Covenants: Elegy (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 8)

by Terra Whiteman

  HYMN OF THE MULTIVERSE 8

  Terra Whiteman 2019

  All rights reserved

  O

  THE RELIQUARY WAS QUIET, JUST AS it had been for the better part of a year. We used to call it the library, but the placard had been changed during the reconstruction and apparently someone had picked up a dictionary within that time.

  Staff had been thin for just as long, having survived another near-extinction event that left our headquarters in literal ruin. The threat abated, we were forced to pick up the pieces by taking on multiple contracts both for resources and to re-establish our place within the Multiverse.

  I’d been relieved from a contract only months before; Enigmus, our sanctuary, still in the process of reconstruction, stood taller and more formidable than when I’d left. Leadership told us this wasn’t permanent, that we would inevitably move somewhere more habitable than this dead world of yellow grass and red sky, but from the ambitious blueprints of our new headquarters, I wondered if this was truly the case.

  Those of us out of rotation were tasked with sorting and merging threads within attica. There was a lot of new information entering our conscious stream and organization was key to making it useful. As I rifled through threads of new species, worlds, planetary confederacies, geographies and cultural shifts of both repeat and new clients, the rumble of construction served as background noise beyond the reliquary as our leadership added to Enigmus’s southern wing. I did my best to ignore it, even as I felt my seat vibrating. Eventually I rewarded myself a break and stepped out of the reliquary, onto the veranda.

  I leaned against the rail and smoked a cigarette from Yahweh’s world, having picked up the habit from him. I hadn’t seen Yahweh for nearly a year—his contract was one of the more time-consuming kinds—and I’d adopted his pack from his room. The last time I’d seen him he was asleep next to me, the morning he was set to depart. I’d slipped out of his room to get a head start on sorting. Goodbyes were never my thing. He’d understood.

  Adrial was at the southern wing, wearing a strained expression with his hands raised. A rumble shook our sanctuary once more; the black pool beside the quarry bubbled and slithered past his feet, molding and entwining to form another stretch of wall. The air smelled of tar and burning grass, the glare of the midday sun overhead accentuating the liquid obsidian bending to his will. He was still new to nobility, hence the turbulence. Leid’s work was always much smoother, but she was off playing diplomat for the collapsing political structure of the Halon supercluster. Such a mess, that.

  Adrial noticed my presence and gave me a nod. I nodded back, finishing my cigarette and returning inside the reliquary to continue my work. In my absence, someone had left a drink at my station; probably Aela, as she was on meal duty today. I could only wonder what it was spiked with. She knew me well enough. A tedious task such as mine could only be performed beneath the threshold of sobriety. Being a scholar was mostly exciting, until it wasn’t.

  I lost track of time, but night had fallen on Exo’daius as I left succumbence and took a moment to stretch outside of the attica nod. No sooner than I had, an alert message materialized in my stream.

  Adrial was summoning me to his office.

  Another contract was pending.

  *

  When I arrived at his office, Adrial awaited me from behind his desk. He was dressed smartly in a black button-less jacket and matching pants, a blue shirt beneath the jacket with the collar folded over. Shelves of books surrounded him like an army; an obelisk and its sphere floated atop the glass surface of his lectern next to a stack of documents I imagined would be mine to upload into attica eventually. The obelisk pulsed rhythmically with blue sparks, its candescence danced across his hazel eyes like lightning.

  “Zira, sit,” he welcomed. “Have a drink, won’t you?”

  There was a craft of off-world wine and two glasses in front of him.

  “You only ask me to drink when you’re about to hand me a contract I won’t like,” I said.

  Adrial looked away with his eyebrows raised, as if considering this. He nodded. “So do you want the drink or not?”

  I sat in the chair, saying nothing. He poured us our wine.

  “How much do you know of the Ophal System Confederacy?” asked Adrial.

  I blinked. “Nothing.”

