Jora’h had not wanted Nira to join the group, since she had already been the target of an assassination attempt, but she insisted. “Bring extra guards. I will be safe enough.”
“We will keep you safe, Mother,” Muree’n vowed, and Jora’h didn’t doubt her.
He felt sickened even before he saw the first body—and there were many bodies. The guard kithmen formed a loose protective cordon around him, crystal katanas raised, fearing some other unexpected attack.
But what if his own guards became tainted like those in the Vault of Failures? How could he make sure Nira was safe anywhere? Maybe Muree’n and Yazra’h should remain at her side at all times. To be safe, he should have sent Nira back to Theroc with their daughter Osira’h, but Ildira was her home now and had been for years. Nira made it clear she had no intention of staying inside the Prism Palace when all of the human expatriates had been slaughtered.
And Jora’h knew that she strengthened him. With Nira here at his side, he was a more powerful leader.
The flames in the human enclave had been extinguished, but greasy smoke still curled into the sky like escaping shadows. His own people had caused this. Peaceful everyday Ildirans from various kiths had turned into mad butchers, slaying every human who had come here to share their culture.
The human bodies on the ground were burned and mangled, but not unrecognizable. Jora’h remembered them: businesspeople, craftsmen, café owners, artists. And all around, like toppled pieces on a game board, lay their dead Ildiran attackers. Of those attackers—more than a hundred of them—not one was marked save for the blood spatters. And it was not their blood. After committing their brutality, they had all simply fallen dead. Each of the corpses wore a frozen expression of horror.
Yazra’h and Muree’n regarded the massacre, grim and assessing. Both of them had their weapons drawn.
Gale’nh stared, as if he had received a stunning blow. His fingers extended, and he reached out a tentative hand, as if to save these people but much too late. He let his arm fall to his side.
Nira shuddered beside Jora’h, her breath hitching raggedly. She began sobbing and knelt beside one of the fallen humans, whose face was battered to a shapeless mass. From the apron and the dark skirt, Jora’h knew it must be Blondie, the diner owner.
“Why?” Nira turned her eyes up to him. “Why . . . why would they do this?” She seemed to think he could give her an answer.
Through the thism, the Mage-Imperator understood the threads of thought and emotion that bound his people together . . . but this, he couldn’t understand at all.
Accompanied by uniformed Solar Navy soldiers, Adar Zan’nh arrived in response to the news. Gale’nh stood beside the Adar, as if falling into ranks. Zan’nh inspected the scene grimly. “Liege, my soldiers are here to help defend you.”
Yazra’h and Muree’n stiffened, but they did not insist that they would be sufficient. “The Mage-Imperator cannot have too much protection.”
“This was not any sort of attack we know how to defend against,” Jora’h said.
Gale’nh was pale and shaken. “I sensed tension and uneasiness, but it was murky. Maybe it was through my connection, my scars . . . but my thism is not strong.” He looked at the Mage-Imperator, as if Jora’h had let him down. “You hold all the thism within you, Liege. Why did you not know?”
“It . . . eluded me,” Jora’h answered, but he knew it was a weak excuse. “I was sleeping when all this happened.”
Nira rose to her feet. She had not touched the diner owner’s body, but somehow she was covered with blood. “You did feel it, Jora’h—the nightmares told you.”
He didn’t want to voice the growing suspicion and dread within him. What if this were worse than just him sensing a dark manipulation in the thism? What if he himself had become a conduit for the Shana Rei, and the shadows emanated through him? What if through his subconscious he had actually allowed this?
Nira walked through the wreckage, and the guards kept up with her. She made a point of staring at each of the bodies, closing her eyes as if in silent prayer.
Jora’h had felt nothing from the attacking Ildirans; once possessed, they had been erased from his telepathic tapestry. Adar Zan’nh and Tal Gale’nh followed close. Uniformed Solar Navy soldiers flanked the Adar, wary, possibly even suspicious of the guard kithmen.
