by Ailx Nichols
“If there’s one thing I want you to walk away with when we’re done, it’s this,” Jancel said to his mother. “Throw the weight.”
“Hmm.” Dame Heidd studied her knife. “But mine is different from yours.” She held it up. “See, its handle is heavier than the blade. Do you want me to throw the handle, then?”
“It was you who insisted on practicing with your kitchen knife, Mother,” Jancel said.
“If ever there’s an intruder in the Refuge, that’s what I’ll have at hand,”—Dame Heidd gave Jancel a scathing look—“Son.”
Nyssa stifled a smile.
“Fair enough,” Jancel said. “Well, to answer your question, yes, you’re going to throw the handle first. That means you need to hold the blade.”
Taking Dame Heidd’s massive kitchen knife, he showed her how to hold it. Then he hurled it at the target. To no one’s surprise, the knife finished its clean trajectory smack in the middle of the smallest circle.
Pushing her spectacles up, Dame Heidd squinted at the target before turning to Jancel. “And you believe I’ll be able to do this in a few weeks?”
“I believe you can master the basic technique well enough to hit the outer circles,” her son replied.
Nyssa turned to Iyatt, extending her knife. “Want to practice a bit while we’re waiting? I can sit this one out.”
“She’s getting good at it,” Jancel said with visible pride.
Iyatt sat down at the end of the table. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Are you as good at knife throwing as at Rateh?” Nyssa asked.
“No.”
“Then come over and—”
“I’d rather not.”
She gave him a bewildered look.
“I don’t like knives,” Iyatt said.
Thankfully, Nyssa didn’t ask why.
Thirty minutes later, all twelve Fulcrum members had gathered in the communal room with Timm arriving last.
Must’ve come on foot.
Iyatt had seen Timm fly only on a couple of occasions, what with everyone’s favorite smuggler being very circumspect about his bionic nature. “It would hurt my business if people knew,” he’d once said to Iyatt. The other reason Timm readily shared with his friends was that he didn’t actually like flying. “Believe it or not,” he’d often say, “I prefer to walk or drive.”
Once the Fulcrum covered the main points on the agenda, the discussion veered, as every week, to which type of resistance would most help the Association achieve its goal. Half the Fulcrum favored the idea of an armed uprising. The other half was convinced they should focus on helping Boggond’s contender win the Endorsement Vote. The main problem with the latter choice was that, at present, Boggond didn’t have a contender.
“Areg,” Lippin said. “He’s Eia’s Liberator. Who better to oppose Boggond?”
“I raised it with him again over the commlet yesterday,” Nyssa said.
“And?” several people asked at once.
She spread her hands. “He’s a LOR enforcer now.”
“We’ve noticed that,” Timm said with a smile.
“Well, my brother has vowed allegiance to Colonel Yaggar and to the League of Realms, and he takes his vows seriously.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “He sounds like he’s found peace, his place in the world.”
Jancel turned to his fiancée, his expression grave. “You should join him and Etana on LORSS or go to Drecer with Marye and Geru. Next year, things will get really ugly here if Boggond wins the Endorsement Vote.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Nyssa said.
“We’ll have repression and a new war with Teteum,” Atipoly bit out. “Voqras and his hive cyborgs were hired for a reason.”
“Back to the matter of our candidate,” Duko said. “The problem with Areg is that he wouldn’t be able to run, even if he wanted to.”
Everybody turned to him.
“Don’t look at me like it’s never crossed your mind.” Duko rolled his eyes. “Our best bets—Areg and Jancel—are outlaws now, as is Geru. None of them can run for Endorsement.” Duko inclined his head toward Geru sitting across the table.
“Lately I’ve been thinking about Boggond’s last registered contender, Professor Nollan Dreggo.” Marye sighed, fingering her wedding cord. “Such a sad fate! First, Ultek had him assassinated. Then he sullied the professor’s name by calling him a defector and a traitor.”
