Covenants: Elegy (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 8)

by Terra Whiteman

  “What’s a food-strike?” I asked, confused.

  “Not eating as a form of rebellion.”

  “People do that?”

  Ziranel shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. I take it you’ve never been off the island.”

  “Who gave you your orders?” I said, redirecting the subject.

  He smirked, pushing away the bowls. “Not yet.” He left his stool and I followed, desperate to get away from the crowd. “Our vessel just arrived. Come on.”

  As Ziranel said this, his eyes rose to follow a small, spherical craft descending slowly over the dome. It wasn’t military, either.

  “We’re riding on a cruise ship?” I balked.

  “Seems like it.”

  “Why wouldn’t the OSC give us a private craft if they wanted me delivered to them safely?”

  “Well, you’re smarter than you look,” said Ziranel, to which I bristled. “I didn’t make the plans, I’m only following them. Hurry up, or we’ll miss our flight.”

  By now the alarm bells in my head were deafening. Despite his urgency I was slow to follow him, until he grew impatient and grabbed my arm again. I tried to tug away. Ziranel held strong.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “This… This doesn’t seem safe,” I whispered with a quiver in my voice.

  His expression softened as he sensed my fear. He let me go and I recoiled, rubbing my arm. “You’re safe,” he said. “You’re the safest person in this system right now, okay?”

  We shared a moment of repose; silent, staring. People hurried to the port around us, but we stayed still. His eyes, fiery as they were, told me that he meant what he said. Ziranel couldn’t possibly know if what he said was true, but in that moment I decided to trust him. I had nowhere else to go; the citadel had rid itself of me for the meantime. My title was a tithe.

  I had no one but this frightening, cold stranger. The mere thought of that made my eyes well up with tears. How had this happened so suddenly?

  “Laith,” said Ziranel, and I choked back the tears. “We need to go. Please, collect yourself.” The softness of his tone was forced. He struggled with kindness. I’d already gauged him to be of the condescending, judgmental type.

  I nodded, averting his gaze and following him through the automated doors of the port entrance. Through the glass I saw an OSC freighter preparing for take-off on the other side of the port. Guards loaded weapons and supplies into the opened double-doors of the large, oval vessel. One guard in particular stood out.

  Their armor was different; I had never seen anything like it before. Violet-stained leather and chrome plate; a glowing sword on their hip, a long, flashy gun strapped to their back. With the other soldiers clad in black and gray, it was hard to miss them. They stood sentry near the open door, obviously of higher rank, not having to do any manual labor.

  It seemed like an eternity that I stared, only snapping out of it when they looked directly at me. Through the chrome mask that completely covered their face and head, two eyes the color of gas-fire blue held my own.

  Tha-THUMP.

  My heart fluttered and I started back with a gasp. The port spun around me, and for a moment I feared that I would drop. That is, until Ziranel grabbed my arm for the umpteenth time today.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Our ride is waiting for us.”

  At his voice, everything stood still once more. I stared into his annoyed face, and then gazed back at the colorful soldier. The guards were still loading the craft around them.

  The soldier wasn’t looking at me anymore.

  *

  The ship seemed much smaller from the outside. Inside were several wall-less floors that spiraled down into a main lounge and kitchen for community meals. Along the corridors were small rooms with beds, entertainment screens—such a thing the citadel never had any use for other than mainland reports—and a circular, scenic window.

  Ziranel escorted me to my designated room, his eyes flicking to passersby as if everyone intended to hurt us. He waited at the door while I dropped my satchel on the bed, wincing as my stomach finally revolted against the stress of it all.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked, Kenlila-smite his perception.

  “I’m just… hungry,” I stammered.

  “I told you to eat,” he reminded me, smugly. I said nothing and moved to the window. After a moment, Ziranel sighed. “Come on, then. Let’s find you something.”

  The kitchen on the main floor was always open, but only dishes in refrigerated sections were available between scheduled meals—or so the sign at the entrance said. I scanned the selection of fruits, grains and bread-wrapped snacks displayed behind glass. I wasn’t hungry at all, but it’d been better to tell him that than have to explain my chronic ailments.

  I chose a small bowl of fruit and flavored water. We sat at a table that had benches built into the wall. Other than us, the kitchen was vacant. Panels on the walls broadcasted advertisements for the many cruise-ship journeys to numerous places around the OSC. All the artificial lights were giving me a headache.

  Ziranel’s eyes moved back and forth from the bowl of fruit to me as I sat immobile on the bench. The confusion on his face switched to annoyance after a few minutes. “Are you going to eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why aren’t you eating?”

  “Why do you have to rush me?” I snapped. “Why can’t I just sit here for a minute? What else is there to do?”

  Ziranel glanced away, unresponsive. He chewed on his lip and folded his arms, watching the screens. His side-profile was strangely flattering. After another minute of total silence, I picked at my bowl.

  “What kind of illness did your father have?” Ziranel asked, suddenly.

  “The shamans called it cinder lung,” I said. “Kenlila cast it on the Evgani as retribution for burning the Sacred Forest.”

  “Why did you burn the forest?”