Zan’nh gave his report. “We will fight the Shana Rei in traditional combat. Our industries are manufacturing as many sun bombs as possible. General Keah and the Confederation Defense Forces also have the designs. We will be able to fight back much more effectively in our next encounter.” He paused and just stared at the slaughter around him. “But this . . . how can we fight against this? This is not an enemy—this is ourselves.”
“This is not a battle the Solar Navy can undertake alone,” the Mage-Imperator said. “The Shana Rei attack us with more than warships. They also strike through the thism.”
At the thought, a chill rushed through his body. What if the mesh of racial telepathy that made Ildirans so powerful and unique became their greatest vulnerability? What if the only way to defend against this kind of insidious darkness was to sever them all from the thism network? If that happened, would they still be Ildirans after all?
Nira was weeping, and Jora’h held her, giving strength and drawing strength back. He refused to acknowledge any feelings of despair, because then all Ildirans would feel it. They had to remain strong, and so he had to remain strong.
King Peter and Queen Estarra needed to know about these human deaths, these poor settlers who loved Ildiran culture and merely wanted to share their own. The Mage-Imperator had promised the expatriates they would be safe in Mijistra. Now he wondered if anyone was safe—humans or Ildirans. He didn’t know how to protect them.
At least Osira’h had gone to Theroc.
He straightened, forced resolve upon himself. “We cannot fight what we do not understand. Therefore we must understand. These humans were not at fault. Our own people fell prey to a kind of madness. We must learn how they became vulnerable, and how we can stop it from happening again.”
He turned to the guard kith and the Solar Navy soldiers. “Gather the bodies of these fallen Ildirans and bring them to our medical kithmen so they can test and dissect and analyze until they tell me how to defend against the shadow.” He turned to Zan’nh. “Meanwhile, Adar, continue to arm the Solar Navy. Wherever the battle may come, Ildira must be prepared.”
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT
ARITA
After the Shana Rei darkness settled over Theroc, the unnatural night did not end.
When Arita had gone out exploring that afternoon, she felt a definite stirring among the worldtrees, heard whispers in the back of her mind, sensed a real tension in the air. It was not normal. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against the gold-scaled bark of a towering worldtree, pushing so hard that the bark scales left deep indentations in her skin. “Tell me what is happening.”
But the verdani refused to answer her.
She felt the cold, darkness encroaching from above, the daylight growing dimmer through the thick canopy overhead. Hurrying back to Sarein’s hiveworm nest, she broke through to a meadow with a clear view of the sky. She shaded her eyes, squinted—and saw that a bite had been taken out of the sun, a black chunk that covered an increasing portion of the solar disk.
When she reached Sarein’s tree and scrambled up, she found her aunt intense and concerned as she listened to broadcasts from the main fungus-reef in the capital city. When she glanced at Arita, Sarein’s thin face was more drawn than usual; lines showed around her lips. “Theroc is under attack,” she announced, as if glad for someone to tell. “A shadow cloud has appeared—and Klikiss robots. They’re working to create some kind of eclipse. The King and Queen are trying to command a defense.” She turned back to the portable comm system. “But the reports don’t sound promising.”
Sarein expanded the screen so Arita could join her, scanning
transmissions until she found a direct feed from the CDF battleships. In an image from space, Arita got her first glimpse of the Shana Rei occultation barrier.
Hexagon slices continued to peel from the ends of the long black cylinders. The thin, opaque plates twirled across space to line up with adjacent hexes, building the black gridwork larger and larger. As it grew, the barrier blocked out more of the sun and expanded the eclipse shadow across Theroc.
The flagship Juggernaut and twenty Manta cruisers attacked the growing “nightshade” with flamboyant energy displays and exploding weapons, but to little effect. Even when the CDF scored major strikes and shattered off numerous hexes, the segments simply re-aligned and reattached themselves.
Several reckless Manta cruisers had gone on direct attack runs against the gigantic Shana Rei cylinders. Four cruisers had already been destroyed, though it wasn’t clear to Arita exactly how the shadow creatures were fighting them.
