The Seeds of Dissolution (Dissolution Cycle Book 1) Page 4

  Origon nodded back, making his crest loosen. He turned to Sam. “Are you ready to be finding your homeworld?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Through the Imperium

  - The Spire’s structure was one of the first built after the Imperium was founded. All species in the Great Assembly accepted the idea, as the Spire was destined to be the center of education and governance for the maji. The maji’s portals brought the species together, and it was deemed necessary for maji of different species to continue their association.

  From “The History of the Spire,” a work by the Festuour philosopher Hegramtifar Yhon, Thinker

  Sam blinked at the majus. Majuses. Maji. Everything was muddy, like strong anxiety meds. He peered around the councilor and Majus Cyrysi to the end of the alley. Is my heart beating faster? He couldn’t summon the will to care about it. He edged closer. There were layers of cotton wrapped between what he saw and the fear that usually rose up.

  “Is it working?” The councilor sounded tired.

  He took a few more steps forward, and when he looked down, his shoes were outside the wooden walls of the alley. There had been a question. “I think so.”

  Before him, swirls of people passed by, all shapes and sizes. He took another step, pulled despite himself to the chaos. It was like a big party he’d been invited to, or so he imagined. He was never invited to anything. He hoped that would change when and if he got to college.

  He stepped out, between a family of humans, or whatever they were called here, and two women of Majus Cyrysi’s species, one with skin the color of mahogany, the other’s like desert sand. Both sets of bare legs ate up the ground in long strides, their crests waving and stretching as they gestured to each other. He was already past the first vendor stalls, stepping around a sputtering motorized cart holding a glass tank of fish, when the other two caught up. The majus’ clawed hand came down on his shoulder, holding him back.

  “It’s so colorful,” Sam told him. He pointed to a squid-like bipedal creature, with rubbery skin and three head-tentacles in place of hair. “What is that?” There were lots of the creatures here, now he looked more carefully. His finger wavered, pointing out more of them.

  “She is one of the Lobath,” Councilor Ayama said, pushing his arm down. She peered up at the Kirian, around Sam’s shoulders. “I may have blocked a few too many connections.”

  The buildings around the plaza grew on each other, sprouting up like mushrooms after a heavy rain. So many buildings. They stretched on, built up and around. A glint of light caught his eye above the line of structures, reflecting from a giant curved surface. It pushed through the fluff in his mind, and Sam staggered at a moment of vertigo. He swallowed and grasped for his watch, feeling a little more himself.

  “What is that glass thing?” Did I just point at a whole bunch of aliens? He glanced around, but no one besides the two maji were paying attention.

  “You are meaning the column?” Majus Cyrysi followed the surface with one hook-nailed finger. Sam’s gaze went higher and higher, and he could feel unease scratching at his mind behind the cotton. “The columns are spaced more or less regularly, through the Nether. They connect the floor—” Majus Cyrysi pointed down, as if through the dirt beneath their feet, “—to the ceiling, far above.” His finger speared upward. The immense cylindrical surface protruded from the buildings lining the square, reaching upward until it was lost to sight. Reflections shimmered across it, and buildings crowded around like small animals bundled near a larger one for warmth.

  “There’s a ceiling?” Sam asked. The column disappeared from view as they passed under an archway, moist, earthy scents pungent in the enclosed tunnel. Small ferns and moss dotted the sides of the streets, and Sam pulled his arm close before he brushed a wide, furry alien. His stomach turned over, and he swallowed bile, though he didn’t feel afraid.

  “The Nether is enclosed,” Councilor Ayama said, from just behind. Sam blinked back at her, trying to understand. The fog in his mind was slowing everything. “The first maji found their way to this place long ago. The ten species came from different stars and galaxies, like you did. Normally, one must have detailed information of the endpoint of a portal, except for the Nether. This is the one place maji can reach without knowing where they are going beforehand.”

  They exited the tunnel, hurrying across a wide tree-lined street where carriages and vehicles puffing smoke passed each other at a walking pace. Sam tried to pay attention both to the councilor’s words and to his surroundings. One of the nearby trees had fluffy blue fronds instead of leaves.

