EVERY SKY A GRAVE

Ascendance Series Book One

Jay Posey

Copyright

HarperVoyager

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Jay Posey 2020

Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Jay Posey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008327125

Ebook Edition © July 2020 ISBN: 9780008327149

Version: 2020-09-23

Dedication

For Jennifer, who holds our world together

Epigraph

Respect for the word is the first commandment in the discipline by which a man can be educated to maturity—intellectual, emotional, and moral.

Respect for the word—to employ it with scrupulous care and an incorruptible heartfelt love of truth—is essential if there is to be any growth in a society or in the human race.

To misuse the word is to show contempt for man. It undermines the bridges and poisons the wells. It causes Man to regress down the long path of his evolution.

—Dag Hammarskjöld, Markings

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

1

Elyth knew this world, as sure as she knew her own name.

She held the earth loosely clasped in her left hand, felt its damp weight, its sponged texture cold with the night. She knew this soil, knew the life it gave, the story it told, and the doom it now bore. She had come to know it well over weeks of reconnaissance, sweat-grimed days and nights spent on the trail of her deadly mark, learning its ways and its weaknesses.

But the time for stalking her prey was finished. Elyth had all she needed to complete the kill.

When her work was done, the planet Revik would lie dying at her feet. And none would be the wiser that an assassin of worlds had been visited upon them.

She raised her monocular to her eye, swept the view smoothly from left to right and back again. Through its lens the numerous guards shone like tongues of pale fire flickering along the walls and interior of the palace, some five hundred yards distant. Crouched at her hidden vantage point, Elyth noted the passing of a pair of watchmen by the main gate at the target site below. It was her third night of observation; she had the rhythm of the place now, its breath and its heartbeat.

A quick glance at the sky. Two moons highlighted the seams between the densely packed clouds drifting like ice floes in a lazy current overhead; the third moon was too weak and distant to make itself known. And though she couldn’t see it, Elyth knew between the moons and the clouds lay an armada. Five thousand Ascendance ships, oblivious to her presence on Revik and yet each utterly dependent on her success.

She returned her monocular to its housing at her belt, then removed a small pouch from an inner pocket in her vest. Into it, she let fall the handful of soil she’d gathered. A keepsake; a reminder of what once had been, before her coming to this world.

Time to work.

Elyth sealed the pouch of soil and replaced it inside her vest, then wiped her palms on her pants and stood from her crouch. Roughly three hundred yards of untamed land separated her from the border of the cultivated palace grounds, followed by two hundred yards of open space to her target. She drew on her gloves and slipped her mask over her face, concealing the last bits of exposed skin and cloaking herself fully in the smoked gray-blue of her infiltration attire. So clad, she slipped from her elevated position and began her approach.

Locals called the mountain Heifeld, but its true name was much longer and harder to pronounce, and carried within it all the weight and force of the truly ancient. Elyth had discerned that name in her careful interrogation of the land; the twin-peaked, green-gray mountain had become her ally and also her point of attack. A shallow saddle separated her from the lower but larger, flatter peak, where her target sat: the regional governor’s multitiered, multiwalled summer palace.

As impressive as the structure was, though, Elyth’s actual mark was what lay beneath; one of Revik’s most potent threadlines. A planetary nerve cluster near the surface with deep-run roots, concentrated into a focal point less than a hundred yards in diameter. Humans seemed intuitively drawn to such places of power, even when oblivious to their ecological significance.

Many worlds had died by Elyth’s hand, almost all their deaths wrought in the midst of some thriving city, or imposing government complex, or protected sacred ground.

She made her way down the mountainside and across the saddle, ever watchful. The saddle was peppered with spearlike pines and Revik’s peculiar wispy red-hued firs, and carried a dense, earthy scent; she had to mind her footing as she picked her way across the needle-blanketed terrain, dotted with its little fractal forests of moss.

As she approached the edge of the forest, she paused within its dark borders to take final stock of her target. The palace was mostly unlit, save for the pools of orange from security lights at regular intervals along the walls. There were six of these, each roughly twelve feet high, separating the center-most residential building from the outer grounds. Based on her estimate of the threadline’s size, she judged that she’d have to get beyond at least the fifth wall to carry out her strike. That was a lot of walls to put between her and her escape.

One thing at a time. She’d get within the minimal kill zone and evaluate from there.

She emerged from the tree line and crept shadowed across the open ground toward the eastern side of the palace, pausing whenever guards patrolled into view. Once she reached the outermost wall, she crouched at its base. Its stacked stones were irregular and rounded in the traditional fashion of the region, leaving enough useful gaps for Elyth’s skilled hands and feet. She spidered to the top, laid flat on the wide surface for two breaths to ensure no personnel were immediately below, then slipped over and down the opposite side.

The grounds within the walls had the marks of having been well manicured. Curving paths of hand-laid stone flowed over lush, pale yellow grass, like wide rivers amid prairie; pocket gardens dotted the landscape. But to Elyth’s careful eye, signs showed of disorder seeping in at all the edges. The height of the grass was uneven, overdue for cutting, and the once sharp borders of path and garden had grown fuzzy and indistinct. Elyth navigated from shadow to shade; the second and third walls were as easily overcome as the first.

Reaching the fourth took more care. The previous grounds had been decorative but largely transitional spaces, but here between the third and fourth walls they opened up in a meandering way, punctuated with small structures. From Elyth’s previous observation, she’d gathered these were workshops and general quarters for palace staff. There was little activity but the broken sight lines and patchwork shadows slowed her progress. Patrols moved over the grounds, emerging from blind corners or materializing piecemeal out of the scattered cover of sculpted trees and hedges.

Elyth’s previous patient reconnaissance repaid her; instinct cautioned her to pause, or spurred her to move before she had fully scanned for trouble. Some part of her subconscious fed her patterns of movement that she could not have described, and led her safely undetected to the farther wall.

It was between the fourth and fifth walls that her danger heightened. Sentries patrolled in greater numbers, and in crisscrossing patterns. The increased activity spoke of increased importance; indeed, the various buildings she could see were larger, more ornate.

She navigated her way through the patrols, but as she approached the fifth wall she was forced to stop. Eight pairs of sentries were stationed in a shallow zigzag pattern, each within constant sight of at least two others. Elyth studied them for a time, watching to see which pairs were silent and which were prone to conversation, where focus was strong and where it was weak. As was human tendency, they’d positioned themselves close to or under lights; the gaps between left narrow channels of darkness with little room for error.

She identified her best point of access between two of the chattiest sets of guards. It would be close and nothing was ever certain, but if she stayed low enough, Elyth felt she could slip through unnoticed. She went down on her belly, pressed into the soft grass, and began a slow crawl along a seam of darkness. Her path took her closer to the forward-most pair of sentries; as she neared, she picked up a portion of their conversation.

“—besides, blockades already failed at three other worlds,” one sentry, a woman, was saying. “We got another two weeks at most.”

They spoke casually, in the informal Low Language.

“Two weeks is pretty optimistic. I say another month,” the other sentry, a man, replied. “But you’re right, they can’t sustain the blockade. The Ascendance has no power left. Its doctrine is poison.”

“Its structure corrupt,” the first sentry replied.

“Its truth has failed. It falls, as it must,” the man answered. “And when it is gone, our righteousness will prevail.”

The last part of the exchange sounded rehearsed, robotic in its delivery. A liturgical call-and-response, thoughtlessly practiced and repeated. To untrained ears, the peculiar quality of their speech would have gone unnoticed; but to Elyth, whose life had been devoted to art and skill in the Language, their words dripped and seethed, acidic at the edges, caustic to the mind. Though she could understand every word they spoke, she heard how distorted the intent behind them had become. What the man had called righteousness was nothing more than his personal thirst for vengeance, with himself envisioned as holy judge. Their poisoned delusion angered Elyth.

Here, between these two guards, the danger that Revik posed was laid bare. It was not the speaking out against the Ascendance that had led to Elyth’s deployment; she herself had mixed feelings about the Grand Council and its leadership. But here, on Revik, the Language had been intentionally corrupted, purposefully shaped toward destructive ends.

Left unchecked, that corruption could and would spread to neighboring worlds. Tragic though it was, Revik’s demise would ensure the safety of thousands of planets, and many billions of human lives.

It was the Language that united them. It was the Language that had lifted the human race from the dust and granted them the stars as inheritance. There was power within its words. Every citizen of the Ascendance was meant to guard it. Instead, these remaining citizens of Revik had twisted it, distorted it to portray themselves enslaved; in truth, they were a free people grasping for nothing more than the freedom to destroy themselves.

She continued past and behind them, escaping their notice. Another fifty feet and she would be at the base of the wall. But as she was crossing that final stretch, fortune turned against her.

Without warning, one of the guards broke from his place and began crossing the grounds toward another pair, with Elyth caught between. He’d been standing in one pool of light and was heading toward another, so she knew his unadjusted vision would grant her some extra concealment. But he was going to pass within just a few feet of her, and she couldn’t leave the matter to chance.

Her hand found its way to the collapsed baton on her belt. A single strike could fell him easily enough. But the aftermath might be unmanageable.

As he closed within twenty feet of her, many possibilities were contained within those next few seconds. Elyth needed one specific possibility to manifest.

She would call it forth.

The technique was approved by the policy of her House, though only in limited circumstances and under strictest control. One could not twist the fabric of reality far before its warped threads would draw others best left undisturbed. But human perception was the easiest of all domains to influence and manipulate. She paused a moment to clear her mind, to fashion the words first within before she breathed them into existence. Then, with all focus and attention bent on that single sentry, she spoke.

But her words were not of the common dialect. Now, she employed the secret tongue that undergirded it all, the foundation upon which the Language and indeed the cosmos itself had been constructed. She spoke a sealing phrase to draw upon the hidden Deep Language.

“A shadow upon emptiness; the many darknesses are one,” she said, her words a barely voiced whisper. And then to the man, “Though you see me, you do not perceive.”

The guard reacted at the sound; his head pitched up as he brought his gaze from the ground in front of him to the place where Elyth lay. His features were too cloaked in darkness for her to see clearly, but she could feel his eyes upon her.

And the next moment, she felt his gaze slide over and past her. He continued his path in front of her, oblivious, close enough that she could have stretched out and snatched his ankle had she desired. When he was three paces past, she drew up into a low crouch and made her way as quickly as she dared to the wall, cycling her attention between her destination, the sentry she had dodged, and the other guards still standing at their posts. She paused at the base of the wall, pressed her shoulder to it while she surveyed the grounds. The wandering sentry reached his companions, and the three of them engaged in some quiet huddle of conversation. Everything else continued as it had before, with no sign that her passage had disturbed any of the sentries’ natural rhythm.

Assured that her crossing had gone unmarked, Elyth quickly cleared the fifth wall and lowered herself into the inner court, the central hub of the summer palace. There remained ahead of her only one final wall cordoning off the governor’s personal residence from the rest of the grounds. Whether by design or intuition, the extravagant home was very nearly centered above Elyth’s target threadline. She was tempted to breach that area, to infiltrate the place the governor considered most secure, only to prove to herself that she could.

But the threadline was wide enough that she could do her work here without any loss in efficacy, and there was no need to put yet another wall between herself and her escape. With mild reluctance, she set to scouting the various outbuildings between the walls.

There were a number of these, many of which after investigation she determined had been converted to temporary quarters for what she assumed were the governor’s most loyal supporters. Elyth circled the innermost wall, looking for a location that would provide her sufficient security for this most delicate part of her operation. Once she began the process, she couldn’t afford to be interrupted.

On the side of the palace opposite her initial approach, she found a tall single-story building, a wide and long rectangle, like a warehouse. She crept across an open stretch of ground to it and knelt down by its outer wall, on the darkest end. A high slat window or vent sat above her, roughly ten feet above the ground and set back slightly in the wall. Elyth stepped away, then made a quick dash forward and leapt up, boosting herself with a light step off the building exterior. She caught the narrow lip of the window’s housing with her fingertips and drew herself up enough to peek inside. The darkness within was nearly complete, save for a weak glow from somewhere near the main entrances and a pair of squared patches in the roof where the gloom clung less thickly to the ceiling. Skylights, maybe. She lowered herself back to the full extent of her arms, and then dropped softly to the ground.

She looked up, evaluated the roofline. It arced gracefully over the width of the building, coming no lower than perhaps fifteen feet from the ground at either end. The exterior walls were smooth, with no obvious protrusions. Climbing wasn’t an option, at least on this end. She peeked around the corner and spotted two large double-door entrances, each stretching nearly to the roofline in height and twice as wide. A third door of normal size sat under a light between the two bays. Between her and the first bay door, however, sat several crates haphazardly stacked near the storehouse, backlit by a light source farther beyond.

Though the central door promised the easiest access, Elyth hadn’t seen enough of the interior to feel secure entering that way.

She picked her way to the crates.

There were five of them, metal cubes about four feet to a side, and arranged as though they’d been hastily dumped. Elyth glanced up, judged the distance between the top crate and the edge of the roof. Significant for a standing jump, but not impossible. She scrambled on top of the crate and wasted no time.

