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  A different roar comes from below. The sacrifice has appeared, with an escort. Malo leads five guards, him wearing his lion skin. They lead their prisoner up the steps, and by the time he reaches the first landing, I recognize who it is. One of the Solare tribesmen, one of my own people that had been captured from the battle on the way here.

  You can mourn him later. Do not let his sacrifice be a waste.

  Now, at the foot of the Vaos, appears the boy. A man and woman, who must be his parents, form his escort. The trio marches up the steps, trailing the bowed head of the Solare prisoner. I watch, because what else can I do?

  When Malo reaches me, he steps to my side and leans in close, “This is your ceremony, Kaishi. Take the honor Ignos has given you, and show it to them. We all believe. We all believe in you.”

  The two bear guards take the prisoner from his escort and press his back to the altar so that his head hangs off the edge. The son and his parents halt at the first landing. Beneath the part in the middle where the door to the inner chambers opens. I’m not sure why, until I notice a groove running down the center of the steps.

  A funnel for the blood that leads directly to the lip of the doorway.

  The blood from the prisoner will run down the stair, over the edge of the door, and onto the son. A blessing.

  Do it. Claim what’s rightfully ours, Kaishi.

  Then Ignos speaks to me; a ritual prayer before the cutting. At first my words come quietly, but then my voice finds its stride as I recite the rite. Ignos feeds me lines, and I let them tumble from my lips. I call for honor, for blessing, for enlightenment. The greatness of the city and its people and the Emperor. At the end of it, I take the knife offered by the priest and hold it high so that Ignos catches its black-glass blade.

  Then I look at the altar, at the man pressed against it. Malo, now, keeps a hand at the top of the prisoner’s chest. The sacrifice’s heart clear and ready. Someone has dabbed a line of red paint on the precise spot. The prisoner does not struggle. He knows, as do I and everyone else in that courtyard and on that temple, that in a moment the prisoner will come face-to-face with his god. Dying by sacrifice buys him honor, buys him a chance at a better life beyond this one.

  The blade itself is heavy in my right hand. When I start to move my left hand over, so I can grip the knife with both, I see Jakkan shake his head. A priest or priestess cannot use two hands. Only one, and only precise cuts.

  I place the blade against the prisoner’s skin. My mouth says the words without my mind following. A last pledge to Ignos. A final call for his blessing.

  I begin.

  34 Teamwork

  It’s not the heat, or the pain that stops Sax, but rather when his foreclaws stop responding. When his legs go numb. Sax manages to look up and sees the other three Slivers have swung around. They’re zeroing in on him, and the Flaum take advantage.

  Their Sevora-taken minds orient the miners at Sax. Claws press in the triggers.

  In their triumph, the Sevora forget to count. They don’t look into the dark beyond the gateway. They don’t see what’s rushing towards them, mouths open and teeth glittering.

  Bas gets there first. Sax sees her simply burst through a Flaum, her left and right sets of claws grabbing two more and bashing them together in front of her. The piercing fire in Sax’s nerves begins to ebb, and he notices Lan, holding a pair of Flaum miners, taking easy shots at the Slivers, who have sacrificed their own dexterity to hover over Sax.

  Gar, meanwhile, telegraphs his actions by way of scattered limbs and screeches. The Oratus prefers using his mouth to his tail, and any Flaum that can’t run finds itself food. It’s over in seconds, though Sax takes his time hauling up to his feet. His muscles spasm, and it’s difficult to walk. Still, he’s alive. Went right into a fight without a mask and came out the other side.

  “How did it feel?” Gar asks, his face coated with evidence of terrible deeds.

  “Dangerous,” Sax says.

  He could say more. He could talk about the thrill of knowing he was one well-placed shot away from oblivion. He could mention the blossom of fear - something he hasn’t felt in a long time - when the Slivers shot him down, but the center of an enemy’s ship is no place to share feelings. Gar sees he’s not getting more and accepts it with a nod.

  “Stupid, more like.” Bas steps over the bodies to join them. “Next time, let the ones with masks take the lead.”

