The Outworlder

by Natalie J. Holden

  Although I appreciated his effort to get back on track, a bitter smile crept over my face. But Myar Mal leaned toward me, almost conspiratorially, and continued: “Come on, kid. What makes you think you’re worse than anyone else? Ten out of twelve Dahlsi are medicated for mood disorders.”

  His words hit a bit too close to home for me, so before I bite my tongue, I snapped back: “Are you?”

  “Now, that’s a personal question,” he scolded.

  I automatically slouched in my chair. “Sorry.”

  “But between you and me, yes I am. For now.”

  I lifted my gaze, and for the first time, dared to give him a closer look. On the outside he wore the same aspect of strength and confidence as usual—his back ramrod straight, head held high. But up close, I could see his mask cracking; dark circles around tired eyes, creases that weren’t there a few days ago, and lips pressed tighter than before.

  Until the corner of his lips lifted in a crooked version of an ironic smile and I realized that I was staring.

  I immediately dropped my eyes again, trying desperately to come up with some apology that would make sense. “I’m not good with people,” I blurted. “You have to admit, that’s a pretty important skill for a leader.”

  He gave out another noncommittal hum, but finally reached out to take the silver sash from the desk.

  “I will honor your wish. It was a pleasure working with you; as much as it could be under the circumstances. Maybe one day you’ll want your sash back. In the meantime, is there anyone you would recommend for that position?”

  Saral Tal’s face flashed before my eyes. I pressed them shut.

  “No,” I said weakly.

  Myar Mal hummed and turned away, thoughtful. I wondered if I should take it as a cue to leave.

  “There’s one more thing I have to ask,” I spurted, “I need permission to travel to Tarviss and back.”

  He waved his hand. “That’s all sorted.”

  Of course it was. I wasn’t sure if I should be more impressed or annoyed.

  He reached to another drawer and handed me a scroll, “and your alibi. You will travel to Tarviss as Tomoi Harrath, last of the colonists. You were working as part of the Taran Hassemel court. When Mespana came, you evaded capture by hiding in the mountains. But we finally got you and are now sending you back.

  After you find your family, you’ll have to find your own way to Dahls. We will provide you with a device to locate and identify merges: the one with Dahls will probably be guarded, but you can still get back through M’velt Strabana and Xin Nyeotl. I would suggest getting a guide before you venture there, especially with civilians. Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” I prepared to leave, but he stopped me with a question.

  “Will you at least stay for the ceremony?”

  “What ceremony?”

  He clicked his tongue with reproach. “To honor our best soldiers. There’s a ring for you, too.”

  The rings were given to the most accomplished Dahlsi. I wasn’t sure I deserved one.

  “I’m not fond of ceremonies,” I said, and technically I wasn’t lying.

  “You deserve to be there.”

  His response was so close to my thoughts that an unpleasant suspicion crept up on me. I couldn’t stop myself from asking: “Were you reading my mind, too?”

  He smiled, a small, sardonic smile, strangely familiar, but not suiting him very well.

  “Now, if there’s nothing else you need, please excuse me, I have work to do. See you at the ceremony.”

  “Of course.” I nodded, then, guided by a strange impulse, I added: “Kiar vashir.”

  He gave me another pale smile.

  “Just don’t ask me to repeat that,” he joked, then gestured me out.

  I didn’t tell him that in Tarvissi-é ‘vashir’, while technically meaning the same as vessár—that is ‘the leader’, was never used as a title and ‘kiar’ meant ‘exceptional’.

  Chapter 28

  Myar Mal’s hand stopped suddenly. Tayrel Kan kept his eyes closed, but he could almost see the other man frowning, and he was just waiting…

  “You think she knew?”

  The sorcerer exhaled. “I’m not talking about your ex,” he said sternly. He heard the body shifting beside him as his partner lifted himself on his elbow.

  “I loved her. I think I still do.”

