“What did Oand-ib tell you about im shalal?” he asked.
“You know what he told me. I told you back at the Citadel. It’s some kind of weapon.”
“I mean, did he tell you why I was sent to get it?”
“I assumed it was because you were the only one he trusted the hyperportal code with,” she said.
“Why just me, though? There were others at the Citadel he could have trusted. Probably others more willing too. Like you. You’re always ready to undertake a cause.”
“He trusted you more than anyone else, you know that. You were the best halath there was at the Citadel, Aiben, and Oand-ib was too old to come himself. You might think you weren’t willing, but I know you would have done anything Oand-ib asked you to. He knew it too. You loved him too much to do otherwise.”
Aiben was silent for a bit. A breeze picked up outside and whistled through the fractures in the walls of the wooden building. It carried with it a scent like mold and cinnamon, which wound its way between them. Achanei wrinkled her nose at the strange mix of odors.
“I guess you’re right. I would do it for him, if for nothing else. I don’t know, maybe that was also true for Nairom in the beginning. But there’s still more to the story of why it was me.”
“What do you mean more to the story?” Achanei visibly stiffened.
“Much more.”
“I’m waiting,” she said, and invited him to continue with those powerful jade eyes.
Aiben took a deep breath and folded his thoughts into hers, revealing the story of Tulan and Nograth, Yoren-dal and the nanomechs, Jerekiel’s descendants and im shalal, and finally, Oand-ib and his plan to resurrect Tulan in Aiben. He told her the tale of the ghost in his mind and the tiny machines that put him there.
After Aiben had finished, Achanei was silent, contemplative, her face became a canvas for a vast array of emotions as the shades of meaning from Aiben’s story surfaced. Presently, she slanted her crooked smile at him once more.
“Well, that certainly answered my question of who you are.”
CHAPTER 35
A standard hour after the arrival of House Feillion’s launch at shelezati baral, the Keazil’hi, accompanied by the Shelezar, came roaring into the abandoned camp aboard a beat-up, out-of-date, hovering transport that someone had hijacked years ago from the Zenzani and refitted over time with salvaged parts. Desert kicked up around the vehicle as it skid to a stop and immersed the transport in plumes of orange haze. The vibrating whine of the transport’s hover engines dropped several octaves into a low rumble as they powered down.
The change in pitch oscillating through the dry air jostled Aiben awake. He had been dozing, still seated in the largest of the chairs inside the ritual hut, exhausted from the day’s events. Achanei had been on the floor next to him, leaning against his legs, also taking in even breaths of sleep, but she too was starting to stir now. He pulled her up by the hand as he stood from the chair. He stepped down the platform and crossed over to Lev-9 who was peering through a window whose glass had yellowed with age.
Achanei remained on the platform, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Outside, a cinnamon dust cloud obscured the arrival of more players in a game Aiben still didn’t know the rules to. His enhanced senses could make out the outlines and hear the hushed voices of six people approaching the door of the building.
“It seems that our contacts have arrived,” Lev-9 said.
Aiben just nodded numbly.
Moments later, Jerekiel pushed through the ornament, yet weathered door into the hut. Others followed behind. There was the ugly lump of Corag-mar, the wizened crone that was the Shelezar, and three others Aiben had never seen before. Each one, except for the old woman, had an energy weapon held ready, but when Jerekiel saw Aiben and Lev-9, she waved them all down.
Iniri’ki Hegirith, I tried to contact you…
“I was asleep,” Aiben admitted aloud. He felt a little sheepish, but then reminded himself that even if Tulan didn’t need to sleep, Aiben did.
Jerekiel nodded knowingly, and then embraced him. “I’m glad to see you here, Hegirith.”
Achanei hurried down from the platform to Aiben’s side, linking her arm into his. The look on her face was almost possessive, but he assured himself it was unfounded. Jerekiel was nothing more than the connection he needed to resurrect the Consciousness among his newfound people. The moment he could explain it to Achanei, he would. However, her reaction brought puzzled looks from the others.
“This is Achanei,” Aiben explained. “She’s another one of the cybermancers from Besti. She was a prisoner of the Protectorate and escaped from Abri Mor with us.”
