by Chris Reher
Galen’s eyes fell on his twin who was also dozing the afternoon away, less worried about the sun’s rays than Aletha, who had taken great care to shade herself. Galen looked at the long daggers on Chor’s belt, the powerful arms and strong hands that had on many occasion brought a miscreant to order, coerced a confession, killed in battle. He remembered the people who died when he and Chor had freed Aletha from her captives. He felt no remorse over their deaths, certain that their deeds, this one and past crimes, had earned them their fate. But now he thought about the emissaries, the zeal in which they approached their task, no doubt firmly rooted in unshakable faith. Were they any less qualified to assume the role of executioner than he was?
Chor opened his eyes to study his hands, unable to sleep under Galen’s scrutiny. He looked back at his twin, like Galen seeing little more than a well-made weapon wielded by the La’il to control her enemies. A carefully designed specimen, whose show of brawn was often enough to extract compliance among the commoners, and whose talent as adept allowed him to control more esteemed adversaries. The emissaries followed the orders of some long-gone masters. The twins obeyed the mandate of the La’il. All of them obedient, without question. He shook his head, as if to clear his confused thoughts.
“You know,” a gentle voice intruded. “This is the first time I’ve seen you two talk with each other.”
Both men turned their heads, startled. “What?”
Aletha stretched her limbs, yawning. “The way you were looking at each other just now. So intense! I could almost hear your thoughts flying through the air!” She looked over the side of the boat, reading the shape of the shoreline. “Although I don’t suppose it was a very pleasant conversation. I’ve not seen you looking quite so downcast. Is something wrong?”
Galen shook his head. “Nothing really. Wondering how those emissaries knew we were on Delann’s ship.”
“Someone probably saw us pull out of the harbor and sent message birds to Ayrlie to warn them. Then again, you two are such tall drinks of water that they probably saw you from a distance. When they catch you they’ll nail a lamp to your heads and post you by the harbor entrance as nicely matching beacons.”
Galen grinned and felt his bleak mood evaporate in her bright presence. How simple things seem when she smiled at them, he thought, and how easily it chased the demons from his thoughts. He resolved to delay his unproductive soul searching until his return to the Homeworld. Meanwhile, he was on vacation!
Chapter Six
“This is a perfect place to spend the night,” Aletha declared when she nudged their small boat deftly along a rickety dock that had appeared in the middle of a small bay. Having navigated by sight until it was almost too dark to make out more than a suggestion of shoreline, she was pleased to find this cove as she had last seen it. At first glance this unremarkable anchorage consisted of a cluster of boats tied up along a dock raised above the water. But there were no permanent buildings here, no warehouses, residences or even supply depots. In fact, the shore was an undisturbed stretch of seaweed-strewn beach some distance from the boats which huddled like some strange island in the cove.
They pulled up to a long concourse permanently connecting several large, ramshackle ships. A collection of smaller vessels of various size, quality and purpose filled in the berths between the behemoths. Some torches had been fixed to the catwalk, illuminating the comings and goings of crews and passengers from all shores of this moon. Someone stopped to catch Aletha’s line and tied their boat to a ring bolted to the dock. She scrambled up a questionable ladder and waited impatiently for the twins to follow.
“What is this place?” Galen asked after the twins had made their way onto the concourse.
“Riva Sound,” she said, grinning. “A waystation. Our sort of waystation.”
Curious, the twins followed her along the pier, amazed to find an entire trading post on water. Some of the boats here seemed to be permanently in residence, perhaps not even seaworthy, looking more like houses than ships. Other vessels were obviously in transit, like themselves on their way to somewhere else. They passed a few private crafts, then one with clothing, foodstuffs and weapons for sale. Next to it was some sort of celebration in progress; Aletha was amused by a very drunk man at the bow of his sailboat, feet dangling, singing some raucous shanty at the top of his lungs. They continued past an inn, a tavern, another shop or two, and a few more private boats. Even out here the cleanliness so valued by Thali’s people was for sale on a barge offering steaming tubs of water.
Everywhere torches burned, music played, voices, shouts and laughter drifted over the still water of the cove. People passed them along the walkway on their way from one boat to another but no one here seemed to take much notice of the twins. This place was not one where questions were often asked or freely answered. Remote and well guarded, protected from pirates by their number, travelers here were likely the sort to prefer this arrangement over the confines of a harbor town. No doubt one would not have to look very hard to find smugglers, thieves, fugitives and even a number of Descendants among the shops and hostelries.
“I think I like this place,” Galen said, slowing his steps to look down onto the deck of a barge where several dancers were displaying their talents. A circle of women gyrated to the spirited sound of drum and flute, their scant costumes flashing with sequins in the light of the torches. He smiled when one of them raised her arms to him without halting her dance, most of her chest bared for his inspection.
Aletha prodded him onward and then took a step back to tug on Chor’s sleeve. “Let’s go! I’m hungry.”
“What is that?” Galen said behind her, sounding startled.