  “There is an interplanetary war between three of the twelve planets of the OSC. The Court of Enigmus has been called upon by their sovereign world, Ophal-I, to escort a person of interest to them. The war is spreading, and their council is focusing on rounding up their world leaders and escorting them to sanctuary to prevent political collapse.”

  Adrial paused then, allowing me to ask questions. I didn’t, only waited for him to continue.

  “The person of interest is Dezidka Laith of Evgani-Svissa on Ophal-III. Or rather, the third moon of Ophal-III. She is the daughter of Dezidke Lanit, leader of the Evgani tribe. The contract asks for a warden to protect her on the journey to Ophal-I.”

  “A warden?” I asked, although the inflection of my voice made it hardly a question. “Since when are we hired shields?”

  “Since we need the resources and, if I recall correctly, most of our scholars have asked that we show our might instead of hide it.”

  “This contract seems better suited for Qaira.”

  Adrial leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “Qaira is already on a contract. Do you doubt your skill?”

  “I just don’t particularly like the idea of playing bodyguard to a politician’s spoiled child. Obviously there is more to this, as no one would make a contract with us for such a meager task.”

  “I’m certain there is, however they didn’t make it readily known.” Adrial took a sip of wine. “Zira, I understand this is outside of your comfort zone, but the resources they are offering will fund the rest of Enigmus’s reconstruction. Not to mention the Ophal Confederacy is no small player in the Anghona Galaxy. Our reputation will spread.”

  “And we will get more contracts as wardens,” I muttered. “Very well, let me see the terms. And when do I depart?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I would use the rest of your time here to research the OSC and Svissa. Aela will relieve you of your duty as Sort. Pariah will be back in a week, so I’ll have enough of us to keep the place running in your stead.”

  I received a message in my stream, no doubt the terms of the contract. He also handed me a physical copy, rolled up in laminate. I would sign it soon.

  With an obligatory nod I stood, returning the glass of wine to his desk. I’d taken no more than a few sips. Alcohol wasn’t my first choice of vice and wine was my least favorite type. I took the contract and tucked it safely into my coat, turning to leave.

  “Zira,” Adrial called once I reached the door.

  I turned, brows raised.

  He grinned. “Try to be friendly.”

  “Is that a term of the contract?” I asked.

  “No, although a smile typically goes a long way with lessers.”

  “Smiling hurts my face,” I said, vacating the office before he could respond, all the while mentally gearing-up for the long night of research ahead.

  I

  “LAITH!” CALLED KESSU FROM ACROSS the short-grass field. “Laith, have you found it?”

  I clicked my tongue in annoyance and squinted through the brush that marked the end of the citadel grounds. The midday sun was at its fiercest; its warmth across my back felt like I was standing too close to Akani’s oven. “If I found it, I would have already said so!”

  Kessu rolled his blue eyes with impatience. He stood nearly a foot taller than me even though
I was several years his elder. The son of a wealthy merchant and grandson of a citadel warrior, he’d been bred well. His good stock was visible despite the loose shirt and cropped pants he wore. Kessu’s tanned skin was even darker from Svissa’s hottest season; beads of sweat trickled down his temples from his hairline. “Do you need help?”

  “No,” I snapped, casting a gaze to the citadel’s windows, half expecting a scathing look from Housekeeper Akani through one of them for being so close to the edge of our land; with a boy, no less. The ball was in the brush, but the land beyond ours was considered cursed and I’d grown up hearing ghost stories told by the tribe elders. I thought better of my decision. “Come over here and wait. I’m going inside.”

  Kessu came to my side with a teasing grin. “What if Enka snatches you up and makes you his bride?”

  I responded with something unlady-like and took a few steps into the brush.

  The shade was a welcome feeling; the dampness of my skin grew cool against my dress. My eyes scanned the leaf-ridden ground for our ball, all the while keeping my other senses on high alert for even the slightest indication something terrible was lying in wait. All I heard was birds.