  “Odds would put our survival substantially higher than your own,” Lan provides, with bits of Sliver wing hanging from her teeth. “Yet our own odds are significantly reduced should we lose you.”

  “I see your points.” Sax gives them that, though he has no intention of waiting in the back during the next fight. No fun in it.

  Together they turn towards the gateway and what lies beyond.

  Much as Sax would like to take weapons, or bites, from the fight’s left-overs, there’s no time. If the Sevora decide to shut the door, they’ll be sealed in here. So they lope to the other side.

  The center ring of the seed ship is tall and thinner than the sections. It’s also empty. A long wrap-around metal floor hugs the outside wall, providing a platform, one that is empty, much to Sax’s disappointment. What’s more interesting, though, is the gap between the platform and the ship’s core.

  It’s open. A chasm that, when the four of them move forward to look, appears to vent directly into open space. The reason isn’t hard to deduce: hanging above, suspended from a series of what seem to be large pipes, are ships. Small ovals, only a few times Sax’s own height. They’re hanging in rows of three, like teeth, with their points aiming straight down through the opening.

  It’s a seed ship, and they’ve found the seeds.

  35 To The Palace

  The hot soup sluices down my throat, thick and orange from the sweet potato. Across from me, Jakkan tilts his own bowl to his lips. Malo watches, sitting next to me. No bowl of his own. When I look at Malo’s empty hands, Jakkan says, “This soup is for the priests. He will have his own soon enough.”

  “Don’t worry, Kaishi.” Malo throws me a smile. “It is my honor to watch over you.”

  It hasn’t been long between the cutting of the knife and the pouring of the soup. Without looking at the sacrifice, I had spoken a final prayer and the crowd had dispersed. Returned to the ways of the day. Jakkan had then led me back into the temple, while the guards removed the body. At the base of the Vaos, the parents and their friends had celebrated the boy’s ascension.

  “You did well,” Jakkan says, wiping away a stray trail of soup from his chin. “Your words were strong. Your grasp of the fundamentals appropriate. The flourish with the knife, they appreciated that. I do not think we should waste anymore time.”

  “Waste time?”

  “Word came this morning,” Malo says. “I’ve already spoken with Jakkan. It seems the Lunare are moving. Towards your jungle, and eventually us. Only they are doing something different this time; rather than killing the tribes they come across, the Lunare are pressing them into service, convincing them that the Lunare have the divine right to rule our world.”

  “How can they say that?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter. What it means is that we no longer have time for the voice of Ignos to perfect her training.” Jakkan’s sighing as he says this. “It means I don’t have time to find out whether you are really telling the truth. You must prove yourself in front of the Emperor, and then in front of all our people.”

  “Prove what? That Ignos speaks to me? That he will tell us how to stop the Lunare?”

  “We are creatures of Ignos. I said as much last night, and you saw as much today. Yet these Lunare wield magic that we have not seen. Strange devices. How do they have such things while we do not, if we are the chosen people? Our populace, even the Emperor, have begun to wonder if the Lunare are divine. If they are, in fact, what you claim to be.”

  “Jakkan knows Ignos’ blessing. He can speak of his wishes. But words are as water against the hard stone of sight. See a man attacked by Viera’s weapon, and your faith in Ignos’ protection will be shaken,” Malo says. “For those outside these city walls, especially, our hold grows tenuous.”

  They want you to be their tool. Take advantage of it, and when the time comes, we’ll twist things around so that we’re the masters.

  “You want me to convince them.” I follow Ignos’ logic. “You want me to speak to your people and tell them what? That the Lunare are not who they say they are?”

  “Declare them abominations. Affronts to Ignos. Or they will be the end of us,” Jakkan says. “Do not think we are playing games here, Kaishi. Do not think that I am doing this because I want to. You must convince the Emperor, convince the people that the Lunare are nothing more than miserable things to be swept away.”

  “How will my words prove more effective than yours?”

