Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [97]
He and Rusa’h walked together in the nialia fields, far from the bright cluster of glowing lights. In rebuilding Hyrillka, Thor’h had invested the greatest efforts in restoring the ornate citadel palace that had been blasted into rubble. Because he so desperately wanted Hyrillka to be as it was during his happiest years, Thor’h had spent disproportionate time and effort restoring the sculptures, friezes, tilework, fountains, and furnishings, even the thick vines that had covered the open structure. The work had helped him to brush away the lingering scars from his own helpless terror during the attack. He had accomplished something.
Thor’h did not want to relinquish this lovely world for the obligations of the PrismPalace, though he knew he would have to. But not yet…
Rusa’h strolled beside and slightly ahead of him. The recovering Designate was oddly silent as he walked in the shadows between long rows of thick nialia vines. The petals of the male counterparts fluttered, disturbed by their passage. Rooted to the ground, the female vine clusters twitched and waved, agitated.
“Shiing production is already restored, Uncle,” Thor’h said, catching up with him. The processed drug was popular in the Ildiran Empire, offering a giddy, euphoric feeling of detached clarity and vivid luminosity, as if the partaker could see the Lightsource more closely. “The nialias grow quickly, and I’ve spared no expense on proper fertilizers and chemical attractants. The hydrogue icewaves made the fields wither and die, but this year’s harvest will be almost back to normal. Shiing will still be our primary export.”
Rusa’h continued to walk, silent and unconcerned. The Designate did not seem to enjoy conversation as much as he once had. In the past, Thor’h and Rusa’h had shared an enthusiasm for watching dancers, rememberers, artists, and singers, as well as the skyparades that took place every time Solar Navy ships arrived on Hyrillka. Designate Rusa’h had passionately adored his pleasure mates and nearly died while trying to rescue them.
But now that they had returned to Hyrillka at last, Rusa’h refused to take part in any grand celebrations. He was distant, beyond such things, as if only a part of him had returned from the light-drenched plane where his mind had been trapped in long unconsciousness. Pleasure mates surrounded him in the rebuilt citadel palace, but though he accepted their company, Rusa’h was no longer interested in their seductive wiles.
Thor’h frowned in concern at the uncommunicative Designate. “What…what is it, Uncle?”
Rusa’h let his fingers trail along the fleshy leaves of the nialias. “I am listening for the plantmoths. Shiing is more than just a drug, Thor’h—it carries an important component of the Lightsource, like vibrant and flowing blood.” His voice was soft and distant.
Thor’h looked at the familiar growth alongside the silvery irrigation canals. Even under the dim orange sunlight, the long rows of nialias were aflutter with newly hatched and drifting plantmoths searching from vine to vine before choosing an appropriate mate.
Nialias were an unusual half-plant, half-animal life form. The main woody body grew rooted in the ground, while the mobile male form manifested as a whitish-silver moth. In its youth, a bulbous bud split open, and the male nialia plantmoth took flight, enjoying the light, flitting about in the air.
Connected to the thick and twisted stalks, the female nialia flower was a handsbreadth wide with lavender and powder-blue petals. At its center, a white ring of feathery stamens covered with pollen rose like outstretched hands, beckoning the searching males with cloying perfume, tempting them to give up their freedom to settle upon the female stem and begin the cross-fertilization.
As Thor’h watched, one of the males circled a potent-smelling female flower. The Hyrillka Designate stared with a strange intensity, as if using mental powers to make the male land. Finally, the silver-white flying creature dropped down onto the petals and inserted his legs deep into the pollen ring. Slowly, gently,