Clarity's Dawn Page 7

  The words become a jumble as more species and organizations tumble out of Jel’s mouth and, despite myself, I tune Jel out again and focus on the more visceral differences I’m seeing between here and Nasiya’s buildings. First and foremost, the Wem seem to be fans of yellower, softer light. The glow suffuses everything, though I’m never quite sure where it comes from. As we leave the swirling paints behind and enter what appears to be some form of dormitory, the gold bricks that make up the place have their own luminescence. I brush my hand on one of the shining stones and glance at my fingers; they’re coated with a fine dust that, like a far off star, twinkles.

  Every breath I take, too, brings with it flowery perfume from the gardens outside, smells that take me back to the jungle, and ones far different from the sterile efficiency of the Hasir buildings. A constant, soft breeze keeps the air moving and the temperature cooler than I’d like, but not so cold that I’m uncomfortable. Viera looks right at home, while Malo, like me, rubs his arms as we move.

  “Not all the Wem stay here,” Jel is saying, gesturing with a stubby green arm up at the rows of rooms. “Most who do use this as a temporary refuge, to get away from the chaos of the city.”

  “Or to hide from a crime?” Viera asks.

  I give the Lunare a sharp glance, but Jel’s laugh cuts any embarrassment.

  “If necessary,” Jel says. “We try to keep as much of our work out of the grime as we can, but sometimes change requires a sleight hand.”

  “And gray morals,” Viera adds.

  “You will starve on virtue alone,” Jel acknowledges. “Still, we are not Clarity’s Dawn. We do not seek to destroy, only change.”

  The title tickles a memory, but before I can ask a question, we’re moving again. The rooms, unlike the cells in the prison, open onto vine-wrapped balconies, and a pair of waterfalls trickle down on either side of a wide, tan platform that we board. At ground level around us, tall trees rise, sporting long tendrils ending in bright pink blooms. As soon as Malo steps on the platform, Jel does something I don’t catch and the platform begins to rise.

  Viera snares Jel in conversation and I take the opportunity to slide near Malo and ask him what he thinks.

  “In these last days, Kaishi, I have seen more wonders than I thought possible,” Malo says, but his voice carries caution with it, and I note that he’s speaking our tongue, not the so-called common language used by every species we’ve seen so far.

  “But?”

  “Everyone we’ve met appears to want to use us for something. I can’t believe these ‘Wem’ will be any different.”

  I chew on that for a second. Malo’s right, of that I don’t have any doubt. Nobody, not even my father and my tribe, would treat visitors with so much hospitality unless there was something they believed they would get in return.

  “Malo, I’m starting to believe that’s what our lives are,” I say. “When we were young, we had to obey our elders, our superiors, and, above them, our gods. This isn’t all that different.”

  The platform continues up, past the rooms and still higher, above the top of the chamber and into a tunnel bordered on all sides by those glowing bricks.

  “There’s a difference being told what to do by your parents, by the people you trust, or the gods you worship. They, at least, care about you. These things? Kaishi, I feel they would throw us away in a moment if we were of no use to them.”

  “You think they could throw us away? You? Warrior of the Charre?”

  I mean the words to bulk up Malo’s spirit, bring a laugh or a smile to his face, but all I get is a grimace.

  “I couldn’t protect you back on Earth. I didn’t save you on Cobalt. Why think I can protect you here?”

  “Because you promised me,” I reply. “And my general doesn’t break promises.”

  That, at least, gets a rueful grin. A small nod of thanks.

  The ceiling parts above us and the platform breaks out into the open air. We’re on top of the huge building, on a spire that rises over the main roof. Glass encircles us, and I can see, around the sandy ground, the circular garden spreading out around the structure. Beyond the green, buildings rise up, though in a more patchwork fashion than the concentrated metropolis we first landed in.

  “Vimelia’s city never truly ends,” Jel says as we take in the view. “But it does quiet from time to time. We chose this place precisely because it sits beyond the clamber, because it forces us to see natural beauty. Remind ourselves that we strive for nature’s harmony, not a forced structure.”

