The council convened in a moot, though the seating arrangements had changed. Iconoclast and Lord Freak took to one side. Nomatrius Dorucanthos took Memoire's customary seat, alone on his side of the table. Pauldros the Stonemaker sat alone. Neither Memoire nor the Pit were in attendance, for Lord Freak had not been able to find the former, and the latter was sleeping in one of the guest rooms, guarded by two Warriors.
(To protect her from the Federation? Or to protect the Council from her?)
Luminary was in her usual place at the table's northern side. She was looking at each of them in turn. Yes, she would need to find a new Seat of Secrets and Rituals and a new Seat of Magic, when this was over. But there was little that could be done.
Her exhaustion was showing through. She had fallen unconscious soon after the battle, and had only just stirred from slumber within the last few hours. Mister Meaning attended to her, hanging to her right like a vulture.
It had been six hours since the Sovereign Melody and Pagan Chorus had erupted from the Traveling Point. The fires they had set in the forests surrounding Mt. Redress had been put out. The dead had been gathered, row after row in one of the larger caverns, covered in white sheets. Those who were left mourned. Shuddering, empty cries echoed down Mt. Redress’s halls.
If one strained, they could even be heard from the Council room.
None of the Councilmembers chose to concentrate on this. Instead, they all listened as Pocket, the only confirmed survivor of Impellia III, finished her report.
“As far as I'm aware, we're cut off,” she said, “Pagan Chorus hit us hard. Sent teams out to every listening post on the planet.”
“But you don't know for certain,” Nomatrius Dorucanthos said.
Pocket shook her head.
“No,” she said, “I'm not. I can only tell you what the chatter was before I started heading for the Traveling Point.”
“The fact that no one has sent a message via Silverfish strengthens your theory,” Luminary said, “No word, yet. We should send a team through, see what's going on there.”
She breathed out an anxious sigh.
“Water, please, water,” she said.
Mister Meaning opened up his chest, produced a water bottle, handed it to her. Luminary's hands shook as she twisted off the cap, and took a long drink.
“What's the status of the Sovereign Melody?” she croaked.
“High above,” Iconoclast said, “Shields are still down. You did good.”
“We need to act fast,” Luminary said, “I need you to assemble a team to bring the ship down. Do whatever you can.”
Iconoclast nodded. He stood up at once.
“I'll have Riah Truegale start gathering Warriors,” he said, “We strike.”
“Stonemaker,” Luminary said.
Pauldros didn't respond. Like Luminary, he looked exhausted. Shearing and repairing the entire mountain had done a number on him. His bright eyes were sunken, and he looked as though he had been running all night.
“Stonemaker,” Luminary repeated.
He looked up at her.
“How does the mountain fare?”
“As well as it needs to,” Pauldros muttered, “It will not survive a full glassing. But it can take another hit like the one we saw last night.”
He shook himself from his stupor.
“We should reach out to Lunus Oculus and the Oshya:de,” he said.
“That is another matter entirely,” Luminary said, shaking her head, “We have more pressing concerns at the moment.”
“They're a dagger waiting to strike our backs,” Lord Freak said, “There should at least be some sort of truce with them. To bring protestors back into the fold. And then, when this is over, we can make a move against the Oshya:de.”
Pauldros's eyes widened at this.
“You're not serious,” he said.
Lord Freak turned to the Stonemaker, his shark-toothed smile wide.
“They still remain a problem,” he said, “They will be a problem afterwards. If we are able to align the dissenters under our banner, remind them of our common enemy, we will be more versatile in our response.”
“You're talking about another genocide,” Pauldros said, “I won't be... I won't be party to that.”
He looked about ready to vomit.
“I can't be party to that.”
“You've done it once before,” Lord Freak said, “And-”
“NOT AGAIN!”
He screamed this, and the mountain shook. Pauldros was on his feet, and though he was unsteady he glared at the Council.
“All of you,” he said, “All of you… talking like this. Or agreeing to it. Or… Or…”
He hung his head, looking worn down. Beaten and trodden upon.
“Do we need to put you down, too?” Luminary said, “Like the Pit?”
“Try that, and I collapse the entire complex,” Pauldros said.
