The Outworlder Page 5

  His lips twitched in a cruel smile when he addressed the crowd again, “Maybe we should cut his legs at the knees; he’d be just like them imps.”

  They laughed.

  I wanted to say something, but my jaw was frozen and my mind blank. And no, it wasn’t because of the looming death. My brain had already detected a much bigger threat.

  He might talk to me.

  Myar Mal, I thought. He didn’t send me here to die. I focused on the knife Karlan was wielding and tried to pretend it was just him and me. There was no crowd surrounding us, surrounding me, witnessing my ineptitude in all of its ingloriousness.

  “I come as a representative of Dahls,” I stammered. It sounded weak. Pathetic.

  Karlan’s face contorted in anger, and he jumped forward and slapped me. For a moment, my universe shrunk until nothing but the pain remained.

  “I see your manners have slipped in Dahls,” his sneer broke through. “But in Tarviss those like you don’t speak unless asked.”

  I was certainly glad I was not born in Tarviss.

  My mind cleared, but I did my best to limit the amount of sensations I let through. I focused on the slap. I could have avoided Karlan’s hand; I could have grabbed it and broken it. I was much stronger than him, after all. But that wouldn’t be wise when I was in his domain, surrounded by people, who, judging by the reaction, were his subjects. So I let it slip. I dropped my head, like the meek, obedient peon I was supposed to be, and hoped he didn’t notice that my hatred for him was as strong as his for me.

  “But, since you’re so eager, tell me if your masters have agreed to our terms,” he said.

  I had no masters, only higher-ups, but it wasn’t time for discussing semantics. I just repeated what I was instructed to say: “As part of Meon Cluster, Maurir belongs to Dahls, and is and will always be, subjected to Dahlsian rule.” I barely finished the first sentence before the crowd started booing. I waited for them to calm down before picking up, “if the people living here decide to live according to Tarvissian laws, they’re free to do so. If they want to obey the Tarvissian Council, they can. If they want to pay taxes to Tarviss, they can. But only after paying their due to Dahls.”

  “See, that’s the problem,” said Peridion, waving his knife in circles. “Dahlsian rule means the people’s rule, and if we let the people decide, sooner or later the decision will fall to those like you. And we can’t have that.”

  I ignored him and continued with my message. “If you surrender now, none of you will get hurt. You will be deported and barred from reentering, but the Directory will consider allowing other people of Tarvissian descent to enter the colonies in the future.”

  Was it a laughable sentence? Yes, it was. Did it make my blood boil when I heard it? You bet it did. Those assholes were murderers and insurgents. They deserved to die.

  But there were too many of them. Dahls had never faced such a big group and was not eager to try now, especially when there was a risk of angering its bigger neighbor. So, the Directory was willing to let them out, to restore the peace and pretend the whole thing never happened.

  I understood that. I hated it, but I understood.

  “Are you listening to me, or are you just repeating what they told you?” Peridion’s eyes narrowed. “I shouldn’t expect much; you were always dumb, even for a peon. Let me say it simply: Dahls has lost this colony. It’s Tarviss’s territory now. If your people come here, we’ll kill them.”

  “You don’t even have a connection to Tarviss,” I said, letting my opinion slip for the first time.

  They didn’t think this uprising through. It was true, they could stay in the mansion for days but certainly not forever. With the merge blocked, they had no means to bring in more people, weapons, or food. Mespana could step aside and wait for them to starve.

  But, I guessed, we needed a show of strength to discourage other potential dissidents. Besides, making sure the rebels wouldn’t try to expand their territory to Kooine would require a constant guard, something we couldn’t afford. So maybe quelling this rebellion as soon as possible was our best option.

  “That was one of our terms,” said Peridion condescendingly.

  Yes, and Tayrel Kan had fun responding to it.

  “You assholes think it’s enough to draw a magic circle, make fart noises, and you can bend the universe to your will,” he’d mocked. “It’s bullshit. The laws of physics are unbreakable. You can’t merge the worlds that are not properly aligned in the first place. It’s just physically impossible. Tell it to those morons.”

