The Kinship of Stars

by Julie Ishaya

  Slowly the question crept upon the emperor, though he fought it. Tried to deny the need for an answer.

  Did he trust Adam?

  With an open holographic logbook before him, he sought distraction from the question and began to fill in the latest entry concerning the analysis of the Shiv protein. After two cycles the sample's carbon base began to break down, leaving behind an antibody chain. The indication that Shiv ingenuity with organic substances had evolved struck a nerve in the emperor. If they could boost the neural core of their security system, albeit accidentally, so that the psionic emanations could be detected as far as Nex space, what else could they do? Unifying with them, helping them bring their other technologies up to level with Nex, would bring either benefit or disaster. If beneficial, the Nexian regime would remain strong as the Shiv were taught to preserve and replenish what resources they had left. If disastrous, the Nexian hold on its own system might loosen.

  The differences were too extreme.

  Asmodéus marked where his entry left off and closed it with a wave. The inconclusive report would be scanned later and entered into the tabernacle. He sighed as the weight of his mantle grew heavier. Briefly he reflected that he had less than six centuries left before Adam became Asmodéus.

  Adam. He had gotten the name from one of the outworlds visited long ago by a former member of the Dyssian line. Its unique sound, compared to typically used Valtaerian and Nexian names, intrigued him, so Asmodéus chose the name for his child long before the actual conception.

  His Valtaerian wife, Illyria, had wanted to name a boy child Jah'kim, but her death during the birth left Asmodéus with the decision. He found it easiest to love the infant by disassociating Adam with his mother. So Adam came into existence, screaming in his father's hands, while his mother breathed her last. Illyria had succumbed to the consequences of loving a Nexian lord.

  Asmodéus continuously tried to bury her under his duties, but she still emerged. Her face, golden in the sunlight of Valtaer, hair the color of dark wine, eyes touched with violet light. Her last words, when she saw that she had given him a son were simply, "He's beautiful."

  Asmodéus drew back in his chair, bracing the edge of the desk.

  Illyria loved the baby, even as her life sank away, lost in Adam's screams.

  Adam wouldn't stop screaming. How could such a harsh noise come from such a delicate thing?

  The infant was immediately sent to be raised by the Mahlharium family in the heart of Nall. Lord Mahlharium came from a long line of Nexian supporters. Many of them had fostered children of the Dyssian line, and the current lord already had a baby daughter of his own. Funds for Adam's care and education were supplied in full, but by the time he was brought to Nex, he harbored a penetrating hatred for the father whom he felt had abandoned him.

  "Adam," Asmodéus whispered now, feeling as though the past stepped forward and struck him in the chest. "I pushed you away so much. I deserved your hatred." He stood up from the desk. Too much had happened since Illyria's death. Too much for him to cling to now, in this most crucial time.

  He started to pour another cup of wine when a familiar presence in the passageway commanded his attention. He found the chamberlain standing with his face angled down so that his eyes glared out from under the brow of the mask. Asmodéus quickly returned to telepathic communication as he asked, (Counselor, what is it?)

  The chamberlain took one step forward. "Remember what I said about you doing your part in training Kieriell?"

  (Of course.)

  "You must attend him now, before my patience crumbles."

  The emperor tilted his head, frowning that his most trusted and patient advisor should appear to have lost his temper. (What's the problem?)

  The chamberlain said through gritted teeth, "Kieriell wants to have fun."

  Kieriell laid across his bed propped in front of an open book and the window of stars beside him appearing as real as ever. He fought the urge to fall asleep as he read, feeling mentally fatigued. He tried not to imagine how upset the chamberlain might be, which was easy since he had never seen the chamberlain angry to begin with.

  The words on the page blurred, and his head sank closer to resting on the book. He blinked, tried to read the line again.

  At first he didn't notice that the screen blinked out, taking the stars with it, but the system's drone as the holographic rock reappeared caused him to snap his head up. "No," he objected, "put my stars back." He pushed up to his knees on the bed.