  With a sigh, Tayrel Kan sat up and procured a tchalka. He was naked, sweat gluing dark hair to his arms, legs, and chest, but he didn’t care. Some could even say he reveled in his filth, not bothering to wipe the sperm off his stomach, displaying it proudly like a badge of conquest. He would display more, but his magic was already in action, making bruises on his neck and wrists pale, and the red handprints all over his body disappear. His penis was half-erect, ready for the next round whenever the other man stopped moping.

  “That’s why you jumped in as soon as I offered you a blowjob?” asked the sorcerer mockingly, lighting the tchalka with a flicker of his fingers.

  Myar Mal pouted.

  “They gave her five cycles in Xiburk,” he said instead of answering. “I tried to speak for her—”

  “Of course you did,” murmured Tayrel Kan, but the other man ignored him.

  “But they treated her actions as a crime against the state.”

  The sorcerer sighed again. “Are you going to visit her?” he asked, finally giving in.

  “Maybe. We haven’t really spoken since…” Myar Mal waved his hand in some uncoordinated gesture and paused, the frown on his face deepening. He was also naked, but he’d previously used a spell to clean himself, leaving no trace of their intercourse.

  His body, with smooth skin and perfectly sculpted muscles, provided Tayrel Kan with a much more interesting view than his worried profile. The sorcerer wondered if there was some mathematical formula coded in his body—not a far-fetched idea. Myar Mal led a sedentary lifestyle; his looks were the effect of magic, not workout.

  “I think if we talked more—”

  “Then you’d break up sooner,” cut in Tayrel Kan, “but then again, if you did that, maybe she wouldn’t try to kill you.”

  He didn’t let his facade slip, but his stomach clenched, his own words dredging up memories. He drew in his tchalka.

  “People destroy what they love. You got out easily,” he said against his better judgment. He quickly collected himself: “But if you hate your life so much, go back to her. I don’t care. Or find yourself another sweetheart. I didn’t come to you looking for love. And I didn’t offer mine.”

  “How gracious.”

  The sarcasm in Myar Mal’s voice made something inside him snap.

  “If you want to blame the decay of your relationship on me, I don’t care either. But you know it was dead long before I came. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else; a buxom lady or a pretty boy with firm cheeks. Or hey, maybe she would find someone. Someone like Aldeaith: a simple guy her dad would approve of.”

  Before he was finished, Myar Mal was on him, straddling his hips, with one hand clasped around his neck, the other closed into a fist and ready to strike.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled, looking Tayrel Kan in the eye, but the sorcerer didn’t even blink.

  “Make me.”

  Chapter 29

  The ceremony took place in the central plaza—the only part of The Inner City big enough to contain everyone from Mespana. Or everyone that was left.

  It was located at the crossing of two main market streets. In the center rose a round platform covered by blue Dahlsian grass and surrounded by an artificial stream. Another, temporary platform was built on top, and our leaders lined up on it.

  This time, I did my homework. The Directory had three members. An elder woman with a tanned face and long, silver braid was Lyria La-Nidru, one of the first explorers of the Meon Cluster. A younger woman, pale, with more respectable short hair, was Rinay Kia-Varey, a politician from a family of politicians. The only man was Kiav
Rin-Sannos, who used to be sil-kahar—the leader—of some colony, then proceeded to be a governor of Sfal, Chief Governor of Meon, and finally a member of the Directory. Behind them governors and ministers lined up. On the left side of the podium stood Myar Mal and a bit further other vessár-ai. I noticed Adyar Lah at the head of the Second and Arda Nahs—Laik Var’s nami—at Seventh. Why didn’t I think about her when Myar Mal asked for a recommendation?

  I wished I could stay behind, hide in a corner and watch from there, but as one of the honored ones I had to take a position at the base of the platform. As always, the majority of people around me were pure Dahlsi, and I stood out like a sore thumb.

  “Mespanians,” spoke Lyria La. Despite her age, her voice was loud and clear—probably magically amplified. The murmurs filling the plaza died down. “You defended your country against the greatest threat it faced in centuries. For this, we are all grateful. The sacrifices many of you made were immense, and I cannot imagine there’s a way we could ever pay you back. It’s a great tragedy that even here, in Dahlsian worlds, there are people who value material goods and land more than human lives; who would send hundreds to die to satisfy their greed and false claims. Alas, we cannot change who they are. We can only defend ourselves and our way of life.”

