The Siluvara Files
The Many Journeys of Ian Scranton
Chapter 7: Wrench in the Works
 
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"When a gal pact's desire to have you is greater than your desire to remain single and free, you will be bound." - Siluvaran proverb (translated)
 
"My God... the sky... it's full of... single women!"
"But they're... fairies."
"Doesn't matter when they're women!" - anonymous conversation
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Nidale could hardly believe how much magic energy she was receiving from absorbing this wingless human Ian Scranton into her being. It was understandable that as sparingly slow as her body was going about repurposing him, that she would receive more fuel than normal. Still, even as she teleported all the way to the southern land of Nazon beyond the horizon, over the Etaruar mountains and into the ruins of the Arajo Freehold mothership Hazina, her magic reserves remained at full capacity, and there was still a great deal of Ian's life force left to convert into more magic.
 
Her abdomen glowed quite faintly as she strove to let as little of her absorbed magic energy bleed out of her body. Still, this was an unusual situation - unlike with others that she had taken, she was consistently gaining more mana* from absorbing Ian than she could hope to exert off. She could certainly restrict the flow of magic to her reserves, but she couldn't block it completely. The excess magic energy lit up her body, burning off into thin air; in extreme circumstances where one couldn't stop such wasteful outflows, an uncontrollable outburst of pure magic would result in a massive explosion. Of course, Nidale was well trained to prevent this, such that it was pure instinct for her now. Many of her fellow warriors, though, had released such excess magic energy earlier that day, but such was an act of sheer discipline and control, directing their destructive outflows at the doomed city of Oratho. As a testament to the might of Morgania's disciples, there was nothing left of those man-eating fairies but their silhouettes imprinted into the scorched, cratered landscape.
 
Nidale imagined with great amusement that she might have been able to destroy all of Oratho by herself, by unleashing the magic energy she was receiving from this human. It was as if she had taken one of the Bollar clan soldiers with her to battle. Indeed, Ian might even be mistaken for one of the Elder race, had he been darker of complexion.
 
Finally, on her ninth strenuous long-range teleport a whole continent away from where she had picked up Ian, she came within sight of her home. To the distant west of her now lay a wall of Etaruar mountains that soared ominously above the entire weather line, curving all the way around toward the eastern horizon and the ocean beyond, with billowing, menacing clouds covering the tapering eastern edge of the mountain range like a curtain of dark gray. Even from this far away she could see lights flashing within the monstrous thunderstorm raging in that direction. It all seemed so small from here; but in due time that menacingly dark weather system would make its way around the mountain's base and swell in might until it encompassed this entire region. While it was pleasantly warm and sunny far to the north where the enemy city of Oratho once existed, here on the other side of what the Bollars called the equatorial line, things often became very stormy during this time of year.
 
The mountains' shadows crept over the network of deep, wide gashes winding their way toward the forests and the ocean to the north and the frozen wastes beyond the jungles to the south. The canyons were numerous, like the cracks in a dried riverbed, except they were infinitely wider, carpeted by thick sheets of mossy green - a vast forest that was easily visible from the air during the day. At this time in the evening, wherever the rock split there were myriads of glittering gems - homes of various sorts - lining the sheer cliffs all the way down to the valley-like canyon floors. The people below were infinitesmal from this altitude, not even appearing as ants; even individual structures were impossible to make out. Only the collective patterns of lights cast by crystal orbs or from the windows of many closely grouped homes, were visible in the cities below as twilight enveloped the land.
 
This was home for Nidale - and home for the Nangwaya and Biashal tribes who lived together here in harmony.
 
Her heart swelled with admiration for Shahab at that moment; he could have let off in those warrior women's faces the moment his mother Linjara had walked away. But instead, his anger cooled, and he came to understand his mother's wisdom as no one else could: it served just as well to let those impudent warriors be slapped in the face by their own shame. Shahab's aversion to allowing hard feelings to fester among them over the actions of a Silurhean who should have been dead by now, were particularly inspiring.
 