  Asmodéus' voice boomed in his mind, (On Valtaer, did you skip class often at school, Kieriell? Or did your teachers simply let you leave in the middle of session?)

  Kieriell looked around and found his grandsire standing in the passage, the chamberlain just two steps behind. "Traitor," he muttered in ill humor.

  The chamberlain's eyes narrowed to indicate that amusement was the last thing the counsellor felt.

  (Did Rai Jinn's mindsting not teach you anything, boy?) Asmodéus continued.

  "I was just tired of teleporting," Kieriell objected. "It has nothing to do with Rai Jinn or—"

  (Your skills have everything to do with this place, the Shiv included. You are Nexian. Adam told me they taught you discipline at the school, but you behave like a brat.)

  The chamberlain stepped forward. "Kieriell, you've progressed so well in the little time you've been here. Did you really think it was that funny leaving me waiting for you in the green room?"

  Now Kieriell felt his temper rise, warming his brain with irritation. "What progress?" He scooted off the bed and stood. "I meditate; sure, that eases my mind. I teleport around the place; I'm a little bit quicker than I was before, but you have no idea how exhausting it can be, and I haven't had a break from it in days. I could definitely get into some armed combat training, maybe get back to the map room. But I still can't send, I can't move from one dimension to another, and I don't know how to defend against brain invaders like Rai Jinn." He turned his gaze on Asmodéus. "Like you."

  That set Asmodéus back. The emperor stared, the disgust settling out of his face.

  "Kieriell, I know we've had you purely focused," the chamberlain started, "but this skill needs—"

  Asmodéus held up a hand to quiet him while his gaze remained on his grandson. (You can't send,) he finally asked, (or you won't?)

  "I can't."

  (Have you really tried?)

  Kieriell stalled and blinked. "Well, yes, of course."

  Asmodéus stepped forward so swiftly that the youth leaned backward, lost his balance, and was forced to sit back on the bed. The emperor said, (Send something, Kieriell.)

  "Wh—what?" Kieriell swallowed, aware that every nerve in his body hummed. His flesh tightened and tingled with cold chills.

  Asmodéus glanced back over his shoulder at the chamberlain. (Leave us.)

  The other nodded and departed.

  Kieriell watched in distress as the figure vanished through the passageway. The last thing he wanted was to be alone with his grandsire. Thoughts of their first meeting in the throne room came back.

  Asmodéus tilted his head, eyes dimming with inner thought. (Send to me.)

  What do you want me to say? Kieriell thought.

  (Don't just think it, send it.)

  I. . .can't.

  (You can. Project your thoughts.)

  Kieriell stared. The barrier of his own mind held tight.

  (Do it!)

  Kieriell startled, blinking innocently and lost.

  Asmodéus straightened. (You leave me no choice.) The shadow blade emerged with a hissing noise as it sliced the air. Asmodéus brought it up from his side and around. Straight for Kieriell's throat. In the dim lighting of the bed chamber, its exact length and edge were almost impossible to keep up with as it moved.

  "Not again!" Kieriell sprang backward across the bed in a somersault and rolled off onto his feet on the other side.

  Heedless of the barrier between them, Asmodéus took one large step up ont
o the bed, jarring aside the book. He bounded for the edge of the mattress. Kieriell barely had time to look up at the looming figure before he ejected his own blade in a simple sword pattern and brought it up in time to block the arc of the emperor's blade as it came down in a straight line.

  The impact sent Kieriell to his knees, but he held the blade in a firm lock above his head. His thoughts too askew, he couldn't concentrate on teleporting to some other part of the room to get out of the lock. His only choice was to parry Asmodéus' blade at the same moment he dove sideways. He got to his feet as Asmodéus came down off the bed and made a straight thrust for him.

  "Why are you doing this?" he shouted over the clash of his blade as he brought it sideways, barely diverting the thrust. To his surprise, Asmodéus' blade extended further out. The rippling tip passed over Kieriell's shoulder, just missing the flesh. Kieriell felt his eyes shift, his anger-frustration peaking.

