Tales of the Dissolutionverse Box Set

by William C. Tracy

  “You are despicable,” Origon spat, and as his fingers clenched, he felt a part of the carving crumble under his thumb.

  Fitting that the construction is as shoddy as the Council’s makeup.

  “Be clear, majus,” the Speaker said. Her tone was warning, but Origon was past caring. That he had made her crest rise was proof of how much he’d twisted her feathers. “If the Pixie government does bring grievances against the maji for this…disaster…you will be addressing them on your own. Without the Council’s backing.”

  Origon only shook his head. He wasn’t afraid of the Council or the Pixie government. From what he’d seen, both had too much to fix internally to bother going after one majus.

  “For you, there will be a permanent note going in the Council records of your actions,” Councilor Zsaana added. “You, you are young. The Council, we hope you will grow out of this…phase.”

  A phase. Origon pushed away from the table with a bark of a laugh. That’s what they thought this was. He’d show them how much of a phase wanting to help the homeworlds was.

  “Then if we have nothing more to discuss, I will take my leave,” he said, letting his crest fluff out in disdain.

  “Off with you, pup,” Councilor Huar said, and waved a hand at him. “Don’t come back here without a good reason.”

  Origon turned and left silently, his hands clenched into knots. Now he knew the true heart of the Council. But they were old, and he was still young. He had many cycles ahead of him as a majus, and plenty of time to find other maji who shared his views. Other councilors would rise in time. He’d be there to make sure they served the Great Assembly of Species, and not just themselves.

  * * *

  Back in his apartment, Origon placed the detailed model of the hive on his shelf. It was a gift from Lauka, when the mother came through her field surgery successfully. Why Lauka lugged it from his room, Origon didn’t know, but the little Pixie’s hands trembled when he’d given it away. Pixies didn’t cry—not with those compound eyes—but if they did, he was sure Lauka would have been.

  Kratitha promised to see the hive mother to a new place, where she could begin anew. It had been a surprise to see the extra section the mother carried dispense a mass of squirming grubs into the dusty plateau. The stress of the surgery was too much to keep the gravid sack and to keep breathing.

  They held a burial for Kratitha’s unborn sisters, but Lauka promised the mother would be well after that. The hive mother added her own thanks, her voice weak, but resonant in the Symphony.

  Origon hoped a new generation of engineer Pixies could challenge the warriors of the Five Hive Plateau, but it would be many cycles coming. Considering Pixies’ life spans, it might even be the mother’s successor who came back into the political scene. It wasn’t Origon’s fight. However, showing the maji the true stripe of the Council’s feathers was.

  Origon had too many eyes on him now to keep track of the Pixies, but he wouldn’t have traded this adventure for anything. He knew what maji should do, even if many others didn’t. He’d just have to search out the others like him—the ones willing to go out into the ten homeworlds rather than sitting like turtles in their shells here in the Nether.

  Tuning the Symphony

  984 A.A.W.

  PART ONE

  Majus

  - Maji have a long tradition of training suitable apprentices and, after many years of dedication, testing them in pairs to determine the better candidate. There is no rule saying one who can change the Grand Symphony must belong to the maji, but where else would they go? The maji control passage between the ten homeworlds, regulate disputes, and give aid during natural disasters. It is an honor to belong to their order.

  From “The Houses of the Maji,” by Ribothari Tan, Knower, later of the Council of the Maji

  Rilan Ayama stood at the great crystal wall. It stretched both left and right, taking up the entire fourth side of the testing room, like a tremendous shop window. She was in the largest single chamber in the Spire of the Maji, occupying nearly the entire twenty-first floor, but the room on the other side of the wall was even larger.

  Hesitantly, she placed one hand against the cool surface. On the other side, the six councilmembers stood, waiting on the wood floor constructed inside the hollow crystal column adjacent to the Spire. They were the highest ranking maji among the ten species. And they would all be testing her today. Her and Vethis. Only one would come out a full majus after today. The other would wait until the next quarter, though with another apprentice as a challenger. Rilan had heard of poorly testing apprentices waiting for three or four cycles while others were raised in favor of them.

