Third Don: Ardulum, #3

by J. S. Fields

  “We’ve lost control.” The High Priest of Neek stepped up to Ekimet’s left but remained slightly behind the Ardulan. Ekimet had been so consumed in the blaze and the voices of the andal that zie had not heard him approach, let alone heard his ship land. “If we had—” The priest caught himself and looked to the ground.

  Ekimet knew what he would have said. If they’d worked to combat the fires immediately, if they’d actively tried to contain them to uninhabited areas instead of simply mitigating property damage, they might not have spread so quickly. There might have been a chance of some hectares remaining untouched when—if—the Eld finally responded to Ekimet’s call of warning.

  “High Priest,” Ekimet greeted with a heavy nod. It was impressive that the priest had even begun that sentence. The pamphlets, the fires, and the complete, swift destruction of the Ardulan fleet…the marks against the Ardulans continued to mount.

  The priest followed Ekimet’s gaze to the smoky horizon. When he spoke, Ekimet could hear the strain. “Sixteen hours of burning, my lord. The northern old-growth preserve is decimated, save the oldest trees with the thickest bark. Every plantation is either burning or has burned itself out. Another day, and every forest will be affected. The Charted Systems’ supply of andal cellulose will be gone.”

  The andal was getting louder, too. Ekimet clenched zir hands against the screams in zir mind. The other elds had to be hearing the call. Even Miketh had said the noise was overwhelming, and most standard Ardulans could not hear the words of the andal. Ekimet turned to face the high priest as another wave of heat pushed at zir skin. Zir face flushed, and zie reinforced zir mental walls.

  “All is well, High Priest. The andal sacrifice serves a higher purpose. I appreciate your steadfast devotion, even in these trying times.”

  Andal help zir, the fancy words sounded more ridiculous now, with the Neek economy burning around them, than they had at first contact. Was it worth it, anymore, to keep playing this game? Maybe…maybe it was better to make the cut quickly and avoid more slow suffering as the Neek people battled with their new reality.

  The high priest shuffled his feet. “I…I understand that, my lord. The people, however… I am unsure what to tell them. I require your guidance. I don’t understand the purpose of letting the andal burn. Without understanding, I cannot calm the populace. They waver. I…I waver, my lord, and I do not wish to. This planet has finally chosen the correct path, and Ardulum—well, Ardulans—have returned to us. Tell me what we must do to be worthy of you.”

  Ekimet hunched slightly and caught the priest’s eyes. Shocked, the man immediately lowered his gaze back to the ground. “You honor me, my lord,” the high priest murmured. “I am not worthy of such favor, not when I waver.”

  Ekimet, too, wavered. Zie wasn’t prepared to deal with reassurances. Zie hadn’t wanted the pretense of godhood to begin with. What a relief it would have been to tell the truth. To show zir markings, to explain seeding. With the high priest alone, perhaps it would not have major drawbacks, but if zie told the people…the societal implications of large-scale apostasy could be cataclysmic, and not just for the Neek. If Ardulum ever sent fleets to the planet, they’d need the support of Neek and its remaining andal supply. An unwilling, disbelieving populace could lose them this siege. Ekimet could lose them the war.

  Ekimet balled zir fists. The priest could probably see zir attempts to calm zirself. Ekimet didn’t care. Zie was already a failure. Impossible decisions were something the Eld were supposed to be good at. Who was more prepared to ascend than zir? Who had received more training? Zir grandmother was an Eld advisor. Zir mentor had become an eld zirself. Why was zie so bad at leading?

  Ekimet’s face burned from both the fire’s heat and zir thoughts. The priest wouldn’t look away now, and Ekimet could only swallow back the taste of ash and bile. Zie squashed zir frustration, zir loneliness, and zir anger and turned back to the forest, away from the priest. The forest screamed in response.

  “We do what we must, for Ardulum. You can tell the people…” Ekimet trailed off. “Tell them…” The andal surged in Ekimet’s mind. “Tell them, even gods make mistakes.”