  (I gave you an order, boy! Follow through!)

  "Stick yourself!" Kieriell bowed his head in a maneuver under the opponent blade, creating a pivot point with his own blade that sent Asmodéus just off course. Kieriell retreated enough that he could assume a better fighting stance with knees bent and ready to spring.

  Asmodéus spun back around but made no further move. Kieriell began to circle, tense with the anticipation of his grandsire's next attack.

  (What's wrong, Kieriell Shyr'ahm?) The voice came stern but mocking. (You can't possibly know what I'll do next, can you? You fight like a schoolboy.)

  "Stop it!"

  (Not until you follow through.)

  Kieriell threw glances about the room, searching for possible outs.

  (Can't you teleport? Or has the stress gotten to you?)

  The challenge gnawed at Kieriell's mind. Yes, teleport, his instinct told him. But he couldn't think where to go. With the indecision came failure, and before he could relax himself enough to concentrate, he was slammed backward against the wall and pinned. Asmodéus' face came close to his bearing a snarl that flashed long, pointed canines. The red eyes became tinged with yellow, the pupils closed to fine slits, and Kieriell gulped to realize that this was the shift nearing that precarious edge of which his father had spoken.

  His blade and Asmodéus' locked once more in a cross pattern and pressed closer to his exposed throat. The rock wall ground at the back of his head. He managed to work his free hand up and out, pushing against Asmodéus' face with his palm. His talon tips came dangerously close to clawing his grandfather's eyes.

  Asmodéus did not budge. (Give me what I want, Kieriell.)

  Kieriell spat a gasp. The hand that held the sword began to shake. The edge of the two partially melded fields scraped against his skin. Tears of humiliation and rage brimmed up in his eyes.

  (Tell me.) The voice dropped to an echoing whisper.

  Blind aggression burned him inside. One strong exertion of energy would push Asmodéus away, but Kieriell couldn't find the will. As his body betrayed him, his face red and wet, arms tiring, knees trembling, something else fought for him.

  (Tell me. . .)

  (Let me gooooooo!)

  The impact of the inner scream sent Asmodéus reeling away. His blade collapsed and he clutched his head in his hands. He fell to his knees, tousled hair branching across the floor, shoulders hunched.

  Numb from the abrupt release, Kieriell slid downward and sat against the wall. His blade faded, and he stared through his tears, felt his face begin to cool, his breath to flow easier.

  Asmodéus' body heaved up and down as he breathed. When he finally brought his hands away from his head and looked up, a thin vein of murky blood trickled from his nose. Scratch marks bled on the side of his jaw.

  Kieriell raised one hand as if to shade his face. At first he expected punishment, but then he saw the quiver of a satisfied smile that touched along the corners of his grandsire's lips.

  (That wasn't so bad now, was it?) Asmodéus said, his sending voice bleak, edged with static.

  Kieriell only stared, didn't know how to respond. He dropped his hand to his side, lacking the will to move as he recalled how he'd done it.

  With a huff of breath, the emperor began to stand, first on one knee, then up to his feet. He closed his eyes as he steadied himself, then he looked back down at the youth. (Here you are subject to laws of strength versus will power, Kieriell. Our society is so entrenched in psionics, we cannot allow mental weakness to manipulate us, nor can we blame our actions on others. By your own strength and willpower will you be measured. That is the Nexian code, and the basis for adversarial challenges, to keep us sharp and aware of all our actions. What you may perceive as bickering among the orders has a deeper purpose for adapting patience and overcoming ego.)

  The emperor did not move all this time. He merely paused just long enough for his first round of words to reach his pupil before he proceeded with more.

  (Normally you would learn this on your own, as your father did, the hard way. Your circumstances are different.) He dabbed at the sliver of blood from his nose and eyed it, looking almost impressed as he pinched his fingertips together and observed the drying stickiness. His eyes rolled back toward Kieriell who tried to move one hand into a supportive position and push himself upright from the wall.

