The Reforged Trilogy: Book 1 — Crucible of Stars
Chapter 8
Wayward Winds
“Proximity denotes association. Why else would the mouth be located so close to the brain, if not designed to speak one’s mind?”
– Xed, Ixthian political activist (199 PA)
Bannon 3 was an arid planet, only barely habitable and far from welcoming. A weary, ancient red star served as its sun and cast just enough visible light on the sandy little planet to illuminate it, but enough infrared to turn Bannon 3 into a furnace. Located inconveniently on an otherwise uninhabited edge of Alliance space and a source of almost no valuable natural resources, the Bannon system was ignored for decades.
In 132 MA, an ambitious young Lyran by the name of Channik Grale purchased all land, mineral and mining rights to the entire planet for only four and a half million cenmarks. Channik was mocked all across the galaxy for spending his inheritance on Bannon 3. The only thing worth mining on the remote dust ball seemed to be hafnium, but all substantial deposits were located deep underground. Hafnium wasn’t particularly precious or rare, found on thousands of other planets, several of which had been successfully colonized years before. It certainly didn’t seem worth the effort to mine Bannon 3 for such an inexpensive and relatively common element.
The mockery continued for the next seven years as Channik purchased cheap equipment and set up a mining camp in Bannon 3’s northern hemisphere. As expected, the machinery broke down so frequently in the dusty, sandy climate that Channik had to fly a non-stop supply of parts and engineers out to his planet.
But the jokes turned into curious whispers as miners and engineers flocked to Bannon 3 by the thousands. There were plenty of jobs and Channik paid. He didn’t pay well, but it was work for those who couldn’t find it elsewhere in Alliance space. Instead of waiting for the frequent replacement part orders, Starwind Fabrications set up a small factory on Channik’s planet to cut down their shipping costs. The new factory brought in more jobs and all manner of beings that needed work. Workers brought families that required food and clothes.
More jobs, more money.
Before two decades had passed, the single mining camp on Bannon 3 had grown into a full-fledged city. Satellite towns grew up almost overnight as the city expanded. By the time Channik’s fur was turning gray, the entire northern hemisphere of his planet was settled and thriving. His people were poor and often desperate, but the same could be said of Prianus and the lower levels of Axis, both founding worlds of the CWA.
Opponents of Channik’s success nicknamed his planet Stray — taunting that it attracted every stray dog of the galaxy — and the name stuck. Channik Grale died a rich man at a venerable Lyran age of eighty-two, never having successfully mined a single ounce of hafnium.
Everything was covered in dust. The people, the streets… Even the buildings seemed shrouded in dirty veils. They were all constructed of simple, unadorned siltstone blocks laid with little attention. Joints were rough and crooked, as though the builders were in too much of a hurry to spend more time on their work than they absolutely had to. The cities of Stray were quickly and hastily built with minimal investment. Gharib was no exception.
Xia sneezed and rubbed at her eyes. The static charge on the window coatings wasn’t strong enough to repel the dust. It lay thick and yellow over everything, making the entire city look as though it were built of sand. Xia sneezed again.
By necessity as much as any desire to blend in, she and Maeve had adopted the local dress. Both women had donned scarves and veils covering their hair and faces, long sleeves and pants to keep out the dust. The scarf that Xia wore tied across her mouth was borrowed from Maeve’s wardrobe and smelled sharply of spilled narcohol.
Xia cast a sidelong look at Maeve. The fairy hadn’t covered her wings. There wasn’t a scarf or cape or coat large enough to conceal them and her feathers were soon yellow with dust. Maeve shook them out a few times, but swiftly gave up as the grit just settled right back into place.
But the Arcadian wasn’t attracting the stares that Xia expected. No one in the core liked the fairy interlopers. Wherever they went, Arcadians tended to be sneered and spat at. Here in Gharib, though, few seemed to take much notice of Maeve at all. There were a handful of distasteful looks — at least, as best Xia could judge them through protective scarves and veils — but nothing compared to the sort of anger she had come to expect from traveling with a fairy.
Maybe Maeve was prepared for more trouble, too. She walked with her glass-bladed spear tapping on the sidewalk at her side. The multicolored ribbons tied along the haft rippled and snapped in the hot breeze like tattered pennons. Xia didn’t see Maeve carry her weapon often. But not even the spear attracted much notice on Stray. Xia guessed that no one cared. Probably because the robes and scarves all around them concealed weapons of their own. Xia could see the weight and outlines of knives and guns through cloth all along the street.
