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  “You don’t?” Viera laughs. “The way you’re looking at him says otherwise.”

  She takes the black-glass knife the Solare was carrying and begins striking it against a small rock. Every hit brings sparks that flash into our brush. No fire yet, though.

  “Just how am I looking at him?”

  “In Lunare, we have an expression for this. We call it ‘shining’ when one spots another they desire.” Viera keeps whacking with the black-glass blade.

  “You think I’m ‘shining’ Malo?” I feel my way around the word and instantly dislike it. It’s not something the Solare would say.

  “You might not know it yet,” Viera replies, and as she does so, one of the sparks finally catches.

  The brush goes up in orange, and suddenly there’s heat on my face to match Ignos’ burning light against my back. “But you are. Nothing to be ashamed of. He’s wearing a lion. Enough to make anyone look at him twice.”

  I search for a long stick to bring the fire to the body and realize, here in the desert, that there are none. Only bushes. Small twigs. My attempt to storm away from Viera’s questions ends in failure, and I look away from her as she stands. Try to find somewhere to go.

  “We’ll have to pull him over,” Viera moves on from our conversation, though what she says repulses me.

  I’ve never touched a dead body before, but Viera needs someone to pull the other hand, and the Charre aren’t going to help. The Solare’s fingers are cool to the touch - I imagine they would be colder if not for the Ignos’ work - but they’re easy to grip. I plant my feet and it’s like hauling grain, or pulling on a cart.

  Only this one used to be alive.

  We get the Solare to the fire, but I’m not sorry we don’t get to see the results of our work. Malo’s pressing us to move, and I’m eager to find somewhere out of the heat. Viera doesn’t say another word as we rejoin the march, and I wonder if she’s thinking, looking at all the Solare captives that survive, whether killing one was the right move.

  She staked out her power. See how the others watch Viera warily now? You ought to find something similar, so they see you as a threat.

  I’m a Solare daughter without her tribe, in a place I don’t know. I’m the opposite of a threat.

  Remember the Cache. It can help you.

  I’d almost forgotten about the bracelet. It’s still on my wrist, the same green-brown it’s always been. I ask Ignos if it can make something like Viera’s gray tube appear.

  It can do far better. We can use it to show the Charre, when the time is right, that they should not only fear you, but obey you. Then, you can prepare them for the coming of their gods. Of yours too.

  16 Training Ground

  Their escape is manifest in more ways than one: the section they’ve entered now, unlike the first two, is lit in creamy white, and it’s clear the Sevora inside it aren’t operating any sort of defense. Sax is stunned to see no weapons aimed their way.

  No shouts or shots zinging into their masks. In fact, aside from their set, the landing is empty.

  The rest of the section is not, though there are no glowing tubes and only one small purple-black pool that Sax can make out. The flat steps leading down from the landing hit what looks like soft blue rubber with even lines sectioning it into lanes. The rubber itself looks gouged, with deep scars crisscrossing its surface.

  The track rings the entire section, and all the divisions within it. There are arenas with stacks of equipment - weights and bars. Target ranges where, even now, Sax can see a trio of Flaum sending hot lasers into thin hit slips.

  In the center of the section stands a quad set of buildings, reaching three stories high and sporting flat roofs. Square, open-air windows dot them at precise intervals.

  “I forget that the Sevora live here too,” Lan says, and Sax agrees.

  A Vincere station wouldn’t be all that different, really.

  “Why aren’t they looking for a fight?” Gar asks.

  “The separation is the last resort,” Bas answers. “They would not split away a whole section unless there were no other option. So perhaps they think we were caught inside it?”

  “We need to get to cover,” Sax interrupts.

  They have, somehow, regained the advantage of surprise and he doesn’t want to lose it standing in plain view.

  As they limber down to the track, then walk across onto the first pathway they find, Sax realizes there’s no cover to be found. Thin fences separate the arenas, more, Sax suspects, for safety than for security. The barriers don’t hide their massive Oratus bodies, and at least one of the Sevora must have seen them by now.