  She looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in her other hand. The note had been terse, unsigned, but she knew it was from Origon. How could the man write such a cryptic note, when he talked so much?

  Just received news of family matter. May be late. Come see me after. Important decision to discuss.

  As if she was raised to majus already, when she still had to test.

  She was alone in the testing room, for now. Vethis was late as usual. The audience would file in later, including her and Vethis’ mentors. It was a tradition. In a society of ten alien species, coexisting in the Nether—the common place to which all ten homeworlds connected—traditions were important.

  Rilan had read the note over and over since a panting apprentice delivered it to her while she climbed to the testing floor, but hadn’t been able to untangle any new information. She shook her head and stuffed the paper back into the pouch at her belt. Origon had promised to watch her test. She hoped he wouldn’t be too late. Her insides were twisted in nervous knots quite enough. Vethis was lazy and narcissistic, but he had areas where he outshone her, if she was being honest.

  Zsaana, the old councilmember for the House of Healing, her house, beckoned with a gloved claw. It was a perfunctory gesture for her to enter the immense crystal column standing adjacent to the Spire of the Maji, like a tree supporting a slumped bear. Many rooms of the Spire opened to the column. But the column vanished out of sight in the distance above. The Spire was merely forty-two stories tall.

  Rilan took a deep breath and pushed her hand gently against the crystal surface, dark flesh against unbreakable material, willing it to give way. She had only passed twice before into one of the columns, big around as buildings, that supported the expanse of the Nether. It was a thing only maji could do, ensuring they were the only ones present inside the column at an apprentice’s testing. She listened for the Grand Symphony of the universe, or that portion she could hear. It came after the briefest moment, a single high vibrato string that split into an entire orchestra, and then an orchestra of orchestras. Most of the notes rushed past far faster than she could comprehend. It was the music that underlay the universe. Change one chord, one note of the Symphony, and the universe changed with it.

  She let the sound fill her, listening to individual notes and phrases in the melody of the House of Healing. She heard music defining her breath and movement, her skin, and her thoughts. Her senses extended to everything biological within range, from the shifting rhythms and accelerandos of the Councilors, to the brisk notes describing insects living in the wood and stone walls of the Spire. She heard her own song—that composition which both defined her existence and let her change the Grand Symphony of the universe—blend with the column as her hand sank into the crystal surface. Harder than diamond, yet yielding to her, she heard snatches of music making up the essence of the Nether itself. It was, in some part, also a biological entity. No one knew where it came from, or even where it was located, in relation to the ten homeworlds, but it was where the early maji met others of their kind and began relations between the different alien races. Now it was the heart of the Great Assembly of Species.

  She pushed into the outer wall of the column, its material parting before her. Colors sprang into existence, running along invisible paths. Emerald green for the H
ouse of Strength. Diamond yellow for the House of Communication. Blazing orange for the House of Power. Cool blue for the House of Grace. Pure white for the House of Healing—her house. And finally Rusty brown for the House of Potential. The column wall was several strides thick and she passed through as if walking through thick syrup.

  As Rilan emerged into the open interior column, she sucked in air, though she hadn’t felt the need within the wall. A smell of old wood and stale air tickled her nose as she stepped onto the floor built inside the column. It was high above the ground, but there were other floors in the column, above and below, each with its own specific purpose, connecting to a floor in the Spire of the Maji. The bottom of the floor above her was several stories overhead.

  The councilmembers were arrayed in a line twenty strides away, and she crossed the distance to them, wiping sweaty palms against her dark leather pants. It was a pair her father made for her by hand. Her dark hair fanned out down her back and she swept a hand along it, trying to coax it to lie in a single bunch. She really should have tied it, but hated the feeling of it all bound up.