“You would kill your own people,” Luminary said, “Thousands of Workers are here. Innocent people, who are protesting the very same thing that you are. Only, they don't have the regret that you do. They don't have the guilt. You'd just be doing Valm's work for him.”
Pauldros was quiet.
“Work on protecting the mountain,” Luminary said, “You won't need to do anything else.”
“...I will do this,” Pauldros said miserably.
He walked out of the room. Pocket looked uncomfortable.
“You have a wife, yes?” Luminary said.
Pocket nodded.
“Go to her,” Luminary said, “You will be called upon soon.”
“Right,” Pocket said, and she saluted, and took her leave as well.
Nomatrius Dorucanthos watched the Warrior leave, before looking to Luminary.
“Well,” he said, “This has certainly shaken things up quite a bit.”
He noted the Founder looking at him. Nomatrius returned the look with a half-glare.
“You're wondering where I stand, in all of that,” he said.
“Yes,” Luminary said.
The patriarch of the Dorucanthos family sighed. Rapped knuckles against the table, words juggling on his lips.
“I'll stand with the nation,” he decided, “It's not easy. It's not kind. I already know a few of my children aren't going to talk to me, when this is over. But there's a High Federation starship flying over the place that I've chosen as my home.”
He looked down at the table.
(And felt like he was signing away his soul.)
“I stand with New Ludaya,” he said, “Tell me what to do, Luminary.”
***
“What do we do?” Tekahentakwa asked.
She sat in with the other Clan Mothers, and her brother, Hadawa'ko. They were sitting outside, away from the barn and Amoeboy's houses. A campfire burned around them as they discussed their options. Hadawa'ko's warriors paced around the perimeter.
They were away, most importantly, from the metahumans. Many of them looked aghast. Scared beyond all senses. They paced the commune, occasionally looking up at the night sky, as though at any moment it would come crashing down.
“The arrival of this 'High Federation' changes things,” Hadawa'ko said, “They are a potential ally.”
“They are a potential enemy, as well,” Wá:ri said, “I have spoken with Professor Evancar Morandus. He has nothing good to say about the High Federation.”
“I don't expect the High Federation to be our friends,” Hadawa'ko said, “But we may be able to use them to our advantage.”
“How so?” Otstoch asked.
“They want the metahumans gone, we want the metahumans gone,” Hadawa'ko said, “We share a common goal.”
“And what about those metahumans who have been helping us?” Tekahentakwa said, “Amoeboy, and Lunus Oculus. We have made an agreement with Myron Becenti that his guild will protect us, and he and Cobalt Joe are both metahumans.”
Hadawa'ko shook his head.
“That was before,” he said, “When we were negotiating with the metahumans, trying to recruit them to our cause. Even then, those who we recruited are overwhelmingly from the Worker class. They are not as powerful as the woman in white's loyalists.”
“And you think,” Otstoch said, “That the High Federation would be able to defeat them?”
“Yes,” the Warleader said, “It would not be a pretty war. But it would end with the metahumans being driven from our lands.”
“...And at what cost?” Tekahentakwa said.
Hadawa'ko looked at her.
“What?”
“We heard the explosions,” Tekahentakwa said, “The trail of refugees coming from the south.”
For, indeed, many New Ludayans, fearful of the large target that Father Mountain represented, had spread across Ganá:yeht. A neverending trail of survivors had gone to the Worker's town and the sandstone tower, or to the communes dotting the plane, or even into the forests.
“How do we know that the High Federation won't completely destroy our home?” Tekahentakwa said.
“It is true,” Wá:ri said, “Professor Morandus has told me about the High Federation's... 'glassings,' he calls them. They have the power to turn this land to glass and ash.”
Hadawa'ko grimaced, and looked away.
“If we do not pick a side, we will be caught in the middle,” he said, “If we do not act, the others will act for us.”
“We are acting,” Tekahentakwa said, “We are still keeping to our plans of disruption with those who choose to join us.”
“Will that be enough?” Hadawa'ko said.
“The alternative is unthinkable,” Tekahentakwa said, “I fear that if we choose to ally with the High Federation, we will be trading one group of oppressors for another. Our true freedom must come with those who would act with us out of solidarity.”
