NIRA
Though she was outwardly silent and calm, Nira felt frozen inside, grappling with her feelings of guilt, grief, and loss. Her son Rod’h was gone, swallowed by the horrific Shana Rei in much the same way that Gale’nh had been—but she felt a dreadful certainty that Rod’h would not be released so easily.
Overhead, the Ildiran sunshine was deceptively bright. The former human enclave in Mijistra had been razed, converted to a park with fertile soil, exotic flowers, spiky shrubs, and a bare place for a new grove of worldtrees. It was a fitting memorial for the massacre that had occurred here.
Though worker kithmen offered to help, Nira wanted to be by herself. She knelt in the soft raked dirt, surrounded by the potted treelings she had brought back from Theroc. The treelings were a gift from her fellow green priests and from the worldforest itself. There were already trees in the greenhouse dome atop the Prism Palace, but this would be another verdani grove, and a way for her to keep in touch with her former home.
Though she was an adept green priest, Nira could not use telink to form a closer bond with any of her children. Right now, Rod’h was lost and alone, held hostage by the creatures of darkness. Her oldest son … born out of Nira’s torment and a product of the darkest time in her life. As a young visiting green priest she had been stolen from Jora’h’s loving arms, imprisoned on Dobro, raped repeatedly, and forced to bear children she did not want.
Rod’h was the son of the Dobro Designate himself. She had never been allowed to be a mother to him. At birth, handlers had confirmed that the child was viable, then whisked him away to be raised and trained by the Designate. Nira had not seen the baby again for a long time, had little interaction with him as he grew up.
Meanwhile, she had been raped again, forced to bear more children. Gale’nh, then Tamo’l, then Muree’n … and other misbreeds that had not survived. She had tried to love them all as she loved Osira’h, who had been a child of love instead of fear. She told herself again and again that her innocent children were not responsible for the circumstances of their own births. Nira didn’t even blame the other fathers, who had simply been following orders.
But the Dobro Designate, Rod’h’s father, had enjoyed her suffering. He had done it to break her, and Nira could not forget that. Because of that pain she had never been able to treat Rod’h just as a young man with great potential, as he deserved to be treated.
Now it was too late.
She scooped out a hole in the fresh soil in the park, removed one of the treelings from its ceramic pot, then gently planted it in its new home. She stared down at her green hands, stricken, then absently stroked the fine golden bark of the tree.
Rod’h had resented her because of how she treated him, and Nira realized she had brought that resentment upon herself. She had pushed Rod’h away from her because he wanted to believe that his father was a hero of the Ildiran race, no matter what he had done. Rod’h’s insistence that the breeding camps had been necessary angered Nira. Now she realized that he had been trying to find meaning in his own origin, trying to push back against his mother’s coldness.…
Nira planted a second treeling, far enough from the first so they could grow and one day become immense titans under the seven suns. She had eight treelings, enough to make a fine grove one day.
But Rod’h would probably never see it now.
She heard the entourage long before she saw them coming, and she glanced up. The Mage-Imperator, dressed in fine prismatic robes, came forward and ignored the flurry of attenders preparing the way.
Jora’h had eyes only for her. To the horror of his entourage, he knelt in the dirt and helped her plant another worldtree. His hands touched hers. “The Solar Navy is prepared. Adar Zan’nh has gathered the warliners, armed them with our best weapons, including the new Confederation sun bombs. We are ready to defend against the Shana Rei … and rescue Rod’h, if that becomes possible.”
“I know you will try, my love,” she said to him.
The attenders muttered. The bureaucrat kith kept their distance. The guards remained stony and silent.
Yazra’h and Muree’n were with Tal Gale’nh in the simulations chamber, discussing ways to fight the Shana Rei, but that was all theoretical so far.
Nira hung her head. “If I don’t see him again, Jora’h, I will always regret that I let him think he was somehow tainted. I blamed him for things that weren’t his fault.”
“He was a good young man,” Jora’h said. “He helped Daro’h greatly. He studied politics and diplomacy, because he wished to impress you. He proved himself to my satisfaction … and yours, too.”
Nira raised her chin to look at him. “But did I treat him right? Did I train him right?”
She touched the next treeling, ready to plant it apart from the others, when suddenly she felt a thrum through telink, an urgent message sent to all green priests by a desperate man—Beltrias, the hunter green priest who had gone to Kuivahr. The message was instantaneous, and Nira knew about the attack as soon as the shadows arrived.
With her eyes wide, she turned toward the Mage-Imperator. “Kuivahr is under attack! The Shana Rei have appeared there. Osira’h is in danger, along with Tamo’l, and all the others.” She closed her eyes, felt a shudder. “We have to save them, Jora’h!”
The Mage-Imperator was already shouting to his entourage. “Contact Adar Zan’nh. Have him launch the full cohort—now! We know where the shadows are.” His voice became hard and frightening. “It is time to fight.”