  “It can’t be done,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Maurir and Tarviss are not aligned,” I explained, trying not to mimic Tayrel Kan’s tone. “They can’t be merged.”

  “Somehow all the worlds can be aligned if the Dahlsi want them to,” he spat, and I realized he knew as much about magic as I did. That didn’t stop him from making outrageous claims and demanding the universe to obey, like the spoiled brat he was.

  “Not really,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Look, I’m not a sorcerer. People smarter than I made calculations; they’re in my pouch if you want to check.”

  “I’m not interested in calculations; I’m interested in results.”

  “And the results are physically impossible.”

  “Well, maybe we just didn’t state our terms clear enough.”

  Before I could respond, someone grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

  “I think we should remind your friends in Dahls we’re not playing games here,” said Peridion, coming closer to me, waving his knife menacingly.

  “Think about it,” I rasped, trying to break the grasp, but those who held me—at least two—were stronger. “This is your last chance to back off. If you kill me, there will be no more talk; Dahlsi will kill you all!”

  “It would do you better to stick to farming,” he said, ignoring my words. “You wanted to play with real men? Now you’re gonna pay for it.”

  “You know, I think I figured out why you cling so much to old customs,” I spat, desperately trying to break the grip of the thugs holding me. “They give you a sense of privilege, no matter who you are as a person. Because stripped of them, you are nothing!”

  “Well, I hope your personal qualities have earned you enough merit among those imps to grant you a decent funeral once we’re done with you.”

  Someone’s hand grabbed my face and forced my eye wide open. Peridion was standing right next to me now, his blade tracing lines over my cheek.

  I was not a religious man, but at that moment, I prayed. If there was ever a god who listened to those like me, I prayed for salvation.

  Lo-and-behold, just when the blade touched my lower eyelid, my vision blurred, and the grip of my fellow Tarvissi lighten. Peridion’s eyes widened comically. He threw himself at me, and I instinctively jerked back—or tried to, because something hard was pressing against my back and a new set of arms, smaller and weaker, held me down. My instincts kicked in, and I struggled to break free, barely noticing what was happening around me.

  “For Vhalfr’s sake, Aldait Han, calm down!”

  The voice was familiar, but my addled mind couldn’t place it. Something soft and warm fell on my face and I sensed a sweet, nauseating scent. Kalikka. I held my breath, but it was too late: the drug had dispersed into my system, and my panic faded into a strange numbness.

  When I stopped moving, the person holding me removed the mask. My vision was filled by a bright disk with four angry red lines, and it took me a while to recognize it as a face.

  “What have you done?” I rasped. I wasn’t sure what had happened, only that something was not as it should be.

  Tayrel Kan clicked his tongue in disapproval.

  “You really don’t appreciate your leaders. You thought we were just going to send you to death?”

  That was the plan. So I’d been told.

  “What have you done?” I repeated, feeling the drug leaving my system as fas
t as it had overcome it. I tried to get up, but Tayrel Kan’s hand held me down.

  “Calm down, I said, or I’ll dope you again. It was a simple projection.” My face must have been making my confusion, clear, because he started explaining: “We transferred your mind and soul into a golem, wrapped it in an illusion to make it all nice and pretty, then sent it forth. Your body was here the whole time, completely safe.”

  “When… did you do that?”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew. The moment I lost consciousness under Amma La’s brush.

  “Seriously, you should be more aware of what’s happening to your body,” murmured Tayrel Kan.

  I glared at him, but his face split into a wide grin.

  How the fuck could I have known? It’s not like I understood the sigils they were drawing on my back. And no one had bothered to tell me.

  “Look, it was the lady’s idea.” The mage spread his arms as if trying to say he had nothing to do with it. The warning hiss came from the other side of the cot, and when I turned, I saw Laik Var glaring at Tayrel Kan with murder in his eyes. Not that it left an impression: the sorcerer’s amusement didn’t slip for a moment.