The council was silent. Tekahentakwa took a shuddering breath. She didn't know what she was saying, she felt. But there was a look in Hadawa'ko's eyes that scared her. He had been almost smiling when he had been listening to the explosions just hours before.
“We should speak with Lunus Oculus,” Degonwadonti said, “See what their response to the High Federation will be.”
“Agreed,” Otstoch said.
“I'll go to her,” Tekahentakwa said, “Hadawa'ko, will you join me?”
Her brother looked at her. He did not seem convinced by her arguments. But he nodded, nonetheless.
“Of course, Clan Mother,” he said, “I will join you.”
***
The brother and sister walked into Amoeboy's house to see a similar scene. Cobalt Joe was pacing the room, occasionally glancing out the window, as though at any moment the Federation would come flying down. Lunus Oculus and Amoeboy were at the table, the former with her hands steepled and shaking, the latter chewing a thin stick of straw. A paramecium the size of a small dog was in his lap, and Amoeboy was petting it, a leathered hand moving up and down where its ‘back.’ If the single-celled organism enjoyed it or not was a different matter.
Professor Morandus and Myron Becenti were there, as well. Evancar was leaning against the kitchen counter, a frank expression on his face. Becenti was at the table with Lunus and Amoeboy. If the Federation's arrival had scared him, he wasn't showing it. All business, was Myron Becenti.
(Only Joseph noted the slight shiver in his mentor's voice.)
“It looks like the Sovereign Melody,” Becenti said, nodding to Tekahentakwa, “Flagship of the guild known as Pagan Chorus.”
“And what is Pagan Chorus like?” Tekahentakwa asked.
“They function both as a guild, and as Valm's personal militia,” Becenti said, “An armed group outside of the Federation's military force that he can use as a scalpel.”
“Why just the one ship?” Cobalt Joe asked, “You'd think they'd send a fleet.”
“Pagan Chorus is large, but it is also spread thin,” Becenti said, “They serve the guildmaster's interests, and Valm's are multifarious.”
“No doubt they went ‘n’ thought that they could just glass the plane from orbit,” Amoeboy said, “Bah god, we were lucky.”
“Any word on the... ship, itself?” Hadawa'ko asked.
“Trailing north,” Lunus Oculus said, “A few people volunteered to tail it. Luminary took out its shields-”
(Joe suppressed a shiver, at the thought of such power.)
“-And it hasn't come back online.”
“They'll need to rest somewhere for repairs,” Becenti said, “Luminary brought down warbirds like that all the time, during the war. She'll have hit them harder than they'll have anticipated.”
“Jesus,” Joe said, “She's that powerful?”
Becenti nodded.
“Yes, Joe,” he said, “She is. She'll be out of commission for a while-”
“Then that is a moment to strike,” Hadawa'ko said.
They looked at him.
“She is weakened, yes?” the Warleader said, “We gather who we can, make for Mt. Redress.”
“And what of the Federation?” Becenti said, “They will still be here.”
“But we can negotiate with them,” Hadawa'ko said, “We can get them to leave us alone.”
“Then you do not understand them,” Becenti said, “You. I don't know your name.”
“Hadawa'ko, Warleader of the Oshya:de,” the young man puffed out his chest, unlooped his tomahawk and flipped it in his hands, “You are Myron Becenti. The Clan Mother has told me about you.”
“Yes,” Becenti said, “And I will tell you this. The Federation will not listen to you. They will claim to want to protect your home. Promise that they will leave when they are done. That they will try to keep damage to a minimum. But they will break every promise they make. Even sworn on the most holy of objects, they will break them.”
“But we are not like you,” Hadawa'ko said, “We are not metahuman.”
“That changes little,” Becenti said, “You are of the multiverse.”
“I am of Ganá:yeht!” Hadawa'ko said.
“And that, to them, is the multiverse,” Becenti replied, “They will stab you in the back, too. They will destroy Ganá:yeht, if it serves their interest.”
The Warleader glared at the older man. Tekahentakwa laid a hand on her brother's arm.
“What should we do?” she said.
“I will... talk. To Luminary.”
“Inconceivable,” Hadawa'ko snapped.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He started pacing the room now, still flipping the tomahawk in his hand.
