by Various
As high as they flew, he still should hear a splash from below, but there was nothing. There never was. Maybe Tipnya had gone to where the prophets truly intended. Maybe it was only wishful thinking.
Held aloft by perfect faith, the airship flew on.
Athena Andreadis became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of “The Wind Harp” in Crossed Genres 2.0 Magazine (Sep. 2013), edited by Kay T. Holt and Bart R. Leib.
Visit her website at www.starshipreckless.com.
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Short Story: “The Wind Harp” ••••
THE WIND HARP
by Athena Andreadis
First published in Crossed Genres 2.0 Magazine (Sep. 2013), edited by Kay T. Holt and Bart R. Leib
• • • •
WHEN NÉMI FERÁI KÁMI-O sent me a formal summons, I took more than usual care with my appearance. Not that it would matter to him—his retainers, conscious of the length and renown of the Kámi-o lineage, constantly complained about his informality. Besides, he had seen me in all states of dishevelment ever since he had taken me as his fosterling, after my parents…
I walked down the flagstone colonnade, forcing myself into calm by watching the ketúo fronds sway and murmur their pleasing harmonies. It would not do to arrive early. The late morning bells began chiming when I entered the pavilion whose opalescent roof refracted Kánri’s light.
Ferái smiled at me as I bowed. The low oval table by his side was covered with datacrystals, tablets and commlinks. A light robe and loose trousers billowed around his neat frame and his gleaming black hair was held back by two combs of polished shell. Despite a smudge of ink on one high cheekbone, he still looked the epitome of elegance. I felt distinctly overdressed.
“What does Némi Ferái Kámi-o wish to share?” I asked, using formal address.
“Food, to begin with,” he answered in affectionate mode, gesturing towards the breakfast tray. I took a few bites but I might as well be chewing pebbles..
“The other members of the Circle think you are too young but I would like to entrust you with a mission. A difficult and dangerous one.” He placed his hand lightly on mine. “Please refuse if you think it is beyond you, Antóa.”
Refuse? I’d rather die than disappoint him. Nor would he have asked this of me if he thought I had no chance of success.
“The Kem-Fir tower has a new ruler,” he continued, absently rubbing his close-cropped beard.
“I thought Dor-Nys Nir-Vad was at her prime.”
“We all did,” he agreed ruefully. “The official word from Behtalka is that she fell unexpectedly ill—and refused to let any Confederation healers see her.”
“After all the Confederation efforts to create stable links with the Gan-Tem towers…”
“A loss for her people, first and foremost. But Serkadren cares little what happens on Gan-Tem as long as their weapons flow smoothly in his direction.” His eyes turned as hard as the agates they resembled. “I am not endangering your life to further the ambitions of the Melhuat of Behtalka. As is common with the Gan-Tem, the neighboring towers attacked Kem-Fir during the transition. Kem-Fir prevailed, but its water reservoir was damaged.”
“And I assume that Melhuat Serkadren dispatched a starship to the jump point, with instructions to supply Kem-Fir with water but only if the new Dor-Nys asks. And since such an action would fatally undermine her authority and the tower’s autonomy…”
“Indeed, she has not asked. To our knowledge, Kem-Fir has only two small starships. Neither is equipped to fetch water from the system’s asteroids, even if they could evade Serkadren’s patrolling fortress. They are feverishly trying to reconstitute the ducts connecting the reservoir to the aquifer. They may be attacked again. In the meantime—”
A Whittling… I guessed, letting the thought float unguarded. Ferái nodded.
“Officially you are there as an observer. Your true mission is to persuade the new Dor-Nys to stay her hand. If we can turn a Gan-Tem tower into an ally for Ténli…” He hesitated but I heard his thought clearly enough. Now it was my turn to touch his hand.
“I know you want Ténli-e influence to be as great as possible in the Confederation, Némi Ferái.”
“To the Behtalkat, the Talent is a weapon. But Serkadren is gentler than his sire. If we can guide him, the complexion of the Confederation may change.” He stood, raising me along with him, and formally pressed my hands between his. “Pronounce, Antóa Tásri, Erúe’s hope, Kandéi’s joy.”
