Horizon Storms (53 page)

Already a handful of converts were bound to him. After this evening he would have most of the population of Hyrillka.

Several days earlier in a private ceremony and consultation, his lens kithmen had already been brought to the true path. His pleasure mates had always followed him eagerly, and he’d brought them over to his side as well. The lovely, fertile women were no longer concerned with the fleshly pleasures that had so consumed them before; now they were just as fanatically devoted to different goals. His goals.

Thor’h had not been a problem. From the beginning, the young man had voluntarily participated . . . and as the Prime Designate, he would be an important weapon in what was sure to be a difficult, but necessary, struggle.

Pery’h, though, was likely to be trouble. The Designate-in-waiting was too intelligent, too loyal to his father, with no obvious weaknesses. But Rusa’h would find an appropriate solution. The Lightsource would guide him infallibly through the many tribulations that lay ahead in their glorious future.

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The Hyrillka Designate returned to the citadel palace as the blue-white primary set, leaving the sky ruddy with orange light from the swollen secondary. The Horizon Cluster brightened overhead, hundreds of worlds and stars spangling together in a crowded display.

Since his head injury, Rusa’h had been cut off from the normal thism of the Ildiran people. But now that most of the Hyrillka population had gorged themselves on fresh shiing, they wandered dazedly free, cut off from the network of thoughts. They were separated from the intrusive surveillance of Mage-Imperator Jora’h, and Rusa’h could weave them together into a strong new pattern.

Now, by his own command, all Hyrillkans were blanketed in the same healing mental silence that Rusa’h had felt for so long. While he was deep in his sub-thism sleep, the Lightsource had granted him superior skills and now he reached out with newfound power. While the population remained bleary and pliable from the raw shiing, he would begin to collect the numb lines of thism that would eventually have returned to Jora’h. One graceful strand at a time, Rusa’h would draw all those loose threads together and lay down new mental paths, bringing the minds of the Hyrillkans into a clean, clear tapestry of his own design, inspired by the Lightsource itself. . . .

Now, surrounded by devoted converts in the orange dusk, Rusa’h sat in the citadel palace, smiling. Beside him, his pleasure mates and lens kithmen and proud Thor’h stood ready to offer their support. These were the binding filaments of his new web, and he would draw upon them to renetwork the Hyrillkan people before the shiing wore off, cementing their mental connections again. Soon, all of Hyrillka would be a part of him, his own lacework of thism.

Nearby but isolated from all the invisible changes, young Pery’h wore a disapproving expression as servers brought in banquet foods. The Designate-in-waiting still had no idea what was happening around him. Dancers stumbled, trying to recapture their graceful moves, still disoriented because of the shiing. “This is appalling, Uncle.”

“Stop complaining,” Thor’h retorted. “The people deserve this celebration, and Designate Rusa’h has decreed it.”

Pery’h sat in his appointed place, but did not touch his food. He was uneasy, his skin pasty and moist. Now that so many of the people on H Y R I L L K A D E S I G N A T E R U S A ’ H

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Hyrillka had separated from Jora’h’s thism and linked instead to Rusa’h’s, the Designate-in-waiting was cut off from the comfort of even a small splinter colony. And it would only get worse for him.

When Rusa’h stood, all the people in the open pavilions fell instantly silent, though they were not yet completely under his control. The Designate looked at them with glittering eyes, seeing so much potential here.

He called for the two medical kithmen who had accompanied him from Ildira to watch over his condition and monitor his recovery. Rusa’h had secretly forced one of them to take shiing and had converted him. Afterward, the other doctor had easily been persuaded. Tonight, they would take the necessary and dramatic action to cement his ever-expanding hold.

“I have an announcement that most of you will not believe, at first.”

Rusa’h said the words, but he was sure that they would believe him. The people were in his grasp. He had the proof . . . and it certainly explained some of Mage-Imperator Jora’h’s recent troubling behavior.

“Our times are dark, and Hyrillka has suffered. The hydrogues prey upon us. We have failed, not because the Lightsource has grown dim, but because our leaders have been unable to see it. My father, Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h, had so many schemes that he deluded himself. My brother Jora’h is even worse, for he has willingly remained blind.”

