Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “Tay?” It was Liel, who spoke to the twins and then hurried back to Teloa.

  The off-worlder felt her puzzlement giving way to fear. Still faint, but growing, the pain growing in her head—Gods, not again. I cannot, not again-

  “Do you hear it?” Tay’s voice was scarcely a whisper.

  “Hear what?” Kavan asked as he walked back up the street.

  “They’re coming.”

  “Who is coming?” Kal said, at first sharp with impatience, and then softening as he saw her face. “What do you sense? Are you an empath?”

  “You really don’t hear it yet, do you?” She turned to Liel. “Can’t you hear it?”

  “There is something ...“ Liel began uncertainly.

  “What, Li? Your hearing has always been good.” Kal suddenly was taut, blazing, cold sober. Just then the air-raid siren began to wail.

  Teloa folded to her knees, the color drained from her face. “Not again. I can’t take it again. So many times ... They came so close, but I got away. Not here, not now —”

  “What?” Kavan shook her, dragging her to her feet.

  “Lunas. They turned my planet to ash, we had no shields, no military. They melted the skin from my people. They will sear the life from this world.” She looked up at them, panic freezing her face. “They are like living things, they always find their prey unless destroyed first, they—”

  Kavan shook her again, cutting off the growing hysteria in her voice. “This time it will be different. We have a shield and can temper the damage. We have to find a shelter; the radiation cannot touch us there. Come on.” Locking an arm around Tay’s waist, Kavan forced her to run. Pain suddenly filled their heads, the sign of abnormal frequencies.

  The impact of the leading bomb half deafened them and shook the ground beneath their feet, although it landed on the other side of the river. Zair raised his voice in the deep-throated bay of his breed. They heard the chain reaction of explosions as the power lines beneath the street detonated.

  Kal glanced back over his shoulder, and looked momentarily stricken. “That is the foreign quarter! Shinar is there—“ He started running back.

  “Kal, no, you cannot get through, it is—“ Kavan’s voice was lost in the groaning sound of the fires, the soft winds of Amura spiraling to incredible fury.

  “What is he—” Liel started to yell.

  “He will be back, the fires will stop him. I just hope he can get back. Come on, I think there is a shelter in the next block.” Kavan indicated she should help him with Teloa, and the three joined other Nualans staggering down the street, Zair leading the way.

  There was a shelter, already crowded with children and several men and women of varying ages. They entered and rushed down the narrow, winding corridor, which was designed to guard against flying debris.

  Still shaking, Tay pulled away, moving to stand alone. “I’m sorry. I—you don’t know, you can’t know ...” she whispered, leaning against the wall, her gaze studying the dim passage beyond where supplies were stored.

  “We will know soon enough, will we not?” Kavan replied. At the sound of his name, Kavan stepped back to the mouth of the corridor.

  It was Kalith. “I could not get through; Casae Podami is already blocked off. I am going to try to reach the power station and cut the lines. Otherwise the whole city will go up,” Kal called down.

  “Wait! I shall go with you! Two have a better chance!” Kavan raced back up the dark corridor, pushing his way through. He was followed by a man in black—their evening guaard.

  “No! Don’t go! You can’t stop it! The lines do not matter, lunas burn from within!” Tay screamed, starting to follow. Liel threw her arms around the woman and hung on, aware of her disadvantage in height. The two tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Zair on top of them both, as another explosion, closer this time, rocked the shelter. Tears streaming down her face, the Caprican made no attempt to get up.

  “Tay, we cannot just—“ Liel began.

  “He’s crazy,” Teloa whispered. “Lunas throw off their matter as they land. It burns until it is consumed, it takes hours, days! It—”

  Her next words were never heard, as a deafening explosion ripped the streets above them, causing the entrance to cave in and debris and bricks to rain down from the ceiling.

  oOo

  “As it was in the beginning, is now and forever, worlds without end ...“ Arrez paused in the litany and found a high-pitched drone interfering with his thoughts. He recognized the air-raid siren. Turning to face the packed house, Arrez imperially tossed his hand in the direction of the main entranceway.

