The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1)

by G. L. Breedon

  He looked to see Sao-Tauna staring up at him, a smile still on her face.

  “Star people,” she said.

  “Yes. Star people.” Sha-Kutan owed her more than merely his existence, and he would see her safely to the star people, even if he needed to confront the one who hunted him in order to do so.

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  THE PHILOSOPHER

  KADMALLIN

  ROASTED PORK and wine. The black smoke of lamp oil curled up through the rafters of the vast dining hall even as the lamps cast light downward on the musty tapestries and narrow dinner table. The discordant aromas unsettled Kadmallin’s nose but did nothing to hinder his appetite. The long tabletop of polished hickory held dishes of pork, chicken, and beef, spread along a green embroidered table runner. Rakthors did not eat a particularly varied diet, focusing mainly on meat. The disadvantage of rakthor cooking came in the lack of spices. They simply saw no rational need to alter the flavor of their food.

  He used a knife to slice off another hunk of pork loin and skewered it with a steel rakthor eating spike, using the utensil to place the meat in his mouth. He savored its juicy flesh as he listened to Sketkee and Viktik converse in the rakthorian language. The ambassador spoke with a northern Sun Realm accent, as opposed to Sketkee’s southern-tinged words, but he understood them both well enough. It had been twenty years since he’d studied the language, but it came back fairly quickly.

  Most of the conversation so far revolved around news from the Sun Realm. With a regular and established line of communication to the rakthor Central Governing Committee, Viktik informed Sketkee of the various shifts in the political landscape after the recent elections. Kadmallin had always marveled at the rakthor system of governance and the relative scarcity of violence that accompanied changes in leadership. While Punderra and Juparti both elected leaders, the pool of those who could vote was restricted to land owners alone rather than the entire population, as in the elections of the Sun Realm. Kadmallin had often dreamed about seeing a rakthor election, but now doubted he would live long enough to ever set foot in the Sun Realm again.

  As the conversation turned to the potential causes of the human pilgrim phenomenon, as Sketkee called it, Kadmallin did not find himself surprised that neither rakthor thought of asking the only human at the table what he might think. He did not really mind this intellectual slight. He’d grown accustomed to it. Rakthors generally believed humans and other peoples to be less developed by nature, and therefore incapable of complex analysis. In truth, being left out of the discussion didn’t bother him because he did not know what he thought of the dreams and the star and stories of miracles. While he had the dream of the new goddess and the Forbidden Realm and the temple nearly every night, he treated it as he did most things he had no control over — ignoring them until he might one day understand how to put a stop to them.

  He also didn’t know what to believe about the new goddess. He had been a man of strong faith in his youth, but years at Sketkee’s side listening to her rational dissections of human thought and belief in the unseen provided him with a skepticism that eventually led to seeing the gods as mere stories told to pacify human minds throughout the ages. Dreaming of the new goddess changed that in ways he could not clearly elucidate.

  How could all these different people spread so far apart have the same visions each evening they closed their eyes? And how could they dream of a star, and how could such a star arrive in the night sky? It could be coincidence, but that did seem like a weak explanation for a difficult to understand occurrence. He only knew a few things for certain — he would follow Sketkee wherever she went regardless of the costs, for reasons he would not voice aloud. And he knew that if a god had managed to enter the world in a way that could affect dreams and create stars, then that meant other gods might do the same, which implied an entirely different world than the one where he thought he lived.

  “It is a shame the panel did not endorse your proposal for the device.” Viktik’s mention of the crystal artifact brought Kadmallin’s attention back to the conversation at the table.

  “I thought you preferred to disassemble it to learn its secrets.” Sketkee paused in placing a bite of meat in her mouth.

  “True, I would, but your discourse about the Forbidden Realm and the urris made me consider what might have been possible.” Viktik wiped his hands on a meal cloth. “At least someone would be investigating the device in some manner, rather than having it sit in the vaults of the Central Governing Committee for generations.”

