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  “Why should I care?” I reply. “I’m supposed to repre-sent all people, Charre and Solare. Different colors seem the easiest way to do that.”

  “A fair argument,” Jakkan says. “Yet, as one knowledgeable about such things, remember that the people see you as you are, not as you wish to be. They will wonder why you choose such a strange arrangement, they will ask why a messenger of Ignos seems so ugly, why her headdress stands so apart from the others Ignos favors.”

  Jakkan may have a point, Kaishi. This thing you have created is, shall I say, quite unappealing to the eyes.

  I want to push back. Want to be stubborn, but Ignos’ voice meshes with Jakkan’s appeals - which, this time, hold no trace of another agenda - and I back down, “You might be right. Let’s try a bright green in the center declining towards black at the edges.”

  Even the craftsman is more excited about this than my first attempt, and the end product shows it. When I place the crown on my head and stare at myself in the still basin of water kept at the stand for that purpose, the headdress is a vibrant, verdant green. As if life itself has come from above and traced its way down to me.

  “Beautiful,” Jakkan says, and I think he means it. “Now, there is one place left for you to visit.”

  Similar to the dyers, the tattoo artists have bowls of various inks around their stands. Stones serve as chairs, with warriors and others sitting on them while the artists perform their work, creating intricate inkings of Ignos, lions, bears, and the Vaos.

  Jakkan, shifting his cape so that I can see the elaborate design dominated by Ignos on his back, says, “Here you must pick your new body. Your old one will be given to Ignos. Open yourself to his wisdom, and let his words guide your tongue in the telling, and their hands in the painting.”

  I wait for Ignos to tell me what I should do. How I can transform my own body into a powerful message, but Ignos is silent. I sit on the stone, feel the cool, rough rock against my thighs, and think. Jakkan and the artist, an old, weathered man, stare at me.

  If I have to choose for myself, then, there is one design fit for my body. One depicting the god that has brought me this far. That has done so much to change my life. I describe the details: The light green shades. A circular design with a wide set of eyes in the middle; an everlasting search for knowledge. Four arrows reaching out from the center, to look in all directions. At the angles, carved blocks to serve as the foundations that same knowledge created. At the end, a series of circles filling in the gaps: the travel of ideas from discovery to practice.

  Ignos, a part of my mind, will now be part of my body as well. While I speak, the artist dips and pierces. Pokes and paints my skin. There is pain, yes, but I bear it, because there is no other option.

  One step closer, Kaishi. One step closer to the salvation of your people.

  40 The Traitor

  It’s dark, but not total, and not sinister.

  Rather, what Sax sees now is a luminous show that uses the shadows to focus the eyes on what they’re meant to see. Which, in this case, are glorious fountains: arches of water spritzing back and forth over vast areas covered in what Sax can only describe as entertainment.

  Tables, mobbed by Flaum, Teven, Whelks and other species Sax is not able to recognize from afar, blink and flash through various games. Pulsating beats clash and echo across the metal flooring, and every thud carries with it a multitude of cries and calls. Floating banners move back and forth through the space, illuminating with advertisements and movies.

  “We found their fun,” Lan says, and she’s right.

  Seed ships hold many thousands, and it now seems obvious to Sax that to keep even Sevora in a civil state, there has to be a way for them to enjoy themselves. A place to go when not on shift, a place to have fun. To cavort, to play games and remind themselves that all is not one battle after the next.

  The Sevora need this because they are weak. Because they cannot handle the cruel reality of life.

  Sax also sees the seed, or what remains of it. It’s punched through the gateway and lies on the ground in front of them. At the bottom of the steps and further beyond, having, it looks like, bounced its way to its final resting place: burrowed into the side of what had once been some sort of lit statue, which is now sparking.

  Sevora species gather around it, pointing and chattering. All of which means nobody is noticing the gateway or the four Oratus standing there, haloed by the bluish light of the center ring behind them.

