“I’ve no idea what would be appropriate.” He motioned at the chamber around them, though his gesture included far more, all the nebulous meshes he sensed with his mind. “But I do know this place you call the Kyle. I feel as if I was born to it.”
“Perhaps you were,” Majda said. “We’ve been trying to unravel why your people differ from other humans. The original Lyshrioli colonists may have been genetically engineered to use Kyle space.”
He thought of the Blue Dale Archers, indistinct and elusive, and of Shannon, his uncanny son. The boy was mists and blue rain, part of a nomadic life that called to Eldrinson, too, though it would never truly suit him. The Archers touched him on a primal level. That heredity had remained dormant in his line for generations, until he bequeathed it to his son.
Eldrinson had learned enough genetics to realize that more went into making him than the whims of saints in Lyshriol mythology. His differences set him apart from Kurj and Dehya enough so that they had formed a Triad without destroying one another. Dehya knew the Assembly. Kurj knew ISC. They both needed the web, but they struggled to carry the responsibility for its existence on top of their other duties. For him, the web was simple. A game. His genetics ideally suited him for Kyle space. He would tend it while Dehya tended the government and Kurj tended the military.
“I am the Web Key,” he said.
Majda inclined her head in acknowledgment. Then she indicated the far side of the chamber. “Shall we?”
“I don’t know.” Eldrinson smiled. “Shall we what?”
She paused, again showing this strange new side, as if she no longer knew how to deal with him. In truth, she had never seemed certain. Half the time she treated him as she would a prince of her House, a man to be secluded and hidden; the other half she seemed as if she were straining to accept his nature, which by her standards was primitive and rolereversed. She usually solved her quandary by avoiding him; when they did interact, she maintained an aloof courtesy.
“Your people will wish to see you,” she said. “You needn’t give a speech, but you should make an appearance.”
“My people?” Eldrinson asked. “You mean here on the Orbiter?”
“Yes. Also the broadcasters.”
“Broadcasters?” He didn’t know if he liked that. They made holos and sent them to other places. “Why?”
“So everyone can see you,” Taquinil said.
“Everyone who?” Eldrinson asked.
Majda regarded him steadily. “Everyone alive.”
Eldrinson felt the blood drain from his face. No wonder the techs had fussed over him in the Triad Chamber. “You want me to go out there and address the entire Imperialate?”
“Let them see you,” Majda said. “They need to know the Triad is strong.”
“I can’t go out there,” Eldrinson said, panicked.
“Your Majesty.” Strain showed on Majda’s face. “We need you to do this. Your people need you.”
His perception changed like the shift of an optical illusion. On Lyshriol, he had responsibilities as a Bard. The people of the Dalvador Plains needed him to act as a judge, to lead their army during the war, and to sing. This was something similar.
Eldrinson spoke self-consciously. “Very well.”
Relief washed across Majda’s face. “Thank you.”
He looked at Taquinil. “Do your parents let you appear in broadcasts?” He had never seen the boy in any, but he hadn’t watched every appearance of every member in his extended family.
“Sometimes,” Taquinil said. “Not often.”
Majda spoke to Taquinil. “If Your Highness would agree, I believe this would be a good time. Your people will want to see the Ruby Heir alive and healthy.”
Eldrinson agreed. His people had rejoiced when Roca gave him heirs, especially at the birth of Eldrin, their first child. It reassured them. After all the attacks on the Ruby Dynasty, the people of Skolia needed to know Taquinil thrived.
He spoke to his grandson in a confidential tone. “You must come with me. Such a handsome fellow as yourself will distract everyone from my homely face.”
Taquinil laughed. “I’m not. And you’re not.”
Eldrinson smiled at him. “Let us go, then.”
Majda escorted them across the chamber. When she touched a panel, an area of the wall shimmered and vanished. The general went through the archway, followed by an aide, two medtechs, and two of the royal bodyguards. Eldrinson’s pulse ratcheted up, though he had done nothing yet but watch a door open.
The Abaj captain remained at his side. When Eldrinson looked up at him, the captain said, “We will follow you in, Your Majesty.”