  Ah, there. The ball was resting a few steps away, beside a tree. I snatched it up and ran out of the thicket, brushing forest debris from my braids. Kessu cheered and we continued our game of ‘kitch.

  ‘Kitch was a sport celebrated across Svissa. There were professional teams that held championship games every harvest season at the citadel grounds. Many of the serf Evgans traveled hours, sometimes days, by foot and my father welcomed them all to watch the games without charge. The tribe council would accommodate them by designating space for their camps; some were even welcomed to stay inside the citadel if there were rooms available. When I was littler I’d dreamt of becoming a professional ‘kitch athlete. I’d tell my father this and he’d laugh kindly, right before Akani reminded me that a Dezidka had a much more important duty to Svissa than that.

  Harvest season was my favorite time of year. The temperature was bearable, the air scented with sweet bread, roasted fish and sap-coated nuts. Everyone’s moods were lifted around the games. I wasn’t sure that would happen this year.

  I wasn’t sure what would happen this year at all.

  After an hour of running back and forth across the grounds, stumbling and staggering to kick the little ball between the designated wooden bridges we’d staked across the field, Housekeeper Akani emerged from the courtyard with an impatient frown, wiping sweat from her temples with her apron.

  “Laith!” she yelled, stopping us in our tracks. Akani was always grumpy and looked older than she was. At least I thought she looked older than she was—she’d never told me her age. “You’re due to see Issu Magga in an hour! Look at you; you’re filthy! Come and wash up, child.”

  Kessu and I looked guiltily at each other.

  “See you at the 2nd Rite,” said Kessu, grabbing his ball, “Dezidko.”

  I clicked my tongue and jogged toward my disapproving Keeper, who scolded me all the way through the house to the washing room.

  *

  Training with Blademaster Issu was usually the highlight of my week. Today I dreaded it, as this was my final lesson with him; and the lesson itself came with a heavy burden, forcing me to face something I was hardly ready for. Add to that the sting of my scalp from Akani brushing my hair too rough and braiding it too tightly, and it was impossible to focus.

  Issu noticed my lack of concentration as I stumbled through my forms. The curved dagger in my hand trembled during a misstep. Unlike Housekeeper Akani, Issu was warm and considerate, which was surprising from someone who taught royal members how to kill.

  “Kappo, what is the matter with you today?” he asked.

  Kappo, Evgani for little fish, had been his name for me since I’d come to him for training, back when I was no taller than his belly and could barely hold the weight of the dagger in my hand. Now I was nearly his height, but the name remained.

  The question needn’t an answer because the look on Issu’s face said he knew it already. Normally I would have spent several more years under his tutelage but I was forced to perform the 2nd Rite early. My father was dying and I had just reached the age in which a Regent wouldn’t be necessary after his passing. The Rite was tonight at sundown; it was required that I performed several forms flawlessly in front of the tribecouncil. In order to pass from Dezidka to Dezidko, I would have to prove myself capable of the strength to protect my people. My father’s people.

  It was only ritual now, as we had armies that protected Svissa; Issu said it was all about appearances, and tradition. To me, the 2nd Rite meant my father would soon be dead. His fate would be written in stone tonight, and it felt as if I was sinking my dagger into his chest.

  “Nothing,” I said, standing at attention. I tried my best to always appear strong to Issu. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  A concerned frown creased his leathery forehead. He was past middle-age, his wiry hair streaked with silver. He was blind in one eye, its cerulean iris having faded to a dull ashen color. Despite these drawbacks, he could have still probably killed half a dozen soldiers singlehandedly. That was why he was my Blademaster. My gaze fell to the floor, not wanting to be judged. “It’s okay to be nervous, or sad, Kappo. What is happening to you is scary, is it not?”

  “Yes,” I said, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want my father to die.”

  “Of course you don’t. Your father is a great man who has done many great things. But all great men and women die eventually—some earlier than others—and the gods have chosen you to take his place.”