For the mission, Ferái gave me the access codes to his own starship, the Sedói. After stuttering my thanks for the extravagant gift, I suggested it would be best if I went alone. He disagreed.
“All the risk and all the glory?” he asked. I felt my cheeks grow warm. He smiled, the amusement laced with sorrow. The image of Erúe—her calm bravery, her love of strange skies… but the slate-green eyes and the ability to gaze deeply into people, those are Kandéi’s. Then he turned as smoothly opaque as his hair combs.
“You will be on your own. We cannot override the Behtalkat jamming devices without triggering alerts. Only Kem-Fir’s Dor-Nys knows the full writ of your mission. We will decide what to disclose when you return.” I smiled at the when. He smiled, too, and brushed the back of his hand fleetingly on my cheek, releasing me to my task.
• • •
To go from Ténli to Gan-Tem required three jumps. The Sedói negotiated the journey effortlessly. It might look like a snowflake, but its engines would serve a parméi warship.
Half-listening to the ship’s chirps and hums, I went over the greetings for the Nim-Zad and Tel-Kir castes. The male Tel-Kir were the face of Gan-Tem to the outside world, but it was the Nim-Zad, the female law enforcers within the towers, that I feared.
The city-sized warship Melhuat Serkadren had dispatched loomed over the final jump point, its entire arsenal trained at the maelstrom of the wormhole entry. I ran a discreet scan—its scoutships were gone beyond sensor range. All but one, which approached me peremptorily demanding entry. Given their scanning hardware, sending someone physically seemed oddly inefficient. But when the long-legged scoutship pilot sauntered through the docking bay iris, I knew the ostentatious visit had little to do with vetting the Sedói.
“Antóa Tásri, conscientious like all the Kámi-o acolytes,” he drawled in Dominant Mode Behtalkat. The leakage of his thoughts was like a muddy pond churned by wind. “Not using a parméi? Why are the Ténli-e so chary of committing their resources for the good of the Confederation?” He prowled around my control console, the third-rank nostril gem of the Tohduat Order casting yellow reflections on the elaborate misedraht handle tucked in his armband.
“A parméi is too large and fragile to enter atmosphere, Nimbredaht Talsekrit,” I pointed out. I gave him the honorific of mentor he did not deserve, while using Dominant Mode myself. “Also, a small vessel shows good faith and I’m here only as an invited observer, after all.”
“The Gan-Tem are only impressed by brute strength!” he exclaimed, running his fingers through his spiky dark-blond hair, cropped closer than required. “My brother—the Melhuat—” he corrected himself quickly, “would make short work of their pretensions.”
“I feel quite safe, knowing a Tohduat warrior is nearby…” I said with a smile that I didn’t try to make warm.
Talsekrit glared at me. Most would consider him handsome and he was reasonably intelligent—no offspring of the Melhuat that was subpar in any way lived beyond Selection, nor did the hapless pardaht that birthed it. Yet his presence in my mind was flaccid, drab.
The Tohduat had wanted Serkadren. But their unlamented sire would not give away his most promising seedling—he had given them Talsekrit instead. The Tohduat had to take him and show gratitude with little to show for it: rumors said that Talsekrit’s Talent was Level Three, the lowest possible for entry into the Order. Whereas Serkadren had proved his Talent unequivocally by not only killing his sire, but by doing s
o with the tacit approval—and, some said, the covert aid—of the Tohduat.
“Where are your scoutships?” I asked him.
“Monitoring the situation on Gan-Tem,” Ensuring that no one smuggled water to Kem-Fir, unless it agreed to Behtalka’s terms. “I will be doing some reconnaissance myself,” he added, practically puffing out his chest.
“Is that wise?” I said. “The Gan-Tem—”
“—won’t be so foolish as to interfere with official Behtalkat representatives,” he interrupted, putting emphasis on official. The Ténli-e think they can still act on their own, I heard, despite the thought-shields. His Talent was low, all right. And to send her… she’s so young… I wonder what Kámi-o is after, he’s not to be trusted. Still, I assume my brother and the Order know of his plans.
“You and the pretty toy have leave to go through,” he said with a negligent wave of his hand. Leave… we did not need anyone’s permission to sail amid the stars, once. But that was before Behtalka engulfed the entire quadrant.
