by A. L. Bruno
“Want to get out there?” she asked, her eyebrows twitching upwards.
Roberts knew that he should have expressed polite caution, or even tactfully declined, but he just didn’t care. Instead, he grabbed at the door handle.
“Stop this thing,” he demanded.
Adelisa laughed, then yelled for the driver to stop.
31
Saranatari, Teneasta
18 Sardua 1066
11:23
They walked the remaining three kilometers to the tenali, Jagrav disembarking from his own heavier vehicle to shadow them from a careful distance. Roberts nodded towards the Deputy Commandant, but the moment Jagrav met his eyes he looked away.
What the hell has got into him? Roberts wondered.
A cheer rose from the crowd near the tenali’s center and Roberts turned back to soak in the festival.
Adelisa was recognized immediately, of course, but a lifetime of dealing with the public made managing the crowd an easy task. She smiled, she waved, and she even embraced them—though this was reserved largely for the elderly and children. Her eyes alighting on each stranger as if she’d stumbled across a long-lost friend. If the locals recognized the artifice, they didn’t show it. Instead, they grinned, they bowed, and even seemed to puff up with pride seeing her among them. They love her, Roberts realized. Not out of duty, not out of social order, but genuinely.
... and Commodore Boucher stepped back behind the Ready Room’s podium and stared out at the pilots before him, his grin magnetic. “We’re just here to keep these people safe,” Boucher said, leaning in as if he was speaking to each of them personally. Then Boucher’s smile vanished. “But we must win this battle, and this action is our first step. Am I clear?”
The pilots around him cheered, and sweet Sunder looked over at Roberts, utterly starstruck. Roberts just grinned, proud to put himself in harm’s way in the name of the Union of Star Systems.
Roberts blinked, surprised at the memory, then looked away. Adelisa noticed the shift in his mood and eased over to him.
“Is it too much for you?” she asked, teasing.
Roberts looked across the crowd.
They wiped out the colony's hospital in the first barrage, boiling it to ash in mere minutes. Then came the troops, and the screaming, and the blood, and Roberts just pulled his antigrav gurney behind him, his patient’s muffled screams crawling up his spine. Then the final blast came and there was nothing but darkness and pain.
“Are you all right?” Adelisa asked. Her joy had faded, replaced by genuine concern.
Roberts just smiled. “I’ll be fine,” he answered. “Come on, let’s keep going.”
Adelisa nodded, unconvinced, but turned and led the way towards the tenali’s center. Roberts followed, his suddenly pounding heart slowing with each step.
The walk down became easier as soon as the crowd realized that Roberts was with Adelisa. They offered them a wide berth, smiling beatifically at Adelisa, but glancing suspiciously in his direction. Tenastans loved their Adishta, Roberts realized, but they didn’t care at all for a Terran in their midst.
For his part, Roberts did not mind the bow wave of empty space he was afforded. Clearer sightlines let him admire the structures of the tenali more closely. Each building’s lines were deceivingly simple. Unlike the ostentatious might of Leonathier, the architecture here was all clean edges and simple sweeps. That was not to say they were plain—far from it. Where the designers had joined two walls together there were patterns that looked as if they had been spun out of the wood itself to make the union seem both beautiful and strong. Everything from the window frames to the rain gutters had been inlaid, beveled, or otherwise worked to look like it was somehow more than its function. Roberts couldn’t decide if it was the pale wood of the walls, the dark tiles of the rooftops, or the rounded funnels of the chimneys that made him smile. In the end, it didn’t matter. All he knew was that he liked what he saw.
Adelisa strode up to his side and unceremoniously shoved a plastic cup into his hands.
“What’s this?” Roberts asked. He sniffed the liquid and gagged at the waft of strong spirits.
“Don’t do that!” Adelisa said, horrified.
Roberts recoiled. “Did I just insult some liquor god?”
“No,” Adelisa chuckled. “It’s rude.”
Roberts blinked, chastened, then quickly downed a sip. The liquid burned immediately, and he turned away, coughing.
