FOURHUNDRED THIRTYTWODAY—LASTDAY, 4952, VESPERS
Teloa was not really paying attention to the twins’ bantering. They had drunk just enough wine to be light-headed and were ribbing each other mercilessly, Kalith bringing up Kavan’s appreciation of lovely women and his brother retaliating with a list of the new wines—all of which Kal had sampled. Tay was more interested in their younger sister, Liel. The girl was remarkably unspoiled for being the youngest of ten children, treating Teloa as a sister. Tay could see Liel had been protected; there was a naive sweetness about her, an awe of the outside world that stopped just short of being provincial. Walking back to the city, they had been shy of one another, the presence of a guaard inhibiting conversation. But Braan’s dog, Zair, had proved to be a bridge between them. Both loved animals, and now that he knew the off-worlder, the beast responded to Teloa’s affection wholeheartedly.
Their speech shot from one topic to another. Teloa was convinced Liel had never conversed with an off-worlder before, other than ambassadors and her in-laws. She was intensely curious about everything, and once the Atares thought they had given their guaard the slip, Teloa talked freely to her about the Axis Republic and the neutral worlds. Liel absorbed every word and gesture, clearly fascinated by what to her were strange customs and stories. She did not pry, however—Teloa wondered if children learned early not to question off-worlders about their personal past.
Conversation suddenly ceased, as if by mutual agreement. They were content, walking the silent streets of lastday, ignored by other pedestrians. The festival would end at dawn, the new year begin. Time enough later for the twins to face leaving; the Gerrymander did not raise until prime.
There was something strange in the brilliant crimson orange of starset. Tay felt it but could not single it out. Zair also seemed restless. The air was different, heavier. She heard frequencies that were not familiar. Teloa stopped walking and faced the starset. She looked beyond it, above it, waiting for final, irrevocable proof.
“Tay?” It was Liel, who spoke to the twins and then hurried back to Teloa.
The off-worlder felt her puzzlement giving way to fear. Still faint, but growing, the pain growing in her head—Gods, not again. I cannot, not again-
“Do you hear it?” Tay’s voice was scarcely a whisper.
“Hear what?” Kavan asked as he walked back up the street.
“They’re coming.”
“Who is coming?” Kal said, at first sharp with impatience, and then softening as he saw her face. “What do you sense? Are you an empath?”
“You really don’t hear it yet, do you?” She turned to Liel. “Can’t you hear it?”
“There is something ...“ Liel began uncertainly.
“What, Li? Your hearing has always been good.” Kal suddenly was taut, blazing, cold sober. Just then the air-raid siren began to wail.
Teloa folded to her knees, the color drained from her face. “Not again. I can’t take it again. So many times ... They came so close, but I got away. Not here, not now —”
“What?” Kavan shook her, dragging her to her feet.
“Lunas. They turned my planet to ash, we had no shields, no military. They melted the skin from my people. They will sear the life from this world.” She looked up at them, panic freezing her face. “They are like living things, they always find their prey unless destroyed first, they—”
Kavan shook her again, cutting off the growing hysteria in her voice. “This time it will be different. We have a shield and can temper the damage. We have to find a shelter; the radiation cannot touch us there. Come on.” Locking an arm around Tay’s waist, Kavan forced her to run. Pain suddenly filled their heads, the sign of abnormal frequencies.
The impact of the leading bomb half deafened them and shook the ground beneath their feet, although it landed on the other side of the river. Zair raised his voice in the deep-throated bay of his breed. They heard the chain reaction of explosions as the power lines beneath the street detonated.
Kal glanced back over his shoulder, and looked momentarily stricken. “That is the foreign quarter! Shinar is there—“ He started running back.
“Kal, no, you cannot get through, it is—“ Kavan’s voice was lost in the groaning sound of the fires, the soft winds of Amura spiraling to incredible fury.
“What is he—” Liel started to yell.
“He will be back, the fires will stop him. I just hope he can get back. Come on, I think there is a shelter in the next block.” Kavan indicated she should help him with Teloa, and the three joined other Nualans staggering down the street, Zair leading the way.
