OUTPOURING: Typhoon Yolanda Relief Anthology Read online

  “I know,” she whispered. “Don’t you think I miss him too?”

  #

  “We could have another child.”

  They were walking together on the beach, squinting against the glare of sun that shone on white- topped waves.

  “No,” she said.

  She looked out and thought of her son whom she had lost to the waves and to the moonlight, and of her husband who stood beside her.

  “There are so many stories in the world,” she said. “So many stories packed into books. So many words packed into libraries waiting to be tasted, and swallowed up by people like me.”

  “We’ll make another child, if you want.”

  She turned to him and saw the sadness and the longing and the aching shyness that transformed him from the boy she once loved into this man whom she had chosen to share her life with.

  #

  “Tell your stories,” she whispered. “Write your words and give them life. Let them be the child Ariel once was. Fill your tales with his laughter, with the color of his eyes, with the scent of his breath and the feel of his hand in my hair. Write your words. Bring him back to me.”

  She saw wonder wake up in his eyes, heard the catch of his breath, and felt the trill of his hand reaching out to touch hers.

  “Let it be our memorial,” she said.

  A breeze blew in from the sea, wrapping them in the warmth of its caress.

  “The breeze comes from faraway India,” he said. “Where a little boy plays on a beach of black sand and the sun is a ball of red fire.”

  They walked on, and his words floated away on the breeze to where a little boy with silver hair sat singing a tuneless melody under the light of the setting sun.

  <<>>

  Invisible Empire of Ascending Light

  by Ken Scholes

  Tana Berrique set down her satchel and ran a hand over the window plate in her guest quarters. The opaque, curved wall became clear, revealing the tropical garden below. She’d spent most of the past six years living in guest quarters from planet to planet, inspecting the shrines, examining the Mission’s work, encouraging the Mission’s servants. But the room here at the Imperial Palace on Pyrus came closest to being her home.

  She sighed and a voice cleared behind her.

  “Missionary General Berrique?”

  She didn’t turn immediately. Instead, she watched a sky-herd of chantis move against the speckled green carpet of vines, trees, and underbrush. “Yes, Captain Vesper?” The bird-like creatures dropped back into the trees and she turned.

  She’d heard of this one. Young but hardened in the last Dissent, Alda Vesper climbed the ranks fast to find himself commanding the best of the best, Red Morning Company of the Emperor’s Brigade. He stood before her in the doorway, one hand absently toying with the pommel of his short sword, his face pale. “I bring word, Missionary General.”

  “So soon?” She glanced back at the window, ran her hand over the plate to fog out the garden’s light. “By the look on your face, I must assume that he’s now Announced himself?”

  The captain nodded. “He has. Just a few minutes ago.”

  Sadness washed through her. She’d known he would Announce; she’d just hoped otherwise. And now Consideration must be given. Afterwards, the path to Declaration could follow. And along that road lay death and destruction unless he truly did Ascend. She’d overseen four Considerations since taking office six years earlier. All had led to Declarations; all had ended in bloodfeuds. She’d discouraged all from Declaring, had seen the obvious outcomes clearly despite their blind faith and inflated hopes. None had listened. Millions dead from men who would be gods.

  “Then I will Consider him,” she told the captain. “We must move before the others consolidate and shift their allegiances. Ask the Vice-Regent to petition his father for a lightbender to take us. Tell him I specifically requested Red Morning Company to assist the Consideration.”

  He bowed his head, his smile slight but pleased, fingertips touching the gold emblazoned sun on the breast of his scarlet uniform. “Yes, Missionary General.”

  He spun and left, ceremonial cloak billowing behind him.

  I’ve only just arrived, Tana Berrique thought as she picked up her satchel, and yet once more I depart. She brushed out the lights to her guest quarters and exited the room and its heaven-like view.

  #

  The lightbender vessel Gold of Dawning took three days to reach Casillus. One day on each side to clear the demarcation lines under sunsail, one day to power up and bend.

  The Missionary General boarded the Captain’s yacht with Vesper and a squad of brigadiers. She’d exchanged her white habit for the plain gray of the Pilgrim Seeker and let her hair down out of respect for Casillian custom. She and Captain Vesper took the forward passenger cabin just behind the cockpit and forward from his squad.

  Gold of Dawning spit them out into space. The vessel’s executive officer piloted them planet-side himself. There were no viewscreens in the passenger cabin but Tana knew vessels under many family flags took up their positions around the planet. They waited for her to do her part as she had done before, and they waited for the Declaration.

  She thumbed the privacy field and turned to Vesper. “Where is he, then?”

  “They’ve taken him to the local Imperial Shrine for safekeeping. Once he Announced, word spread fast.”

  They’d watched this one for some time. The Mission had seen the potential in his humble birth, in the calloused hands of his lowborn parents, in the scraps of data they’d fed into the matrix. By age seven, they’d known he would match in the high ninetieth percentile. Now at fifteen, he was easily the youngest to score so near the ideal and the second youngest to Announce before reaching his majority. She’d seen some of his paintings, some of his poems. She’d heard a snippet from a song a year earlier. Now, she reviewed his results and charted them on the divine matrix.