  So why aren’t they attacking?

  “I’ll take the lead,” Gar says.

  Nobody argues this and Sax puts himself at the rear, still puzzling.

  “Go quick, straight for the gate,” Lan says as they form their line. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but let’s take advantage.”

  “No.” Sax thinks he has the idea. “Be calm. Move slow. Don’t fire your weapons. Lets see how they react.”

  Gar, for once, listens. They walk, claws hanging loose with weapons sheathed. The experience makes Sax itch; he’s not one for stealth. An Oratus is made for destruction, not sneaking. Intelligence gathering fell squarely into Flaum territory. When a group of the furry creatures - all, given by their precise motions and lack of chittering conversation, infected with Sevora - passes by them, it’s all Sax can do not to reach out and tear them apart.

  But it’s that nonchalant passing that gives Sax the proof he needs to confirm his theory: the idea of hostiles this far into the seed ship is so strange that the Sevora believe the four of them are hosts. That the Oratus have been taken and they’re simply moving about the ship like the rest of the infected.

  What’s more disturbing to Sax is that, if the Sevora think this, then they must have evidence. It’s the greatest shame, the worst possible thing for an Oratus to allow themselves to be taken by a Sevora. If trapped, self-slaughter is a last resort. The preferred way is to die taking as many enemies as possible down with you. Capture... the thought has Sax opening his mouth to hiss before he remembers what they’re doing and closes it again.

  Never. Sax would die a thousand deaths before the Sevora take him.

  17 Overlook

  The volcano’s name is Tutio, Malo tells me. To the Charre, it’s a symbol of their own survival. We’re looking at the puffs of smoke rising from Tutio’s snow-ringed top as we devour our last breakfast before making the final march to Damantum. The city’s there, down the slope to my left, where the sands of the desert give way to brown, wavy fields.

  “Survival?” I ask, because Solare stories say to stay as far away from Tutio as possible. The volcano has a habit of getting angry, and those who don’t respect that anger tend to succumb to it.

  “Yes.” Malo speaks in his reverent tone again, the one that comes up every time he discusses Charre’s god, Damantum, or, really, anything about Charre life. “Many times Tutio has burned Damantum to the ground. Razed our fields with its furies. You would think this a bad thing, right?”

  “Generally.”

  “At first, of course, it is. People die in the fires, and those that don’t might starve. Eventually, though, the Charre return. We build stronger walls and deeper trenches to catch Tutio’s liquid flame. The fields that come back are larger and healthier than before. We grow, Kaishi.”

  This is a ridiculous view. No civilization grows stronger by having itself destroyed routinely. Yet another thing we will change, Kaishi.

  I agree with Ignos, though I’m not so sure about his comment on change. Even if I get to some level of power where I can demand things of the Charre, I doubt I’ll be able to get them to move their city.

  No, we will stop the volcano itself.

  Malo notices my mouth hang open and cocks his head. “Are you all right, Kaishi? Did my story disturb you?”

  I get myself back. “No. Ignos is whispering some str
ange things.”

  “What is he saying? Can you tell me?”

  I stand, shaking my head. I’m not going to start spilling Ignos’ statements to Malo quite yet. Not till I understand them myself. The only reason I’m alive is that Malo thinks I’m talking to his benevolent god. If he thinks Ignos wants to dominate his civilization, that tone might change.

  I wonder, then, why I care? At the start of the march, way back in the jungle, I’d been sulking. Dismal. If the Charre had decided at the end of that first day that keeping me along was a burden too heavy to carry, I’m not sure I would have fought them.

  Now I see Malo watching me with a mix of questions and concerns, and I’m... not happy, but alive and glad to be so. Even if Ignos is Malo’s main concern, it’s nice knowing he cares about me. At least a little.

  Viera, too. In the day since we burned the body, the Lunare has left my side only for natural reasons and when I’ve asked her to.