Elyth leapt, stretched out, and caught the rounded edge of the roof; she pendulumed toward the building then out again, and used the momentum to accelerate her pull up and over the edge. Once on the roof, she padded in a low crouch to the nearest skylight opening. There she drew out her monocular and switched it to light amplification, no magnification.

It was a warehouse indeed. Like the surrounding grounds, it too showed signs of creeping disarray. From what she could see, the outer aisles were in good order. But closer to the loading bay doors the lines became less regular, until there, closest to the front of the building, it appeared as though large loads had been shoved into careless piles. Whatever the case, she saw no sign of personnel inside. Still, from her vantage she couldn’t see the source of the interior light and that made her wary of trying the front door.

The skylight wasn’t sealed; scratches at the rear corner showed wear from moving on hinges. After a few moments Elyth located a mechanism that raised and lowered the large pane, enabling it to double as a vent; another half minute of work, and she’d bypassed the circuitry and then manually lifted the pane wide enough to gain entry.

High rafters ran along either side of the skylight, but the gap was too great to manage safely. From a pouch strapped to her leg, Elyth removed a small black cylinder about the size of her fist. With the press of a button the top unfurled into a many-fingered hand, each digit willowy and delicate by look. She tugged the upper section free and ran it to the edge of the skylight; a spider-threaded line spooled out behind. When the fronds of the device met the lip of her entry point, she squeezed the handle, and those willowy fingers folded in, grasping the edge from many angles with all the strength of the roots of an ancient oak. The cylinder she hooked onto a small loop on the front of her belt; together the system acted as line and harness.

Secured, Elyth lowered herself through the skylight, feeding out enough line to swing over to the rafter. Crouched there, she unhooked the device from her belt and deactivated the grasping mechanism; it fell free from the skylight and zipped quietly home, its blossom folding neatly closed once back in place. She held position there, perched above the warehouse floor, scanning. And finally, she could see where the sole light was coming from. A guard was posted in a small alcove to one side of the main entrance. But she was committed now; she’d have to see it through.

Elyth navigated her way along and down the support structure to the floor below. For a few minutes, she crept along the long aisles and the incongruous combination of neat stacks and careless piles, evaluating it all for a secure strike point. The single guard didn’t appear to have any intention of leaving his station, but she couldn’t leave it to chance. She would need every ounce of focus for the task at hand.

On the end of the warehouse opposite from the guard, Elyth discovered a door, sealed by a simple passcode lock. Neither light nor sound came from behind, and she guessed it was some sort of storage closet. She scanned the lock with a device from her vest, which after a moment fed her the proper sequence. Elyth punched in the code and eased the door open.

The room was completely dark; she drew out her monocular and scanned the interior. It was roughly six feet wide and perhaps ten feet deep, filled with racks of various cleaning supplies and other goods without clear markings. Elyth slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Judging from the amount of dust gathered on all but the shelves closest to the door, it appeared it’d been some time since the room had seen any regular use.

With the door shut, she decided it was safe to risk a little light of her own, and put her monocular away. She switched on the personal light mounted on her vest and its red-filtered beam cast a wide pool of ember-glow light; in the back corner of the room, she carefully cleared some space for herself to work. She didn’t need much.

Once that was done, she switched off her light, settled herself with a deep breath and exhale and, there, finally, delivered her message. The technique was called Revealing the Silent Gate. It began with ahn, the first letter of the Language, and its hand sign.

“From the void, all come,” Elyth said, uttering the sealing phrase in the Deep Language, “to the void, all return.”

And then wielding the true speech of the universe, known only to and guarded by the select few of her House, she spoke death.

She spoke to the planet directly, intimately, to the complex network of shifting energies and ecosystems that some might call its spirit. It had taken her weeks of careful communion with the world to learn its innermost workings. Now, she spoke of its mountains, and its rivers, and its moss-wrapped forests. She spoke of its ice-white skies, its sun-forsaken deep. And in the Deep Language of the cosmos, she described its collapse.

Revik had fire in its heart, rivers of magma in its veins that had long stayed their course far beneath the surface. Too long. They were the planet’s great vulnerability, and these Elyth called by name and stirred to action. She pictured them in her mind, held the whole world in her mind’s eye, a spectral globe hovering before her. Within it, she saw the fractures form that would over time grow to great rifts; and these images she described in the Deep Language. It was the end of the world as it would be, one that existed within the planet’s natural processes, given enough time. But Elyth was drawing it out from the distant future, into the now. There, in a storage closet in a warehouse, the infinite stretched down to kiss the finite, and she was its bridge. Her body trembled from the focus and exertion it took to keep herself anchored.

Using the hand signs associated with each letter, Elyth ran through the full protocol, speaking to each basic element of Revik’s composition, each portion of its ecosystem and the part it would play in relation to the other. There was no power in the gestures; the signs were merely a physical mnemonic, a checklist embodied. It was the universe alone that carried the power of her craft, and the Deep Language was its access.

Around her, the familiar feeling embraced her; a crackling, an ocean foam of possibilities as light and space and time bent around her, warping, roiling. Even in the darkness, she could see multicolored glints and black sparks darker than even the absence of light that surrounded her. Galaxies and black holes; the material of the cosmos, manifest in microscale. Or perhaps her being had expanded to something the mere universe could no longer contain.

Her body vibrated with a manic energy, a buildup of static charge before the lightning strike. Exhilarating. Terrifying.

In the final sequence, Elyth held her hands one above the other, palms facing but separated, as though holding the globe of the world between. The air between them felt dense, heavy. And then she raised her hand above her head, and repeated the sealing phrase.

“From the void, all come; to the void, all return.”

As the last words left her mouth, she dropped to a knee and brought her hand down, striking the floor with a heavy palm. The power flowed from the infinite beyond, through her, into the planet; the work of a thousand millennia compressed into a single moment, focused through a point the span of her palm. And that power raced along the threadline, a nerve carrying its pain to the planet’s roots where it would radiate out again through every facet of the world.

There was no outward sign, no quaking of the earth, no thunderous blast, no smoke-billowing mountain; but Elyth knew the change as surely as she could know the soul-broken eyes of a mother bereaved. This was a hearty world. On a human scale, its death would be gradual. Perhaps as much as a standard Ascendant year before its surface became toxic to human life. But on a cosmic time frame, its end would be as swift and sudden as an instant.

From that moment on, Revik sped toward death.

She remained there on her knee for several minutes, too disciplined to let herself sink to the floor, but not yet capable of standing. The discharge of power combined with the exertion of the process left Elyth drained and hollow. Reaching out to seize the raw material of the cosmos, to serve as a conduit through which it could flow, exposed her to the mind-breaking gulf separating her tiny existence from that limitless, formless potential. To touch the infinite was to come fully awake to one’s own utter limitation. It was no small thing to bear. No matter how many times she’d gone through the process, she’d not yet been able to overcome the fear that one day she might not make it back from that place.

Without conscious thought, Elyth’s body carried out its routine for recovery; a set of breathing cycles designed to draw her awareness back to the reality of her physical form, of the concrete nature of her surroundings, and of each individual moment of the present. Gradually the procedure recentered and anchored her sense of being, just as it had been created to do.

But too, as the cosmic horizon receded, the personal, emotional weight of the act bore down upon her. She knew the justness of the sentence she had carried out. The loss of Revik was a surgeon’s cut, the death of one cell sacrificed to protect all those around it. But to call forth such precise, intimate destruction, Elyth had to know the planet, and in knowing the planet, she had come to love it. She recognized what made Revik unique, and though she saw how it had been irrevocably corrupted by its inhabitants, she knew too what a precious treasure it had once been. Most if not all of the humans could be saved; the planet would bear the cost. And there was no way to harden oneself against killing a thing beloved.

Elyth would grieve, and deeply. But not right now.

She eased herself up to standing, tested her balance for a moment. The trembling had ceased. She clenched her hands to fists and then opened them again. There was strength in them still, though she felt empty in her core. Strength enough to make it back to her ship, off world, and back into the embrace of the Ascendance, and of her Order. All that stood between her and a much-needed and much-deserved recovery was a series of walls and a few dozen sentries.

Elyth slipped out into the warehouse, made her way past the lone, dozing guard, and exited through its ground-level entryway. She followed roughly the same track as she’d taken on her way in, modifying it as the movement of patrols dictated. It all seemed easy enough, until her ascent up the first of the five walls. Even with the relatively easy climb, she felt the weakening in her grip. The hit was taking its toll and Elyth knew from much experience that her scant remaining stamina would fade ever more rapidly.

At the top of the wall, she decided to conserve what energy she could. Instead of climbing down the opposite side, she made use once more of her support line, affixing its plant-like grasp to the rounded edge of the wall and allowing its line to lower her to the ground below.

The sky was beginning to gray into its first signs of dawn, granting a bare, soft edge of light to the compound. Above her, the clouds had begun to spread and separate subtly but consistently across the expanse. The gradual increase in visibility was both a blessing and a curse; easier to spot potential danger, but that ran true in both directions.

Thankfully, navigating the line of guards that had been her great challenge during infiltration proved less difficult a task on the way out; the line had deteriorated, the sentries forming small clusters of idle chatter. A sure sign that the night’s shift was drawing to a close. With careful steps and watchful eyes, she slipped from wall to wall, a moon shadow brushing lightly over the earth.

At each wall, Elyth repeated the process of scaling up and then using her line to descend the opposite side. And though each climb took more effort than the one previous, by the time she’d reached the outermost wall, she’d gotten the rhythm of the sequence so well that she barely had to pause at the top before she could roll over the edge and enjoy a precious few moments of rest as the device lowered her gently to the ground.

It was the mastery of that routine that caused her the trouble.

Her feet had just touched down outside the complex when, as her focus was on her climbing aid to retract its line, a motion in her peripheral vision drew her attention. She snapped her head in its direction then froze. Three sentries were standing no more than twenty feet away. Their line ran diagonally away from her, a few feet between each man and the farthest perhaps thirty feet distant. Fortunately none were looking her direction, but from their stances it was obvious that she couldn’t expect them to remain that way for long.

How foolish. She’d climbed over the wall in the exact same location that she’d initially infiltrated; all her previous observation had shown it to be consistently clear of patrols. She had acted on what she’d expected, rather than on what was actually there. It would have cost her a few seconds only. Now, the cost would be somewhat higher.

The motion she had seen had been the nearest guard turning his head, undoubtedly in reaction to the sound of her quiet descent, though it hadn’t yet occurred to him that any danger could possibly be coming from behind. And though the security she’d so expertly evaded thus far had seemed inattentive, she saw now in this man’s taut posture how quick the response to a threat could be. She knew without a doubt that a single warning raised would activate the entire compound, swarming the grounds and surrounding lands with searchers, both man and machine.

The sun would be cresting the horizon soon enough, and Elyth still had need of what little remained of the night’s veil; too much hostile ground lay between her and her escape to wait. There wouldn’t be time to hide the bodies.

Without further thought, she launched from her crouch by the wall. The first man she took with a swift blow to the base of the skull. As he pitched forward, Elyth grabbed the back of his collar with one hand and his belt with the other, controlling his fall to limit the sound. The second man was just turning when Elyth reached him, close enough to see his eyes narrowed in confusion. Before they could widen, Elyth’s baton found its mark just below his left ear, near the jawline. There was no time to catch him as he fell.

The third guard was a man of powerful stature; already he was turned toward her, rapidly processing the scene as his second companion hit the ground. Elyth knew she couldn’t close the distance in time. His mouth was opening, his hands streaking toward the weapon on his belt.

But Elyth was faster.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the baton leave her hand and strike its target; in the next instant, it was so. The baton impacted the guard’s solar plexus, momentarily stealing his breath and stumbling him a step. Whatever weapon he’d been trying to draw fumbled to the ground. Elyth was on him three steps later, swatting away his attempt at a defense. She darted the edge of her hand into his Adam’s apple, stunning the vocal cords, and with a twisting step flowed around and behind him. In the next moment, she snaked her arm around his neck and dropped backward to the ground, dragging him down with her. As she locked her legs around his waist, the man writhed, attempted to pry her arm away from his trachea, and his great strength made itself known.

Elyth clung close and tight in the chaos, reflexively reacting to every shift in the man’s weight and power. And in that violent embrace, the heat of his body, the scent of his sweat-sheened skin, the pulsing blood flow within the vise of her arm, all spoke of the terror of death upon him, and his life’s thrashing struggle against it.

But neither his strength nor his will were sufficient to overcome her skill and technique.

It took only a few seconds before the man’s flailing weakened, and fewer after until it ceased completely. Elyth counted to five before she dared release the hold and then slumped him to one side. He would wake again in ten or twenty seconds, sluggish and confused. It would give her a head start, but not enough to cover the distance to the tree line. If they gave chase, she’d never make it off the planet. She glanced down at the man next to her. A killing blow would be nothing now; as simple as crushing a bug.

But as she looked at the fallen sentry, other faces flashed in her mind. In her youth, she had taken lives rashly, painful mistakes of judgment. Elyth knew nothing of the man; why he had chosen to side with the governor’s doomed bid for power, or how deep his indoctrination ran. Maybe he was a true believer. Or maybe he was an innocent man, just trying to survive. None of her Order would fault her for his death. But here, now, with the man helpless, at her utter mercy, the fact that no authority would hold her accountable seemed insignificant.

