Scattered Suns (35 page)

Chapter 70—MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

After the Roamer traders had departed, Jora’h sequestered himself in his private chambers with the specimens of worldtree wood. Outside, his Empire continued to crack and crumble. He could not forget the betrayal of the Klikiss robots, the hydrogue attacks on Hrel-oro, and now the dying sun of Durris-B. He needed to find solutions to the many disasters around him. He had to think, and to decide.

The most personal crisis was the Hyrillka revolt. From the Horizon Cluster he felt a growing emptiness in the
thism
as more and more of his people slipped away. After the Dobro Designate delivered his message and warning, Jora’h stopped waiting for his three scout cutters to return. He had sent those crewmen—as well as Zan’nh and his whole maniple of warliners—into a vortex of emptiness. A few refugees who had escaped Rusa’h’s depredations on Dzelluria, Alturas, and Shonor had trickled in, the most recent only a few hours ago.

Jora’h cursed Rusa’h and especially Thor’h for this insane revolt, when the Ildiran Empire faced a far more dangerous enemy in the hydrogues. What was more important, a civil war...or the possible extinction of the Ildiran race?

Nevertheless, he was already preparing. Tal O’nh had drawn together maniple after maniple of warliners from their patrols of Ildiran colonies, assembling a full cohort of battleships, which left other Ildiran worlds vulnerable should the hydrogues attack again.

By now the Dobro Designate would be en route to Hyrillka to deliver his answer to Rusa’h. Jora’h and Udru’h had discussed many possible strategies before deciding upon one of Udru’h’s suggestions. The tactic seemed unlikely to the point of foolishness, but it was a hair-thin chance. As far as they could judge, the next best solution would involve the deaths of thousands, perhaps millions, of deluded Ildirans.

If it came to that, the Mage-Imperator had made up his mind to stop this spreading cancer across the
thism
. Tal O’nh would command hundreds of ships with orders to do what they must.
A bloody slaughter.
Even if he crushed the Hyrillka rebels completely with superior military might, could the Mage-Imperator and the Ildiran race survive such a mortal wound to their psyche? He needed another way out.

Attenders had carried him here in his chrysalis chair, but Jora’h refused to sit in it. Alone in the private chamber, he paced the floor. He held one of the broken chunks of Theron wood in his hands, gazing into it as if it were an oracle.

His eyes sparkled with faint tears as he followed the woodgrain’s eerie convolutions. Most of the char had been cut away, leaving only a dark fringe on the side. No carver or artisan had shaped this wood; it was raw and primal material, broken from an ancient sentient tree that had once been a mortal enemy of the hydrogues. The patterns were hypnotic, strangely shifting, as if with a remembered pulse of sap or blood. Could these paths of grain be the artifacts of thoughts imprinted by the immense worldforest mind?

Jora’h turned the wood over in his hands. So much of the decor around the Prism Palace made use of colored crystal, angled mirrors, and prisms. The warmth of this wood would add an extraordinary touch. And the worldtree wood would remind him of Nira everywhere he looked.

As he gazed into the whorls and loops and delicate traceries, Jora’h recalled the beautiful green priest. How she had loved Theroc! How often they had held each other after lovemaking, while she told him of her youth as an acolyte, reciting stories to the trees, reading aloud from tales of ancient Earth. Those stories were what had originally fascinated her with the
Saga of Seven Suns
and why she had wanted to study the Ildiran epic. She and old Otema had busied themselves reading the
Saga
aloud to their potted treelings, so that the worldforest could share in the grand story.

Were some of these patterns the permanent marks of stories Nira herself had told? He ran his fingertip along the lines, tracing them as if he could pick up some sort of signal. Though the wood felt oddly slick and pliable to his touch, he received no direct communication from it.

He set the wood aside, still feeling the pain of Nira’s unexpected death, just when he’d meant to rescue her. He had believed his father’s lies about what had happened to her, and he had not thought to question Designate Udru’h about the sinister activities on Dobro. By being so gullible, Jora’h felt that he too had betrayed Nira. He should have been more suspicious, should have asked questions. He had learned the truth far too late...and now she was dead.

Grieving for so many things, the Mage-Imperator went to a curved window that was so sparkling clear it might have been formed of solidified air. He stared out at Mijistra, the ornate colors and sweeping architecture that symbolized the grandeur of the Empire. Up in the sky, his eyes were drawn inexorably toward the darkening blot of the sun where hydrogues and faeros continued their mortal combat. A sense of impending doom weighed upon him with almost enough force to crack the Prism Palace domes under the strain.

It was time to act.

Yes, he would order Tal O’nh to launch his cohort of warliners. Rusa’h must be stopped, and that would require a mind-numbing degree of bloodshed. But the necessity for slaughter would only grow worse if Jora’h allowed his deluded brother to capture other worlds. And he, the Mage-Imperator, must go along. In person. He would ask no surrogate to accept all that blood on his hands.

