Episode 12: The Priest and the Prophet
Starsha met the first group of Gamilon refugees at the docks.
Hundreds of people wearing skin in varying shades of blue—men and women, most with children—disembarked at every pier.
The noon sun provided warmth, and the children stopped to stare at the clear ocean between pier planks or over the sides of the docks. Mothers tugged their little ones toward shore, and fathers kept some from slipping into the water.
One woman, hair a soft blonde, led the refugees. In her arms, she carried a dark-haired toddler who stared at everything around her with keen interest. When the little girl saw the horses grazing atop the near hill, the child squealed in delight and waved her own stuffed horse at the animals.
"I welcome you to Iscandar," said Starsha.
The blonde woman stopped and stared, but quickly averted her eyes and bowed. "Queen Starsha," she whispered.
"No need for that." Starsha smiled. "I've been alone here for some time. The most visitors I've had in the past decade came when the Eratite ship landed. To them I was simply Starsha. I would be happy for you to call me the same. What may I call you?"
"E–Elisa."
"And the little one?" Starsha nodded to the girl.
"Dee-dee!" The girl waved her stuffed horse at Starsha and giggled. "Dee-dee!"
Elisa's cheeks colored. "My daughter, Delina."
"She is a lovely child."
"Th-thank you, Qu—Starsha. Leader Desslok… spoke fondly of you."
Desslok… If only I knew if Masterson had found him.
"Let us get everyone to the town surrounding the palace. There are places enough for all. Most are still fully furnished, and some contain extensive food stores. You will not need to worry over food or shelter while you remain on Iscandar, and your children will be safe here."
"Masterson—Prime Minister Talan assured us the plague that ravaged the world years ago is gone now." Elisa walked a step behind Starsha.
"Thank Yahweh, Desslok helped wipe out that terrible illness. I'm only sorry it has caused such destruction on Gamilon." Starsha slowed to match pace with Elisa half-way up the hill.
When they topped the rise, a city lay below. Houses—though overgrown and weathered—still stood sturdily.
Starsha turned to the crowd and spoke over the low din. "Those with small children and the infirmed will come with me to the palace. I have prepared quarters for you, and you will be cared for by the best medical service androids Iscandar has to offer. I humbly apologize for the state of your lodgings. I have only had time to clear the worst of the rubble with the aid of my remaining maintenance androids. I would house all of you within the palace, but space does not allow that."
"You have nothing to apologize for," said Elisa. "We are more than grateful. It is we who ought to ask forgiveness of you—for imposing."
"It is no imposition." Starsha laid a gentle hand on Elisa's shoulder. "It is good to see new faces again after so long."
The woman flinched in surprise at Starsha's touch but didn't jerk away.
Murmurs if excitement filtered through the refugees as the well and able-bodied set to clearing their new temporary home, and those in need of more care clustered around Starsha, though at a respectful distance.
Starsha led the smaller group to the palace.
Everyone gawked at the towering crystal structure. Likely many had never been to the palace on Gamilon. Even if they had, Iscandar's architecture possessed a different grace than Gamilon's.
Through the entryway, they filed and down the hall of remembrance where portraits of Iscandar's past monarchs lined the walls. Upward they went via lifts—to accommodate the slow and ill-abled.
When they reached the floor containing the visitors' quarters, Starsha saw everyone to their door, but when she showed Elisa her and Delina's rooms, the woman shook her head. "We will go with you until the rest are lodged."
This woman cared about those entrusted to her—a mark of leadership. "All right."
Starsha saw the rest to their rooms.
When she escorted Elisa back to her suite door and turned to leave, the woman stopped her. "My mother was an Iscandarian—from Illandria, the southernmost isle. She used to tell me stories about how wonderful it was to live here. Would you honor me with your company? I know you must be dreadfully tired, so I will understand if you do not wish to."
"I would be delighted!" Starsha stepped into the living area behind Elisa.
The moment Elisa set Delina on the plush floor, the little girl toddled around the room, horse in hand, galloping the stuffed toy over every surface she could reach. When she discovered the window and saw again the herd of horses outside, she pressed her little nose to the glass and bounced with joy.
"The palace is magnificent," said Elisa as she stood near Delina and looked out over the rolling hills toward the center of the island and its towering world tree looming in the distance. The great tree still stood even after these many centuries. The ancient manuscripts the Eratite crew had found hidden inside a year and a half ago were secreted away in a safe box.
"It is only one of Iscandar's wonders."
Elisa took a chair near the window. It was large and provided enough comfort for the occupant to sleep in if they chose. "It's been quite the year and a half…"
"So, it has." Starsha took the chair opposite Elisa.