“We need to come to an understanding,” Becenti said.
“I disagree,” Tekahentakwa said.
Her brother sneered in agreement.
“We will not talk to the woman in white,” Tekahentakwa said, “You mean to broker a truce with her.”
Becenti was quiet for a long moment.
And then, he nodded.
“I do,” he said.
“That is not an option for us,” Tekahentakwa said, “The woman in white has done just what your Federation has done. We do not trust her words. We do not trust what little promises she has made.”
“All the same,” Becenti said, “We need to come to an understanding. The High Federation's arrival here is a dark turn. They are worse than us-”
“I find that hard to believe,” Hadawa'ko said.
The older man suppressed a flinch. Lunus Oculus looked away. Cobalt Joe took note of the conversation's turn. At the way that Hadawa'ko held the tomahawk in his hand.
“You weren't there,” the Warleader said, “You weren't there during the initial discussion the woman in white had with our Clan Mothers and with our Chiefs. The hollow promises. The compromises she suggested to us, when we did not need to compromise at all.”
His eyes betrayed a dangerous glint.
“You weren't there when the Pit split open. You weren't there for any of it. The sky bled red. Father Mountain was forced to split into pieces and kill us, his own children. Entire family lines are gone. The boy, Guyasuta, is the last of Four Banner. Thousands of people, and he is the last of them. Every father and mother, brother and sister, gone! Gone!”
He was screaming now.
“And you tell me to talk to the woman who did this!” he said, “You sit here, all of you, and you debate, and you talk, but I see no action!”
“Hadawa'ko!” Tekahentakwa said.
Silence.
“You’re right,” Lunus Oculus said, and she glared at Hadawa’ko, “We weren’t there, were we?”
Hadawa’ko’s face contorted. And then went slack as he realized the full weight of her words.
“Enough of this,” he muttered, “We do not work with Luminary. We don’t believe her lies.”
And he turned. Stormed out of the room.
Out of the house, and out onto the plains. No one said a word.
Becenti was looking down at the table. Evancar took a moment to watch him.
“Well,” he said, “He's right.”
Becenti stood up at once, shot Evancar a truly loathsome glare. The Professor met it.
“Don't tell me that I'm not,” he said, “You haven't heard the stories I've heard, Becenti. That Luminary is a monster.”
“I...” Becenti said, “I'm going to step outside for a few moments.”
And he left too, leaving the rest of them alone.
“...So we don't talk to Luminary,” Cobalt Joe said, “That's fine with me. But if we don't do something, we're just going to be caught in the crossfire.”
“Agreed,” Tekahentakwa said, “The time has come for us to disperse. We should move into the shadows.”
“A few communication metahumans will be with each group, right?” Cobalt Joe said, “Stepping Stone and the others. That should work to our advantage.”
“Agreed,” Lunus Oculus said, “Get your warriors ready, Clan Mother. Things are only going to get more intense from here.”
***
The small, makeshift council split apart. Tekahentakwa stayed in the house to talk to the other Clan Mothers, along with Lunus Oculus. The metahumans who had escaped from the forest so late at night were streaming in, and were being attended to by Workers.
The Oshya:de watched the Workers. Quite a few New Ludayans were watching the Oshya:de as they set up camp. A few were wary of them, wondering if the Oshy:de would enact violence, retribution for the horrors Luminary and the Council had visited upon them.
But the Oshya:de kept to themselves, only interacting with those metahumans who had helped them on the great march to the plains. Campfires were set up. Food from other communes were spread out, to both metahuman and human alike. There was whisperish talk. Gentle sobs as a few tried to rock themselves to sleep. A few Workers were already disappearing, leaving the others to go out into the forests, in hopes that the plane would swallow them up and spare them the High Federation's wrath.
Joseph, Evancar, and Aldreia found Becenti alone, sitting on an outcropping of stone, feeding a few sticks into a meager fire.
“Mind if we join you?” Joe asked.
Becenti turned to look at his guildmates. Studied each of them, in turn. He shrugged, turning back to the fire.
Joseph, at least, took this as a sign to sit with his mentor. The others followed suit, a bit unsure of what to say to the older metahuman. There was a tension in Becenti's shoulders. He seemed angry, above all else.