  “Open the doors, all of them.” He turned to Baskh Atare, who was already crossing the choir area and stepping up into the apse.

  “It is starset,” Baskh intoned. “The roof of the Mendülarion is a perfect target. Quickly, quietly, everyone out. The rows nearest the doors first. There are shelters located at the bottom of the hill. We must reach them.” Ignoring Arrez’s gestures that he should lead them, Baskh stood firm, a sign of visible stability in the fear of the crowd. The impact of the next bomb set the pillars to swaying, although it was at a considerable distance.

  “These pillars have withstood mighty quakes. Do not hesitate, do not panic!” Baskh Atare roared. By now a good third of the people were out, although Arrez saw that the royal family held back, waiting for Baskh.

  “Get the children out of here,” the priest called, indicating Tal, Deveah, and Baskh’s eldest son should remove their families, over ten and old enough to represent their generation at the elderday.

  Deveah had just reached the innermost nave door when a bomb lodged in the hill above the temple, collapsing the choir like matchsticks and separating the apse from the nave. The orderly evacuation became a rout. Deveah shoved Jared out the door and stepped back into the temple.

  The next bomb was a direct hit, dropping through the center of the nave and reaching explosion temperature just below the temple floor, blowing the roof to the sky. Unable to see to the nave through the solid wall of choir stone, Arrez dragged himself off the floor and looked for Draü. He saw her at the altar, attempting to lift the great candle and carry it out the apse exit, which had had its doors blown off the hinges in the force of the last impact. As Arrez tried to reach her he pushed at a pillar. The tiled wall next to him collapsed at the loss of its keystone, and the last thing he remembered was Baskh Atare trying to drag Draü from the altar. Then there was darkness.

  oOo

  Braan lay on the ground, trying to clear the sparks from his eyes. Cursing himself soundly into the depths of the Path, he leapt to his feet, preparing to run back to his home for Dylan and Asiai. He looked across the city, flames beginning to burn brighter than the dying starlight. Then he realized what was wrong. He saw no reflection from the Mendülarion. Panic rose in his throat, and he tore down the path. Fool! To think they would not really abandon us ...

  He reached the outskirts of town without difficulty and was thankful he had crossed the river outside the city limits; the bridges still standing were in flames. Racing down a large street, Braan found himself cut off by a fire, several men and women standing before it looking for paths through the inferno. Turning around, he doubled back to another major artery, unaware of his younger brother screaming his name.

  oOo

  Roe awoke with a start, swinging her feet off the bed.

  “Moran?” No answer—he must have left her to nap while he changed for dinner. Had Lyte slept, too? He had been so tired....

  A shudder ran through the building, the plant stand swaying. Roe realized she had felt, not heard something; and had been roused from a sound sleep. A quake? Darkness was falling—she could see nothing from her window. She left the room and went down the corridor to the courtyard. Throwing open a glass door, she looked out into the twilight.

  Fire was everywhere, obscured by thick smoke, and she heard screams muffled by the sound of the air-raid siren. The sound connected,
and then she was frantically searching the skies. There was a glimmer—another wave coming. She started running back down the hall.

  “Moran! Lyte!” She was startled at her own volume and found herself screaming from the pain of the frequencies. Then she was on her stomach, covering her head as the palace buckled and rocked from the impact of a bomb. She heard collapsing stone and tiles and felt herself blacking out. It seemed like only moments later she could see again, but there was no longer the sound of falling rock.

  A voice was speaking softly, urgently to her; someone was shaking her arm. “Serae, please get up! We must get to a shelter!!” It was one of the palace guaard, his reserve shattered. His face was white, his neck and shoulders bleeding from superficial wounds. Roe listened—nothing.

  “It has stopped,” she said aloud.

  “But there is no knowing when it will begin again! Please—“

  “We must find the injured,” she said, interrupting. “Who was here? Three of Baskh’s little ones, in the far wing. Moran, Lyte—were my brothers and sister back from the planters?”