"First, the Eratites leveled the palace, then I had my Delina, and between helping Prime Minister Talan, my brother, and the rest of the council rebuild and taking care of my little girl, I haven't had a moment's rest." Elisa leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
"Masterson told me the rebuilding efforts were becoming… difficult."
"Even more so now that he's gone." Elisa rubbed her forehead. "He left without a word of when he might return. It was quite unlike him—strange even—almost as if someone made him leave."
Starsha shifted in her chair, glad Elisa wasn't looking at her. The truth sat on the tip of her tongue, but Masterson had warned her just before he took the first Gate jump not to tell anyone—lest the Cometines attack Gamilon. "Perhaps it was very important."
"It would have to be to take him away so suddenly. He didn't even tell his father where he was going or why."
He hadn't told his father? He must fear the Cometines' wrath more than I thought. Though I can't blame him. A military strike against Gamilon now would slaughter what's left of the populace and destroy what little stability they have. Gamilon is dying from Deun's plague… They don't need anyone to help it along.
"I hope he returns soon. The council can do many things, but I don't know how long we can hold the Empire's fragments together without Prime Minister Talan."
Delina tottered from one end of the room to the other, falling down several times, but after each fall, she quickly got up. Her baby feet—clad only in socks since she'd long since kicked off her shoes—pattered on the soft floor.
Starsha let out a long sigh and copied Elisa's posture, head back, eyes shut. She was pretty sure the other woman was already asleep.
"Dee-dee?" A little hand tapped her leg. "Dee-dee up?"
Starsha opened her eyes to find Delina holding her arms up, horse clutched in one hand. An old ache rose. The last time she'd held a child was when the plague swept Iscandar. The old died first, then the middle-aged, then the youth, and lastly… the littlest ones.
But the plague was gone.
Starsha shoved down the ache and picked up Delina.
The little girl snuggled into Starsha's neck and hugged her horse close as she fell asleep.
Starsha's comm lit in her pocket.
Masterson!
She read the one-word message, "Yes."
Tears filled her eyes and blurred the world, but joy gripped her heart as she held on to the sleeping baby. He is alive! Great is the mercy of Yahweh! Desslok is alive!
Sabera smoothed a manicured hand over Zordar's bare chest. Fine sheets tucked her comfortably into the prince's bed, and thick incense suffused the room with the scent of blood-lilies. "That ship in Sargasso destroyed Nasca's fleet scout. We received word of it shortly after it happened."
Zordar pulled her closer and kissed her neck.
In the dimness, crimson light filtered through the curtain surrounding the bed and bathed them both in a red cast.
"I told you not to concern yourself with that ship," said the prince. "Desslok will track it down—especially now that we know it's the same ship he fought at Gamilon some months ago. A man's revenge burns hot, Sabera." He pinned her to the bed. "As does his passion."
Outside her father's suite, Invidia waited until Sabera stepped out. "Solidifying your position as father's favorite again, I see."
Sabera's glare could have melted crystal. "Don't pretend you haven't endeared yourself to others in power, little princess. I hear General Nasca and his daughter alike have found your company more than agreeable."
Invidia straightened. "I do whatever I must, Sabera. Gatlantis trades in many commodities. Why fault me for using the one I possess most readily?"
"Hypocrisy doesn't become you."
"Nor treason you," Invidia spat.
"Careful, child. You may find such words too strong for one such as you to utter." Sabera's smirk lit Invidia's anger.
As Sabera walked away, Invidia fought to keep from hurling insults after her. You'll have your reckoning, witch. Try to take my throne from me. I know you'll attempt it before we reach Origin—perhaps before we step foot on the Diviner's doorstep.
She found a secluded hall and sent General Dyre a message.
An hour later, in her quarters, she activated her neural connection and entered Gatlantis' network. She dove into a private sim-room.
In the simulation, she walked along a sunny path populated by computer-generated characters. The midday sun made everything appear bright and friendly. A line of low fountains shot streams of water into the air in intricate designs as birds flitted above, and a warm breeze fluttered the short skirt she wore.
"Silver?" A young man, no more than twenty, with black hair and skin the color of a ripe orange approached. Dyre looked so different in this guise.
"Vardas." She used his sim-name. In case anyone hacked into the room to spy, voice filters further hid their identities, and sim-bodies looked nothing like either of them.
Meeting in the gardens at night had its advantages, but if anyone ever saw them both entering or leaving the area around the same time, it could mean discovery. For now, sim-rooms were safer.
The two walked together to a bench beneath a tall tree.
