Scattered Suns (38 page)

Chapter 78—MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

The battle between hydrogues and faeros on Durris-B ended eight days after the Ildirans first noticed the stellar conflict. The besieged yellow star flickered, struggled...and finally collapsed into a dark sun, its nuclear fires extinguished.

Never in more than ten millennia of recorded Ildiran history had such an epochal event occurred. Only two stars remained of the Durris trinary, a white star and a red dwarf now orbiting a black stellar cinder. The people in Mijistra stared into the sky, terrified.

“Osira’h will depart immediately,” Mage-Imperator Jora’h commanded. All across the Empire, the
thism
was singing with danger. Like distinct fires erupting in a sweeping forest, bright and painful outbursts of panic clamored for his attention.

Seeing the blot in the sky from the windows of the Prism Palace, he pushed aside all hesitation, all uncertainty about his youngest daughter and her special abilities. Osira’h had to open a direct line of communication with the hydrogues before they annihilated the Ildiran Empire. No one else was capable of it, now that the Klikiss robots had betrayed them.

On his orders late the previous day, Yazra’h had loaded the pressure vessel aboard one of seven warliners. They were ready to take Osira’h to her destination. Shortly thereafter, Tal O’nh had announced that his cohort of battleships was also prepared and awaited the Mage-Imperator for their departure to Hyrillka. Everything was happening at once. At last.

Carrying an assortment of weapons and accompanied by her Isix cats, Yazra’h stalked into the skysphere reception hall. Little Osira’h, barely half the height of her oldest sister, followed her.

Osira’h stopped before the dais and waited in silence. When the Mage-Imperator saw her, his chest ached with all the hopes he had invested in this child. Only the day before, after making his final decision, he had called the girl to spend an hour with him up on the highest tower platform of the Prism Palace. Together, they had gazed out at the majesty of Ildira. Air traffic flew in an intricate dance overhead, while below them the seven streams fanned out from the Palace’s hill like the spokes of a wheel, and a line of pilgrims, made tiny by distance, moved along in an unending thread.

He had tried to express to the girl how much he had loved her mother, but even a Mage-Imperator found some things too difficult to communicate. Oddly enough, Osira’h showed little surprise at anything he told her. Jora’h wondered what Udru’h had said to her about Nira. Nothing kind, he was sure.

If she survived, if she succeeded and returned, the Mage-Imperator promised himself he would do much better for this amazing child who stood at the base of his dais. Now there was no time. With each passing hour he received new and disturbing vibrations through the
thism,
and he could not delay his daughter’s crucial mission to the fresh stellar corpse of Durris-B. But before he could send Osira’h on her dangerous journey, a messenger ran shouting into the skysphere hall.

“Mage-Imperator, the hydrogues are attacking our cloud harvester on Qronha 3. We just received a desperate signal from Chief Miner Hroa’x. The destruction has only just begun, but our facility will surely be destroyed!”

Pushing himself up out of his chrysalis chair, Jora’h addressed Yazra’h and Osira’h with new urgency. “Then you must go
there,
rather than the dead sun. We have an obligation to defend our cloud-harvesting city, and since the hydrogues have chosen to strike us again on Qronha 3, that is where we will meet them.” He placed his strong hands on the girl’s small shoulders. “Osira’h you must get through to the enemy before they destroy us all. Bring them to me, whatever it takes. Let me speak with them so that I can somehow make peace.”

Guards and bureaucrats swirled around Osira’h and whisked her away toward the warliners. Jora’h stared after the girl, and his hopes went with her.

This was a day of great changes and momentous events. He had sent his daughter to her destiny, and it was time to deal with Hyrillka.
Now
. Several whole worlds were already lost. Enough! He could no longer tolerate this blindness in the
thism
.

Today was also the Dobro Designate’s deadline to face Rusa’h.

“Summon Tal O’nh,” he called. “We depart for Dobro within the hour. And we must hope that Designate Udru’h has done his part.”

Chapter 79—CELLI

The Beneto golem led Celli and Solimar along wide paths where Roamer heavy machinery had removed the wrecked tree hulks. Celli grabbed Solimar’s hand, and the three of them went deeper into the charred and splintered wasteland.

“Are you ready for this, Solimar?” she whispered. “Whatever it is?”

He kept walking. “Whatever it is. I’m sure the worldforest has its reasons for picking the two of us.”

“
I
selected you, not the worldforest,” Beneto said. “You are the two most suitable, and I hope you can get a message across, something the trees need to hear.”

Celli looked at Solimar, whose gaze reflected his confusion. “Well,” she said, “
that
explains everything.”

Beneto strode onward, full of purpose. She watched his wooden body move like flesh, reminded of a legendary forest spirit from the old fairy tales that novice green priests read aloud to the trees.

