“That does indeed pose difficulties,” DD agreed.
Concentrating on her playing, Orli half listened. She closed her eyes and let the quiet music remind her of cloudy Dremen, her father’s optimism in moving to Corribus, a new hope, followed by disaster . . . and another new chance here on Llaro—then another disaster. Her music grew more somber, and she gradually increased the volume.
Orli opened her eyes when Nikko came to sit by her and listen to her play. She noticed his distant expression, his sad face as he said, “My mother liked music. She played it in our greenhouses—said it made the plants grow better.”
“Did it?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I wish she was here.”
“I knew her, you know. Your parents took me in when the Klikiss rounded us all up in the stockade. She was so kind—and a great shot with a rifle.”
Nikko gave her a wistful smile. “That’s Mom. It’s been such a long time since I saw her.”
Orli continued to play, her fingers moving automatically across the keypad as she told what she remembered about Marla Chan. Nikko talked about his family’s greenhouse asteroids and how his parents had made sure he got away when the Eddies took all the other Roamers prisoner.
“I like your music,” he said, “but I wish you knew some happier songs.”
“So do I.”
112 PRIME DESIGNATE DARO’H
After his father left for Theroc in his ceremonial warliner, the Prime Designate struggled to carry out the functions of the Mage-Imperator. While Jora’h and Nira were healing wounds with the human government, Daro’h would shoulder the rest of the Ildiran Empire. Acting Mage-Imperator.
He was just a figurehead. One day, however, he would become the real Mage-Imperator and draw all the thism to him, just as his father had. At the moment, Daro’h stood on the dais in the skysphere reception hall, feeling lost as he gazed up into the overarching prismatic domes. He could not bring himself to sit in the expansive chrysalis chair. He did not belong there.
Daro’h had just begun to fulfill his other responsibilities, mating with numerous approved females. It should have been a joyous duty for him, but the grave and indefinable danger he sensed throughout the Empire robbed him of nearly all pleasure. And the feeling must be far stronger in his father. Something was definitely wrong in the thism.
Adar Zan’nh had left for Dobro, taking the humans from Cjeldre to join the Burton descendants in building a viable colony. A fresh start. In spite of its dark history, in spite of the threat from Designate Rusa’h and his faeros, Daro’h missed that bleak world.
Osira’h stayed with the Prime Designate in the intimidating chamber, adding to his confidence just by being there. His little half sister had shocked him on Dobro by leading an uprising among the human breeding subjects and forcing him to see the error of what the Ildirans had done for so many generations. Now the girl sat on the polished dais steps, sensing his troubled thoughts. “Don’t let yourself feel so overburdened, Daro’h. I went down into a gas planet to see the hydrogues, and I helped defeat them.” She chuckled. “If I can do that, you can handle the Mage-Imperator’s duties for a few days.”
He sat down by his half sister on the hard, cool stone and put his arm around her. “When you put it that way, how can I disagree?”
As if she had finished what she wanted to say, Osira’h got up. “I have to go back to my brothers and sisters. We’ve discovered a very interesting ability, and we get better every day. Even Kolker doesn’t understand it all.”
“I certainly do not understand it,” Daro’h said. “I am surprised you did not wish to accompany your mother to Theroc.”
“My mother and my father. And, yes, I did want to go with them. We all did. But I needed to be here more. Important things are happening.” Practically skipping, she left the audience chamber by a small doorway behind the chrysalis chair. He would probably never understand his strange sister.
Outside the smoky-glass doorways of the main entrance, Daro’h saw pilgrims, courtiers, and bureaucrats lining up to pass before him, to seek an interview, or just to gaze upon the Mage-Imperator. He could sense their unsettled confusion and worries, and he could not assuage them. If he had indeed been the center of all the thism, their emotions would have seemed like shouts in his mind.
Ildirans were a historically stable people, but all the recent changes had resulted in confusion and fear. Every kith was troubled by the social upheaval Jora’h’s changes had produced, and the thism magnified their uneasiness, creating an ever-worsening feedback cycle. Daro’h did not have the power to stop it; he could only try to show stability for the rest of the Empire.