“What?” Aletha turned and looked up at whatever he had spotted in the sky. “Chenoweth, of course.”
“I know it’s Chenoweth. What’s that thing on Chenoweth?”
“The Garden,” she said with some reverence. “Have you not seen it before?”
“Garden? You mean your Garden of the Gods?” Galen said, thunderstruck. Several massive, uneven shapes were visible among the frozen wastelands and dead mountain ranges that comprised most of the moon’s surface. Their edges were distinct, as if he were looking up at verdant islands of green in a sea of rock and ice. Deep blue jewels lay among the greenery, suggesting that, after all, surface water existed on Chenoweth. A grim smile formed on his lips. For centuries, his people had observed the distant moon and had seen only hostile wasteland. Arrogantly, they imagined the exiles huddled on Chenoweth in misery, awaiting the opportunity to reclaim the Homeworld. But with all the chi’ro available on that moon it would not have been a complex undertaking to create a comfortable living space. And, prudently, they had done so out of sight of the Homeworld’s prying eyes.
“Isn’t it magical?” Aletha said, flinging her arms up as if to embrace the distant orb. “It’s so very rare to get a clear view of it. Once the rainy season starts you won’t see it at all.”
“Rainy season?”
“It’s a good omen to see the Garden. Be sure to conduct yourself well in case the gods are watching!”
Galen saw a number of other people with hands raised skyward. Many stood in silence, some mumbled prayers under their breath. Even the cheerful bawdiness of the dancers had changed to a sinuous waving of arms at the heavens with only a soft flute to accompany their salutation. “This explains much. I couldn’t understand why you people were so keen on going there someday. I’ve always thought of Chenoweth as a cold and unfriendly place.”
“We think of it as warm and gentle and peaceful. And look! Not a storm cloud to be seen! Is that not the sort of place where you would expect to find gods?”
They walked back the way they had come to board a hulking craft refitted and renovated so many times that it no longer even resembled a boat. Once aboard, they picked their way through boisterous companies of revelers lounging on the deck, ignoring comments, invitations and the occasional groping hand as they passed. Having had their fill
of fresh air for the day they went inside where, although smoky from the fish oil lamps, it was warm and, Galen was glad to see, relatively clean. Whatever was cooking in the back of the tavern reminded them that they had not eaten since the noon hour. They chose a quiet table some distance from other visitors where Galen and Chor sank to the floor cross-legged while Aletha kneeled on her cushion, able to sit that way for hours without both of her legs turning utterly numb.
A servant came to their table with a bowl of water, some clean rags, and a jug of ale. She was a little flustered by the men, astonished by the resemblance and taken by their charms, which Aletha turned to her advantage by securing two bedrooms for the night at an excellent price. She thought to herself that the maid would no doubt find it odd that the twins shared one room while she had the other when it occurred to her that she found that odd, as well. She had never met siblings so content in each other’s company.
“I have an idea,” she said after their dinner had arrived. They dug into their shared bowl of rice, vegetables, and various types of meat and seafood with great enthusiasm. There was also a whole grilled fish, its stuffing of shredded pepperweed and mushrooms exuding a mouthwatering aroma. “You might as well agree to it now, because I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Is that so?” Galen said, most of his attention on the fish.
She nodded confidently, licking her fingers. She used the water basin and rags to clean her hands before withdrawing Delann’s map from her sash. She spread it out on the table, using the heels of her hands to smooth out some wrinkles. “We’re about here. Depending on the wind, we’ll make our way through here and, hopefully, we’ll end up over there.”
The twins peered at the map. “And…?” Galen said.
“See this little inlet there? It’s called Alarit Dunn. Where I grew up.”
“Uh huh.”
“I want to visit there on our way through the islands. It’s barely out of our way.” She looked up at them, a hopeful expression on her face. “Please? That is my family. I haven’t seen them in over two years.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. We have to get to the mountains. We’re already taking much longer than we should to get back home.” Galen pulled something that still had excessively slimy scales on it from their stew and placed it on her side of the platter.
“Just a day or two. Please?” She reached across the table to shake his arm.
He considered, remembering the sadness with which she had left that miserable seaside slum behind. Given the slow orbit of the Homeworld and her moons, two years was a long time. Surely the La’il could wait a few more days. “I think we can manage that. Yes. Why not?”
She smiled happily. “Thanks, Galen, that’s sweet.”
“So how did you know I’m Galen? You're getting better at telling us apart.”
“Not really.” She pointed at Chor. “He just doesn't talk very much. And he always looks like he's in a daydream or something.”
Chor only smiled.
Galen looked at the map again. “Are you sure you can find your way through there? Looks messy,” he added, meaning the hand-drawn cartography.
“Yes, I know the way. In my sleep! I grew up around here. We took many trips through these islands. I've been in this bay before.” She returned her attention to the food before them, changing the subject, as she often did, in what seemed to be mid-thought. “Tell me more about the Homeworld. Does it look like this place?”
