The Kinship of Stars

by Julie Ishaya

  "Interesting," the chamberlain observed aloud, now that he didn't have to contend with the noise of the fall. "You left behind all of the external water particles."

  "Uh-huh. I'm getting good, eh?"

  The chamberlain gave him a scrutinizing glare.

  "I'm not getting haughty," he objected as he pulled on his tunic. "I just discovered that if I focus on the sensation of the water touching my skin, I can separate myself from it. I wonder if I could teleport out of my clothes that way." He fingered his chin. "Under the right circumstances, that could come in handy." A sideways glance into the eye holes of the mask did not reveal any glimmer of amusement in his teacher. He shrugged and sighed. "All right, so. . ." he changed the subject. "I take it you've come to say good-bye for now?" He finished dressing then raked fingers through his hair, tying it loosely back from his face.

  "The time of the unification ballot is almost here," the chamberlain reminded him.

  "I know." Kieriell shrugged as he moved to his friend's side. "I just have a bad feeling about all of this."

  "How so?"

  "It's like Grandsire says, the Shiv have been too cooperative."

  The chamberlain nodded. "Desperation tends to breed cooperation."

  "Or rebellion." Kieriell realized he was sounding more like Asmodéus.

  The chamberlain turned and walked along with his pupil toward the eye of the green room. "Well, I didn't come here to argue politics with you. I'll be leaving soon."

  "I don't see why the consulate is sending you," Kieriell countered. "They could have chosen another emissary."

  "Remember, I've done this before. The negotiations will begin with the initial representatives, and then other factions will come forward, laying way for the emperor and the kai to meet. Besides, for now Asmodéus has enough to deal with."

  One corner of Kieriell's mouth drew in as he murmured a speculative, "Hmmm," and, "Mmm-hmm." Soon he would be leaving for Valtaer along with his grandsire. Asmodéus' presence had been requested in Nall to discuss with the liege the construction of a Nexian siphoning station at sea near the titan wall to keep energy levels down. At such an early phase of the negotiations, the emperor could give fair attention on this new project, and Kieriell had seized the opportunity to go along.

  As for the negotiations, they were to be held aboard a neutral diplomatic ship provided by the order of Daeanon and stationed on the frontier between Nex and Shiv space. As emissaries in the early talks, the chamberlain and Rai Jinn would meet first. Factions would continue to debate the many issues surrounding unification and place the more important ones on the table for when Asmodéus and the Shiv kai came face to face. The consulate would compare observational notes on the improved Shiv behavior and then the ballot would be cast.

  For the most part, Kieriell simply didn't agree with the current arrangements, and he couldn't help but feel frustrated that his opinion didn't seem to matter; he was too young and inexperienced. The adversaries had proposed that Nexian security be downplayed in order to soothe tensions and to present the Shiv with a semblance of good faith on the Nexian part. He muttered, "I still don't like it."

  "Neither do I," the chamberlain agreed, "but as the adversaries would argue, the Shiv probably don't like it either."

  "The Shiv," Kieriell snorted, "are getting their way."

  "That's enough. As I said, I didn't come here to debate with you."

  "Well, you know how I am." Kieriell shrugged.

  The chamberlain briefly sent out his reflections, sharing his pride in his pupil, a heartfelt warmth entwined. "So when will you be leaving with your grandsire?"

  "In the evening phase," Kieriell replied, briefly calmed by the sending from his mentor. He held onto it for a moment as he would a precious gift.

  "Have you heard from your father?" the chamberlain asked when they reached the terrace at the top of the steps before the door.

  "Yes, and he'll be taking leave from Hella soon. I'll see him when I get back from Valtaer."

  "Have a safe journey."

  "And you." Kieriell's eyes sharpened with deadly seriousness.

  They turned and began to walk together up to the exit. The door opened, and the chamberlain stepped through. He turned around just long enough to nod one more silent good-bye. Kieriell raised one hand in a half-attempted wave before the door closed between them.

