Two-eyed Jack laughs, his midsection a rebounding trampoline of mirth, his neck hidden by a shaggy beard.
Saltmane’s expression drops. “How the hell did you figure that? The Silvergarde are the most docile in the galaxy, living off nature and all that crap. They want to be left alone to live as they see fit. Barely have a defense network.”
“The ghost of a dead crewmember on our ship told me it was the Silvergarde,” Cirx says. “The Silvergarde attacked my people and theirs and killed them all. The dead do not lie.”
All of the Moonriders become jostling mouths, roaring with laughter. They mock his belief, his decision, as if he’s a known fool, a jester.
The weight pressing against Cirx’s chest falls into his lungs, inhibiting his breathing, a vice on his stomach. The weight of fear before the horror, before the guilt settles, before it’s realized in whole. What did they know that he didn’t? Did he act wrongly against the Silvergarde?
Garrabrandt draws his sword with a whistle of steel on wood and leather. “Let me grant them your quick death.”
“We’ve killed more men than most, and none of us have ever seen a ghost.” Oldenbane’s segmented eyelid slides over a clouded eye.
“Tell you what, Knight,” Saltmane adds, watching Garrabrandt. “You’ve been kind enough to us, much kinder than I’d have been to you. If you release us, let us fly our ship out of here, even without our weapons, I’ll look at your ship, find these so-called ghosts, and solve this mystery of yours.”
Cirx grabs Ribsnack by the back of the neck and squeezes. Ribsnack cries out as Cirx says, “You’ll board our ship and do what he offers.”
The stew pot falls from Cirx’s hand with a clang and rumble as the vat rolls in a tightening circle, spilling gravy soup into a pool of congealing sludge. The prisoners fall prostrate and lap at it.
Cirx marches Ribsnack up the stairs, out of the church, across the windy plain, to their Uden warship. They enter through the irising doors, out of breath, Garrabrandt following behind. Tegard is already inside, reading through something on the computer’s window.
“Find out whose spirit we encountered and what happened to them,” Cirx says to Ribsnack, folding his arms across his breastplate and sigil of the three raindrops. “If you send out a message to your friends, you’ll be executed.”
Ribsnack nods and taps into a smaller computer window in the helm. She works for half an hour, watching replays of life, what she calls “videos,” in the ship’s log. Tegard studies her and her operations.
Cirx taps his foot, a weight still circling in the rising maelstrom of his gut. Could it be that the Silvergarde did not destroy his castle? Cold sweat rises across his forehead and back.
“Moonriders have convoys of racing ships scattered across the galaxy, to determine their own truths through raiding and interrogations,” Ribsnack says. She mentions regions of the galaxy and names of organizations Cirx is unfamiliar with. “The Moonriders may seem ignorant and uneducated, but they take their intelligence gathering very seriously. If not, they wouldn’t have survived as a raiding force. I can find out more on their ship, the one we flew in on … but the logs here show that holograms have been cycling on this ship.” She pauses. “Tell me, is this your ghost?” She points behind them.
A spectral man with jeweled piercings covering his face wavers in the hallway as if he’s ready for some unsavory religious ceremony.
Cirx nods, his hand on his longsword, drawn halfway.
It has returned … Why now?
“That’s a hologram,” Ribsnack says.
The warmth drains from Cirx’s face. He doesn’t know what a hologram is but feels horror sinking its curled claws into his spine.
“Representations of people being broadcast from some other location,” Ribsnack says. “For communication. Most people know what a hologram is, unless of course you were born and raised on a planet stuck in medieval times.”
“Why would I believe you?” Cirx asks.
“If I wanted you to blame the Silvergarde instead of the Moonriders, I’d agree and tell you the man’s a ghost.”
Ribsnack conjures with her fingers. More ethereal forms emerge beside the first. Familiar. They are Cirx and Garrabrandt.
A full minute of silence passes as Cirx’s heart drums a percussion into his lungs.
Cirx finds himself unable to speak.
Garrabrandt asks, “Who does that hologram man work for?”