  Kadmallin focused his eyes on his food but concentrated on what the two rakthors said. The direction the conversation took in the next few minutes would determine the success or failure of their plan. Viktik undoubtedly knew Sketkee had stolen the device and that she now hoped to reclaim it after its recent return to his possession. He could only know this if he himself had attempted to steal the artifact after her return to the Iron Realm. The key to their strategy revolved around making a plausible case that she had not taken the artifact.

  “May I confide in you?” Sketkee placed her hands in her lap.

  “Of course.” Viktik looked across the table at Sketkee with obvious curiosity.

  “I attempted to steal the device before I left the Sun Realm.” Sketkee’s voice remained even.

  Kadmallin noticed her hands did not fidget as his own might have in a similar circumstance.

  “Really?” Viktik leaned back in his chair, the look of inquisitiveness on his face deepening.

  Kadmallin doubted the rakthor had anticipated a confession.

  “Yes,” Sketkee said. “Unfortunately, it had already been stolen and replaced with a facsimile by the time I attempted my theft.”

  “May I confide in you in return?” Viktik held Sketkee’s eyes in a steady stare.

  “Certainly.” Sketkee leaned forward.

  Kadmallin expected what came next, which made it easier to pretend he didn’t understand the conversation taking place.

  “I, too, attempted to steal the device, only to find a replica in its stead.” Viktik continued to stare at Sketkee.

  “Intriguing.” Sketkee looked up as though considering the possibilities exposed by the revelation.

  Kadmallin wondered what she actually considered.

  “Indeed.” Viktik did not take his eyes from Sketkee and barely seemed to breathe.

  Kadmallin worried briefly that the rakthor ambassador saw through Sketkee’s ruse.

  “Who do you suspect is the thief?” Sketkee looked down from the lanterns among the rafters and directly at Viktik once again.

  “I suspected you.” Viktik glanced at Kadmallin.

  Kadmallin kept his face blank, chewing his pork loin and imagining he watched a game of koris being played.

  “A reasonable deduction, given my departure for the Iron Realm.” Sketkee placed her fingers under her chin as though contemplating other possibilities.

  “I thought so.” Viktik looked back to Sketkee.

  “I suspect it was Pgakat,” Sketkee said. “He has always had a fascination with the urris. I was surprised when he argued so thoroughly to place the device in long storage.”

  “May I further burden you with an additional revelation?” Viktik placed his hands on the table.

  “You have my utmost attention and discretion.” Sketkee once again leaned forward.

  Kadmallin grabbed another piece of meat, feigning ignorance of Viktik’s words while hoping they would lead to the desired occurrence.

  “I have found another device just yesterday.” Viktik’s words echoed in the room with the slight increase in volume he gave them.

  Silence. Sketkee said nothing. Kadmallin glanced between the two rakthors, taking a bite of pork fat and looking as though he wondered at their sudden cease in conversation.

  “That seems highly unlikely.” Sketkee’s voice seeped with skepticism.

  “I found the first. Why not a second?”
Viktik sounded almost defensive.

  Kadmallin took a sip of wine to avoid appearing more interested than would be likely for a simple-minded human companion.

  “I am referring to the coincidence of you acquiring another device the day before my arrival at this outpost,” Sketkee said.

  “Your appearance did seem to confirm my suspicions that you were the thief,” Viktik replied.

  “An understandable, if mistaken, conclusion,” Sketkee said.

  “Would you like to see it?” Viktik’s voice took on a silky, almost seductive quality.

  Kadmallin looked down at his plate, restraining a smile. The fish took the bait.

  “I very much would.” Sketkee’s voice filled with thinly restrained excitement.

  “Come this way.” Viktik stood from the table and began to walk toward the entrance. “Bring your human if you wish.”

  “Thank you.” Sketkee nodded her appreciation to Viktik before turning and unnecessarily speaking in Punderrese-accented Mumtiba for Kadmallin. “Follow us. I will explain later.”