Before allowing any pilgrims to enter Daro’h’s presence, Yazra’h cautiously circled the broad chamber with her three cats, making sure that she and the threatening felines were prominently visible. She was there to protect the Prime Designate with her life, just as she would have guarded the Mage-Imperator himself. Tossing her long hair, she came back from her prowl. “The Prism Palace is secure, Prime Designate.”
Daro’h nodded with stiff formality. “Thank you.” He drew himself up and looked out at the waiting visitors. “All right. Send the next group forward.”
At her brusque signal, a flood of visitors entered the audience chamber. He greeted them, but his thoughts remained far away. Daro’h recognized Chief Scribe Ko’sh as the stern-faced rememberer walked forward to the dais. Ko’sh was accompanied by a formally dressed lens kithmen with painted markings on his temples and brow and a glittering medallion clutched in his hand. Ko’sh spoke without introduction. “Prime Designate, we will speak to you, though we had hoped to address the Mage-Imperator.”
Daro’h raised his hands. “All of these people came to see the Mage-Imperator. He cannot be here.”
The lens kithman blurted out quickly, “But perhaps this is a good thing. You can speak to your father on our behalf.”
Yazra’h drew back her lips, affronted by any implied criticism of their father. “The Mage-Imperator makes his own decisions,” Daro’h said coldly. “I do not influence him. I follow him.”
“Of course.” Ko’sh bowed. “But many of his recent actions are strange and disturbing.”
The lens kithman placed his palms together and raised them in front of his heart, lifting the prismatic medallion between them. “People are fearful and come to us for guidance. We need to know how to answer them.”
Distraught, the Chief Scribe said, “He tore down walls in the Hall of Rememberers. He asked two men—one of them a human!—to rewrite the Saga of Seven Suns.”
“I know all this. All Ildirans know it.”
The lens kithman did not seem to recognize the Prime Designate’s brittle mood. “And now he has departed from Ildira. No Mage-Imperator has ever gone to visit a human world before. The female green priest caused him to change his mind.”
“She is the mother of Osira’h, who was key to saving us all from the hydrogues.”
Ko’sh looked angry. “A Mage-Imperator should never ask forgiveness!”
“Who are you to say what a Mage-Imperator should do?” Yazra’h broke in.
Daro’h felt a knot in his chest as he considered these rude comments. He had to be strong. He heard mutters among the pilgrims in the background. In truth, the Prime Designate had thought exactly the same thing, but he could not publicly agree with these men. He was especially troubled that they voiced their objections so openly, so he cut them off. “Before you speak further, ask yourselves one important question: Do you trust the Mage-Imperator, your leader?”
The two supplicants were taken aback. “Of course we trust him. He is the Mage-Imperator.”
Daro’h regarded them for a long moment. “Then trust him. Your doubts resonate through the thism and weaken all Ildirans. You are causing harm. You are making us vulnerable. Go now and speak of this no further.” His voice was sharp. When Yazra’h stepped forward and the Isix cats padded down the steps, the two men beat a hasty ret
reat.
As he stood looking at the bright sunlight and waiting for the supplicants, Prime Designate Daro’h wished he had heard some sort of news from Tal O’nh or young Designate Ridek’h, or even the scout ships that Jora’h had dispatched to investigate the cold, dark silence in the Horizon Cluster. They were overdue, and that was most unsettling.
Daro’h rubbed his temples and saw his sister regarding him with appreciation. Yazra’h spoke quietly before the next visitor stepped into hearing range. “That was well said, Prime Designate, though I am not convinced you believe it. Just remember, our father is making necessary changes. He broke tradition when he selected me for his personal guard—which I believe was a wise choice.”
“You are right. But I cannot help but be reminded that our father’s abrupt changes were what sparked the rebellion of Designate Rusa’h in the first place.”