  She’s otherwise walking next to me, sharing stories of her homeland beneath the rocks. Her endless legends cover everything from massive monsters making new caves of their own to a week-long celebration when the snow melts and all of Lunare has more water than they can drink.

  In short, I have friends. Not something I had back home, when people saw me as the priest’s daughter. Someone to be respected, yes, but not befriended, lest any offense you caused brought the wrath of Ignos upon you.

  Damantum sprawls in the distance ahead of me. Unlike my village, which spread haphazard through jungle clearings, this city is ordered. Wide avenues split rectangular districts, and the river circling Damantum is bridged in several places by arching stonework. To the northeast, the plains give way to blue ocean.

  I focus on a sloped building in the center of Damantum. It’s hard not to look at it, because the structure appears to be gold. Ignos blazes out from its surface, so that I find myself shading my eyes, trying to get a better look.

  “The Vaos,” Malo says, joining my watch. “It’s the center of Damantum, and the greatest thing the Charre have ever made. Even Tutio dares not destroy it.”

  “What is it for?” I ask, and Malo looks at me with another one of those nice smiles.

  “You, Kaishi. It’s for you.”

  18 Ambush

  They’ve made it to the buildings and now Sax sees that these are rooms of a different type. Large, enclosed spaces with pitch-black floors, walls, and ceilings. He sees these through the building on his left, while the one on the right appears to have its windows covered by sliding shutters. Virtual training.

  Complete blackouts in the room, and then projectors give the students whatever they’re looking to study. Battles, sure, but Sax remembers even normal lessons buttressed by holographic trips to the subject, whether it was a place or the inside of a body. So many lessons before he earned his first mask.

  They go past the buildings and all the way beyond a second set of fenced areas. One in particular draws Sax’s eye: a large, mottled spire with various colored bulbs hanging from different heights. Pole-like creatures cluster around and on it. As Sax watches, the poles, through small holes, appear to sprout many-fingered hands that push them around or scuttle them up and down the spire. Tevens.

  Supposedly, the hard-shell pole comes from secretions the creatures make, and each one’s markings tell the secret of that Teven’s ancestry. What Sax really cares about, though, is how something tastes, and Tevens are bland, and the pole shards scratch Sax’s throat if they’re not properly chewed. There is better food.

  At the back of the section they cross the track again, make theirway up the steps, and there’s another gateway. Red-rimmed like the others. Sax doesn’t have a Sevora handy, and pulling out their cutters would ruin any hint of deception they’ve got going.

  “I say we do it anyway,” Gar announces when it’s clear what they’re all thinking. “Look at them down there. This isn’t a military force. By the time we cut through, they’ll barely have noticed.”

  “Except they don’t know we’re here now,” Bas says. “If we can get through without them knowing, we could make it to the core undetected.”

  “Which isn’t any fun,” Gar replies.

  “Sometimes there are more important things than your bloodlust,” Lan says, and, after a second, Gar’s tail twitches to the floor in agreement.

  “So we need someone to let us through,” Sax says. “A hostage.”

  “I’ve never taken one before,” Lan replies. “Always easier to eat a captive.”

  Truth.

  While they’ve been walking through the section, above the shouts and high-pitched squeal of laser-fire, there’s been a constant undertone of pattering. Soft thuds on the ground. Looking from the landing, Sax identifies the source: a group of circular creatures bolting around the track.

  Rotams. A bundle of double-kneed legs around a central round body. The scars on the track have an answer now: every Rotam leg ends in a hard hoof, one that has a retractable claw. Sax has seen Rotam charges before - they wheel up and around every surface, then roll over you, carving you to pieces in the process.

  They’re eyeless, and sense movement, and sound, through soft fibers coating their body.

  Which means Sax can wait, down by the track, for the Rotam to pass by. As long as the Oratus stay still, they should be able to snatch the last one in the group without the others knowing.