  “Apparently, we needed you to act naturally. They had to believe it was really you, or the whole ruse wouldn’t have worked. And we weren’t sure how good of an actor you are.”

  Bile rose in my throat. They let me believe I was going to die; that I was going to be tortured. And didn’t even bother pulling me out until the last possible moment!

  “Oh, I’ll show you how good of an actor I am!” I growled, sitting up and reaching for the sorcerer, but he dissolved in a cloud of smoke, leaving only a toothy grin hanging in the air.

  “Calm down!” I heard Laik Var, and the cycles of conditioning kicked in; I obeyed.

  Still, my eyes kept darting around, trying to locate the sorcerer. Only then did I realize we were in the medical tent, back where the initial spell was cast. The cot on the right side was empty, despite me clearly remembering getting up from it—and lying down on the one I was on now. How could I miss that? Was I really that dumb?

  “Your mind was a bit addled,” said Tayrel Kan, appearing out of nowhere.

  Was this bastard reading my thoughts? I made sure to send him a few nasty words. But there was another thing gnawing at me, not letting me just accept it and move on.

  “That wasn’t the only reason,” I deduced. “You wanted to see what I’d do. Where my loyalties lie.” I repeated Myar Mal’s words, heavy and bitter with the new meaning. “If I decided to betray you and join the enemy… you would finish me before I spilled your secrets.”

  Laik Var pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. He didn’t expect me to figure that out, I realized, which added to my growing sense of betrayal.

  Tayrel Kan, on the other hand, merely scoffed. “Well, of course we were covering our asses! We have a problem with your buddies over there! But we covered yours, too, saving you from a slow and painful death. So, you know, you’re welcome.”

  I didn’t answer. He was right. I hoped those Tarvissian bastards had fun with the pile of mud they were left with. I only wished it was rigged to blow up, but I guess there are only so many spells you could place on one machine.

  But still…

  “Catch your breath,” advised Laik Var, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We have a meeting in half an hour.”

  Chapter 5

  I was back in the vessár-ai tent. This time, I got a chair; too small and so uncomfortable that I considered just sprawling on the floor. But I welcomed it. If I were forced to stand, I would probably collapse.

  “How are you holding up?”

  I glanced up, and my eyes met Myar Mal’s. As it had before, his dominating presence made me forget about the thirteen other people—Tayrel Kan included—who were there with us. However, I wasn’t sure anymore if it was a good thing.

  “Sorry?” I asked, instantly hating how dumb I sounded. I came here for questioning, but that was the last question I expected.

  “You were almost tortured and killed; how are you holding up?” His tone verged on impatience and I flinched involuntarily.

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled, dropping my head again.

  “Are you sure?”

  I felt his inquisitive gaze on me. “Yes, Myar Mal.”

  “Your hands are shaking.”

  I peeked down; he was right. I clenched my hand into a fist and wrapped the other one around it.

  “It’s… not that,” I murmured, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

  “What then?”

  The truth sounded stupid even for me, but no matter how long I tried to come up with a plausible explanation, my head remained empty. The silence was getting more awkward by the heartbeat.

  “Nothing,” I said lamely, hating myself a little more.

  “You don’t have to deal with everything on your own,” his voice softened, once again making me feel pitiful.

  “I’m used to it,” I replied automatically.

  “Maybe. But it’s unhealthy. You’re probably not comfortable asking for help. You outworlders seem to think it’s shameful, or some shit. But all things considered, I’d rather have you humiliated but alive than proud and dead. So, I strongly suggest you go to the medical team and talk to someone about your experiences. Understood?”

  It wasn’t pride, but I was so used to people misreading my feelings, I didn’t even try to protest. “Yes, Kar-vessár.”

  I’d rather return to Montak Mansion.

  “All right, then,” said Myar Mal, leaning back in his chair and returning to his brisk, official tone. “Tell us what you found out.”

  My tension melted a bit. This was the type of conversation I was fine with—a cold, official report, nothing more. Nothing personal.

  “I know the leader, Karlan Peridion,” I started.

