Flight To Exile

by Chris Reher

  “And then your next visit will be to Chenoweth itself.”

  “It will.” La’il let a wisp of captured chi’ro swirl through the trailing blooms of a censer plant clinging to one of the pillars. A cloying fragrance invaded his senses and he thought he might choke. “The Homeworld will once again be joined to her moons and we’ll be able to manage our resources properly. The way it’s meant to be.”

  “You’re taking much for granted,” he fretted, fixed on the practical in order to avoid the horror of what she was proposing. “You can’t be sure of her talents. And you don’t know what awaits you on Chenoweth. What if this fails? Even just attempting this madness will be a terrible drain on our resources!”

  “Only for a moment, Yobar. I’ve thought about this for three hundred years. I have prepared for this for three hundred years! I’ve explored their abilities on Chenoweth and none of them are as adept as I am. This won’t be easy, but it won’t fail.” She smiled sweetly at her aide. “I don't suppose I'll need Aletha after this. One supreme goddess is plenty, don’t you?”

  He could stand it no longer. “But what of the people of Thali!”

  She glanced at him, her mind busy with a dozen schemes. “Thali is doomed anyway,” she said absently.

  Chapter Twelve

  Minh walked slowly around the perimeter of the village, perhaps for the third time today. Just as she had done yesterday, after the twins had withdrawn into their hut. Her restlessness was not only the result of Aletha’s sudden disappearance. Although it had been reckless to strike out on her own, Aletha was an able seafarer and, if necessary, could vanish into the forest. The source of Minh’s unease was this strange magic taking place right here in the village. The tension she felt permeated the air as if some unfathomable weight was pressing down upon them all. Almost, she thought, like the hour before a terrible storm when the skies turned and those with any sense headed for shelter.

  Galen and Chor remained in their cabin, leaving only at night to eat and refresh themselves, their eyes vacant, their movements stilted and tightly controlled, as if every last bit of their concentration was focused on some distant, unseen event. The villagers stayed out of their way and only Minh dared approach them. She knew that they were collecting the magic substance, calling it closer to fashion some device that would let them find Aletha. Some uncanny way of sending a stream of magic upon which they would launch themselves into the distance. Minh worried.

  * * *

  Galen gradually emerged from his self-induced trance as if waking from a long sleep. He tested the volume of chi’ro pooling over this village. It was nearly time; he had gathered as much of the precious resource as he could find. He would draw it into himself, and then send out a beacon to find Aletha, needing only the briefest response to pinpoint her location. Once certain of it, the twins would use the accumulated chi’ro to create a local conduit to launch themselves through empty space to reach Aletha in an instant. This form of travel was common among the adepts of the Homeworld to reach far-flung locations. But here on Thali their efforts would most likely land them on their heads in some remote corner of the jungle. Nevertheless, it was the only way to find Aletha. He did not doubt that she would respond - his mental touch would at least rouse her curiosity.

  The twins had changed into their traveling clothes and now sat motionless on the floor of their cabin. Breathing evenly, they began to transform the chi’ro, a pleasant sensation that drew a smile from both of them. The essence flowed through the walls, floor and roof to enter their bodies, infusing them with physical and mental vigor they had not felt since leaving arriving on Thali. A sudden longing to return to the Homeworld, where this state was constant and natural, reminded them of the task at hand: find Aletha and then the launch. Flee this beautiful, hostile, chi’ro-starved world, with or without her consent. The moon’s deficiency only underscored the potency of the essence and their utter dependence on it for their wellbeing.

  Galen closed his eyes, preparing to reach out to Aletha. It would have been easier to do this had the villagers not decided to make this a day for making noise, quite possibly another of their frequent foot races or contests of strength. Galen frowned when the shouting broke through his concentration. Why did these women have to shriek so much?

  “Galen!” Someone rudely tore aside the woven mat from the doorway of their lodge. “Wake up, Chor! Please!”

  Galen strained to see Minh outside on the catwalk, her panic obvious. “What is it?” he said, maintaining his grip on the influx of chi’ro.