  She flicked her hand and an obelisk of black stone materialized in the middle of the platform. It’s tip almost brushed the dome topping the plaza and the light reflected on the twelve mirror-like sides covered in red lettering.

  “For their crimes, many of you—our best men and women—paid the ultimate price. This monument will be here to remind us of their sacrifice,” continued Lyria La. She then procured a piece of writing plastic and started reading their names.

  I was flooded with emotions I had no words to describe. Each name she listed was like another stone laid on my conscience. And there were so many of them! I knew about it, I saw it on the news—and with my own eyes in Maurir—but hearing their names, uttered one by one in a loud, somber voice made me realize they were not just numbers in the newspaper or nameless bodies on the battlefield. They were people. Each had two parents and probably extended families—friends, lovers, children.

  Thousands of lives ruined by the greed of one man.

  But as the list went on, the names started blurring. There were too many… It was impossible to remember them all. Hence the monument, I thought. One piece of rock to commemorate them all.

  Lyria La stepped down, and I hoped the dreadful ceremony was over, but no; she merely passed the paper to Rinay Kia, who proceeded with the dead of the Fifth Cohort.

  So many lost, and we were only a third of the way through…

  Tears prickled at my eyes as I looked at the memorial, trying to decipher the writing. I guessed each wall stood for one Cohort. But despite the size of the obelisk, discerning the names was impossible from my spot.

  Rinay Kia arrived at the Seventh Cohort.

  Laik Var-Nessop.

  Vareya La-Ketan

  Saral Tal-Sannos.

  His face flashed before my eyes, blue sash tainted with blood. I shut my eyes and turned away from the obelisk.

  I felt hot. Sweat drenched my body as I struggled for breath, my chest tight, heart racing as if trying to break free. I tried to withdraw, to turn my mind to happier times, but my head was spinning, assaulted by visions. A flurry of bodies, flames, and blades, bloodied corpses, Karlan Peridion standing over me with a manic grin, the paralyzing spell, Saral Tal and Taneem Kiovar.

  A wave of calm washed over me. I felt the weight of someone’s hand on my shoulder, and as I turned around, I saw a Dahlsi woman with the yellow armband of a healer. She nodded, and I realized she had calmed me with a spell. I returned the nod and turned my attention to the ceremony.

  It ended soon after, and I wondered how long my episode had lasted. I had to get a grip. My journey was far from over, and if I zoned out like that in Tarviss…

  “But let us remember that after every storm comes the harvest,” concluded Kiav Rin, putting the sheet away. “The dead shall not be forgotten, but neither will the living. Many of you who are gathered here today demonstrated an exceptional courage and valor. They also deserve recognition.”

  The crowd behind me roared with approval, and my insides clenched painfully. The moment I dreaded most was coming.

  Kiav Rin returned to his initial spot, and Myar Mal stepped forward to replace him with his own list. I don’t know why, but something in him made him stand out, even among the Directory. He seemed bigger, brighter, more concrete, and my chest swelled with a mix of pride and jealousy. This was my vessár. I could never be like him.

  He commenced reading the names. First, the vessár-ai whom he decorated with dallite-studded rings. Then, he proceeded to the ordinary Mespanian, and those received awards from their leaders.

  To my annoyance, he started from the First Cohort. My skin was crawling with anxiety; I was well aware of people’s eyes on me, and I wanted to get this over with. Yet the ceremony dragged on. Each name followed a slow ascent of the announced Mespanian, decorating, the ovations, descent. It seemed to last forever.

  When he finally called for Seventh Cohort, my stomach lurched. My time was coming.

  I twisted my fingers nervously and went over the speech I was given prior to the ceremony. Since it was implanted by magic, there was no way for me to mess it up; yet I was nervous.

  “Aldait Han-Tirsan.”