“That’s rude, too!” Adelisa laughed at him, then playfully shoved his shoulder.
Roberts didn’t care. His lips tingled and the back of his throat was numb. “What is that?”
“Mewtla,” Adelisa replied. “And it’s my favorite.” She reached out and moved his chin to face her. “Don’t speak ill of it. You’ve been warned.”
Adelisa wasn’t joking.
“Got it,” Roberts finally managed, raising the cup as if in salute.
“Good,” Adelisa replied. Her poise returned, even if her cheeks burned an alcohol-fueled red. “We have some stops to make first, but after that, the time is yours.”
Roberts looked out at the masses of people entering the spiraling streets of the tenali in amazement. More horses were there, as were gray-clad young women in a formation, men in what looked to be dark leather armor, and more. The smell of spices he couldn’t quite identify lingered in the air, while the distant beat of drums rattled along the cobblestone streets.
“Thank you,” he said.
Adelisa looked at him bemusedly. “You’re welcome,” she replied simply. She moved forward, her bearing that of the Kionel’s Adishta. “Come on, then,” she said. “We have places to be.”
“Where?” Roberts asked.
Adelisa just spun around to face him, her face lit by an effervescent grin.
Their first stop was the pyre.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the center of the tenali. The buildings of the rounded piazza huddled over the cobblestoned space like elegantly crafted guardians, while at the center the carefully tended pyre thrust flames skyward. A line of revelers waited there, baskets in their hands, while a crowd formed a semi-circle around them in turn, watching as the other villagers awaited their chance to approach the blaze.
That doesn’t look promising, Roberts thought.
The crowd caught sight of Adelisa and roared with delight. She offered them a warm smile and waved appreciatively.
And you insulted her, Roberts thought, watching as the revelers stared at her devotedly. Good job.
“Terran!” a voice hissed out from the crowd.
The crowd’s cheer faded almost as suddenly as it had begun. Within moments the throng’s voice lowered to that of a whisper.
Roberts tried not to look at the gathering, but curiosity got the better of him. The assemblage—a motley collection of all ages, genders, and societal backgrounds—stared down at him, aghast. Those closest to him backed away nervously, while other, more robust young men shot him hate-filled glares. Despite himself, Roberts was glad to spot Jagrav in his peripheral vision, the guardsman ready to respond should the need arise.
“Just follow me,” Adelisa said between teeth affixed in a smile.
“Right behind you,” Roberts replied.
Adelisa smiled at him, then moved to the pyre—those in line respectfully clearing a path for her. She stopped after a few steps, kneeling to gather acorns, bits of grass, and sticks wherever she saw them.
“Do as I do,” she instructed as she turned to him, her tone deliberately upbeat despite the frantic urging in her eyes.
Roberts stepped forward, but Adelisa held up a hand to warn him back.
“One at a time,” she instructed.
A chuckle escaped the crowd surrounding them, and Roberts made a point to force a smile. If she’s making the effort, he thought, so will I.
Adelisa laughed—nervously, Roberts realized—and pointed to a bit of grass growing up between the cobblestones. “There,” she said, �
�pick that.”
Roberts fought the urge to shrug, then walked over to the grass, leaned down, and pulled it up from between the cobblestones. When he straightened, he caught a glimpse of an old man glaring down at him, his red shirt so tattered and faded that its cloth was a pale shade of pink.
Roberts forced a smile and offered a friendly wave to the old man.
The old man sneered, spit to his side, then turned and hobbled away.
Really winning their hearts and minds, Roberts groused, his own smile evaporating.
Adelisa came to his side, her cupped hands filled with twigs, grass and acorns.
“Follow me to the fire,” she said, her smile never wavering. “When you get there, say this,” she instructed. She cleared her throat quietly, her gaze fixed on his, “’I offer this as thanks to all you have provided, and in promise to produce all that I can in return.’”
Roberts blinked, confused. “Who do I say that to?” he asked.