And during those seconds of consideration, she came to recognize the opportunity he presented. A minor risk, but worth it. If it worked.

She recovered her baton and located the guard’s weapon. It was a small kinetic gun. She threw the weapon far away, then moved quickly back to the wall and scaled it as fast as her wearied fingers would allow.

At the top, she paused, dropped onto her belly, and dangled her legs over the interior side, watched the third sentry intently in the ever-growing light of approaching dawn. Any moment.

And there. He stirred briefly, then lay still again. A few moments later, he began to recover himself in earnest, and pushed up unsteadily, glancing about as though he’d expected to find himself home in bed.

And then the realization fell upon him with all its weight, and his searching became sharp, just shy of frantic. Elyth waited until the moment the guard’s eyes found her, and then swiftly lowered herself over the edge of the wall back into the interior of the complex. She didn’t drop all the way to the ground, though. Instead, she hung there by the edge, gritting her teeth against the weakness in her grip, listening to the activity on the other side. The man tried to cry out, but the damage she’d inflicted on his vocal cords rendered the call hoarse and ineffective. An instant later, the man’s heavy footsteps signaled his rush to the nearest help.

When her path was clear, Elyth stared through a fog of exhaustion for just a moment, willing herself to move before she found strength enough to drag herself back over. She didn’t even bother to try descending the opposite side with any grace or control, only lowering herself far enough to minimize the chance of breaking an ankle before dropping to the ground. She rolled with the impact and came up running, passing the two guards who still lay unconscious.

She had crossed just over half the distance to the tree line when she heard the alarm go up behind her. If her ruse had worked, however, she knew the immediate focus would be on securing the palace grounds themselves. Hopefully the distraction would give her the time she needed to recover her ship and escape the planet.

Elyth reached the tree line and pushed on as fast as the difficult terrain and her heavy legs would allow. Five miles separated her from the craggy and barren hollow where her small vessel lay concealed. By the time she reached it, she barely had strength left to climb into the cockpit.

It wasn’t until she was airborne and climbing steadily out of the atmosphere that Elyth allowed herself to believe she had truly escaped. She let out a deep exhale then and gave herself permission to feel the full weight of the weeks she had endured on Revik, the part she had played in its inevitable and coming demise, and the exhaustion that laid heavy upon her.

And it was in that moment of mingled relief and utter depletion that she realized a priority transmission had come through while she’d been away from the ship; its header markings and encryption protocols declared its origins to be directly from the Order of the Mind, the highest order of Elyth’s House.

She flicked the message open, skimmed it with anxious eyes. It was terse, but the brevity did not rob it of its weight.

Immediate recall. Revik operation to be passed over.

Return to the Vaunt by fastest possible method.

Passed over. The phrase whipped her with an ice-wind dread. At best, it meant another of her Order was being deployed to complete the mission in her place, due to some unknown failing on her part.

At worst, it might mean she had just killed a planet that should have been spared.

Nausea seized her at the thought, swirled her emotions. If the beauty of Revik could have been preserved after all … but she closed her eyes and steadied herself.

Elyth had completed the task as it had been placed before her. There was no way to discern the intent behind this new directive, nor to determine why it had arrived so late. Allowing her imagination to fill in gaps was neither wise nor beneficial. Any answers she might receive would come no sooner than her return. She was already doing all she could.

She marked the message received and closed it, sealing it to oblivion; once read, such transmissions from the Advocates of the Mind dissolved to leave no trace.

If only the same could have been said for the impact of the message.

As the sky darkened around her beyond the cockpit, so too did Elyth’s thoughts. Despite her attempts to settle herself, the communication had robbed her of any sense of accomplishment. Instead of a work completed, Revik was now a question posed. And while her ship carried her back into the safety of the Ascendance armada, her mind grappled with the unforeseeable new trial that awaited her return to the grand vaulted city of her Order.

2

The baton streaked in from Elyth’s right, a low feint emerging suddenly as a sharp-angled strike aimed at her temple. She stepped into the attack, checked her opponent’s wrist with her off hand at the last possible moment, and in the same motion jabbed her own baton forward in a counterstrike. But Nyeda anticipated the thrust, twisted, flowed around to Elyth’s left, and caught hold of her elbow.

Elyth felt the joint lock unfolding. Instead of resisting, she waited the half breath it took for Nyeda to commit, and then settled back and dropped her hips, gaining the leverage she needed to trap Nyeda’s hand mid-technique.

Nyeda was quick, but Elyth’s footwork was better, and a moment later, Elyth escaped the hold and tipped the now-unbalanced woman down to the ground shoulder first. Elyth followed the momentum, used her body weight to pin Nyeda down. Beneath her, the older woman slackened, momentarily caught off guard and stunned. Elyth shot her hand around to secure a choke; she had her now.

So she thought.

An instant later, Nyeda shifted and rolled, her body trapping Elyth’s ankle and bringing her to the ground. The woman’s baton arced. Elyth’s arms were too tangled.

The impact caught her on the collarbone, the dull thunk reverberated down through her spine; for a brief moment, the sound was worse than the pain.

And then, all was still while Elyth lay on her back, panting, sweating, suffering the consequence of her mistake. She knew exactly what that mistake had been. In retrospect, she’d felt it, knew her feet had been too close to Nyeda, how she should have adjusted and sprawled more, before she’d gone for the choke. But she’d missed it in the moment, or ignored it; Nyeda’s momentary relaxation had thrown her off, made her overconfident.

Nyeda’s face appeared above her.

“Sloppy,” the older woman said, looking down on her sternly. “Should have sprawled more.”

Elyth nodded. And Nyeda’s helping hand appeared, offering to pull her once more to her feet.

“Trouble focusing?” Nyeda asked, as Elyth rolled up and took her hand.

“No,” Elyth answered, standing. “At least, I didn’t think so. Just not quite fully back in my body yet.”

“It’s still early.”

“I feel the loss, Nyeda,” Elyth forced herself to say. It was a confession she would have preferred to leave unspoken. But she knew the dangers of her currently vulnerable state. Putting on a brave face for others was on the same path as deceiving herself.

“As you will, my sister,” she answered. “Is it overwhelming?”

Elyth shook her head. “Manageable. But this depth of longing is usually gone by now.”

“Then you’re a quicker healer than most.” Nyeda put her hand on Elyth’s shoulder, softening from combat instructor to spiritual advisor. “Each time is unique. Each its own process for you to discover, to pass through, and from which to emerge. And you will emerge.”

Elyth acknowledged the encouragement with a nod.

“Again?” she asked, ready for another round. But Nyeda shook her head.

“I know you hate to end on a loss, but we’ve already gone longer than we should have. And this was supposed to be a light day.”

“Yeah, I know,” Elyth said. “That’s why I was taking it so easy.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Nyeda said. She patted Elyth’s cheek with a perfect blend of affection and sarcasm and then gathered the training batons. “Then you should have no trouble settling yourself.”

Elyth nodded but didn’t hide her disappointment. Tired as she was, she preferred the demands of full-contact sparring to the forced leisure, where her mind could wander where it would. Even knowing its importance to her recovery, it was difficult to endure.

“And double the time today,” Nyeda added. “You need it.”

Elyth barely contained a groan as she moved to the center of the room and began her meditative routine.

The private training room off the living area of her main residence was spartan; twenty feet long and half as wide, furnished with a dense mat, a simple rack to hold a few training weapons, and little else. Still, Nyeda made herself busy tidying it, keeping her actions so quiet and unobtrusive that it would have been easy to forget she was there. And yet, for all the passivity of the older woman’s presence, Elyth knew well how attentive she was to everything around her. Nyeda was keeping a close eye on her, though Elyth felt no sense of being watched. It took years to master such alertness, effortless and relaxed.

Elyth held the initial position, Silence Unveils the Heavens, for twice its normal duration as Nyeda had directed. She stood tall, head tilted slightly backward as though gazing at a star-strewn sky, feeling the stretch through her core, willing the exertion to exorcise the vibrating energy buried within her bones.

It’d been six days since her return to the Vaunt and despite the apparent urgency of the transmission she’d received, she’d been immediately sent into the ritual seclusion that awaited any Advocate of the Voice returning from a successful operation. She knew she couldn’t speak of the message she’d received, not until the appropriate audience was given. It was often the way of things. Hers was to operate in uncertainty; the expectation was for patience until further revelation was deemed proper and necessary, if ever. A lifetime of practice had not yet made it any easier to bear.

She took a deep breath and controlled the exhale as she transitioned to the next pose, Arrow Seeks the Heart. A deep lunge forward, one hand extended like a spear-thrust before her.

After the killing of a planet, Advocates of the Order of the Voice were cloistered for a full thirty days of recovery. Given the amount of time that had passed without news, Elyth struggled to resign herself to the idea that she would learn nothing until she had completed the full healing cycle. Another twenty-four days. She acknowledged the frustration that bubbled up at the idea and then allowed it to dissipate.

She moved into the anchoring pose Warrior Summits the Mountain, her feet wide apart, arms raised and out as though embracing the sky.

Normally the pose felt triumphant. Today, her mind would not quiet. Questions nagged; impatience prowled beneath the surface of her every activity.

Watcher Greets the Storm. She clenched one hand into a fist and held it close to her body, the other arm she extended partially, palm upraised as though catching the first drops of rain. Fitting, she thought. The pose was symbolic of having done all one could to prepare, and bravely facing that which could not be controlled. In that moment, she didn’t feel she was meeting either criterion fully.

A trace of a thought drifted like an echo of smoke, a vague sadness and longing; the ache for something which she had glimpsed, yet could never possess. It was the call of the Deep; the echo of the infinite. Equal parts dream and memory, half-formed. Of this too Elyth took note, and allowed the mist-musing to flow past without attempt to grasp or pursue. Gently, she returned her focus to sensation; the floor, the trembling, the beaded sweat. Reminded herself that this was what it was to have a body, to be in a place, to exist and give form to her own tragic limitation.

Elyth transitioned into the most challenging stance: a deep squat, with her body bent forward and her arms extended as far behind her as she could manage. Titan Bears the World. The muscles in her legs trembled with the strain as she stretched the stiffness from her back and shoulders; she cupped her hands, imagining the sphere of a planet resting upon them, noticed the warmth of the blood flowing through her palms. As she inhaled deeply, her abdomen pressed down into the tops of her thighs. Her feet, flat and firm on the floor, drew from the stability of the world beneath, felt the anchoring weight of its substance. Each of these sensations she noted in passing, observing without judgment. Or at least attempting to.

The truth was it left a scar each time she took a world. Or rather a deep wound that would never fully heal. The melancholy would linger, grief would reemerge and subside in its own time. But Elyth knew she must not seek to return to it, must not rehearse the loss, or comfort herself with the familiar pain. She had been warned where that path led. And she had seen it for herself, when other Advocates, beloved sisters, had chosen to walk it, and had lost themselves within it.

She moved to her next-to-last position, Orual Releases the Dove, a standing pose with her hands in front of her, palms cupped together and angled toward the ceiling. Relaxation flooded her body, gentle relief from Titan Bears the World.

And with the release of tension, Elyth imagined herself releasing also the guilt she felt for the death of Revik. It was heavier upon her than she wanted to admit, and she realized now in this quiet moment how she’d been avoiding reflecting upon it.

She reminded herself that she was not solely responsible for Revik’s ultimate fate. She was merely the final point of a process that began long before, one in a chain whose links were of numbers untold; the tip of a finger at the end of the Ascendance’s godlike reach. Before she had been deployed, there had been many attempts to set the world on a better course, ample opportunity for a better outcome. In the end, her actions were a mercy, a difficult act for a greater good; it was the burden she and her sisters willingly bore for the greatest good.

Elyth told herself all these things while physically embodying the act of letting go. It wasn’t that simple. But the mindful practice of it would in time help make the release a reality.

She completed the sequence with the final pose, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her. Servant Awaits with Gratitude. This she held for a full two minutes, and when she reached the end of the count, felt a mild reluctance to return to the world beyond herself. As invigorated as she was, the idea of interacting with others seemed now like an intrusion upon a sacred silence. But she knew she couldn’t allow herself to nurse the desire to withdraw.

“I think I’ll record the history this morning,” she said.

She had not felt strong enough to do so before. But this morning, the memory was fresh enough to be captured and distant enough to withstand without tipping over the edge.

“There’s no rush,” Nyeda answered. “And you must allow yourself to rest, Elyth.”

“I’ll rest easier when the memories are on the page.”

Nyeda regarded her carefully for a few moments; Elyth could see the woman weighing the options. Nyeda was her keeper for the duration of the recovery; “sitting watch” they called it. A sacred service within the House. It was her duty to watch and guard all aspects of Elyth’s well-being during her recovery, to be counselor and trusted advocate. And to protect her from herself, should the need arise.

Finally, Nyeda nodded, and the two retired to the adjoining parlor. The training area was separated from the rest of Elyth’s private apartment by a large sliding screen. The room on the other side was a more intimate space, furnished with a divan and a pair of comfortable chairs arranged around a plush circular rug. Against one wall sat a large bookcase, and along the adjacent wall by a large window were Elyth’s small desk and accompanying chair.