  I shuddered. If the hall was quiet before, now it was dead. I dared to sweep my eyes around, but everyone was looking at me. I dropped my gaze. Tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry.

  You can do it, I told myself. On wobbly legs, I ascended the platform.

  Arda Nahs held my ring. She was an outworlder—the only outworlder vessár—though I couldn’t say where she was from. She was even taller and bulkier than me, dark skinned and sharp-faced, with copper-colored hair braided into a crown.

  I tried to focus on her, pretending it was only me and her with no crowd around. She always made me uneasy, but now she was my best option. Only once did I dare peek at the gathered officials, but meeting their eyes, fixed on me, proved too much.

  I stopped before Arda Nahs, then extended my left hand, letting her put the ring on. The dallite in it was as big as a human eye, green in the artificial light.

  I exhaled. Now to the hard part.

  I turned to the crowd and cleared my throat. I felt like I should near the front of the platform, but I didn’t trust my legs to carry me.

  Why couldn’t they find someone else to do it?

  The silence dragged. How long was I standing there, too nervous to speak?

  I have to push through.

  I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.

  “Mespanians,” I started, then paused, startled by how loud my voice had been. Magical amplification, damn them all. “As you see, I’m the only person of Tarvissian heritage present here. The only one of my race left in Meon Cluster. But I want to assure you, that rebellion was the act of a few. Most of us never wanted to break from Dahlsian dominion. The insurrection brought us nothing but hurt; it ripped us from our homes and threw us back to the world from which we escaped.” I paused, partially because that’s what the script said, partially because I needed to calm myself again. “I stood with you in Maurir, and I will stand if Tarviss proceeds with its threats. Most colonists will stand too, if you give them a chance. We may be different, but all of us, Dahlsi or Tarvissi, strive for the same thing—to live our lives in peace, safety, and prosperity.”

  I turned to walk down the platform, my head down, but the sounds rising above the crowd stopped me. Clapping. Cheering.

  “Aldait Han,” carried above the other voices and soon the entire crowd was chanting: “Aldait Han! Aldait Han! Aldait Han!”

  It took a while for my brain to understand what was happening. Tears prickled my eyes and my throat tightened.

  For so long, I wanted people to call me by my Tarvissian n
ame. But in all my life, it never felt as right as the Dahlsian one then.

  I lifted my gaze above the throng to where I knew the Immigration Center and the merge with the Old Worlds was.

  Tarviss, I was coming.

  Epilogue

  It took a few days before Myar Mal found time to visit the charnel lab. He didn’t announce his visit, and yet the house’s director was waiting for him. She looked nothing like he expected; a young, athletic woman with slicked hair and fashionable, black-rimmed glasses.

  She rose from her desk and stiffened, hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on something beyond kar-vessár’s left shoulder.

  “Myar Mal,” she greeted, nodding slightly.

  “Lygia No,” he replied. He’d never met her, but there was only one female necromancer employed by Mespana. Maybe three in the entire Meon Cluster. “Kiarn At told me you are the person to ask about the progress of the investigation.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes flickered to the sorcerer who decided to accompany Myar Mal, then back at the wall. She cleared her throat. “We just finished analyzing the samples. There were one-thousand-and-ninety-six rebels. Of them, around three-hundred-and-sixty spent less than a day in Meon cluster.”

  Myar Mal took a moment to digest that information, making sure his face betrayed none of the emotions the discovery brought. It was hardly a surprise, merely a confirmation of what they extracted from that female rebel’s mind before sending her back to Tarviss. Still, he hoped she had been wrong.

  “And the sorcerer?” he asked when he was sure his voice wouldn’t falter.

  Lygia No licked her lips. Apparently, like many of her profession, she couldn’t handle authority.

  “There, ah, seems to be a problem,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  Myar Mal arched his eyebrow. “A problem?”

  She exhaled deeply and started explaining: “Every living thing upon death, no matter how violent, leaves a trace of its essence. Detecting those traces and matching them comprises the majority of our work. But these… bones. There’s nothing in them.”