  “Soldiers! Coming this way. They've murdered Dlen and Miru!” The seer squinted into the dim hut. “What… what’s happened to you?”

  Galen's mind grappled with its trance, ordered his body to move, reach for his weapons, even as he wondered why soldiers would invade the peace of the village. He lurched for the door, daggers in hand, aware that Minh drew back in alarm when she perceived their strange, altered condition. “Stay here,” he snapped and leaped from the walkway to race to the edge of the village from where he could hear screams of terror, Chor only a few steps behind.

  They were the cause of this, he suddenly understood. These had to be emissaries, here to rout Descendants and those who harbored them. What had led them here, so far into the barrier islands? He rounded an animal pen at the edge of the village to see dozens of armed men breaking through the edge of the trees, waving swords and daggers. One of them hacked at one of the villagers, someone Galen knew to be friend to Aletha.

  He stormed forward, his mind focused on the uniformed men and the blue-robed ones that followed. One by one, they were lifted high into the air, only to be slammed to the ground or against the jungle trees. It was as if an invisible hand had reached down from the sky to destroy these intruders. The twins stopped and stood side by side in the middle of the clearing, their outstretched arms directing their gathered chi’ro at the invading army, tossing men aside left and right, killing some, maiming many. Using kinetic energies, he picked up one of the men and, turning him sideways, hurled him into a trio of soldiers coming into the clearing from the path. An attacker, about to skewer a terrified villager, suddenly plunged his dagger into his own chest. A surge of energy directed at a cluster of advancing soldiers turned all metal fittings and weapons red hot to sear skin and set clothing on fire. Spears, quarrels and an axe flung in the twins’ direction were harmlessly turned aside. Five men circling from the left suddenly fell, clutching their chests as if to restart their damaged hearts.

  Unnerved by all of this, some of the soldiers turned and fled the way they had come. Others had frozen in stunned surprise. Rumors of the Descendants’ terrible power had always been a part of their lives and here, finally, was proof of the legends, come to life not in the shrines and secret enclaves of the cities, but in this remote community deep within the islands. The villagers, too, ran to hide or cowered in terror, alternately staring at the twins and looking skyward to witness the wrath of the gods.

  Galen realized that they were spending the chi’ro that was to have brought them to Aletha, pouring it from their bodies to defend this village. He felt his power waning as the surge of chi’ro subsided and he knew that Chor was also expending more energy than he could afford. Perhaps they had enough strength to escape into the jungle. Galen raised his daggers and charged toward the soldiers barring the way into the forest. Some of them backed off in fright, others fell to his attack. He slashed savagely, more to frighten and injure than to kill, his only thought to get away from this place before these fanatics harmed more of Aletha’s people.

  Seeing their quarry nearly at the edge of the trees, one of the emissaries bravely stood in his way, a metal emblem clutched in his raised fist. “By the Gods of Chenoweth, you are—” He squealed in terror when the demon grasped the front of his tunic, his dagger raised.

  Then Galen froze. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his knife arm and released the terrified priest whose legs refused to support him. Galen watched him crawl away, sudden
ly aware of the silence that had settled over the clearing. Barely daring to breathe, he turned, slowly, to face the soldiers behind him. He dropped his knives, his eyes on his twin who lay on the ground, his chest still heaving from the exertion of the battle, the tips of several swords at his throat.

  * * *

  “Wake up, Demon!” A booted foot crashed into his ribs, not quite hard enough to break them. Galen moaned and pulled back against the chain securing him to the ship’s rail. Chor slumped beside him, barely conscious, his hair obscuring his bruised face. Someone kicked him, too, trying to rouse him. Galen glared at the soldiers, but said nothing.

  They had been forced from the village at knifepoint, giving up their struggle only when another of Aletha’s people was murdered to serve as example. Once the emissaries realized that the twins would not risk either each other or further casualties among the villagers, they had simply taken along a number of hostages, promising to kill one at any attempt the twins made to escape. After a futile search for Aletha among the lodges, a contingency of men had been left behind to search the area.