Perhaps no one else cared about Maeve’s spear, but Xia found herself drumming her fingers against the chromite grip of her own laser. The Arcadian princess usually carried her weapon when she was expecting an encounter with Logan Coldhand. Xia knew how deadly that archaic weapon could be in Maeve’s hands. The glass blade wasn’t nearly as fragile as it appeared — and neither was the woman who wielded it.
Xia averted her eyes to stare out through Gharib’s dusty street, then grabbed Maeve’s arm. She pointed across the road.
“Look,” Xia said.
There was a barren dirt lot on the other side of the busy street — recently emptied to judge by the sancrete and rebar jutting up through the dust like skeletal remains. Three Arcadian men sat perched on the remaining half-height wall. Each of the fairy men was short and slender, with long golden hair and fine, delicate features. Maeve glared across the road at the other Arcadians, but her gray eyes didn’t change color, so Xia had no idea how to read the look there.
“Let’s go talk to them,” Xia suggested. “Maybe they know something about the Sisterhood.”
Maeve pulled her arm out of the Ixthian’s long-fingered grasp. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“There are many Arcadians here on Stray,” Maeve said. “The Alliance would not help my people when our kingdom fell and Stray was one of few places that would take us… or at least did not turn us away.”
“Aren’t you excited to see some of your own species?” Xia asked.
“No. I have been on Stray before and this is a world of outcasts and criminals. My people deserved better.”
Xia glanced out at the trio of Arcadian men again. They were watching the street and one of them arched his back, stretching his long wings out behind him. Maeve began walking briskly away. Like she didn’t want the fairies to see her. Xia grabbed Maeve’s arm again and pulled her to a stop. Other pedestrians pushed past them with low grumbles.
“Wait, we still need to learn about the Sisterhood,” Xia said.
“And you think those men might have that information?” Maeve asked.
“Yes. Look, I know how other species tend to treat Arcadians,” Xia explained quickly. “So you have to stick together and help each other out.”
“Do we?” Maeve asked, arching one black eyebrow.
“Other Arcadians, then,” Xia said with a sigh. “Look, Kessa says the Sisterhood likes to hunt and capture men for sport.”
Maeve nodded. Xia rushed on with her theory.
“If they are here on Stray, they’ve surely preyed on some of the Arcadian men. They’re sick and weak and no one would pay much attention if a few of them went missing. Except other Arcadians. They would know, right?”
“They… may,” Maeve admitted reluctantly.
Xia tried to guide her toward the road, to cross and question the men, but Maeve pulled back with shocking strength. Xia jerked to a stop and released the smaller woman.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Xia asked. “Do you?”
“No,” Maeve answered in an even icier tone than usual. “Mine are a desperate and unhappy people.”
Xia blinked at the other woman.
“You mean they might try to pick a fight?” she asked. “Maeve, I know what kind of people you deal with to get your chems! And Coldhand… I can’t believe you’re worried about some fairies. And you have that spear! You brought it along to keep us safe, right?”
Maeve stepped back, out of the crowd of people. She folded her wings and leaned against a wall, the name and window display obscured by dust. Maeve crossed her arms over her chest.
“That is not what I meant,” she said.
“What did you mean, then?”
But Maeve only shook her head and would not answer. Xia remained on the sidewalk and stared at the tiny fairy woman.
“I know you’re not afraid of a fight,” Xia said. “I’ve never seen you back down from one. So come with me? Please?”
Maeve shook her head again. “Go. I will be nearby.”
“What if they don’t speak Aver?”
“You will manage,” Maeve said shortly.
Xia couldn’t think of any more arguments, so she turned on her heels and squinted through the dust. The Arcadian men hadn’t moved, so Xia adjusted the scarf across her mouth and waited for a break in traffic. Maeve watched without comment.
Maeve Cavainna was… difficult to understand. Maybe impossible. One moment, the fairy seemed utterly cold, composed and uncaring. The next, she flew into uncontrollable rages or long, sullen silences. Tiberius said that she used to be a knight back on her homeworld, before the fall. It was difficult to see anything like that in the temperamental, narcoholic wreck of a woman. There was nothing knightly or honorable about Maeve anymore. The princess was unpredictable, wild and very dangerous.