“If she is your friend, Iniri’ki Hegirith,” Corag-mar spoke, “then she is the friend of the ilud’hi. No more explanation is needed.” Jerekiel nodded solemn agreement. Corag-mar then stepped off to the side of the group and spread his arms wide. “Shelez ashalik hazmel!”
History has come for the future!
Aiben caught the slightest hint of surprise in Jerekiel’s face before she captured and buried it. He wondered if Corag-mar had just taken her line in the ritual of alachti ai alamat, or maybe that of the Shelezar, but the old woman just stood there and rocked back and forth slightly at the waist, her wide, wet eye held frozen, the other one blinking back and forth from Aiben to Corag-mar.
“Shelez ashalik hazmel!” the Shelezar finally repeated.
The Haman words suddenly made Aiben burn with longing for the days of great moral speeches among his people. He had almost never heard language spoken vocally among his people, but his mind remembered those thoughts as if they had been audible. Immersed in the Consciousness, one couldn’t tell the difference between the psi-senses of shalal hiliz and the physical perception of sound and light waves. It was disheartening to compare what the ilud’hi called shalal hiliz and what the Haman had called it. Still, Corag-mar’s words sounded powerful enough, even if they were obvious litany the Shelezar’hi had perpetuated through the generations of exile, even if they were words, which forced an unwanted, but unavoidable destiny upon him.
“Ashal! Ashal!” each of the Keazil’hi intoned. The Future! The Future!
Aiben noted that none of the Keazil’hi tried to bow to him as the Neilemi’aak had first done. Maybe Jerekiel had prepared them for the distaste he had shown at that, maybe that had been particular to the Neilemi’aak, or maybe it wasn’t part of the ritual of alachti ai alamat. Aiben had no way of knowing. He would have to play it by ear and hope he didn’t offend their sense of tradition, however misguided it was. He also had to remind himself that it was all tradition borne out of his own audaciousness to create a weapon that would destroy Nograth. Somehow, he had become his own enemy in those things the Tulani’aak had found most distasteful.
Ballis came rushing through the door out of breath, a cloud of cinnamon and ginger dust in his wake. Aiben could see by the cobalt flame in his eyes that the sound of the Mora Bentians’ arrival and the chant of their ritual had brought him running. He signaled to Ballis that all was well. Visibly, the man relaxed at the sight of Jerekiel and Corag-mar, but inside, Aiben knew the frustration of lost memories would make him as cautious as possible.
“Please sit down. Yes? Sit down.” The Shelezar waged her head towards the chairs around the table. Rows of silver rings looped in droopy ears clinked together.
Each of the Keazil’hi obeyed her and took a seat presumably where their name symbol pointed them. Jerekiel sat at Neilem, Corag-mar took Golan, and the others placed themselves accordingly. Once seated, they all watched Aiben expectantly. It took a few more seconds of hesitation before he climbed the steps and sat down in the chair he had occupied earlier, the one reserved for Tulan, the Iniri’ki Hegirith. There was no sign of Aiben’s boldness this time, just Tulan’s remaining regret. The Shelezar took the seat opposite him, jingling her rings, and winking her wet eye at him. He felt like there was supposed to be a secret between them he should know about
, but didn’t.
Lev-9, Ballis, and Achanei stayed at the edge of the platform, watching and waiting, not understanding what to do any more than Aiben did. Achanei looked like the unknown was threatening to overwhelm her. Ballis appeared uncomfortable, but restrained. Aiben suspected he held back because the loss of those painful memories at Nor Joon no longer gave him cause to intervene. Lev-9 was unreadable, but the multiple colors of his sensor band tracked back and forth across the people in the room. Nairom was still missing. Aiben sent a ping into the hypernet, but got no reply.
A conversation in Rahani sprung up around the table.
“Hazarath ishtim!” the Shelezar rapped her bony knuckles on the dark wood of her chair’s arm. Aiben had to stop himself from wincing. That must have hurt the old woman’s hand, but then he remembered Oand-ib and the spikes of the cheeba chair. Old did not always mean weak. Another crack of the bony knuckles started the introductions. Aiben tried to catch an impression of each one as they spoke.