  “Mistakes…” The high priest’s words, when they came, were thick and hesitant. “I desire clarification.” He met Ekimet’s eyes, and in them, Ekimet was startled to see a clear focus, despite the trembling that had overtaken his hands. “I wish the truth, as told by you, my lord. The andal is of Ardulum. We allow the burning as an offering to our gods, the Ardulans, and yet you are here.” Again, the priest shuffled on his feet, his white hair falling about his face. He wrung his hands, perhaps to calm himself, perhaps to hide the shaking. “We are genetic relatives, you and I. Our own scientists have confirmed what the Mmnnuggls have said. For that alone, we would help you, but…I do not understand the mechanism at play here. I do not know what you want. Without an understanding, I cannot calm the people.” His words turned to a whisper. “They turn from you, my lord. They turn from Ardulum. With all of this at hand, you only allow minimal fire suppression to sentient trees that have long supported our planet.”

  “Sentient?” Ekimet asked, surprised. “You…you mean the andal? Can you hear it?”

  The high priest blinked and looked away. His hands stilled, and for a moment, so too did the andal in Ekimet’s mind.

  Ekimet hadn’t considered that possibility. It was possible, however improbable, that some Neek might also be able to hear the cries of the andal. If so, they would likely find it distinctly disconcerting, especially if they could feel only a vague sense of fear and danger, as might pass across a weak telepathic bridgeway.

  “Look at me,” Ekimet commanded.

  With a thin breath, the high priest looked back at Ekimet. The priest was calm now, at least externally. The subtle rise and fall of his chest as he strained to breathe in the smoky air was measured. Ekimet looked away. The priest wanted affirmation of divinity. Of a plan. Of a higher purpose.

  A large andal cracked at its base and fell, crushing three rows of seedlings and sending wails into Ekimet’s mind. At almost the same moment, the priest flinched and wiped stuk-coated fingertips on his robes.

  “Do you hear the trees?” Ekimet asked, skirting the unspoken request. “Their cries? Their words?”

  The high priest shook his head, his eyes unblinking. “No, my lord. But I…I feel pain. Heat. Sorrow. Terror. Others have reported the same, to varying degrees. I see it reflected in Lord Miketh and yourself. It is not only in Neek minds.”

  Something small and intangible, like an imaginary stone in zir imaginary mental wall, shifted. Ekimet again met the priest’s eyes and tried to see an Ardulan instead of a Neek. Another mental stone fell. They were siblings, of a sort, were they not? Any being who could hear the andal did not deserve to be lied to. The Neek were ready. They had to be.

  “You deserve an explanation,” Ekimet said finally.

  “An explanation, in as much as you think one such as myself could understand,” the priest returned. The trembling in his hands was back, but only just. “I know the people. I will make a sound judgment as to the dissemination.” The priest knelt on the ground, head brushing the tops of the low grass. “Please, my lord,” he whispered into the ground cover.

  “Stand up,” Ekimet said. Zie knelt down on one knee and offered a hand to the priest. “Don’t do that. Not in private—not in public. If you want an explanation, then you must be ready to deal with the consequences.”

  The priest shivered, but clasped Ekimet’s hand and stood. They were the same height, Ekimet realized suddenly, although they had very different builds. It brought a…an evenness to this moment of emotional evolution.

  Ekimet clasped zir hands behind zir back and then slid the elastic from zir sleeves.

  “I cannot speak for divinity. We Ardulans have our own religion, which is burning as we speak. The planet, our planet, is real—as am I, obviously.” Ekimet brought zir arms back around and pulled up the sleeves of the robes, reve
aling zir Science markings. When the priest responded with a quizzical look, Ekimet pulled at zir left sleeve, moving the fabric from zir shoulder and showing zir Hearth markings.

  The priest’s gasp was loud, deep, and sent the man into a coughing fit. “Two sets of markings… An eld?” the priest asked between racking coughs. Ekimet pulled a wood canister from zir robes and offered it to the priest. The man hesitated, but only until another round of coughing threatened his ability to stand. He took the canister—wood which had touched Ekimet’s lips and Ekimet’s hands—and drank.

  “Why have you come?” the priest asked again when he regained control of his breath. He looked now at the canister, turning it over in his hands. “An eld does not leave Ardulum to fight against Mmnnuggls. An eld does not share water with a standard Ardulan, and especially not a Neek.”