“There’s still Achlins Ghaw, the editor of the Iltaqa Gazette,” Rhori said. “He hasn’t been accused of anything so far, so he could register and run. We could approach him.”
Iyatt cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he’s about to be compromised, too.”
Flooded with questions, Iyatt told them about the raid the special unit was putting together, and his hunch that Ultek might be close to getting Boggond’s approval for it.
“And you’re sure it’s Ghaw who’s targeted?” Atipoly asked. “Did you hear his name mentioned?”
“No. It’s my best guess.”
Geru leaned forward. “Could it be someone else? Judge Mahabmet? The new commander of the army or a high-ranking officer?”
“Could it be Superior Dienoma?” Lippin asked. “Or maybe Sutor Voqras himself? Ultek and Voqras aren’t exactly best friends, are they? What makes you think it’s Ghaw?”
“Intuition,” Iyatt said with a stiff smile.
“Ultek and Voqras might well hate each other,” Jancel added, “but right now the priority for both is to make sure Boggond is endorsed next spring. They’ll put their infighting on hold until then.”
Marye removed her spectacles before looking around the table. “According to Aynu, Superior Dienoma sees the temple’s role as exclusively spiritual. She’s instructed all vestals to stay away from politics.”
“That’s the sense I get from Abbess Fo and Reverend Zammi, too,” Iyatt said. “As for the high judge—”
“Mahabmet is a coward.” Nyssa’s mouth twisted with disgust. “He didn’t move a finger to help Areg. He’s become Boggond’s and Ultek’s puppet. Why would they want to eliminate such a good boy?”
“I’ll keep an eye on Ghaw and try to warn him,” Timm said. “But unless we give him something concrete, I doubt he’ll go into hiding.”
Iyatt agreed with Timm’s assessment. “If I hear anything new, I’ll let you know immediately.”
When the meeting was over, all the nonresidents left the Refuge. Iyatt buried his space suit under the bokk tree and set out through the dark forest back to Iltaqa.
This time, it wasn’t memories of his chase and arrest that filled his head, but thoughts about tomorrow’s reading with Haysimina.
What if the belly dancer was telling the truth?
In all honesty, it was hard to see how she could’ve learned those details about Derren Thraton. Sharing that kind of information about her brother with a friend would be unlike Unie. Even Iyatt hadn’t been privy to much, besides the knowledge that Derren had chosen a bad path and it had troubled his older sister.
Was it possible she’d told one of her few friends much more? Even so, they had all lived on her native Masela in another arm of the galaxy and later on LORSS. How in hell had a Lanterns girl met them?
What if she really was a medium?
What if tomorrow he got a chance to talk with the love of his life?
Four
Iyatt had prepared himself for squalor and a mess.
After all, he was entering a belly dancer’s lair, which doubled as a tattoo shop for local harlots and their clients. As he crossed the threshold, he braced for an assault by unsavory odors. But what he smelled was lavender soap.
The shop looked cleaner than his Rateh studio, and that was saying something. Lifting his eyebrows in disbelief, Iyatt crossed the parlor and followed Haysimina up the narrow spiral staircase, which led to her room.
He found the room just as well kept as the parlor beneath it. But it was more comfortable and snugger. Much more comfo
rtable, if he maintained the parallel with his own austere house.
“Please, call me Haysi,” his host said with a smile. “I use Haysimina only on stage.”
“As you wish.”
“A cup of kawa?”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.” She opened the door and pointed to something across the landing. “The bathroom is next to the kitchen between Maggi’s and my rooms, in case you need it.”
Iyatt looked around. Unusual artwork—most of it drawn in ink—was posted on the walls. A bright, soft rug covered the floor. Against one of the walls, a bed doubled as a couch, with a throw tucked around it and colorful cushions lined up to create a back. Candles on the table, the fireplace mantel, and a bookcase lit the small room. And there were books in the bookcase!
Haysimina—Haysi—had fitted out her private space to appeal to anyone, even to a cultured person with good taste. Iyatt’s lips curled. Very clever. She’d gone to great lengths to set herself above the lot and to give the men she “entertained” here an added reason to come back.