As he watched through the window, Jora’h saw the embattled sun of Durris flicker as the faeros used a titanic flare as a weapon. According to Solar Navy patrol ships, hundreds of thousands of warglobes swarmed around the wounded star. Once the hydrogues vanquished the faeros on Durris-B, what would stop them from moving to other suns in the sky? He had to find some way to stop it.

And what would happen if the faeros demanded Ildiran help, as they had done so long ago?

When he departed for the Horizon Cluster, the Mage-Imperator would also send Osira’h on her mission to smash the barrier of communication with the hydrogues. According to Yazra’h, the preparations were ready. Did Jora’h dare send the little girl among the warglobes at Durris-B in the middle of their stellar conflict? He feared she would be caught in the crossfire, killed before she could even begin her work. But where else could she be sure of finding the hydrogues?

That talented half-breed girl was all that remained of Nira. She was also the Empire’s only hope of speaking to the hydrogues. How could a child convince the impossibly alien creatures to parley with the Mage-Imperator? And if the hydrogues did agree to talk, what unconscionable terms would they force the Ildirans to accept?

He wished Nira were here to help him make this decision, or at least offer him comfort as he faced the inevitable consequences of his choice. Because of generations-old plans, Jora’h now had to send his own daughter—
their
daughter—into peril to save his whole race.

No matter how much he loved his daughter and Nira, a Mage-Imperator’s obligations transcended his personal feelings. Osira’h seemed to understand. He doubted that her mother ever would have.

Chapter 71—NIRA

Dobro was vast and endless to a woman traveling on foot. Long ago, in much brighter days when she’d journeyed from Theroc to Ildira, Nira had looked out at the emptiness spangled with stars. Back then, the view had inspired awe, showing her new layers of the universe like the petals of an expanding flower. As a child of the dense worldforest, she had never conceived of the distances involved, had known them only theoretically. Light-years, parsecs, astronomical units. While flying to Ildira, Nira had gazed through the
Voracious Curiosity’s
observation ports and seen the galaxy as an ocean of worlds filled with scattered inhabited islands.

But now that she’d spent a month on her trek across this unknown landscape, Nira began to comprehend distances on an entirely new scale. It was not all bad. As she stared toward the far horizons across jagged arroyos, dry prairies, and stretches of stunted forest, her bruised mind had a chance to wander. And heal.

In captivity, she’d felt claustrophobic for so many years, unable to communicate with Jora’h or see her beloved daughter...or any of the other half-breed children that she’d been forced to bear. Here in the wild open, her thoughts could breathe and expand.

She still felt cut off from her trees, deaf to telink, blind to any connection with her daughter. Yet even the blind or deaf could find ways to live. After all Nira had endured, she refused to give up now. She would hope.

She spent two days crossing a line of rolling hills. In one broad valley, she encountered the thickest forest she had yet seen on Dobro. The trees rose higher than her head, with their knobby upper branches woven together like interlaced fingers. The smell of the moist leaves and the exhalations of woody plants made each breath a joy to her, awakening memories. It was the closest to peace that she’d encountered in years.

Nira considered just staying there, building a shelter and living out her life. She had little chance of finding her way to civilization, and then it would only be to the breeding camps and hated Udru’h again. Why not settle here?

She knew the answer: because she needed to find her daughter and return to her beloved worldforest. All on
her
terms.

She rested for a day, leaning against the dark trunks. She spoke aloud, telling her story and her thoughts to the scrubby growths, but unlike the worldtrees, these plants did not record her words for a greater interconnected mind. Maybe they did understand her, but could not respond. Or maybe she could no longer hear.

Nira could not allow herself to forget what had happened to her, no matter how much she wanted to block it from her mind. She would have to remember all the events, for her daughter’s sake...

A week later, she came upon terrain that looked as if it had once been cultivated. She found a track laid out in a straight line and then the foundations of old buildings. The cluster of homes and collapsing storehouses sketched the shadow of a town, a long-abandoned Ildiran settlement, surrounded by wide expanses of overgrown fields that had long ago gone wild and blurred their boundaries.

She stood in the middle of what had been the central square, listening to the wind make soft whispers through the fallen timbers and crumbling foundations. The hushing sound of spindly plants and spiky grasses was like a flood of breathy words from the ghosts of those who had once lived here.

She called out, and her voice squeezed from her throat in a loud, startling croak. Nira heard no answer. No solitude-fearing Ildiran would ever have stayed in a place like this.

This crumbling village had been dead for a long time. None of the equipment worked. Nira had hoped to find a communications system or even a map of the continent, but everything had decayed to dust. It must have been centuries since Dobro had been a thriving planet that supported more than one large splinter colony.

