Tasting the electric tang of a wind laced with lightning, the Emperor warred with the exhilaration that demanded he surge into peril because there was stone beneath his feet and over his head. He stood in his own tower in the stillness of an afternoon lanced with its long shadows, and the alien facing him was somehow more dangerous than any storm he’d ever flown, took up more space than there was air to breathe, was the first Faulfenzair he’d seen that made sense of the species… a sense that struck the pattern he held and shattered it into a million fractals, hissing endless mysteries. How did the others in the room not sense it? He forced himself to remain motionless as his Queen introduced the stranger.
“Qora left our world to seek a Faulfenzair, and this is that individual. The Liaison and his Fleet allies brought him here at his request. His name is Daqan.”
Which told him nothing, and both he and this stranger knew it. That made the question inevitable. “Who are you?”
“I am the harbinger of the war you were born to fight.”
Something primal in him howled a triumphant clarion. He lost sight of the room for a vertiginous cascade of battles, of blood and fire streaking from his claws and sheeting from his body as he tore a never-ending tide of killers… killers he felt no ambivalence about ending, unlike the Chatcaava he fought alongside Third and the Admiral-Offense.
Second and Third were standing behind him, but it was the Queen Ransomed who replied to the stranger, tentatively. “We are attempting to avoid another war. We have fought one already and the cost was high.”
Did the Faulfenzair hear her words? He was offering the Emperor his hand. “Let us unlock the knowledge Qora gave you.”
The Emperor met his eyes. Was this meeting foreordained? Did it mean something that they looked alike? Both black with yellow eyes. Both male. Both, he thought, dangerous.
He clasped the hand, and reached for the cell-deep knowledge in it—was seized by it and swept away in a torrent of fire. Holding onto his Chatcaavan shape had never been harder in the face of the Touch. But he did because he wanted to understand what made not just this species, but this individual, unique. He could not name those qualities, but they burned between their palms.
“Call the MindFire,” said the stranger.
When he’d been told of the Faulfenza, he’d learned of their ability to warm things with their hands. What erupted in him was nothing so minor. This was power that could burn like a meteor tunneling through atmosphere, or an explosion flash-frying the air around a planet. He chose a less violent manifestation, and could… could halo himself in a layer of heat like the shield englobing a warship. And yet, somehow the heat was only the external sign of something deeper—
“Exalted?” That was Second, who was aware enough of the shapechange’s distracting intimacies to lower his voice.
“Give him time,” the Faulfenzair said.
“I did not need so much time to learn this shape,” the Queen said, concerned.
“He is not learning a shape.”
“Then what is he learning?”
Their voices receded as he chased the sensation. It tangled with the visions of battle and flirted wings with things only the Eldritch pattern had given him: flashes of a truth that underpinned the universe. A river of glorious wind….
They were not meant to fly that wind. It was vast, a thing for weavers of universes. But briefly he understood the conflicts of the galaxy as reflections of that greater truth, and felt under his wings the dark sting of lightnings meant to disrupt it, destroy it. Felt a kinship with that darkness in the fluidity of the Change, and rejected it, and that malleability became a dance that gave structure to a chaos that served a crueler hand. He soared over the pattern and glimpsed that chaos woven through his empire, and the cracks where it pulsed blackest had riven it into the warring pieces. Seams in a thing meant to be whole – whole nation, whole people, whole souls.
His eyes opened, and he hadn’t realized they’d been closed. “The Chatcaava must Change.”
The stranger was still gripping his hand, waiting.
“And we need the fire.”
That prompted a smile, and a smile on that face was shocking: proof of a person under the myth.
“One can be both,” Daqan said.
“Do you read minds as well?”
“No, but it’s a thing that people often wonder when they see me do something normal.”
That… made him laugh. He could. Could step back from the weight of knowledge and destiny. Was this how his Perfection felt when the Eldritch gift for prophecy visited him? Did it visit him, the way he claimed it did his relations? And when it vanished, did he feel the nakedness of the moment, and the urgency? How meager flesh seemed, put to such grand purpose. And yet, how invigorating, to have such skies to fly. “We must embrace the Change. Immediately.”