The three arrived at a glen that showed damage worse than in any other area Celli had seen in a long while. The golem spread his arms directly out to his sides, then splayed his fingers like the twigs at the end of a long branch. “Despite what you see around you, this glen retains some of the deep energy of the worldforest. The true power of the verdani percolates close to the surface here.” He leaned closer to them, his wood-grain eyes intense. “You can help draw it out.”

Solimar’s brow furrowed, as if he wasn’t sure what he was expected to do.

Celli was even more confused. “Can you be more specific than that? Remember, I’m not even a green priest.”

“But you are
human
. That is the strength we need now.” Beneto lowered his arms and stepped back. “Force the trees to realize that they are not dead, that it would be folly to give up.”

“They asked us to take treelings out to other planets. That’s not giving up, is it?” Solimar said.

“True,” Beneto said, “but the worldforest itself is resigned to defeat here on Theroc. It knows that the hydrogues may return at any time. Yet the older trees contain a deep power, and you must convince them to call it forth. Do not let them surrender.”

Celli put her hands on her narrow hips. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

“By treedancing.”

Solimar and Celli looked skeptically at the wooden golem. All around them, the air still smelled of smoke and dead trees. “As simple as that? Really?”

Beneto continued, “The trees sensed something in you two when you moved here before, when you danced. You can make the verdani
remember
.”

Solimar asked, “Do you mean like some sort of ritual?”

“You’re kidding!” Celli snapped a blackened twig from a small tree; the wood was charred through. “By dancing in the ashes?”

“No, by being alive, by demonstrating joyfulness and hope.” Beneto turned his shoulders, swiveling his head to take in the ruined landscape. “I am a manifestation of the worldforest, but I am also human. My human aspect understands a determination that the verdani do not.

“Think of what they are. The interconnected worldtrees are rooted to the ground and have always accepted what came to them. They are strong and patient, but they do not remember how to fight. They resist only by attempting to withstand whatever comes against them. They are passive. Humans are not.

“When the hydrogues and the faeros were fighting, the trees believed they would all be destroyed. They surrendered here and hoped to survive elsewhere, through the treelings taking root on scattered planets.”

Celli brightened as she remembered. “But Reynald wouldn’t let them give up! He went to the canopy with two green priests, and he yelled at the trees until they fought back!”

Beneto nodded. “Reynald forced the verdani to reach for depths of their power that they had not previously used. The worldtrees had never considered standing up in a hopeless cause, but our brother made them take an active role in their defense. Though the battle was indeed a disastrous loss to Theroc, the hydrogues were driven off, and the worldforest is still alive here.”

He touched an ash-smeared hand to the shoulders of Celli and Solimar. “You must do the same thing now. These burned and damaged trees realize the hydrogues will come back here to finish the destruction. They are content to know that their treelings have been dispersed and will survive. But you cannot let them abandon Theroc.”

Celli sniffed. “Even a hopeless cause is still a
cause
. Fighting for it is better than just rolling over.”

“Exactly. You two, do as Reynald did—show them human joy and drive and persistence. The verdani know these things as part of their reservoir of stored knowledge, but they do not
understand
them.”

Solimar looked up at the burned branches. “And treedancing will do it?”

“The verdani comprehend that in a different way. Through many generations, a connection has developed between the worldforest and the Theron people—even those who are not green priests. The connection with our family, in particular, is very strong. That is why our sister Sarein was so affected by the destruction here, even though she did not think she would be. That is why our brother Reynald was able to send such a powerful message to the forest, more than through the two green priests who were with him. That is why I believe you, little sister, and you, Solimar, must help the trees now. As you dance, your delight in the worldtrees can stimulate a response, kindle their potential by coaxing sparks of latent power from the deep roots.”

“Sounds like magic,” Celli said.

“The power is there, believe me. The verdani fashioned their bodies into the great trees, and they would do so again, in their own good time.” Beneto’s hollow voice took on a more urgent note. “Inspire them. Make them see that they cannot wait for centuries to recover at their usual sedate pace. We need them now before the hydrogues return.”

“I’ll second that.” Curious, Celli went to a large charcoal-scarred tree. “Here goes.”

With her knuckles she cracked a layer of burned bark, peeling away the scorched material until she could touch solid wood. Through her fingers, and even through her bare feet on the ground, Celli sensed the flow of sap, the blood of the earth. The roots went deep, interconnected in a network of forest that extended across the continents. Was this what green priests felt all the time?

Beneto remained as still as a tree, his carved feet pushed hard against the soil. His chest swelled as he took a deep, unnecessary breath, as if squeezing energy from the forest mind up into the surrounding dirt and burned wood.

“Since the hydrogue attack, the worldforest has withdrawn far into the soil, holding its reservoirs safe and sheltered,” the tree golem said. “Even so, they responded to the joyful treedancing that you two did where you thought no one could witness it. Draw out that response again, while I am here to guide it. I will use my human awareness to help my verdani heart understand what it needs to know.”