“The fire,” she replied, as if he had asked what purpose pants served.
How the hell was I supposed to know that? Roberts thought. “Is this part of the Nadala Somfar?” Roberts asked, confused.
Adelisa turned back to him, her expression incredulous. “Yes,” she hissed. She turned away, composed herself, and took three measured steps towards the pyre. There she stopped, knelt on one knee, and flung one clump of detritus into the flames.
“I offer this as thanks to all you have provided…” Adelisa started.
“I offer this as thanks to all you have provided…” the crowd echoed around them.
Roberts glanced around. The crowd had bent their heads, many with their eyes closed. If he hadn’t known better—and at this point he doubted that he did—Roberts would have thought that they were in prayer.
Adelisa threw the rest of the material she had in her hands into the flames, then bowed.
“… and in promise to produce all that I can in return.”
“… and in promise to produce all that I can in return,” the crowd finished after her.
Adelisa stood, took one step back, then turned to Roberts, gesturing towards the fire.
Here we go, Roberts thought. He took three quick steps towards the flames, knelt, and bowed his head. Smoke stung his eyes, but he maintained his composure.
“One handful,” Adelisa whispered to him, “into the fire.”
Roberts grabbed a few pieces of grass, then tossed them into the flames.
“I offer this as thanks—” Adelisa whispered at him.
“I offer this as thanks to all you have provided...” Roberts said, interrupting her.
The crowd did not echo his words.
What did you expect? Roberts thought. He threw the rest of the detritus into the flames.
“… and in promise to produce all that I can in return,” he finished. He stood, took one step back and performed a crisp about-face.
Roberts looked up at the crowd. They stared back at him like he was a poisonous snake.
Baby steps, Roberts reminded himself. This has to be done slowly.
Adelisa stepped next to him. “That—” she started, then stopped. “That was surprising,” she finally finished.
Roberts turned to her. Adelisa stared at him, an inquisitive expression on her face.
“Thanks,” Roberts replied, smiling. “Is that it?”
Adelisa just chuckled.
32
Saranatari, Tenasta
18 Sardua 1066
12:18
“Where did they all come from?” Roberts shouted minutes after he and Adelisa left the Nadala Somfar pyre. Adelisa rushed him towards their next destination, whatever that was, and led him deeper into the festival.
“Everywhere,” Adelisa shouted, a grin affixed to her face. She shot a joyous glance back at Roberts, and he realized that he was seeing her genuinely happy for the first time.
The streets seethed with people. Most were tenaliyheren—“country folk” was the closest translation Roberts could muster—and sported the unmistakable look of the road on their mud-covered boots and trail-dusted cloaks. Internal combustion vehicles, bicycles, and horses were stored and harnessed wherever they could be tucked away along the spiraling tenali road. Some vehicles and animals jutted into the thoroughfare, but no one seemed to mind. The crowd moved from each small stand erected in front of its corresponding home to another, buying trinkets, food, and drink with utter abandon.
“Is it like this everywhere?” Roberts yelled to Adelisa.
“Mostly,” Adelisa replied, pausing only to return a respectful nod offered her way. She smiled ear-to-ear, her eyes shining, and for the briefest of moments Roberts forgot about the Kionel, the base, or even the Motinai. All he could do was marvel that he was here, in this place, seeing things no other person outside of this world had ever witnessed.
“They have one of the oldest ulaid in existence here,” Adelisa continued. “People come here just to pay their respects to it.”
Roberts frowned. “Ulaid?” he yelled. “What’s an ‘ulaid’?”
Adelisa didn’t hear him. Instead, she backed up, then moved him towards the sides of the spiraling street, her forearm pushing him backwards with surprising force. When she stopped, she pointed in the direction in which they had been walking.
A collection of young women, all clad in simple gray dresses, hair bound severely behind their heads, walked in a three-column formation. Each held an elaborately carved wooden sword to her chest, chanting softly in the spring air.
