Schism: Part One of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire)

by Asaro, Catherine

  He spoke unevenly. “I have dreams. Nightmares. They drive me. Something is wrong, very wrong.”

  She laid her palm against his chest. “I will go with you.”

  “I also,” another voice said. Tharon also came forward, leading his lyrine, with Elarion at his side.

  “I, too,” Elarion said.

  Shannon’s voice caught. “You honor me. But why?”

  “We have seen your worry, your restless slumber, your darkened eyes in the morning.” Elarion’s voice drifted with the mist. “We have also seen your ken of the Dales. You are part of us. We will go for a ways with you.”

  Shannon wanted their company; indeed, he longed for it. They made him feel complete in a way he had never experienced in Dalvador. But guilt tugged at him. He had no idea what he faced. “You have your home here.”

  “Our home is the forests.” Varielle’s words chimed. “We never stay in one place.”

  So it was true, Archers led a nomadic life. It was probably why they were so hard to find. “But you never go to Rillia.” It was a guess on his part, but probably a good one given that Rillians never reported any definitive sightings of the Archers.

  “We may go only partway,” Tharon said. “Tomorrow the camp rides. We will travel with you for a while. Then we will see.”

  Shannon inclined his head. “I will be glad for every day we spend together. I would miss your company.”

  Varielle’s pale lashes came down halfway over her tilted eyes. “And I yours.”

  Shannon suddenly felt warm. He wanted to take her into his arms, but he held back, in part because they had an audience but also because he feared she would reject him.

  The Elder and her retinue had remained on their lyrine, back on the path, half-hidden by the drifting mist. Tharon raised his hand, indicating them. To Shannon he said, “Join us for a meal.”

  “I would like that,” Shannon said. “Thank you.”

  So they gathered for the evening, preparing for a new day when they would ride to Rillia.

  Eldrinson’s universe had shrunk to a pallet, to darkness—and to pain.

  He could see nothing. He lay in darkness, unable to rise. The boulders had crushed his legs, pulverizing the bones. His backbone remained intact, but it was no blessing, for it meant he could feel. The agony in his broken body never stopped. At times it eased, but later it would surge again. The first day Vitarex had knocked him out with a sedative, giving him a merciful oblivion. He had awoken here, in the tent, laid out on a pile of rugs. And here he stayed, unable to move, hating what he had done to himself, hating Vitarex even more.

  He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. A day? Two? More? He had suffered several grand mal attacks and numerous minor seizures. The convulsions worsened his injuries. None of it mattered to Vitarex. He deliberately left Eldrinson untreated so that he could transcend.

  A shuffle came from nearby. Eldrinson thought someone was kneeling by his pallet. “Who is there?”

  A woman answered. “It is Jaliesa.”

  Relief spread through him. Jaliesa was the wife in the young couple who served Vitarex. She had been tending him since his fall from the bluff. Her touch soothed and her care eased his pain. He spoke in a low voice. “Have you talked with Tarlin yet?” She hadn’t been certain who Eldrinson meant.

  “I know who he is now,” she whispered. “I will speak to him when I can.”

  “Please help me.”

  She spoke raggedly. “I will try. But I cannot betray Lord Vitarex. We have sworn our oath to him.”

  Eldrinson gritted his teeth. “He’s a monster.”

  Instead of answering, she said, “Here, Goodman. Drink.” Something scraped, perhaps a lid, and the tantalizing smell of broth wafted around him. As his mouth watered, Jaliesa lifted his head and set a jug to his lips. He pushed up on his elbow, flinching at the pain it sparked in his legs. Holding the jug with his other hand, he drank deeply, grateful for the succor of its soup. When he finished, he lay back down on the pallet, on his back, exhausted by that slight activity. As Jaliesa took the jug from him, a rustle came from the direction of the tent entrance.

  “How is he?” Vitarex said. His footsteps approached.

  Bile surged in Eldrinson. And loathing.

