by J. S. Fields
Arik’s eyes closed for a moment. “I know these whispers, Atalant. I heard them in my saplings. Heard them before I killed Adzeek.” He looked at her with wide eyes. “I just wanted to get back home. How much of this did the andal plan, do you think?” His voice cracked with emotion as his hand began to shake. “Since my time on the plantation? When I was tending all those saplings, pretending to talk to them…”
“Damned if I know,” Atalant responded, a small smile breaking across her face. “Sometimes you just have to roll with it, you know? Like a root ball.”
Arik laughed—a short, barking sound. Following the andal, his mind fell into hers.
“Time to heal the wounds,” she whispered. “All of them.”
Chapter 30: Eld Palace, Ardulum
Proceed to Neek space.
—Broadband command to the Alliance and Charted Systems fleets, January 12th, 2061 CE
THE GROUND WAS shaking again. The whispering in Atalant’s head turned into a whirlwind. Her vision blanked as Arik’s consciousness rose back up, clear and focused, and slammed into hers as wave after wave of andal linked and corded around their minds. Atalant couldn’t tell if her sudden motion sickness was from the actual movement of the planet or from the image of swirling andal connections she was somehow visualizing.
It’s too chaotic, Arik yelled over the mental din. We have to order it or the planet will unravel. Sort of like cellulose, I think, except now, we get to be the interfacial agent and the planet is the lignin.
What the fuck are you talking about? Atalant yelled back. She batted at the bustling andal wisps, trying to clear a space for her own thoughts. More and more entered—twisting, seething, pushing Arik’s mind from hers. She could feel him slipping to the periphery.
Where are you? she yelled through the mass in her mind. It was increasingly difficult to remain connected to Arik. The andal caught her thoughts, twisted and consumed them.
We are supposed to have a third anchor, filtered back through the noise. It’s…. cellulose…for the third….
He was gone, then, tangled in the andal sentience and too buried to reach. Panic surged through Atalant—except it wasn’t her own, and it definitely wasn’t Arik’s. She fought the foreign feeling, tried to calm it, but the emotions grew stronger. She needed to scream. She needed to run. She needed to go. It didn’t matter where, she just couldn’t be here anymore. Here wasn’t where she belonged.
A connection sparked as the andal dove deeper into her mind.
Abruptly, Atalant was on the beach of her home province, her brother by her side. The tide was out, and there was a seemingly endless sandbar ahead, pristine and sparkling. They stood at the water’s edge, letting the waves wash the sand underneath their feet.
“You should apply,” her brother said. He had an application in his hand. It was on paper—the crisp, white pages batted in the wind. Atalant didn’t have to look at it to know what it was for. Only the Heaven Guard used such old technology.
“I like it here. Besides, I want to be a pilot, but not that kind of pilot.” Atalant scowled at the paper and then up at her brother. Her hair blew in front of her face, and she pulled at the strands with sticky fingers. “Why do we always talk about this, about me leaving Neek? This is my home. In a few years—”
“In a few years, Atalant, things will be very different.” Her brother knelt down, took her hand in one of his, and pressed the crumbled paper into the other. “Sometimes, home isn’t where we belong. Right now, this, here—” He tugged at the paper. “—is what you need to do. You don’t have to believe in Ardulum to be a heaven guard. Just push all the religion crap from your mind. Piloting is a science, just like anything else. Nothing magical about it.”
Atalant clasped her hands across her chest and kicked at the sand. “Yeah fine,” she muttered. “It still sounds like a stupid idea.”
The sounds of the ocean gave way to the cracking of ground—to its separation and its reforming. The memory drifted away but her brother’s words lingered. He’d always been the one to encourage her disbelief, to argue for rational thought. Maybe she was making this whole moving thing too complicated. Atalant considered what she knew about Talents, about the flares’ unique gifts and their microkinetic abilities. What had Nicholas said back on the Pledge the first time Emn had fried a Risalian ship—she tried to remember as the andal chased her thoughts—about cellulose, about wood structure, about microfibrils…?