There was a shelter, already crowded with children and several men and women of varying ages. They entered and rushed down the narrow, winding corridor, which was designed to guard against flying debris.
Still shaking, Tay pulled away, moving to stand alone. “I’m sorry. I—you don’t know, you can’t know ...” she whispered, leaning against the wall, her gaze studying the dim passage beyond where supplies were stored.
“We will know soon enough, will we not?” Kavan replied. At the sound of his name, Kavan stepped back to the mouth of the corridor.
It was Kalith. “I could not get through; Casae Podami is already blocked off. I am going to try to reach the power station and cut the lines. Otherwise the whole city will go up,” Kal called down.
“Wait! I shall go with you! Two have a better chance!” Kavan raced back up the dark corridor, pushing his way through. He was followed by a man in black—their evening guaard.
“No! Don’t go! You can’t stop it! The lines do not matter, lunas burn from within!” Tay screamed, starting to follow. Liel threw her arms around the woman and hung on, aware of her disadvantage in height. The two tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Zair on top of them both, as another explosion, closer this time, rocked the shelter. Tears streaming down her face, the Caprican made no attempt to get up.
“Tay, we cannot just—“ Liel began.
“He’s crazy,” Teloa whispered. “Lunas throw off their matter as they land. It burns until it is consumed, it takes hours, days! It—”
Her next words were never heard, as a deafening explosion ripped the streets above them, causing the entrance to cave in and debris and bricks to rain down from the ceiling.
oOo
“As it was in the beginning, is now and forever, worlds without end ...“ Arrez paused in the litany and found a high-pitched drone interfering with his thoughts. He recognized the air-raid siren. Turning to face the packed house, Arrez imperially tossed his hand in the direction of the main entranceway.
“Open the doors, all of them.” He turned to Baskh Atare, who was already crossing the choir area and stepping up into the apse.
“It is starset,” Baskh intoned. “The roof of the Mendülarion is a perfect target. Quickly, quietly, everyone out. The rows nearest the doors first. There are shelters located at the bottom of the hill. We must reach them.” Ignoring Arrez’s gestures that he should lead them, Baskh stood firm, a sign of visible stability in the fear of the crowd. The impact of the next bomb set the pillars to swaying, although it was at a considerable distance.
“These pillars have withstood mighty quakes. Do not hesitate, do not panic!” Baskh Atare roared. By now a good third of the people were out, although Arrez saw that the royal family held back, waiting for Baskh.
“Get the children out of here,” the priest called, indicating Tal, Deveah, and Baskh’s eldest son should remove their families, over ten and old enough to represent their generation at the elderday.
Deveah had just reached the innermost nave door when a bomb lodged in the hill above the temple, collapsing the choir like matchsticks and separating the apse from the nave. The orderly evacuation became a rout. Deveah shoved Jared out the door and stepped back into the temple.
The next bomb was a direct hit, dropping through the center of the nave and reaching explosion temperature just below the temple floor, blowing the roof to the sky. Unable to see to the nave through the solid wall of choir stone, Arrez dragged himself off the floor and looked for Draü. He saw her at the altar, attempting to lift the great candle and carry it out the apse exit, which had had its doors blown off the hinges in the force of the last impact. As Arrez tried to reach her he pushed at a pillar. The tiled wall next to him collapsed at the loss of its keystone, and the last thing he remembered was Baskh Atare trying to drag Draü from the altar. Then there was darkness.
oOo
Braan lay on the ground, trying to clear the sparks from his eyes. Cursing himself soundly into the depths of the Path, he leapt to his feet, preparing to run back to his home for Dylan and Asiai. He looked across the city, flames beginning to burn brighter than the dying starlight. Then he realized what was wrong. He saw no reflection from the Mendülarion. Panic rose in his throat, and he tore down the path. Fool! To think they would not really abandon us ...
He reached the outskirts of town without difficulty and was thankful he had crossed the river outside the city limits; the bridges still standing were in flames. Racing down a large street, Braan found himself cut off by a fire, several men and women standing before it looking for paths through the inferno. Turning around, he doubled back to another major artery, unaware of his younger brother screaming his name.
oOo
Roe awoke with a start, swinging her feet off the bed.