  The other three agree to Sax’s plan and, as the Rotam circle the opposite side of the section, the set takes up their positions. Sax gets the first opportunity, as it’s his idea. The Stim’s still going strong - the effect lasts for hours - and so when the Rotam go by, Sax has no trouble reaching out and grabbing one a couple of meters behind the others.

  His claws dig into the creature’s body and he lifts it off the track. It struggles, but from the side, the Rotam don’t have much in the way of defense. He sees Bas give him a congratulatory tail twitch, and then they’re turning to head to the gateway.

  Which slides open. Before it should.

  “The Oratus continue to live up to their reputation,” the voice, hissing and deep, comes from what Sax hopes never to see. An Oratus, standing tall and clad in black, shining armor. The plates and helmet make him look ridiculous, and must be more limiting than a mask, but the Oratus doesn’t seem to care. “Now, it’s time for the Sevora to live up to ours.”

  Around him pour out Flaum, all aiming weapons at the set.

  There’s noise from the track too - the Rotam that just passed by have turned around.

  Sax knows they’re pinned. Trapped.

  Dead.

  19 The Great City

  The gates of Damantum stand tall in Ignos’ evening light. Gilded gold and peppered with obsidian, which Malo says is intentional. An homage to Tutio. Charre signs decorate the sculpted columns. Some I recognize, and others I don’t. It’s a reminder that if I’m to preach to these people, I have a lot of learning to do.

  As we near the city, the warriors break off. Malo dismisses them, and they disappear. Going to see their families, lovers, and friends.

  Malo stays near me, along with Viera, who’s trying to look everywhere at once.

  “A city full of enemies,” Viera says when I ask her why she’s so tense. “Any Charre would love to put a knife in my back.”

  I can’t disagree with that statement. Most Solare would want to do the same.

  We make our way to the gates, pressing through the crowds of traders and merchants shifting in and out of the Charre capital, and two guards approach. Unlike Malo and his warriors, these do not wear any animal skins and are instead bare-chested, sporting leather skirts and sandals. Each of them hold spears, and wears a red feathered mantle. They look at me for a moment, apparently decide I’m no threat, and turn their attention to Viera.

  If the Solare aren’t worth attention, the Lunare get double.

  “What have you brought us today, Malo?” the lead guard says.

  “A priestess,” Malo replies, po
inting at me. “She’ll go to Jakkan, and you’ll see her soon. She hears Ignos, and says he wishes to give us miracles.”

  The warriors don’t believe Malo’s endorsement. They crack smiles, hide their laughter. I’m about to speak up when Malo continues, “This other one is Viera. A Lunare. Be careful of the weapon she holds, as it commands deadly power.”

  “Deadly power?” Now the guards are interested. “We can’t let her have it, then. Not if you mean to take her inside the city.”

  “You know the terms,” Viera says this in Lunare tongue to Malo, and I translate when the guards stare and Malo looks to me.

  “She says she won’t give it up.” I try to shrug, like it’s just not going to happen, but I don’t think they buy it.

  “Unless you can make her?” Malo asks.

  “I can’t,” I reply.

  I don’t want to try. There are certain things that I’m willing to risk for my friends, but disarming one of them in a place so obviously hostile? That seems like a bad idea.

  Malo nods, apparently respecting my situation. Then he turns to Viera, who matches Malo’s look with a defiant glare of her own. I don’t catch it, but Malo darts forward, so fast, and grabs Viera’s right arm. Keeps it away from the pistol.

  The guards are almost as quick, and they have Viera restrained in moments. One of the guards untangles a rope from a loop on his skirt and ties Viera’s wrists together.

  Malo pulls the pistol, carefully, from Viera’s holster. The Charre chieftain holds it in both hands, looking at it as though sight alone will reveal its secrets to him.

  “Give that back.” Viera struggles, but she’s not making any headway.

  “Tell her I’m sorry, but Viera can’t be permitted to roam the city armed,” Malo says to me.

  “Stop fighting,” I tell Viera. “You’re only going to make it worse. They may just decide to kill you. How’s that going to help?”