  “Ask,” Jakkan replies. “Ask Ignos for help. Ask for his aid. If you are lying, then he will not help you and your persuasion will fail. If you are successful, however, and Ignos’ gifts convince the tribes to follow the Emperor, to rise up against the enemy, then you will have saved both our people and your own.”

  The bracelet feels cool and heavy on my wrist. Ignos has suggested miracles lay within it. Treasures that could bring salvation to the Charre. Maybe, to my people too.

  “I’ll do it.” There’s a refreshing finality as I say this, as I choose a path to walk. “Take me to him, and I’ll do everything I can to convince the Emperor. If he’ll even listen to a woman like me.”

  “He won’t listen to you, but he will listen to Ignos.” Jakkan finishes his soup and sets it aside. “Now. We will take you.”

  I drain my bowl as Jakkan and Malo stand up. Follow them outside t
he Vaos, down those golden steps still wet with the remnants of the sacrifice. Walk with them to the busy streets with their hardpacked dirt, under shining afternoon light.

  We head towards the Emperor’s palace. I can see it, north of the Vaos and at the end of the main road. While the temple is at the center of the city, the Emperor’s seat borders a lake on the north end, both a position of honor and subservience to Damantum’s god.

  Malo takes up a position on my left while Jakkan moves to my right. The crowds make way for us. A lion warrior, high priest and, I hear the whispers, one whom Ignos himself speaks through. Nobody troubles us. Nobody keeps their eyes on me for more than seconds. If this is celebrity, I don’t mind. It feels good to be desired. To be followed.

  Father had always claimed such attention required respect, that one had to earn their presence in front of the crowd.

  With the sacrifice, you did so.

  I keep my head high, back straight, eyes forward. Ignos’ approval warms my mind.

  You’re becoming what you need to be. We’re seeing the Emperor, and soon you’ll be by his side. Eventually, you will take his place.

  Take his place? Even though I, being a Solare, don’t quite hold the Emperor in the same reverence as the Charre, there are stations in life. The Emperor, according to Jakkan, is chosen by divine marking, by Ignos himself. Wouldn’t taking, even desiring, the Emperor’s place be a direct insult to the god?

  Even gods make mistakes, Kaishi. Sometimes we have to correct them.

  “You must never call the Emperor by his name,” Jakkan says as we walk. “You must never touch him. Not unless he commands you do so. I would advise against looking in his eyes. Or even disagreeing with him, at least directly. Rather, frame your words with respect. Understand that he is chosen not only by Ignos, but also by Damantum’s people. He carries that weight in all that he does.”

  “Yet do not be afraid,” Malo counters. “The Emperor is reasonable. He will listen to what Ignos’ voice has to say.”

  “Malo.” I suddenly want to talk of something else, keep my mind off the fact that, very soon, I would be in a room with the holiest person in the entire Charre empire. “Last night, I went to the Pits. Viera was there.”

  “I’m not surprised. I sold her off as soon as I left you. She’s a fighter. I’m sure she did well.”

  “We escaped.”

  At Malo’s look, I tell the story, and Jakkan interrupts every so often to illustrate why I had gone to the Pits in the first place. When I get to Viera’s disappearance, Malo frowns.

  “I take your expression to mean you don’t know where he is?” I ask.

  “A woman of her look will not go unnoticed in the city for long,” Malo answers. “Especially one with those wounds. Wherever she is hiding, she will need food and water eventually. Then we will give Viera her reward.” Malo’s hand drifts to kukri hanging from his waist.

  The clearing where the Emperor’s palace sits is larger than the whole of my village. The palace itself could have contained our Tier inside of it. Sheer sides bleeding into a domed roof painted over with vibrant reds and yellows - core colors for Ignos. Charre prayers are carved into the walls, and many people passing by press their hands against them, muttering the same words to themselves.

  A central arch leads into the palace, and two warriors, sporting lion skins like Malo’s, stand guard with spears in front. The arch itself is unvarnished, beige stone without designs.

