Bright Star

by E G Manetti

  “Mr. Hidaka, well met.” Lilian’s expression brightens. She has not encountered the café owner since he summoned the militia when Patrick Volsted assaulted her. “I would make you known to my associates of Serengeti, Master Chrys and Mistress Rebecca.”

  If the Garden Center restaurateur is startled to be serving apprentices in an area of the city dedicated to the warrior elite, he masks it well. “Well met. Well met. What pleases you this day?”

  “Poultry pie and . . .” Katleen hesitates and looks at Lilian for confirmation. “Cobbler?”

  “As you please, sweetling.” Lilian is happy to offer the rare treat. “We expended but half the market funds due to Sinead’s generosity. You may even have watered wine.”

  Chrys and Rebecca follow Katleen’s lead with the poultry, although they take their water separate from their wine. Chrys considers the cobbler and chooses the citrus crème, as does Rebecca. Lilian briefly considers the vegetable stew and then rejects it knowing the scent of the heavy spices will permeate her skin when she returns to the Cartel on the morrow. The egg and vegetable tart is excellent and but lightly herbed. Lilian foregoes the sweet, having little taste for cakes.

  As Hidaka retreats to fulfill their order, Lilian yields to curiosity. “Tell me, Chrys, what in Katleen’s lurid entertainment had you so enthralled?”

  “There is this demon,” Chrys begins.

  By the time the food arrives, Katleen has pulled her slate and all four are riveted on the depiction—Chrys in amusement, Rebecca as enthralled as Katleen, and Lilian wondering if the misuse of canon lore could be considered heresy.

  “. . . the demon has fearful magic,” Katleen explains. “It can sprout wings and carry its victims into high mountain caves called aeries.”

  “Has the meal pleased? Shall I call for the sweets?” Mr. Hidaka gently interrupts their discourse.

  Releasing all interest in demons, the four acknowledge the excellence of the meal. Stowing her slate, Katleen readies to assault her cobbler to the quiet amusement of the adults.

  Cobbler and citrus crèmes arrive with a flourish, followed by Mr. Hidaka, who sets a small red pastry before Lilian. “The strawberry tarts are not moving well within the café.”

  Hidaka’s strawberry tarts are renowned in the district and the reason Lilian first favored Hidaka’s Café. They are not on the patio menu.

  “Mr. Hidaka,” Lilian begins to protest.

  “Hush, little one,” Hidaka returns to a woman who has six inches on him. “You are too slender. Enjoy the pastry.”

  For a moment, Lilian is twelve again. Swallowing hard, she replies, “Your tarts are always wondrous, Mr. Hidaka. My thanks.”

  Color high, the small man bustles off with an incoherent comment.

  To Chrys’ and Rebecca’s stunned countenances, Katleen offers a nonchalant, “Lilian has a fondness for strawberries.”

  »◊«

  “Katleen, about the demon? How’s the flying countered?” Rebecca demands as they approach Katleen’s house, replete from their meal.

  “Warrior Ravens, well met.” Helena’s voice halts the quartet as they reach the steps of Katleen’s house. Garbed in Sinead’s peridot and silver vestments, Helena is flanked by two acolytes.

  It is Chrys’ second encounter with Lilian’s erratic parent. It occurs to him that she may be masking imperfect recall of his name with the grandiose greeting. Swallowing a smile, Chrys responds formally, “Well met, indeed, Sinead’s Seer.”

  “Master Chrys,” Helena returns with narrowed eyes. “I am well aware of your valor.”

  It is as Lilian feared. Shrine gossip has the whole of the tale, including Chrys’ intervention. Before aught can be voiced in violation of Cartouche privilege, Lilian interrupts. “Maman, it is not your customary bell. Is it well with you?”

  “It is the day after the festival. Attendance is lackluster,” Helena comments as she descends the steps. Chrys may not enter with Lilian. The deranged are not considered valid chaperones and the acolytes lack the rank.

  As Lilian attempts to introduce Rebecca, Helena motions for silence. Offering her friend a slight shrug of support, Lilian waits as Helena floats around Rebecca, considering the lovely blonde from all angles.

  Crevasse swallow it! From one moment to the next, the vibrant, irreverent Rebecca fades into a lovely toy. She could be the model for the elf queen puppet secreted in Lilian’s chamber. A plaything for the supremely powerful and wealthy.

