Chains of Mist

by T. C. Metivier

  Lerana’s statement gave Roger new hope. She’s tired of war—maybe I can work on that. “Why so many wars?”

  Lerana sighed again. “It is the mountain, Roger: Kil’la’ril. Our legends told of the power locked within the mountain, but we thought them only legends; for countless generations, that power lay dormant, inaccessible. Such was the case when I was young. However, some time ago—twenty-two winters—there was a stirring within Kil’la’ril. The mountain’s power enhanced us—our people grew stronger, tougher, faster; more children were born, and of those more survived their first winters. Our to’laka became very powerful under the influence of Kil’la’ril. Our tribe rapidly grew strong, far stronger and far more numerous than any other.” She sighed. “We did not know it at the time, but the lives of all who live between the seas changed on that day. The other tribes grew distant from us; tensions grew, sparking wars that did not end. I would like to blame the hostility on them alone, but the truth is that we were as much at fault. We gloried in our newfound power, believing ourselves superior. When they struck at us, we struck back harder. There were atrocities committed by every side, atrocities that would make the gods weep. The initial fierceness of new war soon faded, but by then the damage was done. There were too many wounds, too many blood feuds…there could be no more peace. And there has not been, ever since.” She fell silent, lost in brooding contemplation.

  As Roger listened, he found his mind returning to what Talan had said aboard the ship: “Forces that have long lain dormant are now awakening.” He knew the question he had to ask. “Have you felt another of these stirrings recently?”

  “Yes.” At first, Lerana seemed surprised, but she quickly recovered her composure. “Of course you have felt it too. Your own power must be affected as well. Yes, once again Kil’la’ril is shaking from her slumber—far more powerfully this time. The sensation—” she shuddered with ecstasy “—it is truly invigorating, Roger. I was too young to fully appreciate the change last time, and it was far less pronounced. This, however…there are no words to fully describe how I feel. It is as if I had been living my whole life within a thickly wooded grove, and then suddenly stepped out and saw the full glory of Kat’aia for the first time.” She took a deep breath, then continued, her voice growing stronger. “I can feel the heartbeat of the earth beneath my feet, hear the waves crashing against the shores. I am connected to all living things; I am invincible—” Suddenly she stopped, chagrin coming to her face. “But I am not,” she continued, her voice soft. “I am still mortal. And I know my limits.”

  Do you, now? wondered Roger. “And what are those limits?”

  “The Traika remember the lessons of the past. We—” Lerana broke off, and when she continued her voice was worried. “We will not repeat our mistakes. We will not abuse our power. What is happening is not our fault; we are being forced—”

  “Forced to do what?”

  Lerana hesitated. “Attacks have intensified. We have so many enemies, and for years our numbers have been slowly chipped away. The other tribes have become more brazen, daring even to attack us within our lands. They were pushing us back—we were becoming desperate. When Kil’la’ril gave us new power, what choice did we have but to retaliate? To save ourselves, we had to fight back—swiftly, decisively—”

  “Forced to do what?” repeated Roger, more firmly this time.

  Anger flashed across Lerana’s eyes but then was replaced by sadness. “We fought back. We took the fight to them.” She looked away. “And we did what no tribe has ever done to another. We killed them all…and burned their village to the ground.”

  Lerana fell silent, obviously overcome with the horror of what had happened. Roger was left confused. To him, what had happened seemed to be a common instance in war. Tragic, but common. Lerana’s reaction to telling of it, however, indicated otherwise. “In all of your wars, this has never happened before?”

  “We do not fight for slaughter, Roger,” said Lerana sharply. “We fight to stay strong. Wars are fought in skirmishes, small engagements far from the villages. They end with treaties and celebrations…never with annihilation. Never with so much death—” The shaman broke off abruptly.

  Roger allowed Lerana a few moments with her thoughts. “So, what now?” he asked finally.