Nyeda sat in the chair closest to the main entry; Elyth took some time to wash up and change into her more general-purpose tunic and pants. She returned to the parlor refreshed and mentally prepared for the task at hand.

From the bookcase, she retrieved a notebook bound in leather. On the top shelf rested a set of small crystalline vials, each about the size of her thumb, capped in black and labeled. And even though she knew their names without looking at what was written on each and she knew exactly the place of the one she sought, she allowed her finger to trace across the tops of the last four.

Danata. Hetalya. Geren. Revik.

Inside those vials rested soil from those planets, soil she had collected just before carrying out her assignment on each world. Images sprang to mind as her touch passed over the vials in turn; impressions of dusty sunsets over river-shot mountains, thirsting nights, shattered skies. Elyth took down the vial with Revik’s sample and carried it with the notebook to the desk by her window. She placed both before her and sat in the simple chair. For a time she just looked out the window, at the early-morning mist that clung to the grounds outside. Her sparring session had started before dawn; the residential quadrangle remained quiet and still, a deep lake undisturbed.

When her mind was clear and settled, Elyth unwound the strap that held the notebook closed and flipped through the pages until she found one blank. With a pen she set down the date; Day 17, Month 8, Year of Ascendance 8021.

And on the page beneath, she began to recount her time on Revik, detailed with vivid clarity. Not in the formal style of an after-action report. That she had already delivered as part of her debriefing protocol. Where that report had been equally detailed, its focus had been facts, data; an accurate timeline of the intelligence she had gathered on Revik, a record of her actions there, and of their effects. This handwritten account was for no one but Elyth, and its sole purpose was to capture the moments on the world that had made their greatest impression, regardless of their operational value. These were the fragile moments of beauty and awe: the three-mooned night sky; the thumbnail-sized wildflowers with their bright yellow center crowned in four-petaled lavender; the fragrance of dawn. Sketches of emotion and sensation, all the things that had made the planet itself, as experienced by Elyth. This was Revik’s obituary, written by one who had come to know it most intimately, composed by the hand by which it had been slain.

By the time she laid down her pen, it was midmorning and the activity outside her window had taken on its usual intensity. The Vaunt’s grounds were busy with servants of the House carrying out the many-faceted duties that supported the micro city’s function and, by extension, its far-reaching influence. Witnessing all the motion and energy stirred once more Elyth’s frustration at her seclusion. She attempted to dismiss it with a sigh, mostly failed, and returned her gaze to her page. Soon enough she would be released; for now, it was her duty to see herself well.

Though she was done writing, her entry was not yet complete. She unscrewed the cap from the vial with Revik’s soil and sprinkled a small portion onto the bottom corner of the page. She then moistened her fingertips with saliva and with small circles massaged the dirt until it had worked its way into the paper. A bit of Revik’s life mingled with hers to seal the memory. Over the top of it, Elyth traced a symbol with the nail of her pointer finger, one that left less of a visible mark than an impression in the dampened page. A glyph of her design, to represent a work completed.

Afterward, she closed the notebook, wrapped the strap around it, and was just standing from her desk when a light tap sounded at the door. It was still too early for any summons, by standard accounts. There was nothing scheduled for her until midday, and the Order had strict rules about initiating interaction with an Advocate during her recovery. Nyeda rose to answer it, but Elyth stayed her with a gesture and strode across the room.

She opened the door and found a young woman standing there, one Elyth did not recognize.

“Advocate Elyth,” the young woman said, and Elyth could hear the tremble of nerves in her voice. The girl was perhaps thirteen, and her plain, olive-toned attire established only that she was an Aspirant; an Adovcate-in-training, accepted to the House but the path for her life not yet selected. Aspirants often served as messengers for multiple orders within the House.

“Yes?” Elyth said.

“I am Vrin,” the messenger said, bowing with the words. “The Paragon has requested you.”

It took a moment for Elyth to process.

“The Paragon herself?” she asked.

“Yes, Advocate,” said the girl, her eyes still on the floor.

Elyth glanced at Nyeda, saw her own mix of confusion and concern reflected back to her.

“At your most immediate,” the girl added.

“Of course,” Elyth said. “I’ll need a moment to change—”

“There’s no need,” Vrin answered. “The Paragon will see you as you are. Alone.”

If the disruption of protocol had seemed unusual, this new revelation was unheard of. Elyth had served the House for nearly twenty-five years and had never known anyone to appear before the Paragon of the First House of the Ascendance without the proper attire. And the idea of standing before the ancient matriarch on her own, alone … a heavy, ice-drenched knot formed in Elyth’s stomach, a dread that she had done something gravely wrong. Undoubtedly the questions about her recall from Revik would be answered. What other consequences awaited her, she couldn’t predict.

“I shall escort you now, if you are ready,” said the girl, with a note of authority at odds with her still-tremulous voice. She spoke in the High Language, the formal, precise mode of speech common for official communication, but seldom used in the halls of residence. It added to the young woman’s bearing and gravity.

Elyth nodded, slid her feet into a pair of simple slippers by the door, and followed the girl out. Nyeda started to join them, but the young girl held up a hand.

“Your charge Elyth is now under the watch of the Paragon herself,” the girl said, addressing Nyeda. And as she did, Elyth couldn’t help but notice the sudden firmness of her tone. Ah. No mere messenger, then. The girl was in training for the Order of the Mind, in direct service to the Paragon. An honor, and one that marked her as already highly favored. “She will be returned safely to you, Advocate of the Voice.”

Again, Nyeda and Elyth exchanged a look; the circumstances were so far from the known and expected, neither of them were quite sure how to respond, other than with obedience. Elyth gave Nyeda a reassuring nod and a smile that she hoped looked more convincing than it felt. Nyeda bowed her head and touched her heart in return.

The girl walked a few paces ahead of Elyth, though never directly in front of her. More like an honor guard than a guide. It was a twenty-minute walk along the curving paths from Elyth’s quarters to the Paragon’s complex, and they traveled the distance without further conversation. Elyth used that time to settle herself; she could find in her mind or heart no reason to fear the Paragon’s attention. Undoubtedly the summons was connected to her recall. Strange that after all her longing for information, she should be anxious at the moment of revelation. But everything about the situation was strange.

The complex where the Paragon took audience and held council was separated from the rest of the Vaunt by a low wall, roughly waist-high to Elyth. It was more decorative than protective; the main entrance was circular and had neither doors nor guards. Even so, passing that barrier, Elyth felt the change as distinctly as if she had entered a sacred temple or the court of an emperor. There was a gravity to the place, an authority that emanated from its center and bore down on all who crossed its threshold. It was a place that demanded careful attention and wise action.

Elyth had been through that entryway many times before, but it felt now nearly as imposing as on her first day, when she had taken her oath in the Paragon’s court, and that elder’s ancient wisdom and cunning had nearly overwhelmed her. The main path curved gently through the complex’s arboretum, but the beauty of the cultivated trees didn’t relieve any of the tension she felt. And the closer they got to the court, the more self-concious she grew of her attire. It was hard enough to stand before the head of the House in crisp and spotless uniform; she felt now like she was attending a ceremony in her pajamas.

The stairs leading up to the court appeared around the bend, and Elyth inhaled deeply, prepared her mind to stand alone in the midst of that great hall. Now, however, Vrin led her past the court, continued on even past the council chamber, and took her farther back into the complex than Elyth had ever been. They came to a section yet again walled off from the rest, a small island unto itself, ringed by an eight-foot-tall wooden fence that prevented any view of what lay within. As Vrin unlatched the simple gate, Elyth realized she was being ushered into the Paragon’s private residence.

She passed through the gate with wonder and trepidation, and once she’d crossed over, she stopped in spite of herself. Before her sat a simple structure amid the most well-cultivated garden Elyth had ever seen.

Others had spoken of the Paragon’s garden, but witnessing it now with her own eyes, Elyth understood that she had never grasped its magnitude, no matter how well described. She allowed herself to take in the sweep of the place, felt the impact of its completeness taken all at once. Even the fragrance was delicately complex yet unified; fresh, clean, healthy.

The garden created a deep and abiding sense of rightness. The sense that here, within these walls, all things were as they should be. The effect was not lessened when Elyth focused on the individual details; the regal purple of an iris, the fairy-teardropped leaves of a delicate miniature frostoak. Even the blades of vibrant, low-cut grass gave an impression of an orderly regiment in uniform, standing at attention and waiting for inspection.

An Advocate of the Hand was crouched by one of the arrangements, deftly pruning a shapely juniper, her face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. She didn’t look up from her work or acknowledge Elyth’s arrival, as was often the way of those of her Order. Elyth nearly complimented the Advocate on her masterwork but thought better of disturbing the hushed peace that hovered over the garden.

Instead she turned her attention to the building at the center. The structure was a single story, with a wide covered porch; its lines were pleasing and elegant, and reminded Elyth of a swallow’s flight. And though it clearly had been constructed, it too seemed perfectly at home within the garden, almost as though it had grown from the ground alongside its natural companions. This, then, was the Paragon’s home.

Even from the gate, Elyth could feel that ancient presence.

Vrin crossed the grounds to the porch, and Elyth followed wordlessly. There was nothing overtly menacing about the Paragon, but to stand before her was as if to stand before the jaws of some sleeping leviathan. In her midst, the raw power and potential for utter destruction bore down with the full weight of awe and dread.

When they reached the porch, instead of ascending the steps, Vrin simply turned toward the gardener with an expectant air. Elyth followed suit, assuming some custom or etiquette prevented them from entering the residence until the gardener had finished her work, or had departed. The gardening Advocate made another cut, then rocked back to evaluate her work. After a few seconds, seemingly content with the adjustment she’d made, she spoke.

“Thank you, Vrin,” she said, her voice sharp with age, the edges of her syllables crackling with vivid energy. Elyth reflexively shivered at the sound. No mere gardener. The Paragon herself. “Go and prepare tea.”

“Yes, Illumined Mother,” Vrin answered, using the honorific. She turned and bowed to Elyth, then added a surreptitious nod of encouragement before slipping into the house.

“Elyth,” the Paragon said without turning, “come here.”

Elyth did as she was bade, crossing to the Paragon and standing just behind her, to one side. The Paragon bent forward to work for a few moments more. Elyth forced herself to relax, even as her mind wrestled with the incongruity of the scene before her. She had never seen the Paragon without her regalia, let alone working in the dirt with her own hands. From where she now stood, Elyth had the chance to admire the vital deftness of the Paragon’s fingers, the delicate decisiveness with which she worked at shaping the juniper; the ancient woman held utterly still while evaluating, but when she chose to act, she did so with the bold efficiency of a sword stroke.

The Paragon trimmed a curving shoot from the juniper and caught the clipping in her cupped palm, and then sat back and evaluated her work once more. Apparently satisfied, she stood and finally looked at Elyth. She was several inches shorter than Elyth and so had to tilt her head back, farther than usual due to the brim of her hat. It was the first time Elyth had ever looked down upon the Paragon. The power of the older woman was in no way diminished; without thought Elyth bent her knee before the great matriarch and bowed her head.

“Look at me,” the Paragon said.

Elyth obeyed. For a span the Paragon’s eyes studied Elyth’s. It was terrible to withstand that gaze, which seemed to peel back all masks and pretense and to lay bare the innermost thoughts; Elyth felt utterly exposed, as though the Paragon might perceive secrets Elyth herself did not know she kept. But there was a twinkle in those eyes as well, a light amusement that somehow seemed to welcome and embrace her, even in all that fear. The Paragon capped off that silent interrogation with a tight smile.

“Elyth,” she said. “Bright daughter.”

“Illumined Mother,” Elyth said, bowing her head once more.

“Come come,” the Paragon said, “No need to stand on ceremony. Or to kneel upon it either, as it were.”

Elyth stood but kept her head bowed, feeling like a marionette on strings too loose; she knew neither protocol nor etiquette for such a situation, and judged that a posture of waiting obedience was the safest of all possible actions.

“How goes your time?” the Paragon asked.

“Very well, Your Radiance,” Elyth answered.

“Rest is good? Mind is clear?”

“All is as it should be.”

“And the longing?”

“Present, but diminishing.”

“Very good,” the Paragon said. She held out the gardening tool, a small pair of clippers, offering them to Elyth. “Take these, and do with them that which seems best to you.”

It was a test, undoubtedly, though not one for which Elyth had ever been explicitly prepared. She took the clippers and turned her attention to the variety of plants before her.

“I fear I will only damage your great work,” she said. “I have no skill in such cultivation.”

“One cannot damage a living thing by pruning its edges, dear,” said the Paragon. “It must bear the cut and flourish, or else the source of its life was badly misplaced. And such would not be the fault of the pruner.”

Elyth took her time looking over each of the flowers, shrubs, vines, and trees that populated the area in front of her; nothing struck her as being out of place. She saw no cut she could make that would improve the form of anything, neither individually nor taken together as a whole. The seconds stretched to minutes, and Elyth felt a growing compulsion to make a cut anywhere, just to take action. But she knew there was a hidden purpose behind the moment and that both patience and careful observation were expected of Advocates of the Voice. The Paragon would not mistake patience for hesitance, nor would she confuse action for purpose. Elyth felt it was the limits of her perception that were being tested.