  “Serae, the temple is destroyed, we must go at once!”

  She stared at him, digesting this. Then she stood slowly. “If that is true, Eon, then I may be the Ragäree. If so, I shall not leave without my man—or his body.” She took a deep breath. “Find help, I will get my bag and extra antidote for the radiation. You are correct, we must get everyone left into the shelter. Hurry, I shall meet you at the crossing!”

  oOo

  Several of the corridors into the watch room were destroyed, but Jaac finally found an open one. Entering the watch room proper, she found a tight-lipped group of people still going about their assigned tasks.

  “Status report.” Immediately a volume of information was thrown her way. The relief on the faces of her warriors was plain. Jaac had survived Taos; she would survive this one. After quickly going over the information, she said, “Activate defense system.”

  “Are we going to let them have it?”

  Jaac did not look up as she framed a reply. “We cannot retaliate without the direct order of the Atare. Have you tried to reach the Io or—”

  “No response. Either out of direct range or ignoring us.”

  “Probably out of range,” Henne said bitterly. “They do not want to listen to the death throes of a planet.”

  Jaac looked up, mildly surprised. “Who said anything about Nuala dying?” Henne stared bleakly at her. “It will take a lot more than a few luna bombs to destroy the radiation capital of the galaxy. You forget the shield can detonate the sensitive luna heads in midair. Order all warriors to the outskirts of the city, to prepare in case of a troop carrier landing.” She studied the explosion chart, the wide range of hits, the low density. “Fewhas ... they might be crazy enough to land.”

  “Planet defense activated” came a voice. “The bombs are beginning to explode in midair. They will stop with the lunas now and switch to regular forces. We put all legions on standby before we lost interplanetary communications, with orders to defend their cities using whatever means possible.”

  “Then I would imagine they are ready. Begin preparations to countdown for defense.” Every head snapped up. “It takes a few minutes,” Jaac said easily. “The Atare may have problems getting word to us. We must be ready. This attack is not personal, warriors; the front has moved once again. The Fewhas will try to use plutos bombs and turn us to powder. We may have to retaliate.” The warriors quickly bent to their computers.

  COMPLINE

  Braan took what was left of the temple stairs two at a time, ignoring the voices screaming at him from below. He was conscious of the sound of lunas exploding but felt no impacts. Looking up, he realized the defense had been activated. The defense shield ... That could only mean Jaac was still alive.

  “We must fight,” he said aloud, amazed he could face the concept so casually. He started into the main entrance, and then saw that there was nothing left of the nave. He backed away quickly, fearful of radiation residue. Instead he cut around the side of the temple and reached the apse door.

  “Can anyone hear me?” he called as he entered.

  “Braan?” The whisper came from almost at his feet. He jumped and realized it was Arrez. The priest was buried up to his shoulders in the tiles and plaster but had protected his head. Now he pushed aside rubble and looked up. “I am all right, for the most part. Just the wind knocked out of me.” He slapped the tip of a buried pillar at the end of his reach. “This brace saved me, I think. Baskh and Draü were over near the altar.”

  The Nualan bent and removed one of his scarves, pressing it against a gash in the man’s forehead. Glancing around, he was glad to see several men and women had followed him.

  “The high priest says he is all right. Start digging him out. You two come with me. You go find healers and get them up here. And you”—Braan gestured to an especially large man—“you keep everyone else in that shelter. And clear the entrance. We may be coming down in a hurry.” Leading the way, Braan climbed over the pillar and dropped down on the other side. He stopped short, shocked at what he found.

  When the canopy collapsed, Baskh had saved Draü from the brunt of the flying pieces, but he could not block everything. The woman had taken fragments in the head, and a brief pulse check indicated that she was already dead. Baskh lay next to her, his hands sheltering the eternal fire that, although on its side, still burned. Scarcely a mark was on him, yet he was lying in a pool of blood.