  “He is stronger today,” Jaliesa said.

  “Why don’t you ask me?” Eldrinson asked harshly. “My legs may not work, but my throat is fine.”

  “Indeed.” Vitarex was nearer now, right next to him, maybe crouching at his side. A hand touched his forehead. “Your fever has receded.”

  Eldrinson pulled his head away. He hated that he had to depend on Vitarex for his every need. “I’m fine.”

  “Milord,” Jaliesa said. “May I speak?”

  “Go ahead.” Vitarex made no attempt to hide the pleasure in his voice as he transcended.

  “Will you not fix his legs?”

  “I cannot.”

  “But surely such a great lord as you can do anything.”

  Eldrinson wanted to vomit at Vitarex’s “greatness.” But he knew Jaliesa believed flattering the Aristo would produce the best results. She was probably right.

  “I haven’t the resources to mend such damage,” Vitarex said.

  Liar, Eldrinson thought. But he feared the Aristo told the truth, that his body was so broken, even offworld medicine couldn’t fix it. He knew too little about their technology. He couldn’t even hope for treatment, lest a medical exam give away his identity.

  “He is such a valuable po-po-possession.” Her voice scratched with no lilt at all. It didn’t surprise him that she stumbled on the last word; the idea of one human owning another was anathema to his people. “It is a shame that someone of your magnificence must lose one of such value.”

  “This is true,” Vitarex acknowledged. “But in his condition, it would be difficult to take him when I leave here.” He sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to Jaliesa. “I must take—certain others when I go. I can’t risk the success of our departure by including someone this injured. Were he healthy, that might be different.”

  “But he will die without your help,” Jaliesa said.

  “I am sorry. I wish I could take him.” Vitarex sounded as if he meant it. Eldrinson even believed him. What the Aristo regretted, though, was losing such a good provider. Eldrinson knew he had only to reveal himself and he would live. Vitarex already realized he was a strong psion. The antiempath couldn’t read him well enough to recognize his full strength, but if he gave Vitarex more cause to wonder, the Aristo would investigate. The moment he revealed his identity, however, Vitarex could leave Lyshriol, having gained one of his targets, a Rhon psion.

  It would endanger all of Skolia.

  Eldrinson didn’t really understand how it worked, why Rhon psions were so important to the Skolians, but he believed what they told him. Their description of the Aristos had been true, even understated. Roca’s people claimed if the Traders captured a Rhon psion, it would give them advantage over ISC, enough to conquer Skolia. He didn’t really fathom why the Skolians had instantaneous interstellar communication and the Traders didn’t or why it was so important. He knew the words, but the science remained an enigma. He understood the result, however; if the Aristos captured any member of his family, they would have the key they needed to achieve such communications. And then the Imperialate would fall.

  To protect his people, he had only to remain silent—even if it meant his death.

  15

  The Message

  The academy had libraries of every type, including virtual reality arcades where students could experience their studies firsthand, soundproofed chambers where they could listen to texts, console rooms where they could jack into library meshes, and traditional stacks with books in shelves. The paper books were exhibits only; they were too valuable to use. It was far easier, anyway, to obtain information from consoles or holobooks.

  Soz had two preferences: the virtual library that made her studies seem re
al and the traditional library, which reminded her of home. Tonight she chose tradition. She adored the vaulted ceilings in the library and the intricate carvings, all those ornate scrolls and scallops on the columns, around the windows, even on the legs and edges of the long tables where cadets could spread out their materials. The library was really a museum, but a student could apply to look at the books if they agreed to a voluminous set of regulations for how they treated the tomes. Soz had applied her first day. She loved to browse the shelves of old books, astonished by their paper bindings and inked script.