“Moran?” No answer—he must have left her to nap while he changed for dinner. Had Lyte slept, too? He had been so tired....
A shudder ran through the building, the plant stand swaying. Roe realized she had felt, not heard something; and had been roused from a sound sleep. A quake? Darkness was falling—she could see nothing from her window. She left the room and went down the corridor to the courtyard. Throwing open a glass door, she looked out into the twilight.
Fire was everywhere, obscured by thick smoke, and she heard screams muffled by the sound of the air-raid siren. The sound connected, and then she was frantically searching the skies. There was a glimmer—another wave coming. She started running back down the hall.
“Moran! Lyte!” She was startled at her own volume and found herself screaming from the pain of the frequencies. Then she was on her stomach, covering her head as the palace buckled and rocked from the impact of a bomb. She heard collapsing stone and tiles and felt herself blacking out. It seemed like only moments later she could see again, but there was no longer the sound of falling rock.
A voice was speaking softly, urgently to her; someone was shaking her arm. “Serae, please get up! We must get to a shelter!!” It was one of the palace guaard, his reserve shattered. His face was white, his neck and shoulders bleeding from superficial wounds. Roe listened—nothing.
“It has stopped,” she said aloud.
“But there is no knowing when it will begin again! Please—“
“We must find the injured,” she said, interrupting. “Who was here? Three of Baskh’s little ones, in the far wing. Moran, Lyte—were my brothers and sister back from the planters?”
“Serae, the temple is destroyed, we must go at once!”
She stared at him, digesting this. Then she stood slowly. “If that is true, Eon, then I may be the Ragäree. If so, I shall not leave without my man—or his body.” She took a deep breath. “Find help, I will get my bag and extra antidote for the radiation. You are correct, we must get everyone left into the shelter. Hurry, I shall meet you at the crossing!”
oOo
Several of the corridors into the watch room were destroyed, but Jaac finally found an open one. Entering the watch room proper, she found a tight-lipped group of people still going about their assigned tasks.
“Status report.” Immediately a volume of information was thrown her way. The relief on the faces of her warriors was plain. Jaac had survived Taos; she would survive this one. After quickly going over the information, she said, “Activate defense system.”
“Are we going to let them have it?”
Jaac did not look up as she framed a reply. “We cannot retaliate without the direct order of the Atare. Have you tried to reach the Io or—”
“No response. Either out of direct range or ignoring us.”
“Probably out of range,” Henne said bitterly. “They do not want to listen to the death throes of a planet.”
Jaac looked up, mildly surprised. “Who said anything about Nuala dying?” Henne stared bleakly at her. “It will take a lot more than a few luna bombs to destroy the radiation capital of the galaxy. You forget the shield can detonate the sensitive luna heads in midair. Order all warriors to the outskirts of the city, to prepare in case of a troop carrier landing.” She studied the explosion chart, the wide range of hits, the low density. “Fewhas ... they might be crazy enough to land.”
“Planet defense activated” came a voice. “The bombs are beginning to explode in midair. They will stop with the lunas now and switch to regular forces. We put all legions on standby before we lost interplanetary communications, with orders to defend their cities using whatever means possible.”
“Then I would imagine they are ready. Begin preparations to countdown for defense.” Every head snapped up. “It takes a few minutes,” Jaac said easily. “The Atare may have problems getting word to us. We must be ready. This attack is not personal, warriors; the front has moved once again. The Fewhas will try to use plutos bombs and turn us to powder. We may have to retaliate.” The warriors quickly bent to their computers.
COMPLINE
Braan took what was left of the temple stairs two at a time, ignoring the voices screaming at him from below. He was conscious of the sound of lunas exploding but felt no impacts. Looking up, he realized the defense had been activated. The defense shield ... That could only mean Jaac was still alive.
“We must fight,” he said aloud, amazed he could face the concept so casually. He started into the main entrance, and then saw that there was nothing left of the nave. He backed away quickly, fearful of radiation residue. Instead he cut around the side of the temple and reached the apse door.
“Can anyone hear me?” he called as he entered.