  “We didn’t. The mainworlders did when they tried to take Svissa.”

  “How many of you were afflicted?”

  I shrugged. “The tribecouncil never said the exact number, but from how they made it sound there were a lot. I never saw any of them, as I was really little when it happened and my father was the last one alive with the disease by the time I was old enough to understand anything.”

  Ziranel paused, as if taking in all that I’d said. “What about your mother?”

  “She died of cinder lung several months after the forest burned down.” His questions were not helping my stomach at all. Swallowing fruit was becoming a tough feat.

  “You must not like the OSC.”

  “They don’t like us, either,” I said. “Which is why them wanting me at their headquarters doesn’t make any sense. The only reason they offered a truce with us is because my father agreed to let them come and chop down our trees—take everything we have. It’d be easier to kill me, wouldn’t it? Then they’d have the entire moon.”

  “Maybe,” said Ziranel, “maybe not. Rest assure if they wanted you dead then they wouldn’t have contracted me.”

  I couldn’t stomach another piece of food, and pushed the bowl away. “Contracted you from where?”

  His eyes moved across our surroundings again, as if making certain no one had entered the kitchen. Quietly, he said, “The Court of Enigmus.”

  “And where is that located?”

  He smirked. “Somewhere that people like you can’t go.”

  “So how did someone contract you, then?”

  “It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand it if I tried to explain, so I won’t bother.”

  I scowled. “You’re very rude, you know that?”

  Ziranel looked genuinely hurt. “I’m not trying to be rude; I’m being honest. Do you know anything about particle physics or kinetic resonance?”

  “… No.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” I muttered. “The way you said it made me feel
stupid.”

  “I never said you’re stupid. I even called you smart earlier—”

  “You said I’m smarter than I look, which means I look stupid—”

  “Although right now you’re being kind of petty.” He shrugged indifferently. “Probably an age thing.”

  I clicked my tongue and looked away. “I’m going to rest now. You don’t have to follow me; I know where my room is.”

  Ziranel disregarded what I’d said and left the table with me. “Until our feet are on Ophal-I ground, you don’t leave my sight. So are the terms of the contract.”

  “I didn’t sign any contract with you.”

  “Your father did, as did the COO of the System Confederacy headquarters.”

  “Good for them,” I said, stomping up the stairs. “But they aren’t me, so leave me alone.”

  Ziranel didn’t, until we reached the floor of my room. He waited on the stairs as I stormed into my room and slid the door shut loudly enough for the sound to echo through the corridors.

  Alone, I retrieved my father’s wooden idol of Garanthe and collapsed onto the bed. Curling my knees to my chest, trying to ignore the searing pain in my gut, I hugged the idol and sobbed myself to sleep.

  If the Twin Gods were merciful, I wouldn’t wake up.

  ***

  Sigh.

  This was going about as well as I’d expected. Hopefully the girl would sleep for a while. The teenage angst was getting a bit too much for me.

  Once Laith had slammed the door of the cabin, the click of the lock engaging soon after, I turned and headed for the bridge to better acquaint myself with the crew. According to the OSC, they were aware of us on their ship, and were prepared for an interview. The soldiers first accompanying me from the mainworld to its third moon had been called away to protect an infringing battle near the Ophal-III orbital system; the original plan of having them chart us directly to OSC headquarters was scrapped. A logical reason.

  Still, Laith wasn’t wrong to question why a civilian cruise vessel was considered a suitable form of transportation for a person important enough to be guarded by me. Perhaps with the volatility in the skies, hiding in plain sight was safer than the risk of being attacked in a military craft.

  I wasn’t being given enough information, I knew that much.

  As the glass panes of the bridge entrance came into view, my gait slowed. I touched my right ear and a fluorescent visor flashed across my eyes. I updated the progress of the operation in our conscious stream, then decided to call home.

  Aela.

  —Zira, are you well?

  Her voice filled my thoughts, sending tingles across the back of my head. I shivered, not used to calling from such a distance. Normally we didn’t communicate telepathically to each other during an undertaking, but it wasn’t against the rules. Aela was Sort in my place; a week ago, I’d been answering these calls.

  As well as I can be. Could you do me a favor?

  —Maybe.

  Send a query into attica for any information regarding the term ‘cinder lung’.

  —Relevance?

  Not sure yet. Check the OSC transmissions; logs, archives, any historical documentation you can find about Svissan cinder lung.

  —Query sent. I’ve designated you as the recipient. It may take a while.

  Thank you.

  The visor’s luminescence evaporated from my eyes as our conscious stream deactivated. I stared dauntingly at the bridge doors, feeling my social anxiety kicking into high-gear. I fumbled around into the pocket of my coat and grabbed a liquid-filled tablet. I popped it into my mouth and swallowed. We weren’t allowed to bring anything extramural on contracts—the whole interfering with the balance principle—but Yahweh had prescribed the medicine in a polymer shell, opposed to the typical liquid vials so easily seen. Screwing the pharmacist wasn’t without its perks.

  With a resigned sigh, I shoved my hands into my pockets and continued toward the bridge. Time to pretend to be a functioning lesser.