  The man’s eyelids fluttered. “I thought I heard your voice.” It did not sound like Baskh—too soft, and his breathing raspy. Braan’s gaze traveled the Atare’s body quickly, and then he clamped his hands on the leg artery that was swiftly draining the man’s life.

  “Get a healer, and frozen platelet packages!” he yelled, whipping off his other scarf and tightly binding the wound. “The Atare has need!” Baskh gestured weakly with his hands, indicating they should not waste their time. Braan heard as if far away the words of the death litany. He looked up to find a young priestess kneeling at Baskh’s feet, her face white yet serene, oblivious to the smell of death, the smoke, her own broken, bloody arm hanging useless at her side.

  “Not y—”

  “Let her finish,” Baskh said. “I have lost too much blood. Man is not meant to survive such injury. To think I leave my people to this—“

  “Had you not maintained the defense shield and the drills, it would have been much worse,” Braan interrupted, seizing the man’s hands as if he could lend him strength.

  “Now you are out of scarves.” Baskh attempted to chuckle, reaching for breath. “I always knew that crazy two-scarf fashion would come in handy. I wonder how many lives ... here.” Shaking free of his sister’s son, the Nualan lifted his head and removed his chain of office, laying it in Braan’s hand. “Give this to Tal, if he lives. If not, keep it. A mad one shall not lead what remains.”

  “How do you know I am not mad?” Braan finally answered.

  Baskh smiled, almost a grimace in his pain. “Oh, you are. But there are many kinds of madness, and not all are evil. Good luck, my son. Take care of my people. They will need you more than they can know. May Holy Mendülay have mercy on us all.” His voice faded off at the end, as he slipped away—whether into death, or the coma of the dying, Braan did not know. He knelt there a moment, trying to concentrate on the final words of the litany, his mind unable to form coherent thoughts. Slowly he stood, and spoke to the small, stricken gathering.

  “There may be survivors here. Let us search the temple.” Still clutching the chain of office in his right hand, its deep red stones flashing darkly, Braan continued his wandering.

  A woman’s voice urgently calling his name forced him back outside and down to the first nave entrance—it was impossible to move through the choir, much less the nave. He found a healer and several others huddled over a body, a few people retreating at the medtech’s requests to give the man air.

  Braan pus
hed through the crowd and found Tal lying peacefully on his back. A quick look to the healer produced a negative reply, even as his brother moved an arm.

  “His back is broken,” the man whispered, fumbling in his bag. “The ribs crushed. All I can do is give him a painkiller.” Ignoring him, Braan knelt down and carefully slipped his arms around his brother’s shoulders, cradling his head. Tal opened his eyes, the familiar serenity still within the blue one, the depths of the black unreadable. The eldest smiled then, as if reassured by Braan’s presence. His gaze strayed to the glint of bright metal thrown carelessly across his own shoulder. A shadow crossed his face; there was only one reason for Braan to have the chain of office. Tal had loved Baskh as a father. He looked back to Braan’s face, and slowly, carefully attempted to speak. Braan and the healer bent down to catch the heir’s final words.

  “Keep it.” A smile touched Tal’s lips, and it was a moment or two before Braan realized he had stopped breathing. The healer lowered his hand, the pain killer no longer necessary. Braan gently closed his brother’s eyes. Setting the body down, he straightened like an old man, unable to rise to his feet. His right hand hurt, and opening it, he saw he was gripping the chain so tightly that it had drawn blood. He did not feel the healer give him an injection of strong radiation antitoxin.

  “We must find Deveah,” Braan said, his voice muted among the dead stones.

  The healer’s eyes widened. “You—you cannot be serious, Seri! We—you—” The man was practically pleading with him, unable to meet Braan’s withering stare.

  “One way or another it will be settled. The Atare had intended to confine him. We shall need restrainers—”

  “There is no need” came a voice from behind him.

  Braan tensed at the voice, its pain a weapon against him. He turned, expecting to find a half-strangled child. He found instead one of the twins—squinting in the dim light, Braan guessed. “Kavan?”