“Nasir and Iandi left,” Joe said, “They're going with a couple of Oshya:de and metahumans to scout southwards.”
“They should be careful,” Becenti said, “If Pagan Chorus is here, then it will mean they will encounter resistance of the guild kind. Myriad and strange, in many ways.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, “They'll be careful, you know that.”
“Do I?” Becenti said.
“Come on, man,” Joe said, “It's Nasir and Iandi.”
Becenti, for a moment, seemed about to retort.
Then, shaking his head, he returned his attention to the fire.
“We should be leaving soon, too,” Aldreia said, “Most of us are leaving Amoeboy's commune.”
“Yes,” Becenti said, “That would be wise.”
He sighed, ran a hand through his graying hair.
“It feels as though no one understands just how bad this is going to get,” he said, “That boy, Hadawa'ko, is seeing the High Federation as a potential ally in all of this.”
“From their perspective, the High Federation could be,” Evancar said, “They don't know them like you do.”
“Enough with that,” Becenti growled.
“It's true,” Evancar said, “You know that. I've heard stories, about what Luminary did-”
“I said, enough!”
The heat splintered. The campfire collapsed. Becenti glared at the professor.
But Evancar did not flinch.
“Look,” Evancar said, “I know that you were friends with Luminary...”
“Watch yourself, Professor Morandus,” Becenti said.
“Seriously, Evancar,” Aldreia said, “Maybe you should-”
“No,” Evancar said, shaking his head, “I'm going to say what I want to say. All of this trip, you've been trying to put a muzzle on me, Becenti. I know that you didn't want me here-”
“I still don't,” Becenti said.
“Well, I'm here,” Evancar said, “And I'm going to tell you that the Luminary you know isn't the Luminary these people know. She's more of a butcher than the High Federation ever will be, to hem-”
“You don't think I don't know that?” Becenti said, “Luminary has done-”
“Awful things, I know,” Evancar said, “But as soon as the Federation shows up, you propose an alliance with them.”
Becenti deflated.
“It made... tactical sense,” he said.
“Tactical, sure,” Evancar said, “But try telling that to the Oshya:de. Tell that the only way to get the High Federation, these... these phantom overlords, off the plane, is to ally themselves with the very people who obliterated them.”
He gestured to the open air.
“I wouldn't do that. Would you?”
Becenti stared at the fire.
“No,” he said, “I suppose I wouldn't.”
Aldreia and Joseph looked at one another. There was a fire in Professor Morandus's eyes that had not been there before.
“I owe you an apology, Professor,” Becenti said, “I haven't been very fair to you.”
“You haven't,” Evancar said, “I suppose that is fair. We haven't seen eye to eye in the past. I wondered if there were ruins here, and...”
He shook his head.
“There were. And now we're in a mess of things.”
“This isn't the nation I thought it would be,” Becenti said, darkly, “This isn't the way I thought things would go. And now the Federation's here, and we're about to see things get worse. Again.”
Joe shrugged.
“Well, that's what we're here for, isn't it?” Joe said, “To make sure that things don't go to shit.”
“Easier said than done,” Becenti said, “Things already have gone to shit. People are dead, Joe. And if the Federation has its way, I fear it will leave all of Ganá:yeht a graveyard.”
***
“Brother, a word.”
Hadawa’ko turned. Tekahentakwa stood before him, the two away from the commune. Away from the rest of the Oshya:de, too. Alone, as they ever had been.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Hadawa’ko said, rolling his shoulders, “That I lost my temper.”
“You did,” Tekahentakwa said, “Not out of turn, but…”
“The wrong place,” Hadawa’ko said, “The wrong time.”
He sneered at this, though that quickly fell way into a look of complete anger. He looked out at the commune.
“Look at them,” he said, “The land they’ve built on used to have Dandelion Clan. Right there, there used to be Clan Mother Kase:waien’s longhouse. We used to play in there, remember? When mother would come to negotiate with her. Remember her kids?”
“I do,” Tekahentakwa said. Her face was flat. But he could see the rippling of emotion within her.
“Remember how we saw them die?” he said, “Torn apart, burned-”
“I don’t need you to remind me, Hadawa’ko,” the Clan Mother said, “I see it in my dreams well enough.”
