by Julie Ishaya
Kieriell called out, "Counselor?" The other gave himself a boosting step forward to catch up with his young charge, and Kieriell asked dryly, "Thinking about escaping?"
"What?" The chamberlain frowned.
"Escaping," Kieriell repeated. "You were just looking over the escape route." So rarely did he have to repeat himself with the chamberlain, and he thought he might start keeping count for some basis of comparison. First the casting off of the mask, now this.
"Was I?" The chamberlain shook his head and sighed. Looked annoyed with the amused glitter in Kieriell's eyes. "Upstart," he muttered.
Reaching the security panel at the far end of the passage, Kieriell laid a hand over the slick black square. It glowed red, reading the vital identification from his palm, and released the barrier.
The green room opened up before the two with the light of the dome smarting in their eyes in contrast to the dim corridor.
Kieriell kept the lead, moving out onto the stone platform and then descending the steps to the grass. The chamberlain followed, tightening his cloak about his shoulders. A shudder moved across the older Nexian's features, trailing a tiny tremble in the lips.
"This way," Kieriell coaxed. He moved up to the eye. The ivy had grown further in around the edges of the glass, creating a surreal image of plant life growing toward deep space. He pulled absently at a leaf.
The chamberlain paused to recollect his bearings. He reached the clearing before the eye but kept a distance from the prince.
Leaning back against the center of the eye amid the vines, Kieriell gazed back toward the entrance. Moisture on the grass and leaves indicated that the enclosure's eco-primer had been running simulated rain before the prince and his mentor intruded, but the program shut off automatically whenever one of the verified court members entered.
The chamberlain's remark about retiring still pulled at Kieriell. He tilted his head in observation of his friend, wondered again at the emptiness lurking beneath the other's surface thoughts. It's the wards, he reminded himself as he tried not to build up a mound of anxiety over nothing. He made short glances at the scar, noted how it looked so burrowed into the flesh with rough branches that caused the healthy flesh around it to pucker. The chamberlain had gone to a great, and pained, extent to hide the flaw, and Kieriell wondered what battle had left it there. He refrained from asking.
The chamberlain moved his weight from one hip to the other, appearing to relax. He stepped up to a knotted tree and leaned against the bark. "I feel I have little left to teach you."
"Is that what troubles you?"
A head shake no answered him. "You become your own teacher now," the chamberlain said evenly. "The lessons you undergo from now on will be self-guided."
Kieriell's mind veered back to that day almost three years ago in the Ariahm School, in the office of the Maven Ahrden. He was released then as he was released now. He understood, but the pain of making the full circle tightened his throat. Time propelled him forward as it did everyone else. He leaned his head back and stared up through the foliage at the cavern ceiling. Light mist settled on his cheeks and forehead.
The chamberlain pushed away from the tree with something in his hand. His boots swished over the grass methodically as he came to grasp the prince's shoulder with comforting, warm pressure. "Here," he said, taking Kieriell's hand and placing the object in his palm. "I will propose a final test."
Kieriell felt a cool lump of sticky flesh with four protrusions. He looked to find a tiny green tree frog. Bulbous red eyes beamed out from the flat head.
"Try to teleport with it," the chamberlain said.
Kieriell thought about it. They had conducted similar experiments before with small living things. He had successfully teleported with a bug in a jar once. But only once. And this was a creature he saw as something much more than a bug. "I don't think I can." It was soft in flesh and considerably more complicated.
"You can."
"But I might kill it. I might reconfigure its cells wrong. You said once that—"
"Never mind what I said. You can't learn if you're not willing to keep experimenting. Connect with it. Feel its structure, its cells, then carry them with you as if they were your own, but just try not to think about it too much."
Kieriell looked into the bulbous eyes and narrowed his focus down. Only a little empathic touch. He closed his eyes and cupped his hands around the frog.
Light flashed behind his vision as he pulled himself from one area of the clearing to the other. He was briefly washed in oblivion, then the light came again as his body tingled back into existence. He had only go as far as the other side of the clearing and still had his hands cupped together. The enclosed life form wiggled in his palm. He opened his hands. "I did it," he sighed. The frog released a high chirp. He knelt down and let it hop into the grass along the fringes of stray tree roots.
"Very good," the chamberlain said.
Kieriell stood up wiping his hands off on his pants as he watched the creature crawl across the roots. It stopped hopping and crawled a short distance. Then it froze completely.
"I knew you could do it," the chamberlain added, his voice audibly failing. "Now. . ." the breath staggered from him. "I want you to do one more thing."
"What's that?" Kieriell still watched the frog. "It quit moving," he observed softly and started to kneel again. "It's. . ." Concern gave his heart a jump. "It's dying!" Through empathy he sensed pain in the creature, a wrenching in the lower gut: muscles spasming, bowels aching as though they were splitting.
"Think of me as an adversary."
The word adversary felt like a cold hand on the back of Kieriell's neck, and his focus on the frog slipped away. His brows knitted while he internally examined the request. "What do you mean?" he asked, starting to rise and turn toward his mentor.
"I can't. . . stop. . ." the chamberlain gasped just loud enough, his voice quivering. But then he straightened and calmed, edged closer to his pupil. "I am your adversary, Kieriell."