“Braan?” The whisper came from almost at his feet. He jumped and realized it was Arrez. The priest was buried up to his shoulders in the tiles and plaster but had protected his head. Now he pushed aside rubble and looked up. “I am all right, for the most part. Just the wind knocked out of me.” He slapped the tip of a buried pillar at the end of his reach. “This brace saved me, I think. Baskh and Draü were over near the altar.”
The Nualan bent and removed one of his scarves, pressing it against a gash in the man’s forehead. Glancing around, he was glad to see several men and women had followed him.
“The high priest says he is all right. Start digging him out. You two come with me. You go find healers and get them up here. And you”—Braan gestured to an especially large man—“you keep everyone else in that shelter. And clear the entrance. We may be coming down in a hurry.” Leading the way, Braan climbed over the pillar and dropped down on the other side. He stopped short, shocked at what he found.
When the canopy collapsed, Baskh had saved Draü from the brunt of the flying pieces, but he could not block everything. The woman had taken fragments in the head, and a brief pulse check indicated that she was already dead. Baskh lay next to her, his hands sheltering the eternal fire that, although on its side, still burned. Scarcely a mark was on him, yet he was lying in a pool of blood.
The man’s eyelids fluttered. “I thought I heard your voice.” It did not sound like Baskh—too soft, and his breathing raspy. Braan’s gaze traveled the Atare’s body quickly, and then he clamped his hands on the leg artery that was swiftly draining the man’s life.
“Get a healer, and frozen platelet packages!” he yelled, whipping off his other scarf and tightly binding the wound. “The Atare has need!” Baskh gestured weakly with his hands, indicating they should not waste their time. Braan heard as if far away the words of the death litany. He looked up to find a young priestess kneeling at Baskh’s feet, her face white yet serene, oblivious to the smell of death, the smoke, her own broken, bloody arm hanging useless at her side.
“Not y—”
“Let her finish,” Baskh said. “I have lost too much blood. Man is not meant to survive such injury. To think I leave my people to this—“
“Had you not maintained the defense shield and the drills, it would have been much worse,” Braan interrupted, seizing the man’s hands as if he could lend him strength.
“Now you are out of scarves.” Baskh attempted to chuckle, reaching for breath. “I always knew that crazy two-scarf fashion would come in handy. I wonder how many lives ... here.” Shaking free of his sister’s son, the Nualan lifted his head and removed his chain of office, laying it in Braan’s hand. “Give this to Tal, if he lives. If not, keep it. A mad one shall not lead what remains.”
“How do you know I am not mad?” Braan finally answered.
Baskh smiled, almost a grimace in his pain. “Oh, you are. But there are many kinds of madness, and not all are evil. Good luck, my son. Take care of my people. They will need you more than they can know. May Holy Mendülay have mercy on us all.” His voice faded off at the end, as he slipped away—whether into death, or the coma of the dying, Braan did not know. He knelt there a moment, trying to concentrate on the final words of the litany, his mind unable to form coherent thoughts. Slowly he stood, and spoke to the small, stricken gathering.
“There may be survivors here. Let us search the temple.” Still clutching the chain of office in his right hand, its deep red stones flashing darkly, Braan continued his wandering.
A woman’s voice urgently calling his name forced him back outside and down to the first nave entrance—it was impossible to move through the choir, much less the nave. He found a healer and several others huddled over a body, a few people retreating at the medtech’s requests to give the man air.
Braan pushed through the crowd and found Tal lying peacefully on his back. A quick look to the healer produced a negative reply, even as his brother moved an arm.
“His back is broken,” the man whispered, fumbling in his bag. “The ribs crushed. All I can do is give him a painkiller.” Ignoring him, Braan knelt down and carefully slipped his arms around his brother’s shoulders, cradling his head. Tal opened his eyes, the familiar serenity still within the blue one, the depths of the black unreadable. The eldest smiled then, as if reassured by Braan’s presence. His gaze strayed to the glint of bright metal thrown carelessly across his own shoulder. A shadow crossed his face; there was only one reason for Braan to have the chain of office. Tal had loved Baskh as a father. He looked back to Braan’s face, and slowly, carefully attempted to speak. Braan and the healer bent down to catch the heir’s final words.