  Alone, the prince lowered his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that the negotiations were all a mistake. But, he tried to rationalize, who was he to judge? Millennia of dispute eventually called for change, and the opinion of one youth didn't phase the scheme of the universe.

  After packing a few items in his old duffel and having it delivered to his cabin aboard the emperor's galleon, Kieriell wandered toward the map room to pass time.

  As had become a habit, he focused on the middle of the grid, and he scribbled some calculations on paper. Since his first introduction to the grid, his studies had continued in Nexian history and how it affected the outworlds. He had progressed with the Shiv language and etiquette, political surveys of Nexian-Valtaerian relations, and of course his own abilities.

  Of all his interests, the strongest remained the projected center of the grid and what he perceived to be a swelling effect on the map that warped the central pyramid structure into an orb. Obviously only he could see it, for whenever he commented about it to anyone else present, the response was a deep frown, a shake of the head.

  What are you talking about, Kieriell? What is it that you see?

  "All right," he said to himself after a moment. "All right, let's try this. . . Instinct. Just use instinct." He took a breath and let it out.

  Instead of working with the hologram and a stylus, he stared at the image until it burned into his retinas and after a moment he closed his eyes. Against the back of his lids, the grid appeared in the negative, its open spaces backlit while the lines of the structure were dark and hazy. He did this over and over, letting each image fade, then he would open his eyes and stare at the grid again until his eyes stung and the pigment flush in his irises tingled with the subtle shift. Upon the fifth pass, he stared the longest before snapping his eyes shut, and this time the backlight between the gridlines was so brilliant it was blinding, and in the center was the most brilliant light of all, and he swore that it pulsed and sent a shiver out through the grid that radiated from titan line to titan line. Each pulse travelled infinitely on, and even after it appeared to fade, Kieriell knew with absolute certainty, that it still existed as energy coursing endlessly through the grid.

  And, gasping, he realized that he suddenly had it, and his eyes flew open.

  The void flashed at the back of his mind and he shook his head. No, no. . . He could feel a familiar and yet distant tug at his core-being, a strange shifting within that he didn't wish to comprehend, not completely, not yet. Something stirred in him as he broke down thoughts into words.

  "It's a vortex." Something of a giggle burst out of him, and he nearly clamped a hand over his mouth to contain it. Too soon to get excited. He could postulate all he wanted, but there was no way to prove anything short of assembling an expedition team to go to the center.

  (Kieriell.) It was his grandsire's voice, directed at him from the passage. He turned in his chair and found Asmodéus waiting for him. (It's time to go. I've been trying to reach you.)

  (I'm sorry, Grandsire. I'm afraid I was—) He knew he couldn't get out of this one without a little glare from the emperor. (I was distracted,) he finished.

  14

  Kieriell blinked against the sting of ocean air in his eyes, cringed at the shriek of sea birds in his ears. He snugged a black long coat around his body, a blue silk scarf billowing out from the bulky collar. He could sense the life of the city at his back, while the shore whispered before him.

  It was the winter season in the southern hemisphere, and though days were generally still warm, the evenings bore a chill wind. The ocean waves pushed in, gray and rimmed with white foam.r />
  Nearby, Jarren was looking up the north eastern shore to a crumbling ancient temple, once part of Old Nall. Only the temple's columns remained standing within a sun tunnel where the tide had eroded away the rocks and formed a series of natural archways, a work of art abandoned to the elements.

  "So you're a junior maven now," Kieriell commented.

  The other's face had subtly hardened over the past two and a half years. The harsh cheekbones, however, were still accompanied by those large jade eyes and dark brows. Sun-streaked bangs whispered across his forehead. A look of disbelief passed through his eyes. "Well, yes, but it doesn't compare to being a prince," Jarren replied. "You look the part too." He quickly turned his gaze toward the sea and squinted at the late afternoon glare of sunlight off the water.