Xia paced with her medical bag clutched in shaking silver hands. She didn’t want to be there, but the pirates had hijacked her ship weeks ago and left her no choice but to become their medic. The captain of the Caitiff was a vile little rat of a man with a long nose and even longer ambitions. His dreams of easy wealth and total lack of ethics or sense drove his crew into one hopeless fight after another, each with promises of greater riches than the last. The latest target was a small freighter carrying a hold full of expensive gallium-errol transistors.
There was a heavy thump from the airlock. Xia whirled, ready to treat whatever injured pirate stumbled through. The men of the Caitiff lacked nothing in brutality, but their skill never managed to match their bloodlust. Xia froze, her heart pounding loud in her ears. It wasn’t one of the pirates at the airlock.
A winged woman stood in the door, with black hair and a bloody glass-bladed spear in her fists. For all her tiny size, she looked like some kind of pagan war goddess. She wore no clothes, but her white skin and wings were spattered with blood. The Arcadian’s bare feet were red, as though she walked through wet paint. And her eyes were bloodshot and deeply shadowed, like she had just been woken from an unsettled sleep.
She leveled her spear at Xia, who dropped her supplies and reached for the gun she carried in case of situations like this. The fairy spun her spear in an arc, cracking the haft against Xia’s knuckles and her laser spun away across the dented airlock. The doctor cried out in pain and fell to her knees before Maeve, waiting for the killing blow that never came.
A truck rumbled past Xia on an orange-tinged null-field. The blue and white Starwind logo was only half visible through sand and graffiti. Xia didn’t see any sign of the triangle that Maeve had described as the Sisterhood’s mark, so she stepped out into the road. A Lyran on a streetcycle swerve and snarled something Xia couldn’t quite hear as she jogged across the street.
Duaal wandered aimlessly through the huge bazaar that squatted in the center of Gharib. There were hundreds of counters and tent-stalls set up in concentric rings, though dust and sun had bleached all color from the vast display of wares. Walkways carved through the circled stalls like the spokes of a wheel and converged on a towering siltstone statue of Channik Grale. The larger-than-life monument to Stray’s lupine founder had an expression of nobility and visionary magnificence on his face that Duaal doubted the real Channik had ever worn.
The mage shoved his sweaty way through the market crowd. He had made none of the concessions to local dress that Maeve and Xia had. Shoppers whispered and stared curiously at his strange, ornate costume and Duaal grinned to himself. The thick dust and heat were oppressive, but the attention felt almost good enough to make up for it.
He passed a young Lyran pup with braided fur, who pointed a clawed finger at the intricate interlocking star across Duaal’s back. The little girl was fascinated by the pretty design, embroidered in shiny golden thread that flashed even in the dim light of Stray’s red sun. But her mother grabbed the puppy by the scruff of the neck and hauled her away, growling a low warning. Duaal waved and winked.
His work was done and there were crates of dehydrated protein and drums of water already on their way to the Blue Phoenix, along with the other necessities Tiberius had asked for. But nothing else in Gharib’s dusty market caught Duaal’s attention. Most of it was basic and functional, ship parts or mining supplies or boring clothes in the same colors as the sandy city.
Duaal rolled a plastic chip between his fingers — change from the color Tiberius had given him — and began making his way toward the edge of the market. The sunlight was faint and hazy. It cast thin, indistinct brown shadows, but the heat cut as sharp as a nanoblade.
In the outer ring of the bazaar, Duaal bought a tube of sweet ice for the long walk out to the landing crescent. It was flavored with some kind of Hadrian fruit juice and Duaal sucked gratefully on the coldness, but it vanished swiftly in the midday heat and left him with an empty plastic wrapper. The mage was considering going back to buy a couple more when he heard a soft, hissing voice.
“Ksst! Over here, boy.”
Boy? Duaal bristled and whirled to find the speaker, but saw only a black-eyed Dailon who walked quickly away, casting worried glances back between steps. There were too many desperate souls and fugitives on Stray to risk making even casual enemies.
“Boy!” came the voice again. It had a strange, crackling intonation. Whoever it was, they had an awkward handle of Aver.
“Stop that,” Duaal said sharply. “I’m not a child!”
Why did everyone fixate on his age? Duaal wasn’t that young and he knew things that no one else in the core did.
