Alien Chronicles 1 - The Golden One (26 page)

“That is an Eye of Clarity.”

Ampris turned and saw Bish standing in the doorway, alone.

“The sri-Kaa occupies herself in trying on necklaces in the vault,” he said before Ampris could ask. He walked into the room on his short bowed legs, his black eyes intent on her. “Have you ever seen an Eye of Clarity before?”

Feeling overwhelmed and confused by all she’d seen in this room, Ampris shook her head. “It looks like an old amulet. Why—”

“Ah, but it is so much more. In centuries past, our greatest, most visionary leaders all wore Eyes of Clarity.”

“Myal leaders?”

He shook back his mane. His dark eyes glowed, luminous and intense. “Not just Myals, but Aarouns as well. And others. The Eyes of Clarity belong to no single culture or race.”

“I’ve never seen one before or even heard of them,” she said, wondering why he spoke so passionately about the old artifact. “The Viis courtiers in the palace don’t wear them. Nor do the chancellors, and they are very important.”

Bish snorted. “No Viis can wear this.”

“You mean no Viis
would
wear it,” she said, turning her gaze on the simple necklace again. “It’s not pretty enough.”

“Pretty?” he echoed, affronted. “Alas, young cub, have the Viis corrupted you so that you judge value by superficial standards? Rub the age-tarnish from its surface, and it will shine as much as any Viis trinket. Exchange the leather cord for a delicate chain of gold, and would it not look fine?”

“I guess so,” Ampris said, not sure why he was so offended.

He stared at her long and hard. “How the Viis have clouded your young mind.”

She stared right back. “I have been trained to appreciate art and aesthetics. I meant you no insult. All I said was it wouldn’t appeal to a Viis.”

“It is not meant to,” he said with some asperity. “No Viis can wear one, even if its appearance did not offend Viis aesthetics.”

“Why not?”

“That is a mystery. I cannot provide you with an answer. But it is so. And what the Viis themselves cannot use, they never value.”

His criticism made Ampris uneasy. She glanced at the door and tried to change the subject. “What was the Eye of Clarity used for?”

“Ah,” Bish said, and his voice held a tinge of awe. “It holds great power and wisdom. When a wearer proves him or herself worthy, an Eye of Clarity will share its secrets.”

Ampris frowned at the old amulet, not certain she believed anything he was saying. “How do you become worthy?”

Bish spread out his expressive hands in a slight shrug. “Alas, such knowledge is lost.”

“I thought so.” Bored, Ampris headed for the door.

He blocked her path, however. “Please, young cub. Do not be so skeptical, so impatient. I can teach you much about your kind, if you will allow me.”

“I take my lessons with the sri-Kaa,” Ampris said haughtily, then felt a rush of shame at having spoken so rudely.

He regarded her a long moment in silence, with his hands folded over his rounded belly. Ampris was the first to drop her gaze.

“I ask pardon,” she said quietly. “I have spoken to you with disrespect.”

“You have much spirit, much fire in your soul, young cub. Even if it sometimes leads you to speak rashly, at least it has not been crushed.” Bish smiled at her in forgiveness. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around to once more face the display case containing the Eye of Clarity.

“The oldest writings indicate that the key to understanding its power lies inside each wearer,” he said as though they’d never gotten off the subject. “A journey of sorts.”

Ampris swallowed a sigh. Bish was just like Israi’s tutor, dull and persistent, lecturing on forever. But having apologized once for showing bad manners, she forced herself to be polite this time. “What kind of power?” she asked. “Do you mean it can make things blow up? Can it start fires?”

“To be great or powerful is not always to be destructive,” Bish replied patiently. “According to the legends, the Eyes of Clarity were once pathways to the very center of that which powers the universe. Can you tame that?”

She blinked at him and did not answer.

“Well,” he said and smiled in his gentle way. “So little is now taught, handed down in song from Aaroun mother to daughter. Did your mother never sing to you, golden one?”

Ampris’s eyes widened. No one had ever called her that before. Or had they? A whisper of memory brushed through her mind, elusive, resisting capture. She backed her ears, shaking old thoughts away. She wasn’t going to think about the Scary Time if she could help it.

