Chapter 16: Ardulan Temple, Neek

Coastal waters degrade the beach

sifting sand to rockier shores.

In the andal of my parent’s forest I kneel

Listening

Waiting

for the moment when I shall become real.

A living being,

my emotions a strength, my ideas a cornerstone.

But the water cares not for me

and the trillium turns to incense at my feet.

I no longer know this place, and it no longer knows me.

I let go of the beach

and I drift away.

—Excerpt from Atalant’s Awakening

 

JANUARY 26TH, 2061 CE

 

As the ramp to the Lucidity lowered, the emotions of the crowd pushed across Atalant’s mind, straining her distant connection to Arik. White ash coated everything she could see, from the wooden footpaths to the shoulders and heads of the crowd. A thick haze of smoke lingered in the air. Just under the smell of charcoal and campfire, however, were the more complex scents she remembered.

Atalant inhaled deeply as she disembarked, the odors curling through her head and trailing fragments of her childhood along with them: sap syrup on coarse bread, forest flowers in a vase on her talther’s table, her mother’s floral perfume…

Atalant descended the ramp, her flight suit wrinkled and stained with ash and pollen. Fragments of grass and sedge clung to her boots. She was supposed to have met Emn here, alone, on the landing pad near the Ardulan Temple that had become the temporary residence of the Ardulans, but her uncle had suggested a change in plan. Her people needed stability. They needed reassurance. They needed her.

The setting sun was bright in Atalant’s eyes and washed out the crowd. The Neek were held back on either side of the path by a braided vine rope, and while they did not press against the barrier, they did not stray far from it, either. The path ahead of her was covered in trillium flowers, which was likely where the perfume was coming from. Atalant thought she might vomit.

The persistent smoke burned Atalant’s throat more than it should have at this distance and further distorted her vision. The ash and flowers made her boots slippery. The blurred edges around her gave the moment a dreamlike feel. She sought Emn, who was somewhere in the crowd with Nicholas. Atalant wanted Emn closer. Wanted both of them here, and Yorden, too. She shouldn’t have had to do this alone.

I’m right behind you, Emn sent, with an image of Atalant’s back. She must have just broken through the crowd. The sweat stains down the back of Atalant’s flight suit were covered as Emn lowered Atalant’s Eld robes over her head. The hem brushed the trillium petals as Emn wound the purple sash through the wooden clasp. Emn circled to Atalant’s front and straightened the robes.

Nicholas is just behind. We’ll go at your pace. Take your time.

Emn fell back, but her presence in Atalant’s mind stayed close, supportive. Atalant began to move forward. The crowds were silent as she walked. Men, women, gatoi, children…they all stared at her with gaping mouths, heads shaking from side to side. They clutched at their clothes and studied her as if she were a mirage. A few of the nearer faces looked angry or disbelieving, yet no one yelled or taunted.

The silence only further unnerved her. Atalant tried not to look at the people to her sides, and she couldn’t make out clearly what was ahead. Instead, she focused on the ground, on the feel of the petals slipping under her boots and the smell of the wood underneath. On the joy that should have bubbled up from being welcomed back to her homeworld.

Bright-purple andal leaves, the color of autumn, blew across the path. Atalant hesitated, but looked up. Somehow, she’d passed most of the gawkers. On either side of her now were the Heaven Guard. They stood at attention, backs straight, mouths closed. Their robes were stained just like hers, and their faces were covered in soot and ash. Unlike the crowd, the guards’ eyes were warm. She’d just flown with them. Helped save what was left of their forests. She’d mangled a settee, but it had been hers to destroy. She was one of them.

The breeze tossed the guards’ golden robes into one another, wrinkling their fabric and obscuring the green trim. Atalant’s own robes stilled around her legs, as if the wind did not touch her. Even as the dry leaves blew across her boots and scattered across the Guard, Atalant felt apart.

She shouldn’t have. This was her moment, wasn’t it? She was standing amongst the Heaven Guard in gold. She was as qualified as them, as capable, and now, as accepted. A part of her wanted to walk off the path and steady Tabit’s trembling hands. That part of her walked towards the row of gleaming crimson settees on her right, their noses pointed towards the heavens. She got in hers, ignoring its damage, and sent it into the sky. The Guard followed, got in their own ships, and left the surface.

Atalant?

