“Blood and bones.”
Dunkat broke from the Mirial fleet’s pathetic formation, doubting he would be missed in the chaos. The shuttle he had appropriated had impressive manoeuvring capabilities, but in the chaos of the wraiths before them, those capabilities proved useless.
His arms were strained from holding his shuttle upright, and he was getting increasingly annoyed. These wraiths, no doubt a remnant of the true nature of Mirial, were blocking his view of the planet. He had been looking forward to seeing it from the sky, seeing the devastation the Fates had wrought.
His small ship groaned, and he felt a twinge of worry. Just a twinge, but enough to bring a small sweat to his brow. He pulled up on the controls, the ship’s engine complaining as his lift clashed with the wraiths’ intentions. The ship straightened but quickly buckled and its nose dove again, at a greater angle. He felt another twinge of concern and resisted the urge to shift in his seat.
He lowered his eyes to the instruments for an instant. His one-man fighter ship was not faring too badly considering the assault it was receiving. Then again, this was Mirial technology, and despite his hatred of some of their practices, even he had to admit that Solari technology was far behind Mirial’s decades-old defences.
He frowned. The readings on his navigational instruments were erratic. He tapped on the console once with two fingers, setting the altitude dial spinning. A greater twinge struck him, and he felt cold sweat imbue his cotton undershirt. He cleared his dry throat and looked up, his hands feeling numb as he fought to control the ship.
He could not see. No break existed in the wraiths before him. He could very well be within impact range of the ground, and had no way to know it. He tried to recall how far he might have come, but it was all lost in a sea of white.
He gritted his teeth and pulled up on the controls, his muscles bunching. “I did not come this far to fail.”
He had barely spoken the words when the knocking abruptly stopped and the downward pull on the shuttle ended. The shuttle’s nose jerked up before Dunkat loosened his pull on the controls, his arm muscles warm and aching and finally able to relax.
He could see sky before him, blue and crisp, but the land was still white. He waited, his fingers flexing and unflexing around the controls in anticipation.
The sky grew cloudy before the ship, and Dunkat braced himself for another attack, his breath long and calm. He waited as the sky shimmered, but instead of forming many wraiths, it formed a single one, its features harsh and eyes piercing deep into Dunkat.
The colonel leaned back into his chair, his grip loosening, his breath even deeper. He gazed back and shuddered, and greeted the wraith in a hoarse whisper.
“Hello, Father.”
32
The sky was dark and the land was darker, with no sign of the wraiths to be seen on any horizon.
“Where did the little nasty freaky creatures go?” Avienne asked. She placed both her elbows on the station and cupped her chin in her hands.
A laugh burst from Gobran. He clapped Loran on the back as the young woman took her seat again, still as pale as the wraiths. “They knew better than to continue their attack on us!”
Avienne raised an eyebrow. “Really? Seems they were doing fine, to me.”
“Avienne is right, Gobran.” Zortan stepped up beside her. “We need to know exactly what drove them away, or what lured them away.”
Gobran’s good humour vanished as quickly as it had come, his eyes shredding Zortan to pieces. As he spoke, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Do not ever tell me what I must do, Zortan Mistolta.”
Avienne glanced at Zortan, disappointed that the tall man’s hands remained relaxed at his sides. She sighed. She heard the familiar hush of the opening lift doors, and turned.
Her breath caught in her throat for a moment and she stood straight as she looked at the familiar dark hair and oval face. She almost blurted out a question about Ardin’s safety, before she realized that the eyes were different and the stance too brash. Their eyes met, Yoma’s widening slightly as though understanding the confusion.
“What happened?” Yoma asked, not moving from her spot.
Avienne broke contact first, put both her elbows back on the station and cupped her chin. She gritted her teeth at the sound of the voice, deeper but still so similar.
Gobran gestured grandly towards the view screen.
“Welcome to Mirial, Lady.”