“Those are the local acolytes,” Adelisa explained, bowing her head respectfully. She elbowed Roberts’ side. “Lower your eyes.”
“All you had to do was ask,” Roberts muttered, following her lead. The girls moved past, their chanting rising into a multi-harmony hymn. He strained to understand the words but couldn’t quite make them out.
“What do they do?” Roberts asked.
Adelisa didn’t get a chance to answer.
Horns positioned in hidden positions around the tenali blasted across the cobblestones, then abruptly stopped. Another blast followed, then another, and finally, in response to some unseen trigger, music exploded around them. Whether it was a choir of children barely able to stand, an older man with a stunning baritone, or the gray-clad girls of the ulaid, music imbued every centimeter of the village. It didn’t matter that the tunes were all different. In the dissonance Roberts heard the common voice of the Phelspharian people, and he liked it.
The girls of the ulaid passed, and Adelisa stepped forward, but not before shooting him a gleeful “follow me!” look.
The crowd parted for Adelisa, but the increasing numbers of people made the gaps between them shrink by the second. Roberts pressed on, trying to remain polite, but not wanting to lose sight of his guide.
“What’s an ulaid?” Roberts asked again, yelling with more force.
“Be patient!” Adelisa shouted, laughing. “We’re almost there.”
“Where is there?” Roberts asked, frustrated. He staggered forward, turned the corner, and suddenly the dome of the ulaid glittered in front of him.
The ulaid was a temple, of that Roberts was sure. Most tellingly, its bullet-like domed top was an eerie echo of the Kionel’s palace. Adelisa’s words about its age popped to mind and he whistled, impressed. The palace is patterned after this, he realized. Even the large square in front of its impressive wooden archways reminded him of the parade grounds, down to the red brick of the surrounding buildings. How the hell did we miss that?
Roberts spotted an enormous flag flickering above the crowd’s heads and he stopped in his tracks, stunned.
Flags (or were they banners?) fluttered in the breeze at every corner of the ulaid’s square. To his left was a red banner, a proud wolf rendered all in black; to the other side a blue one, its surface adorned with a diving yellow hawk. A few steps forward revealed yet another, this one a black panther crouched on a green field. While the last contained a red bull straining
against an unseen yoke on a wheaten background. It was only when a stout woman with long saffron skirts brushed past Roberts that he realized that the banners and the clothing of the revelers matched.
“These are the ancient houses!” Roberts yelled, delighted. “Damn, I wish my people could see this!”
Adelisa ignored him. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to see something over the crowd’s heads. She stiffened suddenly and grabbed his arm. “Come on!”
“Where?” Roberts asked. Adelisa didn’t answer. She just yanked his arm as if he hadn’t heard her and pulled him behind her.
Roberts followed; his eyes locked on Adelisa’s back like a child tracking its mother. They wove a meandering path through the crowd, past burning sausage racks and juggling children. It was only when they had nearly stopped at the front of the domed structure of the ulaid that he realized that the music had stopped.
“There!” Adelisa shouted. She pointed towards the ulaid’s dome.
“I don’t see anything,” Roberts yelled in reply and immediately regretted it. His voice carried in the sudden hush, and the crowd around him extended a collective glare.
Suddenly Roberts spotted what Adelisa pointed towards—and his jaw dropped.
The banner was larger than any of the others in the tenali, towering well above the crowd like the broad face of a square-rigged sail. Its background depicted the inky black of space, interrupted by nine raised stars embroidered onto its surface. An intricate geometric pattern wound around its outer borders, and at its center a proud lion stared down at the crowd, its stately figure woven from burnished gold.
“That’s—” Roberts started, stunned. “That’s the Kionel’s ancient standard!” He whispered the words, a chill crawling across his skin.
Adelisa turned to him, impressed. “You have been paying attention.”
“But it’s a relic!” Roberts said, looking back at Adelisa, horrified. “Why is it out here, in this crowd?”
Adelisa looked back at him as if he were mad. “Where else would it be?” she asked.