Atalant needed to find Arik again. She could test her hypothesis without him, but needed his greater reach—his ability to automate processes that came from his being a flare—to make any significant change.
She needed a path in her mind. Atalant lashed out at the andal, pushing the wisps off her, out of her, away. The mass recoiled and compressed and then began to slide back—individual consciousnesses snaking at the periphery. Like filaments. Like cellulose. Just like cellulose, she hoped, it could be ordered, stacked, and bound.
This time when Atalant reached out, she pulled a handful towards herself, maneuvering one over the other, interweaving each triad into a chain. Just like she had seen Emn do all those months ago, back on the Pledge, when Ardulum had still been a fairy tale. She stacked the chain as it grew, forming a lattice that looked almost crystalline. Now there was breathing room. She formed another chain, stacked, and was able to push her mind forward again. Pull, push, overlap, and reorder. Arik’s presence began to filter back in.
…out of the way…
She lost him as another influx of andal pressed forward. Unfazed, Atalant wove it into the matrix. Fibrils formed. Space cleared. She gained ground.
…Atalant! I…in the andal…you need to order the filaments.
I hear you! Push. Pull. Overlap. Reorder. Repeat. Then, he was there, a solid presence again in her mind. Arik was tired, his fatigue radiating across the andal.
Emn can automate her microkinesis, Atalant sent as she continued to order the andal around her, creating a sort of clear path forward. Create chain reactions. You’ll have to do the same. I can’t keep up this level of interaction and neither can you. Without a third eld, it’s our best chance at succeeding.
As if emboldened by her thoughts, the andal presence increased. Strands whipped through Atalant’s mind, pushing at her, threatening her connection with Arik. She tried to send words of encouragement, but the thoughts boomeranged back, encased in andal. She was hearing words, however, through the mass. Not words made of letters—they were more like dreams, fanciful modifiers. It reminded Atalant of Emn’s speech, before she could speak. A child’s mind and a child’s game, the naming of objects with pictures.
Those pictures wove through the andal and through Atalant’s mind: a stream green with algae, a purple meadow flower, an ant triumphant atop its mound… Hundreds more, each unique, and all seeming to search for someone. They queried her, searched her mind, and swooped away to the place where Arik’s consciousness lay. His trees. His saplings. They had found him.
Her path filled, and once again it was oppressively hard to breath. Atalant felt physical roots on her arms and shoulders, pulling her down to the earth. They were on her legs, binding them together, across her throat—
Color surged. Roots and the consciousness fell back, snapped to order as Arik plowed into the andal. Push. Pull. Overlap. Reorder. Repeat. Except, Arik’s abilities were exponentially greater than hers. He called some of the andal by name and they followed—curling into other strands, winding the wilder cousins together. With each reach, he bound thousands of consciousnesses, setting into motion the command for thousands more. The andal fell from Atalant, from both her body and her mind, as Arik stacked, ordered, and latticed. His cellulose reserves were gone. With the concentration and energy required for his task, Atalant felt Arik reach into his own circulatory system, desperate to fuel his Talents.
Then, it was done. The last wisp fell into structure—a perfectly ordered crystalline framework where fibrils alternated directions to form interlocked c
onnections. Arik sagged behind the andal, exhausted.
All done? Atalant queried the andal. Time to actually move the planet now that you’re all packed?
Alldonealldonealldone, the andal echoed smugly.
The andal slipped from Atalant’s mind, dragging Arik behind it and leaving Atalant alone with her thoughts. Something like grass tickled Atalant’s knees. Unsure of what to expect, she opened her eyes to bright daylight instead of moonlight. The andal was gone from her body. The stuk had melted off.
She released Arik’s wrist and, as she pulled her hand away, paused. She tightened her fingers again, this time catching just Arik’s two longest digits, as she pulled his arm up closer to her face.
The direct sunlight from above reflected harshly off of Arik’s yellow skin—unmarked save for the three interlinked circles she saw on the inside of his wrist. A Science Talent. Before Arik had a chance to react, she grabbed his other hand and moved it palm up, confirming matching symbols on his right wrist as well.