  “How?” I ask. “You talk about taking over the Sevora, about changing what your species, but how? The Hasir, and Nasiya, seem to have so much more than you.”

  “The Sevora blow like a leaf in this eternal wind,” Jel replies. “A strong gust in our direction could, in one stroke, give us the planet. I hope that gust will be you.”

  “Never been a gust before,” Viera says. “Do I wave my arms like this?”

  The Lunare sweeps her hands from side to side and I roll my eyes. Malo looks away, shaking his head. Jel, though, says nothing, and Viera, seeing nobody appreciating her jest, settles into a humph.

  “No, there is one thing that must happen before we go any farther,” Jel says, and by the sudden weight in its tone, I can tell our happy tour is at an end. “We have members who have earned their chance to make a difference. Earned a chance to try. Earned a host such as yourselves.”

  There’s a heavy silence.

  One I break.

  “You want to infect us.”

  “This is the Sevora home, human,” Jel says. “To be here, you must be one of us.”

  “Ignos couldn’t control me,” I reply, the thought of another creature in my head injecting acid into my voice. “Your Sevora won’t get what they want.”

  “One test does not make a thorough experiment,” Jel replies, and I notice now that its two hands have slipped beneath its strange robe. It’s not difficult to imagine a miner or two hiding beneath those folds. “Either we will prove you are not all you claim to be, and gain a new host species, or we will have the guides in place to ensure you know what to say and when to say it.”

  “Not happening,” I say. Malo shifts behind me, getting ready. Viera, too, faces Jel, her hands loose. “I’m not letting any of you in my head ever again.”

  I have no idea if Jel understands my words - the Whelk sits there, its gooey mass playing about like a line of drippy tree sap. Malo and Viera take up positions on either side of me, and now it’s the three of us on one side of the platform, and Jel on the other. Viera, who a moment ago had seemingly been the best of friends with Jel, wears the hardest expression of us; pure loathing etches into her face and I’m very glad the Lunare’s with me instead of the other way around.

  “Again?” Jel asks. “I didn’t know any of you had the joy of being a host before?”

  “It wasn’t intentional,” I reply.

  The platform judders, then begins to descend back into the building. For a moment, I think our shot at escape vanishes with those glass walls, but we don’t have any tools to break them with anyway.

  “And now you are unhosted,” Jel says the word the same way I might say ‘diseased’.

  “We’re free, if that’s what you mean,” Viera speaks up. “We’re staying that way too. So find another way to prove your point, or let us go.”

  The glowing bricks again surround us, locking the tension into that little platform.

  “The Sevora will never listen to one that isn’t a part of us,” Jel says, and it tucks its arms back beneath the robes. “It would not have to be a permanent situation, but at first, it will be necessary.”

  Jel makes a certain sort of sense - I don’t think the Solare or the Charre tribes back on Earth would listen to Viera without me or Malo vouching for her. But there’s a wide chasm between supporting someone and letting a creature infest your mind.

  “Necessary for you,” I say. “We have no stake in your fight. All we want
is a ship off this planet and back to ours.”

  Viera shoots me a look and I realize I’ve made a mistake. Given away something we need, and by the way Jel quivers - a motion which sends a side of my stomach twisting - the Whelk caught it.

  “Ships can be arranged,” Jel replies slowly. “Our planet is, however, engaged in a long-running, costly war. Sparing a vessel to take you home would require resources. Would need payment. I think you know how to deliver that.”

  The platform keeps moving and scenarios play out like lightning in my mind; if I agree with the creature, we submit, and they stick their friends inside us. If things go well, and Jel’s faction gets what they want, why would they bother letting us go? If it goes poorly, then Nasiya has us all killed or stuffed with his own Sevora.

  I don’t have to look at Malo and Viera to know they’ve reached the same conclusion.

  “Take it,” I say in the Charre tongue. “Jel’s our only way out of here.”

