Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (56 page)

“Still, I'd like to see them,” said Treet. Talus and Dania glanced guiltily at one another. “Is there some reason I can't?”

“The Preceptor has asked that you be kept apart from one another. We are obeying these instructions,” Talus admitted.

“Oh.” His frown must have given away his negative thoughts.

“Please, trust us in this,” said Dania quickly. “Our Preceptor is a very wise and revered leader. Your welfare is our only concern. You'll see.”

“You mean I can't see anyone until after my interview with the … College of Mentors, is it? Anyway, I can't see them until then?”

“It would be best.” Talus nodded gravely.

“What if I refused?” Treet didn't like saying that; it seemed like a dirty trick. But he had to know.

“That would be unfortunate …”

Ah ha! thought Treet. At last we come to it. The velvet dagger in the neck. “I thought so,” replied Treet. “I should have kn—”

Before he could finish. Talus continued, “… because it would disappoint the Preceptor. She knows what you have gone through, and she has suggested this rule for your welfare.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“She understands what life must be like in Dome. She is anxious that none of you feel threatened by the others.” To Treet's puzzled look, he said, “She wants each of you to be able to speak freely and openly with us. To ensure that, she has asked that you be kept apart until each has had opportunity to speak.”

Understanding dawned slowly on Treet. “You mean that if one of us had some hold over the others, he wouldn't have a chance to reassert his power or make threats or whatever. I see. Yes, very smart.” Smart from several points of view. They wouldn't be able to compare stories either, if by
some
chance they meant mischief—spies on an espionage mission, for instance.

“It is for the best,” offered Dania. “I hope you see the justice of it.”

“I guess I do,” replied Treet. “Very well. Let's do it tonight then. We'll get it over with, and that way I can see my friends that much sooner.”

Talus leaped to his feet so fast it made Treet jump up too. “Good! Good! I will notify the Clerk of the College at once, and he will arrange it.” He bounded off, leaving Treet a little dazed, wondering what he had acquiesced to.

Oh well, not to worry—think no negative thought, he reminded himself. I'll find out soon enough.

Treet
spent the rest of the day in the agreeable company of Jaire, who looked after him like a combination nurse-and-private-tour-guide. She led him from room to room in the great house, showing him the various
objets d'art
and items of interest in each. Treet's respect and admiration multiplied as the day went on. It was clear that the Fieri were possessed of immense artistic talent and took that talent and their art seriously. For every room contained at least one object—a carving or painting or metal etching—which would have been a museum centerpiece anywhere on Earth.

The house itself was a work of art: large, spacious, conceived on a grand scale, yet not overbearing or gauche for its size. The furniture—what there was of it, for the Fieri apparently liked their interiors Spartan—and other appointments were simply designed in the same clean, uncluttered style. Each piece of furniture or work of art became an integral part of the room. And each room appeared exquisite in conception and execution individually, and at the same time part of a greater whole.

About the time they completed the tour, Treet heard Talus' voice booming from the lower level. “Jaire! Bring our guest to the entrance. The evee will be here soon.”

“We have to go now,” said Jaire apologetically, looking at him candidly with her deep brown eyes. “I hope you were not bored by my discourse.”

“Most enjoyable. I would not have missed a moment of it. I only wish I didn't have to leave so soon.”

“My father is anxious for you to make your appearance. For many years he has been urging the Mentors to establish contact with Dome,” she said as they made their way to the main entrance of the pavilion. “He thinks it would be highly beneficial.”

“I see,” said Treet thoughtfully. “I don't see how I can help, but I'll try. Tell me about these Mentors.”

Jaire shrugged. “What can I tell you? They are men and women who serve Fierra.”

“What do you think they want to hear from me?”

Jaire did not have time to answer, for they had descended to the entrance. Talus came forward, snatched Treet by the arm, and all but dragged him outside where one of the Fieri's small driverless vehicles was at that moment rolling to a stop—this one slightly larger than the one that had brought Treet to Liamoge.

Preben stepped forward and opened the single door on the side of the sleek car, helped Treet and Talus climb in, and then entered himself, folding down a jumpseat in front. With a nod from his father, the young man entered the destination code into the keypad on the dash, and the car slid quietly away.

The sun was lowering and would soon dip beneath the western rim, leaving the sky whitewashed blue and radiant, but fading quickly. The evee swept along the causeway over smooth, chrome-colored water, past numerous pavilions—some larger, some smaller than Talus' home, but all the same lackluster gray. The sunstone gave no hint of its coming transformation.

Closer to the heart of the city, traffic thickened. Other driverless vehicles sped along beside them. Treet noticed that the evee adjusted its speed according to the traffic patterns around it. Most of the vehicles appeared to be heading toward the same destination: a great seven-sided obelisk surrounded by a half circle of smaller obelisks and set on an expanse of rising land amidst a carefully tended grove of miniature trees.

The evee swung into a long circular drive at the foot of the rise below the edifice, and they disembarked, joining the throng moving up the hill. With the lowering sun directly behind the obelisk, scattering the last of the sun's rays, the slim spike seemed to become a spacecraft lifting from its launching pad on a burst of white fire. Men and women were disappearing behind the standing ring of smaller stone obelisks, and coming closer Treet saw that a steep hollow had been dug in front of the main structure, forming an open-air amphitheater. Fieri were streaming down into the amphitheater, taking seats along the stairstep sides.

Treet and his companions approached the standing stones, passed between them, and descended into the amphitheater. Only then did Treet remember that he was the featured speaker for the evening. The realization gave him a sudden case of stage fright. His palms grew clammy, and his stomach fluttered; his feet stumbled as he moved down the narrow aisle. He felt instantly awkward and forgetful, afraid to open his mouth—whatever might come out was beyond his control.