  Speaker Karendi, head of the House of Communication and de-facto voice for the Council, stepped forward. The Kirian’s garish robe flowed across bare knees, her crest of feathery hair flaring to show her welcome.

  “I am believing there should be two apprentices testing this day, not just...ah.”

  Rilan looked over her shoulder to see Fernand Vethis pushing through the wall of the column, looking for a moment like a man suspended in ice. Once through, he tugged at his sleeves, straightening the blue-black crushed velvet coat. He was dressed as if he had just come from a party in High Imperium, with striped pants, white cuffs and cravat. It was a wholly unpractical thing to wear to a test designed to mentally and physically wear out the participant. But fitting, for him.

  Vethis grinned as if he had already been chosen to become a majus today. They had been rivals since the first time they met as apprentices. Vethis was from a wealthy family, she from a poor one. He believed the maji were better than everyone. She just wanted to serve the Great Assembly. He was a social-climbing, toadying, power monger. The only reason he hadn’t tested before now was he was unforgivably lazy, and preferred to cheat off his peers. He was everything that could be wrong with a majus.

  Rilan showed her teeth in what could be construed as a smile by someone who didn’t know her. As Vethis came abreast of them, smoothing back his long and oily black hair, Speaker Karendi continued.

  “Only one of you will be leaving this chamber as a majus. Apprentice Ayama, Apprentice Vethis, it has been a pleasure for us to be devising these challenges specifically for each of you. Remember, there is always a way to pass each test, even though you are to be pitted against councilmembers.” The Kirian’s speech was less convoluted than most of her species, trained by cycles of acting as the Council’s Speaker to the Great Assembly of Species.

  “If you both will be stepping this way, Councilor Huar will be testing Apprentice Ayama first, against the House of Strength. On the other side of the column, Councilor Feldo will be testing Apprentice Vethis, against the House of Potential. The rest of us shall be observing, from a safe distance, of course.” Speaker Karendi flashed her pointed teeth, her feathery hair rippling in what the Nether interpreted as anticipation. The Nether’s translation of social gestures and language fostered cooperation and understanding, for the most part, keeping all ten species in relative peace.

  Rilan drew in a shaky breath. The councilors made the tests unique to each aspiring apprentice, so she and Vethis would not have the same challenges. She didn’t want hers to be easy, of course, but she also wanted to pass and become a full majus. Vethis gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

  “May the best man win,” he told her. Rilan stared back. She hated his clipped, affected accent.

  “Or woman.” Maybe she wouldn’t mind if her tests were easier than his. She turned away. Better to concentrate on her own evaluation. Put the irritating man out of her mind.

  Rilan found the head of the House of Strength and bowed. Councilor Huar bowed back slightly, then smiled, teeth open and tongue out. The massive Festuour was dressed in only a bandolier of pockets across her furry green-brown chest, a pair of glasses perched on her long snout in front of bright blue eyes, and a massive floppy pink hat sitting astride her ears.

  “Come on girl. We have a match. I wanted to get yours in special, before I retire.”

  Huar led Rilan to a large table with two chairs, set near the far wall of the hollow column. Across its diameter, larger than most buildings, Rilan saw the other councilors watching, each at their own post. Vethis was chatting comfortably at Councilor Feldo, who seemed to be frowning back. Behind them, she could see foggy glimpses of the Imperium city, capital of the Nether, outside the translucent walls opposite the Spire of the Maji. She chewed her lower lip, heart hammering against her ribs.

  “Now, I suppose we should do this formal-like.” The Festuour settled her girth in the chair on the far side of the table, behind a collection of tiny pots and vines. “Sit, sit. Don’t stand there gawking.”

  Rilan sat on a wooden chair opposite the councilor, somewhat heavily. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of dirt and decay. On her side of the table was a collection of vermin, tiny furry or scaled jaws gaping in death, collected from alleys of Imperium city. There were ten of them, each fitted with a small humming talisman.

