by R. C. Lewis
“Kalkig, I told you to—what are you doing? Put her down!”
I’m released, collapsing to a heap on the ground again, and find the source of the new voice illuminated by the light from the stranger’s shoulder. Another person has arrived. This one is an actual person, normal-looking and everything. Well, normal enough to tell he’s around my age. His skin is close to the same sienna shade of my own, if a bit darker, and he has the same dark hair, but his features aren’t anything like mine. Sharper, more angular, including the shape of his eyes. His voice was that way, too, with an accent that somehow made the words themselves sharper. Then I can’t see him as well, because he crouches at my side, blocking the light from his companion.
“You just came out?” he asks.
I nod. It has to be pretty obvious.
“Not feeling too great then, eh? That’ll pass. I’m Tiav. What’s your name?”
I think that’s the first time in my life anyone’s asked me my name. Even if I could talk, the newness of it might have held me speechless. When I don’t answer, his eyes pass over me from head to toe, then return to study my face. His mouth sets in a flat line. “You’re from one of the Points, aren’t you?”
Another nod. If he knows what the Points are, this isn’t so bad.
The strange one makes a noise, but Tiav ignores him. “Which one?”
Um, problem. That’s not a question I can answer with a nod or shake of my head.
My silence doesn’t sit well with him. “Maybe my friend Kalkig was on the right track.”
“It doesn’t matter which she’s from,” Kalkig says. At least, I think he does. His voice is made for the guttural language he used earlier. “We have to send her back, Tiav—she shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here.”
No, I can’t go back, not without helping my brothers, not back under Minali’s control, which will be even tighter with my attempted escape, knowing what she’s willing to do to carry out her plan. The lives she’s willing to cut down. I shake my head emphatically, eyes wide.
“Are you in trouble back there?” asks Tiav. Nod. “Then you need to tell us the truth.”
I don’t know how to explain. I shake my head and point to my throat. The boy’s expression eases, less on guard.
“You can’t speak? Okay, maybe this, then.” He pulls a flat-screened device from his pocket—it looks like one of our com-tablets, but different—taps a few commands on its surface, and sets it on the ground between us.
An image of light floats in midair. It’s a grid, five-by-ten, filled with symbols I’ve never seen before. Not like icons. They’re something else.
They still have written language here. We phased it out centuries ago. Only certain archivists on Tarix know how to decipher it anymore. I certainly don’t.
Kalkig makes a noise that sounds like gargling his own teeth but might be laughter. “Not just a Pointed heathen, but uneducated, too.”
I don’t know what a “heathen” is, and I might be the least intelligent person in Jantzen family history, but I take exception to being called uneducated by an overgrown lion-monkey. We don’t need those symbols of theirs in the Points. Enough strength has returned that I can sit up, but before I can go at Kalkig, Tiav puts a hand on my shoulder.
He does it so casually, reaffirming he has no idea who I am. The shock of it holds me in place.
“Kal, if you’re not going to help, go back to the streamer. Let’s try something else.” He taps at the device again, and the hovering image changes. It’s the Seven Points’ icon, but not quite. The web is more intricate, almost like lace, and a star is in the place of the fire at the top. “Which one is your home?”
I point to the circle just right of the bottom.
“Sampati? That’s a start. Until I can teach you enough writing to tell me your name, I’ll call you Sam, all right?”
There are worse things to be called, so I nod. Then I point to the icon again, gesture to everything surrounding us, and raise my eyebrows.
“Where is this? You’re on Ferinne. Right here.” He points to the star at the top of the icon.
Ferri. The “Eighth Point” that isn’t a Point. Or isn’t supposed to be. That’s supposed to be death. Going through the portal felt enough like dying, and maybe Kalkig is one of the demon servants of the Wraith.
The Wraith that isn’t supposed to be real.
Panic seeps into me again. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m dead, and maybe my brothers are, too. Except I like to think an afterlife wouldn’t be this bizarre. An afterlife would have my parents waiting for me.