Ribsnack says, “Will you allow me to board the Moonrider ship and try to find out? The decryption card you found is also not Silvergarde, but more advanced technology.”
Ribsnack continues on with terms Cirx doesn’t understand, about people rarely carrying cards with even encrypted passcodes. They are too vulnerable. Retinal scanners on v-rims, cross referencing with networks and decryption after authorization.
Garrabrandt looks at Cirx, who feels like he will vomit if he speaks. Cirx nods.
The trio of knights and Ribsnack exit the Uden warship and march across the plains to the stranded Moonrider ship: two sickle moons joined at the waist, blood red skin.
Ribsnack works a panel with her fingers, and the side of the ship opens. They enter. Ribsnack pulls up a three-dimensional computer display, moving her fingers as if casting spells, working furiously.
Tegard watches every movement.
“Moonrider secret intelligence using facial recognition on cameras throughout the galaxy reports that the man was seen alive and well twelve days ago,” Ribsnack says. “Last known contractor was the Northrite, although only through black-side contracts.
“You’ve been duped. The Northrite would never expect a group of medieval knights to gain access to black-side or Moonrider intelligence. I’d guess your ship, the Uden warship, is a decoy and was planted or altered by someone visiting your planet so that it’d look like Uden attacked the Silvergarde when you attacked them. The keycard is also Northrite grade but anonymous.”
Cirx’s innards sink into a compressing spiral.
I’m a greenhorn, stumbling, searching for clothes, for food, for even life’s water in this new kingdom of lies. I’m an ignorant, backward, credulous fool.
Cirx’s family remains unavenged. Their souls and all the others of the castle still wander the Sky Sea. He killed innocent men; the only way their souls would now be appeased, released into the glorious afterlife, would be with Cirx’s death.
Rage rises inside him, the only thing he has left.
If the Northrite are proven to be the orchestrator behind the treachery of the holograms, and this is confirmed by another source, they will be Cirx’s greatest fiend. Revenge is what he will live for until he chooses to release the souls of those he slayed under the pretense of a reprisal.
Cirx draws his sword and smashes its cold steel against walls that ring in deafening vibrations. A frenzy of interminable seconds or minutes pass before Garrabrandt crushes him in a bear hug from behind, pinning his arms.
Garrabrandt, his Mir, was right to question attacking the Silvergarde.
Cirx doubles over, heaving for breath. He will need allies, allies more familiar with this world of space if he ever hopes to confirm the Northrite’s guilt and exact his revenge. “Garrabrandt, ready the knights. We’ll be waiting when this Moonrider armada arrives. I’ll use our captives, the leniency we showed them, and make allies with these raiders.”
Jaycken
Jaycken wanders the switchback trails along the inner cliffs. Scree slides out from under his feet and plummets into the abyss of clouds below. It’s supposed to be nearly spring on Jasilix, but the air up this high is still cold and biting.
Music and laughter carry to him from across the way as mercury falls trickle down a gulley in the rock beside him.
Why do people inhabit this moon if there’s so much toxic mercury here, and how much filtration do they need for their water? He hesitantly raises his antigravity bottle to his lips and sips.
Jaycken pushes against an old wooden doo
r he’s never seen closed and slips into the abandoned tower, the one he found Rynn in when she first arrived.
The door creaks as he closes it. A light flutters in the corner, some old lamp. Rynn stands against a far wall, playing with her jewel of an eye patch, studying the cracked and faded mural that must be hundreds if not thousands of years old. She appears solemn, lost in thought.
Was arriving at the grotto after she was tranquilized too late to prevent more mental trauma? I should’ve waited outside in the cold all night, been a frozen hero instead of a comfortable asshole. Or is she upset that I’m a Frontiersman and she still isn’t? “What is it, Rynn? Prabel can never harm you again.”
Rynn shakes her head but continues tracing a finger around several moons in the painting, then across the silver water. “I’ll get over that.”
If a man bleeding her out and then drinking her blood like a vampire in the old tales isn’t what’s on her mind, what other kind of massive trauma is she hiding?
