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  Jakkan goes to the Emperor, shares a word too quiet for me to catch. The Charre’s most holy person seems, to me, to be nothing more than normal. Unadorned, except for a beautiful feathered cape laced with gold, the Emperor looks no taller than my own father. His arms are thin, his face round. I see wrinkles clouding his cheeks, and his tight eyes glare at me, perhaps feeling my judgment.

  “So this is the one I am supposed to respect,” the Emperor announces. “The one who says she can hear from Ignos himself. Who will tell me I am wrong to think of these Lunare as gods in their own right.”

  Before I can reply, the Emperor strides away from Jakkan, right up to me, and his hand darts out quick and catches my chin. With one eye narrowing, the Emperor sweeps his gaze over my face, his lips twisting into a sneer, “Jakkan, I believe you’ve brought me the wrong one. This girl is nothing more than a scared little Solare. Out of her depth. Send her back.”

  Stay firm. Courage, Kaishi.

  “I’m not scared,” I say to the Emperor’s face, and I ignore Jakkan’s sudden lurch. If the high priest wants to protect me, he’s too late. “I’m not out of my depth, your holiness, but exactly where I am supposed to be.”

  “And where is that?” the Emperor says.

  “Wherever you are. So that I can relay Ignos’ words directly to your ears.”

  “I am the holy Emperor. You presume that you need to relay Ignos’ will to me?”

  Brief smiles cross the lips of the servants. I notice and doubt plays its part, twinging my nerves. I’m young. Not even a Charre. What right do I have to be here, addressing the Emperor?

  You have me, remember? Now tell that gilded fool that you will help him repel the Lunare.

  “I cannot make you believe me,” I speak slowly, measuring the words. “But I can give you secrets. Gifts from Ignos that will let us turn back the Lunare. That will give you the chance to bring the Charre to a new era of glory. All in your name.”

  The Emperor’s face shifts into a calculating stare and I know I’ve found the man’s weakness. He scratches at his chin for a moment, “Give me an example. Some proof of what you say.”

  I will tell you how Viera’s weapon works, and you will tell him. Repeat my words.

  “You have seen the weapons they carry? The ones that spit fire?” I ask.

  I remember too - the metal and wood magic, the cracking in the valley and the Solare dropping down, dead, into the dirt.

  “I have held it,” the Emperor replies. “My best engineers are working even now to unveil its secrets. Though I hear the Lunare have many more, and stronger, marvels for us.”

  “They have the same principle. A powder that, when lit, produces an explosion that propels a rock towards its target.” I’m repeating Ignos’ words as they come into my head, and yet, as I say them, I understand their meaning. How Viera’s weapon works unfolds itself in my mind as I narrate its function. “Your alchemists could make this powder themselves, if they so wished, and many more things besides. While outfitting an army to equal the Lunare will take time, Ignos can give you enough to scare them. To break their claim of godhood.”

  “Did you hear her, Jakkan?” the Emperor asks the high priest.

  “I heard her well, my Emperor. I think her council wise.”

  “Do you? I found it strange and desperate. A girl making things up to keep herself from the altar.” The Emperor raises his hand, and, as one, the servants snap to attention. “I have not grown this empire by listening to the fanciful words of jungle dwellers. Of lesser tribes. You talk of miracles, but an Emperor must deal in realities. I—”

  “Please, holiness,” Jakkan says to the Emperor’s back. “What cause have we to ignore Kaishi’s advice? The people have heard her message and approve of it. If she is correct, and Ignos really can help us through her, then what have we to lose?”

  The Emperor considers me, and I can see a twisting anger there, mingling with the slightest hint of fear. The Emperor, holiest of holies, believes me a threat. The realization travels up and down my soul like lightning. If the Emperor finds me dangerous, then my only future is under the knife.

  He will change his mind. Everyone in this room heard your words. Everyone in this room heard the high priest support you. Not even the Emperor can kill one so obviously favored by Ignos without repercussions.

  Speak what I say again, and we may yet get out of this alive.