  Lerana looked back at Roger. “Now, one war is over. The Seramor are no more. But other wars continue: the Edala, the Gher’ana, the Kastria. And it will escalate from here. They will see the destruction of the Seramor and enflame themselves with more anger towards us. They will strike against us, and we will fight back, and all of us will realize that the old customs of battle no longer apply. It can only end either when they are destroyed…or we are.”

  There was an ominous glint to Lerana’s final statement. The despair over the destruction of the Seramor still hung heavy in the shaman’s voice…but beneath it was determination. Determination that her people will not suffer the same fate. “You’ll kill them all,” Roger said.

  “I do not like it,” replied Lerana. “I wish there was another way…but I do not see it. War is not new to us; the stakes have simply been raised. Now we fight for our survival. We are only doing what every other tribe is doing.” But she seemed unsure of herself. “What will happen next is not our fault! They brought this upon themselves!”

  Roger tried to say something, but Lerana cut him off. “Do we not have just as much right to live? If we have the power to save our children, do we not have the right to use it?”

  Roger was almost afraid to answer. Lerana’s voice was raised—not in anger, but in fear, and there was a pleading look in her eyes. Even as she uses this newfound power to save her people, a part of her rejects it. She knows that there will be a price to pay for her actions, she just doesn’t know when or how it will come due. Right now, she’s looking for a way out…but she’s afraid there won’t be one. She’s afraid that the Traika have already gone too far down the path of destruction to return.

  And I think she may be right.

  Roger again remembered what Talan had said when they had first looked down upon Espir. “The magic of this world is strong beyond anything else…strong, and dominant. In the presence of such power, all other magic—and magic-wielders—must eventually submit…or die.” Lerana seemed to want to resist, but a part of her had already submitted. And how long before the rest follows? Not long…and I don’t want to be here when it happens. “You can still stop this,” Roger said, looking Lerana straight in the eyes. “Release me. I am going to Kil’la’ril, and I will stop its power before it destroys you. You can feel it happening—you know, don’t you, that this power will not save your people. Let me go, and I will end it—”

  “No!” Lerana’s voice was high-pitched, almost hysterical. “Kil’la’ril gives us strength. Without it, we would be destroyed. We can control it; we will control it. You will see, Roger.” She stood suddenly. “We have not gone too far. And we will not.”

  She began to leave, but suddenly hesitated. In that moment, Roger saw terror lurking within the shaman’s expression, a last, silent plea…

  The moment passed, and Lerana was gone.

  * * * *

  “All right, soldier.” Drogni fixed Makree with the look that had been the terror of the Tellarian fleet for twenty-five years. “Start talking.”

  They were in a hut of baked red clay, lightly furnished with only a pair of woven sleeping mats. There was a small firepit in the center of the hut, currently unlit since it was both mid-day and summer. Other than that—nothing. The Kastria warrior who had led them here had called the building an a’kali’a. Drogni suspected that it was served specifically to house foreign emissaries, as it was located very close to where the kat’ara met. Convenient for quick summoning…or eavesdropping. The walls look thick, but I bet they don’t keep in sound very well, thought Drogni. These Kastria can probably learn a lot from what their foreign guests unwittingly say to each other when they think no one’s listening. They’re probably e
xpecting us to go and have a merry old conversation, so they can find out if we’re lying about why we’re really here.

  If they were, however, they would be disappointed, for the Tellarians had turned off their implanted translators. Any Kastria eavesdroppers would think that their guests were speaking gibberish.

  Makree didn’t meet Drogni’s eyes. “I owe you an apology, Admiral,” he said, his voice distant. “I haven’t been honest with you. In fact, I haven’t been truly honest with anyone for a long time. A long time.” He sighed. “In a way, I am relieved that it is finally over, that the lying can finally stop. Even though I have dreaded this day for years…yes, I’m glad that it is here.”

  Makree’s unnaturally calm demeanor sent a chill down Drogni’s spine. Dammit, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. I’ve heard that tone before—it’s the voice of a man who knows he’s about to die. Not thinks—knows. Whatever he’s hiding, it’s big. “All right, then. Let’s start with the obvious. You speak the language like a local. How?”