Touching the soft, worn wall of one of the halfway-intact structures, Nira could almost feel the forgotten dreams here. But there was nothing for her, or any green priest.

She began to walk again, away from the ghost town.

Chapter 72—CELLI

Beneto’s wooden face wore an expression of proud satisfaction as he observed the green priests working hard to prepare treelings. Explorers went to partially recovered sections of the forest, plucked pale shoots from crevices in the armored bark, then transplanted the new treelings into pots for transport. Pallets were covered with thousands of the small pots to be scattered like seeds to other planets, which would spread and protect the verdani mind even if the hydrogues did return to Theroc.

But ho
w does that help us?
Celli wondered.

Though she wasn’t a green priest, she worked beside Solimar, determined to help. She had always been a tomboy, full of energy and looking for fun. The hydrogue attack had knocked the wind out of everyone, and the constant smell of smoke and ashes had weighed down even her buoyant mood, but now she was finally recovering.

A week after Beneto had made his request, the first shipments of treelings were ready to be sent away, and her sister Sarein had summoned Hansa ships to take them. Green priests would ride aboard, serving the Hansa en route.
Johnny Appleseeds
.

Solimar handed her a spindly stalk that was still moist from where it had been taken from a damaged tree. “Here’s one for you.” Seven empty pots sat in front of her, all of them filled with soft soil mixed with mulch and fertilizer. The young green priest helped her make a divot for the treeling, and they pressed their hands together, pushing the dirt around it so that the stalk stood upright.

“You know, I can probably do it myself. It’s not that complicated,” Celli said, touching his fingers under the soil and playfully squeezing them. “But you can keep showing me as long as you like.”

Under the bright sun, Celli listened to the buzzing of colorful condorflies that had returned to the open meadows, forgetting the horrors the warglobes had brought. She’d once kept a condorfly as a pet, when she was a kid. Seeing the vibrant creatures made her think that the world might be returning to normal after all.

At least until the hydrogues came back. Shouldn’t they be evacuating people as well as treelings?

Dressed in a mixture of stylish Hansa clothes and Theron fabrics, Sarein walked among the rows of potted treelings. She carried a high-end Hansa datapad on which she kept an inventory and tried to put together a schedule. She held her head high, careful not to get her garments dirty, as if she was in some kind of procession.

“I’m glad we could arrange something that’ll benefit both the Hansa and Theroc,” Sarein said, talking with her parents and the green priest Yarrod. “Hansa ships and EDF cruisers will transport green priests and treelings to any planet where they may grow and thrive. In exchange, priests will provide instant telink communications while en route and will remain on the colonies where they plant the trees. The expanded network will help everyone.”

“We shall have no obligation to the military,” Yarrod warned. He had already left those duties to help the worldforest. Wanting to replant all the barren hillsides, the green priest was uneasy to see so many potential worldtrees taken from Theroc, but he had conceded to Beneto’s request, which came from the worldforest mind itself.

Mother Alexa looked chidingly at her brother. “Yarrod, if the Hansa is providing transport to different planets, then green priests can make themselves available in the meantime, should communication become necessary. Your friend Kolker seems perfectly satisfied with his station aboard the skymine at Qronha 3.”

“Kolker is different from most green priests,” Yarrod said.

Looking pleased, Sarein went out to meet the first three Hansa ships—two trade vessels and one military scout—as they landed in a clearing recently used by Roamer vessels. Propping some of the weight on her shoulder, Celli helped Solimar carry a pallet of treelings onto each of the three ships.

Setting aside any sibling disagreements, Celli said goodbye to Sarein, who still seemed strangled by conflicted loyalties and obligations. Although it was obvious that her sister didn’t want to be on Theroc, it was also obvious that the disaster in the worldforest had affected her much more than she had anticipated. Celli watched Sarein quickly bid her parents farewell and go to join a few green priests aboard the fastest ship, which soon rose into the clear sky. Shortly thereafter, the remaining two ships took off for other destinations.

Beneto stood looking oddly content as the ships departed, then turned directly to Celli. His strange wooden face shaped into a hopeful expression. “Now that the first wave has gone out, I have a task for you
here,
sister. Something you can do to help make the forest understand.”

Celli brightened. “Really? But I’m not a green priest.”

“You have a different sort of power. There is a way you and Solimar can reawaken the forest. The trees need you to remind them of their own capabilities.”

Though she didn’t understand exactly what he was asking, Celli was happy with the challenge. “Sure. Show me how I can help.” She put a hand on his shoulder in a sisterly gesture, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t completely human, but the hard and solid feel of his flesh reminded her instantly. She cracked her knuckles and said, “I’m ready to go.”