  “Let’s use it,” Sax says. “Keep moving. Remember mauling these Sevora isn’t the objective. We need to get back to the outer ring, to the docking bay.”

  “If it’s even in this section,” Gar says.

  “If it’s not, then we’ll try another,” Bas replies.

  “If it takes that long, I may have to eat some Flaum,” Gar mutters as they start their walk.

  Every foot fall onto the hard floor brings new assaults to Sax’s senses. He sees Flaum in various states of intoxication. Falling over each other, or simply standing with glassed eyes and slack expressions on their faces. A reckless sloth that would never be permitted on a Vincere ship. Slivers alight on posts covered with purchase for their talons. They too seem exhausted. Uncaring of the four Oratus wandering in their midst.

  Sax thinks he knows why.

  They’re so deep in the seed ship now. So far beyond the outside, that what are the odds of an enemy force making it here? It’s far more likely that these four Oratus are taken, Sevora slaves like the rest of them. Though even if they weren’t, Sax is fairly sure these creatures wouldn’t mind. They are so far removed from real consciousness that Sax thinks they wouldn’t react if he begins carving them up right here in the open.

  So they keep going. Into and through the center of the section, which is a large square with a bursting sapphire fountain in the middle, one that seems to spray up different colored water. Around it, spread at intervals, are vast arrays of tables and chairs and nutrient dispensing machines. Most of the spots are taken with Sevora-hosted species happily munching away on whatever they can get.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Sax knows the voice. Turns and sees Avan, no longer wearing any of his armor, watching them. The captive Oratus has apparently made his way out of the dark crowd. Avan spreads his claws wide, as if to show he means no harm. “Please, let me speak.”

  Sax sees, or rather feels, Gar twitch, crouch down into an attacking stance. They can’t afford a battle here, so Sax whacks Gar with his tail.

  “We’re in enemy territory,” Sax hisses as Gar snarls back at him. “You start a fight here, we’ll never survive.”

  Gar keeps his glare hot, but lowers his claws.

  Avan clasps his own in front of him. “You’re right of course. With one yell, I could have a horde descend upon you. You would doubtless slay many, but you would be torn apart.” He pauses, his vents taking in a long breath. “You and I both know the small fleet you have at this end of the galaxy won’t be capable of taking down this seed ship for a very long time. How many more worlds will the Sevora infect before you bring it down?”

  “Wherever you go, we will find you and we will end you,” Sax replies. He desperately wants to do as Gar nearly did: tear Avan’s grin off of his face.

  “I’m sure,” Avan replies. “But what if I told you it won’t matter? What if I told you that there are things you don’t know. Things that would make your every action meaningless, if you knew them?”

  “Why haven’t you killed us yet?” Sax hisses the only question that matters - if Avan’s tracked them here, then he could have shot them, stunned them or burned them.

  He’s done none of those things.

  “Because I want to leave,” Avan says. “I need a way off of the seed ship, and I need a way to survive. You are that way. An offer: I will guide you to a ship, to your chance at the glory you so desperately seek, if you will guarantee me safe passage back to your own vessel.”

  “How do you know we’re looking for the docking bay?” Bas asks.

  “Because you are on a seed ship. They hear everything. I hear everything.”

  Sax flexes his claws. “Then why are you talking to us now? Revealing your plan?”

  Avan looks around at the loud, thumping surroundings. “They can hear everything, except for this place. Except for where there’s so much noise that the recorders catch only garbled nonsense. Where it’s so dark and difficult to see that it’s hard to know what’s happening.”

  “But we only came here by chance,” Lan argues. “You couldn’t have known that–“

  “By chance?” Avan interrupts. “Who do you think triggered the seed ships to launch? Who do you think waited until you derived your plan and made sure the right ones fired when you were ready? Which, thank you for making it so much easier than I had expected. Crashing through the gateway with a seed ship? None of us saw that coming.”

