The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1)

by Emanuel, Ako

  Whorl Seventy Two

  Vespa Kareni’Tiv turned to him as their transport headed through the congested avenues for home.

  “We are proud of you,” she said, smiling at him. “You behaved with great discretion, and admirable control, to a very inflammatory situation. And while it was obscenely obvious that the Gotra Dun daughter was very much to blame, as were her parents, you did not directly implicate her. Well done.”

  He gave a tremulous smile, though his insides were in a tumult. He had never been in so much trouble, before, and never wanted to face a panel of officials like that again. Though the Ministries are probably as much of an ordeal, he thought, and resolved to use the experience to armor himself. Better to experience it now, with Mother and Father able to be here with me, than meet such for the first time, alone!

  “Thank you, Mother, Father,” he said, moving his elytra-pace as he tried to unknot the bunched shoulder-muscles underneath. “I am sorry this came to such a pass. I tried to avoid embroiling myself with her, again, but she pushed the situation to this.”

  Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv gestured understanding. “You spurned her advances. Most girls are not used to that, most males being unable to resist. But you have admirable control – it was almost inevitable, although regrettable, that she would lose control because of it. But once thwarted, she was nearly bound to come to this pass. Her parents should not have put her up to trying to regain your interest – the fault lies with them.”

  Kreceno’Tiv did not argue, though he did not think that her parents, alone, were responsible for her renewed interest. He had seen the covetousness in her eyes, once she had seen him again at the beginning of the term. When she had seen how he had developed, the wish to repossess him had taken full hold. Her fault was persisting when he had made it clear that he did not want to renew their pre-mating.

  “We’ve decided that your censure is over,” Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv said. “You may again use your Nil’Gu’ua. And you may resume your activities outside of the domicive.”

  He looked from his mother to his father. He tried to smile.

  “Thank you,” he said again. They both gestured assent and called up tasks from their work, in which they involved themselves.

  He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes as they crept through the crush. They would not get home until late, he had many of his assignments to complete for the next turn.

  Whorl Seventy Three

  Gotra Pelani’Dun was not on the transport, or in any of the lectures for the next few turns. Nor was she anywhere to be seen around the outside of the Bustani, Kreceno’Tiv noted, when his friends and Pavtala Ralili’Bax took him there to mock-celebrate. He was not sure how to feel about that – what had befallen her? The Magistrar had implied that her mating-rights could be revoked if they thought her offense serious enough. He did not want that – he had not wanted any of this.

  When she returned, she was – crushed, chastened. There was a subtle difference about her, and when he engaged his vuu’erio to his secondary retinas, he saw that a glyph of suppression had been put on her glyph, disallowing her to exude a chemi-scent. Her Gotra colors were also dimmed, almost back to pre-secondary growth, though her physique had not been forcibly regressed.

  Despite himself, he felt a little bad for her – what she had done was forbidden, but she was young, and foolish, as they all were. And she had been used by her famiya, to try to snare him, for their own political gain. This suppression was – cruel.

  But then, she practically mated with Hytiro’Vel, all except the Geni’vhor, and then sent him after me, he reminded himself, not following her with his eyes or senses. But though she had been the instigator of the entire situation, he felt partially responsible, somehow. Just by ignoring her, he had somehow set her on this path. Should he have just responded, waiting for her to tire of him again? But she would not have – she would have tried to make him her full mate, eventually, if her parents were really behind this debacle. So, now, she had to spend the rest of the term like this, and he felt a tightness in his chest whenever he saw her. But there’s nothing I can do, now, except avoid her.

  Hytiro’Vel also returned, and he looked as crushed as Gotra Pelani’Dun. He had been forcibly un-induced, and his ability to respond to chemi-scent had also been blocked. He cast one fulminating glance at Kreceno’Tiv, then did not look or acknowledge him again.

  The rest of Secondus was abuzz over the whole thing. Even pupils in the lower terms were shooting him glances, which he ignored. Everyone speculated and asked each other what had happened, but no one quite dared to ask any of the three involved.