  Ekimet dropped the pretense, the language, and the formality and let zir shoulders relax. “You were coughing. I helped. This—” Zie gestured to the fire. “This wasn’t planned. We were sent here, Miketh and I, to lure the Mmnnuggls from Ardulum. They’re angry at us, validly, but the previous Eld thought to… Well, they thought that a battle here was better than a battle there.”

  The high priest swallowed audibly, but was still again. There were cracks, however, in his carefully constructed veneer. Ekimet could see them. A twitch in the left eye. A slight downturn of the mouth. A widening of the eyes. Ekimet reeled zir words back. That was too much, all at once. The man couldn’t crumble. Ekimet needed him and what he represented to the people.

  “I’m not looking for that level of sacrifice. I’m not the old Eld, but I will save Ardulum. You understand that, don’t you, High Priest?”

  The Neek nodded, but now his eyes were pleading. He still didn’t really understand. He still thought he was talking to a god.

  “The Mmnnuggls hope their fires will bring Ardulum here, as well as a certain flare they are looking for. If that were to happen, it would be disastrous.” Ekimet pointed up at the sky. “They can suppress our Talents, Priest, in a way. They can take away that which gives us power. Ardulum must never come here. That is why the andal burns. In an hour, perhaps two, the andal will have had enough. They will acquiesce to send a message to Ardulum, which I cannot do by any other means. I will warn Ardulum and explain the situation, assuming I can get them to send a scout. I will warn the elds and tell them to keep the planet, and the fleet, away.”

  The priest shook his head, eyes as wide as a child’s. “Our forests will burn to ash. No one will come to save us, and our planet will have lost its one economic resource.”

  “Once the forests are gone, and no Ardulum has arrived, the Mmnnuggls will have no use for you anymore. They will leave. Your forests will be gone, but your people will still survive.”

  “B—but…” the priest stuttered. Ekimet could almost see the stilted reasoning in the man’s face as he fell back into safe territory. “How could the Mmnnuggls have more power than you? Than a planet? You are gods. They are simply another species. Smite them. Rip them from the heavens and crush them to the earth. You are Eld. Nothing constrains you!”

  The lead-up was here, the path laid out. Ekimet swallowed and broke the final mandate of the previous Eld.

  “High Priest,” Ekimet said slowly. “Ardulum…is a planet.”

  “I understand that, my lord.”

  Ekimet toyed with the sleeves of zir robes. “The Mmnnuggls haven’t been feeding you lies. They’ve sent some half-truths and strange interpretations some days, but for the most part, they’re telling the truth. Ardulum is of the andal. Your trees are of the same andal that grow there, although the species are different. They are all connected. We are connected to them, and your people are connected too, likely through us.”

  The priest’s eyes were alight with desire for understanding. “So, the Neek, too, are of Ardulum.”

  “The andal speaks to the Eld. The Eld speak to the people. We care for the planet, and the planet cares for us, but we’re not trying to conquer. When it moves—and trust me when I say that that part is just as mystical to me as it is to you—it moves to a system compatible with the andal and the Ardulans. We colonize with andal and our own biped genetics. We help the natives, if we can. I guess it’s seen as a barter event more than anything. We plant andal, although the worlds the planet chooses, like yours, already have a species of andal.” Ekimet tried to force a smile.

  The high priest only stared. “I…” he began and trailed off. “I…” This time, the priest squeaked as his face contorted with emotion. “I am not a child, and yet, my truths have been crushed so severely that I feel like one.” He took a step backwards, away from Ekimet. “I don’t want this.”

  Ekimet untied zir sash and tossed it to the ground, followed by zir robes. Underneath, zie wore only a thin cotton shirt and pants. Zir shoulder markings were visible through the material. Zie held out both hands, palm up. “We’re genetic cousins,” Ekimet said softly. “I am a ruler of Ardulum—this is true—but I am also a biped. We are both of the andal, and I am no more a god than you are.”

  Another tree, closer this time, snapped from its charred trunk and fell. The ground shook. The priest grabbed the sleeve of zir arm, and Ekimet reached out, steadying the Neek.

  “Ardulum travels,” the priest returned, digging in his heels. He straightened at his conviction. “I have seen an Ardulan do amazing things. Incredible things that no biped can do. I am not willing to accept these…twisted words.”