  “Of course.” Kadmallin trailed after Sketkee, noting how casually she claimed two of the meat spears from the table and slipped them into the sleeve of her shirt.

  Viktik led them out of the dining hall and into a passage of stone lit by lanterns. They followed him to the entrance foyer and down a wide spiral stone staircase into the cellars. There, he took an oil lamp hanging on the wall and walked to the end of a long, dim hall. He stopped before a wooden door reinforced with bands of steel and hung the lamp on a hook. He then produced a ring of keys from a pocket in his rakthorian vest and proceeded to open the three locks restraining the portal. The shine of the metal locks spoke to their newness. With the locks open, he grabbed the lantern from the wall and entered the room.

  Sketkee and Kadmallin followed Viktik into a large storeroom piled with empty crates and barrels of various sizes. He pushed one of the barrels over and bent down to pull up a palm-thick flagstone the size of his torso. He lifted the stone tile with ease, placing it aside and removing a small wooden chest from the hole dug into the earth beneath the floor. Kadmallin had seen that chest through a distance magnifier the day prior.

  Viktik stood and placed the chest on a barrel and then used one of the keys on his chain to open it. Inside sat a ball fashioned from sheets of leather. He peeled the leather flaps away a layer at a time, eventually revealing the crystal device. He held it in his hand a moment and then passed it over to Sketkee.

  Kadmallin watched, forming a face of feigned curiosity and wonder. He needed to appear to be seeing the crystal sphere for the first time. He leaned in a little closer as Sketkee held the device up to the light of the lantern.

  “Yes.” Sketkee squinted as she looked more carefully. “It is clearly a different device. You can see here the patterns of these gears are not the same as the other one. They are in different positions and have a different coloring.”

  Sketkee’s voice and look of astonishment impressed Kadmallin in its genuineness. He ruminated that if they failed in their journey to the Forbidden Realm, she could always find employment as an actor in a traveling carnival. He made a mental note never to voice that suggestion to her.

  “I had not noticed that.” Viktik reached for the device, nearly snatching it from Sketkee’s hands. He held it to the light and looked closely. “Yes. You are right. It is different.”

  “It is not entirely surprising.” Sketkee stepped back from the device and Viktik. “It should only be expected that different devices have dissimilar patterns. They may even serve completely separate purposes.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Viktik looked up from the device and placed it back in the box. “Possibly you will be willing to discuss the device and examine it in more detail tomorrow.”

  “Certainly.” Sketkee bowed slightly at the invitation. “I would be greatly honored.”

  “Good.” Viktik wrapped the device in leather again and replaced it in the chest, putting it back in the ground with the stone and barrel covering it.

  He led them out of the room, locked the door, and guided them back to the upper reaches of the castle, leaving them on the third floor where their rooms stood at the end of the hall.

  “You must be weary from your travels. I will leave you until morning. I have a few matters to attend to.” Viktik bowed and headed up the stairs.

  Kadmallin and Sketkee walked along the hall to their adjacent rooms. He noted the angle of her shoulders and the pinch of her face around the lips and eyes, signs that something troubled her.

  “What is wrong?” Kadmallin whispered. The evening had seemed to proceed exactly as they had planned.

  “The device has changed.” Sketkee’s voice sounded quiet.

  “It’s been damaged?” Kadmallin looked around the hall, his voice instinctively lowering in volume.

  “No.” Sketkee stopped by the door to her chamber and turned to Kadmallin. “Its internal structure has altered since it was stolen by the bandits. I had previously noticed what I suspected to be a slight variation of its inner configuration, but its components are too intricate to map in detail. I might have been mistaken. This new transformation is too obvious to doubt.”

  “What could cause it to change?” Kadmallin considered the question, wondering if the bandits or the merchant could have tampered with the device.

  “What indeed?”