I know I look ridiculous, but I mime slashing my throat and slumping over dead with my tongue hanging out. Tiav chuckles—a sound that strangely dulls my terror, bringing comfort to the madness surrounding me.
“Sorry, you lost me there, Sam.”
Okay. I sit up again and grab his wrist, feeling for a pulse. Steady and strong. Then I check my own. The same, if a little elevated.
“Ah, got it. Yes, you’re alive, I promise. Kalkig and I aren’t delusions or hallucinations or dreams, either. At least, I’m pretty sure we’re not.”
Kalkig just snorts.
“We should get you back to Podra, get some rest. We’ll worry about getting answers in the morning.” Tiav’s eyes dart to the portal but come back to me just as quickly, like he didn’t want to be caught looking. “Can you stand?”
I don’t actually know until I try. My legs hold me up, just barely. They still tremble and ache. Tiav notices and lightly supports me with a hand on my waist. The contact makes me shiver. I’m used to keeping a constant breath of fresh air between myself and strangers. Kalkig goes ahead of us. I distract myself by trying to think of the right word for the arms-and-legs way he walks. Amble? Lope? I’m not sure.
We crest the first hill only to climb a higher one beyond. Kalkig has no trouble with the hike, but it’s a little much for my recently reassembled body.
“Sorry,” Tiav says. “The road’s just on the other side. Can you make it?”
Without bothering to nod, I walk faster, slipping away from his hand. And promptly trip. The potential media-cast plays out in my head:
Liddi Jantzen face-planted on a Ferinne hill today, without the excuse of Igara heels. She’s just that uncoordinated. Shame about the grass stains. Those were such nice pants.
I’m not that uncoordinated. Besides portals being the worst mode of transport ever, adjusting to another planet’s gravity always takes time. But none of that changes the result of me up close and personal with the grass.
Tiav doesn’t laugh. He just helps me up and we keep walking.
After the second hill, the going is easier, and it’s not much farther to the road. It’s not like any road I’ve ever seen, and the “streamer,” as Tiav called it, isn’t like any hovercar. The body is similar enough, and it does float a foot or so off the ground, but with no hover-struts. Instead, there’s a sparkling energy field running along the bottom of the vehicle, connecting to the road. A streamer. Kalkig’s already inside when we get there. One of the seats has been adjusted to accommodate his strange physiology.
So many questions, all making my inability to speak more maddening than it already was. I wonder if I can get one across to Tiav. I point to Kalkig and scrunch my eyebrows into the most questioning expression I can manage.
“Handsome devil, isn’t he?” Tiav says. My stomach drops at the word devil, so close to demon—the tortured creatures serving the Wraith in the Abyss. Supposedly. Except I still don’t believe that. “Kal is an Agnac.”
Kalkig cuts in with an urgent series of grunts. Tiav doesn’t seem bothered.
“She’s here. She’s seen you. And speaking Agnacki isn’t going to convince her you’re a genetic anomaly.”
What other option is there? I settle into one of the other seats and keep question-face going. Tiav catches it, but shakes his head.
“Explaining that will take some time. And seeing will help. Let’s get back to town first.�
��
I watch his hands as he taps controls on a touchscreen. Pretty simple. A map displaying various icons. The one nearest us must be the portal. Tiav selects a larger one farther away.
The acceleration should squash us all to goo on the back end of the vehicle, but it doesn’t, despite the way the world blurs by. It feels like a leisurely hovercar ride. It’s not. My equilibrium can’t take the disconnect, and I close my eyes in a desperate effort not to throw up. A tiny deceleration and change in the vehicle’s vibrations signal the end of the brief ride. I open my eyes to find Kalkig has already gotten out. The few minutes sitting were enough for my aching body to cramp up, so Tiav helps me, and I get my first look at Ferinne’s version of a town.
Podra’s nowhere near the size and scale of Pinnacle, but it’s nothing like the country estate, either. Most of the buildings are between five and eight stories tall. Some plain and boxy, some elaborate with decorative details. One nearby has intricate scrollwork carved into the corners, reminding me of my father’s old desk. Some buildings are dark, some lit up. Almost all have colorful signs with those symbols adorning them. The names of various establishments within the building, I’m sure. Some have iconlike pictures, too, but only a few give me clues. One is definitely a restaurant, but I have a hard time believing another has anything to do with selling birds of prey.