  “Who has done amazing things?” Ekimet butted in. “Miketh flies ships. Neek people can do that. I am smooth with words, but I am trained in diplomacy. An Aggression Talent can get a little showy with weaponry now and again, but these aren’t magical classifications. They’re skills, literally just talents.” Zie pointed at the firefighters in the distance. “At some point in their lives, those Neek showed an affinity for manual labor, or something akin to that. Someone trained them, built on that ability, and now you have skilled firefighters. We are no different.” Zie punctuated the words. “Ardulans can leave their Talent. It’s rare, but it happens. It’s harder to learn a skill outside your gifted area, but people do it. This—” Zie pulled up zir sleeve. “—isn’t a mystical tattoo handed down by the andal. It’s a…a—” Ekimet searched for words and finally sputtered out, “A guild mark, basically.”

  The priest teetered on his heels. Ekimet again offered him a hand. The Neek reached out and let his fingers touch Ekimet’s palm before he jerked his hand away and brought it to his chest. He fell, then, onto his side in the thick, ashen trillium and stared, unfocused, at the horizon. “I don’t want it to be true,” he whispered to the sky. “The child that my niece brought here. The things she did…”

  The flare. The Risalian construct. Andal help zir, explaining that mess would take hours. Ekimet could deal with the science on that later. “That bit is complicated,” zie admitted, “but has a lot to do with Risalians and genetic engineering. You can blame them for her. Those abilities are not of Ardulum. She is not one of us. We can discuss it at length later, if you’d like.”

  The priest’s eyes drilled into Ekimet’s. “Why are you here?” he asked yet again. “Only the truth.”

  Hints of purple were becoming visible through the canopy as the sun sank behind the trees. Above, the sky remained darkened with Mmnnuggl pods, Risalian cutters, and hundreds of other ships. In the grass, there was only Ekimet and the priest, the trillium flowers, a planet covered in sentient andal, and the fragments of a shattered religion.

  “To save our people and yours. To save any andal that does not burn. And—” Ekimet hesitated, considered picking up some of the flowery language again, and then decided against it. “To apologize and correct the mistakes of the past. We can only do that, however, as equals.” Zie stretched zir hand out to the priest. “I’m asking for your help. Whether the Neek people know the truth of Ardulum or not, we have to be united to save both planets.”

  Fingers slick with stuk and g
narled with age spread across Ekimet’s open palm. What would Savath think, Ekimet wondered, about a partnership with a Neek? What would the other elds think, the ones that were still alive? Would the andal forgive zir for what zie had done?

  The priest’s hand clasped Ekimet’s, and the Ardulan pulled him to standing. For long breaths, the gatoi and the man stared at one another, their hands tightly clasped. A settee flew overhead, streaking white into the darkening sky.

  “Believe or don’t believe. Just help me save Neek. Help me save Ardulum.”

  There was moisture in the priest’s eyes, but whether it was from smoke or emotion, Ekimet couldn’t tell. The man’s jaw was clenched now. He had made some decision that, given the circumstances, Ekimet admired. It couldn’t have been to dismiss, not with the still way he stood, so sure of himself and his place in the galaxy. Perhaps, then, something in-between. A suspension of disbelief, if only for the time being.

  “Very well, then, Ekimet.” The priest released the Ardulan’s hand, his mouth a grim line. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, bent down, picked up Ekimet’s robes and sash, and handed it to zir. “You will need this. I will speak to my people. I will reinforce the religion of Ardulum to save Neek, because this information will take years for the people to process. Tomorrow morning, we shall speak, you and I, of our worlds. Tonight, however, I would hear of your plan against the Mmnnuggls and how you intend to undo the damage you have caused to generations of Neek.”

  Chapter 8: Risalian Cutter Kelm

  We request a full audience with Risal. Ardulum threatens all systems, and your hemicellulosic and genetic technology are of interest to us. We are willing to share our knowledge of Ardulum and the Ardulans in response to technological assistance. In the past, we were enemies. Ardulum is the greater enemy.

  —Tightband communication from the Ttynn to the Markin Council of Risal, December 14th, 2060 CE