A minute later, Haysi returned with two fragrant, steaming cups. She handed one to Iyatt and sniffed hers, eyes closed in rapture.
“Do you add a spice to your kawa?” he asked, doing his best to make polite conversation. “It smells particularly good.”
She gave him a toothy smile. “Yes, sir, I do.”
“What is it?”
“Maggi’s mix. I have sworn by Aheya to keep the ingredients secret.” She gave him a wink. “Maggi hopes to open an inn one day when he’s saved enough.”
Iyatt tilted his head to the side. “Is Maggi short for Magnificent, the… flamboyant musician who accompanied your dance?”
“He’s so talented, isn’t he? Did you see how he played his coilpipe and tambour at once? Sometimes, he sings, too!”
“I was impressed by his skill,” Iyatt admitted.
If he’d been completely honest, he would’ve added “and by yours, too.” But skillful as it was, her dance had been indecent and morally reprehensible. She’d danced with the aim of sexually exciting her audience so they would leave her bigger tips. Greed and licentiousness were two major trespasses. Haysi danced to stoke the latter in men so she could assuage the former in herself.
There was no way he was endorsing her “art” with praise!
She sipped from her cup. “What about your skill and your title?”
“What about it?”
“Samurai is a strange word. Mysterious.” She plunged her blue gaze into his. “Impenetrable.”
“It’s a Terran Heritage word.”
“Do you think it meant ‘Rateh master’ on Mother Terra?”
“Rateh wasn’t practiced on Terra,” Iyatt said. “It’s a relatively recent martial art, a mix of Terran and Ramoh wrestling, fistfight, hand-to-hand combat and kick-fight techniques. The name is most likely a hybrid or a distorted form of one of the techniques.”
Her smile widened. “I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between wrestling and a fistfight to save my life. To me, it’s all the same. Men beating each other up to prove who’s stronger.”
“Well, what do you know,” he said, his pride piqued. “I’m just as confused about belly dancing, lap dancing, and whoring. To me, it’s all the same—women alluring men for money.”
The moment the words were out, Iyatt regretted them.
Haysi’s smile went stiff and then faded away. She set her cup on the mantel and walked over to the window. Turning her back to Iyatt, she gazed outside.
He stared at his cup, cursing his lack of good manners. Sinner or not, she was being a gracious hostess. And he was a guest in her house, drinking a delicious beverage she’d brewed for him. His words had been out of place.
He should offer her a sincere apology and then take his leave. The whole thing had been a mistake.
Iyatt opened his mouth to say he was sorry when Haysi spun around. “She’s here!”
“Who?” he asked, too startled to make the connection.
“Unie, of course! Who else?”
“Unie?” He blinked. “Are you sure? What makes you think—”
“Shh, be quiet.” Haysi closed her eyes. “I need to focus. It’s much harder to let her into my head than to simply listen to her.”
“What do you mean, let her into your head? I thought she’d come as an apparition, and you’d read and relay her messages to me.”
Haysi opened her eyes. “That’s what I thought at first, too. But it’s not how she’d like to do it this time. Unie wants to talk to you directly without an intermediary. She asked me if she and I could share my body for this session, and I agreed.”
Iyatt blinked, the proposition too wild to take seriously. Staring at Haysi’s now closed eyes, he wondered what she’d do next. Needless to say, he wasn’t prepared for this kind of “reading.” He hadn’t expected he might be talking with Unie’s spirit directly.
In fact, nothing he’d seen or heard in Haysi’s house so far had matched his expectations.
The energy in the room began to shift noticeably, making the air hazy. Iyatt’s skin tingled. The candles flickered one after another. Shadows moved across Haysi’s face. Her skin began to glow from within, like amber. She swayed as if in a trance.
Oh my, what a show! He was almost falling for it.
Her eyelids flew open, and her appearance was… different. When she gazed at him, the expression of her pretty face changed completely. She didn’t look like herself anymore but like someone familiar, someone he cherished.
