The Dark Between The Stars

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN
MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

As the leader of the Ildiran Empire, the heart of the thism, and the focus of his people, Jora’h could not waver. His personal strength had to be an anchor for all Ildirans. Despite his resolve, a cold blade of fear lanced him as he went with Nira and Tal Gale’nh to the site of the massacre in the human enclave. Yazra’h and Muree’n insisted on accompanying them, armed and armored, alert and angry; they had made it clear they trusted no one else to keep the Mage-Imperator safe.

Jora’h had not wanted Nira to join the group, since she had already been the target of an assassination attempt, but she insisted. “Bring extra guards. I will be safe enough.”

“We will keep you safe, Mother,” Muree’n vowed, and Jora’h didn’t doubt her.

He felt sickened even before he saw the first body—and there were many bodies. The guard kithmen formed a loose protective cordon around him, crystal katanas raised, fearing some other unexpected attack.

But what if his own guards became tainted like those in the Vault of Failures? How could he make sure Nira was safe anywhere? Maybe Muree’n and Yazra’h should remain at her side at all times. To be safe, he should have sent Nira back to Theroc with their daughter Osira’h, but Ildira was her home now and had been for years. Nira made it clear she had no intention of staying inside the Prism Palace when all of the human expatriates had been slaughtered.

And Jora’h knew that she strengthened him. With Nira here at his side, he was a more powerful leader.

The flames in the human enclave had been extinguished, but greasy smoke still curled into the sky like escaping shadows. His own people had caused this. Peaceful everyday Ildirans from various kiths had turned into mad butchers, slaying every human who had come here to share their culture.

The human bodies on the ground were burned and mangled, but not unrecognizable. Jora’h remembered them: businesspeople, craftsmen, café owners, artists. And all around, like toppled pieces on a game board, lay their dead Ildiran attackers. Of those attackers—more than a hundred of them—not one was marked save for the blood spatters. And it was not their blood. After committing their brutality, they had all simply fallen dead. Each of the corpses wore a frozen expression of horror.

Yazra’h and Muree’n regarded the massacre, grim and assessing. Both of them had their weapons drawn.

Gale’nh stared, as if he had received a stunning blow. His fingers extended, and he reached out a tentative hand, as if to save these people but much too late. He let his arm fall to his side.

Nira shuddered beside Jora’h, her breath hitching raggedly. She began sobbing and knelt beside one of the fallen humans, whose face was battered to a shapeless mass. From the apron and the dark skirt, Jora’h knew it must be Blondie, the diner owner.

“Why?” Nira turned her eyes up to him. “Why… why would they do this?” She seemed to think he could give her an answer.

Through the thism, the Mage-Imperator understood the threads of thought and emotion that bound his people together… but this, he couldn’t understand at all.

Accompanied by uniformed Solar Navy soldiers, Adar Zan’nh arrived in response to the news. Gale’nh stood beside the Adar, as if falling into ranks. Zan’nh inspected the scene grimly. “Liege, my soldiers are here to help defend you.”

Yazra’h and Muree’n stiffened, but they did not insist that they would be sufficient. “The Mage-Imperator cannot have too much protection.”

“This was not any sort of attack we know how to defend against,” Jora’h said.

Gale’nh was pale and shaken. “I sensed tension and uneasiness, but it was murky. Maybe it was through my connection, my scars… but my thism is not strong.” He looked at the Mage-Imperator, as if Jora’h had let him down. “You hold all the thism within you, Liege. Why did you not know?”

“It… eluded me,” Jora’h answered, but he knew it was a weak excuse. “I was sleeping when all this happened.”

Nira rose to her feet. She had not touched the diner owner’s body, but somehow she was covered with blood. “You did feel it, Jora’h—the nightmares told you.”

He didn’t want to voice the growing suspicion and dread within him. What if this were worse than just him sensing a dark manipulation in the thism? What if he himself had become a conduit for the Shana Rei, and the shadows emanated through him? What if through his subconscious he had actually allowed this?

Nira walked through the wreckage, and the guards kept up with her. She made a point of staring at each of the bodies, closing her eyes as if in silent prayer.

Jora’h had felt nothing from the attacking Ildirans; once possessed, they had been erased from his telepathic tapestry. Adar Zan’nh and Tal Gale’nh followed close. Uniformed Solar Navy soldiers flanked the Adar, wary, possibly even suspicious of the guard kithmen.

Zan’nh gave his report. “We will fight the Shana Rei in traditional combat. Our industries are manufacturing as many sun bombs as possible. General Keah and the Confederation Defense Forces also have the designs. We will be able to fight back much more effectively in our next encounter.” He paused and just stared at the slaughter around him. “But this… how can we fight against this? This is not an enemy—this is ourselves.”

“This is not a battle the Solar Navy can undertake alone,” the Mage-Imperator said. “The Shana Rei attack us with more than warships. They also strike through the thism.”

At the thought, a chill rushed through his body. What if the mesh of racial telepathy that made Ildirans so powerful and unique became their greatest vulnerability? What if the only way to defend against this kind of insidious darkness was to sever them all from the thism network? If that happened, would they still be Ildirans after all?

Nira was weeping, and Jora’h held her, giving strength and drawing strength back. He refused to acknowledge any feelings of despair, because then all Ildirans would feel it. They had to remain strong, and so he had to remain strong.

King Peter and Queen Estarra needed to know about these human deaths, these poor settlers who loved Ildiran culture and merely wanted to share their own. The Mage-Imperator had promised the expatriates they would be safe in Mijistra. Now he wondered if anyone was safe—humans or Ildirans. He didn’t know how to protect them.

At least Osira’h had gone to Theroc.

He straightened, forced resolve upon himself. “We cannot fight what we do not understand. Therefore we must understand. These humans were not at fault. Our own people fell prey to a kind of madness. We must learn how they became vulnerable, and how we can stop it from happening again.”

He turned to the guard kith and the Solar Navy soldiers. “Gather the bodies of these fallen Ildirans and bring them to our medical kithmen so they can test and dissect and analyze until they tell me how to defend against the shadow.” He turned to Zan’nh. “Meanwhile, Adar, continue to arm the Solar Navy. Wherever the battle may come, Ildira must be prepared.”