Unable to find any obvious form in need of correction, she began to think inaction was precisely the right choice. But before she committed to that thought, she changed her approach. If she couldn’t find anything out of place now … and with the change in mind-set and a few moments more of careful attention, an opportunity revealed itself. The grain of a young branch on one of the miniature frostoaks ran with a twist toward its end. And now that she’d seen it, Elyth didn’t waste time evaluating whether or not her judgment was correct. She stepped forward, took the slender branch between the fingers of one hand, and made a quick diagonal cut where the grain ran true, cutting free a six-inch segment that represented about a third of the total branch. Elyth returned to her place by the Paragon’s side and awaited judgment, holding out both the tool and the cutting before her, a priestess bringing her sacrifice before a goddess.

The Paragon looked over the branch in Elyth’s hand, then to the tree from which it had come, then to Elyth herself.

“Why this fellow?” she asked.

“It appeared to my mind that left to grow, its twist would introduce an unpleasant shape in conflict with the rest.”

“But you have upset the symmetry,” the Paragon responded, her tone flat and her expression neutral. “And now the gap has widened between its neighbor.”

Neither of these factors had escaped Elyth’s notice, but she accepted the mild rebuke without excuse.

“My apologies, Illumined Mother,” she said. “I felt the single cut was sufficient, and the disturbance temporary.”

The Paragon held her gaze for a few moments longer before her eyes crinkled at the corners in some wisp of amusement or pleasure.

“You have more skill than you credit to yourself,” she said, taking the shears from Elyth’s hand. “I know of few who would have noticed such a detail, and too many who would have felt compelled to prune the whole tree.”

Elyth bowed her head in acknowledgment, a mild response to receive the compliment without letting it stir her pride. It was difficult; praise from the Paragon was rare and greatly valued.

“And the cutting?” Elyth asked.

“Keep it,” the Paragon said. “A memento of our coming conversation. Come. Sit with me.”

Elyth followed the Paragon to the residence, but instead of entering as she expected, the Paragon climbed the stairs and then turned and sat on the porch. She removed her hat and laid it beside her. Elyth, once again uncertain of how to proceed, stood on the lowest step. The Paragon patted the porch next to her. Elyth had no idea what to make of the invitation or the sudden familiarity, but she obeyed, sitting carefully beside the woman without touching her. The proximity and the casual posture made her feel as though she were violating some sacred ritual.

“Oh, do relax,” the Paragon said in the Low Language, a manner of speech Elyth had never heard issuing from that exalted woman. “I leave all the tiresome courtly expectations beyond these walls. Even your so-called Great Mother needs a place where she can just be an old woman with a garden.”

Elyth made an involuntary noise at the statement, something between a note of surprise and a chuckle.

“Does this upset you?” the Paragon asked. “To see your Mother in such a light?”

Elyth shook her head. “No, Illumined Mother.”

“Go on,” the Paragon said. “Speak your thoughts. Without your usual calculation.”

“It’s just that … of course I knew of your magnificent garden, but I did not realize you yourself were the gardener.”

“Yes, well, we mustn’t spend all our time in the heavens, dear,” the Paragon answered, “lest we forget our place here among the dust.”

As she was speaking Vrin came out of the house with a tray, upon which were two bowl-like stone mugs, wide and without handle, with a pot crafted of the same stone set between.

“Just place them here by me,” the Paragon said. “And then I would like for you to study in the Library for a time. An hour or so should be sufficient.”

“Yes, Illumined Mother,” Vrin answered with a bow. She set down the tray, and then departed through the front gate. The Paragon watched her as she went, and did not speak until several moments after the girl had closed the gate behind her.

“A fine Aspirant of the Mind,” the Paragon said. “She has a kindness of heart that cannot be taught. Indulgent of me, perhaps, to keep her for myself. But her service and loyalty are pure.”

She turned to the tray and poured tea into both mugs, and then turned back and handed one to Elyth. Elyth laid the cutting from the frostoak on her lap and accepted the tea with both hands as etiquette required. The tea was sea-deep green, and its fragrance rose as incense, its edges crisp and fresh like snow on pines but with a subtle hint of smoke behind. Elyth was struck with an impression of mist in moonlight, clinging low to the forest floor.

The Paragon raised her drink in a wordless toast, which Elyth returned, and together they sipped. After she’d partaken of her tea, the Paragon rested her hands in her lap with the tea bowl balanced lightly on her fingers, and for a time gazed at the steam rising from it. Elyth let her eyes linger on the elder woman’s effortless splendor and grace. Even in her simple attire, with her gray hair damp and mussed and thin in spots, she was magnificent. Magnificent in a way that was perhaps even enhanced by the raw humanity she now displayed. Truly she was the very incarnation of sareth hanaan, the high art of the House.

Some called it the Way, others the Path, others still any number of sacred-tinged designations. To outsiders it was a mystical power to be feared, or an outdated code of conduct to be mocked. But none of these captured the essence of sareth hanaan as Elyth understood it, nor as the Paragon embodied it. In truth, it meant simply “the quiet action of one who endures.” But it spoke of many things: the subtle shift of stance that deters attack; the patient forbearance of a lone mountain against which the surging sea endlessly breaks and then retreats; the gentle word of truth, perfectly timed, that topples a tyrant. The Paragon was all these things and more; a great stillness in swirling chaos, a lightning strike upon a fortress of oppression.

None had endured longer nor taken more effective subtle action than the ancient matriarch of the First House of the Ascendance. To see her now not in her splendid attire but in the work clothes of a servant crystallized for Elyth what the complete mastery of sareth hanaan looked like. And highlighted just how much more she still had to learn.

“Take a breath, child,” the Paragon said. “Your anxiety is spilling over, and it is misplaced.”

Elyth did as she was bade.

“My apologies, Illumined Mother,” she said. “I have not been able to quiet my questions about my recall from Revik.”

“I didn’t say it was wrong. Only misplaced. Your operation on Revik was both just and flawlessly executed. But a matter has arisen that requires immediate attention. I had hoped to spare you the need for recovery. Even now, I have given you all the time we can, brief as it has been. I fear the strain on you may be too great. But our need for you is greater still.”

One heaviness fell away from Elyth with the scant explanation, only to be replaced by another. The relief she felt at learning she hadn’t killed an innocent world barely registered; she’d never before heard of a circumstance so dire as to cut short an Advocate’s recovery.

The Paragon sipped her tea, pursed her lips slightly. She shook her head almost imperceptibly as she brought the bowl back to her lap.

“That which is now unfolding has many beginnings,” she said. “And though the threads have begun to intertwine, it is beyond the skill of this House to see yet what they will form once they are drawn fully together.”

Elyth noticed the narrowing of the Paragon’s eyes and the pursing of her lips, and realized she was seeing yet another thing that she’d never before witnessed nor imagined possible in the ancient matriarch. Uncertainty.

“The beginning of beginnings, I suppose,” the Paragon said, and she flashed a tight smile. “Let us cover ground that is familiar to us both, and perhaps we will together find our way to the right place. Tell me, daughter, upon what foundation is our House built?”

“Our House stands on the word alone,” Elyth replied reflexively; the traditional question and answer had been engraved on her mind and heart since her first day as an Aspirant.

“And tell me now, what does that mean?”

A response to that question was neither quick nor easy, made all the more challenging by the essence of the asker, as though a star had asked her to explain the nature of light.

Elyth thought carefully, chose her words with precision.

“The authority of the First House is rooted in the Deep Language,” she said. “Apart from it, no amount of wisdom, cunning, or skill is sufficient for us to stand.”

“Indeed,” the Paragon replied, “our House cannot exist without the Deep Language. That, however, is not true in reverse. The Deep Language exists of its own accord; it is there, in the very fabric of the universe. We merely discovered it. Our ability to speak it, however, could be considered something of a technology. And the truth of its concepts undergirds the Ascendance’s greatest of all technologies.”

“The Language,” Elyth said.

The Paragon nodded her head as she drank her tea.

“The Language,” she continued a moment later. “Built upon the foundation laid by the Deep. Expanded, yes, and greatly diluted. But one cannot fully disentangle the formal High or the vulgar Low from the underlying power of the Deep. And as with any technology, it can be wielded as a tool for creation or a weapon of destruction.”

Elyth was intimately aware of this truth; it was the thoughtless misuse of the Language, or its purposeful abuse, that made necessary her work. The poison of its corrupting influence seeping into the material substrate of a world, until all hope of recovery was lost. And it was why knowledge of the Deep Language was so closely guarded, and its use so tightly controlled.

The Paragon held up a finger and said, “This connection between the common Language and the Deep is one beginning. For another, tell me, how has the Ascendance maintained the stability of its governance across so many worlds, for so many millennia?”

“Undoubtedly because of the great wisdom and benevolence of the Grand Council,” Elyth answered dryly. Her intent was not lost on the Paragon; the elder woman dipped her head to acknowledge Elyth’s polite response, but the mild smirk encouraged Elyth to speak more honestly.

“The constant tension between the Grand Council, the Hezra, and the First House,” Elyth said. “And the structure’s capacity for self-correction.”

The Paragon nodded, deepened the response.

“The Hezra,” she said, holding up her right hand, “and the First House.” She held up her left. “These are the two hands with which the Grand Council rules. Justice, mercy; law, culture; knowledge, wisdom. An eye turned outward to the horizon; another turned inward to the soul.

“The authority and the power of the Ascendance. Stability rests not in either side of these pairings alone, but rather in the active mediation between them. History instructs us that it is the judgment of the Grand Council, balanced between this House and our siblings within the Hezra, that has brought such peace and prosperity to our vast citizenry. Though, of course, my nature tempts me to believe the House alone could rule, and be sufficient.

“I would be a fool indeed to deny such temptation exists, in myself as much as in others,” she said, and then held up two fingers. “This constant struggle for balance within our hierarchy is a second beginning.

“And for a third, tell me what you know of the Markovian Strain.”

“Only the basics, Your Radiance,” Elyth answered.

The Paragon nodded. “Before your time, by a few centuries. But speak of what you know.”

Elyth dredged up the memories of lessons learned long ago, from her days of study as an Aspirant. And now, as when she’d first learned of it, the account seemed distant, all dry fact with no life or blood.

“Markov was a mild world, agriculturally oriented,” she said. “It became the source of a potent strain of corrupted Language. The Hezra botched the quarantine and allowed it to spread to neighboring worlds via known trade routes. The end result was seven worlds lost before it could be contained.

“The loss of so many worlds in such a short period of time led to instability within the Ascendance hierarchy, and raised questions among the citizens about its effectiveness.”

“Oh no, dear, not about its effectiveness,” the Paragon said. “Never about its effectiveness. That was demonstrated quite clearly for all to see.”

Truly. The Markovian Strain had been finally eradicated only by the Hezra’s fearful Contingency. It was an innocuous term that, Elyth surmised, made it possible to discuss the act clinically without confronting the horror its reality evoked. Or at least should have evoked.

Elyth’s technique for planet killing was a terrible outcome, but it was at least a natural death—akin to putting a suffering animal to gentle sleep before causing its heart to stop.

The Contingency was its polar opposite—a violent planetary destruction, a dissolution at the subatomic level. There was no concealing its effects, nor its cause. It had not been used since.

“It did give rise to our own Eye,” the Paragon continued, speaking of the House’s private intelligence services. “The incident caused a rift between the Hezra and our House that has never fully healed.”

“The Hezra failed in its duties,” Elyth said. “The hierarchy should not resent the assistance we provide.”

“If only we were all so rational, yes? But we mustn’t judge the Hezra too harshly, dear. The official records do them less justice than they deserve; they bear the scar of a necessary fiction, for the good of the Ascendance.” And here she held up three fingers, finishing the count. “This Strain is a third beginning.”

The Great Mother paused for a moment to sip her tea before continuing.

“The spread of the Markovian Strain due to ineffective quarantine is not necessarily false,” the Paragon continued. “But it is assuredly not the whole truth. What do you know of the man Varen Fedic?”

Elyth remained silent for a few moments, collecting scattered fragments of thought and emotion that her mind associated with the name. Facts were few, but the impression was of something twisted, malevolent. A carnivore’s smile.

“A tyrant,” Elyth answered. “The source of the Markovian Strain. And a would-be mythmaker. The so-called First Speaker.”

“Mmm,” the Paragon hummed, a noncommittal sound. “An understatement, on two counts. Our official accounts mark him as a footnote, merely a man of charisma who led many astray. But in truth, his malevolence cannot be exaggerated. He was a man utterly corrupted. Which is what necessitated his complete and utter destruction. The Hezra was willing to annihilate multiple planets just to ensure every trace of him was erased.

“His adopted name of First Speaker was true in a sense … He was the first to speak his particular falsehoods, and with them he dominated the minds of many. Unfortunately, they shared his fate.

“The simplest explanation for the Strain’s spread, of course, is that a handful of his followers escaped Markov and sowed the seeds of his teachings elsewhere. That’s why it’s the official story. It is our nature to prefer simplicity over complexity, regardless of which holds more of the truth.

