She hadn't really expected Narita to be waiting for her, when Amara fled her house, her marriage. Narita could have easily found a partner by now, contracted, had children. Amara wasn't stupid; she knew that. But she had hoped that Narita might have forgiven her, at least, in the nine intervening years. That they could be friends. And if she were available they might have a chance—but the way Narita had avoided even meeting her eyes since Amara’s arrival at her door suggested otherwise.
There was a hole in her heart, and her blood was gushing out, pooling around her, a sea of crimson soaking into the red rug. Over-dramatic, over-intense, that was what her husband had always called her. How would he know? Rajiv was too cold and calculating to have a heart.
She fought the urge to just sink to the ancient rug and cry, overwhelmed by a wave of bitterness and despair. Amara wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging into chilled flesh, as if the pain might anchor her here, carry her to a new reality. But she couldn't fall to the floor; she couldn't even stand on this rug forever. For a moment, Amara considered just turning around and walking out the door. She could go anywhere. But then Narita came to the doorway and beckoned. Come here. And Amara went.
Amara hesitated in the doorway, but finally, not knowing what else to do, she came fully into the room and sank down onto a cushion, intensely conscious of her grubby, wet clothes. Low velvet-covered seats in jewel tones surrounded a silvered tea table, and the woman was already pouring tea from a graceful glass vessel. How had she kept the water hot while she was out? But ah, there in the corner, a small fire burned merrily in a hearth, and a large kettle hung above it. Safe enough to leave, for a little while. Clever. The neroli tea scent was strong, and incense smoked in the hearth as well. Amara felt dizzy, flushed. What a long night it had been.
"Chieri, do we really have time for tea?" the security guard asked.
The woman—Chieri—smiled gently. "Gaurav, my dear—if we don't take time for tea now, then when? Her voice was low and melodious; she almost sounded as if she were singing when she spoke. They had engineered even that. Had her parents known what she would become, that they had made her so painfully lovely? Amara blinked, and blinked again, trying to clear away the shining halo from her eyes. Chieri seemed to glow, like a holo, or a goddess.
She was tall, taller than anyone else in the room, and rich with curves barely restrained by her sari. A sari that, by the look of it, cost more than Amara and her husband together had earned in a month. But you almost didn't notice it, because Chieri's body, her face, were so perfect. Inhuman, the kind of beauty that stole your breath. Unfair. Amara's heart was pounding, and sweat beaded on her upper lip. She surreptitiously wiped it away, feeling as crass and young as a schoolgirl. Simultaneously angry and aroused. What was she doing here, in this company?
They would have curved together in the night, arms entwined, lips hot against each other. Narita and Chieri, Chieri and Narita. Amara could see the slick bodies moving in a perfect dance, as if choreographed. Breasts as firm and taut as they'd been ten years before, and would be ten years to come. Not a wrinkle, not a line, and in that moment, Amara wanted to dig her nails into her own face and rip it apart. Her nose was too big, her eyes too small. There were surgeries for that, to make her almost as beautiful as these two. But even if she could have afforded the surgeries, each cut would leave a scar. Invisible to the eye, but she would always know they were there. And her mother would never forgive her.
Chieri poured a cup of tea, gracefully, of course. "We must make time for what small civilities we have left. After all, the world may be ending."
"You don't believe that," Narita snapped. "This war won't touch most of the humans on the planet. They'll just go on with their daily lives, barely thinking about it." She glanced at Amara then, a sharp, cutting glance. Was that comment directed at her? Of course it was. Narita had always said Amara was too self-involved, that she didn't pay enough attention to galactic politics. At twenty, Amara had thought it wiser to find her own center, her straight path, before meddling in the outside world. But somehow, over the years, she had lost her center too. And now the world—the universe—was falling apart.
"You think the people aren't paying attention, Narita? Truly?" Chieri shook her head. "They may want to ignore the war, they may manage to push it to the bottom of their minds. But as long as the fighting continues, it will always be present in their hearts." She laughed, though there was no real humor in the sound. "It's already been a busy night; I expect I and my fellow celebrants will continue busy for the duration."
