Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  Jagrav chortled, then threw back another swig. “Never said I didn’t have one.” He grinned, then poured himself another drink.

  Avindair wanted to frown, but he just couldn’t make it happen. He disliked intoxication on principle. In that way Jagrav was right: his life had been built on control. Control of his emotions, of his choices, and of his path. His duties demanded no less. Drinking—or any of the other myriad intoxicants both legal and otherwise that people engaged in—tore down too many barriers for him to comfortably enjoy the experience.

  And then a spaceship landed on our lawn. Avindair washed the thought away with another shot of mewtla.

  “Okay,” Jagrav said, smacking his chair back onto four legs and slapping Avindair’s table with his free hand. “What’s going…” He blinked, his eyes not entirely in sync. “What... what... What gilded marsupial crawled up your butt?”

  Gilded marsupial? Avindair thought. “Remind me—” he started, then belched into his closed fist. “Remind me never to take you to a zoo.”

  Jagrav shook his head, his movement unusually fluid, and wagged a finger at him. “Avoidy!” he yelled. Avindair shushed him while fighting back a laugh, but Jagrav ignored him. “You’re avoidy!” He leaned forward; his fingers spread out in an exaggerated imploring gesture. “Just spit it out!”

  Avindair flopped back and blew a chest-full of air past his lips. The flatulent noise it created made Jagrav double over laughing. When he recovered, he pointed at Avindair, mock concern on his face.

  “I think… I think… I think I think I think,” he started, then stopped. He closed his eyes, covered them with his free hand, then pointed abruptly at Avindair with a calloused finger. “I think that’s supposed to come out the other end. Of the end. End.” He fell back again, giggling, his face turning nearly as red as his beard.

  “Fine counselor you are,” Avindair replied, his attempt to sound stern undone by the snickering that ended his statement.

  Jagrav took a deep breath and shook his head. “Come on, Av,” he said. “Time to talk. Neck up checkup.” He set down his drink, smacked his hands together, then pointed at him with both index fingers. “Go!”

  Avindair sat back and sighed. “He made her apologize to him,” he finally said.

  Jagrav blinked, confused. “Who did what to who now?”

  “The Kionel,” Avindair said, louder than he’d intended. “He made Adelisa apologize to the Terran.” Avindair’s disdain came out completely when he spoke the word, and for once he didn’t mind.

  Jagrav sighed, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself another drink. “Yeah,” he said, suddenly morose. “I saw them. That. I saw that.”

  Avindair’s eyes narrowed. “He’s lying to us,” he grumbled. “That Terran. He’s lying. I can see it. She can see it. Why can’t he see it?”

  “Maybe he does,” Jagrav winked exaggeratedly, shakily pouring another shot into Avindair’s cup.

  “But he doesn’t show it!” Avindair answered. He shook his head, enjoying the way the world slid by his eyes. “We look to him for leader…” he frowned, “... thing.”

  “Leadership?” Jagrav offered helpfully.

  Avindair pointed back to Jagrav, his eyes wide. “YES! An’ what does he do? He lets that scar-faced little vamat just walk all over him!” He leaned over his desk; his head tilted to one side. “Wh… wh… why that? Why is that?”

  Jagrav shrugged, his mirth fading. “Dunno. ‘Cause he’s from space, maybe?”

  Avindair flopped forward onto his desk. This wood is really cool, he thought. “Exactly.” He pushed himself up to semi-perpendicular position and shrugged. “I mean, yeah, my job was hard before—”

  “So hard,” Jagrav interrupted, nodding his head.

  “Right?!” Avindair agreed. “But now?” Avindair continued. “How do you handle a man from space?”

  “He’s not so big,” Jagrav replied. “He’s just a man. A little, little man.”

  Death will arrive on quiet fire, and in its wake will follow disease, pestilence, and subjugation.

  The memory of the tablet’s words hit Avindair like a bucket of cold water. He stiffened, then leaned back, bracing the bridge of his nose in his right hand.

  And you let it happen, Avindair thought.

  “Wait,” Jagrav asked, taking his cue from Avindair’s abrupt change. “He is a man, right?”