“The broken containment theory was, however, plausibly the case on only three of the worlds, and the evidence there is fragile at best. To this day we do not completely grasp the exact mechanism by which the Strain spread to the others. But we know enough.”

The Paragon took another sip of tea, and then set the bowl back on the tray at her side before continuing.

“I brought you here because that which must be said cannot be spoken in our halls.”

She turned and fixed Elyth with her paralyzing gaze, and uttered a phrase in the Deep Language. “A stone in the river, stanching the flow. You shall not speak of it.”

The declaration washed through Elyth like a warm surge of sea, followed by a sharp tingle, as though a strong memory had been suddenly awakened by a familiar scent.

“I trust your silence,” the Paragon added.

Elyth could not find an adequate response, and there was no need to acknowledge consent; the Paragon’s powerful words bound her speech, whether Elyth desired it or not. She merely bowed her head in acceptance.

“As you said, Varen Fedic was the original source of the Strain,” the Paragon said. “His thought-line was unique, his use of the Language truly novel … and so potent, its tendrils shifted reality. His speech didn’t just seep into the substrate of Markov. It infected the fabric of the cosmos and distorted the minds of citizens separated by millions of miles of open space.”

The very notion should have been impossible, and if anyone other than the Paragon had uttered those words, Elyth would have scoffed. She had devoted her life to studying the secret art and science of the Deep Language under the tutelage of its greatest masters, and she could never have projected power in such a manner. Even the Paragon herself could not exert that magnitude of influence over the material of the universe; it wouldn’t tolerate it.

“I know your mind is struggling to accept the fact,” the Paragon continued. “It violates all you have been taught. But the evidence is irrefutable. Fedic’s particular speech patterns emerged spontaneously in four locations.” She held up four fingers and counted them off in turn as she named the worlds. “Markov, where he was present. Ovon, Eblios, Yuralia, where he was not. The latter three had no contact with Markov. And the others we lost—Forna, Haltios, Ven … well. Their connections to Markov are tenuous, at best. In the end, their fate is irrelevant. Whether it was three planets or six that were corrupted across space, we know that one man’s black speech cost the Ascendance seven precious worlds.”

There was no point in questioning the truth of the Paragon’s revelation, regardless of how difficult it was to believe. All that remained was its relevance.

“And all of this …” Elyth said, “leads me to some purpose here?”

“Our Eye has fallen on the planet Qel,” the Paragon answered. “Something in it has changed. We fear the Markovian Strain has reemerged.”

The gravity of the Paragon’s tone carried a force that her words alone failed to deliver. It was as though she was claiming some ancient dragon from a fairy tale had reawakened. A terrifying thought, perhaps, if only anyone believed in dragons.

But the intensity of her look showed she did very much believe.

“I’m sorry, Illumined Mother, I don’t understand how that could be possible.”

“Neither do we, exactly. Which is what makes Qel so gravely concerning. I know it’s challenging to believe. And we must hope that we are wrong. But given the Strain’s destructive potential, even if probabilities are very low, it is a danger we must take very seriously indeed.”

“And Qel?” Elyth said. “I hadn’t heard it was under quarantine.”

“It isn’t,” the Paragon said.

“I don’t understand.”

“The balance of which I spoke, that between our House and the Hezra. It has been upset by their recent troubles. The Hezra’s setbacks have put it on an awkward footing, and made them understandably paranoid about our motives. And they are anxious now for a victory, to reassert themselves within the Ascendance.”

“You don’t trust them,” Elyth said.

The old woman smiled thinly.

“The games between the Grand Council, the Hezra, and our House have a long history, as all shared power must,” she said. “And it’s a delicate time, Elyth. Their outward focus is necessary, but I fear it may be blinding them to what lies within.”

“Or you suspect they’re ignoring what lies within for some hidden purpose.”

“A possibility that must be considered, in light of their circumstances.”

Elyth had only a general sense of the Hezra’s decline. Though the Ascendance had long ago mastered interstellar travel, it had not yet extended its reach beyond the borders of the galaxy. This was the destiny of humanity, and the grand mission with which the Hezra had been charged. And though the organization had a program devoted to developing the means to traverse the space between galaxies, thus far they’d made no progress in the endeavor. As a result, the Hezra’s standing within the Ascendance had suffered, its influence waned.

Nevertheless, the Hezra remained the sole authority in determining the fate of worlds. If Qel were indeed a threat, it was the Hezra’s place to judge it so. Surely the Paragon was not suggesting that Elyth undertake a mission to put a planet down that had not yet been judged according to law?

“Illumined Mother,” Elyth said carefully. “I have missed your intent. I see that you wish for me to travel to Qel, but I have not discerned what you would have me do there.”

“It is because I am uncertain myself,” the Paragon replied. She motioned lightly to the cutting lying in Elyth’s lap. “Qel is the twisting branch of our civilization. And it is growing more rapidly than any I have seen in an age. Few see the true danger. By the time the others waken to it, I fear the effects will have spread. But in this matter I cannot see the way forward. Not yet. I need someone I can trust, Elyth, to go learn what is at work within that world, someone whose perception is keen and whose judgment is sound. I need someone I can trust to walk the way even when she cannot see it.”

As she spoke, the old woman laid her hand on Elyth’s arm; Elyth’s heart swelled with warmth even as the words triggered surprise. She had never imagined that the Paragon might have more than a cursory knowledge of who she was. The Paragon smiled again, undoubtedly having read Elyth’s reaction. She leaned forward, and her lowered voice exuded a kindness Elyth didn’t know the ancient woman possessed.

“I’ve always had a special fondness for you, bright daughter,” she said. “From a time even before your welcome to our House. If my personal preferences had been the only consideration, I would have had you as my own Advocate of the Mind.”

Elyth blinked at the revelation. The Mind served the Paragon directly and governed the actions of the entire House. Its need for members was small, and as such, service to the Mind was the most selective. Elyth had never been told the possibility had existed for her.

“Illumined Mother,” Elyth said. “You honor me.” She nearly said more but hesitated, uncertain whether her unasked question would be appropriate, though her curiosity at what failing had prevented her selection itched in her mind.

The Paragon patted her arm and sat back with a chuckle, perceiving the question anyway. “I let you go because I knew it would drive you mad, dear. To be cooped up here, when there was so much possibility out there. You would have excelled, of that I have no doubt. But you would have resented me, in the end.” She held up a hand before Elyth could take offense. “Not that you would’ve shown it, of course. It merely would have been selfish of me. You were created for more. There is a term rarely uttered within our House, Elyth, one even you have likely never heard … but of our many excellent Advocates, you are among the few I would call ‘Guided by the True Star.’”

Once more, the power of the Deep Language washed through Elyth. She had seen the phrase, written in the annals of the House, read the legacies of the Advocates to whom it had been applied. The towering heroes of their order. But she had never heard the words spoken aloud.

It was no formal rite of the First House; it was an ancient title, spoken in the tongue that would transmit its meaning through more than mere words. For a brief instant, Elyth saw herself with the Paragon’s eyes, felt herself moved by the matriarch’s own emotions. The profound depth of love and respect seemed boundless, far beyond anything Elyth could have ever imagined of herself. Guided by the True Star. One who followed the highest way.

Elyth dipped her head, embarrassed at the magnitude of praise, ashamed of the pride it awakened but unable to dismiss it, even as the immediate power faded.

“Anything I am, the House has made me,” she answered.

“Yes, well,” the Paragon said, standing and gazing out over her garden. “For that I will happily take credit. There is no shame in seeing clearly the good in one’s work.”

Elyth set her tea on the porch and took the frostoak branch in her hand, then rose to her feet and descended two steps so that she could stand lower than the Paragon.

“These things we know,” the Paragon said. “The Language is powerful. Someone is abusing it. And we cannot trust the Hezra. Beyond that, many possibilities open before us.

“Our House has many capable Advocates, but there are few among them who genuinely understand and embrace the intent of our way. All can recite the doctrine; many practice it. But a precious few have attained the ability to embody it, and fewer still manage it in the midst of chaos. It is in the Voice that you excel, Elyth. But you could have found a place in the Eye, or the Hand, or here in the Mind. I am not blind to your shortcomings, and I don’t know what you will find on Qel. One final thing I know, however, is that there is none better in our House to undertake this ordeal.”

“When do I leave?” Elyth asked.

The Paragon returned her attention to Elyth.

“A Hezra vessel is departing in the morning for the Basho system; they’ve graciously allowed one of our Advocates of the Hand to take passage for a diplomatic mission to those planets. That should put you within range of Qel.”

Elyth reacted; traveling on a Hezra ship seemed like precisely the wrong way to avoid their attention.

“We couldn’t secure transport some other way?”

The Paragon smiled.

“A gentle poke, to see if it stirs the bear,” she answered.

“But you’re confident they’ll believe the cover?”

“Presumably, no. I would expect them to treat you as though you’re an Advocate of the Eye. But we’ve given them no reason to suspect our attention is on Qel in particular. And they have nothing to fear unless they have something to hide. It will be useful to observe their reaction to you.”

The Paragon smiled again and placed a hand on Elyth’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry that you will not be able to complete your full time of recovery. It’s a mistake, I’m certain, but one that circumstance demands. And one you will overcome, I hope.”

“It is well, Your Radiance. Whatever the House requires, I am its hands.”

“Your assignment is secret, known only to me. I will send for you at dawn. Make whatever preparations you need, but speak of this to no one. Once you arrive on Qel, we’ll see what steps lie next before us.”

“Yes, Illumined Mother.”

The Paragon laid her hand gently atop Elyth’s head.

“Sareth hanaan be your guide, bright daughter,” she said.

“Sareth hanaan be my way,” Elyth answered, the traditional response.

After the Paragon removed her hand, Elyth bowed and then made her way to the front gate. Questions and uncertainties frenzied her mind; the weight of revelation and expectation bore down upon her shoulders. But such burdens were hers to endure for the sake of First House, and for the Ascendance. As she walked back through the Vaunt, Elyth acknowledged her fears, allowed them to wash over her and beyond, and then focused her thoughts on preparing herself for the unknown and unknowable fate that dawn would bring.

3

As promised, the summons arrived with the first rays of the sun; both found Elyth ready and waiting. Nyeda had again sat watch throughout the night. While Elyth had silently prepared her gear for another assignment, the elder Advocate had made no inquiry about the unprecedented breach of the recovery protocol. Only when Vrin reappeared at the door did Nyeda allow her eyes to ask the question she would not speak.

“Thank you, Nyeda,” Elyth said, embracing her. It was all she could say.

“Be well, Elyth,” Nyeda replied, returning the embrace.

Of all those in First House, it was the Advocates of the Voice who best understood the need for discretion; their comings and goings were often sudden and unexplained. That didn’t make it any easier to accept that a departure offered no guarantee of a return. Elyth had lost many sisters in her time, without warning, without discussion, without closure. Their names were recorded, but never their fates. Few outside the Order of the Voice better understood the naive assumption of immortality hidden in a casual “See you tomorrow.”

Elyth and Nyeda separated, but held hands briefly as each looked upon the other’s face, fixing in their minds the shared moment. And then Elyth turned, took up her pack, and followed Vrin out into the corridor.

It wasn’t until they were outside that they spoke, and then only with voices lowered.

“The Hezra have sent a shuttle,” Vrin said. “It should be arriving at the eastern gate shortly.”

She handed Elyth a small device, a tangle interpreter: black, rectangular, roughly the size of her forefinger. Elyth accepted it, evaluated it.

“The Paragon?” she asked.

Vrin nodded. The interpreter had a twin, and that was in the keeping of the Paragon herself. As a pair, the devices enabled instant communication across any distance, encrypted with unbreakable codes. Even the Hezra’s fearsome signals intelligence arm could do nothing to decode the messages; mere interception would immediately alert both devices and cause them to switch encryption schemes.

Never before had Elyth been granted a direct channel to the Paragon. Now, if she understood the intent behind the interpreter, it seemed that the Paragon would be her only channel. She secured the device in a slender pocket on her vest.

“Is it activated?” she asked.

Vrin shook her head. “It will activate when the Paragon sees fit. That is all I know.”

“I assume the usual protocols remain,” Elyth said.

“It would be my assumption as well,” Vrin replied. “But only that. My instructions were to deliver the interpreter and escort you to the shuttle. I know nothing more.”

Elyth nodded, and the two walked the rest of the way in silence.

The shuttle was waiting when they arrived, humming quietly as it hovered a foot above the ground. A young noncommissioned officer of the Hezra stood beside it, his hallmark crimson-and-black uniform as neat and seemingly rigid as his stance, as though both the man and the outfit had been chiseled from a single multicolored stone. When Elyth approached, the officer made no direct acknowledgment of her, but pivoted on his heel like a clockwork doll. The side panel of the shuttle slid open to accept her, revealing an empty four-seat compartment. Elyth nodded to the officer as she passed; he did not respond, not even by meeting her eye. But Elyth noted the tiny beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, where his hat met his skin, and she allowed herself an inward smile.

