A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [254]
But everything he currently understood might change the moment he became the center of the thism. The Lightsource would reveal many truths to him.
When Jora’h spoke, his voice was loud and firm. The people sucked in a quick breath, awed to hear him.
“The Empire needs a new Mage-Imperator. The thism must be retied; our people must be made whole again. We have been adrift for days, and that is long enough. Too long. By ascending today, I will become your new strength. I will see the path and lead us onward in these terrible times.”
He opened his robe, spreading the immaculate fabric like the parting petals of a flower, and stood naked before his people. Soon, he would know all of them, their faint thoughts, their fears, their dreams. He felt no shame exposing himself in such a manner, not for this vitally important ceremony.
All of the Empire must participate. The Prime Designate had to show that his family was strong.
His son Thor’h had returned from his reconstruction work on Hyrillka, drawn back home by the death of the Mage-Imperator. The young man had stayed long enough on scarred Hyrillka to initiate many necessary repairs and construction projects. Now Thor’h would remain here in the PrismPalace, where he would accept the formal mantle of the Prime Designate.
Jora’h had given orders that new doctors be sent to tend Rusa’h in his deep sub-thism sleep. He had many brothers and many sons, but as Prime Designate, as Mage-Imperator, he would not easily lose one of them—not even the contemptible Udru’h, who had kidnapped and tortured Nira for so many years. They would all shift their positions now, taking on new responsibilities, transitioning through their ranks as necessary by Ildiran custom and law.
Jora’h lay back in the immense chair. It seemed to welcome him, feeling both strange and familiar at the same time.
The medical kithmen came closer and inspected him, marking a faint line where they would make the cut. Jora’h flinched, but forced himself to stare out into the nearest circle of observers.
His eldest son, Tal Zan’nh, stood in that circle wearing an immaculate Solar Navy uniform. Jora’h had just learned, to his shock, about Adar Kori’nh’s suicidal attack on Qronha 3. A septa of fast streamers had arrived with the images of how the Adar’s renegade cohort had successfully destroyed nearly fifty hydrogue warglobes, though at the cost of many lives.
Near his son, Jora’h also saw the Dobro Designate standing grim and firm. Udru’h was smiling, confident. Perhaps he thought the new Mage-Imperator would understand and agree with the breeding plans, as soon as he had full access to the thism…
Fighting his anger, Jora’h once again vowed that, as soon as he became Mage-Imperator, he would rescue Nira and free all the breeder captives on Dobro. He would put an end to the terrible experiments and bring the prodigal humans back to the Terran Hanseatic League—though after so many generations, he doubted any of them knew of their origins.
Prepared now, the medical kithmen drew their knives in unison with a singing sound of finely honed metal. The audience fell instantly silent and intent, as if they had turned into statues.
Jora’h braced himself and reached out with his mind for the unraveling threads of thism, grasping and binding the strands that would once again hold the Ildiran race together. He knew it would hurt, that the pain was part of the ritual. He drew a quick breath—
The slash was swift and sure, and the bright explosion of neon fire behind his eyes helped him to focus, to raise his mind to a new level of awareness, glimpsing the perfect plane of the Lightsource. His thoughts became a projectile.
Jora’h‘s involuntary