Yoma took a few steps forward and stared out. Avienne followed her gaze to the dark, desolate landscape.
“It’s so very dead,” Avienne grumbled, shifting her feet and sighing loudly.
Yoma’s reply was but a whisper, so thin that Avienne barely heard it. “No, it’s full of life.” She turned to face Avienne, as though afraid her words had not been heard. The green eyes held Avienne’s gaze; she stiffened her spine at the spark in them.
“Life, Avienne.”
They locked eyes for a moment longer, as though they were the only two individuals on the bridge, and then Yoma turned as though nothing had happened. Avienne wondered if Yoma knew that Josmere and Layela had perished. She pondered mentioning it, but knew she couldn’t trust her own voice to utter the words. She remained silent, watching the landscape stretch below them and remembering her own dead.
Gobran remembered this part of Mirial better than any other. They were now above the old city of Thistle, just a few hours’ walk from the capital. The old captain felt as weary as the buildings looked. The city had been gutted. The old stone structures, some of which had survived for millennia, had fallen over or were missing sections.
With the help of the Victory’s lights, they could tell even in the darkness that the place had been charred, no colour remaining — no plants, no hangings or draperies. Only the stone had survived.
Gobran placed a hand on Loran’s shoulder. The young woman looked up at him, her eyes a bit dimmer than when he had first met her.
“That was the great city of Thistle,” he told her, breaking the silence on the bridge. They were the only two here now. The rest of the crew had scattered; even the lively daughter of Malavant had been sombre. “This is where your family lived before the Great Fall.”
Loran turned her gaze back towards the city and Gobran wished he could show it to her the way it had once been. He knew that the archives had been kept here, in Thistle, but doubted that even the protected building had survived. He craned his neck to see, but did not wish to veer the Victory off course, lest those wraiths show up again. Three more ships had fallen to their attack, and the few that remained were too precious to toy with their fate.
“Why have I only heard about Mirial from my parents and in stories, Captain?”
Kipso smiled. “Mirial was hidden, Loran, to protect it and its power. Twenty years ago, the queen gave birth. As her powers weakened, so did our protective shields. The Mirial fleet is ready for such occasions, to protect her from those who would use her powers. But this time we encountered the Solarian alliance, led by a man named Groosh.”
“The man who attacked us?”
Gobran shook his head and smiled. “No, that’s his son. Minister Groosh was a good man who simply wished to learn of Mirial and forge an alliance, but he did not make it off our planet alive.” He shook his head again and stared at the city. He had said enough, for now.
It seemed silly to worry about the past when so much of the future lay at stake.
“This place smells bad.” Avienne stepped off the Victory with Yoma and Zortan. Gobran moved quickly forward and crushed one of the women greeting them in a fierce hug.
“Well, ain’t that cute,” Avienne mumbled, feeling slightly jealous. She was finally on a planet she could call home and she was alone.
“It’s so…dead,” Yoma said. They were on a landing platform, linked by a bridge to a bunker where Mirial’s survivors dwelt. It was the biggest, greyest, ugliest bunker Avienne had ever seen. What they could see of the dark land around them was j
ust as dead as the rest of the planet.
“Layela would have hated this place,” Yoma said with a slight smile.
Avienne gave her a grin. “Weren’t you the one going on about life, back on the bridge?”
Yoma shrugged, and even in the darkness Avienne could see the thief was blushing. “I get…lost, sometimes. Especially since I’ve come closer to Mirial.”
“Sounds fun,” Avienne mumbled. A tall man approached Yoma, bowing deeply before her. Avienne gave a short laugh, to be rewarded by a grin from Yoma and a stern look from the tall man.
“La~dy...?” the man asked, ignoring the redhead. Yoma seemed to hesitate for a moment, lowering her eyes for just a second to hide the indecision Avienne could feel radiating from her.
When she decided which name to give, her voice was but a whisper. “Yoma. My name is Yoma.”