My eyes lower to street level, and I scarcely notice the other “streamer” cars coming and going in a blur. The people—using the word people loosely—walking on either side of the street demand my attention….
People like Kalkig—Agnac, Tiav called them—move along on their strange limbs. They’re all larger than Kalkig, so maybe he’s young, and many of them don’t use their arms at all while walking.
But there are other kinds. People who are definitely adults, but all smaller than I am, fine-featured and delicate and beautiful. Others so large and muscular, they’d make Reb’s laserball team forfeit on sight, all of them bald with large eyes in strange colors. Sprinkled among them, people who resemble Tiav or me. Normal people.
None of them look at me. Most of them look at Tiav.
A woozy feeling swims from my stomach to my head. I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Tiav takes my arm to steady me and keeps his voice low. “So, it’s true. The Points haven’t met any aliens yet.”
I shake my head. No, we definitely have not.
Tiav takes me to the eighth floor of a particular building. Kalkig comes along, glaring at me the entire time, which I try to ignore. It’s more difficult than I expect. I’m used to being stared at. I’m not used to the temptation to stare right back.
The elevator lets us out into a sitting room. No people, thank the Sent—I catch myself. If “Ferri” is real in the form of Ferinne, there’s no telling what roots the Sentinel or Wraith may have here. Regardless, I’m not sure I’m ready for an up-close alien encounter beyond Kalkig. Comfortable couches fill the space, some of them clearly designed for different anatomies, and a large window overlooks the town. Tiav walks past all that to a door that opens on his approach, then through a small outer room—also empty—and into a larger one. Not empty.
A woman sits on a low couch, studying symbols being projected into the air from another com-tablet. She’s tall, with skin a bit darker than Tiav’s, but the same angular features. A necklace with a crystal pendant catches my eye, but I don’t get a good look at it. She looks up when we come in, and any surprise she feels at seeing me is summed up in a minute raising of an eyebrow. I’m pretty sure this woman hasn’t doubted herself a day in her life. Every inch of her screams self-assured and calm.
“This is what you found?”
“Yes, Mother. She came through…from Sampati.”
That gets a bigger reaction from her as she turns off the projection. “Keep talking, Tiav’elo.”
He sums up the little he knows—that I can’t speak so he’s calling me Sam, that I can’t read or write, and that there seems to be a danger in me going back.
“Is that true?” she says to me. “You face danger in your home?”
Home makes me think of my brothers, and an aching anxiety surges through me. There’s no danger from them—the danger is that without them, I have no home to return to. This woman’s question isn’t as simple as it sounds, but a nod is all I can give.
“This is complicated. I will inform the senior council. Do not discuss it with anyone else for now. You, too, Kalkig,” she adds sternly. I’m surprised to see the Agnac duck his head, acquiescing with no argument. “Tiav’elo, this is your responsibility. What do you suggest?”
Tiav’s shoulders straighten at her words. “Maybe we can teach her to write,” he says. “At least enough to explain.”
I nod vigorously. That’s exactly what I need. My mind keeps returning to the portal in the hills, the crystal spires. If these people know enough about portals to mark and control them, I need to get that knowledge and use it to free my brothers from the conduits. Like Durant always says, if someone knows something you don’t, don’t be proud—just get learning, quick.
“A reasonable plan,” the woman agrees before turning to me again. “You look like you could use some rest first. Show her to one of the guest rooms, Tiav’elo. Kalkig, you should be getting home.”
I follow the other two out. Kalkig says something in his own language, but Tiav cuts him off with a clap on his shoulder.
“Don’t start, Kal. I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
The response is a grunt and something resembling a shrug. While the Agnac returns to the elevator, Tiav leads me down a hall branching off from the sitting room. We pass by a kitchen and dining room, and go by a number of closed doors. This must be some kind of penthouse apartment, taking up the entire floor. Finally, he opens a door at the end of the hallway and ushers me through.
