The Outworlder Read online

  But now it was different. I—my position—was different.

  I pushed such thoughts to the back of my mind. I didn’t have time for them. I stiffened my spine and pressed forward, looking around with my head down, focusing on the wares, not the merchants. Most sold luxury items: ornamental combs of ivory and tortoiseshell, dishes of natural glass shimmering in all colors, golden jewelry, and gloves made for nonhuman hands. A familiar scent reached my nose, and, half-consciously, I followed it to where a vhariar stirred floatfruit soup in a big bronze cauldron.

  It was my favorite dish after Chaarite red stew. Sweet and thick, almost like a mash, pairing perfectly with spicy and sour pickles. My mouth filled with saliva, my ears with a sweet song of a wooden spoon on the sides of the cauldron. For a moment, the whole world ceased to exist…

  And then I realized I didn’t have time for this. The portions were usually generous and steaming hot; eating one properly would take at least fifteen minutes, and by then I should already be on my way back. Gnashing my teeth, I resorted to buying a jar of pickled cabbage lotus. Maybe if I got some milkseed and cooked it to a pulp, I would get a similar experience.

  But at least I found myself in the right part of the market. Firstly, I bought some freshly steamed milkseed buns for supper and a little roasted thing, a long fish or snake, I wasn’t sure—one could find all sorts of things in the market. The meat was tender and doused in just the right amount of spices. I savored every bite as I gathered bare necessities until the alarm spell I’d set told me it was time to go.

  * * *

  It seemed the entire depot had been seized by Mespana. Two ssothians, each twice my size and covered in bright orange fur, stood at the entrance and wouldn’t let me through until they have confirmed my identity. I cut my thumb on the obsidian blade provided and spilled my blood into the bowl of moonwater. The liquid swirled, blood dark against its bluish gleam, then calmed abruptly. The Dahlsian woman who held her hand submerged nodded at the guards to let me pass.

  After crossing the threshold, I froze.

  The hall was the biggest room I’d ever seen, but it was filled to the brim with a sea of black and white with occasional bursts of color from the outworlders and the nonhumans. There were three cohorts stationed in Sfal, around one-hundred-and-forty people each. Most of them were there.

  And those closest to the entrance turned toward me.

  My body tensed and my palms grew sweaty. All around me, I saw eyes grew large and mouths hung open. A Xzsim man curled his painted lips in a predatory smile. A miyangua’s fleshy whiskers twitched nervously.

  I ducked my head, clutching my bag tighter, like a shield. Dahlsi made up some ninety percent of Mespana, and their meager size allowed me to take up the entire room. But even without that, I knew there were no other Tarvissi in Mespana.

  No other Tarvissi in Meon Cluster.

  Two days ago, in retaliation for the rebellion on Maurir, the Directory ordered all citizens of Tarvissian origin be deported. I was the only one left.

  It seemed surreal. There had been a couple dozen of us here in Sfal, but a few thousand lived in farming colonies like Maurir, Eben, and my homeworld, Nes Peridion. The thought that less than a thousand Mespanians rounded them all up and escorted them out in one-hundred-and-twenty hours—two Dahlsian days—was ludicrous.

  But it was true.

  My skin prickled. Suddenly I felt very exposed. Clutching my bag tighter, I scurried away, heading to the wall, trying to find a quiet, sheltered spot where I could pretend I didn’t exist. The crowd parted before me, making my insides twist painfully. I dropped my head even lower and swore not to lift it… until I bumped into the only person in the whole depot too distracted to get out of my way.

  “Sorry,” I murmured, then froze. My gaze fell on a familiar broad face with green eyes, which, if possible, grew bigger than usual.

  “It’s all right,” muttered Saral Tal. We worked together a couple of times in the past, including the last mission. And sure enough, when I lifted my head, I saw the rest of our team: Malyn Tol with one arm wrapped around Vareya La, and Argan Am, his cleft hand frozen in midair in some interrupted gesture. They all looked equally surprised.