  “Not a swallow,” Helena murmurs.

  Appalled, Lilian moves forward, “Maman—”

  Rebecca’s chin lifts as she sets her heels and challenges the seer with a sweet smile. Catching Helena’s gaze, Rebecca moves with the older woman, refusing to yield her back.

  “Not a bird of paradise, either,” Helena laughs. “Silly bird.” Helena ceases to circle. “You are to fly, not hide. How are you named?”

  “Rebecca of Serengeti,” Rebecca replies, eyes narrowed. As an apprentice, she has no surname, only a service designation. With sudden pride she adds, “And Rimon’s devoted.”

  It is a surprise to Lilian, who had not known that Rebecca follows the Second Warrior.

  It pleases Helena, who smiles serenely as she says, “Rimon and Sinead are ever allied.”

  Shifting as abruptly as the weather, Helena turns to Lilian with a frown. “You are fatigued. What do you, standing on the pavement? You must rest. The first victory in battle is survival. It is not the final victory.”

  “Of course, Maman, but I must take proper leave of Chrys and Rebecca,” Lilian concurs, relieved that her erratic parent has settled into lucidity.

  “Katleen,” Rebecca insists. “The flying demon. You must voice it or I won’t sleep.”

  “One must hire a flying transport,” Katleen explains.

  “And rescue the victim?” Chrys follows, enjoying the silly discourse.

  “Oh no, Master Chrys. That is the challenge. One must fireburst the demon from the sky without slaying the victim,” Katleen pronounces earnestly.

  “Silly child,” Helena interrupts. “Do not let it take wing at all.”

  “But, Maman, that is impossible,” Katleen insists. “I have tried and been defeated.”

  “Then fly after it and shred its wings, child,” Helena says to Lilian.

  “Maman?” Lilian voices as Katleen exclaims, “Of course! Shred its wings with fireburst and it will drop. Maman, you are brilliant!”

  “I am as fatigued as Lilian,” Helena returns gently. “We will have the warrior Ravens for company again. Enough for now.”

  After a few more moments, the group separates. Lilian and Katleen follow Helena into the house while two startled shrine attendants obey the seer and escort Chrys and Rebecca to the transport stop.

  »◊«

  By unspoken agreement, Lilian and Katleen accompany Helena to her chamber, where the walls are heavily decorated with what Lilian mentally names ‘vision panels.’

  The area behind the bed and to the left is only lightly marked with some flowering trees and what looks like a sketch of a waterfall pouring down from a corner near the ceiling. On the wall opposite the bed, the mural is complete.

  It is a nighttime forest with an ominous overcast sky. In the center is a large dappled cat hunting an evil pack of rats. At the cat’s back is a tree-troll with bark-like hair. There can be no doubt that the great cat is Lucius Mercio and the tree-troll, Mr. George. A closer look at the rat pack reveals that one of the rats is a cat in disguise, Master Trevelyan. A nightingale sings in a tree almost directly over the Lucius cat’s head and is unmistakably Lady Estella, milord’s spouse.

  Two sets of double-glazed doors open to an empty balcony on the wall opposite the chamber entrance. The balcony wall contains a half-completed fruit grove. The trees between the doors hold an odd amber-green fruit, possibly ripening oranges, while the branches host a variety of birds.

  Close scrutiny of one tree reveals that what Lilian once believed to be the outline of a ra
ccoon is now developing into an owl. A clever looking fox sits on the ground. Its features suggest those of Seigneur Garwynn of Grey Spear, the cartel financials seigneur.

  Behind the fox is another figure. What, at first, appears to be a small wolf trots by. A rock-gnome dangles by its collar from the creature’s teeth. Examination yields Seigneur Rachelle in the guise of a mythical creature, a coyote, and that the rock-gnome is Master Magnus, the mad synthetics chemist. Stepping carefully through a small stream is a stork with a pensive expression, Master Simon.

  In the sky above the animals, a raven darts about with a flock of sketched, but not fully pigmented birds. The raven can be none other than Lilian. Another bird is also a raven, bigger and unquestionably Chrys.

  Though the other cartel seigneurs are well recognized in the Third System, Lilian continues to wonder at Maman’s knowledge of Masters Trevelyan, Simon, and Magnus. Katleen believes that the associates must attend the Garden Center Warrior Ring, where their commerce affiliations would be known to the prelates.