Atalant watched that dream leave orbit, let it fade from her mind. She was not here to see these Neek, nor to be a part of their world. The world of the Heaven Guard was no longer hers. There was no point in continuing the charade.

She let her boots continue the walk. Thick andal trees now lined her path, offering some shade. The air was still gray with smoke, but she could see clearly enough to the ones waiting for her at the end of the path. There was the missing eld, Ekimet, who somehow looked less imposing in person than over a screen. Zie wore traditional Ardulan robes Atalant recognized from a collection of paintings that used to hang in her uncle’s main service hall. Next to zir stood another Ardulan, Miketh, in the same outdated garb. Just behind the two Ardulans and a bit to the left was her uncle, the High Priest of Neek, resplendent in his own ceremonial robes. The three stood in a semicircle of andal. The patchy sun that filtered through the leaves highlighted the different gold hues and refracted them through the thin smoke, casting color in odd directions.

Atalant stopped just past the last guard, several meters from the Ardulans. A thin shiver ran through her, chased by a thought that this moment was false, a dream, a joke. The pilot reached her hand back, hoping. Emn was by her side a breath later. Another hand brushed her other arm, and there was Nicholas, grinning, at her other side.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, face forward, eyes darting to each in turn.

“Eld Atalant.” Ekimet inclined zir head, as did Miketh. “Welcome. Thank you for responding to our call, and thank you for your help with the fires. Neek is indebted to you.” Remember, to the Neek, I am just another Ardulan. Watch the honorifics.

Atalant offered only a quick smile. “My companions, Nicholas St. John of Earth and Emn of Ardulum.”

Emn’s grip tightened at her mention.

“You are most welcome.” Miketh smiled at Nicholas and then stepped towards Emn. She offered her left hand, palm up. “I am delighted to meet you, Emn. I hope we might be able to spend some time chatting, you and I, once the immediate business is resolved.”

Emn’s hesitation was evident even without telepathy. Miketh’s cheeks reddened, and she stammered out an explanation. “I only wish to hear about your life and, if you would share, your abilities. I’m no Science Talent. I’ll not dissect you. I would, however, like to understand the mechanics of unrestricted cellulosic microkinesis, in as much as you understand it.” Miketh met Atalant’s gaze. “Assuming it would also be all right with you, Eld Atalant.”

“The choice is Emn’s,” Atalant replied, although she could already feel a sort of strained hopefulness coming from the younger woman.

“Once things have settled,” Emn confirmed. “I would enjoy the chance to chat with you as well, especially about your experiences here on Neek.”

Miketh brightened. The two touched palms, and then Miketh stepped back beside Ekimet. The high priest came forward next. He met Atalant’s eyes but couldn’t seem to stay focused there, his gaze instead flitting to her robes, her sash, and her hand that held Emn’s. Ekimet’s truth still bothered him, or perhaps it was Atalant herself. It was hard not to feel smug and vindicated, despite her uncle’s sadness. She’d have much preferred this moment with the late president himself.

“You honor me, Eld.” Her uncle dropped to his knees, his forehead grazing the ground.

Atalant took a step back. She should have expected reverence—she could hear halting hymns being sung by the crowd behind her now—but coming from her uncle, the entire scene was comical. He was trying to maintain some level of the Neek faith. Ekimet had briefly explained it to her, but here, now, to have a crushed man at her feet…

Play the part, Arik reminded her. She hadn’t realized how firm her connection to Arik had become. Of course he’d be curious, but the moment was bitingly personal. Atalant wasn’t certain she wanted to share it.

They’re fragile, Atalant, Ekimet said. You know that better than anyone. They’re in crisis, and you could be the one to give them stability.

She grumbled back at zir unintelligibly.

“Rise,” she said, her voice clear and strong. Her uncle slowly returned to his feet, the ash swirling from his forehead. Atalant met his eyes.

“I was right,” Atalant said. There was no smugness in her tone, but she pushed the affirmation anyway. For herself? For the people watching? She wasn’t sure.

A smile broke across her uncle’s face as he caught the joke. “So it would seem,” he returned as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Ardulum is…is so much more than I ever imagined. It is so much more than our memories and poetry.” His smile waned. “I’m sorry, Atalant.”

He’d dropped her honorific, but that didn’t matter. It felt warm to be called by her child-name. Warm to have her uncle willingly engage in conversation with her, and in front of so many. But, Ekimet and her uncle both had asked things of her. She had to deliver.