  I sink to my knees, press my forehead to the cool stones in front of the Emperor in his feathered, gold cape. “I swear to you, Emperor, that we will have the tools you need by the time the Lunare near. They will be awed by your brilliance, by the power of your people, and you will chase their armies to the ends of the world.”

  I don’t look up until I feel the Emperor’s touch on my shoulder. The servants and the guards relax. Looking down at me, the Emperor speaks, “You promise much, Solare, but Jakkan vouches for you. So I shall give you your workers. You shall have until the Lunare pass Tutio. If you fail, then your life will be given to Ignos, and Jakkan will lie beside you, his heart carved first.”

  38 Making an Entrance

  Sax relays the crash-into-the-core idea to the set, and there’s cautious agreement. Theoretically, Sax’s plan holds up, though there’s a lot of ifs. Still, nobody has a better idea, so Sax gets the vote to go.

  “I don’t know which gateway leads to the docking bay,” Sax says after, and even Bas shakes her head.

  “Why suggest it then?” Bas replies. “We don’t have time to explore every section on this ship.”

  “Then we start with the closest one.” Another bit of Vincere code: When in doubt about what to do, complete the simplest action first. Since nobody knows which way is right, they ought to go the first way they can.

  Of course, the next gateway is locked. Sax glares at the black nub as it scans for Sevora and finds none. It’s not intimidated. How to break through a door when they have no weapons? Above them, a rushing noise echoes from the pipes. All four Oratus scatter, on instinct, to minimize the impact of an attack.

  Lan points her miner up, but doesn’t fire because there isn’t any target. Sax traces the noise along the pipes to the nearest rank of seed ships, which start to shake.

  They’re being filled.

  The seeds settle, and a steady, growing thrum replaces the rushing noise. Sax watches the seeds vibrate, and suddenly the row of three near them begins to steam. Loud whines echo through the ring as engines spin up, and the noise answers the question of why nobody’s in here. If this happens regularly, Sax would lose his hearing, and shortly thereafter, his mind.

  Then a seed drops. It’s a slow thing due to the gravity, but the hook, with the piping running through the barb to the back of the seed, retracts. After a couple moment’s fall to clear the hook, the seed’s engine pulses into full ignition. Fire pushes back up towards the pipes, white-hot, and then the seed is down and gone, through whatever shield the Sevora put between vacuum and the ship’s air, and out to space.

  The second and third seed follow seconds later, and Sax is left with a ringing head and a dangerous idea. “We use the seeds,” Sax says to the set, and they hiss in laughter.

  “I want to see you fly one,” Bas says, knowing full well Sax hasn’t flown a ship in his life.

  But Sax is ready. For once, he has a comeback to Bas and her knowing sarcasm. Rather than trust his words, though, Sax turns around and leaps. He goes high, up to the nearest seed, and hits it.

  Sticks his claws into its shell. It’s not cloth, but few things can handle an Oratus digging in, and he finds purchase.

  “What are you doing?” Gar shouts from below.

  “Aiming!” Sax edges his way around the seed, setting each claw in before he moves the next, until he’s gone halfway around.

  The other two seeds in the row are behind him now, and in front, below, is the gateway. Now that he’s listening for it, Sax hears the rushing noise, only this time feeding into a different part of the ring. The seed ship is launching again. Maybe in desperation, maybe because it can. Either way, Sax bets that these seeds will fire soon.

  So he presses in with his claws and leaps, turning in the air, to the next seed. Catches himself. Now he has leverage. Sax, with his left claws biting deep into the second seed, leans out and looks at the three Oratus.

  “Two more!” Sax shouts, a raspy, ear-splitting hiss. “Together, we can push it.”

  This hits the others like inspiration. Bas and Gar win a battle of glances and copy Sax’s flight. They scramble around the first seed, and, with Sax descending to the pointed front of the second seed, get themselves in position.

  “When it starts to fall,” Sax says. “You’ll jump. Gar, you go first. Then Bas. I’ll go last.”

