Scattered Suns (27 page)

Chapter 52—ANTON COLICOS

They were cold. They were in the dark. They were alone. Though Anton was also frightened, he was the only one who kept the dwindling group of Ildiran survivors moving. He had to show them strength.

He was just a scholar, quiet and bookish, never cast in the role of hero or leader; no doubt some future storyteller would make him out to be dashing and handsome, muscular and fearless. He had compared enough myths and legends to kernels of historical truth and knew the liberties storytellers took. He realized that their current plight—a hopeless journey across a dark world with mysterious saboteurs after them—was the sort of tale that might find its way into a future expansion of the
Saga of Seven Suns.

Anton did not point out the irony, not even to Vao’sh. After all, he’d come here merely to
study
the epic, not to become part of it. He had envisioned sitting in safe, cozy rooms reading the adventures of other people, real or imagined. He had never seen himself as a protagonist in a story. The scientist had become a key part of the experiment...

If only his parents could be here to see him. Margaret and Louis Colicos had disappeared from an archaeological dig years ago. Despite repeated queries, Anton had learned nothing about what had happened to them, until, finally, he received news that his father’s body had been found in the empty ruins of Rheindic Co, murdered along with the team’s green priest. And his mother had vanished without a trace.

If Anton and these survivors did not make it to the safety of Maratha Secda, then they too would “vanish.” He swallowed hard, wondering if his mother’s final days had been equally terrifying. How would anyone ever know?

Then he remembered the most important lesson of the storyteller’s art: No tale, regardless of its merit, is ever told unless someone survives to relate the experience. He
would
get out of this. And he would save as many of these Ildirans as he could.

The bloody deaths of Syl’k and Mhas’k had left the remaining members of the party hopeless, listless. They plodded through the darkness, stumbling on rocks. Designate Avi’h continued to chatter about his fears that the Shana Rei would come out of the darkness.

Vao’sh said with a faintly impatient tone, “The Shana Rei are not here on Maratha. There are no monsters in the darkness.”

But even as the rememberer spoke, they could not help but recall the voracious armored anemones that had torn apart the two agricultural kithmen. As steam plumes gushed into the air, feeding an eerie mist along the ground, the survivors gave a wide berth to other patches of the waving carnivorous plants.

Vao’sh muttered to Anton, “We do not need the Shana Rei to destroy us. Our own fears will do it.”

Without enough people to form a splinter, their Ildiran minds would feel increasingly loose and adrift. Catatonic fear would set in, and Anton would have to drag them along. He had to hold them together.

Designate Avi’h pointed. “What is that?”

Beside him, his assistant held up the portable blazer, shining out a wide cone of light. Darker than the rest of the night, an oily black shadow bounded from rock to rock and was briefly silhouetted against one of the plumes of steam. It had a stocky build, and its movements reminded Anton of a lion.

The bulky creature flung itself into the nearby cluster of gargantuan anemones and began ripping at the stems, chewing through the armorplate. The ch’kanh thrashed, but the pantherlike shadow knew how to fight them. It seized the plants in its jaws and shook them until they were uprooted. It crunched and slurped, feeding on soft inner tissues as if sucking marrow from bones.

When the light from Bhali’v’s blazer fell directly upon it, the oily shadow seemed to grow darker and harden. The predatory thing turned, its eyes like the diamond glitter of fallen stars.

“What is that?” Avi’h cried. “It is one of the Shana Rei!”

Any answer was cut off as the leonine monster focused on the dazzling blazer and loped toward them.

“Run!” Anton called. The Marathans rushed after him.

The Designate grabbed Bhali’v. “Do not let it kill me!”

“It is attracted to the light,” Engineer Nur’of shouted. “Turn off your blazer!”

But the terrified bureaucrat clung to the reassuring glow as if it was his only protection. Avi’h pushed his assistant toward the shadow lion and ran shrieking after the other members of the party. Bhali’v screamed, a high-pitched sound of terror, before the oily black predator bore him to the ground and tore him to pieces just as it had attacked the armored anemones.

The beams of other blazers shone erratically while their bearers ran. Anton saw another shadowy form slinking out of the clusters of ch’kanh. “Keep running!” The second predator sensed their body heat, and the survivors had no weapons with which to fight the beasts.

Anton risked a glance behind him and saw with sick relief that the second predator had joined the first to feed on the warm body of Bhali’v.

When the Designate finally collapsed, far from the shadow lions, Anton allowed them to take a desperate rest. Jolting fear had driven them in a stampede, but their physical reserves had run out; now they shuddered and wept. Anton remained on his feet, his muscles trembling.

“The darkness will take us all,” Avi’h cried. “The Mage-Imperator commanded me to come back to Maratha, but I should have refused. How could I deny his orders? If I had remained on Ildira, I would be under the seven suns right now. I could be in the daylight, and safe, and—”

“And all of us would still be here,” Nur’of pointed out. “None of us wants to be in this situation.”