“I’m called Jerekiel, Neilemi’aaki Keazil. Shelez ashalik hazmel.” She represented the followers of Neilem. Her smiling dimples put Aiben at ease. She would become his partner in rearing Tulan’s lost children.
“I’m called Corag-mar, Golani’aaki Keazil. Shelez ashalik hazmel.” He represented the followers of Golan. The more Aiben looked at Corag-mar, the more his ugliness softened into seasoned dignity. He marveled at how the man had begun to change and humble himself in such a short period.
“I’m called Selin-dal, Drazali’aaki Keazil. Shelez ashalik hazmel.” She represented the followers of Drazal. She was a middle-aged woman with peppery hair and red-rimmed protruding eyes, accented by large wrinkles. She wore a warm smile.
“I’m called Karakel, Telemkeli’aaki Keazil. Shelez ashalik hazmel.” He represented the followers of Telemkel. He had spoken the litany, but a scowl drew across his hawk-like features and betrayed his position on Aiben’s sudden apotheosis among them. He was playing his part, though, not ready to go against the others.
“I’m called Yolat-ban, Erin-dali’aaki Keazil. Shelez ashalik hazmel.” He represented the followers of Erin-dal. He ejected his words with enthusiasm. His fingers locked and twisted around one another as his young and eager face looked towards Aiben.
“Well, you all know me, yes? I’m called Jerekiel, ilud’hi ai Rahani Shelezar.” The final voice was old, but firm, and marbled with just the right amount of mirth and quirk.
Aiben noticed the Shelezar did not repeat the ritual saying. He nodded in turn to each of the clan leaders, but didn’t repeat anything back to them himself, not even knowing if he should. He had been absent-mindedly tracing the Haman ideographs that were etched into the arms of his chair with his fingertips. He hadn’t noticed them there before. He could feel they were abridgements of the sharp words he had used while fencing with Nograth.
“I’m called Aiben,” and then he hesitated for a moment, “or Tulan, if you want. I guess I’m the Iniri’ki Hegirith.”
The Shelezar smiled at Aiben and then cleared her throat, which sent one eye twitching madly. She then addressed Corag-mar with such an ominous tone that Aiben was afraid something had gone wrong.
“Im shalal alachti ai alamatis halach?” Is im shalal ready for the change?
“Halach,” Coarag-mar replied it was.
“Iniri’ki Hegirith, nai halach?” she asked Aiben if he was ready.
Aiben sent out another ping, and then threw questioning eyes towards the door and his comrades in the room. Where was Nairom? They seemed to understand. Ballis simply shrugged, his eye scar twitching. Achanei looked at the door herself, and then shook her head. He wanted to wait for Nairom, but something inside was pressing him not to. Whether it was Tulan’s nanomechs, or something from within Aiben himself, he couldn’t tell, yet the compulsion to continue was growing stronger.
“Halam,” Aiben said hesitantly in the language he didn’t know, but did.
Corag-mar shrugged off the pack he had been carrying over his shoulder. It was made from the reddish, preserved hide of an animal once covered in scales. As he handled it, the smell of the cured leather found its way to Aiben. The aroma helped him focus on something as he tried to clear his head. Corag-mar undid the brass clasp holding the bag’s mouth closed, grasped the object within, and let the pack fall away onto the table. Like the smell of the leather, he could almost smell the near fanatic worship in those gathered around him as they saw im shalal. The reverence in their faces was especially pronounced, as many of them hadn’t ever seen it before. The Golani’aak had hidden away the device from them for so many years.
Of those seated around the table, Aiben, Corag-mar, and the Shelezar were the most unmoved by its appearance. In reality, Aiben was fighting down the sickness that was gnawing at his insides as he saw the reactions of the Keazil’hi to the catalyst of so much distress in his and Tulan’s life. The line of demarcation was quickly blurring between his real and his nanomech-induced personalities. He would have to focus even harder to play his role now.
Corag-mar held in his hand an intricate armband inlaid with sprinkles of glittering, metallic dust. Its form matched exactly the design burned by the nanomechs into Aiben’s arm. Tulan’s mark. The halifi. He stood from the table and dropped to one knee before Aiben’s chair. Aiben didn’t try to stop him, his hands had started shaking, and he had to grip the chair’s arms to control them. The Golani’aaki Keazil extended im shalal towards Aiben with both hands and bowed his head.