Pery’h stood up, his face white with rage. “Uncle, even your injuries do not excuse the words you speak!”

The shiing-dazed listeners continued to regard the Designate-in-waiting with muddled interest, but no indignation. Thanks to the drug, none of the others could sense Pery’h in the thism. Thor’h just smiled.

“Listen when the rightful Designate speaks, little brother. You might learn something.”

“The Mage-Imperator can sense the unrest you are sowing,” Pery’h insisted. “Beware of what you say.”

Rusa’h frowned at the young man who had refused to take shiing with the rest of the people. “Jora’h has no presence here tonight—save through your eyes, Pery’h. Perhaps we should send you away?”

By now the Designate-in-waiting must have sensed that he alone remained connected to Ildira through a tenuous thread of thism—and that the rest of Hyrillka stood against him.

“Listen to what I have to say, Pery’h, before you make up your mind.

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You are an intelligent young man, trained to be the next Hyrillka Designate.

But destiny and preconceptions can be changed. We have the power.”

Pery’h stared at him in shock. “I refuse. I won’t let you.”

The Hyrillka Designate frowned. “First hear me out, then make your choice. Our people have been deceived into believing that Jora’h is the true Mage-Imperator, the rightful nexus of all the strands of thism, but I know otherwise, for the Lightsource has shunned him. While I was in my sub-thism sleep, I was unable to move physically, but I ventured elsewhere in my mind. I saw secrets. I learned facts that no other Ildiran suspected. And now I have finally acquired proof.”

Thor’h looked as if he might burst into a cheer. Pery’h was barely able to contain his confusion. “What sort of proof?” Since he had not joined the revelers in the nialia fields, the young man remained clearheaded and skeptical; the rest of the Hyrillkans accepted Rusa’h’s dictates without question.

“The former Mage-Imperator died suddenly, while I lay unconscious.

And in the shock and grief that followed, Jora’h quickly ascended to become our new leader. Ildirans thought him diligent and honorable. None of us guessed that he was power-mad! That he would do anything to be rid of our father so that he could assume the chrysalis chair and the Prism Palace for himself.”

Pery’h lurched to his feet and turned to leave, but two guards blocked his way. Rusa’h continued, knowing the Designate-in-waiting was listening, though he wanted to flee. “I obtained a tissue sample from one of the handlers who prepared the dead Mage-Imperator’s body for his funeral.

The chemical analysis makes the answer absolutely clear. Cyroc’h did not simply die—he was poisoned.”

As the others gasped, Rusa’h continued. “His bodyguard Bron’n must have been a co-conspirator, but he had the honor to take his own life immediately after my father lay dead in the chrysalis chair. Jora’h, though, got what he wanted. He himself must have murdered the Mage-Imperator to become an unlawful usurper.”

Even drugged on shiing, the people in the citadel palace muttered uneasily at this. Some gasped, but they believed Rusa’h’s words, assuming the proof he offered must be incontrovertible.

“And that is why the Lightsource has deserted him!” the Designate H Y R I L L K A D E S I G N A T E R U S A ’ H

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cried. “The soul-threads cannot penetrate the darkness of Jora’h’s heart.

All Ildirans are paying the price, and our race will continue to suffer . . .

unless I can lead us back to the realm of the Lightsource.” He folded his hands. “I am prepared to do what I must.”

While Thor’h listened, wearing an empty smile and nodding at the horrific revelations, Pery’h was indignant. Rusa’h became impatient with him and turned to the burly guards. “Take the Designate-in-waiting and hold him in his chambers until he can be suitably . . . convinced.”

The Hyrillkans did not object. Pery’h could offer only a token resistance as several muscular soldiers took him away from the open courtyard where bright flowers on the curling vines had opened up in twilight bloom.

None of the Ildirans could sense him in the thism. With the Designate-in-waiting gone, Rusa’h turned his back on his hard-looking pleasure mates and called the two devoted medical kithmen closer.

“If Jora’h is not the true Mage-Imperator, then the Ildiran race must have one. The Lightsource has chosen me for this burden. I know the difficult road that lies ahead, but I will follow the bright path. I am confident in my guidance. I will endure for the good of the Ildiran people.”

He lay back on an open divan and unfastened his robe to expose himself, reclining naked. “You here are privileged to witness an event that will forever change the Ildiran race.”