  And I felt like the ground had opened beneath my feet. Up until then, I could push the dark thoughts away and pretend nothing had happened. I knew things went to shit, but I ignored that. I shopped, I moaned about the heat. People stared, but I was always getting weird looks, and even if not, my brain was pretty apt at conjuring reasons to be anxious. But now, facing people who knew me, who worked with me, look at me in shock and fear, I had no choice but to admit that things had changed; perhaps irrevocably. My life was no longer as it had been before.

  Malyn Tol was the first to regain her footing, unwrapping herself from the other woman and rushing to grab my arms.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, looking at my face with worry. Deep lines sprouted from the corners of her eyes and mouth, the kind formed from frequent smiling. Now, however, she was somber.

  My throat tightened, and I realized I wasn’t able to say a word. How could I be all right? My entire nation was gone, and we were heading toward the first major conflict in Dahlsian history.

  “I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around me, but what would be a comforting gesture for any other person, only made me even more tense. Tarvissi weren’t big on physical contact and most Dahlsi kept their respective distance, so I never got used to being hugged. At best, it felt awkward, at worst—like this moment—it became oppressive. Luckily, she seemed to realize that, because she quickly released me.

  “Where are you gonna go?” asked Argan Am.

  He was an unusual sight for a Dahlsi, with a reddish-brown skin, dark eyes, and a completely bald head. I thought he must have a drop of alien blood in him—possibly Chaarite—but never got up the nerve to ask. He also had three fingers on his left hand and four on his right, all apart from thumbs fused together.

  “To Maurir,” I replied automatically, and only then realized the reason for his question.

  “Of course he is,” snapped Malyn Tol, glaring at Argan Am. He was a sorcerer and the unofficial leader of our team, but Malyn Tol had a way with people. She turned back to me and said, “As soon as I heard what happened, I ran to Laik Var to tell him that if he wanted to deport you, he’d have to do it over my dead body. You’re one of us, Aldait Han. We wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

  Nice sentiment, but I didn’t believe it. Not standing here, taller and wider than any of the people around, with my tanned complexion starkly contrasting their chalky paleness. In the last two cycles I spent working for Mespana, I learned to shave my face and cut my hair short, wear a skin-tight uniform, and speak Dahlsi-é, but now I realized how ridiculous my attempts were.

  I would never be one of them.

  And yet hearing Malyn Tol’s words, I felt a bit of my tension melting. I gave my best attempt at summoning a smile, hoping to let her know I appreciated her effort.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She nodded solemnly and stepped back.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Saral Tal.

  Out of everyone on our team, I knew him the best, and not only because we worked together more often than the rest. He was talkative when I was quiet, and that’s how we got along. I never doubted, though, that after our missions ended, he was ready to return to his thousands of friends and forget about me until next time. But it was nice while it lasted.

  I shook my head, not sure how to answer. “I try not to think about it.”

  “Not thinking about problems doesn’t make them go away,” noted Vareya La. She was the youngest of us—ten cycles at most, barely an adult—with the last traces of teenage acne on her face. Sorox was her first mission, and I’d almost expected her to run by now.

  “Could anything make my problems go away?” I retorted.

  Vareya La looked down and I felt like an asshole.

  “It wasn’t right what
they did,” Argan Am added quickly. “The Directory, I mean…”

  “Yeah, it was definitely an overreaction,” agreed Saral Tal. “Let’s just hope it will blow over soon.”

  I nodded again, not sure how to answer. A part of me still hoped I would wake up, and it would all turn out to be a horrible dream. Or a practical joke. Or something. But I didn’t count on it. And honestly, could the whole situation blow over? If we went to Maurir and quelled the rebellion—then what? Would the Directory suddenly change their minds and withdraw their deportation order? Reach out and invite back the people they just kicked out?

  Would there be anyone to come back?

  “Do you have any family?” asked Argan Am.

  I flinched involuntarily.