Hadawa’ko’s face fell. Guilt welled up within him. It had been a low blow.
“Yes,” he said, “I suppose… yes.”
The wind whistled between them. Picked up the grass, carried man-sized dandelion seeds up and into the sky, to root elsewhere. One of the metahumans jumped from seed to seed, letting it carry him northwards, to send a message to the sandstone tower.
“You risk alienating our allies,” Tekahentakwa said, “With anger like that.”
“Are you sure they’re our allies?” Hadawa’ko said, and he turned to her now, “Or are they just doing this out of guilt? I ask you, sister. Consider: what happens if we win this?”
“There is no ‘if,’” Tekahentakwa said.
“What happens when we win this?” the Warleader prodded, “What happens to them? The metahumans who are helping us?”
The Clan Mother thought on this. Her brow furrowed. She brought a hand to a chin.
“Will we drive them out, too?” Hadawa’ko continued, “Treat them like the woman in white?”
“You already are, to some extent,” the Clan Mother said.
“Only because I think that they are going to abandon us,” he said, “Look at the fear in them, Tekahentakwa. Look at the way they look to the sky. They’ll leave us all to die. Not from malice, but from self-preservation.”
“They would have done that already,” Tekahentakwa said, “But you don’t see them leaving us, do you? They’re still working to disappear with us. Ready to strike for us.”
“Even against their own people?”
“They already have,” Tekahentakwa said, “Wasn’t it Cobalt Joe who fought back first?”
Hadawa’ko sighed. Unlooped his tomahawk again, flipped it in his hands. A comforting motion, one that he had started ever since his exile to the caves.
“We will see,” he said, “We will see.”
***
Nomatrius Dorucanthos approached the Traveling Point with a hammering heart. Snapdragon and Melitta accompanied him, watching him with scared expressions on their faces as he stepped forward onto the cliff's edge, where rippled the rent in reality. He wore an easy smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes, seemed more tugged upwards by an outside force than anything else.
His children had seen their mother die, right in front of them.
By the High Federation. A shadowy invasion into their house, a pistol crack to the back of her head, an awkward fall against the corner of the coffee table.
He did not want his children to see something like that again. He did not want to see them orphaned, even if they were all adults. He did not want them to see both of their parents murdered by the High Federation.
And yet, his power was tailored for the task ahead.
Warriors attended to him, too, rifles and awakened metahuman powers aimed at the Traveling Point. No one had come through, thus far. Yet Pocket reported that Impellia III on the other side of the portal had been overtaken. Which meant that the Sovereign Melody, wounded and limping north, was still in communication with the other side.
“Alright,” Nomatrius said, “I'm ready.”
The Shadow of the Giant stuck to the mouth of the cave. Not scared, per say, but he had always preferred the hidden, murky places. He nodded at Nomatrius.
“Be careful,” he said, “Be swift.”
The patriarch of the Dorucanthos nodded, kneeling down, resting one knee on the ground. He called up his power.
Felt the pack rise up within him, and expel from his chest.
A wolfhound, its fur a mixture of grays and whites, leaped forth. Padded the ground, but no sound came from it. It had no jaws. No teeth to rend and tear, no ears and no muzzle and no eyes. Its entire head was replaced by the ancient letter 'alpha.'
A letter used by many planes. On Prime and on Earth, by the Greeks. On Nomatrius's home plane, by the Pyrthians.
Another wolfhound leaped from Nomatrius's form, this one bearing the letter 'beta.' Then gamma, then delta.
Four alphadogs. Pawing the ground, looking this way and that, and Nomatrius could see through each of them. Delta nuzzled against Beta, one side of its triangular head running up and down Beta's shoulder.
Then, Nomatrius whistled, and all four came to attention.
Then, as one, they leaped into the Traveling Point.
Nomatrius closed his eyes. Yes, the alphadogs were rushing through reality, a miasma of colors, bright and vivid and burning.
And then, the odd, clammy warmth of Impellia III-
And at once Beta was shot down. Alpha, Delta, and Gamma scattered as Pagan Chorus members opened fire on the pack. Plasma discharge that made Nomatrius stomach drop, but his pack was quick, rushing away from the clearing.
