Horizon Storms (39 page)

“So long as I’m on Theroc. Instead of here.”

Did he want to distance himself from her? Maybe, seeing the situation crumbling around him, he was doing mental damage control. Perhaps he had realized he was depending on Sarein too much, maybe even loved her—which would frighten him. No wonder he was sending her away. It was just like him.

“All right, Basil. I’ll go back to Theroc. I’ll try to become the next 238

Mother.” His smile showed relief and satisfaction, but no visible warmth.

I’m doing it for you, she thought.

655MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

Inside the Dobro Designate’s residence, Mage-Imperator Jora’h met his daughter for the first time. Though supposedly destined to be the savior of the Ildiran Empire, she was just a little girl.

Osira’h had poise beyond her years. Her eyes were large and innocent, with a glint of star-sapphire that came from Jora’h’s genetics; her narrow chin and gentle expression were achingly clear reminders of her mother.

Seeing his daughter was like an electric jolt that brought back a flood of memories of the many times Jora’h had made love to the beautiful Nira—more times than he had ever mated with the same female, before or since. Even as the years went by and he believed the green priest long dead, Jora’h’s longing for her had grown deeper.

Standing before Osira’h, though, made much of that grief and regret wash away. Jora’h was startled to sense her incredible strength and intelligence through the thism, though the girl had a different connection and mental pattern, thanks to her mother. Even as Mage-Imperator, he could not link with her clearly, but she seemed stronger, sharper than his usual sense. He was unable to grasp all that she could do.

“Osira’h,” he said in a long sibilant breath, “you are . . . beautiful.”

The girl bowed, avoiding his gaze. “I am honored to serve you, Mage-Imperator.” Her initial formality was like a crystal knife in his chest, until she finally looked up. He saw a startling hunger there, a recognition, as if she shared many memories with him, though this was the first time they had met. Her thoughts and personality were no more than an echo, like smoke in the thism.

M A G E - I M P E R A T O R J O R A ’ H

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“We’re very pleased at how Osira’h has turned out,” Udru’h said, interrupting his thoughts. “The best instructors and lens kithmen have guided her development, and she has performed admirably. Her skills are . . . advanced beyond anything we have measured before. With the continuing war, we know our time is desperately short. Osira’h is nearly ready to serve as the psychic bridge between Ildirans and hydrogues, which we so desperately need.”

Jora’h gently put a finger under the little girl’s chin and raised it so that he could read her face. “Is that true?”

“I am ready.” She blinked her sparkling eyes. “If that is what you need.” Osira’h was still young, but Jora’h grieved for all the time he had lost with her. He was her father, and he should have watched her grow and learn, as he had done with all his children, all his Designates-in-waiting.

Osira’h was special, though—and not just in ways the Dobro breeding program considered important.

He turned to the grim Designate. “I want to go with Osira’h out to her mother’s grave. I trust you have marked it so we can”—his voice threatened to crack, but he controlled it—“pay our respects, and remember her together.”

Udru’h wore a bland expression. “As you wish, Liege.”

Nira’s memorial marker had been placed on one of the recovering hillsides scorched by the fires of the previous dry season. The ash had made the ground fertile again, and grasses and weeds grew tall and thick, erasing the burn scars.

The Dobro Designate had chosen a gravesite near a cluster of thorny scrub trees that had survived the rushing flames. Around them, the plants smelled fresh and alive, the faintest echo of the Theron worldforest. Yes, Nira would have approved of this setting.

Taking the little girl’s hand, Jora’h knelt in the tangled shade of the clawlike scrub bushes. The commemorative marker was a block of stone with embedded projection machinery. Suspended above a holo-ring, a many-faceted crystal gathered sunlight that powered a projection of Nira’s beautiful face, apparently taken from camp records.

When Jora’h saw her image again, he felt his heart being pulled from his chest. Beside him, Osira’h also seemed angry and uneasy, though ac-

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cording to Udru’h she had never even met her mother. In silence, they stared together, experiencing a common grief. He wished he could share with his daughter all of his memories of Nira, how much he had loved her.