“Keep it.” A smile touched Tal’s lips, and it was a moment or two before Braan realized he had stopped breathing. The healer lowered his hand, the pain killer no longer necessary. Braan gently closed his brother’s eyes. Setting the body down, he straightened like an old man, unable to rise to his feet. His right hand hurt, and opening it, he saw he was gripping the chain so tightly that it had drawn blood. He did not feel the healer give him an injection of strong radiation antitoxin.
“We must find Deveah,” Braan said, his voice muted among the dead stones.
The healer’s eyes widened. “You—you cannot be serious, Seri! We—you—” The man was practically pleading with him, unable to meet Braan’s withering stare.
“One way or another it will be settled. The Atare had intended to confine him. We shall need restrainers—”
“There is no need” came a voice from behind him.
Braan tensed at the voice, its pain a weapon against him. He turned, expecting to find a half-strangled child. He found instead one of the twins—squinting in the dim light, Braan guessed. “Kavan?”
“Yes.” He moved over and stiffly folded down next to Braan, wordlessly touching Tal’s arm. He looked so destroyed, so utterly without hope Braan was frightened for his spirit.
“Why? Where is he?” The voice was sharper than Braan intended. The healer looked closely at Kavan, pulled out another air hypo and gave him an injection. Then he stood and indicated that the remaining people should come with him.
“What is left is at the starrise door,” Kavan said. Braan flinched. What love there was between them had fled long ago; but he was a brother. Kavan’s voice had almost cracked on the final words. Now he saw the chain. Bewildered, he looked around in the growing darkness, awareness dawning. “Where—”
“You are certain?” Braan pressed.
Kavan looked away. “Only one man on Nuala bore the Sheel Split in this generation. Yes?” His voice faded as he lost control, dissolving into silent hysteria. Braan swung the chain violently, scattering the rest of the human gallery like leaves before the wind. There was another line of plutos bombs, closer, in sequence—one landed in the gardens. Braan paid no attention, gathering Kavan into his arms as he had a frightened child many years ago. Kavan did not protest, as in other times, and Braan felt his own fear settling. Finally the young man regained control of himself and pulled away.
“There is much to be done. We are needed,” Braan ventured.
“Yes, Atare. What would you have of me?” Kavan answered, composing his face.
It took a few seconds for the form of address to sink in. Braan took a deep breath. “Those here can handle this area. I must go to Jaac. It is fruitless ... to look for ... anyone until the bombing stops. Can you make it up the hill and make sure someone there knows how to cut off the gas? Perhaps we can kill some of the fires. Try. If not, find me. And get a radiation shot first.” Braan managed a faint smile. “I need my third hand healthy.” Only then did it register with Braan where the healer had ripped Kavan’s sleeve, giving him the injection.
Standing awkwardly, Braan walked out to the top step. An elderly woman sat there, watching him keenly through bright eyes encased in a mass of wrinkles. He stooped to her and started to speak.
“Go on, Atare. They would understand. Of course I shall say the litany—as I know you will. But I shall stay.” Rising regally, the woman hobbled inside the small entrance. As Braan started down the steps, he heard her ancient, quicksilver voice rising above the commotion of the city.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; as we entered the universe, so we depart—alone....“
FIRSTDAY, 4953, MATINS
One candle burned in the shelter. A tiny candle, ill-made; it sputtered and fought for life between drafts and a pool of oil. Teloa stared at it until almost hypnotized, its flame filling her mind. The bombs came more frequently now, though they seemed less devastating. And they were no longer lunas. The small, cramped shelter was stifling, the odor of fear from the people packed within unmistakable. Time to get out. Teloa stirred. Stretching like a cat, the tall woman stood, shaking herself as if dreaming. At her side, Liel glanced up, puzzled—this Teloa was not a shaking child. This woman was quiet, confident, in control.
Teloa met her look. “The lunas have stopped. Trying to save money, I suppose. These are plutos or MSMs.” Stepping carefully over sprawled limbs, she walked to the back of the shelter, Zair’s huge form shadowing her. Liel shivered from the draft as Zair’s warm bulk left her side.
“That is a storeroom. Water and food supplies are kept in it,” Liel offered.
“What is beyond it?”
“Nothing.”