  The three of them are on the seed when the fluid starts rushing again. As Sax hopes, it’s coming right above them this time. Burbling, roaring and flushing down into the seed. Sevora likely pouring in with it. Ready to launch and infect some unlucky world.

  This one, at least, won’t be getting to its destination.

  “Ready,” Sax says. Bas and Gar hiss in agreement.

  The seed starts to shake. Both the one they’re on, and their target. If it goes like before, the target will fall first, and that will give the Oratus their chance.

  The right hook moves. It shakes, begins to lift off of the first seed and Sax doesn’t have to say anything for Gar to know his time is now.

  Gar leaps, pressing off with his claws and lunging towards the first seed as it falls loose from the hook. Bas follows. They both hit the seed as it starts to fall. The force of their leap couples with the low gravity to shove the seed towards the gateway, into prime position for Sax to make his own jump. He presses his legs, digs deep and angles towards the front p
oint, that bottom apex of the seed.

  And leaps.

  He leads with his shoulders, trying to push every ounce of force he has into the seed as he strikes it. A loud roar starts in the ring; the seed’s engines igniting. As Sax hits, he notices Gar and Bas dropping away, beginning their slow fall to the metal floor. Sax himself feels the seed rotate, their combined impact is enough to orient the craft.

  Sax holds the nose as it swings up, and then he feels himself accelerate. The seed is moving, its engines launching the ship right towards the gateway.

  Sax can’t hang on. His momentum will send him right into the same spot as the seed. So he pushes off, down towards the floor, and away from the gateway.

  Only it’s too far. His momentum too much. He’s overshooting; falling into the chasm that leads to outer space. Sax twists in the air, staring down at the black emptiness beneath him. Nothing out there but cold death.

  The noises of the second and third seeds beginning their own release rumble up, and then a shattering bang, a crashing crumble of metal and dust and sparks as the seed they pushed hits... something.

  Sax can’t tell, as he’s drifted below the floor and all he can see are the launching seeds starting their path towards him.

  “Flip your tail up!” Bas’s voice, and Sax follows her instructions without thinking. That’s the point of a pair – you do what they ask without doubt because it will save your life.

  He feels claws bite into his tail and it hurts, but Sax stops falling. There’s a lurch and someone’s pulling him back. He feels the heat as the next seed closes on him. Even if the seed doesn’t hit him directly, its rockets will burn Sax to ash.

  “Hurry!” Sax hisses.

  There are honorable ways to die. There are deaths full of pride, like sacrificing yourself to harm the enemy. Giving your last breath to one more swipe of the claws. This would not be one of those. This would be sad. Pathetic.

  The pull increases, and Sax bumps against the side of the chasm and then back over the metal floor as the seed brushes past behind him. The skin of his head puckers at the heat, his scales blister, but Sax lives.

  It’s Lan holding Gar, holding Bas, who pulls Sax back up. He lives because they work together as a set. He lives because the Oratus do not abandon each other. But none of them mention it. They don’t have to. They all know their job and they do it.

  Now they’re looking at the wrecked hole where the gateway used to be. The seed ship isn’t even there. It punched right through. Hard rock meant to last for cycles in space, propelled by rocket engines, is more than enough for an interior gateway.

  On the other side, they see something Sax never expects. Something he didn’t think the Sevora capable of.

  39 Becoming a Priestess

  Malo leads us back towards the Vaos as Ignos dips towards the horizon, but we’ve barely left the Emperor’s presence before the high priest whispers in my ear, “Tell me of these miracles you wish to produce, and I will see the proper people informed.”

  Kaishi, the real power is yours now. Don’t give it up.

  “No, Jakkan.” I stop in the middle of the street, forcing the high priest to do the same. Ignos is right. The Emperor put my life against the success of these miracles, and I will not leave their success up to Jakkan. “You will bring the people I ask to me, and I will inform them of the tasks myself. This is my duty to the Emperor, and Ignos works through me.”

  “Kaishi,” Jakkan slides a smile onto his face. A warm one, understanding. “You must realize that you are an outsider. The artisans you need will not work with a Solare, no matter how much she says her words are those of Ignos himself.”