“Im shalal haza naia.” Im shalal returns to you.
Aiben had to force himself to let go of the chair and reach for im shalal. He had no idea what he was going to do with it once he had it. He hoped Tulan would. Before he could even touch the device, his fingers still inches from it, im shalal pulled against Corag-mar’s hand and ripped free from the stunned Keazil’s grip. It leapt and snaked around Aiben’s arm, lining up along Tulan’s halifi like a living magnet.
“Ashal! Ashal!” the old Jerekiel chanted over and over. Each iteration rose in crescendo. The other Keazil’hi intoned the mantra with her.
Aiben held up his arm so everyone could see im shalal. “Havala sani.” Thank you.
In truth, he wasn’t at all thankful, but it sounded like the right thing to say during the artificial ritual the Shelezar’hi had created. He realized, though, that it didn’t really matter anymore if people found out they had fabricated it all. No one would question him now with im shalal in his possession. He stood up from the circle of chairs and stepped down among his friends. Somehow, he felt he should stand with them. He didn’t know why, but maybe he needed the security of their friendship.
Without warning, the metal bands of im shalal’s lattice liquefied into their microscopic constituents and melted into the pores of Aiben’s halifi. Nanomechs, freed from their assembled state, mixed in with his own nanomechs and pulled at his awareness. After so many centuries of waiting, they longed to converse with Tulan once again. The ghost in Aiben’s head and the molecular machines in his body began to teach the cybermancer about how to destroy Magron Orcris.
CHAPTER 36
It was raining, but the water was glass and the thunder was the shattering of windows. Energy beams followed like lightning as four figures encased in lean, black armor dropped between the jagged teeth of what was once a skylight. The lanky form of a Chibbi attached to hover-jets jumped down behind the governor’s special ops team. He threw off his jetpack and swiveled his gun on Aiben. His armed escort took up positions around the room and fired on the other occupants.
Aiben didn’t move to defend himself. Im shalal’s cyberlink still had him in a trance. Ballis, however, didn’t hesitate to smash headlong between hunter and prey, miraculously missing the energy beams crisscrossing the room. Lev-9 and Achanei bounded up onto the platform where the Keazil’hi had all dropped behind overturned chairs. Each one of the clan leaders was armed and there was no hesitation as they took up the fight against the Zenzani.
Gormy’s energy pistol flew from his hand as the butt of Ballis’s weapon slammed down hard on his wrist. There was the sound of small bones cracking. The Chibbi screamed and bared froth-filled teeth. He threw himself at Ballis who tried to spin his gun around in time to fire, but the old soldier had missed his opportunity and was forced to let go of his weapon as the razor-sharp claws of the Chibbi extended and raked along the inside of his forearm. The two went down in a tangle. The Chibbi gained the top, and tried to pin down the larger man, but it took just a small shift of his weight for Ballis to turn over onto the ratty.
Gormy’s knee came up as they rolled and it plunged into the very same spot in Ballis’s solar plexus he had struck before. Ballis gulped for air amid renewed pain. He grabbed for the Chibbi’s neck and jammed it into the crook of his elbow. He clamped down hard on it with an effort to gain some control over Gormy, but he didn’t think of trapping the one thing the Chibbi could use to his advantage. Gormy snaked his prehensile tail out from underneath their tangle of limbs and wrapped it around the energy pistol lying next to their struggling bodies. He whipped it into his hand and pulled the trigger.
The force of the close proximity blast lifted Ballis up and off the Chibbi. Gormy scampered out from underneath the large man as he fell back down onto the floor. Acrid smoke and the odor of burnt flesh writhed out from underneath him and twirled up towards the ceiling.
***
Aiben was slowly becoming aware of what was happening around him. Energy bolts flashed, the smell of ozone permeated the air, but the beams were going wide of him. Gormy Bonebender stood there, glaring at him with a chisel-toothed sneer drenched in froth, and two beady, animal-like eyes soaked with hate. A clawed hand gripping a gun came up into his face.
Aiben’s thoughts bored into hyperspace. He hoped they found the connection he needed to be there. She had to be there.