113 HYRILLKA DESIGNATE RIDEK’H
Limping along, the six Solar Navy warliners painstakingly made their way home after their encounter with the faeros at Hyrillka. Ridek’h stared at the stars in front of them, bright sparks on an ebony background. Their processional septa was missing one warliner—just as Ildira was missing one of its seven suns.
All of the soldiers aboard still resonated with the sacrifice of Septar Jen’nh, who had bought the escape of the other warliners without hesitation. Jen’nh had done it for Ridek’h. And so far the young Designate did not know what he had done to deserve it.
Tal O’nh sensed the boy’s inner turmoil. “Our priorities have changed, but you remain the Designate. You are our connection to the Mage-Imperator. Hyrillka is yours, and these remaining ships are yours.”
“Hyrillka is nothing. Everyone there is dead.”
“That is why it is so important for us to get to Ildira—to tell the Mage-Imperator and Adar Zan’nh. They must prepare to fight the faeros.”
After their violent escape from Hyrillka, the six warliners had huddled in empty space, completing emergency repairs, and now they were finally returning to the Prism Palace. Ildira’s six close suns were the brightest stars on their viewing screen. Ridek’h could not wait to be back home. Safe.
As the warliners moved forward, some of the stars grew brighter. The bright dots moved, swirling like glowgems in a windblown fire. They came closer, grew larger, expanded. They were not stars at all.
Tal O’nh immediately sounded the alarm, calling the Solar Navy to their battle stations. “The faeros! The faeros are coming again.”
Ridek’h gasped. “But we used our stardrive engines to escape them. How did they track us?”
The old tal’s faceted blind eye gleamed in the ever-brightening glare from the viewscreens. “They did not need to track us. Rusa’h would have known we intended to come here. To Ildira.”
“How can we fight them? Our weapons were not effective before.”
“We run. Full acceleration. All ships—race for home!”
The acceleration drove Ridek’h back against the command rail. But the gigantic fireballs closed in with remarkable speed from all directions, springing a trap around the warliners. The faeros changed something all around them. The boy Designate suddenly felt as if he had stepped into an abyss. The always comforting security net of thism vanished as the fiery elementals cut him off; Rusa’h and the faeros had somehow isolated every Ildiran aboard the six ships. Every soldier in the command nucleus groaned in dismay. Even Tal O’nh reeled. Everyone felt lost and disoriented. They were completely isolated from the thought network that joined all Ildirans.
Without orders, one of the six warliners turned and plunged headlong into the wall of faeros, trying to break away. But the ornate battleship could not survive the incredible heat. The warliner melted, broke apart, its hull sloughing off into droplets of molten metal moments before the ekti tanks exploded.
With the death of the warliner, the fireballs seemed to grow brighter, like a fire blazing after fresh wood has been added. Ridek’h reeled at the thought of all the lost lives but did not feel the expected stabbing pain in the thism. An entire crew dead—and he was cut off! The faeros had plucked the hapless Ildirans from the soul-threads and taken those lives for themselves.
“Hull temperature rising,” announced the sensor chief.
The flames roared closer, forcing the trapped ships to come to a halt. A blazing ellipsoid loomed in front of the warliner, as if it somehow knew the boy Designate was aboard.
O’nh faced the dimmed screen, as defiant as he could manage. All the filters had been raised, blocking out most of the intense light. Ridek’h forced himself not to act terrified.
The rippling, gaseous outer skin of the faeros ship shimmered and boiled like a cauldron. To his horror, Ridek’h saw that the discolored blotches and convection cells were more than just differing temperatures. Each superheated bubble that rose to the surface wore a face, the screaming face of a lost and tortured soul that the faeros had consumed. Ridek’h bit back an outcry.
Here were the bright life sparks of the scientific team that had been killed on Hyrillka; here, too, must be former Designate Udru’h, whom the faeros had annihilated on Dobro. Had the fiery entities swallowed the soulfires of the Solar Navy crew they had just destroyed? The faeros must be ravenous.
Watching the boiling, screaming faces manifest themselves on the fireballs, Ridek’h knew there were more, many more Ildirans the faeros had already killed. How many planets had they scorched across the Horizon Cluster? If, each time, the fiery beings cut their victims off from the thism, then the Mage-Imperator would not realize the full extent of the spreading disaster.