  Malo moves faster than I think possible; he dives forward, his shoulder slamming into Jel’s bulk while his hands scrabble for its arms, trying to keep them from drawing whatever the Whelk has in its pockets. Jel utters a surprised warble as it hits the bricks going by, and almost gets its left arm free before Viera arrives. The Lunare tears the small miner from Jel’s grip and places the weapon up close towards Jel’s huge head.

  “Or,” I say. “You can give it to us to be nice. That’s what friends do, right?”

  The platform sinks beneath the bricks and back into the large dormitory. The first chance we’ll have of being discovered, and it’s a chance we immediately lose: there’s plenty of creatures walking across the balconies, waiting for the platform, or chattering with one another. It only takes a single loud burble from Jel before plenty of types of eyes turn our way.

  “I’m thinking we’ll be running from this one,” Viera says.

  “We use the hostage.” Malo adjusts his grip and his hands dig deeper into Jel’s apparently soft skin.

  “You’re only hurting my host,” Jel says, its voice suddenly tight, and I wonder if Malo’s squeezing the thing that allows the Whelk to talk. “You’ll only kill the Whelk. You have no leverage, except a surrender.”

  “Throw it,” I say.

  The platform’s just about at the highest floor of the dormitory, the one with the fewest gawkers on it. We’ll be dead or captured if we stay here in the open - I learned that much in the jungle.

  Malo obeys, giving Viera a moment to shift back to my side, and then, with Jel protesting, he shoves the Whelk forward against the platform’s railing. The Charre warrior grunts, squats, and starts to lift Jel over as the platform settles onto the third floor landing.

  We’re out of time.

  “Cover us!” I shout to Viera, and I dash forward, planting my hands against Jel’s body as Malo lifts the squirming Whelk over the railing.

  Jel’s skin is cold, clammy, and altogether disgusting - like grabbing a rotting fruit from a puddle, but my shove is enough to tip Jel over the edge, toppling the Whelk off the platform and down towards the ground floor. It strikes with a wet splat, and I turn away from the carnage. Part of me notes that I’ve just killed another species for the first time, and I quash any guilty thoughts by reminding myself that the Whelk lost itself to the Sevora long ago.

  “Take another step and I’ll shoot you. And you. Several times.” Viera’s threats accompany Malo and I off the platform and onto the wide balcony that wraps around the level.

  A pair of confused Flaum, hands empty and wearing the same robe Jel worse, face us. Those badges are there too - the painted ones. If these Flaum, or, really, the Sevora controlling them, have any courage, however, it vanishes when they look down to see what’s become of their leader. Both of them slide against the wall and wave us by.

  We go.

  We have no plan, no idea of how to get out, but we move. My feet pound against the hard floor and I throw glances at every room we run past, looking for some way down or out. Mostly, I have no idea what I’m looking at. One has a series of nets hanging from the ceiling. Another a pool of purple-blank ink in the ground, and the third looks like a miniature flower garden, though many of the blossoms have been eaten.

  “What are these things?” I say without realizing it.

  “No idea,” Viera huffs in front of me. “Is it bad that I kind of want to stay here and figure that out?”

  “It’s your choice.” Malo replies from the back.

  Shouts follow us now from below, and I’ve no doubt the platform is moving down to the ground to pick up someone armed with more than fear. We’re almost at the end of this side, and I’m hoping that something shows up soon or this escape attempt is going to be real short-lived. Already, looking back, I see a half-dozen Flaum pouring off of the platform and starting after us.

  We hit the back wall of the level and there’s nothing there. Another room on our right, and the balcony continues around in a long U that will only bring us to the people we’re trying to avoid. I hear a pop, and see Malo’s holding a miner now too. Another small one, just like Viera’s. His shot goes wide of the approaching force, but they duck down into cover.

  “They’re not shooting back,” Viera says as she presses me down behind the railing.

  “Because we’re only valuable to them alive,” I reply, my eyes stuck on Malo’s miner.

  Idea.

  “Give me your miner,” I tell Viera, and the Lunare hesitates. “I said give it to me.”

  This time I inject my best empress tone, the one that suggests all sorts of terrible things if I don’t get what I want. Viera, understands and hands over her weapon without complaint. As soon as I get my fingers around the hilt, I turn and, yelling Malo’s name, throw the miner across the space between us and the Wem guards.