“A decree from you is not likely to change the minds of those who did not already want to coast on your vortices, Exalted,” Second said.
“I will ensure it,” said the stranger.
Second and Third’s silences were skepticism. The Queen’s was unease. The Emperor… the Emperor was amused. “What do you need to do this?”
“A gathering.”
“Then,” the Emperor said, “come tonight to the dinner on the field. You will find an audience large enough to begin there.”
The stranger said, “Send someone for me at the right time.”
After his departure, Second said, “Exalted? Was this shape so different?”
A question that merited investigation. The Emperor said to the Queen, “You have learned the Faulfenzair shape. What do you think?”
The Queen’s frown was slight, but if he touched her with an Eldritch hand, he would sense her digging into memory, and deeper, into the source of the patterns in her. “I learned it on the pirate asteroid among many, many other shapes in swift succession. At the time, I thought it different because so many of the Pelted shapes are variations of the same base. They are made creatures, and the Faulfenza are true aliens.”
“But?” Third asked.
“But now that I have learned several other true alien shapes, I see that the Faulfenza are no more novel than they are. What is particular to them is how clear their pattern is.” She tucked a lock behind one of her horns. “Every species has characteristics we can learn and graft to our pattern, but some of those characteristics are faint, or… or muddy. I assumed that was a result of a poor Touch. But perhaps some patterns are more distinct by nature. The Faulfenzair shape has this quality.”
Now Third was wearing an interesting look. The Emperor did not have to prompt him, either… had only to look at him for the Eldritch to say, “Something she said made me think of copies of copies, blurring. And about the Chatcaavan belief about Perfection. Perhaps the Faulfenza are not copies of anything.”
Second snorted. “What does that make the rest of us, then? And the Chatcaava in particular?”
“I don’t know that it implies anything about you as a species,” the Ambassador said, and he was now the Ambassador, not Third. “But that the Chatcaava have consistently maintained an interest in, and a worship of, the concept of originals versus copies is suggestive. It is a long-running historical belief, is it not, Beauty?”
“The worship of the Living Air involves the concept of Perfection,” the Queen Ransomed said. “But I did not see the temple at the Source, the way you did. Do you remember anything from it?”
“No,” the Ambassador said. “But at the time it wasn’t pertinent….”
“I will ask,” she said. “Perhaps we have records. And there is the shrine in the city that Qora found…” There she paused. “I now wonder if that matters. That a Faulfenzair discovered a shrine with an alternate story of our origins.”
“Ah? What was this?” Second asked. “I remember you going into the city to visit a shrine, but not why.”
“They do not worship the Living Air,” she said. “They make sacrifices to the Killing Wind because they fear it. The Killing Wind gave us our ability to Change, but it was a… a double-edged sword, my sister would say. A gift that was not a gift, because it also hurt us. And the Killing Wind suffered no rivals, and would destroy those who did not feed it blood.” She frowned. “It was a dark story.”
Second looked resigned. “The dark ones are usually closer to the truth.”
“Not always,” Third said. “Sometimes the dark stories are lies told us by our enemies to sap our strength.”
“And if they aren’t lies?” Second asked.
“Then one should exercise caution before arming one’s slaves,” Third said with a grin.
“Ah!” Second laughed. “Yes. You would say so.” To the Emperor, “I shall learn this shape at dinner, so that at least one person is seen to volunteer.”
“Good,” the Emperor said. “You should learn it. But I doubt you will be the only one.”
“You expect this alien to succeed where others have failed?”
The Emperor said, simply: “Yes.”
Second waited for more, and when more was not forthcoming, shrugged with a tilted hand. “It will certainly solve a problem for us if he can. If he manages, we should reward him. What do we give dangerous but useful aliens for reward?” He eyed Third. “Other than power, harems, and ships?”
The Queen Ransomed said, “They eat flower petals?”