  Avan has them. Sax knows this. They can either go with him, or fight him here and now. Though Sax can’t tell, he assumes Avan’s figured out how to put on the mask. Which means he’s protected, to some degree. The four of them could likely make an end of him, but then their own deaths would come shortly thereafter.

  Or they could trust the despicable creature and follow him to the docking bay. To where they wanted to go.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Sax hisses. He waits for a denial, but none comes.

  Though he hates the razor smile that pulls over Avan’s face, Sax does nothing to erase it.

  41 Making Magic

  The meetings with Damantum’s premier artisans and craftsmen are, according to the Emperor, to begin immediately. With my outfits determined, Jakkan leaves me back at the Vaos, which, he says, will serve as my home.

  Kaishi, now’s t
he time. The Cache. Use it.

  The bracelet. Green and shimmering in the light. I run my fingers along its warm sides. It flashes, and I feel as though the light streams through my eyes and into my core.

  The Cache stores our knowledge, Kaishi. Make miracles with it. Give your people what they need.

  Using the Cache feels like reaching through my own memories, only the things I find are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Pictures of creatures I don’t recognize from any legend, places so beautiful and terrible they defy description. And things. Wonders that Ignos promises will change the course of my world. I begin to fall, diving through one after another. There is so much to see, and I want to learn it all!

  Stop.

  Ignos’ voice pierces my frantic churning. The image in my mind shifts to something that looks like Viera’s weapon.

  The Cache holds too many secrets for any one person. Look for what you need, and you’ll find it. Look for everything, and that is what you will lose.

  From that point until, with night long descended, Malo returns with the first group of artisans, Ignos and I explore the Cache. We pick out miracles suitable for the Charre; ones that can built in the time, and with the materials, that we have. I choose several more too, ones Ignos thinks are beyond us, but that I believe will stoke the fires of our imaginations. Belief in the new powers coming to us.

  Yes. You must think of the Charre, now, as your people. That is what they will become, soon.

  Are they my people? The Charre, who took me from my home? I don’t think so, but then, I can’t afford to treat them as enemies. To do so means death. I know that if the Charre can push back the Lunare, then perhaps I can persuade them to leave my own village alone, to protect them.

  So I stand ready to begin when Malo enters the temple.

  First there are the metalworkers, and with them I show schematics. How to make the magic fire that Viera had summoned so effortlessly. How to make even larger weapons, ones that could shoot hundreds or thousands of projectiles in mere moments of time.

  Not all of them are possible with Damantum’s workshops, and even if the Charre had the material, knowing the plans and executing them are two different things.

  Still, we speak, with Malo fueling us with tea throughout the night and into the next day. The metalworkers have their own ideas, looking at what the Cache provides, and leave with the coming of dawn to produce their own versions of Ignos’ miracles.

  I barely have time to blink before the next group arrives.

  The woodworkers. I give them designs for boats and larger ships, even planes that will fly through the air. I show things that are so far beyond their greatest imagining, seeing my own legend building in their eyes. Creating a priestess that has all the answers. That has all the guidance for what is to come. The woodworkers leave like the metalworkers, with visions dancing through their minds and inspiration pouring from their mouths.

  The doctors follow a quick lunch of peppers and pork. We go over detailed maps of cells and biology, though I’m disappointed to learn the Cache holds no diagrams of our own species. Regardless, in several hours of conversation, the entire medical practice of the Charre people transforms.

  Word spreads of the miraculous priestess hiding in the Vaos. Jakkan begins functioning as my own assistant. Scheduling meetings, making sure I’m adequately cared for. Ushering in and out groups of all kinds. From writers to hunters, sculptors to warriors. All of them come. All of them ask for more. I, with Ignos in my mind, am only too happy to give them everything I can.

  This. This is how you find your people. This is where everything you are becomes real. Where the Charre stop looking to the Emperor, and start looking to you.

  I don’t dare put that thought to words.