  Obeying her mother’s directive to rest on the bed, Lilian observes as Katleen carefully unwinds Helena’s silver sash. Lillian will not voice it, but the notion of a nap is exceptionally appealing.

  As Katleen carefully folds the long length of silver brocade, Lilian asks, “Maman, what about Mistress Rebecca interests you?”

  “Rimon and Sinead have ever been allies,” Helena replies, removing the gauze wrap that covers her robe.

  “And Socraide and Sinead at odds.” Katleen repeats Helena’s words from earlier in the sevenday. “Maman, I do not understand. How is the canon recitation important?”

  Lilian’s drooping lids widen. Lackwit. The complex history and relationships among the Five Warriors is detailed in the canon recitation. Maman’s mind would be heavily focused on the topic in preparation for Sinead’s Festival. There is some logic to her mother’s erratic behavior. Lilian will need to consider the potential of this more fully when she is not so weary.

  Helena looks pointedly at Lilian. “And Jonathan remained divided.”

  I am the sum of my ancestors. Maman refers to Nickolas’ delay. It is one matter for Maman to know the truth of her injuries, another for Katleen to learn of it. “Maman, the recitation is complete.”

  “Lilian?” Katleen speaks tentatively as she places the precisely folded wrap in a drawer. “I know it was not a training accident. The shrines have been rife with gossip and comment.”

  Lackwit. Lackwit. Katleen is ever in the shrines. Carefully, Lilian says, “Katleen, I am certain Chrys voiced ‘misadventure,’ not ‘accident.’ It is all Cartouche and Cartel privilege permit.”

  “I know,” Katleen returns sorrowfully. “It was the same from Mr. George.”

  This day. In her attempt to protect her precocious sister, Lilian has done naught but wound her. I am the sum of my ancestors. Katleen deserves the truth to the extent her youth and Lilian’s duty permit. “Katleen, Gariten’s crimes may have been the excuse. They were not the cause.”

  At the moment, Lilian is far less concerned about her potential execution than she is about violating Blooded Dagger and Serengeti privilege. “Katleen, you know the strictures of shrine privilege.”

  “Yes, Lilian,” Katleen returns warily at what seems like a change in topic.

  “Cartouche and Cartel privilege strictures are even more rigid. So you must believe me when I say I can voice little.” Lilian waits until Katleen nods understanding before continuing. “This past sevenday, one of Monsignor Lucius’ rivals failed at intrigue. He was angered and wished retribution. It was a petty retribution to assault the weakest of Monsignor’s house. It was the best they could summon.”

  “Warrior Raven,” Katleen exclaims. “Chrys aided you in battle!”

  “And Rebecca after,” Lilian acknowledges.

  “Ravens have wings,” Helena announces complacently as she passes her shrine robe to Katleen. “Lilian, go to your rest. Katleen and I are well enough.”

  »◊«

  The demon is massive. Its scaly hide glitters a sickly yellow as distasteful as the rotted smell that emanates from it. Dodging wildly, Lilian avoids the grasping claw with its vicious, blood-encrusted talons as she leaps across the uneven ground. Her ribs and shoulder scream in pain, slowing her, making her clumsy.

  “Defiance!” the enraged monster bellows, leaping after her fleeing form. It is thrice Lilian’s height and eight times her mass.

  Must not be caught. Must not yield. Lilian races from the enraged beast. She springs around deep, dark fissures in the earth. Behind her are the tall spires where the demon dwells. Lilian must hide. She dare not yield. The blasted landscape before her is less threatening than the sparkling grandeur at her back.

  The demon’s claw catches her shoulder, lifts her, and shakes her before tossing her to the ground. The hulking creature looms over her. “You will do as you are bid, girl.”

  “I will not!” Lilian shrieks defiance as she rolls away, fumbling for her thorn.

  “It is time you were of use!” the demon screams in return, his talons slashing her retreating back.

  The fiery pain of her tearing flesh is naught compared to Lilian’s terror. Ripping at her belt, Lilian pulls free not her thorn, but a platinum charm. Desperately, she flings it at the demon as she shouts, “Take it! I will not go to Matahorn!”

  “You will do as you are bid!” The demon’s blue eyes bulge with its wrath as it backhands Lilian into one of the gaping black fissures.

  Adelaide! Lilian screams as she falls, her arms flailing for a handhold.