  The tone of Sketkee’s voice and the look on her face set Kadmallin’s heart racing. Few humans ever saw that face on a rakthor, and those who did learned to heed its import. Rakthors did not experience the emotions humans did, but they did feel fear, and Kadmallin knew when fear gripped Sketkee’s mind. If she had cause to be afraid, their situation had become significantly more complicated.

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  THE SEER

  RANKARUS

  SHADOW BRANCHES cast by twin moons ambled back and forth across the canvas in the summer night breeze — slender hands scrabbling for impossible purchase on a surface they could only reach for yet never touch. Rankarus stared at the roof of the small tent, hands behind his head, wondering if he had waited long enough. He’d tried counting numbers, but that made him drowsy. And counting also left him thinking of all the things he’d once had to count that were now lost to him. The number of coins from a day’s business at the inn. The number of rooms and beds and tables and chairs. The number of days and weeks and years beside the woman he loved. The number of times they’d stayed in bed feigning mutual illness to express that love in the most exhausting manner possible. The number of years since his daughter’s birth. The number of years since his son’s birth. The number of ways he’d been blessed by gods he’d never worshiped.

  Best not to count.

  He sat up beneath the tent, crouching low as he pushed the flap aside and stepped into the humid night air. He stretched as he looked at the moons. Why two, he’d wondered as a boy. Why not three? Why not one? With so many stars, why only two moons? He’d stopped wondering such things when his little brother had died of the Red Fever. Who cared how many moons there were when people could die in days from an illness that swept through a town’s children, burning them up — a wildfire ravaging in a forest of saplings.

  He’d had the fever himself, but he had survived. Still had the red splotches on his back as evidence of his endurance. His luck. Most children in the town he grew up in had not been so lucky. He wondered at the fortune of his own children as he looked to the second tent where they slept with Jadaloo. Would they prove hardy enough to survive the plague with which their mother and father had infected their lives?

  Time to make plans to ensure they did.

  He looked to the cabin and saw Abananthus, stretched out on his back at the edge of the porch, a rolled blanket beneath his head. Tamateraa had offered to let him sleep on the floor in the cabin, but he had insisted he preferre
d the open air. Said it reminded him of his days in the merchant caravans.

  Rankarus breathed out slowly, clearing his mind, letting it adjust to the sounds of the night and the sense of his own body, a ritual he’d adopted by chance years ago. He padded quietly along the thin dirt path through the knee-high wild grass of the yard. He saw Kellatra through the open window, her head tilted back in her chair at the table, mouth slack as she dozed. Tamateraa huddled in slumber in another chair by the fireplace. They had both fallen asleep in much the same positions the last several nights. Hours he had used to complete his plan.

  At the edge of the porch, he removed his boots and stockings, listening to Abananthus’s gentle snores. After wriggling his toes in the cool air, he crept across the porch and eased the door open, leaving it ajar as he slid inside the cabin. He cautiously crossed the old wooden floor, his feet feeling out the bend and give of each board, anticipating and avoiding every potential squeak of the aged lumber. He kept his breath even, his ears and eyes alert to all things around him. The sensation mimicked the plunge into sudden wakefulness after a night of deep sleep. As he approached the table where Kellatra slept, he wondered if The Sight mirrored his current frame of mind. It didn’t matter if it did, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine willing the lid of the box on the table before him to open, much less something more complicated.

  He kept his eyes on Kellatra as his hands sought the box and gently lifted the lid. He did not open it all the way, only far enough to reach in and remove the leather-bound book. He closed the box and backed out of the cabin. On the porch, Abananthus had moved, one arm now slung over his eyes, his mouth still open as a guttural snore escaped his throat.

  Rankarus stepped from the porch and collected his boots and stockings before walking back to the tent. Once inside, he knelt and rummaged in his leather pack, removing a candle and a flint box. It took a few tries, but eventually, he lit the wick, retrieved his supplies, and set about his work. Although the single flame did not provide a great deal of light, he found that as his eyes adjusted to the illumination, it proved more than sufficient.