The Emperor laughed. “We’ll give him a garden world if he wants one. But I don’t think he does.”
“What does he want?” Second said.
“What he wanted was to come here,” the Queen Ransomed said. “And to speak to the Emperor about his shape. And now, to give that shape to others.”
“And that’s all? I doubt it.”
“It is all that he has said he wanted,” she replied. “Their people do not lie.”
“That doesn’t prevent them from not sharing,” Second said. “A lesson we have learned well from Third’s people, if not our own.”
What the alien wasn’t sharing was burning in the pit of the Emperor’s body like stirred embers. There were shapes one Changed to… and shapes that Changed one. That burned out the rot and the disease and the darkness, and left everything visible. Such acts were threatening to those who did not want to see. “If the Faulfenza do not lie, and he has not shared, then it should be simple enough to ask him. You should when you see him next, Second.”
“Perhaps I will, Exalted. Before I learn his shape.”
* * *
That evening the alien was sitting in the center of the field when the Emperor’s party descended, and had been for some time from the tension of the courtiers already at the dinner tables. He had the inevitability of stone but without its stillness; even seated, the alien made one think of motion. Particularly, of unstoppable motion. Of avalanches, or the roiling of plasma.
The Emperor settled on his pillow as if the presence of an alien was normal, and the dining commenced, if without its usual enthusiasm. The servers came and went with the platters, people ate; they even talked, if quietly and with frequent pauses to see if their unexpected guest would do anything. But Daqan remained unmoved, hands resting on his folded legs. He watched the Chatcaava, and there was nothing prey-like in that gaze. Nothing predatory either. He surveyed them like someone who existed outside their ability to affect him… and maybe he did.
Ices were brought. Supper ended. The Emperor did not rise, and didn’t speak either. He wanted to see what the alien would do.
What the alien chose to do was wait until everything had been cleared away and no one was sure why the Emperor had not released them by formally ending the meal. Then, Daqan spoke. “I am told that power among dragons is measured in fighting prowess, and that alien shapes are considered pollution because they dilute that power. But no one who fights me will best me. Try.”
It said something of the Emperor’s court that no one rose immediately to this challenge. They had learned that wingless freaks were not always harmless. But it was a challenge, and the Emperor would have no one craven at his table. “Will no one answer the alien?”
The heir to the Coreward Southern Gleaming stood, though from the frame of his wings he was wary. “I will, Exalted.”
“Very good. Proceed.”
As that male hopped over the table, the Queen Ransomed whispered, “I do not think these aliens fight.”
“Then this should be a very short demonstration,” said Second.
Their volunteer had come to a halt opposite Daqan. The latter rose, and that in itself was instructive. The Emperor had become inured to the difference in sizes between Chatcaava and aliens after fighting alongside them, entering into treaties with them, and taking their shapes under his skin. But even he could appreciate the impact of this Faulfenzair unfolding from his position, because the Faulfenza were not only tall, but dense. Nor was that density solely muscle; their heavy world origins permeated their entire bodies, from skin to bone, and impregnated every motion with power, and on lighter worlds, speed. The Emperor could see the Gleaming’s Heir’s second thoughts… and the resolution that drove them from him. “I will fight you, alien.”
“Then do so,” Daqan said, and waited.
Having resolved himself, Gleaming’s Heir launched… and bleated in horror as the Faulfenzair erupted with fire. The hard skew the Heir made to avoid passing through that barrier had been impressive; despite it, a singed smell drifted to the Emperor on the breeze.
“Not fair?” Daqan said. “Try me without it.” The aura deflated.
That Gleaming’s Heir was still willing given the visible burn on his shoulder and side was impressive, but the male was circling Daqan… warily, perhaps, but gamely. His target didn’t move, waiting with that uncanny patience. Then Gleaming’s Heir threw himself forward into the Faulfenzair.
That sound… it was like hearing someone hit a cliff. Gleaming’s Heir staggered back, swaying on his feet. Regaining his wits, he rushed Daqan a second time, talons outstretched… and the Faulfenzair stepped out of the way with a movement too fast to seem so leisurely. Then, with a single hand, he grabbed the Heir by the horn, yanked him back far enough to get a grasp on his neck, and lifted him off the ground.