Again, Osira’h surprised him with her perceptiveness and her depth of intuitive understanding—she seemed to be mourning Nira as much as he was.

For a long moment, Jora’h was caught up in memories and regrets. He had never dreamed that his father might purposefully deceive him. Now he knew so much more. . . .

He rubbed his fingers on the bark of the singed, scrubby trees surrounding Nira’s grave. “I wish your mother could be closer to her forest. I wish she could have seen it one more time. She loved Theroc so much . . .

and those trees are now recovering from the destruction the hydrogues wrought.” And you, Osira’h, must somehow negotiate a peace with them, he thought.

He let go of his daughter’s hand and traced the holographic image of Nira’s face with his fingers. Unable to stop himself, he muttered apologies, dangerously close to weeping. “I’m sorry for all the tragedies you suffered, sweet Nira. I would have done anything in the universe for you, but now it’s too late. I can’t make up for it . . . but perhaps I can save the Ildiran race.”

The girl remained next to him. She seemed troubled, confused, but also determined. “If I succeed, if I can become a bridge with the hydrogues and make them stop killing Ildirans . . . will it all be justified?”

“Do you have doubts?” He looked at her, sensing her powerful presence through the thism, though he could not read Osira’h the way he could his other children. It was almost as if she had shielded herself.

“I have no doubts about what I can do, or why it must be done.” She hesitated. “But . . . none of these humans are here willingly. Neither was my mother. Will you shut it all down?”

Jora’h felt a chill, knowing Udru’h would never have spoken to her of such things. “I want to, so very much. But the hydrogues keep attacking us, and the Klikiss robots are no longer reliable allies. At this point, so close to its culmination, how can I stop the work until you have a chance to prove your abilities? The humans here were brought to Dobro long before N I R A

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I knew anything of this project. At least they remember nothing else, know no other life.”

“My mother knew another life,” Osira’h said, looking at him with remarkable sternness on her young and innocent face.

He looked at her with sharp surprise. “How do you know? What makes you say that?”

His daughter seemed flustered. “She . . . talked to some of the breeding prisoners, but they didn’t believe her about the free worlds far from here.”

He studied the little girl who stood so bravely next to him. “Osira’h, how I wish you could have met your mother. She was a wonderful person, beautiful and funny. She captured my heart in a way no other woman ever had, and now you can never know her.”

Osira’h tentatively touched Jora’h’s shoulder, opening up to him with a warm flow of surprising love. “I already know her. There are no secrets.”

Jora’h stared at her, but the reticent girl would say nothing else.

665NIRA

During her years of captivity, Nira had wanted nothing more than to escape the breeding camps. Never again did she want to see the hated face of the Dobro Designate, or the succession of horrific breeding partners.

Back then, she had gazed longingly through the fences out across the sparsely populated landscape, wishing she could go home to the worldforest . . . just wanting to be alone.

Now, though, she had spent long months in utter isolation, speaking to no one except for a brief taunting exchange with Udru’h. And he was no companion that she wanted to have. Mercifully, the Designate had left her to her island—her own calm universe.

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Alone, she could watch the clouds, listen to the waves, feel the warm wind on her face. Nira walked among strange fernlike trees that grew from squat trunks in the island’s sandy soil. All around her, the giant lake extended in watery blue emptiness to the horizon, though she knew the shore was out there somewhere. The stirring of birds and the rustle of leaves comforted her, as they would any green priest. She tried to hear words in the whisper of foliage, but these trees were not connected in any way to the worldforest mind.

Sometimes she attempted to send out a call through these surrogate trees, but received back only a resounding silence—just as when she’d desperately tried to shout for help through the scrubby hillside trees during a brush fire. Sadly, Dobro’s plants and forests had no life of their own.

They simply grew, went to seed, and died, retaining no memory as the worldtrees did.