  “Then you,” and I look at Malo, sharing him in my words. “And Malo will make them. Or I will tell the Emperor his miracles have been lost because his own people will not follow his orders.”

  Jakkan’s warm smile vanishes, replaced by a tight line. Malo, meanwhile, appears uncertain, looking at Jakkan and I. Even people passing around us glimpse the tension and give a wide berth.

  “Your tone has changed, Kaishi,” Jakkan says. “Have I not said that we must be allies here to save our civilization? That we must work together?”

  There had been a time when a promise of friendship would have swayed my heart. My mind, even. Now, in the cold crush of Damantum’s people, surrounded by buildings instead of trees, with the burning smell of forges instead of soft flowers, my soul keeps its clarity. I observe Jakkan’s words like I would a strange insect, searching for their true intent.

  I find nothing kind in them.

  “Together,” I reply, memories of the Pits and Jakkan’s first, lethal task driving heat into my words. “Yes. Only as partners now, not with my body under your foot.”

  “He is the high priest, Kaishi,” Malo pleads. “Second only to the Emperor himself. Please.”

  Jakkan nods at the warrior, his eyes still on mine. Waiting for me to break and submit.

  You were beneath them, now you are equal. Soon you will be greater. We’re nearly there, Kaishi.

  “Partners.” I don’t smile. “Call me whatever you wish, but either we are equals, or this city can burn.”

  Jakkan sinks into a look I’ve seen before on Father’s face; one of calculation. Schemes brew behind Jakkan’s wrinkled, leathery skin. I see scenarios play out, each one twisting in the high priest’s mind until he comes out ahead.

  “As partners.” Jakkan nods at last. “For the city, and our people, I will set aside my pride. As you have failed to do.”

  I ignore the bait. I have the status I want, now I need the loyalty. “Do you still believe in me, Malo?”

  “If I did not, then I would not be here, priestess,” Malo replies, though the words come less ready than before. A sign, perhaps, that the warrior is less than happy with my grasp of power.

  A true leader cannot be overly concerned with the feelings of her subjects. They will follow you, and that is enough.

  “Then here are the people I would see.” I pull the list from Ignos, and I feel the Cache burn on my wrist as he calls to it. Images and formulas full of symbols I don’t recognize pour through my mind and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming right there. I think, without the sacrifice and its pressure to train me, I would have. “The city’s best workers of metal and wood. Damantum’s greatest jewelers and alchemists. Bring them all to me, and we’ll begin the work needed to fight off the Lunare.”

  “I can see to that,” Jakkan starts, but I cut him off.

  “No, Jakkan. While Malo gathers the people, you and I have do something more important,” I look down at myself, and then point at Jakkan’s own robe and headdress. “I need clothes, jewels like your own. I must be more than a priestess. I must be what Ignos would desire of his messenger. Make me look the part.”

  The high priest does not dispute the argument. Instead, as Malo departs to arrange discussions with the city’s premier artisans, Jakkan takes me on a tour of Damantum’s markets. With the high priest at my side, the shopkeepers don’t look away as they did before. Zolin, tending to his plants, notices with a start that I’m still alive. I give him a smile and he shakes his head.

  First, I have to choose a color. As the Emperor embodies the blues of seas and shallows, and Jakkan uses the reds of blood and soil, so I need to choose shades that will set my soul into my clothes, hair, and skin.

  It’s not a hard decision.

  “The luminous greens of the jungle,” I announce to the dyers, whose stands are cluttered with pots containing all manner of colored inks. “I want to shimmer like an emerald, but with the mystery of a forest valley.”

  Second, a headdress. My crown. A band with feathers or stalks; straight threads of colors. Again, I’m drawn to my roots. The shades of the birds around my village: black and white and yellow. A burst of

  orange and red for fruits and flowers. The craftsmen begin sticking feathers, dyed and not, into a band. The resulting arrangement, while holding the appropriate hues, appears jangled.

  “That will not match your green cape,” Jakkan whispers as we look at the initial attempt.