  The councilor touched a button on the side of the board and the little vermin started to twitch, crawling spastically forward. Rilan started at the sudden animation. “I, Councilor Jasrimopobt Huar, Grower, head of the House of Strength, challenge you to overcome my test and show yourself worthy of the House of Healing. Break my defenses.”

  Councilor Huar gestured three-fingered hands, her ears cocking forward, sliding across her pink hat’s brim. An emerald green aura enveloped her as she changed notes in that part of the Grand Symphony she could hear. Rilan knew the House of Strength dealt with physical strength, of course, but also constitution, growth, and sustenance. It also dealt with living beings, overlapping somewhat with musical phrases from Rilan’s house.

  The plants in front of the councilor perked up as she adjusted the Symphony. A vine stretched forward and snapped at a crawling lizard that spasmed in range, throwing it back to Rilan’s side of the table. She narrowed her eyes at the board, nervousness fleeing.

  As vines reached forward, grabbed a furry scrounger, and tore it in half, Rilan opened herself to the Symphony. Fractal orchestras tumbled through her mind and she waded through the musical phrases. Some were too fast for her to understand before the tune played out. Her skill lay more in the mental side than the physical. She was training to become a psychologist, not a medical doctor, as Vethis was.

  There was a complex musical phrase controlling the dead things. Since she could hear it, it must be of the House of Healing. Rilan guessed it had been stored by a majus of the House of Potential in the talismans attached to the creatures’ backs. Otherwise, the music would have faded away by now.

  A large flower scooped down, holding another lizard hostage. Down two creatures. Rilan found the melody defining musculature and bone density, taking a moment to understand the tempo and rhythm. Without doing so, a majus might fail to effect a change correctly. She inserted notes taken from her own song into the Symphony, increasing the tempo, making notes forte that were previously piano, increasing their intensity. The white glow of the House of Healing encircling her fingers as the creatures crawled faster, dodging the snapping vines. Rilan spared a glance to see Councilor Huar’s large tongue caught between her fleshy lips. The plants sped up in response.

  Rilan would not be able to make the same change twice in the same way, but neither could the councilor. The universe resisted changes to the Symphony, and if a majus tried to repeat the same change either before enough time had passed or while too close to the original change, it would fail.

  In
stead, she flexed her fingers like she was grabbing something, and caught the music defining the creatures’ skin, using her song to change it. The white aura around her fingers was joined by her secondary color, only just starting to appear. The colors, indicative of the house, were only visible to a majus. Flecks of dull olive green sparkled in the white aura. The lizard-like creatures shuddered, scales growing and toughening to protect against vines and sticky flowers. Huar’s green of the House of Strength began to show her own secondary color, the hue of peach flesh, as she put forth more effort. Each majus had a secondary color, and as the majus grew in experience, the unique color grew bolder, like a magical personality.

  The vines thickened in response. Rilan grew sharper teeth on her rodents. The flowers reactions became more efficient.

  Another lizard was plucked away and thrown off the table.

  Evolve, defend, repeat.

  Rilan adjusted the vermin’s response to her commands, but they were thrown back again.

  Her mentor told her never to go against the House of Strength head-on, and now she believed him. She couldn’t win that way. But she threw six of her seven remaining creatures into a desperate rush, straight toward the plants.

  Huar watched them so intently Rilan saw her miss the seventh creature, a little furry thing, scamper under the side of the table. She worked furiously to change the melody, rearranging internal organs, making room for chemicals to mix in ratios a body should never have.

  As the vines and flowers pushed her vermin back, the little furry saboteur crawled over the far side of the table, behind Huar’s line of plants. Its body shifted, muscles squirming under flesh. It stopped behind the center of the councilor’s defense, and with a tiny squeak, exploded.

  Rilan’s other creatures rushed through the hole of burnt plant fiber.