The Dark Between The Stars

SIXTY-THREE
MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA’H

Though the Prism Palace was bathed with purifying sunlight, Mage-Imperator Jora’h had slept restlessly for weeks.

As the nexus of the thism that bound the entire Ildiran race together, Jora’h had felt the growing unease for some time now, like a grating hum just below the level of hearing. All his people were on edge from the news of the ominous dark nebula, the missing exploration ship, the tales of shadows from Ildiran legends…

This time when he slept, he felt as if he had fallen into an abyss. He tried to fight back to consciousness, but he was smothering, cold—blind.

Thrashing, he forced himself awake, but he could not see, could not breathe. He tried to claw away the blindfold of nightmares. His heart pounded, and the sense of dread was a palpable thing inside him, as if some monster had gotten entangled in the thism and was straining to tear the strands apart. With a great gasp, he flung his eyelids open, and dazzling light flooded in. He tried to orient himself, tried to understand.

Nira was beside him in the bed, and her presence shone even brighter than the sunlight around him. Wide awake, she leaned over him, holding his shoulders. “Jora’h!”

He stopped struggling, and she sank down against him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her body close. He was drenched in Nira’s strength. As a human green priest, she was not part of the thism, could not connect with him in the way that other Ildirans did, but he felt closer to her than to anyone else. She had been back from Theroc for only a few days, and she too had brought reports of the spreading shadows.

“A nightmare,” he said, and his voice caught in his throat. “And now my frightened thoughts have gotten into the thism.” He had never felt so terrified and didn’t comprehend why. He could never allow any Ildiran to see him like this. “Just a nightmare,” he said again, trying to convince himself.

She touched his face. “I’m no stranger to nightmares either.”

They lay together in silence, then Jora’h said, “But your nightmares come from experiences and real memories. Mine felt like a premonition.”

Needing to be out in the bright light of the seven suns, he walked through the city of Mijistra with Nira. She laced her fingers in his. They were accompanied by the usual coterie of noble kithmen, guards, and attenders, but they were always there, and Jora’h paid little attention to them, basking instead in the city’s population.

Jora’h still had a displaced feeling from the nightmare, and because his mood was disjointed, other Ildirans could feel his unease. If the thism was stressed inside him, the vibrations radiated outward, and he could do little to soothe his people until he himself became completely calm.

But he could not relax until he heard some news from Adar Zan’nh. The seven rescue ships had been gone for weeks in search of the lost Kolpraxa.

At Nira’s suggestion, they went to visit the small enclave of human expatriates who made their home in Mijistra. Over the last ten years an organized group of Ildirophiles had settled here, bringing samples of human culture, setting up shops, restaurants, art galleries, and clothing boutiques. The Bohemian settlement made itself out to be a microcosm of old Earth. Though these particular aspects of human culture were as foreign to a green priest from Theroc as they were to the Mage-Imperator, Nira enjoyed going there.

One craftsman made musical instruments—flutes and ocarinas for children, extravagant harps and dulcimers for ambitious Ildiran musicians. There were restaurateurs, including a matronly woman named Blondie who ran a diner that specialized in “home cooking.”

Jora’h and Nira led their entourage into the human enclave, and the smiling shopkeepers opened their doors and came out to greet them in a flurry of activity and interest. The Mage-Imperator didn’t often visit this district, and his arrival brought a flood of Ildiran customers. The merchants and settlers looked relieved for the sudden rush of business.

Blondie opened her diner and stood with hands on her ample hips, adjusting her apron. “I’ve got fresh fruit pies. You’ve never had any better.”

Jora’h stopped. “You offered me a piece last time. It was delicious.”

“I’ve got different kinds now,” she said.

The owner of the music shop played one of his dulcimers to demonstrate the quality of his music. Nira asked the art gallery owner, “Are you opening your shops just for us? Were you closed?”

A human male who called himself a writer sat alone at the café. Jora’h had been introduced to him before; he found the man interesting because he insisted on using an old-fashioned stylus, writing his words by hand on sheets of paper. The writer looked up from his paper where he had just jotted down a line. “No customers, no visitors. I thought the Ildirans were shunning us for some reason.”

Blondie waved a hand. “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that.”

The writer snorted. “Yes, it is—you were just complaining an hour ago.”

Nira looked at Jora’h with concern. “Why would Ildirans stay away from here?”

He turned to his entourage. “These humans are our friends. We have always welcomed them.”

Encouraged by their leader, more Ildirans came forward; some ventured into the art gallery, others toyed with the ocarinas, making shrill and decidedly nonmusical noises. Jora’h asked the accompanying nobles, “Is there a reason why anyone would avoid interacting with the humans?”

The Ildirans discussed the matter among themselves, but shook their heads. The guard kithmen could give him no answer either.

The writer said, “There’s been a strange mood in the city for a while. We can feel it.”

“But you have no thism.” Jora’h was concerned that there had been some kind of echo caused by his own nightmares and lingering uneasiness.

“We have eyes and ears. It’s obvious.”

“You are very perceptive—a useful skill for a writer.”

The man was pleased, then embarrassed by the compliment. He sat back at his table and furiously jotted something on his paper.

As they led the entourage onward, Jora’h said to the humans, “Thank you. We are glad you have settled here.”

The expatriates were reassured, but Jora’h wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned his face up to the seven suns in hopes that the brightness could cleanse him, but in spite of the intense sunlight he still felt shadows everywhere, just out of sight, as if something dark were growing inside him.