Pagan Chorus pursued. 'Guildfolk,' though not guildfolk like Becenti or Cobalt Joe, hunted after the alphadogs as they ran into the forest. They were heavily armored, carrying heavy plasma rifles, and chased the pack on Fedtek anti-grav bikes and ornithopters that churned through the air. It was night on the other side, and it was alight with the green and red lights of plasma discharge.
“They've completely surrounded the place,” Nomatrius said, and Melitta watched his eyes move beneath closed lids, “Seems like they've left a small occupying force- none of their specialists, only soldiers.”
“So most specialists of Pagan Chorus are here,” Snapdragon said.
“Alpha's been taken out,” Nomatrius said, and he winced, “They've lost sight of Gamma. They're pursuing Delta...”
Yes, through the forests, Delta arrived at the location of the closest listening post, the one that Iceformed and Pocket had been stationed at. It was a smoldering ruin, with massive spikes of ice, some taller than the baublefruit trees, pushing out of the ground like rows of teeth. Iceformed had gone down, but not before they had put forth a momentous effort.
Gamma disappeared into the forest, as was Nomatrius's intention. He would be able to use it to scout the other Pagan Chorus members on the planet. Alphadogs were not technically alive, nor did they show up on the usual scanners. Agreeable ghosts.
Delta pawed at the ground. Though without a nose, its senses were sharp and intuitive. It started digging at the ground near the remains of the listening post.
Its sharp claws scraped against ice.
“Iceformed,” Nomatrius reported, “Looks like they buried them.”
“...Until we dream again,” Snapdragon muttered to themself.
“Indeed,” Nomatrius said.
He opened his eyes, turned to the Shadow of the Giant, who was walking out from the mouth of the cave.
“It's about what we expected,” Nomatrius said, “They're locking down the plane tight. We're stuck here.”
“We will need to mount a counteroffensive,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “We are fortunate. With the Sovereign Melody so far north, it will be difficult for them to support those they've left behind.”
Nomatrius nodded.
“Two of my pack are still on the other side,” he said, “They'll be watching.”
“Understood,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Keep to Mt. Redress. We will have need of you.”
Nomatrius grimaced. Aima was still at the family manor, with his son Jaskaios. Dodeca had joined up with the Workers, and Nomatrius would have liked to find her himself.
He looked at Snapdragon and Melitta.
“You two,” he said, “Keep around here, alright?”
“You don’t want us helping with the assault?” Snapdragon said.
“We could help,” Melitta said, “My soldiers, they’re-”
“No, no,” Nomatrius said, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose, grimacing.
Things were falling apart so, so fast.
“No,” he said, “I need you two here, where I know you’re safe. Can you promise me, that you’ll be safe?”
The two siblings looked at each other.
“Of course,” Snapdragon said.
“We’ll stay put,” Melitta said.
“Good,” Nomatrius said, “Melitta. Help with organizing the weapons caches below. Use your soldiers. Get a good count. And a recount. Snapdragon, you’re up here, helping us organize Mt. Redress.”
The two nodded. Nomatrius relaxed, gave them a small smile.
“We’ll get through this,” he said, “I promise.”
***
Seventy dead.
That was how many members of Pagan Chorus had been claimed by the battles on Impellia III. Dead by stormfire, or ice-made spears, or songs turned into monsters, or acid-laced saliva, spat at the throat.
To a guild like the Amber Foundation, seventy dead was the vast majority of the guild. At ninety-five members, a guild like Cobalt Joe's would have dissolved, its surviving members assimilating into other guilds, on other planes. The guildhall would have become like a dire crab's shell, empty and spacious, with a forlorn, ghost-like lingering, a place to attract tourists and children's dares.
But to Pagan Chorus, seventy was no great loss. They were large enough that members became numbers. Kathen Aru did not even know any of the dead's names. He read them out on the casualty report, people who he had seen, perhaps, in passing, and little else.
“Kate?” Merry said, “You alright?”
“I'm fine,” Kathen lied.
He looked up from his seat at the comms station. He and the others had been quickly returned back to the Sovereign Melody, and witnessed the battle between the metahumans and the Sovereign Melody.