The man nodded, and with style and flourish said, “La~dy Yo~ma, the La~dy A~dina wishes to see you.”
“Lady Adina?” Yoma repeated in a disinterested tone.
Avienne took on the man’s stylized flourish. “No, Yoma, it’s La~dy A~dina.” Another short laugh received another stern look. Avienne felt better. Maybe this planet could offer some fun after all.
“The Lady Adina wishes to speak with you,” the man repeated without the flourish. Avienne gave Yoma a disappointed look.
Yoma grinned and shrugged. “All right, then, lead on.”
The man looked intently at Avienne, his beady eyes almost fully closed. “Alone. She wishes to see you alone.”
Yoma cast a glance at Avienne, who shrugged. “You okay with that?” Avienne heard herself, and winced.
Ardin, I’m starting to sound like you!
Yoma offered her a grateful smile. “I’ll be fine, thanks. I was always the dangerous sister, you know.” Avienne shot her a grin as the two walked off. Gobran and his daughter were also gone, as was the rest of the procession. And Zortan had vanished into a shadow somewhere.
“What, no greeting for me?” she asked the darkness. Avienne walked across the high bridge and entered the bunker. It was ugly, but at least it had been left unlocked. Metal stair upon metal stair greeted her, and she caught the smells and sounds of a city below.
A city meant food and drink.
Avienne began descending the steps two by two. Soon she arrived on stone steps, and, turning another metal wall, she was greeted by colours and laughter and smells of meat. The city went all the way through the large bunker, at least a thousand feet in length, and every inch of it had been crowded with makeshift homes — some stone, some wood, some just colourful sheets used for privacy. She could hear chickens and some sheep, but couldn’t even begin to guess where they were kept in the maze before her. She could smell burning wood and a musk that told of many people and few baths.
She came down the last few steps, some guards looking at her with suspicion and some with surprise. She rewarded them with her best smiles. The people she could see were ratty and tired, but the children ran and laughed and she swore she even heard a dog barking. She could not discern any of the buildings or shelters, from one another, but in such a big area, surely a bar or pub existed.
She grinned wider and entered the chaos, leaving a sea of whispers behind her. She walked along what she believed were the streets, although she often had to duck below hanging sheets. Finally she heard a call that interested her.
“Come get your lunch!” She turned towards the sound, hoping she could locate it. Where there was food, there was usually drink.
Cailan, Ardin and the Destiny had flown hard and well, and it was time that she toasted their good life.
Blood and bones, she intended to be drunk within the hour.
The tall man had introduced himself as Gresko Listan. He led Yoma through a series of metal stairs and stone tunnels. Only a few blue-garbed individuals crossed their path, each bowing their heads respectfully. From their weaponry, Yoma guessed they were guards.
The way was poorly illuminated with sparse torches, the shadows thick and heavy. Yoma’s heart slowed and her breath quieted, instincts honed through years of thievery. Gresko Listan’s steps were also muffled and the air around them grew more and more humid the deeper they went. A roar grew louder the further they walked.
“What is that?” Yoma asked, hushed. The man did not lower his voice when he spoke.
“There are places on Mirial that are deeply connected with the star of Mirial. The Lady Adina protects us from such a place.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
The man turned around and examined her briefly, as if deciding whether or not she was truly a child of the queen. Yoma could not help but lift her chin. She had never liked being looked down upon by anyone. As if satisfied, he turned around and waved her ahead around the next corner.
“This will answer your question, Lady Yoma.”
She hesitated for half a second, not fond of letting others follow behind where they could easily slip a knife in her back, but she went ahead, hoping her instincts would protect her if necessary.
The second she rounded the corner, her concerns slipped from her mind. The cave was big, its high ceiling covered with stalactites that shone and glistened with dew. Droplets fell once in a while, as though in a light rain. The roar had come from a large waterfall to Yoma’s left. It formed a clean mist as it tumbled into a lake, and the lake split off into small rivers that crossed the cave before vanishing into the walls. Yoma could not see where the waterfall began, but it seemed to be at least as high as the roots of the stalactites.