He thought about this. “Mostly, compared to the other planets circling our sun. I guess the open conduits allowed so many life forms to travel back and forth that the planet and this moon evolved the same.” Catching the quizzical look on her face, he backtracked. “Chenoweth is too cold to have much life… Hmm, well, except for your Garden it is. But Thali is a lot like the Homeworld. You have many of the same, or at least similar, plants and animals. I can breathe this air and drink the water. Long ago there were more connections between these places. I can imagine something as simple as the seeds for these vegetables drifting through the conduits to find their way up here. Of course, many things were brought here by the people arriving from the Homeworld.”
“But you don’t much care for some of our things.” She peeled and ate the scaled thing while the twins watched in disgusted fascination.
“Well, things have probably changed over time since the launch sites were sealed. And we don’t have nearly as much water on the Homeworld as you do here. There are things living in your oceans I can’t even begin to imagine. The eel-thing the other day frightened me.”
She laughed. “Your boots are made from the skin of it. What else is different? Tell me about your people.”
“Our people are… taller and our skin is darker because we get more sun than you do. My people like the sun. I miss it. We live well and want for nothing.” His eyes traveled around the room, taking in the assortment of unkempt patrons that frequented here. “Sickness isn’t common and injuries are easily healed. We live a very long time.”
“How long?”
“The average is about a hundred and fifty or so.” His thoughts strayed to the La’il and her possibly long history in this place. “Adepts live longer.”
“You do live well! How old are you two?”
“Sixty-two.”
Aletha gaped at him in astonishment. “The truth now!”
“It’s the truth,” he grinned. “Although, by your reckoning, we’re probably not much older than you are.”
“But for your gray hair,” she amended.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Not an uncommon trait among us.”
“Is it true that La’il’s hair is pure silver?”
The easy smile faded from his lips. “It is white,” he said after a moment.
She pointed heavenward. “Tell me more about her.”
“What do you want to know?” he asked, looking into his mug of ale.
“What do you want to tell me?” When he did not answer, she rapped her knuckles on the table to get his attention. “I know you do. Tell me why you hate her.”
“Because she wants me to.”
Aletha frowned, puzzled. “She wants you to hate her? Why?”
He shrugged. “She enjoys it. The more I hate her, the angrier I get, the happier she is. I don't know why. It's a game to her.”
“Do you enjoy that?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Then why do you play this game?”
“I have no choice.” He paused, searching for words. “She can touch my mind and change the way I feel. I try to stop her but I can't get away. The more I try to fight it, the easier it is for her. She makes me angry and then I feel such hate, Aletha; it's like nothing I'd ever feel, if it weren't for her. It isn’t me at all!” He reflected on this before shaking his head. “No, it is me. I feel these things, and I react to those things. I want to do the things she makes me do. I've even tried to kill her.” He closed his eyes against the memory, knowing that it was unwise to tell Aletha these things. “Stupid idea. I could never touch her if she didn't want me to. Her mind makes her much stronger than me - I've got scars to remind me of that. But I try, anyway.”
Aletha nodded, thinking of the previous night. “That's an evil thing to do to someone,” she said.
“You shouldn’t think of her as evil,” Galen said, reminding himself of who she was and regretting some of the things he had told her. It would be better for Aletha if she met the La'il without prejudices instilled by his loathing for their leader. “Her rule is competent and we live in peace now, most of the time. Her mind makes these things possible. I know you will like it there.” He paused briefly and then shrugged. “I'm only a diversion for her, a plaything.”
“But you've made love to her,” Aletha guessed.
He laughed without humor. “No, I've never done that. I've raped her. Or she's raped me. It's the same either way.”
“How can you get free of her?”
“I can't! She can get
to me even here.” He pointed at his injured shoulder. “She can't touch me here, on this moon, but she can make me think she can. It wasn't she who threw me across the room, it was me. She made me do it!”
“Sounds to me like you’re less of a plaything than someone she needs to lord over. Maybe she needs to feel powerful.”
“She has all the power she wants. No one dares to oppose her. There is nothing she can’t have. Or just take if she wants it.”
Aletha propped her elbow on the table and rested her cheek in her hand. “Sounds to me like she can’t have you. Not without taking it.”
Galen drained his cup and reached for more. It seemed impossible to convey to Aletha to what depths the La’il twisted his emotions. Perfectly aware of his own actions and physically aware of his own body, when his hands were upon the goddess, handling her in ways that would badly injure another human, he no longer fought back. He wanted blood and he wanted pain and it mattered not whose it was.
He looked up again to find Aletha still watching him expectantly. “Better not touch that,” he said finally.
“I wish I could help you,” she said. “It must be terrible to be so controlled by someone. To be made to do such horrible things without meaning to.”
Galen leaned back when some travelers lurched noisily past their table, glad for the interruption. “I do mean to,” he said when they were alone again. “Once I’ve let her get inside my head, I believe anything she wants me to see.”