Atalant pulled back from Emn and Nicholas, pivoted, and faced the crowd. She pulled up the fabric of the robes and the leg of the flight suit underneath, exposing her calf. Then, she pulled down the other side of the robes and opened the side vent of her flight suit to expose the marked skin there. She turned each time, making sure her uncle, the Guard, and the crowd could all see.

Gasps accompanied each display. The Talent markings were dark against her bronze skin, hopefully easily seen even at a distance. She tried to put herself in her people’s place. Was it enough? They could be tattoos, or just paint. She could be lying to them all. They had no reason to trust her, not with her past. Not after what the president did to her.

“I think you should blow their minds,” Nicholas whispered. Cool metal pressed into Atalant’s hand. She tightened her fingers around it reflexively, knowing its purpose without looking. How Nicholas had a small pistol on him, she did not know, but it didn’t matter. She could feel the intent of the weapon as she rubbed her thumb over its thick cellulose weave. Except…she had no idea how to do what she wanted to do, and that was more terrifying than the crowd itself.

Emn? Atalant asked hesitantly.

Warmth flooded through her mind, although Emn stayed well behind her. It’s intuitive, Atalant. You don’t have to find cellulose or anything—that’s a flare Talent. Just think about the gun and give it a command. The andal cellulose is… It’s a little bit alive, I think. It listens.

That was a disturbing thought, but they could discuss ethics later. If I fuck this up, would you finish it for me? she asked Emn hesitantly. I never tried. I know I promised I would, but time is just—

You’ll owe me later, Emn returned, with an image of herself smiling.

I promise. Thoughts of being backed up against another wall surfaced and made Atalant’s stuk change consistency.

Focus, Emn gently reminded her.

Atalant snorted good-naturedly and then brought the gun forward, flat on her palm. She was either going to fuck up and bring her people crashing into the modern age, or she would do it right and maybe manage to keep them all from being roasted alive by the Mmnnuggls. Both options had their advantages.

“I am of Aggression and Mind,” Atalant said loudly to the crowd. “When I was young, you spoke of my piloting skills, of my reflexes. My instructor had me take flying tests first, before everyone else, and then doubled my time for the rest of the class. My roommate bragged to her boyfriend that she knew me.” A few aborted chuckles came from the Heaven Guard. Her friends.

“I assume, then, that I don’t need to reinforce my Mind Talent. As for Aggression…”

Atalant heard additional instructions from Emn: Focus on the object. Identify its purpose. Alter its purpose. You are in control of the andal.

You’re not a gun, she told the object in her palm. She remembered Emn’s destruction of the Risalian lasers, the destruction of the Eld Palace on Ardulum, and pushed those images forward. You’re just a ball of cellulose biometal.

Creaking, the metal began to fold. Emn’s manipulations had been much faster. This gun almost sounded like it was fighting her to remain in its current shape. Simultaneously, a feeling of something like discord rippled across her skin. Like a million pinpricks of not-quite-right. Like she was being crumpled up with the gun.

It’s weird the first time, Atalant. It gets easier. You just have to push through it.

Atalant shuddered. If this was what it felt like to manipulate cellulose, she’d leave it to Emn. Or, maybe she was doing it wrong—or her physiology was just different enough for something to not resonate right. Regardless, it was disconcerting.

Atalant prodded the gun again with her mind, squirming when the unwelcome sensations returned. You’re a ball, damn it. Pay attention!

The gun snapped. The handle folded in on itself and then climbed up the barrel, leaving a spiraled clump of metal in Atalant’s hand. It was surprisingly warm, almost uncomfortably so, and Atalant let it roll off her palm onto the ground. Her muscles relaxed. Her skin stopped…whatever it had been doing.

Stunned silence followed as the ball of metal crunched leaves in its path and came to rest at the side of Emn’s foot. She’d…done it? Well, hell. Everyone got lucky once. Atalant shivered. Maybe she just wouldn’t think about what she’d actually done for a while. Maybe ever.

Emn picked it up, smiled warmly at Atalant, and then reformed the gun back to its original shape. Emn offered the fixed gun to Atalant, who took it with a nod. Emn made it seem so easy, like reshaping cellulose was the most normal thing in the world. That the whole process had felt natural, once she got over the weird tingling, was disturbing in and of itself.