• • •
As soon as I emerged from the last jump point, I activated the magnetic deflectors. Less than a heartbeat later, a powerful energy discharge jolted the Sedói. I recognized the jagged burr design of the ship that filled my viewport—a Gan-Tem marauder three times my size. On its underside were two interlocked ovals, one orange, one dark red: the device of Kem-Fir Tower.
“Ténli-e witch,” came a hoarse voice through the comm. “My Dor-Nys doesn’t waste her time with Confederation spies.” And a second discharge slammed into the Sedói, rocking it like a seed pod borne on a turbulent creek.
The Tel-Kir warriors that crewed the Gan-Tem starships were not known to bargain much. I could outrun them, but I doubted they would listen to anyone they could herd like prey. I aimed the Sedói straight below the turret stalks and wedged it between a hatch and a launching vent. Besides magnets, I also used the gravity holds we had recently installed on the Sedói, hoping that the Gan-Tem had not yet perfected countermeasures.
“Stand and fight!” challenged my adversary, while he and his crew tried various ways to pry me off their hull, none gentle. “Or I release piercer motes on you!” I took a deep breath.
“Don’t deprive your Dor-Nys of her invited guest,” I said in a conversational tone, tamping down my fear—their hull piercers made short work of all metal. “It won’t compensate for being unable to evade the Behtalkat cordon. And hyperventilating will just make you thirstier.” At this, I heard a cough that could equally well be amusement or indignation… and he appeared on my communication viewscreen.
Though still rippling with muscle, his contours were starting to soften—the oldest Tel-Kir I had ever seen. He might be tipping thirty local cycles. Almost none of his caste lived that long. When they were not fighting for their towers, they faced off in the underground arenas. His hair was shaped like a rock formation sculpted by wind and the Kem-Fir interlocking circles had been cut into the side of his neck, the grooves inlaid with colored metal chips. Intricate studs decorated his nostrils, ears and eyebrows, their silvery sheen contrasting with his skin.
Cunningly shaped and fitted, a darter jutted from his left wrist, a flame thrower protruded from his right forearm. The links to his nerve endings were defiantly visible, at once decoration and bravado. His studs and prosthetics were kel-in, the sole resource that his planet possessed in abundance. Light, malleable yet unbreakable once forged, it had made it possible for Gan-tem engineers to create weapons irresistible to Behtalka.
The engineers of Kem-Fir tower were unparalleled. Their weapons responded directly to neuronal impulses. For the sake of such weapons Gan-Tem had been brought into the Confederation—despite the systematic killing of their Talented whom they considered possessed, despite the Whittlings whenever a Dor-Nys deemed that the population of her tower strained its resources.
“I heard nothing from my Dor-Nys that would make it worthwhile to spare you,” said the Tel-Kir, gazing at me with eyes as bright yellow as autumn grass on the plains of Nireg.
“Perhaps your Dor-Nys doesn’t tell you everything,” I replied.
“This is a feeble ploy to save your life.”
“Kill me and find out.”
His eyes narrowed. Then, with a snort, he snapped his visual display off. They stopped trying to dislodge me, though I kept a close watch on my sensors as we neared Gan-Tem, trailing its skeins of moonlets. At the edge of its atmosphere, I detached from my reluctant hosts. I kept the deflectors at maximum until the destroyer dwindled to a bright point in my rear viewports.
Under a turbulent sky pierced by meteors, I set course for Kem-Fir. Gan-Tem was tidally locked. The towers huddled in the narrow band between the day and night side, each perched on top of a water reservoir that also nourished their plant and animal food supply. The twilight zone was raked by hurricane-force gusts rising from the extreme temperature differentials. These now buffeted the Sedói, forcing me to constantly fire my corrective thrusters.
Kem-Fir was a hill-sized trapezoid that glowed a dull brown-red in the eternal gloaming. It rose steeply from a basin sparsely strewn with plants armored against the radiation from Gid-En’s flares. A few slit openings and dim green lights at irregular intervals broke the sheer, pitted face but I knew that the towers had hidden entrances.