  Adelaide! Lilian awakes with a violent start, her heart slamming and her breath rasping in a desert-dry throat. She is covered in sweat and icy cold. Shivering, she reaches under her pillow for her thorn. Gone!

  Ignoring her protesting ribs and shoulder, Lilian frantically tosses her pillows to the floor as she seeks the thorn. It is here. I know it is here. I had it earlier. Earlier. Think, lackwit. Where? When?

  Metricelli Prime’s two moons are high and bright, but they cannot penetrate the artificial gloom of the courtyard covers. It is too dark.

  I am the sum of my ancestors. Forcing back panic, Lilian ignites the night-lights and considers her chamber. She left Maman’s chamber to rest. Dropped on the bed and lost time. I am the foundation of my family. Think. Thorn.

  What else? Katleen. Food on a tray. Lilian is nude. Her clothes? Set on the chair, her belt with the thorn neatly on top.

  Shivering, stumbling, Lilian collects the thorn and crawls back under her comforter, the thorn clutched close. She does not require a seer to interpret her evil dream. It was inevitable that Matahorn’s inclusion in Bright Star would surface memories Lilian prefers to keep buried.

  The bulging blue eyes and the bellicose voice of the demon were those of Remus Gariten. Shortly before he was indicted, Lilian argued again with her sire over her commerce ambitions and decisions. As Lilian was completing her advanced studies, Gariten wished Lilian to apply to the Matahorn Alliance, patron of the Garitens and the young Grey Gyre Cartouche. Lilian’s ambitions differed; she was determined on a place as protégé with Serengeti and Lucius Mercio.

  It was the latest in a series of disputes that began Lilian’s fourteenth year. Gariten’s threats rarely altered. He would reclaim her heir’s platinum signet and deny her a gold seigneur’s signet. She would be compelled to make her way in commerce without the aid of her cartouche. The threats had not troubled her. Lilian would have returned to Metricelli Prime, and as protégé to Monsignor Lucius Mercio, she would have had sufficient rank and wealth to take care of Maman and Katleen.

  In the end, Gariten had almost triumphed. He might yet. Shivering, attempting to quiet her mind for a return to sleep, Lilian continues the litany. Honor is my blade and shield.

  8. Recovery

  There are two Vistrite Crevasse on Metricelli Prime. The Great Crevasse, the largest of all the Crevasse, is located in the Plains of Dominion on the Central Continent. L
ife within the Vistrite mines is indifferent to the change of season and the movement of the sun. Within the miles of tunnels and chambers that burrow beneath the planet’s surface, miners reside for sevendays at a time. The longer a miner continues mining, the higher the payment for the incremental core.

  With thousands of miners living underground for extended periods, food and sanitation must be provided. Miles beneath the surface, the most efficient technology in the universe cannot protect the stores from the depredation of rodents. The crevasse-crawlers of the Third System have had millennia to adapt to the mines. The size of small terriers, the rodents are fast, vicious, and smart. While not pack hunters, they will swarm. They may well be the reason so few bodies are found in the Crevasse relative to those suspected of having fallen in. ~ excerpt from Vistrite Crevasse, Serengeti Archives.

  Sevenday 28, Day 1

  Stepping from the shower, Lilian carefully pats herself dry. Another of Master Chin’s yellow patches rinsed away this morning. A dozen remain and will be slower to dissolve. The mild injuries are corrected, the others will be longer. A fact Lilian relearned when she forced her protesting body through Adelaide’s forms before entering the shower.

  Five Warriors take it! Already shredded by her troubled night, the last bit of Lilian’s optimism from the prior day dissolves as she attempts to gather her sodden locks into a warrior’s queue. Her fractured and strained limbs cannot contort to work the overly long fall. It is at least three inches longer than when she entered the Cartel.

  The excess length of hair is more distressing to Lilian than the limitations of her damaged frame. It is milord’s will that Lilian’s hair remain the length it was when she entered her bond. Maman was to trim it last night. Instead, Lilian slept.

  “Daughter, cease before you increase your injury,” Helena demands from the entrance.

  “Lilian, please,” Katleen seconds. “I promised to work your hair. I am here.”

  “Maman, Katleen,” Lilian welcomes as she settles on the near corner of her bed. While Helena carefully clips four inches from the long tresses, Katleen hands Lilian a vial of juice and a roll heavy with nuts and dried fruit.