  “No,” I said quickly, for a moment feeling ridiculously immature. From what I overheard, Argan Am had two sons. Plus, a steady relationship and a sorcerer degree. He couldn’t be much older than me, but he seemed so far ahead in life. “I mean… I have a mother and sister. They live… lived in Nes Peridion.”

  I trailed off, not sure why I even brought that up. But doing so made my thoughts turn toward the next problem.

  Nobody told me where they’d gone, but it’s not like there was much choice. The only way out of Meon Cluster led through Dahls, and the only ways out of Dahls were to Tarviss, Tayan, and Xzsin Nyeotl. The Tayani, despite their own internal conflicts, hated us with a passion born from thousands of cycles of feuds, and Xzsim were divided into innumerable tribes, only some of which allied with Dahls. Warriors could choose that path, but…

  We were farmers, not warriors. So, the only possible way out was Tarviss.

  And it wasn’t hard to imagine how the Tarvissi ruling class had reacted upon seeing their runaways back. I knew I had nothing to look for there with my family history. My mom probably used a false name—I only hoped she’d be able to keep the deception. I wished I could follow them and take them… somewhere. But with Dahls and the entire Meon cluster out of the question, I had no idea where to go.

  Malyn Tol squeezed my hand again. “I hope they’re all right.”

  Before I answered, a loud bellow reverberated through the air. I looked up to see a small, bright red miyangua standing on top of the train, quickly emptying their vocal sacks. Three Dahlsi stood at their side, barely taller than them, with silver sashes running across their chests. Even at this distance, I recognized Laik Var’s balding head and figured the other two were vessár-ai of Cohorts Eighth and Ninth.

  “All right, people, listen up,” spoke Laik Var. “Like most of you probably know, the rebels in Maurir blocked the merge. Luckily, our sorcerers managed to calculate an alternative route. We will take the train to Kooine, and from there to a newly discovered world, Espa Solia, where we’ll join the rest of Mespana and proceed to the artificially opened merge with Maurir. Any questions?”

  No one spoke. I wondered how we were going to reach Maurir. Here in Meon Cluster, most worlds only merged once, with one of the so-called junction worlds. By blocking this merge, the rebels basically cut Maurir off. Most people could only stand aside and wait for the merge to open. Luckily, Dahlsi were masters of cosmography.

  “Good. Now board up!”

  The crowd rushed toward the train, with no discernible order. I guessed none of us really knew how to act in such a big group; we usually worked in twos, threes, or fours, rarely more than six. I lingered, not fond of pushing and pulling, and in the process managed to lose my team. In the end, I had to take the last available seat on the train, right next to a furry kas’sham with an expressionless face and big, murderous eyes, who didn’t deign to speak with me.

  The journey went without a hitch, but it was long and tedious, giving me more than enough time to ruminate. I tried to distract myself by reading or watching the news on my obsidian mirror, but all that everyone seemed to talk about was the rebellion on Maurir, so for most of the way I just stared out the window. The pink bushland of Sfal was easy to lose oneself in. The rocky desert of Kooine was slightly less so, but there we got to leave the train—since the tracks only laid between junction worlds—and cover remaining distance by bikes, which allowed me a different kind of distraction.

  I thought I was getting used to people’s stares, but when we joined the rest of Mespana, my anxiety spiked again. Espa Solia was an ugly, swamp-covered world, refusing me even the small comfort of natural beauty. I was hoping we’d traverse it quickly, but after a few hours of trudging through the oily drizzle, we were told to set up camp. I hid in my tent and spent the evening chewing morosely on a raw rock apples.

  The next day we traveled farther, to the spot where a group of sorcerers drew a diagram of gold-and-black lines. Above it, the air above rippled as if above fire. I’ve seen such an effect enough times to know what it was: a merge.

  The path to Maurir stood open.

  Chapter 2

  I couldn’t stay in the camp. A shadow of guilt hung over me, as if the whole rebellion was somehow my fault. Although no one gave me a reason to feel this way, I guess it’s just that no one gave me a reason to feel different, either. Malyn Tol tried, but she was alone, and since she bestowed her motherly attention on everyone who seemed to need it, I found it hard to take her seriously.