Arik grimaced. “I think they’re on my right side, as well,” he said. “The skin feels tender there, anyway. The rest…I think they burned off. I had to use so much blood…”
Atalant released his hands and pointed to the hem of his shirt. “Do you mind?” she asked.
Arik shook his head and lifted the corner of his shirt, exposing the right side of his torso. His nearly translucent skin shone in the light. Atalant squinted and leaned in. Faint red hexagonal forms were just visible beneath his armpit—the marking for his new Aggression Talent. She wasn’t sure how many, nor if the light was just playing tricks with her eyes.
“My head is a lot lighter,” Arik said as he put his shirt down, “and we’ve moved, obviously.” He sagged against Atalant, leaning heavily on her shoulder, but kept his eyes on the overhead sun. “I thought it would involve a lot more physics than that.”
Atalant took a moment to look around as well. Just off to her right stood Nicholas and Corccinth, Emn in front of them. All three had wary expressions. They were lightly dusted in dirt, as if they had fallen several times. Except, the ground, Atalant noted, wasn’t just dirt anymore. It had flattened and come back together. The Ardulan bodies had disappeared and the marketplace and building structures had vanished, replaced with thousands of first-year andal saplings, each busily unfurling new leaves and bobbing gently in the breeze. Looking up, Atalant saw buds forming on the older trees and smelled the rich scent of pollen in the air. A bright, red sun hung overhead.
Finally, Atalant’s eyes settled on Emn. The younger woman took a step forward, paused, and stepped back. She looked away.
“Damn,” Atalant muttered to herself. She glanced at Arik, making sure he could keep himself upright, and took three quick steps over to Emn and tilted her head up with a stuk-covered finger. Emn’s eyes searched Atalant’s, unsure.
That was… Emn trailed off. She ran fingertips down the length of Atalant’s gold sleeve, lingering on the cuff.
“Hey,” Atalant said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s just a robe, right?”
Emn nodded but remained silent. Her presence was back, however, in Atalant’s mind. It was much subtler than the andal, which, despite its complacency, still murmured. Comforted that at least their connection had not changed, Atalant took Emn’s hands. She wanted to kiss Emn—here, finally, in this field of andal saplings and bright sunlight—but understood what sat behind Emn’s hesitancy.
“Eld, what happened?” Emn’s voice was whispery. “Did you cure Arik?”
“Nothing’s cure.” Corccinth stepped past Atalant and grabbed Arik, bringing him closer to the group. “Flares are not broken. Eld of old had correct intentions, but makings were poor. Of this we often spoke.” She looked pointedly at Atalant. “Here new Eld can make changes. Reconsidered policy.” She brought up Arik’s wrists one by one and studied them, making little chortling noises as she did so. When she was satisfied, she released his arms, hiked up his shirt, and moved her face so close to his side that her nose touched his flesh.
Arik raised his eyebrows at Atalant, who shrugged.
Corccinth raised her hand and slapped the red outlines on his side. Arik yelled, pulling his shirt down, and rubbed the bruised area. He glared at the woman. “What in Ardulum’s name was that for!?”
“A Neek and a not-flare,” she muttered to herself. “About time.” Corccinth brought a long sleeve to her face and wiped off the makeup. Underneath the heavy foundation, Atalant saw the outline of two black triangles just under her eyes.
“About time for what?” Arik asked irritably. He looked over at Atalant. “Does she ever speak straight to you?”
The woman rounded on him and shoved a finger at his face, glowering. “You have ten years for train. You must learn to focus!”
“When you’re ready, Atalant,” Nicholas said, “and no rush, but when you’re ready, we’d better start walking. The flares took out every building and being in a ten-kilometer radius, and it is another ten from the outskirts of the capital to the next town over. If we want shelter tonight, we’ll need to get going, unless you want to create some magical andal tents for us to sleep in.”