“Ah. Yes.” Normally sweat would have gathered on Eldrinson’s forehead, but it seemed the techs had done something to stop that from happening.
Taquinil moved closer to him. When Eldrinson reached for his hand, the boy shook his head. I don’t want them to think rm too little to walk on my own.
Eldrinson gave him a look of approval, adult to adult. All will see how brave you are.
Taquinil straightened up. Together they walked out onto a stage with a Luminex rail bordering its edge. Majda stood at the rail with officers on either side of her and the medtechs and Abaj behind. A rumble of voices came from beyond, but Eldrinson could see nothing from here. He and Taquinil continued forward, and the others stepped aside for them. He joined Majda, watching only her, afraid to look anywhere else. She inclined her head and he nodded, aware of the diverse moods out there: curiosity, relief, joy, apprehension, awe, desire, fascination, and too many other emotions to distinguish.
He turned and gazed out.
People. Many people. A huge bay lay below, hundreds of meters long and wide—and filled with people. They thronged the bay and pressed around the columns that supported the ceiling. More stood on ledges around the walls or in balconies, and others rode above the crowd in cup-consoles at the end of robot arms. Everywhere he looked, he saw people.
Eldrinson froze like a wild animal caught in the glare of a flame. He was aware of Taquinil at his side. He glanced down without moving his head and saw that the boy had gripped the rail so hard his knuckles turned white.
Majda spoke to the people. “I present to you His Majesty, Eldrinson Althor Valdoria Skolia.” Her voice carried throughout the bay, husky and dark. “The Key to the Web.”
Silence.
Sweat finally did gather on Eldrinson’s forehead as he looked at the crowd. They were staring at him, all of them, several thousand citizens. No, more than that. Those people in the robot arms held holovid cameras. They were feeding this moment live to all the worlds and habitats in the Imperialate, possibly among the Allieds and Eubians as well. This broadcast would go to millions of settlements, billions of cities, trillions of people.
Grandfather, I’m afraid, Taquinil thought.
Eldrinson couldn’t move. So am I.
Then the throng shifted.
The people directly below Eldrinson moved first—and went down on one knee. They bowed their heads and rested one elbow on their bent knee. Those behind them followed suit, and the people behind them, and more, until the gesture spread like a wave across the bay. They were all kneeling, a gesture of fealty as old as the Ruby Empire, one of the few customs both Skolia and Eube had retained from that ancient era. Very few Skolians used it in this age where egalitarian concepts held sway and leaders won power through election. Yet now, of their own volition, the people knelt, tens, hundreds, then thousands, going down on one knee to an illiterate farmer.
Eldrinson suddenly remembered the day Althor had knelt to him, two years ago. Bursting with pride for his magnificent son, he had drawn his sword for the Ritual of the Blade, to accept the offered fealty. The gold curl had floated down from his son’s head, glinting in the sunlight. But this bay had thousands of people. He couldn’t very well cut a lock of hair off every one.
So he spoke simply, in Iotic. “I thank you.”
Whatever process had amplifi
ed Majda’s voice also sent his out over the bay, resonant and deep, with a baritone vibrato. He was acutely aware of Taquinil, of the boy’s acceptance that these people should kneel to his grandfather, these powers of Skolia, these nobles and technocrats. For twenty-five years Eldrinson had lived in their shadow, unable to comprehend so much of what mattered to them, painfully aware of his lacks in their estimation of the universe.
Now they knelt to him.
20
Ballad of Sunrise
Eldrin’s first sight, when he awoke, was blue-green sky. The dimmer sun was on the horizon and the gold one hadn’t yet risen. The children were playing hologames nearby, watched over by a young woman. He stretched and sat up, rolling his head to work out kinks in his neck.
Clock, he thought.
His node created the image of a digital clock in front of him. It claimed he had slept for eighteen hours.
End display, he thought. As it disappeared, he muttered, “Too much sleep.”
“You needed it,” a familiar voice said. Kaywood came around and knelt at his side. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad, actually,” Eldrin said. His nausea had faded, and his throat didn’t hurt nearly as much as before.