As she stood in midair with her hands at her sides, looking off into the already starlit sky, Nidale decided she would impart his wisdom to all her Biashal warriors, and to those of the Nangwaya who would listen, of which there were legion.
 
Studying the thuderstorms moving in from the far east, Nidale decided that she could make the distance to her final destination in one jump.
 
***
 
Ethara smiled as she arrived at her destination and was greeted by a fierce storm. She only knew it was a storm because she could look up and see the hard driving rain coming down in blinding waves from the vast, steel-like ceiling of dark, bitterly weeping stormclouds blotting out the view of the Etaruar mountains, creeping on their way to sweep over her homeland. However, she could not feel any of it; she had a shield spell protecting her body like a second skin, and even if she didn't she would still be warmed by the prodigious amount of magic energy flowing into her reserves to keep her fully charged.
 
Of course, she had her husband Shahab to thank for that; she briefly looked down at her lower abdomen. Not that she couldn't have done it without him; she had more than enough magic within her to jump across the continent. There was something she never stopped being fascinated at the sight of the faint glow radiating from a spot just above her womanhood to taper off as it moved through her nerve fibers into her belly and her thighs. No matter how many times she did this, it was never a mundane experience to absorb someone into herself. There was never not a hint of guilty perversity in feeling her body changing her husband into magic energy to sustain her; but therein lie the excitement and arousal as well. There was the intimacy of sharing his thoughts and memories, the joy of bathing his mind in ecstasy and then the pride that came with releasing his soul into a new, stronger version of his mortal shell. Ultimately, there was the euphoria of two temporarily becoming one - at least, there would be if she was anywhere but here.
 
To Ethara, the Hazina ruins to the far east edge of the Etaruar mountain range was like a field trip to a fairy tale land shaped out of, as her husband Shahab put it, petty childhood nightmare fantasies designed to keep the young ones from even considering making the days-long long trek to the almost exclusively Bollar-inhabited zone. It was a desolate land, a normally foggy graveyard of twisted rusting towers of metal and the bones of giant monsters, all haunted by the ghosts of dead people and ships from past battles in realms far beyond the sky as they knew it. What once appeared to be a marvel of architecture fused with mathematics in ancient computer photos had been reduced to nothing more than decaying ruins shrouded in swirling clouds of ferric dust there in their realm. Charred, lifeless remnants of great trees rose from vast tracts of scorched ground like porcupine quills, all painted a toxic-looking rusty hue. The Hazina ruins were as different as they were physically distant from the vast oasis that Ethara called home. Certainly, children feared to visit such a disturbing place - but adult fairies knew it was a harmless place, at least for the Nangwaya and Biashal.
 
What horrified Ethara and her husband was what could not be seen by those flying over the ruins - all the things that occurred within the facilities far below, hidden from those who were not determined to probe beyond the veil. Although fairies were allowed to visit here, few did unless called upon, for no one wanted to see the experiments and acts of torture being performed upon any Silurhean unfortunate enough to be taken here as a prisoner.
 
Ethara lifted her chin briefly to take another look at the massive, black stormclouds blocking out the stars; then she raised her hand and waited. Within a heartbeat's time, the universe exploded into blinding white brilliance and a deafening roar registered with her ears as merely a quiet crackle with a moderate thump that only threatened to rattle her bones.
 
Lightning. Adults learned to shield themselves from this loud, energetic force of nature, or even absorb it into magic energy, but children were quite vulnerable to its deadly effects. As soon as the storm reached her home, the young ones would be confined to their homes. Of course, if the lightning didn't present enough of a threat, the fierce winds here would scour their way through the canyons, accelerating to hurricane speeds, snatching children caught out in the open and hurling them to their deaths. During storms like this, heavier things than teenagers were routinely thrown around and smashed against the sheer walls of the canyons which their tribe called home. All homes were magically shielded against being ripped from their foundations during these storms. Sometimes the storms got so bad that the greater mages would have to band together to weaken the weather system or even deflect it away from the canyons.
 