  “What if I don’t want to take his place?” I dared, which would have resulted in a smack from Akani. But Issu only smiled.

  “Most of us don’t get to choose what we want to be in life, Kappo; especially the Dezidka.”

  “Kessu is going to school next year to be a charter,” I said. “He gets to choose.”

  “Who is Kessu?” I began to respond, but Issu added, “You mean the boy you run around with in the fields?”

  I nodded. Issu laughed again. His laugh was grumbly and wet; a symptom of age. I suddenly found it unfair that such an old man got to live when my father—decades younger—would die before the new season. And then I felt horrible because I loved Blademaster Issu. I was just angry that he was laughing at me.

  “Your friend is the son of the wealthiest merchant on Svissa. He may think he’s going to be a charter, but someone will have to take over Akamani’s business once he dies from swindling the wrong customer.” He shrugged. “Or natural causes, whichever.”

  “You shouldn’t talk so badly about other people,” I said.

  “The point is, Kappo, none of us are really in control of what we become. What we can control is who we become.”

  “That means the same thing.”

  “To anyone else, maybe. Not to Evgani.” He nodded at the dagger in my hand. “No more talking. Forms.”

  As he said this, a low rumble—like thunder—broke the sky. Both of us looked out beyond the translucent canopy of the citadel studio. It wasn’t even a cloudy day, but my confusion strengthened as I watched an OSC adorned aircraft arcing across our island, descending on the port over the harbor city. It was a star-shaped, dark gray fragment that scarred the sky with a trail of fire. Why would an Ophal Confederacy craft be here? It was out of season for trade negotiations and this wasn’t a cargo vessel; it was military.

  I glanced at Issu and his face told me he was just as confused. Before either of us could say anything, Housekeeper Akani appeared at the studio entrance. Usually she regarded me with a look of slight annoyance, but now her expression was serious, almost sad. It was obvious she knew why the craft was here.

  “Laith,” she called, nodding to Issu, “your father wishes to see you.”

  *

  I loved my father. I did.

  But seeing him had started giving me a stomach ac
he; a sharp pain beneath my ribs, leaving me short of breath for hours afterward. Today was no different.

  I took my time walking down the citadel halls, and chose the stairs instead of the lift. A tightening in my throat had manifested and I counted each step I took and window that I passed, trying to keep from thinking about my racing pulse.

  My father’s chamber door was blood red, engraved with Evgani scripture invoking the protection of the Twin Gods. I bowed my head and opened the door, welcomed by the sound of my father’s haggard breathing and wet coughs. It smelled of sick. His nursemaid bowed her head and left to give us privacy.

  The bay window leading to the veranda was the only source of light in the room. It was late in the afternoon and the sun cast rays of blue light into the room, dancing with the tree-line over the horizon. A mister chugged on a vanity across from my father’s bed, creating a layer of fog that hung just above the floor. Condensation trickled down the window panes, and I felt cold and damp after just a minute of being here.

  “Laith,” rasped my father, both infirm and love taking turns with his tone. “Come, come here.”

  I approached his silhouette, cast against the translucent curtains around his bed. His subjects and court had only seen his shadow for the past year; no one but his nursemaid and I were permitted closer than that. Weakness was something he did not want anyone to see. He knew how seeing him in this state made me feel, but I was his daughter. His daughter deserved to look her father in his dimming eyes.

  My father, Dezidke Lanit of Evgani Svissa, had been ruler of the Green Moon for twenty years. He may have been the ruler for twenty more, but instead got sick from cinder lung after Ophal-III burned the Forests of Kenlila when they tried to take over Svissa a little more than a decade ago. My father—Garante bless his heart—negotiated a truce through trade and Ophal-III honored it by allowing the Evgani to live in peace on her moon, but he had sacrificed much in the name of preserving Svissa’s native people. Our healers couldn’t cure his illness, only treat it. Now they couldn’t even do that. Kenlila’s anger singed his lungs and strangled him from the inside. That was what the tribecouncil said.