  Until Ro-Becilo’Ran, who had been silent about the whole thing for turns, finally got up the courage to say something.

  “So, Krece...” his friend opened, as they rode the transport in. Everyone around them quieted.

  “So, Becil,” he rejoined, not opening his eyes. The glyphs and projections of avid interest were almost sickening.

  “Oh ha, Krece, tell me what happened!” Ro-Becilo’Ran said impatiently, shaking his shoulder, eliciting a few laughs from those around them. “We’ve all been hungering after details, and not one of you is forthcoming!”

  “About?” he said, maddeningly, wanting to laugh angrily at the exasperation he did not need his vuu’erio tennae to sense. The OSI was being enacted, here, practically around them, exiling citizens, sending who knew how many off-world permanently, and this was what they concerned themselves with?

  “About the inquest you had to have gone to, because Hytiro’Vel attacked you in mate-fever!” Ro-Becilo’Ran said bluntly. There were swiftly drawn breaths, but no one refuted the assertion. Even the transport operation Proctor was listening. Gotra Pelani’Dun was sitting far away from both him and Hytiro’Vel, and none of her friends said anything to her.

  “They excused me without reprisal,” he said placidly. “We left before they handed out judgment to Hytiro’Vel and Pelani’Dun.”

  “And before you left?” his friend pressed.

  “Before that, they asked us what happened, and we told what happened,” he answered.

  “So Pelani’Dun admitted to proto-mating Hytiro’Vel to send him into a rage after you?” someone asked, incredulous. Eyes turned her way again, but she did not venture anything, only hunched her shoulders and stared out the transport window.

  “I was excused before anything like that was said,” he said to the anonymous voice, without looking. “You’ll have to ask one of the others who remained. It was very unpleasant, and I would like to forget about it as much as I can.”

  “Who all was there?” another callous question flew, but he did not answer.

  “I heard that the Magistrar, and two officials from the Gu’Anin Council and three Justicers were there,” another voice said, and there was a pause, as if they were waiting for him to corroborate or refute the information.

  “Krece?” Ro-Becilo’Ran persisted.

  He sighed, moved his elytra-pace. “All I know is that I was there, and I never want to be there again,” he said irritably.

  Whorl Seventy Four

  Pavtala Ralili’Bax was sympathetic, and obligingly did not press him for details. Instead she kept up a bright stream of meaningless chatter, when they were alone together. When he drew her close, she pressed against him, willingly, and hungrily returned his deep kisses. When she glomed, he responded.

  A five-turn after the incident he asked her to go with him to one of the once-popular stargazing places. Finally being off of restriction, he just wanted to be alone with her and his own thoughts for a while. Their double-transport moved up and around a relatively empty boulevard to an outer way, where the actual dark-turn sky was somewhat visible. She seemed very sensitive to his mood, and said nothing, just snuggled up to his side with her arms around him.

  When they reached a secluded place, she changed the glyph of the transport to make the roof transparent, and the double seat partially reclined. He drew her up and kissed
her, ran his hands over the velvet slickness of her elytra-pace. Then he leaned back and gazed up at the stars, the great splash of the Star Whorl above them. It felt as if nothing else existed but them, for a time, and he liked that just fine.

  “It was pretty horrible,” he said after a while, feeling the words come, rising to the surface, glyphs of his thoughts and feelings hovering between them and the stars. He felt her tense a little, and got the impression glyph from her that she was not sure what to do to help him talk about it, whether to stay silent, or to prompt him with short questions.

  “Ask me what was horrible,” he suggested.

  “What was horrible?” she obliged, giving him a gentle squeeze.

  “His battle-scythes, coming out of his arms,” he said, holding in a shudder. “They were so – primitive. And they’re in me, all the time, just waiting, waiting for the right kind of chemi-scent to turn me into some love-lorned fighting instrument! Imagine, a part of you that is made purely for – for killing, for killing someone else, and completely controlled by someone outside yourself!”