Daqan threw Gleaming’s Heir clear across the field with a motion that looked casual… and this time, the Chatcaavan didn’t jump back to his feet.
“Anyone else?” Daqan said.
“A fierce enough attack would shred you!” someone called.
“You’d have to hit me first,” the alien said. And then he grinned. “My people don’t fight. Do you wonder how I learned?” He looked toward the Emperor. “A Chatcaavan taught me a century and a half ago.”
What a tutelage that must have been. Who had done it? Would he ever learn? Did it matter?
Beside him, Second rose from his pillow. “I will learn your shape. But I don’t know that we can create the mass you were born to.”
“The density of my body is as much a feature of its biology as the lightness of yours. And you will have the fire.” The alien held out a hand. “Try it.”
Second leaped lightly to the field to take it. He was as adept at the Touch as a male with far more shapes, but the Emperor was watching closely enough to see the tremor of surprise that traveled the male’s leading wing edges when the shape took. For a long moment, Second did nothing, eyes closed and nostrils flaring… then he became a short but impressively solid Faulfenzair, dark gray and white and yellow-orange.
But that was the least of the Faulfenzair gifts. Second concentrated, staring at his hands, and gasped when visible fire sputtered into sight around them. “Magnificent!” Turning to Gleaming’s Heir. “Come, try me!”
Almost the Emperor chuckled at the expression the youth allowed to fly over his face before he schooled it. The grapple that followed lasted as long as it did because the new shape required more mindfulness than average. For Second, anyway. The Emperor remembered receiving it from Qora and moving as easily as in a dream. It still felt easy in him, like a memory of a deep breath nourishing the body.
“Magnificent!” Second said again. “Especially the fire. You should try it, Heir to the Coreward Southern Gleaming.”
No doubt Second had said so because he felt it his duty to try, not because he expected any other Chatcaavan to embrace the Change. But Gleaming’s Heir glanced once at Daqan, then said, “I would like to.”
“To Change,” Daqan said, “is to be Chatcaavan.” He presented his hand. “Embrace your birthright.”
Beside him, Third inhaled.
Gleaming’s Heir took the hand and Changed without any of the hesitation or drama of other novice’s first attempts. He became Faulfenzair… and rushed Second. The Emperor laughed aloud, and someone cheered, and then the entire field was on its feet, urging the competitors on. It was a fun fight to watch because Second wasn’t certain of his new shape, and Gleaming’s Heir so determined to win he was ignoring every new sensation unless it helped him… and the court loved seeing the young male take on an older and cannier opponent with such ferocity.
The Emperor was never sure if Second tripped on purpose or if he failed to use his digitigrade legs correctly; either way, that was a reason the court could believe that Gleaming’s Heir could briefly pin the Empire’s second highest official. In that moment, they saw their ambitions restored, could see themselves fighting for and winning the throne. As nearly one, they turned their gazes on Daqan, who was standing with his arms out, hands up.
“Come, then,” he said, and Chatcaava began leaping their tables.
“My God and Lady,” Third breathed. “In a single moment.”
“A single moment can change histories,” the Queen Ransomed murmured.
As Second heaved himself back onto his pillow, once again in his Chatcaavan shape, the Emperor said, “You have done good work this evening.”
“Me!” He laughed. “Better find that garden world, Exalted. The alien has surely earned it.”
The Emperor smiled. And added, “You didn’t ask the alien what he really wanted.”
Second sobered. “No. Do I have to? The Change is enough. This Change.”
“Yes.”
* * *
That night, the Emperor glided into the suite assigned to the visiting alien. Daqan was seated on a pillow near the balcony, a cup of some tisane issuing curls of steam like incense near his knee.
“How long will you stay?”
“Long enough to advance this process,” Daqan said. “Half a year, perhaps. I’ll travel this world and go to your fleet. After that, I have other duties. You’ll have other aliens ready to help you, then.”