“There must be something,” Tay replied. “This draft traveled a long, clean way. It’s quite strong.” Picking up a piece of hemp lying on the floor, Tay lit it in the candle. Then she started back into the storeroom. “There’s a large vent back here,” she called.
“How large?” Liel asked, for conversation’s sake. The creaking and groaning of rusted metal brought her to her feet, and she stumbled into the storeroom. Teloa looked up from her handiwork. She had snapped an ancient lever—the vent stood open, the entrance taller than Zair.
“Are you coming?” The smile was strong, daring.
Liel stared at her. “You are crazy.”
The smile vanished. “No, just stir-crazy. It may take them days to find us, and longer to dig us out. I have survived two wars ... I shall not be beat by this one,” Tay replied, unconsciously falling into the Nualan syntax. Not waiting for an answer, Teloa turned and entered the air vent, Zair right behind her.
Liel looked back into the tiny bomb shelter, crammed with shell-shocked bodies. Only a few of their companions had even bothered to look up during this exchange. Without further hesitation she climbed into the duct.
The path, man-high, changed course often. After what seemed an eternity, a myriad of rest stops and hidden panic, Teloa stopped at a vent that suited her. Throwing her weight on hinges generations older than herself, she managed to open the hatch. They stepped out into cool night air, and silence.
“The bombing has stopped.”
“No. It’s only begun,” Tay answered. She pointed.
They were in the hills above the residential area, Tal’s house in plain sight. Liel turned toward the mountains and saw slender ground-to-air missiles slowly, silently rising from hidden silos.
WATCH ROOM
Jaac sat motionless in the command chair, her gaze never leaving the monitors. One told the defense shields held but were weakening. Above it another showed the ground-to-air missiles, the first wave GTAs; poised, ready to hurtle the barrier of the radiation belt and sear the missiles before they ever entered the atmosphere. The second wave was a different GTA—one that confused a missile’s heading and boomeranged it, sending it back to its origin. She dreaded using them, but things were past the point of return. She waited only for word from her Atare—whoever it was currently. A seal, a note, a presence. Something.
A rush of feet echoed down the corridor outside. The members of the watch looked up, hoping for news. Jaac did not react. Two guaard threw open the doors and entered. The palm locks had been destroyed when the computer system shut down. Behind them came Braan, followed by another pair of guaard. Henne stood, extending his hand for the message capsule.
“I came in person.” The room froze, absorbing his meaning. Henne took in Braan’s form at a glance; saw the chain of office in his hand. Without hesitation the man lowered his head. The others followed suit.
Jaac slowly turned in her command chair and stood. “Our shields weaken. Observations indicate that three ships took off at the beginning of the bombing. They achieved orbit, then we lost them on our monitors. Your orders?”
“Launch the first wave.” The words were spoken without tension.
Jaac had never doubted Braan’s ability to make swift decisions. She did not begin now. “Launch round one, first wave,” Jaac commanded.
“GTA launched.” The warrior’s reply was a whisper.
“Have you need of my presence?” Braan asked.
Jaac faced him again, not really interested in the ascending missiles. There was no strategy to this, no honor. “The second wave—“
“Use at least half our active first wave. If they do not appear to be slacking off in their attack, fire the first round of the second wave. I do not think we shall need to do anything else.” With a brief nod he turned and left the room. Jaac sat down again. There was no more to be said. If the Fewhas persisted, there simply would be no more Fewha battleships; their own bombs would destroy them.
PALACE
FIRSTDAY, 4953, MATINS
It did not take long to rally what servants and guaard remained alive in the palace. After several attempts the group finally found a path back to the guest’s quarters. Roe had taken the precaution of giving everyone in the party a radiation shot and had left the young children of Baskh outside with a guaard. Now they began to dig for Moran and Lyte.
There was no answer to their calls. Roe treated the injured warriors and servants who found their noisy group and waited, swallowing her fear. The guaard would allow her to touch nothing—news of the temple’s collapse had reached them, and they were terrified that Ronüviel was the last Atare female.
“Serae, we have found a shallow point. The door to a chamber is beyond,” a woman called.
Roe stepped forward only to be blocked by a guaard. “The supports are weak; the living rock could crush us. Stand away, Serae.”