Talus apparently sensed his discomfort, for he put a large hand on Treet's shoulder, leaned close, and whispered, his voice small thunder, “Be at ease. All you see here are your friends. They wish you well.”

“I wish there weren't so many.”

“Ordinarily there would not be this large a gathering. But you and your friends have stimulated our interest, so we are meeting in the amphidrome tonight. I'll stay with you every moment.”

They made their way down to the floor of the amphidrome and found seats on the first row. Preben excused himself and disappeared as two men came hustling up, one white-haired, the other dark-haired but with a beard graying in the center and at the edges. Both wore faded blue cloaks over their clothes. The white-haired one Treet recognized as Bohm, whom he had met at the airship. Bohm spoke first, greeting Treet and Talus, and presenting the stranger to Treet. “Orion Treet, allow me to introduce you to Mathiax, Clerk of the College of Mentors.”

The man's bright eyes glittered with excitement as he extended both hands, palms upward in the manner of the Fieri. Treet took the hands and squeezed them, saying, “I am pleased to meet you, Mathiax.”

The Clerk nodded and glanced at Bohm, his expression stating emphatically. Oh, this is really something. He even speaks our language! Treet felt like a lab specimen on display, a feeling that escalated with each passing second. But when Mathiax replied, it was in the warm, intimate tone of one trusted confidant to another. “You must forgive us our ebullience at your expense. We sometimes forget ourselves in our haste to embrace new awarenesses.”

These people are so polite, considered Treet, so formal, so different than I expected. It's hard to believe they share the same common ancestry as those who live in Dome.

“I am only too happy to—ah, serve in any way I can.”

Mathiax nodded happily and said, “We will begin in just a few minutes. I want to be certain all are here, so if you will excuse me … Talus, you will act as Prime Mentor this evening. I will give you the signal when it is time to begin.”

With that he and Bohm left, hurrying off together. Treet heard the Clerk say to Bohm, “Yes, I see what you mean …” as they passed from earshot.

“Please be seated,” said Talus, lowering himself to a seat. He patted the one next to him with his hand. “Relax. There is nothing to be concerned about. You will do well.”

Treet sat down absently, scanning the rapidly filling amphidrome in the process. “How does this work?” he heard his voice asking.

“This?” Talus waved a hand to the rows of spectators. “A conclave is a general session of all Mentors and certain invited guests who have an interest in the subject area under investigation.”

“Am I under investigation then?”

Talus wagged his head earnestly. “No, no. We only want to hear what you can tell us.”

“What can I tell you?”

“What you know.” Talus seemed about to elaborate further when Preben arrived with a blue cloak for his father. The big man put it on and was about to sit down once more when the clear pealing tone of a bell rang in the air, a pure and beautiful note as if rung from a crystal bowl. “Ah, that is the signal.” He smiled and rubbed his heavy hands together. “At last we can begin.”

Talus stepped out onto the floor of the amphidrome and held up his hands. The audience grew silent instantly, as if the sound had been switched off a holovision. He raised his resounding voice in a brief invocation to someone or something called the Seeker Aspect. Treet did not catch all the words—he was too busy wondering what he would say to all these people who had turned out to see him. Had he known he would draw such a crowd, he might have prepared a speech, or maybe sold tickets.

Then Talus was saying his name and waving him forward. Two high-backed stools were produced by aides in green cloaks. As Treet climbed into the nearest one, his aide pressed a diamond-shaped tag onto the front of his shirt. In the center of the tag a glittering bit of glass or crystal winked in the early twilight. The obelisk rising behind them held a golden luster as if the sun were striking its surface, though the sun had set behind it. The sunstone was beginning its night's work of converting Fierra into a city of light.

Talus nodded at Treet encouragingly. Treet turned his eyes to all the faces peering down at him from the rising gallery, fierce in their intensity, expectant. What could he say to them? What had they come to hear?

“Go on,” whispered Talus. “Don't think about it, just say what the Teacher puts into your mind to say.”

Okay, thought Treet. Here goes nothing. He swallowed hard and opened a mouth gone suddenly dry. “I am—” he croaked, and heard the echo of his amplified voice ripple through the amphidrome. The Mentors waited, leaning forward in their seats. He took a deep breath and plunged in headfirst.

“My name is Orion Treet, and I come to you from a world beyond your star …”

When Treet finished speaking,
it was very late. The sky over the amphidrome glimmered with its ghostly aurora, through which the stars winked like jewels from behind a shimmering veil. The assembled Mentors sat in awed silence, gazing upon this mysterious stranger who had materialized in their midst. Treet expected questions to come thick and fast, but the crystal bell tolled once more and the entire gathering rose and began climbing the steps, filing quietly from the amphidrome to disappear into the night.

Treet breathed a long sigh of relief for having survived his ordeal. He'd told them, as simply as he knew how, nearly everything—which was more than he'd planned on telling, certainly. But once he'd gotten started he hadn't known where or how to stop, so he dumped it all out—everything from the arrival of their transport to their rescue by the airship.

Talus rose from his stool on Treet's right hand and came to him. “Do you think they'll vote for me?” asked Treet.

“I do not understand,” said Talus, shaking his head slowly. “Much of what you said I do not understand.”

“Never mind. What about the parts you do understand?”

“Those I find most disturbing.”

“You don't believe me?”

“No, I believe you. No one could speak as you do if it were not true. And that is what troubles me.”

“I think my friends will tell similar stories,” pointed out Treet.

“Again, I believe you. Understanding—that is another matter entirely.”

Just then the busy Clerk came running up. He shoved a folded card toward Talus. “This has just come from the Preceptor.”

Talus took the card, unfolded it, glanced at it, and handed it to Treet. “Your presence is requested. At once.” Was it something I said? wondered Treet.