  V

  THE BRIDGE WAS A CIRCULAR ROOM COMPRISED of panels and screens relaying regulatory checks and statuses of the ship’s operating and mechanical systems. Engineers in navy uniforms were stationed at the panels, their expressions vacuous—machine-like—as their eyes monitored lines of data scrolling across screens.

  The crowd of lusterless faces switched to surprise, then curiosity, as I stepped into the room. I was used to being stared at, as phenotypically I was nothing like them, and no one in the OSC (at least the laymen here) would have ever laid eyes on someone from outside of their system.

  Ignoring their inquisitive looks, I waited at the door as a woman and man—also clad in navy suits with the tour-enterprise logo adorning their breasts—left their seats at the front of the room. The man waved as he approached. I did not wave back; only stood there. Such a lesser-gesture was uncomfortable to me.

  “You’re the Scholar,” said the woman, her warm expression waning at my lack of greeting.

  “Usually,” I said, resisting an eye-roll. “Today I am the Warden. You should have orders that authorize me to be here and inspect the safety of the ship, its crew, and to review the passenger manifest.”

  “Yes, Ophal Officials have given us notice,” said the man. “Do you have a name, Warden?”

  “Yes.” But I didn’t give it. “Are your passengers given background checks?”

  “They are,” said the woman. “What is your name?”

  “My name isn’t relevant,” I said. “You can call me Scholar, or Warden. Either works the same. But I will require your names and credentials.”

  The man and woman looked at each other, wary. “Scholar, we need a name in order to properly identify that you are who you say you are.”

  I massaged the bridge of my nose. “Look at me.” I gestured to the flaming sigil of Enigmus on my coat, then my face. “My name will be kept anonymous until I can guarantee that this vessel is safe. If you don’t agree with the compliance terms of the contract that the OSC has signed, then we will leave.”

  The man bowed his head. “I am Captain Sokora of the Arabain-26 tour vessel. This is Chief Officer Fehnu.”

  “Please give me a copy of the passenger manifest, along with any background checks run.”

  The CO left to fulfill my command. To the Captain, I said, “I would also like to see the route we’re taking. There are no stops until Ophal-I, correct?”

  “That is correct, Scholar. We are only sight-seeing due to the…turbulence in some areas.”

  “Is there a course map?” I asked.

  He nodded to one of the screens on the northern side of the room. “Over there.”

  As I followed him toward it, the CO returned and handed me a stack of files. “Here are the documents you’ve requested. Please review them in private, as they’re confidential to anyone else but us.”

  “Understood,” I said, tucking them beneath my arm.

  The Navigator at the panel brought up the course map, stepping away from his station so I could take a closer look. It was as the Captain said; quite a few figure-eights around Ophal-II, its moons and an arc over the Eknasia Belt. All of this would take two and a half days. Sigh.

  I didn’t have two and a half days of patience left for this job. The moment that Laith opened her eyes and started crying again, I would throw myself from the airlock. Adrial must have been laughing dastardly from his desk right now.

  The ship’s design was a collection of pliable metal spheres secured by transoms, powered by nanoscale machinery woven into wires for beam-powered propulsion. The OSC’s technology was advanced enough to admire, but I was too busy reviewing the passenger manifest and background checks to comb our conscious stream for any further information.

  I spent the better portion of an hour updating my thread with information of our current standing. My eyes were cameras, capturing and integrating each document into the attica database. The only indication that we’d left the atmosphere was the whir of the walls
and the slight rumble beneath my feet as I sat in a tiny office—the Captain’s office, presumably—located in a pocket of the bridge. This was a very smooth ship.

  No apparent threats were aboard the ship; mostly wealthy families hoping to take refuge on the OSC capital world. Laith and I were kept off the manifest, as requested. So far everyone was playing by the rules.

  Satisfied with the inspection, I returned the documents to the CO and left the bridge without a word. I heard the Captain start to ask me a question, but he was silenced when the door slid shut behind me.

  I thought about going to my own cabin to rest but was sidetracked by the breathtaking view of the stars through the translucent transom, bridging the residential quadrant to the faculty hub. One might think space scenery would get old after the thousandth observation, but it never did. Every flickering star in the vast black sea, some so far away they were only a white smudge, represented a potential world; a place like this, perhaps. Each universe seemed endless, the Multiverse even more so, and although its origins had mostly been uncovered by the Court of Enigmus, many questions still remained. Many questions nagging fiercely in lieu of scenery like this.

  My thoughts were squandered when something moved in the reflection of the window. Someone was standing behind me. I turned, locking eyes with an Evgani woman.

  She was middle-aged, tawny-skinned with black and red-streaked curly hair that maned wildly to her shoulders. She wore a traditional red robe, concealed with a brown leather sash and armlets. The tattoos on her wrists and hands told me she was Svissan. I didn’t remember seeing another Svissan passenger while reviewing the manifest.

  “Kenlila is watching you,” she said, unflinching. “Her oath has been stated, so it must be followed.”

  I said nothing, squaring my jaw.

  “Are you worthy of the challenge, Scholar?”

  “Who are you?” I finally demanded.

  A smile tightened her lips. “The question is, who are you?”