Narita bit her lip, as if she were unhappy with that thought. Amara felt her chest tighten further, painfully—how close were they? Had it started as work for hire, but then turned into something more? Did Narita love this woman?
Chieri shifted in her chair, leaning forward to hand Narita her tea. Their fingertips touched, and Chieri's hair swung low and loose, brushing their hands in a fall of midnight. How could anyone resist this goddess? The scent of her, dark and musky, was laced with pheromones—that must be why Amara's own thighs were trembling, the space between them wet. That scent made it almost impossible to think. If Chieri held out a hand to Amara, would she go to her too?
Chieri turned to look at Amara then, the first time their eyes had met since Amara's arrival. Chieri smiled, a smile as sweet as starry jasmine. Her beauty pierced Amara like a spear, and in that moment, she could feel her heart tumbling in her chest, falling over itself with eagerness. Chieri's smile offered solace to all Amara's griefs. It would be so easy to slide off her chair, to crawl across the lush rug and lay her weary head on Chieri's knee. A promise of release, of ecstasy. Was this what her father sought, out among the stars?
A pathway to the gods, the holy dancers were said to be. Their song along was a miracle, sought after by kings for generation upon generation. Their dance was renowned across the universe. And if you were lucky enough to be graced with something more… Amara had tried her parents’ paths of discipline, ascetic purity, fidelity. What had they gotten her? Maybe license was a better answer. Chieri's eyes glowed in the firelight, and her skin begged to be touched, caressed. Amara could glory in its silken splendor, drown in a sea of midnight desire.
But then Chieri said, breaking the spell, "And this—oh, I know who this must be. Amara, your lost love."
Narita had told this woman about her? Had told her enough that Chieri could recognize her on a few minutes' acquaintance. Amara's heart thumped, seemingly loud enough for everyone to hear, and she found herself, involuntarily, on her feet. What had Chieri called her? What did it mean, that Narita would speak of her, and of love, to this woman? Amara was poised on the balls of her feet. Ready to flee. Ready to fall.
Narita frowned and shook her head, avoiding Amara's eyes. "This isn't the time." Amara felt her heart crash back into her chest, and then sink, a fallen star, cold as empty space, settling in the pit of her stomach. She didn't belong here. Amara took two steps to the doorway and leaned against the frame. A storm was battering its way inside her body, stealing the strength from her muscles and bones. She would fall down without the wall to prop her up.
The guard, Gaurav, said in a rough voice, "I agree. This is no time to speak of love. Chieri, why did you call me here?"
She spread graceful hands. "I didn't know who else to call. Your partner Kris was always so kind to me, so generous."
"I am not Kris," Gaurav said stiffly.
The prostitute bit her lip. "I know you're not Kris—but I needed someone with power, authority. Someone I could trust." She looked for the first time since their arrival uncertain, almost frightened. "I don't know what to do now; maybe you can help. There was a worshipper here earlier. I was out looking for him when you arrived—he was so intoxicated when he left that I wasn't sure he would make it more than a block away. But he's gone."
Gaurav frowned, "Did you give him something?" Sounding very much like a policeman. If only Amara could apply to him for help. Officer, I seem
to have lost something. My path, my life, my heart.
Chieri frowned. "Drugged devotees are risky for those in my profession; I try to avoid them. Whatever was wrong with him, he arrived that way. I'm not sure what he was on, exactly. Something I haven't seen before, that made him happy, almost giddy. Although under that was a river of grief. He was completely lacking in inhibitions, which I'm guessing is why he made his way here—apparently, I'm the first whore he's ever visited."
Narita winced, and said, "You know I don't like it when you call yourself that?"
Chieri raised a perfect eyebrow. "But my dear, it's accurate, in its own way, as you well know. And it was the word he used."
"Still," Narita said. Amara swallowed down everything she could have said.