“I have no mother,” she said, and even to her ears her voice sounded harsh and flat. “The sri-Kaa raised me. I am forever indebted to her for her kindness and benevolence.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice softer and more gentle than ever. “Then it is good you have come here to learn your heritage.” He gestured at the exhibits filling the room. “You are heir to all this, and much more.”

Ampris backed her ears in puzzlement. “This belongs to the Kaa.”

“To
you
, Ampris. Your heritage belongs to you and to all other Aarouns,” he said. “The artifacts the Kaa may own, but your history, your ancestry, and your lost culture he does not own. Such intangibles can be the richest possessions of all. They are yours.”

She said nothing. Such words were intoxicating, yet they sounded like treason.

He walked over to one of the history panels and pointed at a name. “Read here about Zimbarl, leader of the Heva clan in the northern hemisphere. He was responsible for pulling the scattered Aaroun tribes together into a unified nation. He created a country, established laws, civilized people into working together instead of against each other. Under his leadership and vision, your people took giant strides forward. For centuries Zimbarl was a hero. Have you ever heard of him?”

Ampris shook her head. She drank in what Bish was telling her, and was suddenly eager to hear more. “Zimbarl was a hero,” she echoed. “Like Havlmehd the Great.”

Bish laughed, curling back his broad lips and shaking his mane. “Yes,” he said. “You know only the typical Viis heroes, and none of your own?”

Shame filled Ampris. Although his voice held no censure, she felt as though she’d been judged and found wanting. “Why shouldn’t I know about the Viis heroes? They are great legends. I hear about them all the time. They have accomplished much that is worthy.”

“Of course. But look here.” He pointed at another panel. “Read about Nithlived, an Aaroun priestess. In the final Aaroun uprising, she rallied her people. They would have thrown off the Viis yoke forever had the Viis not cracked open their sun’s center. The Viis starforces directed the sun’s terrible energy against the Aaroun homeworld.”

Appalled, Ampris stared at him. She could not believe such a terrible story was true. “The Viis would not do such a thing.”

Bish’s eyes were grave. “But they did. Your people make proud fighters, young cub. They resisted and would not surrender themselves, as other races did. They did not fall prey to the trickery and lies that brought the downfall of my own kind. No, the Aarouns wanted to remain free and independent. They fought, but they could not win. Their world of grassland and hunting was laid waste. Every living thing not evacuated from the planet was destroyed. Now it is bare, blasted rock, spinning in erratic orbit around its dead sun. This the Viis did to your homeworld, golden one.”

Ampris tried to imagine it and couldn’t. She tried to sort out what she felt and couldn’t. She had never been to the homeworld of her ancestors. She had never walked it, had never breathed its scents . . . until a few minutes ago, when she had experienced the hologram in the exhibit room. Still, to think about the obliteration of an entire living world chilled her. There could not exist such cruelty, yet into her mind came the dreadful memory of the trophy room in the Kaa’s mountain lodge, where Aaroun heads hung mounted as grisly reminders of another uprising, and another failure.

Shaken, Ampris glanced around and once again saw the portraits of Aarouns long dead. Their eyes seemed to look right into her, seemed to be pleading for her to do something, as the ghosts of her nightmares pleaded.

The room was suddenly too hot, too close. She backed up a step, the fur on her neck bristling.

Bish seemed unaware of her distress. He gestured at another exhibit. “But there are other things to learn besides events of politics and war. See this? Did you know that an Aaroun female named Lutishan invented the flyta? That is a very great accomplishment indeed.”

“Impossible!” Ampris said in instant objection, distracted from her distress, as perhaps he had intended. “The flyta is a Viis musical instrument.”

“Oh, yes, it features in most of today’s music. It is very popular at court,” Bish agreed mildly. “But the Viis did not invent it. They found it when they discovered your homeworld. Like many things from many worlds, the flyta was absorbed into the culture of the empire.”

She still wasn’t sure she could believe an Aaroun had actually created the flyta. And yet, a sense of pride surged through her. She stared at Bish, almost smiling. “Really?”

He smiled back. “Really.”

So it was true. She hugged the knowledge inside her, thrilled by it. That meant her people were intelligent, accomplished, and cultured too. Like the Viis, only . . .