Hezra personnel were legendary for their remarkable self-control. It was easy to confuse their discipline for disdain; it was equally easy for them to conceal disdain under the guise of discipline. In this case, at least, Elyth saw the marks of the young officer’s awe and fear of her, but nothing of contempt. As much of a welcome as she was likely to receive. She glanced at the insignia on his uniform: a lance corporal in 3 Reconnaissance, one of the Hezra’s quietest special operations forces.

“Thank you for your courtesy, Lance Corporal,” she said as she climbed into the compartment. She sat and looked to him. “I have a better appreciation of your unit’s nickname now.”

He almost suppressed the reaction, but the tightening of his lips and the flush of his cheeks suggested the compliment met its mark. Troopers in 3 Recon were informally known as “The Fear-Eaters,” and the young man had done a good job of swallowing his.

Elyth turned to address Vrin.

“Sareth hanaan be your guide, favored one,” Elyth said.

Vrin bowed her head and answered, “Your way be my way.” The door panel closed and Vrin did not raise her head as the shuttle lifted smoothly off.

Elyth barely felt the acceleration as the Vaunt dwindled behind her to miniature, until the green of its grounds were at last swallowed by the gray-brown of the surrounding urban sprawl. Soon details were lost to distance, and shortly after they left the last traces of atmosphere behind. The journey to the orbital docking station took roughly half an hour; Elyth had visited it countless times over the years, but the approach never failed to impress upon her the Hezra’s mastery of discipline and order. Vessels of varying sizes arrived, departed, and orbited the spherical structure with a beautiful complexity, a corona of ships swirling around the megastructure. From a distance the intricacy of movement could almost be mistaken for a living thing, but Elyth knew each and every ship was exactly where it was meant to be, following some strict formula of precise navigation.

Two capital ships were in dock, twin titans standing watch over the rest of the traffic made insignificant by comparison. Elyth recognized one as Herald class, the Hezra’s fearsome vanguard cruiser and the backbone of any blockade force. The ship carried an ominous weight in Elyth’s eyes, despite its otherwise sleek, elegant appearance; like the relaxed musculature of a tiger sleeping, with its raw power resting within. She knew the Herald class for what it was—the linchpin weapon for the Contingency.

The shuttle followed its course toward the station, but rolled and angled before it reached a dock. Instead, they approached another vessel of moderate size whose design Elyth didn’t recognize. It was an order of magnitude larger than the shuttle, and would have been impressive to behold had it not been in the presence of the Herald class.

When the shuttle arrived and was fully settled, Elyth found another Hezra officer awaiting her in the hangar. He greeted her politely and professionally, but spoke nothing more as he escorted her to the bridge of the vessel. The corridors were narrow, barely wide enough for two to pass without brushing shoulders. Curiously, they met no other personnel on the route. The walk was short, however, and the door to the bridge was open. As they approached, Elyth could hear a conversation taking place within.

“—cleared to get under way at our discretion,” a deep voice was saying. “We’re all accounted for?”

“Aye, Captain. All stands ready,” answered a younger man’s voice. “We can disembark as soon as that gray witch shows up.”

The last word was hanging in the air when Elyth reached the entrance, and she easily identified the one who had been speaking. Though his back was to her, she could see in his posture how he reacted to the sudden stillness of the room, and the dread upon him as he turned to find her standing there.

“Esteemed Advocate,” he said after a moment, a smile without warmth oozing across his face. A first lieutenant, young and proud by the look of him. His bearing suggested a level of entitlement to the position; one who had earned his commission through family connections rather than service, Elyth estimated. She held her place by the entrance, remaining in the corridor for the moment, while her escort stood at her side trying to fade into the background. The lieutenant took a tentative step forward, but then seemed to think better of it.

“Welcome aboard the Helegoss,” he continued. “It’s truly our honor to host a … dignitary from First House.”

Elyth wouldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard what he’d said, but neither did she wish to further the man’s humiliation in front of his peers. She simply offered a nod to accept his welcome and then directed her attention to the ranking officer, whom she picked out with ease.

“Permission to enter, sir?” she said.

“Of course, Advocate,” the captain answered.

Elyth crossed the threshold and stepped onto the bridge, then waited patiently to one side of the door.

“We’ll be leaving dock shortly,” the lieutenant said, unnecessarily; his tone was cloyingly eager. “We’re basically ready to go, and anxious to get under way. We certainly don’t want to cause any delay in your undoubtedly important errand.”

Elyth did not take her eyes from the captain of the vessel.

“Lieutenant,” the captain finally said.

“Sir,” the lieutenant answered.

“You’re dismissed.”

A span of a complete breath passed before the young officer responded.

“Yes sir,” he finally said. He slid out with his gaze lowered just enough to avoid making eye contact with anyone as he went.

The bridge remained silent until the lieutenant had fully departed. Elyth herself was at ease, quietly composed; the ship’s personnel all seemed paralyzed, as if any movement might draw attention best avoided.

“I’m Captain Jenzet,” the captain said at last, placing his hand over his heart and dipping his head in greeting. The shallowness of his bow wasn’t quite disrespectful, but left no doubt about his opinion of having been required to take her on board. “My ship is at the service of the First House.”

Elyth bowed in response, the perfect model of etiquette and respect. The captain waited briefly for her to reply, but it was understood that an Advocate of First House would offer her name only if and when she deemed it appropriate. It was not a thing to be expected or requested.

Her mere presence seemed to put even the captain off-balance. He was a formidable man, both tall and powerfully built, and he bore his authority well. Undoubtedly, there were few people he had encountered who had not been intimidated by his stature and projection of power. But Elyth had touched infinity, and he was just a man.

“We, uh …” he said at last. “We’ve made a cabin available for you.”

“Thank you for your service,” Elyth responded. “How long do you expect travel to take?”

“About eighteen hours to clear the horizon on this side,” the captain answered. “Twice that on the other end to reach your point of departure.”

“Very good. I’ll remain in my quarters until we’re positioned for launch.”

“There’s no need to isolate yourself on our account, Advocate. You’re welcome to dine with me, or in the officers’ mess—”

“Thank you, Captain, but I’ll not disrupt your good order further than I already have. I’m aware of the burden I create for you and your crew.”

Elyth held his gaze, saw the conflict in his expression; the desire to present a facade of friendship and welcome mingled with relief at the idea of having her hidden away.

“As you’ll have it,” he said with another bow, this time inching closer to respect.

“If you can spare someone to direct me there, I’ll get out of your way now. I’m sure you have plenty else to concern yourself with.”

“Certainly.” He motioned to his executive officer, a woman about Elyth’s age and a commander by rank. The woman nodded and approached Elyth.

“But if there’s anything you need,” the captain added, “don’t hesitate to ask. Commander Adura is available to you at any time.”

Elyth bowed again, and turned to the commander.

“If you’ll follow me, Advocate,” Adura said, the smile on her face subdued but genuine.

Elyth followed her out into the corridor and to the nearest elevator. Once they entered the elevator and the door had closed, the commander spoke without looking at Elyth.

“Some of the crew might resent having you aboard,” she said. “But the sentiment isn’t universal. Many of us consider it an honor to host an Advocate of the House, however trivial our service to her may be.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Elyth said. “But we are all equals in our service to the Ascendance.”

“Of course,” the commander replied.

The commander’s demeanor remained professional, but Elyth sensed an openness in the woman; a genuine respect for First House, and no small amount of curiosity. As slight of an advantage as it was, Elyth seized the opportunity with the subtlest influence.

“Vine and branch, kindred souls intertwine,” she said in the Deep Language, her words concealed within an exhale. Adura made no outward sign of the effect settling over her—an indication that Elyth had read her correctly, and that the commander was neither aware of nor resistant to the influence. A mild loosening of the tongue, a nudge in the direction of trust, when the inclination was already there.

A moment later, Elyth spoke in the Low Language, making what would appear to be small talk.

“I have great respect for 3 Reconnaissance, and all who support them,” she said. “Do you serve with them regularly?”

Adura nodded. “We’re permanently attached to the Fear-Eaters. The Helegoss is classified as a swift transport vessel, so we cart them all over the place. And not always just on training ops, either.”

“Crew is used to discretion then, I imagine.”

“Quite.”

“And the Helegoss itself … I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of traveling on a ship of its design.”

“She’s actually an older vessel. Old enough to have been retired, in fact, but Command decided to upfit her instead.”

“A noble history?”

“Not that anyone can talk about,” Adura said with a smile. “If I had to guess, though, I’d wager our little excursion around the Basho system is to put her through her paces and see if she’s still up to task.”

The commander paused after she spoke, and then shook her head to herself.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m rambling. I’m sure it’s no matter to you.”

“On the contrary; it is rare for one of my order to witness firsthand the mighty Hezra in action.”

The elevator reached the destination deck and the door slid open. Adura held out a hand to usher Elyth into the corridor.

“Just a couple of doors down to the right,” she said. This section of the deck appeared to be officers’ quarters, though the doors on both sides were all closed, and no one else was in sight.

“It’s quieter than I’d expected,” Elyth said.

“We’re not running a full crew for this outing,” Adura replied. “And everyone’s either at station or in their quarters. Captain thought it’d be best not to have too much traffic while you were getting situated.”

“For my sake, or his?”

“Both, I suspect. Though his share more than yours, I imagine.” They stopped four cabins down from the elevator, and the door slid open to admit them. “This one’s yours for the duration. I’m afraid it’s not much.”

The quarters were only as large as absolutely necessary for the facilities provided: a bunk bed, a small desk with a chair, a private bathroom that was nearly standing room only. The bunk suggested it typically housed two, which made Elyth aware of how much trouble they’d gone to on her account.

“It’s more than sufficient,” Elyth answered. “Please share my gratitude with your crew.”

“You’re familiar with all the usual controls?” Adura asked.

“I am. If you’d be kind enough to alert me when I have two hours before launch, I’d be grateful. Otherwise, I’d prefer not to be disturbed.”

“Of course, Advocate. I’ll see to it personally. If anything should come up, you can contact me directly through the ship’s system. But if not, well, I suppose I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Adura bowed and departed. Elyth watched her as she went. After the commander had gone several feet down the corridor, she hitched a step and hesitated briefly, as though she’d just remembered something. The effects of the Deep Language burning off, though she would never identify it as such. But Adura shook her head once, and then continued on without looking back.

Left alone, Elyth surveyed her quarters once more, and then took care of her first order of business—securing them. From her pack, she removed a sensor about the size of her palm and performed a sweep of the cabin. As expected, she located two active surveillance devices in somewhat obvious locations. And a third, passive one, subtler in design and placement. A fine attempt. She couldn’t fault the Hezra, really. Undoubtedly, they were as unsure about her as she was about them.

With the devices identified, she placed the sensor on the desk and activated its countermeasures, effectively isolating the cabin. With that done, she set to unloading her pack.

She removed everything from her pack and arranged it all on the lower bunk, laid out in a pattern refined over many years, so that she could see it all in one glance and know immediately if anything was out of place or missing.

One thing she didn’t have a usual place for, however, was the frostoak cutting she’d brought along. She hadn’t taken it with any specific intent; it had been the last thing she’d packed, and that at a whim. But at the time it had seemed right to bring it, and that had been enough. Its tiny leaves had already wilted and curled. She rolled the thin branch between her thumb and fingers briefly, felt its texture, remembered how it had looked before she had trimmed it from its source, and the Paragon’s words that tied it to Qel. After a moment, she laid it on the thin mattress next to the tangle interpreter. Together, in her mind, they represented her purpose: to go, to observe, to report. And, should it prove necessary, to act.

When all was arranged as she liked it, she took out her personal data terminal, placed it on the desk in preparation for her preliminary research on her target. Before she settled in to her work, the sounds of the ship undocking rolled through like deep, distant thunder. And now her mission was truly under way.

Her brief discussion with the commander had given her a few details to consider; the skeleton crew, the deployment of 3 Recon, the apparent training designation of their operation. And Adura’s suggestion that the whole trip was an exercise to test out the vessel itself. Nothing stood out to her immediately, but Elyth knew that the Paragon had placed her on the ship for a reason, and she mentally filed the details away in case greater relevance might later emerge.

The political games between the Hezra, First House, and the Grand Council were constant and many-layered. And though Elyth could never fully discern everything that was at play, she at least tried to be aware of the pieces. Particularly knowing that she herself was one.

She accessed her terminal and began her initial evaluation of Qel with a process of environmental scanning; a high-level survey to identify the current state of the world, touching local governmental structure, economy, geography, demographics, climate. Though the basic structure of Ascendance society was the same throughout the galaxy, every world had its own personality. As she studied, she allowed the data to merge and coalesce into a single overarching impression, a mental model of Qel as a whole. It was not unlike her time in the Paragon’s garden, searching for that which was out of place.

And at the end of her survey, a coherent view of Qel emerged in her mind; it was a nothing world. No more than a billion citizens, their patterns of movement and behavior almost boring in their predictability. Whatever the Eye of the First House had seen must have been subtle indeed.

As a point of entry, she selected a moderate-sized settlement called Oronesse, home to a well-regarded Academy. Such places were often easier to infiltrate, since citizens traveled from all over the planet and sometimes from off-world to attend Academies, or to live and work within their orbit. And though she couldn’t quite identify it, something about Oronesse drew her attention in a way other potential sites failed to; gut instinct alerted her to details her conscious mind could not articulate.

