The Song of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 5)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Once more, my friend, you prove your wisdom. I am older than you, but you are far wiser."

  Ben-Ari kissed the Menorian king. "I learn a lot from the young."

  "Very well then!" Poseidon announced. He rose straighter. "It will be Aurora and Leona who decide, not this old fool."

  Aurora extended her tentacles and pulled herself closer. She looked at Leona, then at the king.

  "You know my decision, Father," Aurora said. "Einav is my oldest, dearest friend. And Leona has become very dear to me too. I grew up among humans. I love them like I love the rising tide, a warm current full of plankton, and beads of light on the water. Should Earth fall, I would be like a chasm where no light shines, where no colors can sing. I will give Leona ships, and I will ask nothing in return, only for her to save her people, to remain my friend." She turned yellow, an ancient warning to predators. "It is possible that this will irk Xerka. That she will attack our world. That Menorians will die. I will take that risk, because I saw Earth in her golden age, and she lit the cosmos. I would rather live in a galaxy where Earth is strong and Xerka is weak. Not a galaxy where humans are gone and basilisks slither. I will do whatever I can to restore Earth's light."

  Leona fell to her knees, relief flooding her, and embraced her friend.

  "I don't understand what happened," Leona whispered. "But I'm grateful."

  Aurora held her close. "I would not have let you fall, my friend. Not so long as my hearts beat."

  Leona stood up and turned toward the white-haired woman who claimed to be Einav Ben-Ari.

  "Who are you?" she whispered. "Are you truly her?"

  Einav smiled and took her hand. "Come, Leona. To my chamber. Let us talk over a nice pot of chamomile tea."

  * * * * *

  Einav lived in a round chamber in the Water Palace. The dome was transparent, affording a view of coral reefs, alien fish, and swaying forests of algae. On the inside, the chamber trapped a memory of ancient Earth. There was a rocking chair and an embroidered blanket. A fireplace, the hearth topped with framed photographs. Several hundred books—actual paper books—graced shelves and tables.

  For a woman of ninety, Einav was impressively spry. She bustled about her quarters, brewing chamomile tea, then setting a table with cups and cookies.

  "The cookies are made of algae," Einav said. "But I've been experimenting with spices, and I got them to taste almost like chocolate chip. Try one!" She poured two cups of tea. "And I found a marine plant that tastes almost like chamomile. I wish I still had real chamomile from old Earth. It's one of the things I miss most."

  Leona stood, silent, staring.

  "You're real," she said. "You're actually real. Not a hologram or android or hallucination."

  "Of course I'm real." Einav bit into a cookie. "Well, my teeth aren't. But I assure you, the rest of me is. Otherwise, how could I be eating this delicious cookie? Try one, Leona."

  Leona blinked. In the old legends, Einav was a great warrior. She had led armadas with a hundred thousand starships to battle. She had stormed alien worlds, leading the charge. She had fought the great villains of history, saving Earth again and again. And that mythical warrior was now brewing tea and baking cookies, a sweet old lady with an armchair and framed photos of her grandkids.

  Leona approached the fireplace mantle and looked at the photographs. Most seemed to be of family. But Leona focused on one in particular. The photograph showed Einav as a young lieutenant of twenty, wearing a dusty military uniform, holding a rifle. Her platoon stood around her.

  Leona's eyes widened.

  "I recognize these faces from the history books!" She lifted the photograph. "This young man is Marco Emery, the famous Poet of Earth! And beside him is Addy Linden, the heroine who raised Earth in rebellion against the marauders. And she's giving Marco bunny ears!" Leona laughed. "And this is Lailani de la Rosa. She's one of my childhood heroines." She looked at Einav. "Everyone in this photo, the entire platoon—they're legends now. Parents name their children after them. We have colonies named after them on Earth."

  And suddenly Einav looked a decade older. Sadness filled her eyes. She swayed and nearly fell into her armchair.

  "Ma'am!" Leona rushed toward her and held her hand.