“Your people?”
“Among others. But definitely mine. Did your Liaison talk to you about the void bridges?”
“He may have made a report that has crossed Second’s desk, but not mine.”
“You’ll want to interview him personally. But there are wormholes your kind can use without permanent damage only by embracing the Change.”
The Emperor flew that fact’s perimeter before coming up with the only question that mattered. “Why?”
Daqan smiled. “Find out.”
The Emperor canted his head. Then said, “Wormholes.”
“Hundreds of them, made by a race that kills planets because death feeds their spirits.”
Remnants of visions of battle and blood. “The war I was born to fight.”
“We would say you were forged before birth for it. And to call people to it.” The male’s eyes were hard. “You are a Voice, and you call people to the path meant by the God. To battle.”
“The final war?” the Emperor asked.
“It is the only war.”
And so it never ended? But he didn’t feel the need to ask, or to know, really. It was enough to sense the purpose reshaping his life. Lending it structure, the way Faulfenzair Dance did to the chaos of shapeshifting. The Dance was in him, somehow, still.
He stood. “I will assign you several staff. Go where you please and do what you will.”
“Thank you. It’s better that way.”
Than the alternative, which was Daqan doing what he would, anyway? Despite every effort made to bar him? Somehow the Emperor thought the Faulfenzair would have managed no matter the obstacles contrived to stop him. The Emperor was grateful, abruptly, that Lisinthir was the one who’d come first to crack the foundations of the Empire.
* * *
The Liaison had prospered by his new assignment. When the Emperor had selected him as candidate for the position of his Queen’s Knife, he’d seen potential… but also an unavoidable callowness, because the provincial planets that supplied the majority of the navy’s ranks did not proffer opportunity for much else. But the Liaison had seen and done much since that promotion, and it showed in his alert bearing and calm… relative calm, at least. What else, when called before all the major powers of the Empire?
The Liaison bowed low, showing the backs of his wings. “Exalted Emperor. You sent for me and I am here.”
“These wormholes,” the Emperor said. “Tell me about them.”
The wrinkle of nostrils, suggestive of revulsion, was interesting. “The ones the alien called void bridges. The Pelted call them slides.”
That roused Third. “They have already named them?”
“The Pelted Fleet has posited their existence for years, and had a task force dedicated to them,” the Liaison said. “But no one in the Alliance has traversed one, that this group knows of. Uuvek says—”
“Uuvek?” Second asked sharply. “That is a Chatcaavan name.”
“Yes, Second. He was in our navy; we went through the war with the Pelted together. He now works with the Eldritch.”
“I know of this individual,” the Queen Ransomed said. “I discussed his request for transfer with the Eldritch princess. I permitted his going.”
“You did?” the Liaison said, surprised. And then, “I beg your pardon, my Queen. I meant no insolence. It is only that Uuvek did not say so to me.”
She laughed softly. “I doubt it crossed his mind, that his employment by a foreign power might be a matter for concern.”
“Or if it did, he decided it shouldn’t matter,” the Liaison said with resignation. “But I thank you for making it possible. He is doing useful work there integrating our systems.”
Second looked at the Emperor incredulously. “He is being allowed to do this?”
“It was necessary,” the Emperor said. “Or the hardware we borrowed to defend our vulnerable systems would not have worked. Be at peace, Second. They are our allies.”
“For now!”
“They will be remain our allies because there is a greater foe,” the Liaison said. “The alien showed us.”
“Yes,” the Emperor said. “This is what I wish to hear more about.”
“The unmakers who are responsible for these void bridges,” the Liaison continued. “The alien explained that they do not make things. They are fed by destruction. Having met them, I feel it. They thrive on hate.”
“As some of our worst do,” Second murmured.
“No.” The Liaison’s wings tightened. “No, Second. Not even the most hate-crazed Chatcaavan male could approach the magnitude of what I felt in transit. We might feel hate, but they are Hate.”