  Her chemi-scent surrounded him, soothing, comforting. He took a deep breath and sighed it away.

  “I was within a breath of going to Pelani’Dun, to be Gotrar-induced, so that I could fight him,” he confessed, hating how close he had come to it. To be so controlled, by someone else, and nearly betrayed by his own physiology...! The Pavtala-induction wavered, went away, then he consciously let it return.

  “But you didn’t,” she ventured. “You resisted. I’ve never seen provocation so strong, and you resisted it!”

  He gestured assent. “I could not stand the thought of crawling back to her, to be Gotrar-induced, just so I could match him.”

  She did not say anything to that, just squeezed him again.

  “They had already communicated with my parents by the time I got home,” he changed the subject.

  She waited a short time, then asked, “Were they angry?”

  He chuckled unpleasantly. “Not yet. They were waiting, waiting to be angry or not angry, depending on my part in all of it.” He recounted the whole thing to her, trusting that she would not repeat any of it.

  “Oh ha,” she said, sounding awed. “Your parents sound scary. I wouldn’t want to cross them.”

  He moved his shoulders. “They have long been in the Ministries, and the Solidarim. They loathe overt displays.”

  “Then why are you so warm, and loving?” she asked, in a teasing, playful voice. But he stiffened inside, a little, then relaxed again. His parents were cold, though not completely unfeeling. She felt his unspoken censure at her implied criticism of his parents, and did not say anything more. She even began to withdraw a little, thinking she had offended him.

  “No,” he whispered, drawing her close again and looking down at her. “I am different from them. I don’t – want to be as closed off as they are. I know they feel, they just don’t show it. I’m not so disciplined.”

  “Don’t – don’t ever be that disciplined,” she whispered back, almost pleading. “The best part of you is your warmth. Your loving nature – not even Pelani’Dun could damage it. Never let anyone take it from you.”

  Her eyes were soft, shaped in that pleading. He kissed her, and she was sweet, soft, wonderfully warm and inviting. When he gathered her and shifted her so that she lay full along his body, she did not resist.

  Mate? The desire was there, in both of them. It was almost a glyph in itself, hovering above them. All that stood between them and fully mating was the promise to wait and see what their circumstances would be, after Secondus. And the reality was that those circumstances were almost certainly set, and those circumstances would take them farther and farther apart.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t have that, have you, only to lose you? I couldn’t do that, I can’t!” She gripped his shoulders, and a sob choked out of her.

  “We won’t be honest anymore, this turn,” he said, stroking her hair, her elytra-pace, her back. “Let’s just look at the stars, for a while, all right?”

  She gestured assent and cuddled on him, closing her eyes. He gazed up at the stars, hating, though what, exactly, he could not define. Life? Circumstance? The world?

  All of it, he thought.

  Whorl Seventy Five

  When he got back, after escorting Pavtala Ralili’Bax home, he trudged past the salon to go up to his suite.

  “Kreceno?” His mother appeared from the salon, and stood gazing at him. “How is Ralili’Bax?”

  “She’s fine,” he said, turning, trying to discipline his expression. He was angry, more angry than he could remember being, ever.

  “There’s food in the prep area, if you’re hungry,” she said, tilting her head.

  “Thank you, Mother,” he replied, changing his steps to the food preparation room. She did not follow him, but was still standing half in the entranceway to the salon when he came out with the platter. He cast a glance at her – she was going to say something more, he knew it. So he stopped and waited.

  “I can understand why you’re upset,” she said, crossing her arms. “I can practically see the glyph of your anger, hovering about you.”

  Can you understand, in truth? he seethed, wanting to snarl.

  “No,” she answered, coming forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I found the perfect mate for me, and we were able to stay together, to true-mate, to have beautiful, brilliant children. We have no objection to Pavtala Ralili’Bax. If you want to mate with her... we would welcome her. She is smart, sweet, and creative, with an amusing penchant for pushing the boundaries of law without actually crossing them. And if you really wanted to be her mate, we couldn’t stop you. We wouldn’t. You’re an adult, it’s up to you two, really.”