  "I'm all right," Einav said. "Just … I need to sip my tea." She took a few sips, hands shaking, and color returned to her cheeks. "I'm all right now. Sometimes the memories, the loss …"

  Leona sat beside her, still holding her hand. "How are you here?"

  Einav looked into her eyes and smiled wistfully. "It's been so many generations. But I see myself in you. My hair was once straight and blond, and yours is dark and curly. My eyes are blue and yours are brown. And you're taller than I ever was. But I see myself in you."

  Leona's eyes dampened. "I'm honored. My family has always been proud to be Ben-Aris."

  Einav took another sip of tea. "For decades, I ruled Earth. For the first years, I fought. But for decades after that, I built. I inherited a broken planet, and I healed it. I took a haunted, frightened civilization, and I built an empire. When I turned eighty, I retired. And I decided to do what I loved most. To explore." She smiled wistfully. "So I left Earth. I joined Aurora, my dear friend, who served with me aboard the Lodestar. The Menorians had built an experimental starship, one far faster than any other. Aurora and I went on an amazing journey. We traveled to another galaxy."

  Leona gasped. "Another galaxy? But … that would take millions of years!"

  Einav smiled. "Two thousand years, to be exact. With the fastest ship ever built. Her azoth crystals were the size of redwoods. I had never seen a sight more beautiful—the crystals contained the multitude of the cosmos in their glow. We traveled to the Andromeda galaxy. And such sights we saw! I became the first human—and so far, the only human—to reach another galaxy. Oh, for us the journey was shorter. From my perspective, it took only a year to reach Andromeda, another year to come back. But at such speeds, even with warped spacetime, time dilation does its job. I returned to the Milky Way, to this beautiful ocean world, to find that while I had been away for two years, two thousand years passed for everyone else." She gave a little laugh. "Now, Menorians can live for thousands of years. Aurora's friends and family were still alive. For me, a human? Yes, quite a long absence."

  Leona understood the implication at once. Her heart shattered.

  "You left Earth an empire," she whispered. "You came back to find it destroyed."

  "All my work undone," Einav said. "All my long years of fighting and building, of breaking and healing—wiped away by the waves of the cosmic ocean. I left a world of hope and promise. I returned to find a barren world, bereft of humanity, overrun with serpents."

  Leona shed a tear. She embraced her ancestor.

  "No longer barren. My father and I have been bringing the lost remnants of humanity home. Hope shines again."

  Einav stroked her hair. "You are like I was. Brave, strong, a wise leader. And that gives me hope. Hope that all my work was not in vain. Hope that humanity can still light the unbearable darkness."

  "I carry your torch," Leona said, tears on her cheeks. "I always did."

  "Then there is hope," Einav said.

  "Come with me, Einav!" Leona said. "Fly with me back to Earth. I need your wisdom. And you deserve to see Earth reborn."

  Sadness filled Einav's eyes. She sighed. "Leona, I would not survive the journey home."

  Leona frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I can no longer fly through space." The old woman smiled sadly. "I've flown too much, too fast, too far. Flight within our own galaxy, kept within a warp bubble, does not dilate time very much. But it would be too much for me. Every cell in my body would rapidly age. I'm already ninety. A flight to Earth, crossing half the galaxy? I would age too fast. I would barely make it a light-year away from Menoria. No, Leona. I realized it once I returned from Andromeda. Once I learned the side effect of our experimental starship. I will die here on Menoria." A smile tickled her
lips, and she winked. "Though hopefully not for another few years."

  Leona embraced her. "Then after the war, I will return here. And I will keep you company."

  Einav gave a soft laugh. She caressed Leona's cheek. "May I give you advice, from an old woman to a young one?"

  Leona smiled thinly. "Not so young anymore, maybe. I'm in my thirties now."

  "Oh, to be in my thirties again!" Einav said.

  Leona laughed. "Fair enough. What is your advice?"

  "Don't dedicate your entire life to war, Leona. Marry if it makes you happy. Have children if that would bring you joy. And if not, find other things to love. Literature or painting or cooking or music. Fill your life with love."

  "Even at times of war?" Leona asked.

  "Especially at times of war. Otherwise, what the hell are we fighting for?"