Chieri shrugged and went on. "His name was Mikash. I danced for him, shared his bed. Afterwards, when we resting, he said he was responsible for the missile that hit the Warren. At least I think that's what he was saying—I could barely understand him, his speech was so confused. And his accent was thick; he was from the backcountry, one of the distant agricultural districts."
Narita was frowning, leaning forward, but she said nothing. Amara was sure Narita was angry, though she wouldn't show it; that was the rocket that had injured Narita's friends, almost killed their baby.
The lizard-man frowned. "You should have called the campus guard central. If he was responsible for the earlier attack, then we need to mobilize the authorities to find him."
"No, you don't understand," Chieri said, her voice rising. "It was Mikash’s fault; he had set off one missile, too early. Apparently, the men he was with have many, many more, and are just waiting for sunrise. I'm not sure why—I'm not sure he knew either. He was very confused, and I got the impression that he hadn't been told much. But he was sure of one thing—whomever he'd been working for, they were planning to completely wipe out the Warren, and everyone in it."
Narita asked, curiously, “And you believe him? A drugged-out yokel with delusions of grandeur?” Amara agreed that it seemed unlikely; wasn’t it more logical that some backcountry boy had come to the city to visit a devadasi with a year’s salary in his pocket, had gotten scared, bought some drugs to help him through it, and then made up a story that he thought would impress a girl?
Chieri hesitated before speaking, looking around at their faces. Then she seemed to make a decision, and said, quietly, “We don’t usually reveal this; I’m sure you can understand why. But many of the devadasis are mildly empathic. It is useful in our line of work, and when we can, we breed for it. I am stronger than most, and I am fairly sure—whatever is actually going on, Mikash believed he was telling the absolute truth.”
Amara was startled, though when she thought about it, not actually all that surprised. There were telepathic species among the non-humans, and occasional empaths and telepaths even among humans. Though she’d never heard of a community of them, Chieri’s revelation made a certain sense. Narita was silent, although she drew her body back further onto the couch, as if she were pulling away from the devadasi. It might be disturbing, after the fact, to learn that your lover knew you more intimately than you had thought. Amara tried not to feel too happy at that thought. Chieri glanced at Narita, and then turned back to Gaurav.
Gaurav rose to his feet, one hand drifting closer to his holstered weapon. "If this is true, I have to tell my captain; I’m going to need you to come with me."
Chieri bit her lip and then asked, "Can you trust him?"
Gaurav opened his mouth as if to say of course—and then stopped, mouth open. He froze for a long moment there, struggle visible even on his scaly face. And then he admitted, "Maybe not. Captain Raj would take my report—and then might just decide to do nothing about it. He might think it was a convenient way to solve a problem."
"The Devadasi Council believes the government is involved in these attacks," Chieri said quietly. "I cannot put myself into official hands. I didn't know who to trust; that's why I called you. And I will not reveal our empathic abilities—not now, when the Humans First groups are stoking fears about even innocuous modifications. If people thought we could read their minds—well, not only might they stop visiting us out of fear, that fear could easily turn into rage and violence. If you force me to go to to your captain, I will have to deny all of this."
Chieri turned them, spreading her hands wide, including them all in her desperate desire. Amara almost fell off her chair at the force of it, the need to help this poor woman, to do whatever it would take to make her happy. Pheromones? Was she a projective empath too? Or was this just a helpless woman's desperation, on this terrible night?
Chieri pleaded, "Please, all of you—can you do anything? We only have a few hours, and I—I don't know what to do.” She wrapped her arms around herself, swaying slightly. “If this is real, if they succeed—a lot of people in the Warren will die. And that might be just the beginning."
All Amara wanted was to leave the house of this woman, dancer, priestess. Whore. But then the words Chieri had said penetrated. Many more missiles. Completely wipe out the Warren. She didn't know anyone who lived there. But that didn't matter, did it? It would be mass murder, and no matter what Amara thought about aliens—or humods, for that matter—killing them was wrong. That part of the path was clear enough. If her parents were here, she knew what they would do—take charge, organize the community, make a plan. She had seen it so many times growing up, watched her parents mobilize people in response to a crisis—a food shortage, a fire, an illness that swept through the community. She and her sisters had helped—making the calls, explaining the problem, arguing out the details of the plan.