No one spoke into the shivering pause that followed that statement, so brutally and completely framed in their language. What might be the Perfect embodiment of hatred? How could such a thing exist in a temporal world? Perhaps it was that question that drove Third to ask, “How can they function?”
“I do not know,” the Liaison said. “And I have never seen them. But when you use the void bridge, they can attack you, the way nightmares might attack a dreaming mind. It cannot be fought in any normal way.”
“Your alien spoke of permanent damage,” the Emperor said.
“To the mind, yes. And then what one does when driven insane… yes. I can believe that it would destroy us.” The Liaison twitched his head, as if to flinch from a memory. “When we used the transit, two of my companions were trapped in an evil reverie. We were able to free them, but they were unsettled by the experience.”
“And yet, a wormhole transit should be instant,” Second said.
“The alien warned us that it would not seem so to us. It didn’t. Though by the ship’s clock, you are correct, my-better. It took no time to traverse a great distance.”
Another moment’s silence before Second said, low, “Instantaneous interstellar transit.”
“God and Living Air,” Third murmured.
“But only if such wormholes could be traveled without driving people insane,” the Queen Ransomed said, wings sagging. “You cannot seriously believe we should use them!”
I am the harbinger of the war you were born to fight.
“No,” the Emperor said. “Not yet.” To the Liaison, “The alien said these foes did not love the Change.”
“No,” the Liaison said. “When I shifted shapes, their voices attenuated, as if it was harder for them to reach into my mind. But it is not clear to me, the mechanism by which this is accomplished, Exalted Emperor. No time elapsed between entering and exiting the wormhole. And yet, though the Change is not instantaneous, I exited the passage a different shape.”
“Something that bears investigation,” the Emperor said.
“We should have our own task force,” Second said. “They can share information with their alien counterpart.”
“Does that make Uuvek part of our task force or the Alliance’s?” Third asked, amused.
“Since this individual has apparently involved himself in the matter without permission or oversight,” Second said, “he is obviously the interface between the two groups. I suspect that would work, ah, Liaison?”
The Liaison said, “Second… I… believe it would be best to place him where he can do us the most good.”
“Which is to say, where he’s going to be anyway,” Third said.
“…and so I will recommend we make it official,” Second replied, wry. “It is better not to command where your commands will be ignored.”
“Acceptable,” the Emperor said, because unlike Second he had no doubt that the Alliance would stand alongside them in the coming fight. “Third, if you would handle the official arrangements.”
“I shall be glad to, Exalted.”
“That leaves me with a task for you, Liaison. This Faulfenzair has decided to spend several months teaching his shape to all that want it. He will need an attaché.”
The Liaison bowed again. “It would be an honor to serve, Exalted.”
“Even though you will be leaving your Pelted companions?”
“I believe, unless I am mistaken, that they will request permission to remain, Exalted. Their government is also interested in this individual, and what the Faulfenza know.”
“If the Faulfenza knew about even one stable wormhole,” Third said, “then yes. The Alliance is certainly interested. And the Eldritch will be as well. How fortunate that we have a naval base in that system, Exalted, where all three navies might interface.”
The Emperor laughed. “Yes.” To the Liaison, “You have served well. Continue with your title, and report now to the alien. An escort is waiting outside to take you to him.”
“Exalted.” The Liaison bowed a third time. “I am glad to serve.”
After the Liaison’s departure, Second said again, “Instantaneous transit would transform the galaxy.”
“Maybe,” Third said, though the Emperor knew that tone. His Eldritch was hungry for a future that included usable wormholes. Who wouldn’t be? “Depending on where this wormhole goes, what it costs to use it, and whether there are any others.”
“If there’s more than one…”
The Queen Ransomed said, “If the Alliance has a task force to study them, that suggests the phenomenon merited it. I could find out more.”
“You and Third,” the Emperor said. “Uncover what you can.”
“If all of them cause insanity,” Second said, “We would have to handle that first.”
The clap of lightning striking sounded in his heart, and the storm called. “Yes,” the Emperor said. “We would.”