  Majus Cyrysi’s robe was bright as they walked through pools of light and shadow. “The first maji to come here remembered the way back home, and were starting trade between their species. It was what grew to be the Great Assembly.”

  They passed through a square where the walls were a wet-looking brown resin. Long bushy ferns hung from windows, and the flat fluorescent lighting cast shadows from strange directions. A fishy smell permeated the air, mixed with something like mushrooms in take-out Chinese. Sam slid through people, trying not to let them touch him. A jangle of music made him turn to another street musician, one of the giant blue-ish aliens like he had seen outside the alley. This one had a thin stringed instrument taller than him, and was singing in a high reedy voice along with his plucking. They seemed a common sight here. Haggling, speeches, and casual conversation washed by, and hands of anxiety clawed at the cotton in his mind, reducing its thickness. Why are they blurry? Can’t quite focus on faces.

  “Through this market, then up above street level,” Majus Cyrysi called back, his voice almost lost in the voices around them. “Once we exit the Lobath district we will be in High Imperium.”

  I can feel my heart beating. Should I be able to? Maybe it’s because we’re walking fast. Sam realized his watch was in one hand. The constant influx of new places was overcoming the councilor’s magic. If I break down in the middle of the street, will they leave me here?

  “I have not been visiting E’Fon’s curio shop in many a cycle.” Majus Cyrysi pointed at a recessed section of wall with a bright blue door. Did the Kirian not see Sam’s distress? Did the councilor? The majus gestured at a display of writhing insects behind a red-tinted piece of plate glass. “Murienta’s shop has the freshest maggots. Much tastier than those half-dead things they serve at the Spire.”

  They turned into another open square, all the buildings made of green, glowing stone. There was a crowd of people surrounding a platform made of old crates, shaded by two tall, leafy plants, like banana trees. On top of the platform, a human and one of the very tall aliens were shouting out into the crowd. Some people were holding signs. The fuzziness was evaporating, and Sam knew this was wrong, especially when both maji stopped dead.

  Sam peered at a sign, willing his eyes to focus. A sequence of circles and dots wavered, and suddenly he was reading English: ‘The Assembly is lying to us,’ and ‘The Aridori are hiding in plain sight,’ and ‘Don’t let the maji dictate your life.’

  “Not this way,” Councilor Ayama muttered, and grabbed for him. She held her other arm in front of her dress, as if she could keep others from seeing it. Majus Cyrysi was frowning, his crest spiking in all directions.

  Sam stared between the signs, resisting the councilor’s pull. There was someone else on the platform, a gangly, hairy person on their knees between the two others. “What are they doing?” he asked.

  Majus Cyrysi came up next to him. “Rilan, they are holding a Sureri prisoner.” The councilor’s grip lessened on Sam’s shoulder.

  “So much for avoiding this,” she said, no longer obscuring her dress. She strode toward the crowd, her shoulders back, and white and olive green bloomed around her throat as she called out.

  “What’s going on here?” Her voice was thunderous, rolling over the shouting figures on the stage.

  Majus Cyrysi, seemingly at random, grabbed one of two humans in leather leggin
gs and lace shirts, talking about a restaurant’s high prices and ignoring the scene. “Find the civic guard, now. Bring them here.”

  The person hesitated, as if she would refuse, but the majus’ face must have changed her mind. She took off at a fast trot, and Majus Cyrysi turned back to the crowd, pulling Sam along. He trembled. This was no longer an exciting walk.

  “Stay close,” the majus said. Yellow and orange were curling around his fingers and something tickled the back of Sam’s mind, like a band playing several blocks away, but the blood pumping in his ears nearly drowned it out. He held on to the majus’ robe, dizzy.

  They came up behind the councilor, who was already in heated debate with those on the stage.

  “—is an Aridori!” The man on the stage pointed down at the person on his knees. Several members of the crowd passed fingers in front of their eyes as the councilor had done to him. This close, Sam could see the prisoner trembling. I’d be doing the same, in his situation, or just faint. The councilor’s magic was the only thing keeping him from a complete breakdown. He could feel the anxiety battering at his mind, but it slid away, as if against a steel door. Can’t pass out. Stay up.