It was a blessed relief, in the midst of everything, to finally know what to do.
She straightened up, away from the supporting doorframe. Amara opened her mouth, for the first time since she'd arrived. The first time in hours, actually, since she'd knocked on Narita's door. Amara opened her mouth and said the words, knowing the price they would exact. "I want to help."
This damnable night wasn't over yet.
Seeking Clarity
Chieri longed to go to her rooftop chambers, to immerse herself in the rituals that would bring her peace. The tea ceremony had helped a little, even in abbreviated form, but tonight she needed more. Needed to kneel on the raw slate, wrap the cords around her arms, tilt her head back and gaze up, through the stained glass star on her ceiling, to the real stars beyond. Acera lo siqueriel, diantha re zarim. Even now, surrounded by people, she felt the chant bubbling in her throat, longing to be released, and it took all her strength to restrain it. Chieri's toes curled into the plush fibers of the rug; her thighs tensed, gripping the silken cushion of her chair. The woman was talking. Chieri had delivered her message, passed along the information. She didn't know what else to do. Rasti re sempervens, acera lo acera re acera everá!
Amara said, "All right. It's almost one now. Sunrise is at—" a pause, while Amara checked the net—"7:12 a.m. So we have six hours." She swallowed hard. "Six hours to stop a bunch of maniacs armed with missiles, who are planning wholesale slaughter. Hells." Amara fell silent, and the silence grew, gathering weight in the dimly-lit room. No one seemed to want to speak next. Chieri couldn’t blame them.
She slipped back in time. Six hours until sunrise on the longest night of her life, the night she kept vigil before taking her final vows, dedicating her life to the gods. Her creche-parents claimed that at thirty, Chieri was too young to make such a commitment, even though they had been training her for this holy work from birth. From before birth. Even now, while she knelt naked in the garden on the night of dedication, her first-mother sat beside her, cross-legged on a wrought iron bench. Karista had dressed in her favorite sari, the silks a riot of shimmering color, as if she meant to tempt her daughter with all the pleasures of the world.
"It's not easy, the life of a devadasi. I know that better than anyone. Some days it's a miracle that our creche-group survives; jealousies rise up, and
threaten to tear us apart. Chieri, kunju, please think. There are so many other, easier paths to follow. You could become a doctor instead," Karista offered. "You have the hands of a surgeon."
Cutting people open, slicing through their flesh and guts? There was a need for such work, Chieri knew, but the thought of it repulsed her; it would be as bad as eating meat. Worse. She kept her silence, not bothering to dignify her mother's suggestion with a response. Strictly speaking, there was no requirement that Chieri maintain silence all night, but she had thought it would add to the ritual, to the holiness of it. Although it was impossible to feel the presence of the gods with her mother here, picking at her.
Maybe that was Karista's goal, to intervene between her daughter and the gods. But why, when it was Karista's own path that Chieri was trying to follow? Did her mother think she wasn't good enough, strong enough? Or was Karista jealous of her daughter, wanting to keep the gods to herself? It hurt, that moment of believing her mother could be so cruel. It had almost been enough to break her resolve. But there was too much at stake for Chieri to give up so easily. She took a deep breath, and held firm.
Gaurav's voice broke the silence, snapping Chieri back to the present. He was frowning. "Why would they wait for sunrise? Why not just set the missiles off now?"
Narita suggested, "Better publicity? Or they're waiting for someone higher up to arrive? Or maybe whatever tech they're using takes time to implement?"
Amara shook her head. "There are too many possibilities, and it doesn't matter anyway. We can't waste time trying to figure out their motives—we need to focus on stopping them. Agreed?"
The Stars Change Page 6