes again as she fought against the mounting fatigue. It was impairing her ability to think. Suddenly, she realized her mind wasn’t drawing her attention to the events in the mwadim’s palace but to something far more recent. Think, Awen. Think!
She remembered what the master had said—that it was “hard to make everything out in the holo-feed.”
No, that wasn’t it. Something else. Why is it so hard to think? She was getting tired of feeling like this. “I feel strange,” she said, placing a hand to her head.
“You’re just tired, my child. You can rest in a moment once you’ve opened the drive.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not tired. I’m… I’m…” She looked at him in surprise. “You’re manipulating me!”
“Awen, I think you just need some rest. Finish accessing the—”
“You said that the holo-feed cut out when the bomb detonated. But the mwadim didn’t give me the stardrive until after the explosion.”
“What I meant was—”
“No. You said what you meant to say.” Awen was furious, and she let the emotion rise from within her. She withdrew to her center and used the fury to push against the walls that seemed to be constricting her soul. Someone had put them there without her permission.
Awen summoned her strength and felt the Unity swirl within her like a waterspout. Then she pressed her inner world away, causing a blast of energy to surge from her spirit, through her body, and into the room. Her eyes flew open. Th
e wave of power blew against So-Elku’s robes and made him step back.
Now Awen was alert—still tired, but alert. She could see again, and she knew that So-Elku was not safe.
16
“Why?” Awen asked, her face twisted in disbelief.
So-Elku straightened his arms with a quick snap then stiffened his neck. “These are things beyond your control, Awen. That stardrive is the property of the Luma. Do you think you really could keep it a secret from me?”
“A secret? I wasn’t keeping a secret from you. You were dimming my senses! I could feel your mind at work.”
“I was assisting you.”
“Assisting me?” A wave of self-doubt washed over her. This was, after all, Master So-Elku. And she was standing face to face with him, in private, accusing him of lying to her and actively manipulating her mind. Maybe she was out of line.
“No.” She shook her head, deciding on her course. “If you came to know about the stardrive through honest means, and it was that important to you, all you would have needed to do was ask.”
“My child, I wanted to make sure you were all right first,” he pleaded.
Awen locked eyes with him. “Who told you about it?”
So-Elku took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“Who told you about it?”
“Awen, I need you to hand me the stardrive now.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Then I hold you in contempt of the Order.”
“You do that,” she said, turning away from him. She’d only taken a step toward the doors when her movement was arrested. She couldn’t move her legs or arms. It was as if someone had placed her in a pool of water and flash frozen it around her limbs.