Well, almost no one else…
But that was the point. Duaal was a mage! He knew magic. Some Alliance citizens didn’t even believe in it and who could blame them? Other than Duaal, practitioners of magic were found exclusively on the outer worlds of the galaxy. The Jinn and the Arcadians studied magic, and so did the fearsome soldier-drones of the Nnyth Tower. But not humans.
Duaal was tempted to cast some kind of spell just to make his point, but who was talking to him? He narrowed his eyes and stared about for the speaker, but all Duaal saw was a withered tree hunkered between a pair of closed stalls wrapped in static sheets.
“Ah, my apologies, young man,” whispered the tree. “But come closer. I have things to show you.”
“A Jinn!” Duaal said.
A very old one, he noticed. Its branches were twisted with age and covered in dry, papery brown leaves. What looked like shiny blue-black berries peeked out from under the leaves, but Duaal knew those were the alien’s many eyes. The fronds around the Jinn’s eyes lifted out of the way so it could see properly, appearing for all the worlds like an old man raising his bushy eyebrows in surprise.
“Ah, an educated young man,” rasped the Jinn. It rubbed and rustled its leaves together to produce the odd, windy speech. “I thought that I recognized some of the symbols you wear, though I haven’t seen them since the last time I gated to lost Arcadia…”
“What do you want?” Duaal asked. Despite the thick heat of the Gharib day, he shivered.
“‘Be cautious when dealing with the Jinn,’” his master read out from a folded sheet of paper. There was a broken seal of red wax on the front. “Though you may have to before this is done.”
Duaal cringed in the corner of the room, fearful but attentive. The old man wasn’t speaking to him, but that wouldn’t stop him from kicking or cuffing the boy if he got in the way.
“‘They are slow to anger and as patient as trees. The Jinn value wit and wisdom over wealth or beauty. If you cannot hold your own in debate against the Jinn, they will think nothing of abusing your hospitality. Learn what you can from the Jinn, should you meet one, but move on quickly before a dull moment turns them against you.’”
Duaal’s master swept past the boy. His black robes — like something from a show, or that a college professor would wear — whispered over the floor. The old man sat down at his dusty computer to type out a letter of his own.
“I want only what any merchant in Gharib does,” rustled the Jinn. “To do business.”
“What?” Duaal asked. “Jinn never want to trade with the core.”
“With the fall of the Arcadian kingdom, many of us must look somewhat further afield to make a living.”
“That was a hundred years ago,” Duaal said.
The Jinn swayed in what seemed to be a shrug.
“There are plenty of other vendors all over the market that don’t have to hide or beg,” Duaal pointed out. “So what do you have that they don’t?”
“A very good question,” the Jinn said, rubbing its leafy branches together. “Which I will answer shortly. My name is Ssassi. And who is the strangely dressed young human before me?”
“You don’t need my name to sell me something.”
“Ah, quite true,” Ssassi hissed with a laugh. “And to answer your question, my nameless new young friend, you are correct. There are many other vendors here, all selling the same things: coreworld goods available all across the Alliance. But what I carry comes from the edge of the galaxy, worlds that — as you say — do not often trade with yours.”
Duaal was still nervous, but now he was curious, too. Ssassi was right: the CWA and the rimworlds had no trade agreements and Duaal couldn’t bring himself to walk away from such a rare and exotic opportunity.
“Alright, what have you got?” he asked.
Ssassi’s wrinkled gray bark folded into something like a smile. The effect was disarming, but Duaal reminded himself that the Jinn wasn’t a kindly old grandmother. He was a trader trying to get a good price.
“Now, where did I put them?” the Jinn asked himself.
Punctuated by sharp creaks and groans like the settling of an ancient house, the alien reached with branches into his browned upper foliage. From his leaves, Ssassi began producing small items, laying them out in a neat row on the dusty ground for Duaal’s inspection.
“A runic from the Tower itself,” said the Jinn, holding up a geometric piece of glistening stone.
It was marked with a crossed spiral a lot like those on the back of Duaal’s gloves. Ssassi withdrew a few midnight black fragments that looked almost as much like stone as the runic.
“Also taken at great personal risk from the Tower, shards from a Nnyth egg.”
A stout ceramic jug joined the pile.
“Delberry wine from Usarral, my world. A hundred fifty-seven years old and quite delicious. It has potent properties, of course. One drink will keep you awake and alert for a month.”