Rusa’h’s booming voice tore through the comm system. “The faeros need your soulfires. I have dampened their hunger and helped their numbers to grow by first quenching many lives in my former thism web. Now I have grown strong enough to rip Ildiran soulfires free wherever I find them. Even yours.”
The soldiers in the command nucleus cried out, then yelled in pain. Their flesh glowed, their bones became incandescent, and with a final cry, the crew began to erupt into purifying flames.
But Ridek’h and the old tal remained untouched. “Stop! Stop this!” the boy shouted. But the fire kept growing. More crewmen vanished in a flash of heat, but the young Designate remained unharmed, as if Rusa’h did not intend to touch him. He turned to see crewmembers ignite at every station. The same thing must be happening on every warliner. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need to,” Rusa’h’s voice boomed back. The surrounding fireballs throbbed, drinking in the liberated soulfires.
Tal O’nh stood enraged but helpless at the command rail as all of his soldiers spontaneously burst into flame. The control panels melted and became inoperable. With final screams, the last crewmen disappeared into foul-smelling smoke.
And when he seemed sated, the faeros incarnate spoke again, pounding his words in the boy’s head and sizzling across the now-unmonitored communications systems. “You, Ridek’h—you I will leave untouched. I want you to tell my corrupt brother Jora’h. I want him to know exactly what he will soon face. Not even the Ildiran Empire can stop me. I will come back for you, when you are ready.”
Furious yet impotent, Tal O’nh railed at the screen, barely discerning the face of the mad Designate from the dazzling fire. “The Solar Navy will destroy you! We defeated the hydrogues, and we will do the same to the faeros.”
Rusa’h was unimpressed. “Let the sight of us be your last and brightest memory.”
A flare of light erupted directly in front of O’nh’s face, a searing blast that took his remaining eye, reflected and flared inside the crystalline prosthetic in his other socket. O’nh reeled backward, his face blistered and burned. A low moan emerged from his throat.
Alone in the command nucleus, Ridek’h screamed. Each of the warliners had burned out, and the crews on all of the ships were dead. Only his mentor remained, and now O’nh was blinded.
At last, the faeros fireballs spread apart, turned, and streak
ed away. Ridek’h and O’nh were left to drift, sightless and helpless in the emptiness.
114 NIRA
Theroc was as wonderful as she remembered, the worldtrees as glorious, the forest as mysterious and remarkable. The nine verdani battleships in orbit were breathtaking as they parted to allow the Mage-Imperator’s ceremonial warliner to pass through. Jora’h had brought her home at last!
The warliner occupied the entire meadow the Roamer engineers had cleared as a landing area for large ships. When she stepped out onto the familiar ground again, Nira felt reborn. The moment Theron sunlight touched her green skin, the troubles in the Spiral Arm vanished from her mind. The trees! The verdant smell in the air! She wept.
She looked up to see boughs overhead and jewel-winged condorflies buzzing about. “Oh, I should have brought Osira’h,” she said longingly, wiping tears from her cheeks. “All of my children.”
Jora’h took her hand. “You will. This place is part of them as well. They deserve to see it for themselves.”
Nira had offered to be his spokesperson, an ambassador of sorts, but the Mage-Imperator had decided to make his own peace with the King. She hoped the two leaders could build bridges between their races again, in spite of what had happened on Dobro.
Servant kithmen rushed out of the warliner to prepare the way as Confederation delegates—colorfully dressed Roamers, near-naked green priests, and ornately garbed Theron officials—arrived to greet them. Ildiran bureaucrats and protocol officers with the Mage-Imperator were uneasy with the alien surroundings, yet obviously impressed by the dramatic trees.
Without any particular fanfare, King Peter and a very pregnant Queen Estarra emerged from their group of officials to stand before the Ildiran leader. “Estarra and I will never forget our visit to your Prism Palace. Thank you for returning the honor—though our tree city cannot compare with Mijistra.”
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