  Her words startled him out of his anger, at least for the moment.

  “You don’t object to her? What about Pelani’Dun?” he asked.

  The faintest shadow of an expression of distaste came over her face. “We would have accepted Gotra Pelani’Dun, also... but we know her famiya is grasping, overambitious and unscrupulous, and would only be using you. But if she truly loved you... yes.” And the implication was that they hoped he was smart enough to recognize the type of person she was before he and she went all the way to mating.

  “But – she – Ralili – isn’t going to Tertius!” he said, louder than he meant to. Actually, he had not meant to say anything at all.

  Vespa Kareni’Tiv tilted her head again, a silent question.

  “She’s going straight into a Ministry apprenticeship with her mother, after Secondus!” He did not ask if he were going to go to Tertius – it was their decision, and he had to successfully finish Secondus, at any rate.

  His mother’s vuu’brows drew down. “So it is not our disapproval that keeps you two apart, but your future courses?”

  That too, he did not say, or need to say, he knew she could read it in is glyph.

  “Do you – want to go to the same Ministry?” she asked, touching his face.

  No! he cried out, and tried to suppress it in his glyph. Yes! “I don’t know,” he said, quietly. There were things he wanted to do, answers he needed to find, and he would not find them in the Ministry of Preservation. He would not be able to effect policy that held the OSI in place from there. He would be in one of the Ministries, as a Magistrar or Justicer, though, unfortunately, not as a full Solidarim Counselor. But as a Magistrar, he could still do something. He had to go to Tertius. But to keep Pavtala Ralili’Bax... it was almost worth it, it was worth it, for her, to eschew his goals. His thoughts tangled in a hopeless mass, warring drives equally claiming him.

  Vespa Kareni’Tiv squeezed his shoulder, the impression of a glyph left in her wake as she turned away.

  Enjoy each other while you can. And if you should change your mind...

  Whorl Seventy Six

  “Travel God,” a voice squeaked.

  Pa-Kreceno’Tiv sat up with a slight groan.
He slipped on kwats and went to his view-glyphographic. When he Nil-ized it, there was the face of the Heretian girl, Okon.

  “Okon,” he said, trying not to sound too bleary, “what goes, are you all right? Do you need my help?”

  Her large brown eyes blinked, then she gestured, and projected a negative. “No, Travel God, I am fine. I – I wanted to thank you for helping me. I am learning a lot, and... I understand much more, now. I just... wanted to free you of your pledge. I will be fine.” She held up the chitin disk that his mother had glyph-conjured.

  He felt strange, felt as if he ought to have done more for her. “No, keep it. You may not need my help now, but who knows what the future holds. If you really need me – summon me, and I will do what I can.”

  She blinked, then smiled, showing more pointed teeth than not. “Maybe one turn, I will be a Travel God, too,” she said. “And if you need my help, you have it. I – I asked your name, and they tell me that it is Kreceno’Tiv.” She looked intently at him. “You look different, though, not like you were.”

  He smiled. “Travel-Gods go through changes, sometimes.”

  She gestured non-comprehension, mixed with wry humor. “Who can understand the Gods? Rest well, Travel-God Kreceno’Tiv. I will pray to you.”

  Pray? He felt a strange sense of – falsehood, being dishonest. I am not a god. But he just gestured a well-wishing, and she went away.

  Whorl Seventy Seven

  The last third of the term flew by, between lecture-work and Pavtala Ralili’Bax’s diversions, and before Pa-Kreceno’Tiv realized it, they were studying for their exit examinations. It was a nerve-wrenching time, for while his lessons came as facilely as they ever had, he was worried about going to Tertius, and also his time with Pavtala Ralili’Bax was, perhaps, coming to its end. The predations of the OSI were also slowly working its way up the landforms, and tension was building in the masses, though no overt action had been taken yet.