  Makree was silent for a moment. “A week ago, had you ever heard of Espir?” he asked finally.

  Drogni frowned at the evasion but decided to hear Makree out. “Yeah, I’d heard of it. But I never thought I’d ever end up coming here. What’s your point?”

  “What indeed?” Makree sighed again. “To you, this planet was just a name in a reference index. But to me it was more, far more. In fact, this planet has dominated my thoughts and dreams for half a decade. Until a few days ago, you barely spared a thought towards this planet. But I have long known that I would die here.”

  He said it so casually that it failed to register at first. Then, it was like a fist in Drogni’s sternum. “Say that again?”

  “I’m sorry, I should explain. I didn’t mean here, specifically. But it was on a list. A short list. And the rest is happening exactly as it was supposed to, so there is no doubt in my mind that I will die here. I had hoped for more time…but it was not to be. And I am trying to accept that.”

  Makree’s voice faded into silence, but Drogni had barely heard the last few sentences. He was still trying to wrap his brain around that first bombshell. “Slow down a minute, soldier, and try that one again. What list? Where? How? And that’s just for starters.”

  “A list…no, not a list. The list.” Makree looked as though he was struggling to adequately verbalize what he was thinking. “Have you ever heard of the Planets of G’Char?”

  The what? “No.”

  “I thought not,” continued Makree. “The term is ancient, back from when the galaxy was young, and it has been forgotten in all but a few select circles. I first heard it whispered by the elites of the Blood Legion, and there are ancient libraries that contain references…but that is beside the point. The Vizier knows the planets of which I speak, though I doubt he has ever heard the term ‘G’Char.’ They call to him, as they call to all with magic in their blood. And in the days to come, they will beckon more strongly, as ancient forces awaken and add their power to the mix. Espir, Marthun, Vellanite, Kholaz: that is the list. I knew that I would die on one of them, but for five years I did not know which. Until now.”

  Of the four planets, Drogni recognized three: Espir, Marthun, and Vellanite. Two empty worlds, and one that’s the cesspit of all that is criminal in the galaxy. The last name meant nothing to him, though ‘Kholaz’ sounded vaguely H’Grosshi. “So why are these planets so special?”

  Makree laughed, a humorless sound that faded quickly. “Why are they special? One might as well ask a child to explain a u-drive! No, I am not mocking you,” he added, seeing Drogni redden with anger, “But you do not realize how difficult a question that is. I will do my best.” He paused and thought for a few moments. “The simple answer is this: they are power. Power incarnate, power to shatter galaxies and tear the fabric of time and space. In its natural state, this power is dormant. But there are rituals to ‘activate’—for lack of a better term—a Planet of G’Char. I have read that there are hundreds of such rituals, many involving two or even three of the Planets, activated in a certain order. And the effects of these rituals…” He shook his head and shrugged helplessly. “The effects are legion. Nearly anything you might imagine. And once a ritual is complete, it cannot be undone by any force that I know of.”

  “So that’s why Rokan Sellas came here?” Drogni felt slightly nauseous at the thought of entire planets forged of magic. “To ‘activate’ Espir?”

  “It must be. And, once activated, the power of G’Char is almost unfathomable; there is no telling what Rokan Sellas might do with it.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” Drogni dug his knuckles into his temple, as if by doing so he might reveal some hidden solution to their problems. “And there’s no way to tell which of these rituals he’s trying to start?”

  Makree shook his head, his eyes dark. “None.”

  Drogni let that sink in for a moment, then shook himself mentally. If there’s no way to know, then there’s no sense worrying about it. Focus about what we can do instead. “All right, fine—it doesn’t matter exactly what he’s trying to do as long as we can stop it from happening. So the real question is: can we stop it? Rokan Sellas has got a head start on us—for all we know, he could be done before we can even get to him. Hell, he could already be done.”