The man at the head of the line pushed forward through the soft dirt and crushed stone. They heard an exclamation of surprise, and then a call for aid.
Roe handed an air hypo to the next warrior. “It was a luna that hit this house. Quickly—off-worlders have a greater need of radiation protection than we do.” The warrior wormed through the hole and disappeared. People began to widen the crevice, packing the dirt and stone firmly. No one requested they take the serae away—there was hope in that thought.
A stretcher was passed through the opening, and in a little while a warrior came crawling backward through the hole, supporting one end of the litter. Roe was stoic as she realized that it was Lyte, already tossing in a feverish delirium. Activating a monitor, she scanned him. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, radiation poisoning, broken shoulder and arm; mechanically she went to work, injecting the proper antibiotics, immobilizing bones, protecting against shock.
Indicating the cradle should be placed against the wall, she prepared a second air hypo, an especially potent one. For Moran, if—when—the guaard found him. It frightened her; the medication could be worse for her lover than radiation sickness. But it was a necessary risk.
She handed it to a guaard. “For the leader—in case it is needed.” The warrior nodded and crept back into the darkness of the hole.
A voice spoke from beyond. “Serae, the center is totally collapsed. We shall dig to all doorframes—they are the only places he could have survived.”
“As you think best,” she replied, fighting to keep control of her voice. Roe turned back to Lyte, laying her hands gently on his forehead and shoulder, feeling the healing power well up in her, oblivious to the remaining servants. The group sat in awe of what they could see, aware of a faint light not of stars or of distant torches. All three moons brought their new glory to the sky, yet the light in the shattered corridor slowly engulfed it.
Ronüviel did not know how long it had been since she began the healing trance. She was brought out of it by a gentle touch. “Serae, he lives. Come.” Shaking herself awake, Roe stumbled after the man.
They were just lifting Moran through the passage in the debris. He was past delirium, sunken into the spasmodic movements of those poisoned by the planet. Roe activated her monitor, although it was unnecessary, and carefully wiped the blood from the corner of his lips. Setting her features into a mask, she began the work of setting bones and protecting against chill, indicating someone should carry her bag.
“No one else would be here. Let us meet the others outside and flee this place,” Eon ventured.
“To where?” Roe asked between shots, her voice not unkind.
“The hospital complex.”
“For supplies, yes,” Roe answered. “And then we move on. Amura has become death for us.”
oOo
Night crawled on to its inevitable conclusion. The group finally found a corridor clear enough to carry the stretchers through the shattered Hall of Mirrors and beyond. The balance of the household awaited them, Baskh’s youngest sound asleep under a tree.
A guaard efficiently took charge, and soon a wagon crept up to the side doors. It was a panting young woman who stepped down from the driver’s niche, a tiny floater seat positioned on the wooden crossbar between the hazelles. “My apologies, it took a long time to find an intact wagon and hazelles calm enough to pull it,” she said. “We must hurry before the next—“
Suddenly a rushing wave of sound reached their ears. The children awoke shrieking. Ronüviel turned and looked past the palace to the residential hills and saw flaming streaks of light flash into the sky and vanish. A distant rumble came to them as a slight tremor beneath their feet.
“I do not think we need to hurry,” Roe replied softly. “Let us get all injured who cannot walk into the wagon. I am going to the complex for medicine. I shall look for you at Crossroads—we are heading for the Chardonnay caverns. They have withstood millennia of quakes.”
“Can they withstand a direct hit?” someone asked.
“Better than the complex,” a guaard answered for her. “Come, Serae, I shall accompany you.” Roe started to speak. She thought better of it and nodded her agreement. Picking up her medical bag, the man slipped into the darkness. The Atare woman paused, looking back to the now still forms of Lyte and Moran. They scarcely seemed to be breathing. But there was nothing to be done until the drugs took effect. She rushed after the warrior.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they were momentarily blinded by a dazzling burst of light in the heavens, brighter than a dozen moons. The warrior stiffened slightly and hurried on. As they ran, Roe heard snatches of the softly chanted words of the death litany—a canticle of passage for the Fewhas, the self-proclaimed enemies of mankind.