  “At the moment, he’s only a ninety-eight three,” she said out loud.

  “Only?” Vesper asked. “Has there been higher?”

  She nodded. “When I was an Initiate years ago we saw a ninety-eight six.”

  His surprised look and indrawn breath made her smile. “A ninety-eight six? I’ve never heard this.”

  “There are many things you’ve not heard,” Tana told him. “And you have not heard this either...from me.” She raised her eyebrows in gentle warning.

  Vesper nodded to show agreement. “What happened to him?”

  “Her,” she said. “This one was a girl.”

  He scowled. “A girl?”

  “Yes. A young woman. Quite rare, I know, considering our understanding of the matrix. And in answer to your question: She died.”

  “No surprise there,” he said. “The disappointed can be quite unforgiving. And the unforgiving can be quite brutal.”

  Tana nodded. “True. But this one never Declared. She Announced and then took her own life shortly after her Consideration.”

  She wasn’t sure why she told him this. By the letter of the law, it was a breach in the Mystery. But by the spirit, Tana felt drawn to the young man. Or perhaps, she thought, it’s been too long since I’ve trusted anyone outside the Mission.

  Vesper seemed surprised. “Took her own life without Declaring? That seems odd.” He chuckled. “Why?”

  “I think,” Tana Berrique said, “she saw something the rest of us couldn’t see at the time.” Now she hinted at heresy and treason and backed away from the words carefully, studying the sudden firmness of the captain’s jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

  He looked around, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The question hung out there like forbidden fruit and she knew he would not ask it.

  She patted his leg in the way she thought a mother might. “Pay no mind to me, young Captain. I’m tired and eager to be done with this work.”

  He relaxed. Eventually, she closed her eyes and meditated to clear her mind for Consideration. The yacht sped on. Somewhere
in her silence, she fell into a light sleep and woke up as the atmosphere gently shook her.

  #

  He waited in a vaulted chamber in the lower levels of the Imperial Shrine. Captain Vesper’s men took up their positions around the shrine, supplementing the Shrine Guard. A duo of Initiates accompanying the shrine’s Pilgrim Seeker escorted the Missionary General through room after room.

  “We are honored to have you,” the Pilgrim Seeker said.

  “I am honored to attend,” Tana said, following the proper form. “Though I face the day with dread and longing.”

  The Pilgrim Seeker nodded, her eyes red from crying. “Perhaps he will Ascend.”

  “Perhaps he will not,” Tana Berrique said. “Either way, today will be marked by loss. For one to Ascend, another must Descend.”

  “In our hope, we grieve.” The Pilgrim Seeker quoted from an obscure parameter of the matrix. “And we are here.”

  They stood in a small anteroom, watching the boy in the chamber through a one-way viewscreen. He sat quietly in a chair. A plain-clad couple stood near the door. The man had his arm around the woman. They looked hopeful and mournful at the same time.

  “His parents,” the Pilgrim Seeker said.

  The Missionary General felt anger well up inside her. “He’s very young,” she told them. “Who encouraged him to Announce?”

  “He did it himself, Mum,” the father said.

  “And how did he know?”

  The mother spoke up. “We didn’t even know ourselves. I swear it.”

  Tana frowned. “Very well. I will give him Consideration.” She lowered her voice so that only the parents could hear. “I hope you know what price this all may come to.”

  The mother collapsed, sobbing against her husband. He patted her shoulder, pressing her to his chest. When his eyes locked with Tana Berrique’s she saw fire in them. “We didn’t know. Have done with it and let us be.” Now tears extinguished their ferocity. “If we had known, don’t you think we’d have fled with him years ago?”

  The despair in his words stopped her. She felt their grief wash over her, capsizing her anger. She forced a gentle smile, too late. “Perhaps your son will Ascend.”

  “Perhaps,” the father said.

  She drew a palm-sized matrix counter from her pocket and thumbed it on. She felt it vibrating in her hand, ready to calculate his responses and add them into the equation as she gave Consideration. Tana Berrique nodded to the Pilgrim Seeker, who opened the door into the chamber. She walked into the room and stood above him. He sat, eyes closed, breathing lightly.

  One of the Initiates brought a chair and set it before the boy, then left. She sat, placed the matrix counter on the floor between them, and waited for the door to whisper closed. When it did, she smiled.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  The boy opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I would like a privacy field, please.”

  She flinched in surprise. The counter chirped softly, flashing green. Ninety eight four, now. “A privacy field? It’s not done that way.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s done any way you say it is, Missionary General Tana Berrique. This is your Consideration.”

  Surprise became fear. The green light flashed him a solid Ninety eight six now as his words registered against the equation. She waved to the hidden viewscreen and a privacy field hummed to life around them. “You know a great deal for someone so young.”

  The boy laughed. It sounded like music and it washed her fear. He leaned forward. “Perhaps I’m not so very young,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m here to Consider,” she told him. “May I follow the form?”

