A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [13]
“I wish to send another message to Theroc, Father.”
Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h frowned, leaning back in his chrysalis chair, as if relaxing into the telepathic connection of thism. “I sense that you are thinking of that human female again. You should not allow her to kindle such an obsession in you. It can only disrupt your more important duties here. She is long dead.”
Jora’h knew the corpulent leader was correct, but he could not forget Nira’s smile and the joy that she had brought him. Before coming here, he had gone to the skysphere arboretum. One particular chamber had been used to house the Theron treelings. By now, the greenhouse had been replanted with salmon pink Comptor lilies and crimson poppies, swelling the humid air with heady perfumes. Five years ago, when he had returned from Theroc to learn the terrible news, he had stared in horrified awe at the scars from the inexplicable conflagration.
There had been no bodies left to send back to Theroc. And the worldtrees were already burning by the time Nira and Otema arrived to fight the fire, so they had been unable to send any last messages through telink. Everything had been lost. Grieving, Jora’h had explained the tragedy to his friend Reynald in a special communiqué delivered by a Solar Navy ship.
By now the ashes and soot stains had been scoured clean, but the memories and the sadness remained. In his heart, Jora’h had never accepted that Nira was dead. If only he had been here, he would not have let any harm come to her…
Sensing his son’s sadness through the web of thism, Cyroc’h nodded somberly. “You will carry many burdens when you ascend to take my place. It is your destiny, my son, to feel the pain of all our people.”
Jora’h‘s tiny golden braids flickered like tendrils of smoke. “Nevertheless, I would like to send a new message to Reynald, in memory of the two green priests. We did not send the ashes or the skulls back to them.” He spread his hands. “It is such a small thing, Father.”
The Mage-Imperator smiled indulgently. “You know I cannot deny you.” The ropelike braid that hung from his head coiled around his pudgy stomach and twitched, as if the great leader were annoyed.
Relieved, Jora’h held out an etched-diamondfilm plaque. “Here, I have composed another letter for Reynald to share among the green priests on Theroc. I would like to dispatch it with one of our commercial vessels.”
The leader reached out to take the message. “It may require some time and a roundabout route. Theroc is not a frequently visited world.”
“I know, Father, but at least it’s something I can do. It is my way of maintaining contact.”
Cyroc’h held the shimmering glassy plaque. “You must not think of the human woman again.”
“Thank you for granting me this favor.” Jora’h backed out of the chamber and departed with a spring in his step.
As soon as he was gone, the Mage-Imperator summoned his bodyguard forward. “Take this and destroy it. Make certain Jora’h is not allowed to send any message to Theroc.”
Bron’n took the diamondfilm letter in his clawed hands and, with great strength, snapped it in half. He would incinerate the pieces in a power plant furnace. “Yes, Liege. I understand.”
5
NIRA KHALI
Standing inside the Dobro breeding camp, isolated but joined by hundreds of other human test subjects, Nira stared through the thin fences. The fences were a mere formality to demarcate boundaries, a convenience for the captors, since the prisoners had no place to go.
The camp was situated at the foot of mountains to the east, rolling grassy hills to the west, with dry lakes and bleak terrain in a central valley. The ground itself was striated with arroyos cut by furious washes of rain, making it look as if the skin of the world had stretched too fast and broken open like festering scabs.
For five years as a prisoner of the Ildiran Empire, she had held on to her inner self, just staying alive despite all the unspeakable