“My valiant knight!” She stared straight into his eyes, “Oh, Iyatt…”
That nickname, the tenderness… He was almost falling for her trick. Haysi was good, very good. But he was going to call her out.
“Unie, my love, is that truly you?” He took a step toward her.
A half smile flashed on her face. “You don’t believe it, do you?”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re trying to come up with a trick question that would expose Haysi as a charlatan.”
He kept inching closer. “Can you read my mind?”
“No.” Another half smile. “But I know you well enough, Baylian Boy.”
Iyatt stopped in his tracks.
Hailing from the more prosperous and peaceful Homeland Arm of Xereill, Unie had come up with that nickname for him and Jancel when they met on Norbal a decade ago. Iyatt had been there on a scholarship, studying Rateh. Unie went to university. Jancel was learning the fine art of knife throwing from a shady master called Hommendis.
Homeland folks sometimes looked down on the Ra-humans from the galaxy’s other two inhabited arms, Baylian and Silver Path. Unie had been free from prejudice. But she had sure enjoyed teasing him and Jancel.
The three of them had become good friends in mere days after they’d first met. A few weeks later, Unie’s friendship with Iyatt grew into something more. She started calling him “my valiant knight” around that time.
The odds that someone outside of their tiny circle knew about both nicknames, and had shared it with Haysi, were short. If not impossible.
Iyatt peered at the woman before him.
Could it be true? Could Haysi have scooted to the fringes of her own consciousness and let Unie take center stage?
“Where have you been since… um… since summer?” Iyatt found himself unable of uttering the words “your death.”
“In Middleworld looking for a way to reach out to you.”
He studied her face.
She took a step toward him. “It’s a limbo between the material world that you inhabit and Otherworld.”
Reverend Fo had told him about it.
“There’s a tiny mention about it in the Book of Xereill,” Unie said.
He knew that now after his conversation with the abbess. He’d even looked it up. The strange thing was that he’d never noticed it before, despite the amount of time he’d spent reading the Book of X
ereill. Every morning and evening during his four years at the orphanage, guided by vestals. Then on his own, every night before sleep, during his four years in the East Upland. Iyatt could still recite hundreds of verses he’d learned by rote.
“Maybe some of it was lost in translation when the Original Ra adapted the book for the humans from Terra,” Unie said. “Or maybe, Divine Aheya had never meant to tell us more about it. I wouldn’t presume to know her mind.”
He swept a hand over his face, teetering between joy and disbelief.
“Tell me everything,” he said, moving closer. “I need to know. Are you suffering? Are you content? What’s it like to be in Middleworld? Can you stay there? Can I see you again?”
“I’m not suffering, my love… but I’m stranded, and I can’t find peace—”
“Why? Is there any chance you’ll come back to me? Unie, my dear—”
“No.”
The abrupt finality of her reply sent such a sharp pang through his heart that he staggered.
Barely a few inches separating them now, she touched his arm. “Iyatt, I don’t have much time, so I’m going to say my piece—two pieces, actually. It’s the reason I wanted to talk to you.”
He nodded, still dazed.
“Your revenge fantasies about Chief Ultek,” she said. “They’re poisoning your life. You know it wasn’t personal. He didn’t target me. He didn’t even know me. You’ve got to let it go.”
He tossed his hands up. “I’ve tried, believe me. I meditated. I prayed.”
“I know, my darling.”
He dropped his head to his chest. “Then you also know it didn’t help.”
Suddenly, her arms were wrapped around him, her hands on his neck, rubbing, stroking. Her grip was both soft and strong, and the feel of her so close brought him unthinkable comfort.
He put his own arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, closer, closer, until there was no space left between them. Holding her tight, he nuzzled and breathed her in.
A part of him was aware that the body he held in his arms was that of Haysimina Lommen, a virtual stranger. That body should’ve felt foreign to him. It shouldn’t have felt like it belonged in his arms.