Jaycken inches closer. Her suit is unadhered around her neck, as if she’s hot. A thread of a lavender necklace sits there.
“I love that necklace,” Jaycken says.
She glances down at the slender necklace and studies it as if for the first time.
Jaycken takes her hand. Her skin is cold, tense. “What really happened to your eye? I’ve heard several differing stories from you.”
Rynn pulls away.
“Was it really that bad?” he asks.
Tears trickle down Rynn’s cheek. She walks to a table and lifts a dress of royal blue and white lace. “Please tell me you sent me this.”
Jaycken shakes his head. “I didn’t know a celebration was going to happen for the return of the cache of elements. There’s a feast and music and singing.”
He opens the door. Music and voices of merriment flood the ancient tower.
Rynn drops the dress on the table. “It was my birthday a few days ago, sometime between Pseidoblane and the encounter with Prabel.”
“Oh, wow, happy birthday, Rynn. You should’ve said something.”
“I didn’t even realize it until I received the dress. I’ve only ever celebrated birthdays with my dad. He always got me a gift.”
“I think we both might feel better if we forget our issues for a bit, maybe even have some fun. We’ll pretend the celebration is your belated birthday party.” Jaycken motions to the doorway.
Rynn doesn’t move. “An anonymous gift. That’s why I’ve remembered everything, why I’ve been thinking about him.” She takes several deep breaths as if she’s about to dive under water. “My father hurt me.”
Jaycken’s forehead knots up, and he wipes at his cheeks with an open palm. Oh, fuck. “I’m so sorry. My father never wanted to see me at all, if that makes you feel better.”
Rynn sighs. “Mine loved me completely until one day when he didn’t. He saw me harness the power of the elements, something I cannot control, have only done when in danger …”
She stops as if confronting something terrifying, bizarre, some road she’s never gone back down, something worse than the inside of that sarcophagus.
“I still wish I had a picture of him, to remember him the way he was.” Rynn falls silent for several minutes. “He used to call me Stareyes.”
“I can give you your space.” Or does she want to be comforted, held?
Poor girl. Jaycken retrieves a picture of his dad and stepmother and sends it to her on her v-rim, turns to leave, and cracks open the door.
Would sharing pictures and their family issues help make her feel better, or is that a stupid male mistake, trying to do something instead of just listening? “Those are my parents. Well, not my real mom. I never knew her. My dad and stepmom.”
“I woke up that night,” Rynn says. Jaycken stops. “He said something weird about an event that happened and how he hated society and tried to leave it all behind, mumbled something about picking me out of some children but that I was his. He mentioned how I’d grown into a young woman and that he couldn’t hide me anymore.”
Rynn’s forehead wrinkles and her lips purse. She grabs her jeweled eye patch, slides down the wall, and sits on the floor, shaking.
Her voice becomes monotone, reciting something she doesn’t want to feel, something Jaycken feels she hasn’t relived. “He said something to me then that I didn’t realize, couldn’t concentrate on, but the words are still there, floating around in my mind. I just wouldn’t let myself listen. He said that thousands of years ago, before humans even began traversing the galaxy, right after the discovery of the elements and their powers, six great kings met in secret, the meeting called by one. They discussed their methods of rule.
“The one said, ‘You first gain power by helping others, but that empathy soon dies.’ Four of the others agreed. The one said, ‘The divisions of the element are six, and we are six, each of us a ray of its power. One’s power here is harnessed by fame. He’s become someone every person thinks they know, someone who uses words and his influence to control people. Our Whisperer. Another represents power by love, respect, and honor and has become the initiator of a belief in a way to live, wishing others to follow his example, not for his own gain. Our Star Strider. A third rules through intangible charisma, the living embodiment of a person anyone would wish to follow, our Beguiler. A fourth rules through wealth and influence and has become a tycoon and great manipulator, our Sculptor. The fifth is power by station, and one of us obtained the highest seat of rule possible, our Phantom. The sixth displays power through fear and this one’s become a tyrant, our Paladin.”