  “Peridion?” asked one vessár I didn’t recognize, an older man with steely hair and a repeatedly broken nose.

  I realized that apart from Myar Mal and Laik Var—and Tayrel Kan—I couldn’t name any of the present people. When I joined Mespana, I was probably introduced to all of our leaders, but it was so long ago. I knew I could ask anyone anytime, but that would be awkward, so I didn’t. Besides, up until now, I only really needed to recognize Laik Var.

  “Of Nes Peridion fame?” continued the old man.

  I nodded. Nes Peridion was my homeworld—like Maurir, inhabited mostly by immigrants from Tarviss. It was named by the late Arlo, Karlan’s father, and the Dahlsian officials wouldn’t let anyone change it.

  “From what I’ve heard,” inserted Myar Mal, “your families share a history. Would you mind telling us more about it?”

  I dared a peek at his face, but it showed nothing but polite curiosity. I wondered how much he knew. For denizens of Nes Peridion, it seemed like a defining moment, but there were thousands of colonies in Meon. Millions of people, from all species and cultures. Perhaps what was so important for us, warranted nothing but a brief note for the Dahlsi.

  “Twenty cycles ago, the Tarvissian noble Arlo Peridion decided to settle in one of the worlds in the Meon Cluster. He brought his whole court, a small army, and a couple thousand workers. Soon, though, the workers realized that without aid from Tarviss, there was no way for Peridion to enforce his rule. So, they rebelled.”

  “Your father was among the leaders of the rebellion, correct?”

  I licked my lips, suddenly dry. “More than that. Haneaith Tearshan killed Arlo Peridion.”

  A heavy silence fell on the tent.

  After a while, Myar Mal asked, “What happened then?”

  I shrugged. “Our people created our own state and pledged fealty to Dahls.”

  “With no repercussions?” inquired a man with a slight tan on his forehead and pale cheeks and chin, giving an impression of a recently shaved beard.

  “No,” answered another vessár, a woman for a change. She was old, her hair completely white and her face
marked with deep furrows. If appearance was anything to go by, she could have been around when it happened. “It was the very beginning of Mespana. We probably didn’t have resources to challenge, as Aldait Han said, a couple of thousand people. Especially since they didn’t want to fight us.”

  “And Tarviss didn’t call for retribution?” asked the half-tanned guy.

  “They were rebuffed,” replied the elder man. “We couldn’t extradite all the rebels, and we refused to let the Tarvissian army into our worlds.”

  “What about Karlan Peridion?” demanded Myar Mal, putting an end to the disruption.

  “He is Arlo’s son,” I explained. “He was a child at the time of the revolution, so he was spared and adopted by one of the peon families.”

  “Did you know him personally?”

  I shrugged, too late realizing this gesture probably meant nothing to the Dahlsi. “He was raised among us, but he was never one of us. He’s faithful to the old Tarvissian class system.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I snorted. “He’s a noble, I’m a peon. He wouldn’t speak to me unless to give me an order.”

  “I guess that didn’t sit well with your… community.”

  I took a moment to consider the question. I couldn’t say from experience—I was born after the rebellion, when he had already been “put into place” and never wondered what that meant. But when I was growing up, he was a sulky, moody youngster who always kept to himself. We often bumped into each other while trying to avoid everyone else. Only by speaking with older children did I learn that the first few times he had tried to boss others around, he was beaten to a pulp. So, he stopped commanding and, soon after, stopped talking to anyone other than his group of cronies.

  But the Dahlsi didn’t have to know that.

  “He was free to leave at any point,” I stated instead.

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling a pang of annoyance. “I wasn’t interested in his whereabouts when I was living in Nes Peridion—and certainly not after I joined Mespana.”

  Then I recalled the clothing he wore in Montak Mansion. Although of a familiar cut, it was of better quality than anything I’d ever seen: a shirt of blue silk and a green jyat embroidered with black and white beads. I thought he must’ve gotten it off world, perhaps even in Tarviss itself. But when I opened my mouth to say that, the next question was already being asked.