As bedrooms go, it’s nice but nothing fancy. A bed, a small desk, a dresser, two paintings on the walls, and a window looking out on the city. Everything is done in neutral colors, neither especially feminine nor masculine, old nor young. There’s a rustic quality to it, lacking the ever-present sheen of technology we have back home. The desk might have a computer interface built into its surface, but I can’t tell for sure.
“Do you need anything?” Tiav asks.
I slide my pack off my shoulders and set it on the bed. I packed enough in there for a couple of days, so I give him a no. Then I point back the way we came and tilt my head, hoping he’ll get the question.
“Kalkig?”
No, that’s not it. I wait for him to try again.
“My mother? Her name’s Shiin’alo, and she’s an Aelo—well, we both are, but she’s the primary Aelo of Ferinne. But…that probably doesn’t answer anything, does it? I have more questions than I can count, so I can only imagine how you feel. We’ll get started with writing tomorrow. Then maybe everything will make more sense.”
Considering I was taught that Ferri is an afterlife ruled by two powerful beings that no one really believes in, I don’t have high hopes for anything making sense.
Madness fills my dreams, the cell-tearing chaos of the portal. My brothers beg me to hold on tighter, to pull them through.
They slip away every time. I fail again and again.
I wake up with only a few minor aches remaining, but the dream of my brothers lingers. When I tried to pull Emil through with me, I wasn’t ready. I was too weak. I’ll have to get back to that portal with the spires, try again. Maybe once I have a better idea of this place and what’s happening.
After cleaning up and getting dressed, I find a tray of food outside my door. No idea where it came from, but I bring it in and eat the provided breakfast. The fruits are different, sweeter, and the grains less refined, but it tastes good.
“Ready to go?”
I didn’t notice Tiav arrive at the open doorway, yet his words didn’t startle me. Maybe because I welcome any break in the silence. As for whether I’m ready to go, I don
’t know where we’re going, but I’m ready enough, so I follow him out.
Yesterday Tiav had a cautiousness that’s gone today. Now his eyes hold a distinct energy as he leads me back down to the street, like he’s overflowing with the questions he mentioned last night. He sticks to easy-to-answer ones like whether I slept well (yes, well enough), whether I’ll need additional clothes (yes, most likely), and whether I have any lingering injuries from my journey (no, not that I’ve noticed).
I don’t know what other questions he could possibly have. They already know the Points exist, and they somehow control portals, which puts him at least seventeen steps ahead of me. Any details he doesn’t know are insignificant next to the mind-boggling parade of aliens that again greets me outside.
We don’t get into a streamer, instead just walk along the street. Tension I hadn’t noticed relaxes from my body. Give me a hovercar over those confounding streamers any day.
Walking means weaving among the other pedestrians, including all the alien types. Again, they look at Tiav much more than at me. Like I’m only interesting because I’m with him. Whatever primary Aelo means, being her son calls attention to him, too.
I get that.
“We’re going to the Nyum,” Tiav says, keeping his voice low enough that only I can hear him. “Every town and city has one. It’s where the Aelo work, and sometimes representatives from the Agnacki, Crimna, and Haleian governments. Remember, Kalkig is Agnac. That woman over there, she’s Haleian.” He subtly jerks his head toward one of the big, athletic-looking types. “And that one’s Crimna.” One of the slight, delicate people.
The building—the Nyum—isn’t far. The front wall curves away from us and goes up in four asymetrical levels. It’s not huge by Sampati standards, but big enough that I can’t tell whether the whole building is round or just the front. Judging by the inside, I’m guessing the whole building, because the lobby taking up the entire first floor seems to be completely circular. Smooth tiles cover the floor and shelves line the walls. All the shelves are packed with similar rectangular objects, varying sizes, but I don’t recognize them. To the left and right, sweeping staircases lead to a balcony overlooking the lobby before continuing on to the rest of the second floor. Several people stand near the shelves or on the balcony. A few of them nod at Tiav before returning to their conversations.