“I’m glad.” Kaywood seemed genuinely pleased. “I’ve been getting ID confirmations on my patients.”
“Good.” For some reason, his statement seemed odd. Then Eldrin realized it wasn’t wrong, but right.
“The web!” The words burst past his usual restraint. “It must be up, if you’re doing confirmations.”
Kaywood rubbed the small of his back. “Parts of it, anyway.”
“That means the Ruby Pharaoh is all right.” It was a leap in faith; the meshes could operate without Dehya. But he could hope.
Kaywood settled cross-legged on the tarp. “It is odd to think how much of our lives, our freedom, everything we value depends on only a few people. What would we do if the Ruby Pharaoh died?” His expression turned thoughtful. “Survive, probably. She isn’t the only Rhon psion.”
Eldrin gave him a dour look. Up until this moment, he had liked the doctor, but now he felt an urge to deck the fellow. Ruby Pharaoh die, indeed. “One should speak with respect of our pharaoh.”
Kaywood laughed amiably. “If you could incinerate a person with a look, I do believe I would be ashes right now. I meant no disrespect.” In a confidential tone, he added, “The Ruby Dynasty is our mythology, eh? Our gods and goddesses. It makes you wonder how they act among themselves.”
Eldrin’s face flamed. “I imagine like anyone else.”
Kaywood stretched his arms. “What do you say? Think they are as beautiful as everyone claims?”
The woman watching the children snorted. “I doubt it. I’ll bet they doctor the holos.”
“I’ve a theory,” a man said. He was sitting near the woman and leaning back on his hands. “They hide so we won’t see they’re like the rest of us.”
“You think they hide?” Eldrin asked. He avoided appearances because he valued his privacy and felt foolish before the public. He supposed that was, in a way, what the fellow was saying.
“When was the last time you saw one of them?” the man asked, as if that proved his point.
Eldrin decided that question was better left unanswered.
“I wish we knew what was happening,” the woman said.
Kaywood grimaced. “The last I saw, Selei City was in flames.”
“I’m worried about my wife and son,” Eldrin said.
“My son works at Selei International,” the man said. “Maybe someone in charge can tell us about them.” He squinted at the headquarters across the camp. “Except for that blasted queue.”
Eldrin saw what he meant. A line of people wound around the building. It would be a long time before they had news.
Eldrin spent the morning with Kaywood, helping patients. He felt steadier, less affected by remnants of phorine in his system. He took care not to lose himself in the trance and tried to come out of it after thirty or forty minutes, before it drained him too much. Kaywood gave him a drink that helped his throat.
Later he went with the doctor on rounds. While Kaywood treated patients, Eldrin tried to ease pain and speed healing. Once, when he surfaced from his trance, Kaywood was still splinting the leg of his patient, an older woman. So Eldrin sang softly to her, and she seemed to like it. His voice hurt and had a flat quality, but it felt better after he warmed up.
As Eldrin let his song fade, the woman patted his hand. “That was lovely.” To Kaywood, she said, “You’re a godsend.”
The doctor grinned. “My wife would tell you not to give me a swelled head.” His smile faded. “If she were here.”
“You’ll see her soon,” the woman assured him.
“Yes.” He made a visible effort to sound confident. “I will.”
When Kaywood and Eldrin were walking back to the infirmary, the doctor spoke quietly. “She probably wasn’t in Selei City.”
“Your wife?” Eldrin asked.
“Yes. She was planning to visit a friend out of town.” He paused. “And yours?”
Eldrin looked out at the horizon. “She was in the City Center.”
“Ah, gods.” Kaywood started to say more, but Eldrin shook his head. He couldn’t talk about it. The fear went too deep.
Up ahead, a group of young people were sitting in a circle, talking and drinking wine. Eldrin wondered where they got such a luxury item. Maybe from their ship. Watching them, he wanted a drink so much, it felt like pain. No, he didn’t want a drink. He wanted the damn phorine. He hated his need for it, but the craving didn’t go away.