  (Adam once tried to fight me, you see.) Asmodéus tilted his head as though trying to comprehend his own statement. (As a young man, he fell under Nehmon's influence as part of adversarial challenge. He failed and was exiled for it. It is Nehmon's position to not let any of us forget that. It is the lesson that is important, the lesson that must stay alive.)

  "Exiled?" Kieriell couldn't measure the depth of this new thing his grandsire told him. It was a story he'd never heard, and he could tell now that Asmodéus only skimmed its surface as an example for the current lesson and bringing it to a close. It made sense now, he thought, how his father always seemed to be holding back some bad memory, fighting with some phantom worry in his mind.

  Nodding, Asmodéus reached down, took Kieriell by the arm, and with little effort hauled the youth to his feet. (Perhaps someday Adam will be ready to tell you. But for now, with you he has a new start in the eyes of Nex. Do not dishonor him.)

  Kieriell realized his mouth was agape and he closed it, drawing in a long breath as this new knowledge penetrated him and carried on his pulse. After a moment, he nodded, reached out and touched at emperor's arm. He wondered if he could send again, and recalled how it wasn't just instinct, but he'd felt a strange inner shift. It reminded him of how he used to look at optical puzzles in which some figure or object was hidden amidst a mess of fractal images. He'd learned to blur his vision again and look deep into the whole image itself as opposed to letting his eyes roam, and once he did that, he found the key to the puzzle. Once he had it, he knew how to unlock it again and again and the hidden became seen. Telepathy was like looking at the deeper image, and in that first experience alone his inner world opened upon a vast field of comprehension.

  (I see.) It was only a mental whisper, but he knew he'd successfully pushed it out for his grandfather to hear without simply having to read his mind. He took another long breath and focused the sending more clearly. (I do see now, Lord Grandsire.)

  PART TWO

  13

  Facing the rocky overhang, Kieriell leaned his head back under the roaring waterfall and rinsed his face. His crown mane made a wet-black curtain halfway down his taut back as the water contoured around him, cooled his senses.

  After so much time at practice, learning to utilize teleportation, even weaving it in with combat techniques, he was exhausted, but he'd stumbled upon some new developments that were both pleasing and disturbing. When he closed his eyes, he first saw stars. As if his inner vision focused out beyond Nex and reached deeper space. The light of the celestial bodies pulsed with a muted thrum, silent to the common ear but audible to his mind, then his body came aglow in the now familiar half-state of being. Light rays radiated from every pore on the surf
ace of his skin, and the void's awesome field opened before him.

  Time and meditation had given him a greater, if frightening, familiarity with the void. He accepted its existence lingering on the edge of his consciousness, waiting for him to overstep his bounds when he teleported anywhere. At times he dared himself to look right over the cliff in his mind and stare so hard into the light that it could blind his mental eye, surround him and comfort him.

  It taunted him as well.

  Doubt claimed him now. Immediately his mind retreated. His body dimmed, a dying but bearable sensation, which he had come to know and accept every time he materialized after teleporting.

  (Questioning yourself again.)

  The chamberlain's voice in his mind surprised him, and he raised his head to turn around and look through the ropes of hushing water. He saw the distorted figure standing in the grass on the bank of the rippling pool.

  Kieriell's inner voice laughed. (How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?)

  (And how many times have you been warned. . .)

  (Not to let my guard down. I know. But the green room is safe.) He emerged from behind the veil of water and his vision cleared. He saw that the hood of the chamberlain's cloak was down and yellow-gold hair dripped around his shoulders. The mask represented a real face now, Kieriell's imagination having long since given up wondering what lay beneath the silver pseudo-skin.

  Kieriell's clothes lay folded in the grass. He dove into the pool and swam halfway before he reached the shallow end and raised up out of the water. (Watch this.)

  He had time to see light sparkling across the water as his body shimmered and collapsed into nothing. On the grass, he came back together, shaping from light into flesh. Completely dry down to the roots of his hair and between his fingers and toes, he grinned as he stepped up to gather his clothes.