Duaal weighed the bottle in his hand. About half full. He was familiar with delberry wine — they made him drink it many times when he was a boy — and knew Ssassi had neglected to mention the weeks-long coma that came after that drink. Duaal picked up a slender shape wrapped in layers of silky cloth. He squeezed it gently, trying to feel out the shape of whatever was inside.
“What’s this?” Duaal asked.
“Assssh ks ree!” Ssassi shrilled, lapsing momentarily back into his own native tongue, the sound of the wind in leaves and creaking branches. “Put that down!”
Startled, Duaal dropped the bundle, then inspected his gloves. There was a neat slice across the leather of one finger and into the skin beneath. Duaal pulled off his glove and sucked at the wound. The cut wasn’t deep, but he hadn’t even felt it happen. Carefully, Ssassi retrieved the fallen item and unwrapped it.
“A dagger of Arcadian glass,” said the Jinn. “Brought from the fairy kingdom before its fall.”
The weapon the Jinn held out was shorter than a nanoknife, with a blade only about the length of Duaal’s finger and a hilt not much bigger. Maeve was a tiny woman and her entire species was considerably smaller than humans. She would have no difficulty wielding such a small weapon to great effect. The dagger was made entirely of glass and the blade glistened like ice melted impossibly thin. Only the hilt had any color, wrapped in alternating blue and silver cord. Duaal took the dagger and held it up to catch the dim sunlight. The glass threw back rainbows that filled the shadowed alcove with multicolored light.
“Not as good as a k’saar staff, I say,” Ssassi told Duaal. “But we Jinn have never cared for blades. Still, this Arcadian stuff is stronger than heartwood and sharper than jealousy.”
“Do you have a sword?” Duaal asked.
Ssassi shook his withered branches. “No. I’m afraid Arcadians never made such long blades. Spears, certainly, but no swords. It has to do with their anatomy, I’m told. Most of the muscles in their backs are bound up in operating those lovely wings. Their shoulders aren’t terribly strong and without the power for a mighty swing, the fairies prefer short blades and stabbing weapons.”
“How much do you want for the knife?” Duaal asked. It was small, but beautiful and obviously still sharp.
“One hundred cenmarks,” Ssassi told him. “Arcadian glass is no longer made anywhere in the galaxy, after all. And you see those ribbons on the hilt? Those are the colors of the royal family.”
“You’re lying,” Duaal said. He didn’t know who the glass dagger had belonged to, but it wasn’t a Cavainna. “Their colors were red and gold, you old cheat.”
The Jinn made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh, but he spread his branches.
“Ah, a fine catch,” Ssassi said. “Seventy-five cenmarks and it can be yours.”
After nearly an hour of haggling, they agreed on fifty cen for the dagger and another twenty for the half-full jug of delberry wine. Duaal handed over what remained of Tiberius’ redchip and Ssassi produced some even smaller silver cenmarks from somewhere in his folded bark. Duaal took the change, carefully rewrapped the dagger and picked up the jug of wine. Feeling pleased with himself, Duaal made his way out of the market and back toward the Blue Phoenix.
Xia smiled as she approached the fairies, holding out her open hands. The Ixthian wasn’t unarmed, exactly — she had carried her inexpensive but useful laser pistol since her unwilling days as a pirate — but it couldn’t hurt to look harmless. The trio of Arcadian men watched her cautiously, but their fear was dull, weary from years of abuse.
One of them stood and bowed as Xia neared. He wasn’t wearing much beside a skirt of thin, silvery fabric. It was nearly sheer and hid very little. Xia flushed and kept her eyes firmly on the fairy’s face. His hair was long and pale gold in the ruddy sunlight, fanning over his shoulders in unwashed curls.
“Good day, my beauty,” he said in a tired voice. “One so lovely should not have to wander this ugly city alone. Ten cenmarks and I will gladly show you my skills with a lance.”
Xia was sure the wink he gave her was intended to be suggestive, but she only stared at the bloodshot red of his eyes. Up close, Xia could see just how slender all three of the Arcadians were, and the scars across their skin. Some of those were from knives, others from needles and many were still healing. But even battered and starvation-thin, all of the males were quite handsome… Which, Xia supposed, was precisely why they were out here.
“I don’t want to hire you,” she said quickly.
The fairy in the silver kilt frowned up at her. “I cannot work for nothing, even for a lady of such beauty.”