  Kieriell frowned, wondering if the comment was flattery or if Jarren meant something else. It seemed that he had grown almost a full head taller than Jarren, but what did that have to do with looking like a prince? The build through his shoulders had also broadened, more like his father's and grandfather's. I look like a Nexian now, he thought. That had to be part of it. Jarren could more readily see the differences between their two races: the more jeweled color of the Nexian eye and the vertical pupil, the height of the Nexian frame. The shift was asleep now in Kieriell and under control but still ever present. Now gone was the anxious schoolboy who had once kicked in a friend's knee for calling him a freak. The incident was completely forgotten as the two young men from two worlds stood side by side on the shore.

  The folds of Jarren's tapestry cloak contracted and expanded in the wind. He shook his head as though musing to himself.

  Kieriell folded his arms and looked far out over the waves. The wall shimmered on the distant horizon and there the black speck of Asmodéus' galleon hovered surrounded by smaller ships, including that of the liege of Nall. "So much has happened, Jarren," he said softly, his voice almost lost to the crash of waves. "I still haven't told you everything."

  Looking curiously up shore, Jarren apparently didn't hear Kieriell. "How did you know about this place?"

  Kieriell glanced at the sun tunnel. "My father told me about it last time I visited with him. He and my mother used to come here when they were kids." He watched a tide pool ripple in the wind. Sea mist dashed up the jagged rocks of the outer tunnel arches. The seasonal chill added to the stillness; the birds, however noisy, could not break the dull hush in the air.

  Walking in the damp sand, feeling it clump on the soles of his boots, played with Kieriell's balance, and he kept away from the edge of the water. As a child, he had played in the surf on a different stretch of shore. He looked back in that direction, past Jarren's slighter figure, and for a moment felt the memories of then. He heard the echo of his own voice at five years old, high and melodic, orchestrated with the whisper of waves. And again he was looking at the horizon and the wall. He thought of its multidimensional existence as a titan line, a single girder in the overlapping structure of the universe, and also a gridline on a map.

  He shivered, felt that pull from within, as if he could simply close his eyes and disappear into that place of no sound, no thought, no individuality.

  "Kier?"

  Damn it, he told himself, stop thinking about the grid! "Huh?" He looked back to Jarren. "Sorry."

  "You seem to have a lot of heavy thought processes going on," Jarren said lightly. "Are you all right?"

  With that question came the flood of current worries that trailed Kieriell like stale smoke. "No," he said honestly, "I'm not. I'm afraid the negotiations with the Shiv are going nowhere."

  "Rivaling parties, huh? The maven would say—" Jarren cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a grumbling mockery of the elderly teacher. "They are only reluctant to learn about each other." He ended with a dignified, "A-hem," like he would continue with some lecture on mentioned subject.

  "Ah please, Jarren." Kieriell shook his head with a smirk. "How is the maven?"

  "Still teaching," Jarren replied. "Occasionally he mentions you, and how proud he is to have been your teacher."

  Kieriell wandered toward one of the sun tunnel's archways and leaned against the mist-dampened stone. "I know that Ahrden did not tell you everything about why I moved to Nex." After all this time, something was compelling him to tell Jarren the full truth.

  Jarren gave a small shrug as he caught up to his companion. "He just said that it was time for you to go. You're a prince in the line of Asmodéus. That's a serious call to duty."

  Kieriell leaned his head back against the stone. How much could he tell? he wondered. Then in one long exhalation, he decided without further thought that he wanted to tell. He needed to trust someone else, someone not affiliated with Nex. "I left because I can teleport, Jarren. I discovered it just before I left the school. That was how I got to your room so fast and silently that afternoon when I heard you through the door. I had to go to Nex so I could train, to see if I'm a transcendant."

  The other stopped in his slow advance, straightened and frowned with confusion. "A transcendant?" He clearly recognized the term but from the questioning rise in his voice, he didn't believe the claim. "Ah, me." He ran a hand through his hair to pull the bangs back, showing off the surprise in his eyes. "You can't be serious."

  "I am." Kieriell looked solemn. "I can teleport, shift into energy and move from one place to another."

  A smirk crept across Jarren's lips. It faded abruptly when he realized that Kieriell wasn't smiling. "You mean that, don't you?" He paced slowly. "That's incredible. I mean, I've heard stories in the last two years. Maven Arhden started including a tutorial in his advanced classes on Nexian technology and rifting. He did that because of you, didn't he?"

