The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [10]
Estarra went next, calling out encouragement to the people still evacuating. Peter followed. Smoke and steam oozed from between the bark plates, burning his hands, but he didn’t let go.
The compy reached the ground first and turned to wait for the King and Queen. He adjusted the wet wrappings around the infant, keeping Reynald secured to his solid chest. By now the wildfire had caught on the grasses and flowers; shrubs burst into fireballs. Above them, the fungus reef was fully engulfed, and orange flames spat from the upper balconies and windows.
Peter dropped the rest of the way to the ground. “To the edge of the meadow!”
Like solar flares, living arcs of fire sprang from torch tree to torch tree. With a crack like an incandescent bullwhip, another majestic worldtree succumbed to the fiery elementals. Its interlocked canopy of fronds became a ceiling of orange embers; smaller branches caught and transmitted sparks to adjacent ones.
While OX hurried ahead of them, carrying the baby, Estarra kept her head down and ran. But, before they could follow the evacuees into the dense surrounding forest, flames cut them off. The perimeter of the grove formed a burning wall, forcing OX to halt ahead of them.
With a crack and a roar, a thick branch broke loose from above, and a clump of flaming fronds crashed directly down onto the compy in a feathery spray of sparks and embers.
Estarra screamed for the baby. Peter shielded his stinging eyes and dove toward them, but he knew he was too late to save his son.
The little compy pushed his way out, knocking aside the blazing fronds. He kept his synthetic body hunched over, arms wrapped protectively around Reynald. OX’s polymer skin was damaged; ash and soot were smeared like war paint on his smooth face, but his systems still functioned.
Estarra raced forward in panic to retrieve Reynald. Peeling the steaming blanket away, Peter checked to make sure the baby hadn’t been burned. The little boy was wailing, but very much alive.
Green grass smoldered around them, making the smoke burn like acid in their lungs. Estarra pointed desperately across the meadow to the diamond sphere of the hydrogue derelict, which OX had flown during their escape from Earth. “There! That’s our only way out!”
With nowhere else to run, they crashed through the embers of underbrush until they reached the small alien ship. Thankfully, the hatch had been left open. As flames flicked at their heels, Peter and Estarra, along with OX and the baby, clambered inside. Peter sealed the doorway behind them, and the sudden silence made his ears pop. They slapped at the ashes burning their garments, wheezing, coughing, frightened, and shaking with exertion. But safe.
Through the transparent curved wall, they watched angry flames engulf the rest of the meadow and then rush over them.
* * *
3
Chairman Basil Wenceslas
Outside in the Palace District’s main square, the Archfather of Unison carried an elaborate shepherd’s crook. He wore golden damask robes ornamented with frills and simulated brocades, and he looked like a jovial old uncle with a long, bushy white beard. The religious spokesman delivered another rousing speech, carefully scripted by Chairman Wenceslas.
People could so easily be distracted without a firm hand to guide them.
When properly motivated, the Archfather, a former actor, could really tug on the heartstrings of an audience. Unfortunately, though, during recent coaching sessions the man had begun to express doubts about the Chairman’s agenda. The Archfather had spent altogether too much time reviewing images of the bloody Usk pogrom. Initially, he had been enthusiastic about delivering a stern message to the upstart colony world — razing the farming town, crucifying the defiant town elders — yet he now questioned the necessity of such actions.
In times like these, Basil expected his underlings to do what they were