As they reached the infirmary, Kaywood said, “I could use help putting up shelters, if you’re not too tired.”
“Not at all.” Manual labor might take his mind off his worries. He had always liked working on his father’s farm, toiling in the plains under the endless lavender sky.
They spent several hours setting up poles with tarps stretched across them as canopies. By the time they finished, Eldrin was exhausted. He washed up and flopped down with Kaywood and the children on a tarp crowded with other people. Closing his eyes, he leaned gratefully against a pole.
“The healing takes a lot out of you,” Kaywood said.
Eldrin opened his eyes. “I wish I could do more.”
“You’ve already done so much. I could use empaths like you at the hospital in Selei City.” Kaywood offered him a tray with a sandwich and vegetables. “Lunch.”
As Eldrin crunched on the stalk of some plant, he noticed eight armed IRAS officers approaching the infirmary. Two of them flanked a civilian woman with a cap of dark curls. She wore no uniform, only pale trousers and a blouse. The group had a tension about it that made the hair prickle on his neck.
The boy glanced up idly, a flat-cake halfway to his mouth—and froze. Then he shouted, “Hoshma!” He sprang to his feet and his sister scrambled after him. As they ran to the woman, she knelt with her arms extended. The children barreled into her, and she gathered them into her arms, hugging them hard.
Eldrin stood up with Kaywood, grateful to see the children reunited with their parent, but aching also, wishing he could do the same with Dehya and Taquinil.
The woman straightened up, holding the children’s hands. She started toward the doctor, but the IRAS officers stopped her. Eldrin frowned, hoping they would see that the people disapproved of their keeping her away. It actually seemed to work; the officers released the woman. Although they let her come forward, they seemed tense enough to snap in two. He recognized their behavior. She probably held a high position and they feared Kaywood posed her a danger. It was absurd, but from his own experience he knew that guards never took chances.
It wasn’t the doctor she sought, though. Accompanied by the IRAS officers, she came to Eldrin with tears glistening in her eyes. “My children told me how you took care of them, even when you were sick.” Her voice caught. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“They’re lovely children,” Eldrin said. His mood dimmed. “I hope to find my family soon, too.”
One of the IRAS officers, a husky man, spoke with deference. “We may be able to help, Your Majesty.”
Ai! Eldrin flushed, suddenly aware of everyone around them. He hadn’t noticed the constant murmur of conversation until it stopped. He had become so used to the words Your Majesty, he had never realized until this moment the impact they could have outside the confines of his restricted life.
None of that mattered, though, when he realized the officers might have the answers he wanted. “My wife?” he asked. “Is she all right? My son? The rest of my family?”
Another officer answered, a tall woman. “Pharaoh Dyhianna is safe. Your son is with your father.” Quietly she added, “Your father is now a Key.”
Eldrin was certain he misheard. “What did you say?”
“Your father joined the Dyad.” She sounded subdued.
His father? She couldn’t mean what she had said. It was impossible. Then the rest of it hit him: a third Key would be a death sentence to one of the Triad. “What about Dehya? And Kurj! What happened to them?”
“Dehya?” the female IRAS officer asked. “Who is that?” At the same time, the male officer said, “Do you mean Imperator Skolia?”
“Yes. The Imperator. And my wife.” Eldrin couldn’t bear to lose them, not Dehya, not his father, not the half-brother who had treated him with a familial love Kurj showed few others. “The powerlink can’t support three people.”
“All three live,” the man said. “The Triad is stable.”
Eldrin’s mind whirled. Triad. “This is—unexpected.” It was probably the greatest understatement he had ever made. No one disputed his comment.
“Gods,” Kaywood muttered.
Eldrin turned to him. “Lane—” He didn’t want the doctor to treat him any differently.
Kaywood spoke numbly. “You are the Ruby Consort.”
Eldrin could only say, “Yes.”
“You worked with me for hours,” Kaywood said, incredulous. “You never complained. You never asked for a single privilege. Nothing. You kept on going when you were exhausted. You gave your rations to the children and took my orders as if you were a medtech.”