  Not even the Emperor himself is immune to the rumors. On the third day, he calls for another audience. I go, with Jakkan, back to the palace. Back to see the Emperor in all his finery. Again he stares at me and issues warning after warning, threat after threat. He expresses fear and angst over the Lunare, who are taking their time in approaching. They are gathering up smaller tribes with their own wonders. Claims are spreading that the Lunare are the true gods. That Ignos favors them.

  The Emperor throws us back to the streets with demands, ones that I plan to exceed.

  By the fourth and fifth days, as evidence of my miracles becomes known on the streets, as the first objects coming from my teachings find their way to the Emperor, his opinions change. On the sixth, when the Emperor calls, he does not request Jakkan. This time, Malo asks only for me.

  This time, I go to the Emperor alone.

  With nobody there to help me, other then the voice of Ignos in my head, I promise the Emperor that I will deliver. That my wonders will be ready. That when the two of us go out to greet the Lunare, the sheer brilliance of the many inventions of the Charre people given to them by Ignos will not only bring all of the other tribes to their knees, they will bring the Lunare themselves to heel.

  The Lunare, I promise, will realize their mission is a hopeless one. They will leave in fear. The Emperor will rightfully reign over all.

  Rather than issue his customary defensive threats, the Emperor reaches behind him, to a servant who holds a small box. From it he pulls out a small thing that looks like a tube with a wooden leg on the end. Like the weapon Viera had held. The Emperor points it at the far wall. Presses back on the lip of metal sticking up from the top. And then pulls another small loop of metal with his finger.

  The noise inside the palace is deafening. A loud crack reverberates from the stones and pierces my ears. I’m stunned, my head rings and I do all I can to stop myself from diving onto the ground or running away. Only the Emperor, watching me to see what I do, keeps me from it.

  When I manage to look, I see a chunk of the stone wall is missing; crumbled on the floor. The Emperor stares at the device.

  “Your miracles are more than just words,” the Emperor says. “This, this is what we need. This will make the difference. We cannot, unfortunately, make enough. We do not have the mines. The forges. Yet.”

  “We will, your Holiness,” I say. “In time, yours will be the mightiest nation ever known to man.”

  “Perhaps,” the Emperor replies. “But will we have that time?”

  I don’t know how to answer, and the Emperor, placing the weapon back in the box, doesn’t seem to expect me to.

  “The Lunare have many of these. Some longer, larger. I am told they have whole roving monstrosities covered in large things they call cannons that, when fired, sound as though the sky is being ripped asunder. How can your miracles compete with this?”

  “They can be better. They will be better. But we need time.”

  “Does Ignos tell you how to find that?”

  Meet them. Go out, confront the Lunare face-to-face. Scare them. Take the wonders we have, and use them to buy that time. Every day, every week you get is crucial.

  “We can’t let them reach the city,” I say. “If they do, they can disrupt our efforts. They can distract the people that are even now working to put these devices together. You are the holiest, Emperor. With me by your side, we can change the minds of the tribes that follow the Lunare. We can tell the Lunare they are no longer welcome, and show enough to prove it.”

  The Emperor’s hand reaches up and brushes his headdress, fingers filtering through the feathers, “Ignos has seen fit to guide you this far, and I would be foolish not to follow the wisdom he shares through you. Perhaps it is time for us to reveal ourselves. Get ready, for tomorrow, we shall make for the desert and show the Lunare they never should have left the mountains.”

  42 Who Lives and Dies

  With Avan leading them, Sax and the others make their way out of the entertainment section. Plenty of Sevora stare at the group of five Oratus, though they turn to their drinks quick enough after a glare or a wave of a menacing claw. Like the gateway in the central ring, green lights halo the exit from this section, further out from the core.

  Looking back, Sax sees the broken gateway already under repair. The crashed ship already cleared. Entertainment section or no, the Sevora could move fast when they wanted to.