  He nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am called H’ru in this incarnation.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “This incarnation?” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  She watched the counter. He was nearing ninety nine. “And your other names?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Are they important?”

  “They may be, H’ru. I don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “They are not.”

  Tana changed the subject. “What led you to Announce?”

  His young brow furrowed. “I was told to.”

  “By your parents?”

  He chuckled, the brief laugh ending in a secret smile.

  “By one of the Families?”

  The smile faded. “By myself,” he said.

  She shook her head, not sure she heard correctly. The counter did not chirp or hum, no light flickered from it. “Could you say that again?”

  “I told myself to Announce,” he said.

  She felt her stomach lurch. “That’s not possible.”

  “Ask me. Return to Pyrus, wake me, and ask me yourself.” His smile returned. “After you are finished with the Consideration, of course.”

  “The Regent would never allow it. And even if he did — “ She suddenly realized she had lost focus, lost composure, spoken aloud. The counter still did nothing. She scooped down, picked it up to see if it still hummed. It did.

  “I’ve stopped it,” he said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “I willed it to stop and it stopped.”

  “What else can you will?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We’ll not talk around circles, Tana Berrique. You do not need a counter to know who I am.”

  She let the air rush out of her. He was right. She didn’t need it to know. The four before had been betrayed by either humility without strength or arrogance without power. Their equations had tested the matrix, to be sure, but they could not Ascend. After Declaring, the house-factions and bloodfeuds had undone them and they’d died on the run from followers turned vengeful from disappointment and fear. But this one was different and it shook her.

  “You’ve not met me before,” he said. “The others were near but false. Except for one.”

  She nodded. She blinked back tears, fought the growing knot in her throat.

  “You’re wondering why I took my life before,” he asked. “It’s what you told the Captain on your flight in. I saw something the rest of you could not see at the time. But you see it now, don’t you?”

  She nodded again and swallowed.

  “Your god, your Emperor of Ascending Light, has lain near death for too long while the Regent and his kin hold power in wait for another god to rise. But they intend no new Ascendant be found. They use this trick of Announcement, Consideration, and Declaration to extend both hope and fear. But in the end, no one Ascends. The Dissents tear out the heart of the Empire and only strengthen the aspect of a few.”

  Her hands shook. Her bladder threatened release. She shifted on the chair, then pitched forward onto her knees. “What is your will, Lord Emperor?”

  He touched her hair and she looked up. He smiled down, his face limned in the room’s dim light. “Take your seat, Tana Berrique.”

  Mindful to obey, she returned to her chair. “My Lord?”

  “H’ru,” he said with a gentle voice. “Just H’ru.”

  Tana felt confusion and conflict brewing behind her eyes. “But surely when you Declare, you shall Ascend unhindered? How could they prevent you?”

  “They will not prevent me,” he said. “You will.” He paused, letting the words sink in to her. “And I shall neither Ascend nor Declare.”

  “But my role is Consideration. I take no part in—”

  “I will tell you to,” he said. “And because I am your Emperor, you will obey.”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “You will.” He patted her hand. “When the Regent calls you out, say to him S’andril bids you to recall your oath in the Yellowing Field. He will admit you to me. And I will tell you what to do.”

  She sat there before him for a few minutes, letting the privacy field absorb the sound of her sobs as he held her hands in his and whispered comfort to her.

  At long last, she stoo
d, straightened her habit, and waved for the privacy field to be turned off. The counter stopped at Ninety nine three. She looked down at the boy. “This Consideration is closed,” she said. “You may do what you will.”

  The boy nodded. “I understand.”

  Without a glance, without meeting the eyes of the Pilgrim Seeker or the parents, she strode from the chamber, passed through the anteroom and said nothing at all to anyone else.

  #

  Back at Pyrus, she spent her time gazing down on the garden while she waited for the Regent to call her out. No Declaration had swept up from Casillus and the pockets of ships, loaded with troops, continued to deploy strategically around that world and others while everyone waited.

  Captain Vesper finally came for her. She had not spoken to him since before the Consideration but she knew that he could see her unrest. He fell back into his official role though she saw his brow furrowing and his mouth twitching as unasked questions played out beneath his skin.

  She followed as he led her into the throne room.

  The Regent sat on a smaller throne to the left of the central dais and its massive, empty crystalline throne. To the right, his son, the Vice-Regent, sat. He waved the Imperial Brigade members away.

  After they had gone, he motioned the Missionary General forward.

  “Well?” he finally asked. “There has been no Declaration from Casillus. Then I learn that you made no report on this Consideration.” He scowled, his heavy beard, woven with gems and strands of gold, dragging against his chest. “What do you say for yourself?”

  “I say nothing for myself, Regent.” She intentionally left off the word Lord.

  “I find that highly unusual, Missionary General.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry you find it so.”

  “Can you speak about this child H’ru and his Announcement?”

  “I can. He Announced and I Considered.”

  “And?”

  Tana Berrique paused, not sure how to pick her way through this minefield. Lord help me, she thought, and I will simply be direct. She met the Regent’s eyes. “What do you want me to say?”