Illuminating the entire cave was an odd glow, filled with whites and pinks, giving a ghostlike quality to all that lay in the valley below. It took her a second to identify where the glow was coming from, and once she did, she felt tears well up in her eyes. Lacile flowers, of more colours than Yoma even believed possible, clung to the cave walls and grew on the stone walls and bridges. She felt a large lump form in her throat, remembering Layela’s fondness of the flower that only glowed when it was happy. Yoma had thought it was the perfect flower for Layela.
Yoma took a deep breath and started down the stone steps. Lacile flowers clung to the stone ramparts and tumbled down, shadows dancing freely all around them. She could now see that the small rivers served as irrigation for fields of rice, wheat, vegetables and flowers, some of which Yoma didn’t even recognize.
Many individuals worked the fields and cared for them, their heads popping up and out on occasion, only to vanish again as they concentrated on another root. The more steps she descended, the more the scent of summer surrounded her, of fresh plants and pollen.
At the other end of the fields, where Yoma knew they were headed, was a magnificent palace built directly into the stone. Two large circular stairways led to it, illuminated by Lacile flowers that grew up from a colourful garden. She could hear singing, though she could not see the singers. The music was soft and soothing, and Yoma looked inquiringly at Gresko.
“The keepers of this cave,” he said simply. He neither missed a step, nor pointed out where the singers were. Yoma felt her legs grow heavier. Layela used to sing to the Laciles, she remembered. She sang to them and kept them glowing for a long, long time, her voice soft and comforting in the dark, long nights. She missed her sister so much her heart ached.
You would have loved this place, Layl.
The palace rising before them was small, or at least its façade was, but it was impossible to tell how deep into the rock the sculptors had carved its rooms and halls. The front of it was graced with some windows and a few stone balconies carved with intricate designs, all of them flowers, birds, animals…a celebration of the life that had once graced the planet.
As they crossed the fields and several rock bridges over small rivers, Yoma strained to see the designs more clearly through the shadows. Some flowers, she recognized; the central one—the one that adorned the main balcony and was biggest amongst them—was definitely the same as the one on the sid
e of the Victory.
She recognized most of the creatures depicted, but a few she had never seen, and doubted she ever would. She passed two guards who stared at her in awe, and she and Gresko began scaling one of the staircases. Both led to a grand balcony, with large columns lining the way into the palace. Yoma did not immediately enter the palace, but paused and leaned against the cold stone of the balcony railing, pressing both her palms hard into its grooves. Gresko stepped inside the palace, his duty apparently done.
She gazed at the waterfalls, their sound muffling all other noise, and smelled the plants below her, watched the drops from the stalactites tumble onto them. The valley was humid but not uncomfortable. The yellow shimmer that clung to everything made it seem even more surreal.
But then, since entering the great shields of Mirial, nothing much had seemed real. Visions assailed her so frequently she found it difficult to tell them from reality. She shivered as she recalled the vision of Josmere’s corpse and Layela’s death…At the thought of them, Yoma felt some of her strength grow, and some of her hope dwindle at the same time.
Avienne seemed convinced that Ardin, Layela and Josmere had perished. Yoma wished she was as certain.
The roar of the waterfall lulled her. From her vision, she remembered the sound of a waterfall and Layela’s blood. She clutched the stone with her hands. She remembered, but it had been more than a day since the vision had come to her, a longer gap than she had ever had before. She felt her tears welling and swallowed hard.
Maybe that meant her sister was dead. But maybe not.
Still, Yoma thought as she loosened her grip and let her arms fall to her side. I wish you were here. You would have loved this, Layela.
She turned to enter the palace and jumped as she came face to face with a woman. Yoma swore. Were her instincts so dimmed?
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