  Galen was relieved when the hostages were left at the beach where longboats awaited them in the shallows. Surrounded by armed soldiers, they were rowed through the narrow inlet and finally out into the bay where a tall ship lay at anchor. Carefully, the twins began to cast about for any remnant of chi’ro remaining in the area. Nothing. There was not even enough of a riser within the range of his senses to tip this boat. He doubted that a desperate lunge over the side would prove to be much of an escape – the water here was shallow and perfectly clear.

  They had been brought aboard the ship and tied to the railing on the quarterdeck. Only then had the soldiers fallen upon the twins, seeking retribution for their dead and injured comrades, stopping their assault only when both twins were beaten unconscious. Once in a while, as now, some of the soldiers came by to torment them further, emboldened by the discovery that these magic users didn’t seem to be very magical any more.

  It was now nearly dark and, although the ship had undoubtedly covered many leagues already, the twins were still not able to find enough chi’ro to restore themselves. A soldier bent over Chor and grasped a fistful of hair to tip his head back. Galen winced at the sight of Chor’s cut lip and blackened eye. His shirt was in shreds and his arm was slashed from elbow to wrist. Chor glanced at him and Galen knew he didn’t look much better than his twin. Seeing the hatefulness with which these men treated Descendants, Galen was glad that Aletha had left the village. The soldier shoved Chor aside and turned menacingly to Galen.

  “Enough with this now, please,” an impatient voice demanded their attention. The soldier turned to the emissary behind him, a sneer on his face. But whatever comment he had for the priest remained unsaid – one did not insult an emissary without dire consequence. Especially not this emissary.

  The blue-robed man crouched beside Galen to peer into his face. “Stop torturing them,” he instructed. “We need them alive.” He placed a jar of water and a small bowl within Galen’s reach. “Don’t speak to them. They are dangerous, even now. Be about your business.” Apparently expecting his commands to be followed, the emissary turned and went below deck without another word.

  “You hear that?” Galen said, aching for the water beside him. “We’re dangerous. Move along. Sharpen your weapons or march up and down for a while.” He held his breath, waiting for another kick to the ribs. The soldier seemed ready to pounce, his huge fists clenched, but he held himself in check and finally withdrew. Galen breathed a sigh of relief. Although having nearly invited another beating, he now had a fair measure of the emissaries’ authority over the soldiers. His next task would be to see where the crew’s loyalties lay.

  The twins remained unmolested for the next few hours. Occasionally a soldier strolled by with some hateful threat or a crewman passed nearby to take a look at the prisoners. Chor had passed out again, or perhaps he was sleeping, and Galen tried to take his mind off his injuries by attempting to listen to conversations taking place in the cabins below. There were dozens of people in the lower holds, likely off-duty crew and soldiers. During his exploration his attention was drawn again and again to a small group of people, below deck and forward, that stood out among the rest. Galen sensed two strong presences and a few weaker ones among the bland manifestations of non-adepts. Were there other Descendants held captive on this ship? Was this merely an exercise in rounding up random Descendants for some large sacrificial celebration on their calendar? Perhaps this didn’t have anything at all to do with Aletha or the Homeworlders.

  A small sound interrupted his exercise and when he turned to discover its source his new hopes were dashed. He sat up, impatiently pulling on the chain around his wrists, and leaned back against the railing. Shaking his hair from his face, he growled into the dark, “Does your father know where you are?”

  The shadowed figure came closer and soon revealed a familiar face and tangle of bright yellow curls. Looking even more ragged than when they had last seen her, Yala crouched beside Chor to study his injuries with some fascination. When she lifted a hand to poke at a particularly interesting bruise, Chor opened his eyes, startling the girl into a quick leap backward.

  “Leave him be,” Galen advised.

  “They sure made him over, didn’t they?” Yala said. “And look at you! I heard them tell about what you did back there. Wish I’d seen that. How come you don’t throw some more magic at them?”