The two medical kithmen withdrew razor-edged crystalline knives.

Rusa’h glanced at his pleasure mates, recalling distantly all the hedonistic times he had shared with them. But that was no longer his lot, and physical pleasure no longer interested him. He turned from them and closed his eyes, diverting his thoughts to see the light within.

After his long ordeal, he knew his true mission. Only a selfish coward would turn away now. He must follow his beliefs to the end. He alone could restring the net of thism, take away the corrupted strands knotted around Jora’h and bring them all to himself. Hyrillka would be the start.

Next, the many systems in the Horizon Cluster would follow, and then the remainder of the Ildiran Empire.

With a whisper, the Designate gave his order, and the doctors made a quick, clean slash between his legs. Rusa’h clenched his jaw, biting back the pain, forcing it through his nerves and channeling it until it became an 336

inferno of light in his mind. From there he could see all the drifting strands of thism cut loose by his population’s reliance on shiing.

And like a master, paying no attention to the continued ministrations of the medical kithmen or the awed chatter of the audience in the citadel palace, Rusa’h bound all the strands together, gathering them to his heart and securing them so that Jora’h would no longer have any hold on these people.

He smiled, holding at last the true thism that would form a basis for a rejuvenated and purified Ildiran Empire.

915SAREIN

When Sarein tried to find her old quarters in the fungus-reef city, she discovered that the rooms had been cobbled together with emergency patchworks, as if some blind or drunken surgeon had attempted to fix a grievous wound.

Roamers! They had no sense of aesthetics, concentrating only on functionality and brute-force fixes. Though they had used worldtree wood in many places, the occasional metal girders and tasteless stained-alloy wallplates were atrocious. For some reason, the Theron people, including the green priests, had cooperated with their efforts and actually helped put everything back together this way. Her parents both seemed pleased with the work the clans had done. Eventually, as the worldforest healed, Sarein hoped the scars would be mercifully covered over, but it would take a long, long time.

Roamer workers continued to blunder through the ruins of the forest while pretending to offer assistance. Obviously, the space gypsies were here for their own purposes, their own profits, regardless of the altruistic claims they made. Since Basil wanted her to take on her rightful role as the new

Mother, Sarein requested a private meeting with her parents inside the main meeting chamber.

“We are glad that you’ve come back, Sarein.” Alexa smiled. “There’s so much we need to catch up on.”

Sarein’s nostrils flared as she drew deep breaths, in and out, calming herself, remembering her diplomatic training. “I only hope I’ve arrived in time. Don’t trust the Roamers. Do you think they’re doing this out of the kindness of their hearts?”

Outside in the forest, machinery continued to level the debris, scraping the forest soil clean, dumping chemical fertilizers, spreading seeds for fast-growing groundcover. Buzzing haulers lifted away one giant worldtree trunk after another, taking it to distant Roamer processing colonies. The operation reminded Sarein of graverobbers stealing corpses.

Alexa said, “My daughter, what are you talking about? The Roamers are helping us greatly, and the green priests and Theron workers have made exceptional progress in the past month. We’re all working together.”

“You’re letting treasure slip through your fingers! Can’t you see the enormous effort the Roamers are putting in here? Such help comes only for a price. Have you asked yourselves what they are trying to gain?”

Idriss scratched his thick black beard. “Offering aid in the wake of a disaster is what good-hearted people do. We would have done the same for them if we had known, and if we were capable. Remember, Speaker Peroni was betrothed to Reynald. We were going to have family alliances, Roamers and Therons.”

Her parents were so painfully trusting. Sarein recalled why she had been eager to leave stifling Theroc and go to civilized Earth.

“Roamers have always been kind to us, Sarein.” Alexa leaned closer, frowning. “Why must you think the worst of the clans?”

Her frustration finally boiled over. “Because Speaker Peroni cut off the Hansa from ekti supplies and other vital goods, right when we need them the most.” She held up her hand and ticked off other reasons she had heard Basil use. “Because the clans refuse to be counted like any other Hansa colony. Because they pay no taxes except what we can impose upon them as trade tariffs. Because we don’t even know where most of their settlements are or what they’re doing behind all that secrecy.” She waited in 338