  Makree sighed. “Yes, he could. Fortunately, it takes time to awaken a Planet of G’Char. And I think that, if he had, we would see signs of it. But I cannot be sure. All we can do is get to Nembane Mountain as quickly as we can…and hope for the best.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” They sat in silence for a few moments. Once or twice, Drogni thought he heard a burst of static in his ears, a dull buzzing that didn’t appear to have a source. He guessed that the Vizier was trying to make contact but, for whatever reason, was unable to. Well, he did say that once he lost the link it was probably gone for good. It looked like they would just have to figure this out on their own…which, quite frankly, was how he would prefer to do it. “Alright, that’s a good start. But it still doesn’t explain why you’ve been walking around with the language spoken in this region of Espir inside your skull.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Makree sighed, and for a moment he broke Drogni’s gaze. “Talking about this is proving…difficult. I thought I had accepted my death—I made a choice, you see—but now that the moment is actually here…” He shook his head. “It is not an easy thing, to walk into death when you know that you cannot escape it.”

  He sounded lost, terribly lost. It was an abrupt departure from the confident, deadly Aras Makree who had risen like a rocket through the ranks and had never lost a soldier under his command, the man who had shown no fear as he fought through waves of enemies on Leva and Hilthak. The man who now sat before Drogni was somehow diminished, his veneer of invincibility abruptly stripped away, and Drogni was unsure how to reply. “I wish I could say I understood what you’re feeling, but I don’t. The best I can do is say I’ll do my best to keep you alive.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.” Makree took a deep breath. “I appreciate the gesture…but there is nothing you can do. In fact, it is important that I do die here, because my death serves a purpose. You see, I…” And his voice abruptly trailed off.

  Drogni waited a few moments, then said quietly, “Take your time, Aras.”

  Makree closed his eyes and took a series of calming breaths. Finally he opened his eyes, and the gaze that met Drogni’s was steady. “Thank you, Admiral. Like I said before, a part of me is relieved that this day is here. It is important to me, to tell someone the truth, so that it can live on after…after I am gone. The truth should always endure—it should never be stopped by something as trivial as death.”

  Drogni said nothing; he sensed that nothing needed to be said. He simply waited.

  Makree continued. “For eleven years, I was a member of the mercenary corps known as the Blood Legion. Although perhaps ‘mercenary’ is not the best way to describe them… ‘Guardian’ is bett
er. The Legion is primarily a protector of technological secrets from another age—technologies that, in the wrong hands, could wreak unimaginable destruction. That did wreak such destruction at some point in the past, obliterating entire races of beings so completely that no trace of them has yet been found. Even the Legion knows almost nothing about the peoples whose technology they now guard—all we know is that a war such as the one that wiped them from existence cannot be allowed to happen again.”

  At Makree’s tone, something clicked into place in Drogni’s mind. “You think that that’s what Rokan Sellas is planning, don’t you? You think that’s his endgame—annihilation?”

  “I cannot say for sure…though I cannot deny that the thought has crossed my mind.” Makree shook his head. “I hope that I am mistaken. It takes a special kind of malice to intend the deaths of billions, to willingly seek the end of all life as we know it. However, I have seen Rokan Sellas, and I have felt his evil, his will…and I fear that he is the sort of man who will not be satisfied until the galaxy burns around him.”

  At the mention of burning, memories of Denlar surfaced in Drogni’s mind, and rage seethed within him. Oh, I’ve got no trouble believing that. I’ve seen it firsthand. “Yeah, but it won’t get that far. It can’t—they’ll see him for what he is long before that. He might want armageddon, but I’d bet the rest of the Coalition doesn’t. Once they see what he’s planning—”

  “Perhaps.” Makree shrugged. “Or perhaps not. You have felt his power, felt its allure. You were there on Leva; you heard his speech in front of the Coalition Senate. Remember that, Admiral? He called for war, and the delegates replied with thunderous applause. His power is such that he will compel them to follow him to whatever ends he desires. It is true that perhaps once the reality of his intentions sinks in, once a hundred worlds lie in smoking ruin, they will see him for what he is and cast him out…but I would not count on it. And even if they tried, I doubt they would be able to; he would simply destroy any who tried to depose him, and replace them with those who are firmly in his thrall.”