The statement sounded forced, final, like the end to a tragic story. Kieriell spun the rest of the way around and startled when he found the chamberlain standing closer than he had expected. "What are you getting at—" He barely saw the metallic gleam from the corner of his eye before he felt a sting in the side of his neck just under his ear. He gasped and slurred, "Sssshamberl-lain. . ." as the noises around him swirled together. The greenery swam, made nauseating circles in his vision. He fell forward into the chamberlain's arms, eyes rolling to focus.
"One last test. . . of will. . ." the chamberlain said through gritted teeth, and tears spilled from his eyes.
Kieriell blinked and saw the object that had delivered the sting: a unit attached to the chamberlain's index finger. The chrome casing fit like a ring, with tubular lines running along the sides down to the tip from which a short needle extended. He managed to say, "Wwwwwwwwwhat. . . are you doing?" but he barely understood his own question and found it easier to center on the tear that coursed along the path of the scar on the elderly Nexian's face, and the red tint building in the chamberlain's eyes. Such a brilliant shade of crimson, the iris spokes highlighted with yellow.
"I. . . can't stop it," the chamberlain hissed miserably as he began to lower the prince to the ground.
Feeling as though his body had detached itself from his mind, Kieriell merely observed through the windows of his eyes. His head came to rest on the grass, and he watched unblinking as the chamberlain knelt, discarded the injection module, and withdrew something from inside his cloak. Kieriell glimpsed a black pouch before he uttered a grunt—the closest he could get to a scream—at the thing which the chamberlain withdrew from the pouch. An oval-shaped object with a shell casing uncurled itself between the chamberlain's fingers, and a segmented tail fell free.
The spiny thing sprouted micro-thin iridescent tendrils from its underbelly as the chamberlain pressed it against Kieriell's temple. The tail wormed its way into his hairline, the tendrils burrow
ed into flesh. A sound like a high pitched, scratchy squeal of pleasure issued from the thing as the edges of the shell clamped down against the skin on the temple and along the taper of his brow.
The last shreds of comprehension faded into the buzz of fear. Kieriell forced out a tiny growl that left a searing sensation in the back of his throat as he teetered toward the shift and found that part of him equally as helpless. His arm fell free across the grass, his last testament to struggle, and his head lolled sideways like a piece on a broken toy. The path of his vision settled on the space between the roots of the nearby tree.
There the little frog lay dead, a globule of blood oozing from its mouth.
17
The emperor sat quietly on the throne, his crown mane and robes trailing off to the side of the dais, his consciousness partially linked with the tabernacle. Psionic threads guided his mind down through the walls to the neural core. He perceived the threads as thin veins of light, each pulsing along with the heartbeat of Dyss, feeding him information with each pulse. Reports came in from all branches of Dyss including episodes on the frontier.
His bare face was so still that he could have been wearing his official's mask. Weaker emotions stirred as he processed fragments of outside intelligence on Shiv activity near the frontier. In silence he still felt troubled for his kingdom, for his progeny and their progeny thereafter. Then the foundation automatically moved to a low-level alert.
The Dyssian sensors had just defined a Shiv craft sitting in space below the center of the negotiations. The rest of Nex responded as well. Neural structures in all of the orders exchanged an estimation of the craft's intentions.
It simply sat there, a dense, slug-like organism within its shell. The plated outer structure fanned out on the sides where the wing-fins were formed. A hooking beak-like protrusion extended from the front underbelly.
In his partial trance, Asmodéus frowned. His dark brows drew in and sank into heavy lines of disgust and concern. He commanded a full diagnostic of the craft. It bore few weapons other than the obvious ion canons mounted on the edges of the wing-fins. Its rounded was nose turned a hundred and eighty degrees away from the center of Nex.
Asmodéus found himself snapping up straight, eyes flying open and tingling the edge of red pigment; it settled away as he calmed himself. He pulled his mind away from the tabernacle and looked out into the throne room at the few under-lords who were gathered in groups within the shadows of the arcade or under the dome, all discussing new proposals for the negotiations.
Asmodéus took a breath, composing himself as he steepled his fingers under his chin.
When he reached out an inquiry on the chamberlain's whereabouts, the walls reported that said individual had descended to the lower regions of the palace along with Prince Kieriell. Their presences had been lost at the end of the neural net. They're in the green room, Asmodéus thought.
The emperor withdrew his search as the lift doors opened on the far side of the dome and General Kallian stepped out. All within the court turned to watch the officer hasten toward the dais, a deep frown on his face, his reddish hair pulled tightly back from his face into a topknot with an ornamental clasp. His boots clapped out a rhythm across the reflective floor until he stopped at the first step of the dais and gave a quick, stiff bow.
Asmodéus lowered his hands to the armrests. The chair gave its full effect to his form, the wings on the back appearing to sprout from his shoulders. (You have monitored the Shiv vessel sitting beyond our borders,) he stated, knowing from his link with the tabernacle that all security officers were on edge.
(Yes, my lord, and the guard awaits your next motion.)