  “What proof of this are you having?” Majus Cyrysi called out. “The Aridori are long dead.” They shuffled farther into the crowd, keeping pace with the sidling walk Councilor Ayama had adopted. Getting closer, but not threatening.

  “They’ve been hiding. Pretending they were gargoyles like him, all this time,” the man shouted back. The kneeling figure’s face was distorted and hairy, almost bat-like, and Sam realized he wasn’t human, but one of the alien species. “We don’t need the maji to tell us what to do! You’ve been helping them hide!”

  “Shield, Ori,” Councilor Ayama hissed, and the air shimmered in a sphere around them, glowing yellow and orange like a soap bubble in the sun. Something struck and bounced, above Sam’s head, and he cringed down. His heart hammered in his chest. Need to get out of here. Can’t go alone.

  “Take us in,” the councilor said, and shuffled forward. Ori crept along behind her, hands waving as if tying knots in the air.

  Sam stumbled forward with them, his eyes trying to take in everything at once. There was a faint music in the air—or in his head—though he couldn’t make out the notes. Is that the Symphony they keep talking about? How did I get in this situation? His hands shook so badly he couldn’t keep hold of the majus’ robe.

  They reached the stage, the man hurling insults at them, and climbed up a set of crates serving as stairs. People around the edge of the crowd were leaving.

  The councilor’s throat still glowed with white and olive, and she leaned closer to the raging man.

  “Hush!” she bellowed at him, and shocked, he fell silent. She knelt to the trembling prisoner, the bubble following them as Majus Cyrysi closed in, enveloping the prisoner. She laid hands on his head as she had done to Sam, her colors flowing between hands and the alien. Then she stood.

  “This is no Aridori!” she shouted, and her voice filled the small plaza. She pointed to the man on the stage—the tall alien that had stood beside him had since climbed down and was hunkered down in the crowd. “He told you correctly that I am a majus, and I have used the Grand Symphony to determine that this person is Sureriaj, through and through.”

  “And do you take the word of a lying majus, or of someone who’s telling you what’s really happening?” the man shouted, but more people were leaving. Sam hugged himself, sick to his stomach. The cotton in his head was unraveling, and he drew a thumb over the comforting texture of his watch. He looked away from the staring eyes.

  Then a troop of guards entered the plaza, in uniforms with polished metal armor, holding long, fluted rifles. The councilor crossed the distance to the shouting man on stage in an instant and touched him, her colors flashing once around his body before he slumped down to the ground.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur to Sam, as if time sped up, then stood still. It must be the medication.

  The guards were dispersing the crowd. The councilor and Majus Cyrysi were talking to the guard, handing over the distressed alien and the unconscious man. Majus Cyrysi’s bubble disappeared with a pop, and the faint music that had been running through Sam’s head vanished as if someone turned off a radio.

  Soon, he found himself on a side ramp curving up and around buildings, leaning against a railing. Did I black out? The other two were walking, no colors visible around either, and he pitched forward to catch up.

  “—Aridori are becoming a big problem, Ori, real or not,” the councilor was saying. She wasn’t even out of breath, though Sam was panting. “No one has seen your voids but you and him, while crowds like that are convinced the Aridori are real, and the Council and Assembly are covering it up. Some have even spoken against the Effature himself.”

  “This was an isolated incident, easily handled,” Majus Cyrysi protested, his boots thocking against the stone.

  That was easy? Sam was calm enough to realize the cotton in his head was still holding.

  “The crew of the shuttle saw the Drain as I did. Are they to be ignored as well?”

  Councilor Ayama shook her head. “Several have admitted they may have been confused from the stress of the flight or the crash. Two of the eight members flatly refuse they saw anything, now.” They turned a corner, Sam struggling to keep up. “The Aridori problem is bigger. I have to report to the Council while you take him to the House of Communication.”