“Why isn’t this known?” she asked. “Why is it kept secret?”

“It is not secret,” he replied. “Few Viis know the origins of what they borrow and assimilate into their everyday lives. Even fewer care. The empire conquers many worlds, taking the best they have to offer and discarding the rest.” He straightened his tail momentarily, then coiled it around his left leg. “This is the way of tyranny.”

Her eyes widened, and again she backed away from him. She did not like him, she decided. Each time she began to find his information interesting, he pushed some treasonous or disconcerting statement at her. She could get into trouble listening to him. “I should go now,” she said. “I must not stay absent from the sri-Kaa’s side.”

“Will you return?”

“I don’t know. The sri-Kaa doesn’t—”

“By yourself, will you return?” he asked.

She stared at him, slightly alarmed by his question. Why did he study her so intently? He seemed to expect something from her, something she did not understand.

“Have you any periods of freedom? Time of your own, apart from the sri-Kaa’s activities?” he persisted. “Are you not interested in learning more about your people? The Aarouns have been a conquered race for less than two hundred years. Before that, they were independent and progressive, inventing their own technology, advancing at their own pace. Are you not curious about them, Ampris?”

“Yes,” she said warily, and it was the truth. None of this had ever been told to her before. She’d always thought Aarouns had been slaves forever. Now her mind felt expanded by this radical new information. She needed to get away and think it over.

“Then come back,” he urged her. “By yourself. I can teach you much.”

“You are Myal,” she said. “Not Aaroun. Why do you care about my race instead of your own?”

Impatience flickered in his eyes before he smiled again. “The history of my race is not lost. Nor should the history of other races be lost. You are special, Ampris. The first Aaroun, the first of
any
of the abiru, to be raised in the imperial household. You, alone of all Aarouns, are permitted to speak Viis because you
belong
to that household.”

“You can speak Viis,” Ampris protested.

“Because of my position, because of my work,” he said. “Not because of who I am.”

“But—”

“You are a special friend to the next ruler of the empire,” he said, his gaze boring into her. “This gives you great opportunity. Your influence, used wisely, could be of great help to your people, my people,
all
the abiru races. Think of it, Ampris. To you, so much is available.”

His eyes were blazing with a fervor that alarmed her.

She hurried toward the door. “I must go,” she said.

“Ampris,” he called after her.

She wanted to rush out, but something in his tone made her pause. She glanced back reluctantly.

“Come again,” he said, gesturing at the room. “There is so much more to show you, so much more than you can imagine.”

She backed her ears.

“Please,” he said. “Will you return?”

“Perhaps,” she said, unwilling to promise.

“Ah.” He smiled as though satisfied, and the intensity in his gaze faded. Folding his hands together over his little paunch, he gave her a slight bow. “For now, that is sufficient. Knowledge cannot be forced upon another. What you have learned today, you will think about. When you are ready to learn more, you will come back.”

She stared at him, uncertain of what to say, then turned and fled.

Israi was emerging from the vault, looking pleased and content. A pendant of a pebble-sized Gaza stone hung on a gold chain about her neck.

“Ampris, good,” Israi said. “I was just about to call you. See what I am wearing?” she asked.

Ampris obediently admired the fiery green facets of the jewel. “But are you allowed to take it?” she asked.

Israi’s eyes flashed. “Of course. Am I not sri-Kaa?”

“But does not everything here belong to the Kaa your father?” Ampris asked. “I do not wish you to be punished.”

Israi sighed and stamped her foot. “I
hate
this,” she said, and yanked off the necklace. “How long must I wait until I can do as I please?”

She tossed the necklace on the floor and walked past Bish, who stared at the discarded jewelry with astonished eyes. He hurried to scoop it up and handed it to another Myal, who had appeared with a folded paper in his hands.

Taking the paper, Bish caught up with Israi and bowed. “For the Imperial Daughter, as requested.”

She nodded at Ampris, who took the paper for her.

“Thank you,” Ampris said for her.

Bish’s black eyes shifted to Ampris. Again he seemed to want to say something to her, but he merely bowed. “To serve has been an honor. The Imperial Daughter and her companion are always welcome.”