Though she stood in the burnt section, Celli could feel the rustle of freshly unfolded leaves drinking in sunlight and nutrients, sensations transmitted from other living sections of the worldforest, oases of vegetation that had survived the onslaught. But those verdant sensations came from far away, isolated patches of surviving wilderness. And in between...just numb shock, as if the wounded verdani had fallen into something like a coma.

“It’s alive, but it needs to be shaken hard to wake up. Come on, Solimar.”

Celli studied the charred debris field, trying to judge which branches and trees would support their weight and where hazards might be hiding. She smiled at Solimar, then took a preparatory breath, ready to go. “I’ll start with the Condorfly Mating Dance, then move into Butterfly Pursuit.”

Solimar’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll be right behind you.”

They sprang together, doing handstands and graceful leaps until they caught low branches. Swinging himself around, Solimar swept her into his muscular arms and gave her a boost to a higher level.

Celli bounded with a graceful leap like a gazelle. She ricocheted off a thick branch and pushed herself sideways to another blackened trunk, from which she kicked off and spun a triple somersault in the air. She had forgotten how much fun this was. She landed on the ash-encrusted ground again before springing into a second move. Immediately behind her, Solimar continued with his own routine.

Tilting his sculpted chin toward the bright sky, Beneto spread his arms rigidly at his sides, his feet and legs together. “I will demand that they witness.” As if turning back into a tree and taking root, he let his feet sink into the soil. “The worldtrees must be made to use their own deep power of rejuvenation and cellular synthesis.”

Each time she touched a branch or trunk, Celli felt a spark, like a release of electrical energy, as if she was giving a jolt to the comatose forest. Behind them, Beneto thrust one of his arms
into
a thick tree, fusing to the trunk up past his elbow. His expression was no longer wooden, but straining, yearning. He seemed to be forcing the verdani to watch them.

She kept dancing. Originally, treedance moves had been crafted to evoke parts of the forest: swaying fronds, flying insects, blossoming flowers. Some of the routines were symbolic of the pollination of epiphytes by beetles, the simultaneous hatching of huge numbers of purple butterfly analogs, the flight of a wyvern. The whole cycle of life in the vast Theron worldforest.

As their exercise reached a dramatic crescendo, Celli watched an amazing thing happen. On the ground where her bare foot had lightly brushed against an exposed worldtree root—where Beneto said the concentrated verdani power lay hidden—a sudden flash of green appeared. As if germinated by the creative power of her movements, a bright new leaf emerged, spun out of dead cells and air. The newborn plant stretched upward.

Solimar caught another branch and swung himself up. He recentered his balance, coiling strength in his thigh muscles, and jumped. Immediately after he leapt, the branch behind him swelled, flaking off black ash and bark until it straightened like an unfurling fist. Reservoirs of energy pumped up from the deep roots into the once-towering tree. Fresh pale green fronds burst from previously unseen buds at the ends of the bough.

On the ground, Beneto “waded” through the soil to a different tree now. He pressed both wooden hands against the black scab of dead bark, then pushed his arms into the core of the thick trunk.

As Celli and Solimar continued to pirouette through the scorched ruins, wherever their feet and hands touched, the wounded worldforest found the energy to reconstruct part of itself. Every place they touched was like a foot splashing into a puddle, spraying
life
instead of water droplets.

The two of them ran and dove in a Theron combination of ballet and gymnastics, picking up speed. Wherever they passed, their physical movement and their enthusiasm began to heal the worldforest and reawaken life from the scorched death around them. Celli laughed in delight.

Fresh leaves and fronds curled forth. Treelings sprang out of the ground, trembling with the explosive growth. The air smelled moist, spicy, fresh.

Beneto extricated himself from the shuddering tree like a surgeon withdrawing from a deep wound. He called to the dancers. “Life is movement and exhilaration. Through your treedance, you spread that essence of life. Continue! Show the weary trees the meaning of existence again.”

At the moment, Celli didn’t care about green priest philosophy or explanations. She was enjoying herself too much. All she needed to know was that it was working—for the worldforest, for herself, for Solimar, for Beneto.

She and Solimar danced for hours, heedless of the time passing, barely feeling their own weariness. Finally, as the colors of dusk brushed the Theron sky, the two dancers fell together to the ground in absolute exhaustion, surrounded by miraculous new foliage. Sweaty and soot-smeared, Celli had never felt so deeply satisfied in her life. Solimar put his arm around her and drew her close, then they kissed quickly and surprisingly, a gesture of joy as much as romance.

“You two have done a great thing today.” Still knee-deep in the soil, Beneto stopped in front of them. “I hope you will be willing to do it again.”

Celli looked around, filled with wonder. To her, it seemed as if the worldforest had taken a deep breath and regained its power. They had thrown a splash of cold water into the weary worldforest’s face. She rested her shoulders against Solimar’s strong chest. “We could manage that.”

Beneto spread his hands out, connecting to the worldforest through telink. He seemed entirely pleased. “Now we are much stronger. The verdani keeps calling, calling, though the message went out long ago. Before long, our help will arrive.”