Atalant sighed and straightened her sash. She caught the quirking of Nicholas’s mouth and glared at him. “You don’t have any quips about the intolerable irony of my current situation? No words of solace or congratulations? I did just move a planet, after all.”
Nicholas snickered as he wrapped an arm around Atalant’s shoulders. Together, they began to pick their way across the andal field. The others fell in step behind them, and Emn’s presence lingered in Atalant’s mind, swaying with her own thoughts.
“Nope,” the Journey youth said, failing to keep the mirth from his tone. “I know better than to poke a god. At least not on the first day of the job. We’ll see about tomorrow.”
Chapter 31: Sorin, Ardulum
I don’t know how to describe the early days. I’m not sure I could even describe my current state. I certainly don’t know what the future holds. Words like “confident” and “drowning” come at the same time to my mind. I suppose I can understand, now, why the Eld would cut themselves off from the populace, fear the flares. When you have this, this encasing presence in your mind—both awesome in its state as a trophobiont, providing food for the Ardulans in exchange for the Eld’s guidance through space and reproduction assistance, and also terrifying in its abilities, especially those it confers to the Ardulans—how could you not be overwhelmed? Isolation provides comfort—I know that all too well. It gives you a sense of control over your life and circumstances. Unfortunately, that control is an illusion when you are interwoven into something like this. Ardulum…being an eld…being responsible for a collectively conscious biome—I know there’s a word for this job. I just don’t want to use it.
—Excerpt from Atalant’s Awakening, published in the Charted Systems, 235 AA
ATALANT AWOKE TO the chirping of a small insect on the windowsill near her head. Her calf and side itched, and she gave each a furious scratch before turning onto her back. The shutters to the window were open, and despite the night sky, her room was bright with the reflection from three moons. She heard movement from the room next to her, the creaking of floorboards, and then a steady fall of water. A tube bath seemed like a sound idea—she just didn’t think she could get out of bed to bother with it.
She knew she needed to sleep more. They’d arrived just after dusk at the outskirts of Sorin—a busy suburb which, from the number of inns lining the main road, was part of a bustling tourist trade. Atalant’s and Arik’s markings had been enough to get them a host of rooms and dinner, no questions asked. She’d taken her share of dinner to her room, picked at the andal stalks that she supposed she’d have to develop a taste for, and then collapsed onto the soft bed.
How long had she been asleep? Only the first moon had started to show when she’d closed her eyes, but since she had no idea where they were, that meant nothing. How far could Ardulum tra
vel in one move? Did planets use wormholes or did a giant, sentient root ball have some type of space flagella that it could retract when not in use? What the hell was she going to do if they were in an inhabited system and the neighbors decided to drop by?
Atalant covered her face with her hands and blew against them, willing her fatigue to exit along with her breath. When that didn’t work, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, deciding to give up on sleep. At their suggestion, the inn owners had provided her with a change of clothing while they attempted to remove the stains from Asth’s robe. Her robe. Whatever. The point was that she didn’t have to wear it currently, which was what mattered.
The cool linen pants and cotton shirt they’d provided were appropriately sized for her frame and were by far the most formfitting clothes she’d worn in a long time. Her boots had made it through the whole ordeal completely unscathed aside from some minor staining, but Atalant decided against wearing them. Instead, she lightly walked from her room, into the corridor, and to the main dining hall. She wasn’t at all surprised to find Nicholas sitting outside just next to the door, his head leaning against the wall, staring at the moons.
“You’ll probably go blind if you keep that up,” she said as she sat next to him. “Hope you don’t mind some company.”
Nicholas grinned but kept his eyes upwards. “Knew you wouldn’t be sleeping either.” He pointed to the moon on the far right. “That one sort of looks like Earth’s moon—even has craters in the same place. Looks kind of like a face, if you squint just right.”
Atalant squinted and tried to see it. She tilted her head and then elbowed Nicholas playfully. “Sure this isn’t a ‘make the Neek look stupid’ game?”
Laughing, Nicholas finally turned his head to look at her. “No, it isn’t. I promise. You ever been to Earth, Atalant?”