Jaycken crouches beside her and wraps an arm over her shoulder.
What does she need when she’s vulnerable and doleful, to be cheered up or just listened to? “I’ve never heard such a tale. It’s not in the history texts of the Frontiersmen. Is it true?”
Rynn is still for a moment. “Someone must obtain all six of the ruling aspects of man to control an entire galaxy, all of humankind, to become the greatest ruler the galaxy will ever know. I should’ve asked my dad how someone could do all this, become a violent, feared tyrant and evoke love and honor.” She swallows and shakes her head. A tear dribbles out of her good eye. “He said: ‘The current leaders will be supplanted, and all will be ruled by one.’ Then he stuck me with a needle and held me down … He cut me.”
“Fuck.” Jaycken pulls her to her feet and wraps her in a tight embrace. “Why would he take your eye?”
Rynn shudders and sobs, falling into him.
“Maybe there’s a medical explanation or something for what he did.” Jaycken realizes there’s nothing he can do or say that will negate that kind of trauma.
Instead, he waits several minutes and rolls his right shoulder in a circle, the full range of motion of the joint. He keeps rotating it over and over again. His expression hardens, becoming earnest and determined. “Do you hear that?”
There’s a soft popping sound. It repeats, is coming from Jaycken’s rotating shoulder.
Rynn’s eyebrows perk, the color draining from her face. “What is it?”
“Imagine if you had to live with that popping sound.” He waves at her dismissively and huffs. “One eye? You’ve got it easy.”
Rynn is silent for a moment, dumbfounded.
Jaycken grins. I’m too much of a moron for myself sometimes. “I’m joking.”
Rynn laughs out loud, a burst of air, or release of life, the first time Jaycken’s ever heard the sound from her. It’s soft, musical, rhythmic. She covers her mouth with her fingers and shakes her head. Tears cascade in a falls from her eye.
“Without thinking, what’s one thing you really love?” Jaycken asks.
“Dreams,” she says. “I feel much stronger there, much more in control.”
“Okay, so your dream is to live in dreams? That’s a bit weird.”
Rynn elbows him in the ribs, trying to suppress a smirk. “You wanted a subliminal answer. You can’t judge. What would you say?”
<
br /> “The unknown. New planets that haven’t been discovered. I can be the first one to set foot on them and unveil their secrets.”
“That sounds exciting. Discovering planets like the one with the Sky Sea makes it seem even dreamy … romantic.”
Warmth rises in Jaycken’s heart as a smile creeps across his lips.
Rynn’s grin falls flat and becomes lost for a moment. “Do you have weird dreams? Or weirder ones since the sun started beating?”
Jaycken studies her. “I had a dream with a man of shadow holding something in his palm several times, but I don’t remember having it in a while. Maybe it was insecurity when I first joined the Frontiersmen.”
The color drains from Rynn’s face, and her body wavers. “You’ve seen Forgeron too?”
“Who?”
She braces against his chest. “The shadowless creature composed of shadow. It visited me once, the day my dad’s love transformed into resentment. I’ve dreamt of the creature ever since. Why do you dream of it?”
Fear slowly inches its icy fingers across Jaycken’s heart. She’s seen the figure too. How could they both dream the same thing? “I don’t know. I’ve never seen or heard of it before. I thought it was just a dream.”
“Have you ever tried to take one of its lights?”
“Tried? I can’t make myself do anything in dreams.”
“The lights are memory drops.”
“Memory what?” Jaycken takes her hand and leads her to the open doorway. He will try taking action in his next dream, if he can. If he has the dream again, he will try to discover some hidden meaning.
“Did the figure ever lead you through doorways?”
Jaycken shakes his head but recalls something, something he’s not sure he wants to discuss. His elementary ability of the Phantom.
“What is it?” Rynn gazes into his eyes, her face and lips inches from his, her scent intoxicating.
“A floating hand. I’ve seen that. Scratching words in rock, words meant to hint at the future.” Will she laugh at me?
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