  Why? Avindair thought, his heart pounding. Why did I need to know?

  “You’re scaring me, Av,” Jagrav said. His reddened eyes were wide, his face pale. “The Terran is a man, right?”

  Avindair fixed him with a hard stare. He needs to know, he realized. If he’s my second, if he has to step in for me, he needs to know.

  “No,” Avindair finally said. “He’s much worse.”

  Jagrav’s eyes widened as he burped. The sound rattled against the windows like thunder. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He needs to know.

  Avindair took the bottle, filled his glass, threw back a shot, and told him.

  Part III

  Kindred of Black

  29

  Old Kionel’s Palace

  Agrath’s Quarters

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  18 Sardua 1066

  Roberts didn’t run with Nashita that morning. He awoke early, changed into his gear, and started stretching, anticipating her one-knock entrance. When the rap rang across the room he jumped to his feet, eager to see Nashita jog in through the door.

  Nobody entered.

  Roberts frowned. Are her hands full? he wondered. Did she bring me another meal? The thought warmed him, and he smiled as he opened the door.

  Adelisa stood in front of him, two metal travel mugs in her hands. Her hair was piled into artful, flower-woven braids; makeup muted from its normal screen-painted artifice. Her bright crimson top was an adroit cross between a bodice and a blouse, thin lacings across her torso, while her stylishly stitched black pants hugged her hips and legs. A pair of knee-high black hiking boots completed the ensemble, with only the barest amount of jewelry adorning her hands and neck.

  Jagrav eyed him warily from the hallway. He looked awful. His skin was gray, his eyes bloodshot, and a thin white line circled his lips. Somebody had a hard night, Roberts thought, recognizing the look of a post-bender hangover.

  Jagrav met his eyes, then looked away, uncomfortably. Roberts frowned. What the hell is that all about?

  “Good morning, Commander,” Adelisa said, interrupting his thoughts, a forced smile on her lips. She awkwardly held up one of the mugs in her hand. “I brought you tea.”

  Roberts blinked, confused, then gestured for her to enter. “Adishta,” he managed. He looked down at his clothing and shrugged. “My apologies for...” he gestured at his workout clothes, embarrassed.

  “No,” Adelisa replied, shaking her head a bit too enthusiastically. “You didn’t know I was coming.” She entered and set the two mugs on Agrath’s desktop. “But you will need to change,” she continued.

  “Will he?” Nashita asked.

  Roberts turned to see Nashita bedecked in her running gear, a thin sheen of sweat already coating her olive skin. She met his eyes and offered him a wide grin. A flush spread across Roberts’ forehead.

  “I’m taking him to Saranatari,” Adelisa replied, her voice firm.

  Nashita draped one hand casually across the back of her neck and grimaced. “That’s quite a way,” she replied carefully. “And I have him down for a reschedule with Tarkena this afternoon. He’s gonna be pissed if we bump him again.”

  “Do it,” Adelisa ordered.

  Nashita’s eyes widened, and she plopped into the couch near the entrance. “What am I going to tell him?” she asked. “He tore me a new asshole last time.”

  “Tell him to take up any complaints with me,” Adelisa replied. She stepped over to Nashita and offered her assistant unaccustomed warmth. “And don’t take that from him,” she continued. “You don’t deserve it.”


  Both Nashita and Roberts shared a surprised look. Was she on a bender with Jagrav last night? Roberts thought, then fought the urge to shrug. Whatever it was, she needs to keep it up.

  “Of course, Adishta,” Nashita replied slowly. She blinked, confused. “Thank you.”

  Adelisa didn’t reply. Instead, she turned to Roberts. “Do you have anything a little less formal to wear?” she asked.

  Roberts looked down at his shorts and faded academy running shirt. “Any less formal and this is gonna get really awkward.”

  Adelisa and Nashita both stared at him questioningly.

  “Was that—” Nashita began.

  “Don’t ask,” Roberts interrupted.

  Nashita grinned and looked away, fighting laughter.

  “I apologize for not speaking more clearly,” Adelisa continued. “I meant to ask whether you have a uniform that is less formal.”