Nevertheless, as Nira walked around on her island, traversing the limited paths from one shore to another, she spoke aloud to the trees. The plants remained unresponsive, but she could fantasize that they were diligently listening after all, but did not know how to answer. Her voice was soothing and gentle, and she never found herself at a loss for anything to say. Speaking with the island foliage kept Nira sane, her thoughts sharp.

Perhaps, far off on the other side of the world, Osira’h could sense that she was still alive. It was too much for Nira to hope, after the guards had nearly beaten her to death, brutally severing the connection she’d shared with her Princess. She was no longer able to feel the thoughts of the little girl. Would Osira’h even think to look for her? Somehow, perhaps in dreams, their thoughts might connect. . . .

Though she had a small measure of peace here, Nira felt empty. She hoped she’d given her daughter enough information to make her question the Dobro breeding schemes and the dark plans Udru’h had for her, but she didn’t know what the girl could possibly do about it.

She was also dismayed to know that all the other human captives remained in the breeding camp, every day abused by their Ildiran masters.

Worst of all, those other humans had accepted their lot. Generation after generation, they’d been raised to believe that this was the natural order of the human race, that this was their way of life. They all underwent the

same awful experimentation, but only Nira had frantically resisted. The others did not know any better.

And now she was here, discarded but kept in reserve. It took her a long while to understand why the Dobro Designate hadn’t simply killed her out of hand. He must still have plans to use her as a hostage, as leverage. Over Jora’h? Was the Designate keeping her for his own protection?

Her only hope of being rescued was to remain valuable to Udru’h.

She waited day after day on the island, praying that Jora’h might find her. She clung to the slim thread of hope that Osira’h understood everything and might soon discover a way to help all the captives. . . .

Nira told all these things to the island trees. If she ever returned to Theroc, she would have a wealth of tales and experiences to share with the genuine worldtrees—and they, at least, would listen.

675CESCA PERONI

Roamer vessels descended like the cavalry upon Theroc.

Cesca rode in the foremost ship with her father. It felt good to be doing something to help the Therons, and she hoped it might soothe the pain for them and give her something to be proud of. She had not been able to offer Reynald love during his life, but she knew that what she was doing for his people now would have been far more important to him.

As the flurry of mismatched spacecraft approached the splintered and burned forests, Cesca finally began to comprehend the extent of the damage the hydrogues and faeros had done. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked over at her father and realized how glad she was to be with him at a time like this. “I just pray that I’ve brought the right people and enough supplies, Dad.”

Denn Peroni concentrated on the complicated landing activities. “You 244

followed your Guiding Star to do this good deed in the first place, Cesca.

Have faith that you were sufficiently inspired to remember everything we’d need—if not, we’ll make do. You’ll get them back on their feet again.”

As a girl she had traveled with him on his merchant ship from one port of call to another—Hansa colonies, isolated Roamer settlements, scary and crowded Earth. On her twelfth birthday he’d brought Cesca to Rendezvous and convinced Speaker Okiah to teach her the nuances of personal and familial politics that he himself didn’t understand. Thus, when Cesca had asked her father to join this humanitarian mission to Theroc, he had not hesitated for an instant. Her heart warmed at the memory of his supportive smile. . . .

Ship after colorful ship landed in the raw cleared areas where tall worldtrees had once stood. With a lump in her throat, Cesca remembered the only other time she’d visited here: her gala betrothal celebration not so long ago. There had been green priests and treedancers, exotic foods and forest smells, insect noises and lights among the trees.

All gone now.

Cesca emerged to stand beside her father as dirt-smeared Therons came forward from temporary encampments. Among them, she spotted Reynald’s parents, looking much more haggard than she remembered, as if every drop of joy or energy had been wrung out of them. Father Idriss, whose square-cut black beard was shot through with lines of gray, regarded the new arrivals with wary disbelief.

Cesca smiled reassuringly, full of pride in her extended family of Roamers. “The clans wondered if you could use our help. Might we lend a hand?”