And the nightshade grew, widening the eclipse across the forest.
“They can blot out the sun and kill the worldforest,” Arita said. “They don’t even have to approach the planet.” She turned to her aunt. “Kennebar and his green priests can tap into the verdani mind. Maybe they know more about what’s happening.” She suddenly wanted to find Collin.
Sarein frowned. “We have the comm here. We can listen to reports.” That seemed to be good enough.
She and Sarein sat inside the hiveworm nest, both fascinated and horrified to hear the reports. They spoke little, though occasionally they would send grim glances to each other.
Over the hours, the diameter of the nightshade grew, cutting off more and more sunlight. The forest was restless, and the insects began humming, confused as to when they should make their nighttime music. Clinging to normal routines, Sarein lit several lamps outside. Arita could see the glitter of numerous species of firefly leaving their forest mulch nests.
And when the giant occultation plate in orbit finally blotted out the sun entirely and drenched the Wild in shadow, an abrupt smothering night fell without the gentle transition of twilight.
Arita shivered as the temperature dropped. Breezes picked up in an angry stirring of fronds. Even the glow of scattered atmospheric light faded, and bright stars appeared at the periphery of the nightshade’s giant hole in the sky.
Predatory night moths took flight, swooping through the fronds to devour other insects. The forest wildlife seemed on the verge of panic, as if they could smell the smoke of an approaching wildfire, but this was worse.
Sarein finally agreed to go. The darkness elicited a primal uneasiness even in her, and she decided she didn’t want to be here alone after all. Arita took her packs and her hand lights; Sarein had a brighter portable lantern. The two climbed down from her tree and trudged off through the dark and restless forest. Arita wanted to find her landed flyer. It was time to return to the main continent, her parents . . . even Reyn had just come back home.
“I don’t usually wander the forest at night,” Sarein muttered. Arita could tell that her aunt was frightened.
“I’m not sure when morning is going to come again,” Arita said. “We have to go now.”
They moved through the underbrush, dodging branches and finding their way through the light of phosphorescent fungi. Arita wasn’t surprised when an alarmed-looking Collin dropped down from the trees and landed gently on his bare feet. “The worldtrees were watching you. I knew you were coming.”
“We’re going back to the capital city,” Arita said. “We’ll have more options there, more protection, and we can flee off-planet if necessary. You should come along with us.”
Collin looked horrified. “We can’t just leave the trees! This darkness will smother them—they’ll die.”
They looked up to see the other green priests sitting among the fronds above, touching the trees with their fingertips, their eyes closed.
Arita turned to Collin. “What are the Shana Rei? Can the verdani tell us anything? Why are they attacking here?”
He shook his head. “The trees are afraid of them. They know how terrible the Shana Rei are, but they can’t remember. There’s a gap in the worldforest’s memory. As a green priest, I have searched . . . but there’s nothing, as if that part of the memory has died.”
Sarein said, “How can there be a gap in the verdani mind?”
“Some part of them was erased long ago,” Collin said. “That past is gone in their memory.” Above them, Kennebar’s green priests muttered to one another, making shorthand comments, not deigning to explain to Arita or Sarein.
Arita heard Kennebar say aloud, “General Keah lost two more vessels. The verdani battleships are gathering their strength for an assault.”
A second green priest added, “They are moving toward the nightshade now. Their boughs are spread wide for combat.”
Arita imagined the titanic trees extending long thorns like impenetrable spears. The verdani hurled themselves against the growing occultation plate, stretching out branches, trying to tear away the hexes.
Collin bent to a tree, tapped into telink. “The treeships are attacking the Shana Rei—they have no choice. They have to stop more plates from launching off. Others are hurling themselves against the growing barrier, stretching out branches, trying to tear away the hexes.” He winced. “But . . . there’s something about the shadow. It’s like acid. Their boughs are shriveling.”
In unison, the green priests winced and gasped. “The fronds are blackening! The trees are fighting, tearing . . . and withering.” Several priests stopped using words altogether and just let out moans and cries of pain.