  Today she sat ensconced in an armchair with her legs up on a table and a holobook in her lap. She wasn’t studying, though. She was thinking of home. The old-fashioned atmosphere here stirred memories of her youth. No building like this actually existed on Lyshriol, though; a people with no written language had no use for libraries. Their records were kept by women known as Memories, those rare scholars who had holographic recall. The anthropologists who studied Lyshriol believed Memories descended from genetically engineered humans who had colonized the planet five millennia ago during the Ruby Empire.

  History had always intrigued Soz. Five thousand years ago, during the Stone Age, an unknown race of beings had come to Earth. They took away a small population of humans and stranded them on the world Raylicon. Then they disappeared, leaving no explanation, no justification for their actions, nothing. Some historians believed a calamity had befallen them before they could complete whatever project they had begun. Whatever the reason, they left the humans with almost nothing. Primitive, terrified, and bewildered, the humans struggled to survive.

  Their abductors left behind one clue to their origins, the ruins of three starships on the shores of the Vanished Seas. From those ships and their libraries, over the centuries, the people on Raylicon gleaned enough knowledge to develop star travel. Using technology they barely understood, they went in search of their lost home at a time when humans on Earth were still living in caves. They never found Earth, but they built the Ruby Empire, scattering its colonies across the stars.

  With such a shaky foundation, the empire lasted only a few centuries. Then it collapsed, stranding its colonies. A Dark Age followed on Raylicon, continuing for several millennia. During that time, many of the stranded colonies failed. The few that survived backslid into more primitive conditions.

  Lyshriol had been one such colony.

  Gradually the Raylicans rebuilt their civilization, this time from the ground up, ensuring they understood what they created. When they finally regained the stars, they split into two empires: the Eubian Concord, also called the Trader Empire, which based its economy on the sale of human beings; and the Skolian Imperialate, ruled by an elected Assembly that considered freedom a fundamental right of all humans.

  Eventually the people of Earth developed space travel. They were in for a shock when they reached the stars: their siblings were already there, building empires—two thriving but irreconcilably opposed civilizations. The Allied Worlds of Earth became a third power. Although a smaller civilization than the Trader Empire or Skolian Imperialate, the Allieds were strong enough that conquering them would take more resources than either Skolia or the Traders could spare, given the constant threat of war between the two mammoths. So the three interstellar powers maintained an uneasy coexistence.

  Scouts from Earth rediscovered Lyshriol. They christened the planet Skyfall because its blue snow looked like the sky fallen to the ground. That referred to Earth, though, rather than Lyshriol, which had a lavender sky. Earth ceded its claim to Skolia when they realized it was an ancient Ruby colony, but the infernal Skyfall name had stuck.

  The Ruby colonists had terraformed Lyshriol five millennia ago. No one now knew why chemicals saturated the biosphere, turning the water, the snow, even the clouds blue. The planet had no axial tilt and an unnaturally circular orbit. Lyshriol had probably been moved there, a feat of astronomical engineering beyond any modern civilization. No one knew if the colonists had engineered the phenomenal recall of the Memories or if it had developed later. Nor did they know why Lyshrioli people had four-fingered hands or seemed incapable of literacy. The answers to those questions had vanished during the Dark Ages.

  Soz had some trouble adapting to Diesha. The heat and dry air bothered her. The sixteen-hour days were shorter than the twenty-eight-hour cycle on Lyshriol, and the length of the night varied relative to the day. Usually she slept too little, skipping every other night. Although she understood, in theory, why most worlds didn’t have equal days and nights all year long, it felt strange to live in such a place.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” a deep voice rumbled.

  Soz looked up with a start. Althor was leaning against a nearby column, his black trousers and pullover a dark contrast to the yellowed wood. He had dark circles under his eyes.

  Soz smiled at her brother. “Where did you come from?”

  “The dorm.” He walked over, dropped into another chair, and swung his booted legs up on the low table. “I’ve a midterm tomorrow in Quantum Inversion.”

  “Good stuff.” Soz approved of any subject related to star travel. She hadn’t yet studied the quantum theories of relativistic inversion, but she looked forward to it.