  Kieriell decided not to confirm or deny it. He certainly felt no animosity toward his former teacher for wanting to build on one of the school's advanced history courses.

  "Show me something." Jarren took an anxious step closer. "Move from here to there." He pointed up shore, his eyes beaming.

  Kieriell shook his head fiercely. "No, someone else might see. Besides," he confessed, "I don't know if it's so wonderful of a gift, so don't get too excited." He reached out with his mind, just a soft empathic touch, and grasped the other's amazement. (Someday you will see, Jarren,) he sent, (but swear you won't tell anyone.)

  Jarren gave a jittery nod and remained flushed, indicating that the shock wasn't over yet. His brows knitted as his lips gently fell open mutely. "I swear," he whispered.

  Kieriell focused his gaze, literally reaching into Jarren's eyes, boring through the pupils into the temple of the mind. He found nothing there to indicate that he had made a mistake.

  "Kier," Jarren's mouth moved, but no other words fell out. He swallowed a loud gulp and blinked. "I just don't believe it."

  "Well, believe it." Kieriell pushed away from the rock. "I suppose we should go now. My mother will be expecting me for evening repast. Would you join us?"

  "Uh, sure." Jarren followed.

  Kieriell imagined how he would feel were he in his friend's place. He, too, would want to see a demonstration of such a rare ability, but this was not the place for that. Jarren's curiosity would have to be satisfied by imagination alone for now.

  As they started up the embankment of sand and scattered pebbles, a low clap of thunder erupted from the far southwest of the wall, and the two turned in unison to look back.

  To Kieriell, the wall seemed a force solid in itself. The approaching storm would feed it, build up the turbulence of the surrounding atmosphere. Already he could smell the thickening of the air, the acrid drift of fresh ozone pushed on the wind. The forces would eventually drive the Nexian and Nallian craft closer to shore until the wall's electromagnetic fluctuations carried the storm elsewhere.

  So many unpredictable storms, Kieriell thought, his deeper mind reaching out for some sense of what might be happening in the negotiations now that the chamberlain was involved.

  Jarren looked at him. "Did
you say something?"

  Kieriell realized that he must have incidentally sent a fragment of the thought and quietly shook his head.

  On the frontier between Shiv and Nex space, the Daeanon diplomatic vessel sat joined by a connector tube with the Shiv emissary's smaller craft. The Daeanon craft resembled a glossy black elliptical with ridged sides and a series of graduating wings angled down along the underbelly. Mated with the deep greenish shell of the Shiv ray-ship, the larger craft appeared trapped, helpless, both hovering against the deadness of space, quiet without but heated with activity and discussion within.

  The negotiations ranged in subject matter from Nexian construction to repair the Shiv world, to a means by which the Shiv might come to intermingle with the Nexian orders. The question of locating another habitable planet for the Shiv had also been debated, but upon Rai Jinn's commentary that Valtaer was a ripe possibility, the issue was dismissed quickly by the Nexian regime. Although Shiv records reflected a number of ancestral visits to Valtaer, the chamberlain, under authority of the emperor, declared that the Shiv would not so much as glance at any outworld in the Dévan system.

  It was then that voices began to rise. The chamberlain constantly sensed Rai Jinn's piss-colored gaze boring into him from the end of the long conference table.

  (Go on,) Rai Jinn's mental voice hissed. (Go back and kiss your beloved emperor's ass.) He sent with the comment a flash of vile images: raw greenish sewage seeping through corridors of black obsidian; the banner of the Nexian consulate burning; Asmodéus—his head bowed in defeat, his crown mane matted with excrement and rot—he looked up and tears of blood filmed his eyes. At his feet, Crown Prince Adam Asmirrius lay beheaded.

  The chamberlain did not wince at this as Rai Jinn wanted him to. With all the patience he could muster, he dismissed the images as merely the product of an angry and desperate mind.

  Adam's blood pooling around the emperor's feet.