“Work until the task is done,” Vik’k the digger said. “Never give up.”

As Anton caught his breath and looked toward the horizon, he felt a thrill of relief. He stared until he was certain, then called to the rest of the survivors. “Keep your eyes there. Fix your vision, and you’ll see. Can you make out the glow? That’s the dawn. We’re close to the daylight side. If we keep walking in that direction, the light will get brighter with every step we take.”

Vao’sh was the first to acknowledge him. “Yes, I see it. The sunlight is over there. It is still too faint to do us any good, but at least it gives us hope.”

Nur’of climbed to his feet. “I have rested enough in the darkness. If hope is all we have left, then I will not spurn it.” He marched across the rocky landscape toward the half-imagined glow of sunrise. They still had a terribly long distance to traverse.

With renewed spring in his step, Anton set off, and soon he had taken the lead.

Chapter 53—MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

Though only four days had passed since he had delivered Osira’h to the Prism Palace, Designate Udru’h returned unexpectedly from Dobro. He strode into the skysphere reception hall, demanding to speak to his brother and ordering all the pilgrims and supplicants to scatter. “I must speak in private with the Mage-Imperator!” He made his way to the chrysalis chair, moving with unyielding confidence, even if at times it seemed the entire Empire shifted uncertainly beneath his feet.

Yazra’h and her Isix cats stood in place at the base of the steps, ready to block even her uncle, but Udru’h ignored them. He gave a cursory bow and clasped his fist to his heart in the traditional salute of respect as the last courtiers hurried out of the hall and out of earshot. “Liege, I have come to inform you of blatant treachery against the Empire.”

Jora’h couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice once they were alone in the room. “And is there more treachery, Udru’h? Treachery of which I am unaware?”

Unruffled, the other man said, “I speak of the Hyrillka Designate.”

Jora’h could sense his brother’s distress through the
thism
bond, more clearly than he could grasp details from the fog of confusion around the Horizon Cluster. The Hyrillka Designate had plunged into a black nebula, an emptiness in the network of
thism,
and completely severed himself from the Ildiran Empire. The Mage-Imperator still had not learned what was happening there, had not heard back from his three scout cutters, and could no longer sense their crews in the
thism
either.

Jora’h hid his deep concern. “Adar Zan’nh and his warliners will quell the disturbance.”

“No, Liege. He will not.” Udru’h stepped farther up the dais, paying no heed to Yazra’h stiffening with menace. “Several days ago, the Adar’s warliners were seized by Designate Rusa’h. You are no longer in direct contact with the Adar, are you? That is because the Solar Navy troops have sworn their service to the rebellion. Surely you sensed it, but did not understand what had occurred?”

Jora’h sat up in alarm. “How do you know this? Even through the
thism
I can see only flickers. Violent flickers. I know that Rusa’h has killed some of my loyal citizens—including Pery’h. I sensed them being ripped away from the web, but aside from that...”

The Dobro Designate remained motionless as he reported. “Rusa’h has taken the population of Hyrillka into his own network. He also claims to have conquered Dzelluria. The whole fabric of
thism
has weakened around the Horizon Cluster.”

“And how do you know what has happened there, when
I
cannot sense clear thoughts even from my own sons, Adar Zan’nh—or Thor’h?”

“I know because early yesterday Prime Designate Thor’h brought one of the seized warliners to Dobro. He threatened to destroy my entire colony if I did not willingly join in their rebellion.” He let those words hang as he focused his gaze on his brother’s face. “Rusa’h claims to have received revelations directly from the Lightsource. He insists that you are breaking sacred traditions and must be removed so that the Ildiran people can follow the correct path again.”

Jora’h’s brow furrowed, and his braid twitched and thrashed. The explanation made sense, terrible sense. He had felt other striking pains in the
thism
, more echoes of death; he was certain his brother Orra’h on Dzelluria had been killed. Rusa’h’s work?

He stared at Udru’h for a long moment, trying to read him, but the Dobro Designate kept his face a calm mask. Finally, with the faintest note of frustration, Jora’h asked, “And when he asked you to join this madness, how did you respond? What did you say to Thor’h?”

Udru’h blinked, as if he had not expected his leader to be so blunt. “You are the Mage-Imperator. How can you have any doubt as to my answer?”

Jora’h narrowed his eyes. “Then how did
you
escape if Thor’h had an armed warliner? Why are you free to report to us? Is there deceit within deceit?”

Udru’h made a dismissive gesture. “I stalled the Prime Designate by saying that I would deliver my answer in person to Hyrillka. Rusa’h gains more from me if I join him of my free will, and he seems to believe he has a chance of swaying me. I played on that fact to buy time.”

“And does he have a chance of swaying you?”

“Of course not, Liege. I am always loyal to you.”

Jora’h was not sure he could believe him. He thought of all the times Udru’h had lied to him or withheld vital information. The Dobro Designate had always seen the universe in many shades of gray.