"She'll make her move soon," Invidia said. "I feel it." Her sim-body's flowing silver hair fell over her shoulders and pooled on the bench.
"And if she does, you will invalidate her claim to the throne. She is but a consort while you, princess, are the fruit of Prince Zordar himself."
"And none of that will matter if she can gain the favor of Gatlantis' nobility and my father's blessing. If she kills him before he can legitimize my claim to his throne, there will be a coup—one I can never hope to squelch."
"What of your other plan?"
"I've had no word, but I know it is still unfolding as it should. This may be the door on which my ascension to queen hinges."
"Yes, Princess. It is a brilliant plan—more ingenious than—"
"I do not need you to spout praises. If Sabera learns what I've arranged these past months, she will try to interfere. Do not let her."
"Yes, my Silver Queen."
Masterson accompanied Desslok from the bridge to a private dining area. Morta stayed a few steps behind Masterson.
When they reached the door, Masterson stepped aside to stand by the entryway while the Leader ate alone, but no sooner had Masterson moved out of the way, Morta moved to follow Desslok inside.
The guardsman standing nearby looked as mortified as Masterson at the breech of conduct.
Desslok faced Morta. "You will remain out here."
"I am Prince Zordar's voice—his hand here onboard this ship. I must remain—"
Desslok grabbed the young Cometine by the throat and leaned so close his face hovered inches from Morta's bulging eyes. "I don't eat with Gatlantean pigs." He shoved Morta across the hall.
The Cometine stumbled and righted himself before he crashed into the opposite wall. He looked dumbstruck. "You would disparage the great prince himself?"
"At the moment, I owe him a debt—one I have yet to finish repaying—but when it is paid, he will be as any other Gatlantean to me." Desslok motioned Masterson in after him and shut the door, leaving Morta standing in the hall as the guardsman stared.
Inside, two servers waited the small table and offered them both wine.
"Just water for me." Masterson skimmed the holographic menu that scrolled across the table, but his attention flickered away from it every few seconds.
The first server brought Desslok his wine.
"Leave the bottle," Desslok said.
The server bowed and set the mostly full bottle on the table. The moment the server released the bottle, the table's surface molded around the base of the container to prevent it from spilling.
Masterson and Desslok made their selections from the menu, and soon both servers returned with food.
The meal smelled better than anything Masterson could remember eating in the past two years—since before he left Gamilon at Desslok's behest—before the war with Erats—before Masterson… failed to come to Desslok's aid when he needed him most… at Gehenna's Bridge.
Though he wanted more than anything to speak with Desslok, now did not seem the time. The Leader ate in silence with barely a glance toward Masterson, but every time Desslok paused more than two moments, Masterson's heart hammered, and he wondered if Desslok might say something… but each time, that hope died.
Silence enveloped the room.
When they finished eating, Desslok dismissed the servers and poured another glass of wine.
He didn't bother offering any to Masterson.
After another two glasses, the Leader folded black-gloved hands on the table, leaned forward, and whispered, "You still want to know why I'm alive."
Masterson didn't dare answer.
"I will tell you, but death exacts a price from all who partake of it and return. There is much I do not remember… Masterson—and much I do not want to remember." Desslok filled his glass again before he began.
In his quarters within the Warbringer's temple, Gairen paced. His walking staff leaned against the wall in the corner nearest the door. He didn't need it in here. He knew every line of the furniture, the floor, even the ceiling.
Every few minutes, he stopped to listen to the guards outside. Sabera could lock his door, but she could not prevent him from hearing.
Midnight passed, and still Gairen paced, waiting.
When the guards' voices slowed and grew thick with sleep, Gairen stole through his quarters to the study in the back. There, behind the grand desk, he quietly pushed aside a panel in the wall. It sank away from his fingers and flowed into the panel beside it, allowing him a generous space through which to pass.
He stepped through, and the top of the passage whispered just above his hair. He had found this passage shortly after Sabera arranged for his appointment as high priest. Perhaps his blindness made her think he couldn't find his way around a place so large as Gatlantis, but she didn't realize that his senses worked far better than hers in some ways.
Gairen shuffled along. The hem of his priest's robe swept the tips of his soft shoes, and he kept one hand on the passage wall to track every turn he made.
Five, six, twelve, twenty-four… eighty-seven.
At two-hundred ninety-one, Gairen tapped the wall panel, and it vanished. Behind it was a meshed screen, no doubt hidden behind furniture, or veiled in some other way, else the occupants of every room he visited would have known of his presence long ago.
Though his knees protested, he crouched beside the mesh screen.