The ship trailed northwards.
The shields had not returned. Luminary's attack had damaged the ship far more than they had anticipated. Talk about repairing the shield's engines had dragged from hours to days.
And thus, Valm sat, keying commands into the console on his chair’s arm. A few communications arrays had been detected at the southernmost mountain range where the majority of the metahumans had sequestered themselves. The guildmaster was sending hailing frequencies in that direction, his other hand reaching into a small, floating glass bowl filled with nuts and Sedrian grapes. Occasionally he would pop one into his mouth, chewing slowly as he worked.
At last, he received a response. A holographic projection appeared in front of him.
It was Luminary herself. Old and worn, like a dying vulture. Her eyes were sunken and her hair was thin and string-like. She wore a shawl that seemed far too large for her frail form, and she was bogged down with baubles and metal trinkets, in her hair, on her fingers, a grand amulet depicting some metahuman symbol or other weighed on her thin neck.
The look she gave to Valm was one of pure hate.
“Valm,” she said, “I should have known you'd want to personally come here.”
“You people have called together a nation,” Valm said, “Our ancient enemies, under a single banner once more.”
“I don't think you'll care, but your actions have led to dead families, and dead children,” Luminary said.
“Perhaps their parents will take it as a message,” Valm said, “To not follow the words of a witch far past her zenith.”
Luminary winced.
“You are a butcher, Valm,” she said, “Just like you were before.”
“I am necessary,” the Prime Voice replied, simply.
Luminary paused. Tilted her head in thought.
“What do you want?” she said, “Why message me? You've already made your intentions quite clear.”
Valm's long fingers reaching to his bowl, plucking out a Drandian enlonut. He put it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Luminary glared at him. She could not interrupt him. She could not cut off communications.
His presence demanded such, even from his enemies.
He swallowed, and the food slid as a visible bulge down his long neck.
“I will make this simple,” he said, “I am sending word to other members of Pagan Chorus. To our cargo haulers. Thousands of your people can fit inside one ship alone.”
Luminary's eyes widened.
“You and your people are to stand down. You are to go through the Traveling Point, and wait on Impellia III. When the cargo ships arrive, you and your people are to board them.”
“And where,” Luminary's voice was shaking, out of both fear and rage, “Would you take us?”
“Elsewhere,” Valm said, “I assure you, you will be quite safe.”
“Lies,” Luminary hissed, “Lies, damn you.”
“If you do not do this, then I will have no choice but to glass this plane, and everyone on it,” Valm said, “We have done our scans of this plane, Luminary. The only Traveling Point is to Impellia III. You are surrounded and isolated. You will all die. Each and every one of you.”
The old woman's hands shook. She was shaking her head slowly.
“There are more than thirty thousand people here, you bastard,” she said.
“Thirty thousand dead metahumans,” Valm said, “Their deaths, on your shoulders. Think on this, Laura Bellhopper.”
And he cut communications.
Kathen had gone pale.
“Admirable words, guildmaster,” Old Scar said.
“Hmm,” Valm said. He continued working on his console.
“Kate?” Merry said, “You alright?”
“We can't do that,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone, “That's... so many people, Merry.”
Valm was getting up. He nodded to Kathen.
“Will you join me, for dinner?” he asked.
Dinner.
The threat of annihilation. And, after that, dinner.
“I'm afraid I'm not hungry, guildmaster,” Kathen said.
At least he could keep his voice steady.
“A pity,” Valm said, “Old Scar, take the helm. Continue on our course. Do not fire upon the metahumans unless fired upon.”
And Kathen was horrified to see his combat instructor grimace, as though told he was not allowed to have dessert.
“Very well, guildmaster,” Old Scar gruffed. He got up, sat in Valm's chair. The guildmaster swept out of the room.
Kate leaned back in the comms chair.
“Kate, your breathing's ragged,” Merry said, “You've broken into a sweat, but your internal temperature's like ice, and-”
“I know, Merry,” Kathen whispered.
“Are you- should you go to the infirmary?” Merry said.
“I don't think the doctors are going to be able to help, Merry,” Kate said. He took a moment to compose himself.
Just...
Just what had he gotten into?