  So, I wandered across the hills surrounding the camp and tried to reconcile what I saw with what I knew about Maurir. It wasn’t a big world; if I sat on my bike and stuck to the sky-dome, circling it would take about twenty hours. It was also rather flat, so I could probably scout it from edge to edge with a spyglass. Even now, I noticed the glimmer of the three seas and the pale belt of desert snaking across the world. Aviga, the closest thing to a mountain, stuck out near the geographical center, no bigger than my thumb. The most interesting feature, though, was the sky, with a sun shaped like an arch running from one edge to the other. Despite its size, the land beneath was quite comfortable: warmer than Kooine, but still cooler than Sfal. Permeability, as I’ve been told. The size of the sun didn’t matter as much as the amount of Vhalfrlight it let through.

  It’s only a shame that as far as I saw, the land beneath it was burned to the ground, with charred skeletons of farms and trees jutting out now and then. Only Montak Mansion, the biggest structure and the one taken over by the rebels, still stood, its walls darkened with soot and checkered black-and-white banners with green tridents hanging from the windows.

  Last time I was here, Maurir was covered with a mosaic of blue bushland and fields of imported Tarvissian greens divided with irrigation channels and dotted with picturesque villages. It had been colonized by Tarvissian farmers, sometime after the rebellion on Nes Peridion liberated them from their old lords. People quickly cleared large areas of rubbery growth and planted their own crops. The world had rich animal life, full of small, slippery creatures with no bones but many tentacles. They were useless for keeping Tarvissian plants alive, though, so colonists had to bring over pollinators and worms to keep the ground aerated. I know because my father told me how in Nes Peridion they’d had to do the same.

  It used to be a beautiful world, is what I’m saying. Now, the oppressive grays made me think of Sorox.

  My eyes drifted toward the nearest burned farm, and I couldn’t help wondering what our house looked like. Was it burned down to prevent return? Were our zeeäths roaming free? Or still locked in their coop, left to die? Was the garden overgrown with weeds? No, it was too early. Still, I thought about all the effort I’d put into weeding it and fixing roofs after the last storm—all for naught.

  A crunching sound snapped me to the present. I turned around to see Laik Var coming towards me with purpose, and I immediately looked away.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked, stopping next to me. His eyes were redder than usual, and a veil of magic covered the lower part of his face.

  “I’m fine,” I said mechanically.

  His eyes fell on the farm below and a frown formed on his forehead. “It’s not too late,” he said quietly. “If you
want to return to Sfal, the path is still open.”

  I peered off to the side, imagining I could see the air rippling, though, at this distance, it was impossible.

  “We had that conversation,” I replied, rubbing my forehead warily.

  “I know. But it must be different… seeing with your own eyes.”

  He had a point. Back in Sfal I was ready to do whatever it took to restore the peace, but now that I was here, my resolution was melting. What could I do about such destruction? Even if we were to defeat the rebels, what difference would it make if the entire colony was destroyed?

  “It seems I have nowhere to go,” I replied, waving my hand toward the horizon. I think he wanted to say something else—it was hard to tell with his mouth covered—but I didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to ponder the alternatives. If there even were alternatives. So I changed the subject, “Do we know anything about the rebels?”

  He shook his head. “No, not yet. The minister of immigration is going through the paperwork from the last couple of cycles. Before he comes back to us, your guess is as good as mine.” His speech slowed with each word, and at the end, he was almost reciting, quietly, uncertainly, “maybe even better.”

  My body tensed. I should have expected it, though. I should have been surprised it took him so long.

  Still, hoping it was not what it seemed, I swallowed heavily and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw him fidgeting. He was a decent guy. Very careful to never insult anybody. He was almost like a father to me, though of course I would never admit that. But now the situation has changed.

  He breathed out through clenched teeth. “You are Tarvissi.”

  A pit opened in my chest. It took me a moment to collect myself enough to form a reply. “I was born and raised in colonies; I’m as much Dahlsi as I’m Tarvissi.”