  “None left,” Galen said. “Why are you here?”

  “Heard ‘em talking down by the harbor, after you sailed off. The chief emissary set everyone after you. They were looking all through Phrar but he wasn’t thinking you’d still be there. I got me hired aboard as soon as I heard tell that they were sailing after you. Wasn’t hard, neither. Them emissaries always need someone fetching and carrying after them, and their women won’t do for themselves. I don’t mind. The food’s not bad.”

  Galen tipped his head back. “Don’t remind me. I’d eat squid tonsils right about now.” Once again, he sent his thoughts to the nearby shores, looking for the energy he so desperately needed to heal his battered body. Still nothing there. It seemed as though they had used up every last puff of chi’ro venting anywhere for miles around. At another time he might have been impressed by his ability to fetch such small amounts from such great a distance. Whatever ambient chi’ro they could absorb would have to sustain them.

  Yala picked up the bowl that the emissary had left. “There is some stew here.”

  Galen shook his head. “Chibane,” he said.

  “Eh?”

  “Same stuff they gave to Aletha to make her sick. It does some strange things to your head. Heads like ours, anyway.”

  Yala grinned mischievously. “Wait here,” she said and scurried away.

  Galen almost laughed out loud but a sharp pain in his side turned it into an agonized cough. He rolled onto his side, waiting for the pain to subside, wondering where Aletha was spending the night, and if she was safe. Would she know to stay vigilant, alert to those who followed? Surely, she would have perceived the great surge of chi’ro amassing over the village and then dispersed with great force. Did she know what had happened? Galen hoped that she hadn’t decided to turn back to the village, worried about her people, and fall into the hands of the soldiers that had been left behind there. A more frightening possibility was that she would try to apply her gifts to help the twins escape. Then again, he thought, she would likely enjoy administering a few kicks to his ribs, as well.

  Yala’s return was a welcome relief from his dark thoughts. The girl had brought water and a bowl of rice, along with half of a roasted bird. The twins ate quickly and then tossed the bones and empty bowl overboard, moving awkwardly with the heavy manacles around their wrists. Galen also dumped the poisoned food from the bowl that had been left earlier and poured out some of the tainted water.

  “Better,” Galen sighed when it was done. Chor, too, seemed more luci
d now and sat up, his eyes on the sails above. “We’re being watched. Don’t get caught helping us.”

  Yala shrugged. “I’m just the cabin maid. No one pays any mind to me most times, anyway. I’ll just be swatted for being where I’m not supposed to. Seems I’m all the time where I’m not supposed to! The soldiers bear watching though. Mean ones among them.”

  “Stay out of their way. Do you know anything about the others on board? Are there any other Descendants? Captives?”

  “Um, no. Just emissaries and soldiers. No Descendants among the crew and their kin, they’d know that for certain. I been all over the ship, looking at things. No one hidden away. No one locked up but you.”

  Galen nodded. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where we are.”

  “None, though I heard say we’re making for the mainland in the morning.”

  “Back to Phrar?”

  “I’m not thinking that. We’re very north now.” Yala looked from one twin to the other and finally dared to ask. “What’s happened to Aletha? I heard emissaries tell she wasn’t found.”

  Galen closed his eyes, craving sleep. Preferably tucked safely into the comfort of his own bed in his warm, clean, dry and well-appointed home down on the planet. “She’s all right, I’m sure. She left before the attack came. We… hmm, we were separated and…” He sighed. “She got angry at us for something and left.”

  Yala’s eyebrows shot upwards and she pursed her lips in a comical expression of surprise. “You irked her? How?”

  “Never mind how. It’s private.”

  Yala laughed. “You must have irked her truly, for her to run off and leave you out there. Needn’t worry, though,” she said confidently. “She’s has a temper sometimes. Soon enough she’ll be back and all is well again.” She thought about that for a moment. “Well, usually she would be, but you being out this way is making that a chore. Think she can tell where you are?”