Shaking, Collin heaved several breaths, removed his fingertips from the worldtree. “The verdani battleships have dropped away from the nightshade. They tore away a section of the occultation plate, but it won’t last. Already more hexes are flying into place to fill the gaps.” He shook his head. “The Shana Rei have succeeded. This night will not end until all life is smothered on Theroc.”
Arita was sure the forest air had grown colder. The breezes rustled branches with a sound like a death rattle. The false night went on.
The trees would weaken, the plants would die, and the sun would never again rise on the Theron worldforest.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE
OSIRA’H
In the smothering blindness of the continuing eclipse, the stars around the black blot in space gave no comfort. The cold dark had a stranglehold on the worldforest that tightened, day after day. For Osira’h, with her Ildiran blood, the gathering psychic shadow was even worse.
The fungus-reef capital was lit with supplemental bright panels. Overhead, racks of spotlights shone down over the settled area, which provided enough illumination to give Osira’h strength.
The green priests refused to leave the planet, but Peter and Estarra issued orders for offworld diplomats to evacuate. The Ildiran trade ministers and ambassadors slipped away on the first ship, and the green priests had spread word of the crisis throughout the Confederation, even to the Ildiran Empire.
Osira’h insisted on remaining with Reyn, even though he begged her to go. She was just as worried about him as he was about her. His sister was off on another continent, but they had word that Arita was as safe as any of them were.
But none of them were safe.
Three times in the past several days, black robot ships had launched from the shadow cloud on a sortie against the CDF defenses, but it was mere harassment. The robot ships swooped in and opened fire, paying little attention to their own safety. Two verdani battleships surprised a pair of robot vessels, opening powerful thorny branches to embrace them, crush them, and tear them into ragged debris, while the rest of the robot ships retreated.
The main attack on Theroc, however, was simply the darkness. By blocking off all sunlight and engulfing the world in endless night, the Shana Rei were crippling and starving the great worldtrees. An impressive tactical plan, too, Osira’h realized—it allowed the Shana Rei to
obliterate the powerful verdani mind at very little cost to themselves. To her, that meant the worldtrees must pose a threat, and the Shana Rei were weak enough to fear them. But the nightshade would do the work of crippling the verdani for them.
Rlinda Kett had remained on Theroc, supposedly to watch over her Arbor restaurant. She made herself visible and available, bringing fresh meals down into the main fungus-reef. She and her maître d’ Zachary Wisskoff delivered a cart laden with soup tureens and spicy fruit salads she had made from the supplies in her kitchens. The maître d’ looked gaunt and skittish, but he refused to evacuate, perhaps so he could sneer at the situation.
Reyn had introduced Osira’h to the hearty Rlinda, who embraced the young man with an all-enfolding hug. “Glad to see you, Raindrop, but also sorry you’re here.” She lowered her voice. “Any progress? Did you find what you needed?”
“I’ve been to see more doctors, and I have tests, but no answers. Lots of people are working on it, though. Oh, and I did tell my parents. They know how sick I am.”
“About time. They’ll do everything they can to get this figured out.”
“Osira’h has helped me a lot, too.” He slipped an arm around Osira’h’s waist, which seemed to thrill Rlinda more than anything.
“Now that’s the kind of help you need.” She opened the tureen of soup, sniffed as she stirred. “Mr. Wisskoff, did you bring the good bowls?”
“Not at all, ma’am. Just recyclable ones. Or did you expect me to wash them? Most of our staff departed on the first evacuation ships.”
With an extravagant sigh, Rlinda found serviceable bowls and presented soup to Reyn and Osira’h. “The flavor should be enough to command your attention.”
Wisskoff served food around the table in the main meeting room, where the King and Queen were studying reports. Peter thanked them. Wisskoff muttered, “Will those be on separate checks?”
Rlinda gave him a withering glance. “Do it for the gratitude.”
The Dark Between the Stars Page 60