  Roberts frowned. “I do,” he replied carefully. “But why? Where are we going?”

  Adelisa just smiled.

  30

  M23 Motorway

  Outskirts of Leonathier, Tenasta

  18 Sardua 1066

  “Nashita likes you,” Adelisa said later, as her personnel carriage trundled carefully up the switchbacks near the peak of the Kisetra Mountains. Almost an hour had passed since they had left Leonathier in their wake, and she had yet to explain where they were headed. Instead, she sat cross-legged in the leather seat across from his, a tumbler in one hand, the other resting comfortably across the top of the seat cushion by her side.

  “I’m fond of her myself,” Roberts admitted more quickly than he intended. He wore his gray service shirt without the tie, black trousers, and dress shoes in an effort to seem less formal. While the variant was only moderately more comfortable than his dress uniform, Adelisa had still approved.

  “That’s obvious,” Adelisa replied just as quickly. “May I ask why?”

  Don’t think about Nashita’s neck, Roberts thought. Or the way her hips swell outward from her waist, or the smell of her skin, or…

  Roberts cleared his throat self-consciously. “She’s easy to talk to,” he managed. That it was true was nothing more than a happy accident.

  “It’s her gift,” Adelisa replied, agreeing. “She drew me out the first time I spoke with her. That’s when I knew I wanted her on my staff.”

  “Because she’d keep you honest?” Roberts asked.

  Adelisa straightened, surprised. “Yes,” she admitted. “I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but yes.”

  Roberts grinned. Was that a crack in the armor? he wondered. He decided to press his luck.

  “It must have been hard to convince the palace to bring her on,” Roberts queried, doing his best to keep his tone casual.

  Adelisa’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded. “It was.” It was her turn to lean in. “Why do you think that is?”

  Roberts reclined and he was suddenly back in his office on Hyperion, pouring over the data Malley, Okoro, and the rest of his staff had teased out of Phelspharia’s media. “H’Tanzians are nobody’s favorite people,” he said, then shrugged and smiled. “Except to H’Tanzians.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Adelisa granted, “but why?”

  She’s testing me, Roberts realized. “Because they’re considered untrustworthy,” he answered. “Tenastans—you, for example,” he said, gesturing to her with an open hand, “you’re a very rational, hard-working people. You regulate your economy to keep it stable, and your…” he caught the word “fetishism” in his throat. “... devotion to martial discipline means you put duty above all else.”

  Adelisa’s face was painfully blank. “And H’Tanzians?” she pressed.

  “Complete opposite,” he replied. “Passionate, creative, independent. In your society that’s like…” he frowned. “Does the phrase “bull in a china shop” mean anything to you?”

  “What’s “china”?” Adelisa asked, confused.

  “Plates and a country,” Roberts quipped. He passed over Adelisa’s puzzled stare and moved on. “They disrupt your society,” he continued, “so they’re not welcome.”

  Adelisa nodded, a thin smile on her lips. While he was confident in his answer, Roberts couldn’t shake the impression that he’d somehow failed her test.

  “That’s accurate enough,” she finally replied. “But you’re right. It was quite the scandal.”

  “Then why did you insist on her?” Roberts asked.

  Adelisa sat back, considering. “Because she was the best person for the job,” she replied simply. She took another sip, and the smell of alcohol wafted from Adelisa’s glass. A little early, don’t you think? Roberts thought, though he did his best to hide it.

  “That she is,” Roberts finally replied.

  Adelisa raised one eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she took another sip and looked back out the window.

  It took another thirty minutes before Adelisa’s carriage started down the other side of the peak. At first the vehicle had pitched forward as it began its switchback descent, but within minutes it abruptly slowed, its pace reduced to that of a brisk walk.

  Roberts looked out the window, concerned.

  “Is there an accident?” he asked.

  Adelisa smiled, her face lightly flushed from the nearly empty drink in her hand. “No,” she said. “This is normal for where we’re going.”

  “And where is that, exactly?” Roberts asked, turning back to her. While he trusted his hosts, being this far away from the ship’s boat had started to make him nervous.