Udru’h continued. “After Thor’h departed, I came to Ildira with all possible speed. However, I must present myself to Hyrillka before the deadline, or they will come back and destroy Dobro.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Before then, you need to decide what to do about it.”

Chapter 54—SAREIN

Ever since her disturbing conversation with the forest golem of Beneto, Sarein had wrestled with her doubts. Looking deeply with his wood-grain eyes, Beneto had exposed her true motivations. Until then, she hadn’t been willing to face them herself.

Idriss and Alexa might be easily fooled by their daughter’s altruistic claims, and Basil Wenceslas had his expectations about her ability to lead Theroc...but Beneto understood her
heart
. He knew exactly what she would do, the contradictory things she wanted, and what was wrong with her. How could she argue with him?

In all her years of living here, Sarein had never really loved Theroc, considering the place a primitive backwater, a shackle around her ankle that prevented her from achieving wonderful things. She had imagined that anything would be better than this uncivilized wilderness, and she had done everything possible to escape to the Hansa. There, starry-eyed, ambitious, and genuinely talented, she became accepted as part of the Chairman’s inner power circle. She had even become Basil’s lover to open doors and create advantages for herself. It had been only a ploy at first, and then her feelings had become complicated...

Sarein sighed. Yes, her brother Reynald had been killed in the hydrogue attack, making her the eldest surviving child of Father Idriss and Mother Alexa. Her claim to the throne was viable. If she pressed the issue, she might succeed in convincing her parents and even her people to accept her as the next Mother. But Sarein didn’t
belong
here; she knew that better than anybody. She wanted to be back on Earth, wrapped in the tangled politics of the Hansa, attending banquets and meetings, able to watch a hundred different newsnets, connected to human
civilization
.

Returning to Theroc, and seeing the utterly ruined planet she hadn’t thought she’d loved in the first place, tortured her heart. She didn’t want to witness the devastation of her childhood home—the burned trees, lost lives, and shattered dwellings. She didn’t want to think of a defiant Reynald standing atop the worldforest canopy, trying to protect his world from the hydrogues—and failing.

She couldn’t stay here.

The next morning, as dawn broke, she dressed herself in the ambassadorial robes that old Otema had given her so long ago. She had made her decision, following her heart and her conscience in spite of what others expected of her. Her parents wanted her to stay on Theroc, as did Basil—though for completely different reasons. None of those reasons were legitimate for Sarein. They were lies. She could not do this.

She drew a deep breath, and walked out to find her parents. Many Therons were already working in the misty dampness of early morning, gathering and potting healthy treelings for export from Theroc. The Beneto golem who stood with them turned his perfectly sculpted face to look at Sarein.

Idriss and Alexa wore old garments from when they had been the leaders of their people, but now their faces were smudged with soot and dirt. Idriss looked at her brightly. “Sarein, you look lovely.”

Her mother’s smile faltered. “What is it, Sarein? You look so serious.”

“I have a serious matter to discuss. I know you want me to stay and become the next leader of Theroc.” She stopped next to the golem, standing straight. “But I can’t do that, any more than Beneto could—neither the old Beneto, nor this new one. It isn’t in either of us. It...wouldn’t be right.”

“What do you mean?” Idriss scratched his black beard. “Of course it would be right. Your mother and I are retired. You’re the next in line, and we need you here.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and threatened to spill out, but she controlled them. “Theroc needs me more elsewhere.” Even now as she stood out in the open, the charred wood, shattered trees, destroyed villages, and haunted expressions were more than she could bear. Every breath smelled wrong in her nostrils. She didn’t belong here.

She offered her best excuse. “With the new mission Beneto proposed, we need Hansa support more than ever, and I’m the only person who can act as a proper liaison. Theroc can no longer do this alone, and the Roamers”—she gestured toward the clear-cut swaths of land where the uninvited clans had stolen valuable worldtree wood—“are outlaws. How much help can they offer?”

“They have already done a great deal,” Alexa said sternly, knowing her daughter’s dislike of the Roamers.

“Yes, but now they have their own problems. I promised the help of Hansa ships to take green priests and treelings as far as they want to go. But for that I must return to Earth to get from Chairman Wenceslas everything Theroc requires.”

Celli came running into the clearing, filled with her usual bouncy excitement and energy. She looked at the concerned faces of her parents. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I’ll be leaving soon.” Sarein looked at her, trying to sound important. “I’m needed on Earth.”

Celli’s reply was bitingly flippant. “Why, have you missed too many banquets and government functions? Or is there just too much dirty work to do here?”

Sarein scowled at her little sister. “I have responsibilities. Perhaps it’s time you did too.” Such empty words; she doubted she was fooling anyone. Every Theron could see that despite her earnest arguments, she wanted desperately to get away from the burned worldforest.
Basil will be very angry with me,
she thought.

Beneto rested a polished wooden hand on Celli’s shoulder. “Sarein has made the correct decision. She could not help us here, though it took her a long time to realize it.”