  “To remind you, and all of us, of our own humility as we pass through.” Jakkan answers my question. “Before we go before the Emperor, we must place ourselves beneath him, beneath Ignos.”

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Malo sounds swept away. “If Ignos does not love us, he would not permit this to exist.”

  At the entrance to the arch, after a brief inspection from the guards in which they make sure neither Jakkan nor I carry weapons, Malo puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “I cannot follow you any longer. I’m not permitted inside.”

  “I’m going in alone?”

  “Jakkan will be there.”

  “He’s not a friend,” I reply. “You are.”

  “Then know I will be with you in spirit.” Malo laughs. “Besides, you are the messenger of Ignos, are you not? He speaks through you. With that, you are never truly alone.”

  36 Gambit

  How can they destroy all of the seeds? Sax is stuck on this for a minute until Bas, going past him down the metal platform, slaps her tail against the floor.

  “They’re not the objective,” Bas says when Sax and the other two look at her. “We take the ship, they’ll burn with it.”

  She’s right, as usual, but Sax plays with his idea anyway. Bash the ships against each other and they might fall off those hooks. The gravity here is low enough that jumping up to them wouldn’t be a challenge. Then they could run along the lines, torching one after the next.

  It would be so much fun.

  But Bas is right, so Sax follows her around the ring, looking for some path into the seed ship’s core. The four of them break into a run when nothing quickly appears, because every second they spend here gives the Sevora time to regroup. Gives Avan time to figure out the mask.

  They see three other gateways as they go around, all of them red-lit and locked. No paths to the central core, though. Seeds go the whole way around, minus some scattered gaps. It’s hard to tell how many this one’s launched, but Sax knows they’ll have to hunt each of them down.

  Every Sevora seed launches with a Cache, and every Cache has the specific steps to follow to bring the next wave of Sevora to power. Partly how they took over so much of the galaxy so fast - one seed ship seven cycles ago scattered Sevora around, and over time the planets they found became infested. Launched their own seed ships before anyone knew what was going on.

  Now the Oratus and the rest of the free galaxy are so close. Take care of this ship, track its launches, and the Sevora would be done.

  A galactic stain wiped clean.

  “So what’s the plan?” Lan asks when they find themselves back at their first gate.

  It’s easy to tell this one is where they came in, despite all four gateways being identical; the fight left plenty of splatter, and nobody has tried to clean it up.

  “We have to get to the core,” Sax says, though he knows this is obvious. “They must have ways of getting air and supplies to it, even if there’s not a larger pathway.”

  “If you expect me to squeeze into one of those tubes...” Gar starts.

  “We’ll never fit,” Bas says. “How about a different way? Punch in?”

  “We don’t have cutters with energy left,” Lan reminds her, but Bas points up, towards the seeds.

  “Use those,” Bas says. “Take one, turn it and punch through the hull.”

  Sax likes the idea, but he doesn’t know how to fly a seed, if they’re even meant to be flown. Current thinking has the Sevora identifying possible planets and shooting the seeds out straight to their targets on autopilot.

  Sax has seen cracked seeds before, and knows that there’s enough nutrients packed in there that, when frozen by the sheer cold of space, a Sevora could travel as long as it needed to.

  The seeds, though, aren’t the only ships on this giant craft. They didn’t land in the docking bay, but crashed through the lab section. Which means the Sevora must have ships elsewhere - shuttles to move their forces around, fighters to defend the seed ship. Any of those might work, any of those could crash a hole in the core.

  It’s a desperate move, for desperate times.

  37 The Emperor

  The headdress, ranging from teal to deep blue like the shallows leading out to the ocean, catches my eyes first when I enter the chamber. It sits on a cloth held by a servant; A thin man wearing only a simple cotton cape whose eyes track the floor as if it holds secrets.

  Several others stand along with the man towards the back of the chamber, each one holding another treasure. Whereas the Vaos faces East and West, the palace angles north and south, so that light appears to climb in from the sides. This gives the Emperor, standing in the middle of the room, a haloed look. As though the glimmer comes from him.