  He grimaced and rubbed his eyes. “I’m seeing equations in my sleep. I’ll be glad when the class is over.”

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “I’m all right.”

  “It’s the air here,” Soz grumbled. “Not enough oxygen.”

  “It doesn’t bother me much anymore.”

  “I guess I’ll get used to it.” She motioned at her legs. “They hurt. I don’t know why. I’ve never had any problem before.”

  He leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair. “Probably the different gravity.”

  “It’s lighter. That should make things easier.”

  “Your body still has to adjust.” His forehead furrowed. “That’s an odd coincidence, though. I’ve been having nightmares that my legs are broken.”

  Soz regarded him uneasily. “A while back, I collapsed on the trail. Something felt really wrong. I thought you might have been hurt, except you said you were fine.”

  Althor’s grin flashed. “Thinking about me knocked you out. Admit it, Soz.”

  She snorted. “Pah.”

  He gestured at her holobook. “What is it you were pretending to study while you were daydreaming?”

  “I was not daydreaming.” Soz glowered at him. “I was contemplating life.”

  He laughed, a throaty, full sound. “I hope life comes out of that all right.”

  Soz couldn’t help but smile. She flicked her finger through a holicon on her holobook. Chemical formulas formed in the air. “It’s for my chemistry class. Boring, boring, boring.”

  “You don’t like chemistry?”

  “I like it fine. I just know it already.” She snapped her fingers through the holicon and the chemicals disappeared. “I asked if I could take the final tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Althor stared at her. “That chemistry class is a second-year course. How can you be taking the final less than a month into your first term of your first year?”

  “The brass put me in there.” She rubbed the back of her neck, working at the stiff muscles. “I just do what they say and go to class. Most of the courses are boring. My instructors already let me test out of Biomech and Neural Science.”

  He looked alarmed. “Novices don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because those classes are killers.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Exasperation flashed across his face. “Would you please slow down? The rest of us can’t keep up.”

  Soz smiled. “I thought I daydreamed too much.”

  “That, too.” When she laughed, he settled back, relaxing. “So what are you taking instead of Biomech and Neural Science?”

  Soz actually wasn’t sure. So far the “class” had been odd. They sat around and made up s
cenarios for Trader attacks and then countered them. It fascinated her, but she had seen no texts or syllabus. “Just something called Military Science.”

  Althor blinked. “They put you in a think tank?”

  She wiggled her fingers at him as if she were casting a spell. “We do virtual reality simulations where the Traders are winning and then we figure out how to hex their ships.”

  He was no longer smiling. “Soz, listen to me. Most cadets never see those classes. Only the best upperclass cadets, the ones ISC expects to become leaders. Those aren’t games you’re playing.”

  Soz shifted her weight. “Some of the scenarios are wild. I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

  “You can’t. You must know those classes are secured.”

  “Well, yes. But you’re my brother. An Imperial Heir.”

  “It doesn’t make one damn bit of difference.” He spoke quietly. “Just because you’re smarter, tougher, and better connected than most everyone else here, that doesn’t mean the rules apply any less to you than to everyone else.”

  “I know that.”

  “Maybe if you knew it better, you would get fewer demerits.”

  Well, hell. How did he know about the demerits? She got them all the time, try as she would to follow regulations. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.” He cocked his eyebrow at her. “You don’t have more demerits than any other student in your class.”

  “How would you know if I did?”

  “I talk to people.”

  “Too much.” She crossed her arms, trying to be forebidding. The effect was marred when it knocked her holobook off her lap and she had to grab for it.

  “Heya, Soz,” a cheerful voice said. “Throwing things?”

  Flustered, Soz looked up to see Grell, her roommate, coming around Althor’s chair. Grell glanced idly at Althor, then did a double take and froze. “Sir!” Grell saluted, her arms out and crossed at the wrists, her fists clenched.

  “You don’t have to salute me here,” Althor said mildly. “The library is a free zone.”