(All we can do is watch and wait. Have two squadrons of raptors ready. I don't think this means that the Shiv are actually going to attack, but they have no business situating that vessel so close to Nexian borders. Go and make ready.)
(Will you be attending the tabernacle directly?) Kallian asked.
(Soon. Go now.)
Kallian bowed again and turned to march back across the room to the lift.
Asmodéus rose from the throne, pulling his robes with him, then he departed through the passage to the right of the dais for the nearest lift to the green room.
Kieriell's lids lifted partially, made narrow slits through the light crust around his aching eyes. His mind still drifted on the edge of the blackness, unfocused for a long moment.
Then full consciousness struck him, seared through his face and limbs. Cool air tingled against the skin on his arms, at the nape of his neck. He slowly processed the position of his body: his back ground against some hard surface, his arms were pulled above his head and tied to something, his ankles secured together. He tried to lift his sagging head but his neck muscles resisted.
He blinked, fought through a new rush of haze, and then felt the shift flare in his eyes as he remembered everything. His head shot up and he pulled wildly at his bonds. A dull throbbing in his temple slowed his movements as he became aware of the thing attached to the side of his temple, like a strong suction cup pulling at the surface of his skin. His eyes watered and drained profusely.
The lights of a console blinked through a tunnel of darkness before him, and he made out a wide screen with a view of space, looking up toward the distant underbelly of an asteroid. He could see the blue brilliance of the anchor beams holding the rock steady. Not far off, the light of the red star drew his attention.
He cringed and turned away. Then he looked again. That asteroid. . . so familiar. Surrounded by other rocks of familiar shapes. Like the rush of consciousness, now came the rush of reality.
He was looking at Dyss.
His confines told him everything. The small compartment, with its console and visual screen, was the interior of some craft. The shuttle from the escape route near the green room, he thought, then his focus narrowed down on the silhouette seated near the screen, the face partially profiled. Light from the red star haloed the pale hair, gleamed along the ridge of the now familiar scar.
"Chamberlain," he said, his ragged voice cracking the silence of the compartment. He remembered the flash of the needle just after it had gone into his neck, and he began to thrash again. His wrists burned from the rub of the ties. He lifted his bound feet off the floor and pounded them down again with a dull thump.
The shift emerged to bare its teeth, to snarl at his captor. He felt the rush of pigment in his eyes, and the tightness in his skin as formations of tiny scales rose to line his eyes and cascade down his cheeks. He realized that this was the instinct his father had warned him about, the Nexian reactive nature that readily summoned the shift as a means of defense. No! his mind screamed at him. Shifting would do no good if he didn't know what, exactly, was happening to him. Even as the talons began to sprout from his fingertips, he meditated to control it. The feral consciousness still begged him to free it, to break the bonds, but instead he calmed, eased himself back against the wall still sensing the chamberlain's gaze through the shadowed compartment.
He closed his eyes, took one breath, let it slip free with a steady whooooooooosh and let the inner light spread through him, consuming his form. He would be free in just a moment, when he manifested in the center compartment, leaving the bonds behind. Then he would deal with the chamberlain however necessary.
Pain exploded in him, cramped his neck as he bowed his back, extending his body as far out as his bonds would allow, and he screamed. Intense burning branched down through his body, seized his torso and limbs, clutched his groin and paralyzed him. His eyes rolled back, and he hissed short gasps. Moments later, the pain subsided, and he remained where he was, on the floor against the wall. Tears streamed from his eyes, washing out the rest of the crust and residue from the drug.
"Why?" he finally whispered.
The chamberlain's dim voice answered, "I cannot fight it, Kieriell."
"Fight it?" Kieriell rasped. He licked his drying lips. Why can't I teleport? he wondered. Why so much pain? He
felt warm wetness leak down from his nose, and he licked at the taste of blood. It had to be the drug, he thought, or the thing on his temple. It was some sort of psionic inhibitor burrowed into his psychic cortex, freezing him within his own mind and the dead weight of his body. "It's the Shiv, isn't it?" He tried to speak louder, finding his throat raw. "They're controlling you, aren't they?" His voice seemed far away to him.
"I have failed you," was all the other said, then the silhouette faced the screen and the console.
"No," Kieriell insisted. "No, you can still fight it." He knew the chamberlain couldn't just ignore him. "Don't let them manipulate you. By your own strength and willpower will you be measured," he cited the Nexian code. His words went unheeded, and he watched hopelessly as the screen showed Dyss shrinking away.
The Dyssian sensors would pick up the pod's departure soon, he tried to convince himself. Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase, his mind begged. He wanted to send, to call out a distress signal, but the dull glob of his brain adhered to the inhibitor. He resisted the urge to cry. To shake his head and admit defeat.
"How did they get to you?" he asked. His fists knotted as he continued to absently test the strength of the bonds. He had been tied with strips of cloth torn from the edges of the chamberlain's cloak.
The silhouette straightened slightly, indicating a reaction to the question.
"Only you will be to blame for this," Kieriell gritted through his teeth. "Do you hear me? Only you will be to blame. . ." He gasped as the pod made a complete turn and faced out into deep space. It lurched slightly as it began to speed away, far beneath the field of Nexian asteroids.