The location had the added advantage of being adjacent to a large stretch of uncultivated, mountainous land. Given its proximity to pure wilderness, it seemed like a prime first point of contact to familiarize herself with both the natural and human elements of Qel. If only it hadn’t been in one of the colder regions of the world, it would have been perfect. She’d never cared much for the cold.

With that critical decision made, Elyth allowed herself an extended break to rest and to run through her meditation sequence. As she was completing her routine, she felt the ripple through her being that marked the ship’s brief use of its aspect drive. The sensation was but an instant, hardly long enough to register consciously, already a memory by the time it was noticed. For most, the transition between radiant propulsion and the aspect drive was undetectable. But the power that transported the ship across the galaxy was of the same kind that she herself drew upon to carry out her solemn duty. Not that the ship could speak, exactly, though the concept wasn’t too far from the truth. Its effects resonated through her, like hearing in the distance the voice of a loved one long lost.

But there was something subtly different in the echo of the shift, a quiet but discordant note in the symphony; Elyth felt it more than anything, and that, barely. When she tried to quantify or classify it, she found there was nothing to hold on to. But she noted the sensation nevertheless, tried to encode what she could of the experience in her memory. And as she returned to her mission preparations, she found herself unable to dismiss the moment from her mind.

After an hour, Elyth decided to do something about it. She sent a low-priority message to Adura through the ship’s internal communications system, and then secured her gear. Fifteen minutes later, her door chimed. Elyth took a moment to place a device just above the entrance, one that would inform her if anyone tried to access the cabin in her absence. Once it was in place, she opened the door to find the commander standing there.

“Advocate,” Adura said. “How may I be of service?”

“Commander,” Elyth said with a bow. “I was wondering if perhaps I might get a tour of the ship. I seem to have overestimated my tolerance for small spaces.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Adura answered. “If you just need to get out, I’m sure we can find a deck or two. I’m afraid it won’t be much of a tour, though. Operations areas are off-limits while we’re in transit.”

“Anything that doesn’t cause trouble for you.”

“Certainly. Let’s see what we can find.”

Adura escorted Elyth back to the elevator, and down several decks to the vessel’s common areas. They walked for a time, Elyth gradually leading the light conversation from general pleasantries to more targeted questions about the Helegoss.

“You mentioned she was a swift transport vessel,” she said. “Does she use standard drives?”

Where Adura’s responses had flowed naturally before, the hesitation before her response told Elyth more than her words.

“Yes, all standard drives,” she said. “The classification has as much to do with readiness as with capability. We can deploy on short notice. She is a bit faster on radiant, but her aspect drive is the same as every other vessel in service.”

The emphasis she placed on downplaying the aspect drive stood out, and Elyth felt the change, a withdrawal on Adura’s part, as though she’d awakened to how freely she’d been speaking before. Elyth didn’t probe any further about the drive technology; the line of questioning had struck close enough to the mark. Whatever other work had been done on the Helegoss, its aspect drive most certainly was not standard.

Adura continued to escort her a few minutes more before drawing their time to a close, apologizing and citing her need to attend to other duties. They returned to Elyth’s quarters, and the commander extracted herself from the conversation politely and with warmth. But Elyth saw through the veneer. The initial openness Adura had felt toward her had faded, and with it vanished the subtle influence Elyth had exerted over the woman.

After Adura had departed, Elyth checked the device above the door. As anticipated, someone indeed accessed the cabin while she’d been away. All her gear remained secure, and apart from the indication of her device, there were no apparent signs of intrusion. But knowing the troopers of 3 Recon were on board made that no surprise.

As she returned to her work, she couldn’t help but shake her head at the dance taking place even now between the Hezra and the First House. “A gentle poke” indeed. Undoubtedly, the Paragon had known more about the Helegoss than she’d let on; communication channels on both sides were probably stirred up. And the Advocates of the Eye were most assuredly at work soaking up the information.

Elyth guessed she had played her role aboard the vessel without knowing what that role had been meant to be. But having satisfied the itch in her mind over the vessel’s aspect drive, she completed her planning and then turned to a final check of her gear. She lingered over the task, part due diligence, part ritual. Each tool in her arsenal she inspected and verified for function and then secured in its particular place. Her supplies she reviewed for quantity, carefully recalculating how long they would last her. Ten standard days in the field would be manageable; more would be possible, if circumstance demanded. It wasn’t her plan to stay out that long, nor did she relish the idea, but the kinds of operations she conducted required loose plans and a flexible mind-set.

Elyth scanned her cabin. All was as she had left it. At that point, not knowing what her first hours on-planet would bring, or perhaps knowing just enough, she decided to sleep while she could. She laid down on the bottom bunk, fully dressed and on top of the covers.

In what seemed like moments later, she woke to the sound of the door softly chiming.

She rose and opened the door expecting to find Commander Adura, but instead was greeted by a young officer she hadn’t met before. Elyth concealed her surprise.

“Yes?” she said.

“Advocate, we are two hours from your launch window,” he said, with a bow. “I’ll escort you when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m ready to go now.”

“Of course,” the officer said. “Follow me, if you will.”

Elyth grabbed her pack and followed him to the elevator. Neither of them felt it necessary to converse.

They traveled to the center deck, where dual hangar bays flanked the spine of the vessel. At first, Elyth was glad to see the more regular activity of the ship’s crew as they carried out their various duties; it made her presence seem less managed than her initial arrival had suggested. But as they walked through the massive hangar, the diligence the crew members showed in ignoring her reinforced her sense of unease. Though a few cast glances her way, most seemed unusually focused on their tasks. And to her careful eye, it wasn’t always clear just what those tasks were.

The officer led Elyth through the starboard bay, weaving between the various transports and gunships that all seemed parked too close together. Her ship waited toward the rear, already locked into its rails, ready for launch out of the last port in the line. It was a muscular vessel, with the look of a hound crouching in its kennel, eager for release. A pair of midshipmen busied themselves nearby verifying their end of the launch protocol.

“Captain Jenzet sends his regards,” the officer said, as they approached the ship’s hatch. “And regrets he couldn’t be here himself to see you off.”

Elyth suspected that was true, but probably not in the way it was suggested.

“Please convey my thanks to him,” she replied.

“Travel well,” he said.

Elyth bowed. “May you ever ascend.”

“May we both, Advocate of the House,” the officer answered. He bowed and took his leave.

Elyth turned and climbed aboard her ship, wondering again at Adura’s absence, whether it had been the commander’s choice, or enforced by some other authority. But that was an answer she knew she was not likely to receive.

She stowed her pack in its compartment just behind the cockpit, and then slid into the pilot’s seat. Hers was a small, single-occupant vessel, originally designed by the Hezra for light mobile reconnaissance. Resting her hands on the controls brought a blend of emotions; emotions reminiscent of those awakened just before full-contact training, where a comforting familiarity with the weapons and armor mingled with sharp anticipation of the coming clash. She felt simultaneously at home in the ship and energized by the unknown that awaited her. She had never been more uncertain of what she might face, nor more anxious about what she might find.

For the moment, however, she set her mind to prepping the ship. The process didn’t typically require as much time as Elyth had requested. But just as she had with her gear, she allowed herself to carry out her systems check in unhurried fashion, attuned to each detail in its moment. And given the disquiet she felt, she took extra care in verifying no unauthorized changes or modifications had been made to her vessel. But all was clear, and her systems were good. As such, when the message came in from Control that they were standing by to make ready for launch, Elyth found that her mind and body were both still and quiet.

“Kita, this is Helegoss Control,” the controller said over comms. “We’re approaching launch vector, how do you stand?”

“Kita is condition white, Helegoss Control,” Elyth answered. “Ready for your action.”

“Very good, Kita, stand by.”

Elyth’s console chirped twice in succession, the only indication that her ship was coordinating with the Helegoss’s launch system.

“We’re angling now,” the controller said. “You may feel some shifting.”

“Understood,” Elyth replied.

A few moments later, her ship vibrated with a deep hum as the rails supporting it adjusted their position.

“Locking position,” said the controller. “Please confirm you’re ready for launch.”

“I confirm Kita is ready for launch, Helegoss Control.”

“Kita confirms. Thirty seconds to launch.”

Elyth started the count in her head, and realized she was hunching her shoulders. She took a deep breath and settled back into the pilot’s seat. This was the easy part. The Helegoss launch protocol required nothing from her; the rail system would fire her like a projectile from the ship, putting her on initial course. It wouldn’t be until after she and the Helegoss had separated a substantial distance that she would need to take control, to redirect toward her actual intended destination of Qel.

“Ten seconds,” the controller said. He was silent again until five, and then counted down from there to launch.

Elyth didn’t reply before the sudden acceleration pressed her back into her seat. Inertial dampeners mitigated most of the force, but it still took conscious effort to keep her heart rate from spiking. She counted to twenty before opening the comm channel one final time.

“Kita has good separation and trajectory. Thank you for the lift, Helegoss Control.”

“Helegoss Control confirms good separation and trajectory, Kita. Safe travels, Advocate.”

Elyth continued along her initial vector for a half hour under continual acceleration until she felt confident she’d gained enough distance to adjust course to Qel. She spent the solitary travel time in quiet meditation.

Once she reached visual range of the planet, she flicked on the exterior view. The opaqueness of the shielded cockpit appeared to dissolve as the system activated, revealing her target.

Out there, a milky, emerald-green sphere hung against the empty veil beyond: Qel. Elyth allowed the impression of the planet to engrave itself upon her mind, to find its place among the bedrock of all the research that had come before. This was the beginning of her true relationship with the world, the first welcome, the greeting, the embrace. With that single image fixed in her mind, she then allowed herself to study details: the wisps and swirls of cloud and storm, vast regions of verdant terrain, wide rivers, serrated mountains. All these she read like the lines and wrinkles of a stranger’s face, each hinting at how frequently expressions might furrow a brow or crease a cheek. For all the imagery available to her through other means, nothing could compare with that first introduction viewed through her own eyes.

Soon enough the world grew too large to see completely, and shortly thereafter Elyth at last had to turn her attention to her own flight controls. Once she entered the atmosphere, she made minor adjustments to avoid flying over population centers. Her vessel was designed for low-signature entry, invisible to all but the most sophisticated systems, but there was no reason to put the design to unnecessary test.

Her primary landing zone lay in the wilderness adjacent to Oronesse. As her craft descended on its final approach, Elyth kept one eye on her instruments while allowing herself to take in the view. The terrain rolled with easy mountains staked with dark pines. There was no snow on the ground, but the trees and earth had a light crystalline shimmer that testified to the region’s cold. Elyth reduced engine power and dropped to just a few hundred feet above the tree line, about two miles out from the landing zone.

There was no pause between the alarm and the impact.

A siren screamed, white light dazzled Elyth’s eyes, and in the same instant that the warning blared, her craft jittered sideways, as though the air had suddenly solidified just off her left wing. The shock left her momentarily dazed, her hands lost the controls; the ship’s automated systems fought wildly to regain balance, skating a knife’s edge to avoid entering a tumble.

Elyth came to her senses enough to retake the controls, but the kinesthetic feedback coming through them was confused and fluctuating. Crippled by the impact, the ship’s sensor network couldn’t cope with the storm of forces tearing at it. For a few eternal seconds, Elyth grappled with her injured craft, striving to filter out the feeling of the controls and to concentrate instead on the horizon, and what her eyes were telling her.

Her training prevented the panic that would have cost her the ship. Getting the craft level again was nearly more than she could manage, and once accomplished, was almost impossible to maintain. No smoke was visible, but the cockpit took on a strong odor of melting circuitry. A grinding vibration warned that the left side of her ship might shear off at any moment. The navigation system bleeped weakly, alerting her that she was off course for her intended landing zone, but otherwise offering no help. None of that mattered now. She would be lucky to survive a landing anywhere she could find.

As she scanned for a clearing or a flat enough patch of land, the thought came to her unbidden that she’d been attacked. And if she’d been attacked, that meant she had been tracked. And if she had been tracked, that very likely meant she would be under pursuit the moment she hit the ground. Assuming she survived.

It was a desperate move, but it was the only solution that came to mind in the few seconds she had to execute it. With nimble hands, Elyth armed the ship’s microrocket pod and then jettisoned the external fuel tank from her craft. In the next moment, she targeted the tank and fired off two rockets. Elyth banked the ship, heading forty-five degrees off line from her previous trajectory. The rockets impacted just before the tank reached the ground, quaking the vessel with a sonic wave.

With any luck, the black smoke and crater from the fuel tank would be convincing enough to stall any pursuers from reaching her actual crash site. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to create much distance between the two. Already the tops of the tallest pines were nearly brushing the belly of her ship, skeletal fingers extended to drag her to the ground below.

After that, there was no thought or plan, only reflex and reaction. The ever-shifting tension and slack in the controls, the battering and scraping of the pines against the hull, the blurring of the frosted ground streaming by below. And then the ship pitched sharply forward and the world bulged, as if the planet itself were a wall of water rushing up to meet her.

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