My instructions were to maintain silence until hailed, so I landed on the flat top of the tower expecting a long wait. But I had barely anchored and powered down the Sedói when I saw a portion of the roof lift. Outlined against the dark gap I saw the silvery silhouettes of four Nim-Zad. Gid-En’s light reddened their studs and the tips of their plasma javelins.
• • •
The tower was filled with twisty corridors and irregular side openings, built for the inevitable moment when another tower would attempt to overcome it. Through the openings I caught glimpses of Kem-Fir’s inhabitants, their caste identifiable by their decorative scars and hair patterns. I saw a few sucking thirstily on the finger-sized dewgatherers that fluttered over tower reservoirs before my Nim-Zad escorts tightened their knot around me, blocking my view.
Eventually we reached a room whose sole furniture was a long, bare bench. Several more Nim-Zad stood around it, their clothes ranging from dark to light blue to match their status. Darters and stunners were seamlessly embedded in their arms. A beguiling musky scent permeated the room—the entire tower, I now realized, though here it was stronger.
“You can keep your innermost garment,” decided the senior Nim-Zad after they had searched me as gently as their destroyer had probed the Sedói. Inkblots of blood bloomed on my tunic. I was glad Ferái had insisted I take a hefty dose of immunohunters. “All else remains here—these, too,” she gestured at my hairpins. “We know of your dealings with the Idriem.”
I wouldn’t look very imposing wearing just a bodyform and waist-length hair, but she had a point. Hair ornaments, poisoned or otherwise, had been assassination tools on Ténli for generations before our starships alit on Idre and sampled its settlers’ exquisite biotech. And according to my sources, the Nim-Zad used similar means to settle matters of internal hierarchy.
She motioned me towards a rectangular opening covered by a semi-transparent membrane. As I crossed it, my skin prickled and a sharp taste flooded my mouth. Why and how did a Gan-Tem tower come to possess an Idri dampener?
On the other side was a high-ceilinged room that grew wider as you went further from the entrance. The musky smell grew deeper—but there was something else, as well. As soon as I crossed the barrier, pressure built up behind my eyes.
“I wish I could say welcome to Kem-Fir,” said a voice that vibrated like a crystal blade.
I edged cautiously forward. As my retinal microdots compensated fully, I saw a dais against the far wall. It was bordered with sconces whose cold fire rose vertically, undisturbed by any air currents I created by moving. Upon the dais a figure sat cross-legged. Her clothes, the same metallic bluish-white as that of the sconce lights, shimm
ered and threw refractions at her slightest move. Her hair fanned stiffly behind her like a great tree, laden with intricate metal adornments. A beautifully wrought kel-in mask covered her face. The expression on it was of calm detachment, but bright orange eyes gleamed through the eyeholes.
“Dor-Nys Teg-Rav,” I greeted her, “may wind never touch your face.” She extended her hand towards me. A small rectangle nestled in her palm, filled with clear liquid. I bowed. “I am deeply honored. But please give all available water to your people, they need it more than I.”
“A gracious Confederation envoy… who bothered to learn Gan-Tem caste dialects.” She let the silence lengthen, but Ferái had taught me well—I didn’t let it push me into nervous chatter. “You are not nobility. Should I consider this an insult?”
“You turned down several other candidates who outranked me,” I replied, willing my voice to stay steady. “I am fully empowered to negotiate—”
“Your finessing of my Tel-Kir, impressive,” she interrupted me. “But we don’t need any help.”
“If so, why did you consent to see me?” At that moment, I heard a distant sonic boom.
“I want you to see that Kem-Fir is strong and will get stronger. And I want you to tell your Behtalkat masters that we do things solely on our terms.”
“And their terms?”
“He’s canny, Serkadren.” She shrugged. “He offered to help us rebuild our reservoir. In return, Kem-Fir was to give him any Possessed born or found while his engineers were here—the girls to become his pardaht, the boys to become Tohduat. He sent the offer unencrypted, on the merchants’ frequency.” The merchants, the only caste untouched by tower enmities, the glue of Gan-Tem society. The mask could not change its expression. Her hands, though, dug into her knees before she could still them. And my eyes had adjusted well enough to see that her nails, bare of augmentation, were bitten to the quick.