  Malo gets it.

  Aims.

  Shoots.

  Everyone’s watching my thrown miner, the guards with confused disbelief, and thus everyone sees Malo’s shot miss and bury itself into the side wall splitting a pair of rooms. I’m about to panic as one of the guards catches the miner with its furry Flaum hand, aims it back at us —

  Malo fires again.

  I can tell he doesn’t miss because everything flares staccato white for a moment and there’s a rippling sound, like a massive scroll of paper being torn again and again. Heat washes over me in waves as I fall back against the wall, away from the balcony. My nose stings - who knows what I’m breathing in, but it’s not natural.

  When the fire doesn’t die right away, when the bangs roll over us in waves, I realize this isn’t what I expected. I’d thrown one miner, but our whole level is shaking.

  Oh wait. The guards. They must have been carrying their own weapons.

  I open my eyes slow. Blink away the smoke. Look to where the guards stood a moment ago and there’s only charred remnants of a balcony there. A concave divot splits the gap, those glowing bricks looking awful black now. I can’t see any sign of the guards and I don’t look too hard because I’m going to have enough nightmares as it is.

  “Let’s go,” Viera says, and I’m only too happy to jump up to my feet, but hesitate when she goes back by Malo, towards the gap.

  “Wrong way?” I venture.

  “You just gave us our stairs,” Viera points and while I wouldn’t go so far as to call the wreckage ‘stairs’, there’s definitely a jagged, ruined pile of debris leading down to the second level.

  “It’s a path,” Malo agrees, and amid shocked yelps from the survivors below, we get moving.

  Viera’s ladder is a messy mix of shattered brick, twisted balcony railing, and torn things that, I’m confident, were worn not long ago by living, breathing,

  Slaves.

  The word sneaks into my head and stays there. None of those creatures came after us on their own, none of them controlled their arms and legs and tails or whatever they had. We killed them and it hadn’t even been their choice to be there.

  I pick from foo
thold to handhold, smoke and fizzy mist floating around me, and resolve never to let a Sevora in my mind again.

  “I don’t think we can pull the same trick a second time,” Malo says as we assemble on the second level.

  The piled debris block us from the platform, and there doesn’t seem to be a stair in sight. But I realize we don’t need one. Stretching up around us are strange, tree-like things; looping deep green trunks covered in bright pink flowers. Compared to a jungle tree, scaling one of these would be easy.

  Down below, what Wem still in the dormitory are scattering, apparently the threat of death means more to the Sevora than it does to us.

  “Just like home, Malo!” I shout, then take a step and leap through the air into a tree.

  I catch myself one of the long thick branches, and immediately scramble down a limb of softer-than-wood material, placing one hand and foot after another towards the ground. I can’t take time to look back up to tell if Viera and Malo are following, so I just move. Climb to the ground. Waiting for me when I step away from the ridged blue-green are a pair of gray-uniformed Flaum, who throw nervous looks at each other as I face them.

  Yet they come towards me, holding nothing but their own claws.

  “I’m not coming with you,” I say to them.

  “It’s not your choice to make,” the left one replies. “How you come with us is. Either unharmed, or otherwise.”

  I drop into a stance, extending my left knee and arm forward. Wait. They rush me at the same time, splitting themselves just slightly. I wonder why they don’t use miners, and then assume all their weapons were blown to pieces with the actual guards.

  I duck and weave around their swings. Flashback to games in the jungle, to exercises with Malo and the other Charre troops. I curl around one claw, slip under another. The swipes are slow, clumsy. These aren’t soldiers, but I focus on evasion, on staying alive long enough to take advantage of some other chance that comes my way.

  Shouts ring from behind me; Malo and Viera making my same journey down the tree, joining the fray. Malo grabs one of the Flaum from behind, wraps his arm around the creature’s neck and then flips it over his back shoulder, throwing the creature to the ground. Viera has less luck, perhaps not as accustomed to hands and feet brawling as Malo.