With his scars and heavily accented, formal Aver, this Arcadian reminded Xia at once of Maeve. She raised her hands again and shook her head.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Xia said. “I only want to ask you a few questions.”
The prostitute backed away from her, feathered wings half-spread as though ready to take flight. He was broader in the shoulders and more muscular than the other two, but still considerably smaller than Xia. She supposed the Arcadians had to be built light for flying. The other fairies shifted nervously and whispered to one another in their own liquid, lyric language. What were they saying? Xia wished Maeve had come with her.
“Are you… police?” asked the Arcadian. His voice fell to a low hiss. “You have never helped us when we needed it, no matter how we begged. But now that you need–”
“I’m not a cop,” Xia interrupted. “I’m doing research, that’s all.”
“Research?” the fairy repeated slowly. He drew back another step. “What manner of research?”
“I just need to know if you’ve seen some people around Gharib,” Xia said. She tried a friendly smile and gestured as casually as she could to the other two Arcadians. “If you can’t talk to me, that’s alright. Maybe one of them can spare a minute?”
The man shook his head. “Not unless you know our language. Caiwynn and Rillath do not speak Aver. They do not wish to understand the things your people say to us. I have told them that it is safer to learn, to know if their customers mean them harm. But they refuse.”
The half-dressed Arcadian closed his wings around his body as though cold, but then seemed to remember his job and spread them again — putting the wares back on display. He looked down at the ground and didn’t meet Xia’s eye.
“I need to ask you, then,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Anthem,” the fairy answered. “Anthem Calloren, once favored by the Night… before the fall. Please, ask your questions quickly. Money is scarce and we must return to our work.”
Xia wasn’t sure what to say to that. When was the last time these three had seen a doctor? God only knew how many diseases they carried and spread to their customers. But maybe they could help her keep Kessa safe.
“Are there any other Arcadians on Stray?” Xia asked.
Anthem nodded.
“Do you know them?” she asked.
Another nod. “Many of them, yes. Those who can speak Aver well are few and I am often called upon to deal with the others of this world.”
“Has anyone… preyed on the Arcadians?”
Anthem cocked his head, his bloodshot eyes blank. “Of course.”
Xia would have to be far more specific. Everyone preyed on the bird-back aliens. She rubbed at her compound eyes. The dust was making them itch. She sighed.
“Has anyone abducted or killed your males?” Xia asked. “I’m looking for a gang that calls themselves the Sisterhood. They target men especially.”
Anthem considered that for a moment before answering, but a pained expression flitted across his face and he nodded again.
“I know the women you are talking about,” the fairy said. “Some time ago, they took many of our men. We thought them customers at first, but those who went with the Sisters were killed or returned unmanned.”
Anthem made a short slicing gesture below the waist of his skirt and Xia clenched her silver hands into fists.
“Damn it,” she said. “The Sisterhood is on Stray. We can’t leave Kessa here.”
Caiwynn and Rillath jumped back from Xia’s exclamation, but Anthem shook his head.
“This happened some time ago,” he said again. “The loss of our men went on and we mourned for them, but we do not fight the Nameless when she comes for us. Then the black cathedral was built, though, and the Sisterhood stopped.”
Anthem shielded his eyes from the bloated red sun and turned, orienting himself. He pointed east across Gharib and Xia squinted. She could just make out a tall building silhouetted starkly against the scarlet glow.
“That… doesn’t look like a Union of Light church,” Xia said.
“It is not,” Anthem agreed. “That cathedral belongs to someone else. But when they came, the Sisterhood’s attacks stopped. There has been violence since then, but I have not seen the Sisters’ mark in over a year.”
“There are a few other large cities on Stray,” Xia said. “Do you know if the Sisterhood is hiding out in any of them?”
Anthem spread his white wings. They were impressive, Xia had to admit… Though there were several feathers missing and the fairy could use an hour or so in a shower.
“We sometimes visit the other cities of Stray to do our work,” Anthem said, gesturing with his wings. “Much the same happened in them all.”
“But what about these other ones?” Xia asked. “You said that church doesn’t belong to the Union of Light. Who is it?”
Anthem hesitated. “They call themselves the Church of Nihil. I do not understand the name.”
“The church of nothing,” Xia told him. “More or less. But that… doesn’t make any sense. And what happened to the Sisterhood? Did this Church of Nihil chase them off? Why? Competition? A rival gang, maybe?”