  They passed three Kirian children, their faces as wrinkled and liver-spotted as Majus Cyrysi’s, arguing over who would win in a race. The majus’ crest was spiky with suppressed anger, Sam somehow knew, but the Kirian held his tongue, fuming.

  They pushed through a revolving turnstile, past which was a tiled floor, wrought iron lanterns giving off an orange light. Sam tried to keep his gaze up, but the cotton in his mind was too thin. The ground was safer. There was a deep groove in the floor, then more tile on the other side, littered with discarded papers and trash. Bannisters sectioned off people standing in rows, or at least their feet. Suddenly, he realized they were at a tram station.

  “This will take us to the houses of the maji, and the Spire,” Majus Cyrysi told him. As Sam’s head cleared, he was putting pieces together, trying to figure out this place before he had another panic attack. He tried to forget the crowd and the kneeling alien.

  “How can I read the signs?” It was the first thing that popped into his head. He looked up the majus’ colorful robe to his face. Just focus on him.

  “The Nether,” Majus Origon answered, his lips opened in a pointy smile, like a shark’s. He seemed unconcerned about their encounter with the protest.

  “Oh, give him a straight answer, Ori,” the councilor said. She tapped a toe, looking down the track for the shuttle. “The Nether is alive, in a sense. It translates for us.”

  “The Nether bridges differences between its inhabitants,” Majus Cyrysi said, still unconcerned. “If you were on one of the homeworlds, you would not be seeing this mix of beings.” He waved an arm at the people waiting with them. “Sometimes there are conflicts, yes. Not all learn the Trader’s Tongue, though here it is not mattering.”

  “So you’re not speaking English.” The longer they stood there, the more Sam got used to his new surroundings. The haze in his mind was still there. He looked around, carefully.

  “Certainly not.” Majus Cyrysi looked offended. “Whatever that is. The Nether deciphers not only words, but intent.” The Kirian’s crest ruffled, and something pushed a meaning toward Sam. Majus Cyrysi was pleased to pass on knowledge.

  “Then the Nether is in our minds?” Sam asked. “You didn’t say it was telepathic.” Was that allowed? Did he have to sign something to give his consent? He reached for his watch. The ticking made the clock jump a little in his hand. Regular, like your breathing.

  Councilor Ayama put one hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “The Nether helps us
out. You don’t need to be afraid of it.” She sighed as a silver coach arrived with a smoky blast, auras of brown or red around the moving parts.

  “Systems,” Majus Cyrysi told him when Sam peered closer at a cam shaft that fed into the brake mechanism.

  “System of what?” Sam asked. Wood doors with filigree inlay swung open, and a tentacled alien in a jumpsuit bowed them in. Sam forced his feet forward.

  “Systems are collections of changes to the Symphony, held together through the workings of a maji of the House of Potential,” Majus Cyrysi said. One hand described the aura around the cam shaft. “It will last for some time, at the cost of notes from the maji who created the change. Normal changes to the Grand Symphony fade quickly if the majus involved does not keep adjusting it with their song.”

  They chose seats facing forward, with glass windows to the side and above. The interior of the tram was dark polished wood with metal accents, decorative as often as not. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Motion, at least, didn’t bother him much, and he could let the thin barrier in his mind hold the anxiety back. He would have to do this sort of traveling if he went to the College of Charleston when he got back—riding on busses between classes.

  The kneeling alien tugged at his thoughts, though he tried to let the memory of the crowd go. Majus Cyrysi and Councilor Ayama handled it. Stop thinking about it. Ask something else.

  They shot forward, and a flock of large insects followed, the size of birds but with clear wings. Sam could hear them trilling to each other.

  “How many houses of the maji are there?” Majus Cyrysi talked about them like they were fraternities.

  “Six,” the councilor told him. She folded her dress so it didn’t take up as much space, shifting next to him. “Strength, communication, power, grace, healing, and potential.”

  “You can make people fall unconscious?” he asked.

  “The Symphony of Healing contains the music that relates to biology, and living things, so yes,” she said. “But those in the House of Healing can do many different things.”