  Leona smiled wistfully. "Well, there is a man … His name is Tom."

  Einav leaned forward in her armchair, and a mischievous light filled her eyes. "Is he very handsome?"

  Leona laughed. "Very."

  Tears suddenly flowed down Einav's cheeks. "My husband died when I was seventy. My dearest Noah. By the time I came back from Andromeda, my children and grandchildren had died of old age."

  "I'm sorry," Leona said. "If it's any consolation, I'm still here. I'm your great-great-great …" She thought for a moment. "There are a whole bunch of greats there. But eventually they lead to granddaughter."

  "There are as many generations between you and me, Leona, as between me and Christ. But you are my family. And I love you. And now I've given you advice. And I would like to ask three things of you in return."

  Leona nodded. "You can ask a million things. I'll do them all."

  "Just three would suffice. First—win this war."

  "I will!" Leona vowed.

  "Second, when I die someday, bury me on Earth. Aurora knows to take my bones home. But I ask you to bury them, and to remember me."

  "Of course," said Leona. "It grieves me to think of that day. But when it comes, if I'm still alive, I will honor your request."

  "And third," Einav said, "eat one of my cookies, darling."

  Leona laughed. "All right." She took a bite.

  "Well?" Einav leaned forward expectantly.

  Leona swallowed. "It's … interesting."

  Einav slumped back with a sigh. "I knew it. This damn world of seaweed. If you ever visit here again, Leona, bring me some real chocolate."

  * * * * *

  Next morning, Leona took a shuttle into space. She orbited the ocean world, gazing at a Menorian fleet.

  "Five hundred geode warships," said Aurora, piloting the shuttle. "They are yours."

  Leona had always thought the Menorians flew the most beautiful starships in the galaxy. They indeed looked like geodes. Each ship was semicircular, its exterior rocky, its interior inlaid with azoth crystals. Every human warship worth its salt had a small azoth crystal inside its warp engine; it was the only sensible way to bend spacetime. But there was more azoth in a single Menorian geode-ship than an entire human armada.

  No wonder they were able to fly to another galaxy, Leona thought.

  The ships were not only beautiful but deadly too, built for war. Those crystals could do more than warp spacetime. They could fire beams of light and sear through enemy hulls.

  There was only one problem.

  "Aurora, I'm grateful," Leona said. "But you told me that no Menorian soldiers will fight with Earth."

  Aurora turned a somber silver. "That is true, my friend. We cannot risk open war with the Galactic Council. Even by arming you, I risk retaliation from Xerka. If I supply soldiers too? The basilisks will attack us. Their allies on the Council will too. I don't doubt that."

  Leona winced. "So I have five hundred geode-ships. And no pilots."

  "You will have to fly one back to Earth," Aurora said, "then return with human pilots."

  Leona shook her head. "I can't spend that much time. Earth is halfway across the galaxy, and every day counts. Even if I fly insanely fast, time would pass normally for Earth. Time dilation."

  Aurora thought for a moment. "You need Earth to send you pilots right away. You could call Earth using an Isaac Wormhole."

  Leona frowned. "An Isaac Wormhole? That sounds familiar."

  "Professor Noah Isaac invented them," Aurora said. "A human. He was my friend. And husband to Einav Ben-Ari. An ancestor of yours."

  "Of course!" Leona nodded. "I've read about them in Einav's memoirs. They involve using azoth crystals to create a thin tunnel through spacetime. Not wide enough to fly a starship through. But wide enough to send information between stars at breakneck speed."

  "We have such technology," Aurora said. "Call home. Have your father send a ship of pilots over right away."

  Leona sighed. "I could. And that's better than me flying all the way back and forth. But even so, Earth is so far. Even if they can muster five hundred pilots—which I doubt—it would take them months to arrive here. Then months to fly back. Earth might not last that long. Unless …" Leona gasped. "Aurora, I have an idea. I don't need to call my dad. I need to call Rowan."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rowan sat cross-legged on the floor, closed her eyes, and tried to meditate.

  It wasn't easy when bombs kept exploding above, shaking the bunker.