“I have never visited the cathedral,” Anthem answered. “But many other Arcadians have. There are speeches… sermons there on most nights.”
“Do you know what they talk about?”
Anthem shook his head. “No. I can give you nothing else. Unless you have reconsidered hiring me for the evening…?”
There was a fragile note of hope in the fairy’s voice. Xia wasn’t sure if he was that desperate for money or just a few hours’ work with a client who might not abuse him.
Both ideas made Xia’s stomach clench up and she dug a white cenmark chip from one of her pockets. It was worth twice what Anthem charged for his services, and the Arcadian’s brow furrowed. He turned the square of plastic over in dirty, scarred hands.
“Ah… thank you for the help,” Xia told him. “And you might want to get a medical screening…”
Anthem didn’t seem to know what to say, so Xia hurried away to save them both from further awkwardness.
Maeve wasn’t in the doorway where Xia had left her. Now the fairy crouched like a gargoyle on the low roof, spear held loosely in her right hand. In the other, Maeve clutched a narcohol bottle. That hadn’t taken long… And the bottle was already nearly empty, Xia noted with a sigh.
She waved, but Maeve wasn’t even looking at Xia. She stared across the road at Anthem. A tall Mirran woman had approached and was haggling with him. Anthem finally nodded and accepted a few small silver cenmarks from the Mirran. Five cen, only half his asking price.
Anthem turned to say something to the other two — perhaps a farewell or asking them to wait for his return — but the woman grabbed his arm and hauled the fairy prostitute away. The Sisterhood might have been gone, but Xia didn’t think the Arcadians’ situation had improved much.
There was a sharp hiss of breath and the sound of shattering glass from above Xia. Maeve was on her feet, wings spread and eyes blazing. She gripped her spear in white-knuckled hands and tensed to leap out across the street. The narcohol bottle lay broken on the roof and the last of its contents dripped over the edge of the wall, evaporating quickly in the hot, dim sun.
“Maeve, stop!” Xia shouted.
The princess didn’t look at Xia, but instead of launching herself into the sky after the Mirran woman, she landed on the ground next to her crewmate, her spear held once more against her side. A passing human huffed at Maeve as she folded her wings.
“Keep those wings to yourself, little bird-back,” he told her.
“Eira en varii, anai’i!” Maeve hissed at him. “You seem to find my kind pleasant enough to hire us into your beds!”
The man glanced across the street toward where Rillath and Caiwynn still sat, both looking lost without Anthem to translate. The human’s expression turned from irritation to disgust and he shook his head emphatically.
“Not me. I wouldn’t hire you to scrape sand,” he told Maeve in a low growl. “Not sure why the police haven’t taken out that trash over there, but it’ll happen eventually. So why don’t you fly along, little bird?”
Maeve narrowed her gray eyes and lowered the point of her spear suggestively. “I am given to understand that your local police do not intercede often. Certainly not often or fast enough to keep me from gutting you.”
“Maeve, stop!” Xia said.
She grabbed the fairy’s elbow and gestured around the crowded Gharib street. At least twenty men and women had stopped to glare at Maeve and Xia would have bet a solid redchip that most of them carried weapons beneath their dusty robes and capes.
“Let’s go, Maeve,” Xia said. “Getting into fights out here won’t help Kessa.”
Maeve sighed and pulled her spear back. The human snorted and stuck one of his fingers out toward her in what seemed to be a local rude gesture. A few other humans asked if he was alright, but the man waved them off and stalked away down the sidewalk.
“Go back to your own Goddamn planet,” he shouted from a safe distance.
Xia glanced at Maeve, but the furious blaze was gone from her eyes, now replaced with a familiar, sullen discontent. The fairy’s shoulders slumped again and she watched the crowd impassively as they dispersed.
“What did you find out?” Maeve asked.
“The Sisterhood used to be here on Stray,” Xia answered. “But they were displaced a little while back by some new church that I’d like to learn more about. There are apparently sermons there most nights.”
“And you… wish to listen?”
Xia nodded. “It’s about sunset, so we’re not far off from the next one. Let’s call the Blue Phoenix and talk to Tiberius.”
Maeve shrugged and Xia pulled a com from her pocket. She selected the captain’s frequency and began walking back in the direction of the landing crescent. Maeve followed Xia along the road, grumbling over the loss of her narcohol.