  Adelisa looked to one side, a smug smile on her face. “I’m taking you where you wanted to go.”

  “That’s not exactly an—” Roberts began.

  A man on horseback road up to Roberts’ window and stopped, the animal’s tail swishing against the glass.

  Roberts turned, stunned. The horse—a dappled, bulky animal—shuffled, then trundled forward, its hooves clip-clopping against the mountain road’s pavement. Its rider—a bulky, bearded man with a head surrounded by a cumulus cloud of black hair—stared straight ahead, either oblivious or disinterested in the carriage beside him. His red shirt had long since faded with age, and his leather jerkin bore the scuffs of a thousand torments. Sun-faded dark pants were tucked into scuffed knee-high riding boots, while his neck was ringed by no less than two dozen thin gold strands. A moment later he and the horse were gone, obscured by the bulk of the carriage.

  Roberts turned to Adelisa, surprised. “That’s a horse,” he blurted, incredulous.

  Adelisa chuckled and poured herself another glass. “Keep looking,” she said.

  Roberts grinned and looked back out the window.

  A young man and his paramour strolled by. Like the rider, they, too, wore red tops and black bottoms, though both of theirs were in far better condition. The young woman—her hair a stunning mass of braided auburn—snuggled into her partner, her dark skirt swirling in the breeze. A gust of wind blew her skirt’s hem upwards, revealing toned calves, and she slapped the fabric down, laughing. Her partner joined her, the sound echoing through the carriage cabin like muted bells.

  Another couple appeared, then another. Soon, the vehicle was surrounded on both sides. All ages, all ethnicities, all mixes, they strolled past, most smiling but some not, all of them adorned in red tops, dark bottoms, and high boots. Then, barely perceptibly, Roberts heard singing floating up from the road ahead.

  Roberts turned back to Adelisa, his eyes wide. “You’re taking me to a Nadala Somfar festival,” he realized.

  Adelisa grinned. “Took you long enough, Terran.”

  “I’d prefer “Roberts”,” he replied, turning back to the window.

  “I don’t like that,” Adelisa declared, her tongue becoming thick from her beverage. “What’s your other name again?”

  “Jason,” Roberts replied, barely listening. The carriage eased to the right slowly, and the crowd fell behind it. The tall trees of the mountain pass thinned; teasing gl
impses of the valley below revealed between the breaks.

  “Jason,” Adelisa repeated, working the word around her mouth. “That I like.”

  “My mother would be proud,” Roberts replied, half listening. He strained in his seat, his eyes darting for a clear line of sight to the world beyond the forest. Finally, the trees cleared, and he saw their destination.

  The tenali—village in the Tenastan tongue—of Saranatari gleamed in the valley below, its colorful walls, peaked rooftops, and glittering domes resembling a storybook village as assembled by a madman. Every building faced inward towards the hamlet’s spiraling main road, their backs angled against the distant tree line, forming the structures into a massive protective coil. The main road branched out into tiny inlaid stone arteries, the homes, ranches, and farms angled carefully to keep their backs against the surrounding forest. Copper streetlamps sprung from the sides of the pathways like enormous blades of grass, while a mountain stream wound a bubbling path through the city, its flow driving a pair of water wheels near the outskirts. Lastly, glowing at the center of the city, was the orange bloom of a wooden pyre, its flames licking towards the heavens.

  “Holy shit,” Roberts blurted in Standard.

  “Eeho-ole-ee chit,” Adelisa repeated awkwardly. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you shouldn’t repeat that,” Roberts replied absent-mindedly.

  Adelisa laughed, and Roberts turned, surprised. The Kionel’s granddaughter convulsed in her seat, one hand across her stomach, her head thrown back gleefully. When she stopped, she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of her wrists.

  “You have to teach that to me properly,” she said, working to gather her wits.

  “Not sure your grandfather would approve,” Roberts replied. Adelisa chortled again but didn’t press. She leaned forward, her cheeks rosy, and grinned. Roberts realized with a start that it was the first genuine smile he had ever seen her offer.