  "Come on, Row," she told herself. "You gotta do this. Focus."

  She had never meditated in her life. But Coral had. And the Weaver Writs, which Rowan had been studying, taught that meditation was the path to power. If Rowan wanted to become a weaver, here was the first step.

  She looked at her hands. With a silver marker, she had drawn runes on her palms, following the books' instructions. These were not true weaver runes, of course. They had not been inked with aether. But if the books were right, these sigils would open a gateway. They would lead Rowan to the wise ancients, the guardians of weavers.

  But only if I can mucking concentrate, she thought.

  She took a deep breath and tried to focus.

  Another bomb fell aboveground.

  The bunker trembled.

  Rowan groaned and leaped to her feet.

  "This is so stupid! I should be up there, fighting in the trenches! Not sitting here alone in a dark bunker."

  Fillister's voice rose from the minicom in her pocket. "Oi, Row! You wouldn't be no good up in them trenches."

  She pulled him out and glared at the monitor. "Why the hell not?"

  "You're too tiny," he said. "All brain, no brawn, you."

  "I've got big guns!" She flexed a muscle. "I've been working out."

  "Row, I've got bigger muscles than you, and I'm a disembodied AI," he said. "Look, love. There are thousands of human soldiers who can fire a gun. But how many can become a weaver? Coral saw something in you, she did. And you promised you'd follow in her path. The power of weaving, well, that's worth more than ten thousand infantrymen."

  "I don't know about that," Rowan said. "But yes—Earth needs a weaver. With Coral gone, it's up to me." She sighed. "I'll be honest, Fill. I was hoping to have become a weaver by now. But all these other projects have kept me busy. Building the Talaria cannons, building the Babel network, helping with Operation Snaketrap and Rapid Expansion, and—"

  "I get it, Row!" Fillister said. "You've very useful. Not very useful at building me a new body, mind you, but the rest is splendid. Now make yourself even more useful and get to meditating."

  She rolled her eyes. "If you'd ever shut up!" She switched him off.

  She sat down, took a deep breath, and tried again.

  According to the Weavers' Writ, there was a higher plane of reality. The Empyrean Firmament existed above the physical world. Instead of matter, it was woven of aether, a mysterious and luminous substance. Evidence of aether was all over the universe; dark matter was its shadow.

  And in that Empyrean Firmament lived the ancients.

  They had once been organic beings, not very differ
ent from humans. They had lived in the Milky Way galaxy long ago. Remnants of their civilization remained; they had built the Tree of Light, also called the Wormhole Road, a network of wormholes that crisscrossed the galaxy.

  A million years ago, they had transcended, becoming beings of pure consciousness. They now lived in the realm above. Weavers could talk to the ancients. Through their runes, they could receive gifts of aether.

  And I can use aether as a weapon, Rowan thought. I can use it to kill Xerka.

  She realized that for the past few moments, her mind had wandered. She had been thinking about the ancients and their power—when she should have been focusing on her breathing.

  She tried again.

  Just think about breathing, Row. Breathe in. Breathe out. That's it.

  For a few breaths, she managed to focus, to keep her awareness on the air entering and leaving her lungs.

  Then her mind strayed. She found herself thinking about the goings on at Antikythera Institute. They had been building tanks lately, part of the Hammer and Anvil Project, and Rowan had some new design ideas. If she could create a bubble turret on top of the tank, that would resolve the optics issue. Sure, the tank might look like that car Homer Simpson had designed, but it would give the gunner a better view, and—

  No, Rowan! she told herself. Focus on breathing. Breathing!

  She screwed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. She clenched her fists in her lap.

  Breathe in.

  She focused on the air entering her lungs.

  Breathe out.

  She focused on releasing the air.

  Of course, building the tanks was secondary to Operation Rapid Expansion. She was helping out with that project too—finding new locations for humans to settle. Xerka had already proved she was willing to use nukes. So Rowan had been scouring maps, seeking out locations for colonies in Europe, Africa, and Asia. If Xerka nuked one continent from orbit—Aliens style—maybe the others—