"I told you earlier today—don't trouble yourself over one ship. It is inconsequential," said Prince Zordar.
The heavy musk of Sabera's frequent company along with the strong smell of blood-lilies filled the secret passage. Every visit to the prince's suite seemed to bring new insight into the prince's ignorance of Gairen, the Warbringer, and this ill-fated quest for Origin's power of Creation.
"And yet that one ship goes on unhindered. If one Original ship can defeat one of Nasca's fleet, I fear we have something to worry about, my prince," Sabera said.
Perhaps the Prime Minister had seen reason after all. But if she had, why keep Gairen locked away? No, there had to be something else—something she would never readily admit—something that would bring her personal gain.
"I did not invite you to my quarters to discus such things." Zordar seemed irritated—impatient.
"I know." Saber's ire was rising, but she kept it out of her tone well—though Gairen knew it was still there. That barest hint of unpleasantness still tinged her words.
"I'm concerned some nobility do not approve of this journey to Origin. See to it they are… convinced otherwise," said Zordar.
"Yes, my prince. I will do whatever I must to ensure their cooperation. But there is another person you ought to be more concerned about than them."
"Who?"
"Your daughter. She speaks fearful words every time the Diviner is mentioned. Why not do something about it? Remand her to my care that I may help her see the error of her thoughts."
"Invidia will comply with whatever I decide," said Zordar. "She will not stop us from passing by Telezart. She lacks the will."
"Those thought cowards often surprise."
"My daughter will not surprise me. She is incapable."
Gairen shut the panel silently and shuffled on to another room in the next collection of suites—the abode of Gatlantis' highest nobility.
Here, he opened a panel identical to the one in the prince's suite.
Someone paced in the room beyond—Princess Invidia. Her light, quick steps were unmistakable, and the slight pause before she turned said she was thinking about something else. Was she imbibing alone again? The tart sweetness of evenscense wine tinted the air, but it wasn't as prominent as usual.
A faint voice—not the princess' hummed just quietly enough so Gairen couldn't identify it or tell what it said.
"I sent no one," said Invidia. "No. He was lying." She paused.
The second voice hummed again.
"No. I can't help you. Stay there and do what you can to cripple them. They're traveling right toward us. We'll meet them soon—hopefully before we reach Telezart."
Another hum-filled pause.
"Yes, you do that. And don't contact me again until that ship is incapacitated."
Invidia ended her conversation and sat heavily on her couch. "This can't fail now… not after all I've done to see it through…" she whispered to herself. "Not after all those months making sure he was properly positioned to infiltrate. Not after all these years in Sabera's shadow."
Gairen waited until Invidia stopped muttering before he shut the panel and journeyed farther along the passage to a third room—this one some distance from the first two. Its panel also opened into the bedroom, but when Gairen triggered it, no one was in the room.
This was wrong. The disgraced Gamilon should have been in here. Where had he gone? His personal effects were gone—and with them the odd scent of a foreigner. He had even taken the books. Nothing remained.
Gairen dared step into the guest suite. Without his staff, he felt for the nearest surface and found the wall which he traced part-way around the room. When his shoes found large pieces of broken glass, he stepped back, not wanting to injure himself.
He followed the wall the other direction, passed the passage entry and walked the rest of the way around the room without finding anything else of interest. The bed was made, and other furniture set right, so what had happened to leave glass on the floor?
Bring him back!
The voice knocked Gairen against the wall.
"Heilel?" he rasped. "I don't understand."
Bring him back!
An image of Gatlantis, ruined and smoking filled his mind, and Gairen covered his open mouth. "Please, do not let Gatlantis die, great Warbringer."
If you let him go, he will see to your destruction.
"The Gamilon?"
Yeeeessss!
"But how—"
BRING HIM BACK!
Gairen's mind rang with the force of the command.
"Yes, Heilel, mighty Warbringer."Gairen sank to the floor of the empty room. "I will find a way."
In the tunnel outside Trelaina's castle, Torbuk and his army were building a thick titanium door. Their efforts echoed into the night, and if she hadn't had a shield to muffle the noise, Trelaina wouldn't have slept.
Tonight, the clamor of work continued, but as Trelaina listened from the top step of her castle, she shook her head at the puny force and their efforts. "Do what you will. Shaddai's hand will not be stayed, General—not for me nor you. To try to prevent it is to be crushed, but it appears you will not listen to reason… Shaddai have mercy on you, and on all of Origin as Gatlantis approaches."
Episode 12 Notes:
Editing pass complete, 8/18/2022
The title for this episode was taken from Isaiah 28:7
"But they also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way; the priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment."