“Eld Atalant,” Nicholas prodded. Atalant snapped her mind back to the present. She had to finish the show. Finish the lie.

“The Mmnnuggls—” The planned words caught in her mouth. They were sticky and acidic, and she didn’t want to say them.

Please, Eld Atalant, Ekimet implored her. If you break their remaining ties to Ardulum, they will not aid us in this fight.

It’s not their fight, Atalant sent back viciously. They hadn’t discussed this properly. Atalant had been too overwhelmed with thoughts of her home and the fires. They have a right to the truth.

In time, Ekimet said. They’re not ready, emotionally. You know that. Look at your uncle. And if they turn on Ardulum, with two elds on-world… The Mmnnuggls do not need more allies. They will find Ardulum. They will destroy it. You have to stop them now, at Neek.

Atalant seethed and shouted her response to both Ekimet and Arik. They couldn’t hear each other, but they could definitely both hear her. These are weak, conjecture-filled arguments at best, she sent. You’re placing Neek in harm’s way just to preserve Ardulum.

Ardulum deserves preserving, Atalant, Arik argued, which only made Atalant angrier. We have to protect the andal.

Ekimet just burned the andal! she yelled into their minds. Why is Ardulum more important than Neek?

We haven’t burned the andal of Ardulum, Ekimet countered. If damage were to occur to the actual planet, we would all die. The Ardulans cannot live without Ardulum. The Neek cannot live without Ardulum. Ardulum must be preserved.

Argh! Atalant stomped her foot. She pushed Arik and Ekimet from her mind and addressed the crowd, tossing their words, and caution, aside. These were her people. She would decide what they needed to hear.

“My people. The Mmnnuggls give you muddled science. My uncle gives you mutated fairy tales. There are Ardulans on-world. You’re trying to make sense of it. I’m trying to make sense of it. There is a lot to understand and…” She stumbled over the words, rethinking her brashness. “I…I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

“You didn’t really stick that landing,” Nicholas whispered to her.

That’s the best you’re getting out of me right now, Atalant fumed at Ekimet, ignoring Nicholas. She tore her eyes from the confused crowd and looked to the horizon. If she squinted, she could see into the downtown area, see its wooden high-rises and parked settees, against a backdrop of mountains. She could see the haze of the sky from where the forests had burned, the sunlight scattering into rays of orange.

The high priest chuckled as he moved to her side. He lowered his voice. “It is good to see that godhood hasn’t changed you. If you’d come back talking like Eld Ekimet, I’d have been worried.” Ekimet began to protest, but the high priest cut zir off. “I think you’ve riled up the populace enough for the day. What would you like to do now?”

A lilting thought from Emn settled Atalant’s mood to a simmer. They’d done what they’d come here to do. The fires were contained. She could play god tomorrow. Maybe she’d be better at it after sleeping. There were the ships in orbit to deal with, but she probably shouldn’t make any major decisions until Yorden had a chance to contact her. If he contacted her. She needed a few days to sort that whole thing out. What else pressing needed to be…

Words she hadn’t wanted to say bubbled across her lips. “Father? Talther? Brother?” she asked softly, her voice fading into the muttering of the crowd. Would they want to see her? Given the boxes and the labels in her room…

Her uncle caught the words and nodded.

“Waiting for you,” he responded. “They were evacuated from their home and are currently staying in the temple.”

Words from Ekimet cut through her uncle’s voice. Forgive me, Atalant, for putting you through this. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know who the other elds were. If I had known a Neek had ascended, that they were an outcast…

Atalant shrugged. “It’s fine,” she responded out loud, facing Ekimet. She had to work to keep her voice neutral. “You’re Corccinth’s grandtochter. I owe her a great deal for everything she has done for her community. I bear you no ill will.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she did owe Corccinth if for no other reason than her suggestion to mark the spaces for those seeding tapestries.

Ekimet blinked in surprise and looked questioningly at Atalant. “Her community?” zie asked. “Of retirees?”

Zie doesn’t know, Atalant sent blankly to Emn. Do you think I should tell zir?

I think you already did.

“We have a lot of things to discuss, Eld Ekimet.” Atalant offered her hand, palm up. “Let’s go inside. I want to see my family first,” she added in a voice that not even Yorden would have argued with. “I don’t deserve to be kept from them anymore.”