Lightning strikes pestered Ethara, zeroing in on her like a bad reputation as she made her descent, forcing her to correct her vision to compensate for the repeated strobes of light.
 
Nestled within the rusting ruins of the once starfaring Arajo clan's mothership Hazina, what was known as the Hazina Colony occupied a sprawling, shallow crater beneath her, its secretive shroud of fog having been swept away by the fast-moving storm. Built up from the salvaged remains of both the Arajo fleet and other building materials and ore mined from the planet itself, Hazina City was home to a million Bollars of the Arajo clan - mostly soldiers and their families, and support personnel. The city was covered in greenery, in a startling contrast with the metal and chitin boneyard that surrounded the area.
 
Red and green lights flashed below, illuminating the many odd shaped buildings carved out of the ship's fuselage. The entire area was littered with huge bone-like growths that plunged deep into the ground and rose above the cloud level - the remains of a creature that once swam among the stars, until according to legend, its life was ended in a battle with the Arajo clan's starfaring ancestors. These bones were so large and durable that even more facilities were carved into them; as Ethara approached a row of curved ribs reaching high into the clouds, she could see the lights from hundreds of offices and homes built inside. To the north end of the man-made valley, a giant, broken chitinous clamshell the size of a large island, provided cover for even more lights - therein lie the city-sector of Doruba. Two more broken clamshells, both half the size of the first, lay to the east and west; and her destination was Doruba.
 
Beneath the shelter of the clamshell to the east, a sprawling construction yard sparkled conspicuously with the flashes of millions of furiously active welding machines. Ethara shuddered to imagine what they were building there. Through her link with Shahab's mind, she came to understand fully well; the Arajo Clan was gearing up for war.
 
During Ethara's descent, the wind unexpectedly calmed down and the rain stopped. She glanced up into the sky to see sheets of rain hammering an invisible glass dome, becoming streams of water running down toward the exposed soil beyond.
 
A shield. One that allowed Ethara through, but not the rain and howling wind... clearly the work of either a mage or a psionicist. It was well known that psionicists were common in this area.
 
***
 
Rijaal N'han Haj-Bollar stood on the balcony of his secondary home in the Clan Council Building overlooking the entire District of Doruba, bathing in the open, yet warm air of his climate-controlled suite. The storm raging above the city was, from the perspective of those living within the shielded colony zone, an event to be watched and not felt; but from where he stood, it was hard to even imagine that there was a storm at all.
 
The city below was an impressive sight under the massive canopy of what had once been a space monster's mighty carapace, which now served as a roof that seemed to extend out forever into the distance. Ironically sheltered under the shell of a dead Grue Combine starship, the city had long ago surpassed the splendor depicted by the nostalgic photographs of the cities within the belly of the Bollar colony ships led by the Hazina, even if, like the other two sheltered city sections, it was much smaller in scope. Skyscrapers built from synthesized materials based on Grue Combine alien chitin defied all previous limits of architectural engineering. Had there not been a great shell covering Doruba city, blocking out the storm, there were at least four towers before him that would have surpassed the clouds. Under the darkness of the canopy the city was alive with countless lights and a prodigious amount of traffic. This was, of course, because their colony existed on solid ground, and not in space with formerly energy-hogging artificial gravity systems that were now at least 300 years out of date; geothermal power came aplenty, making it unnecessary to rebuild the unfathomably huge engines that carried them through space centuries ago.
 
But the Haj-Bollar family was not satisfied with the Doruba City as it was. Back when Rijaal was a child, commuter vehicles could not float, as to do so required either fuel-intensive retro jet engines that spewed pollution into the ever-precious air of a starship's inner atmosphere, and anti-gravity engines were far too bulky. Rijaal worked hard, alongside the rest of his family, to finish the technological research that his grandmother Sareela had started. At the age of 19, he was honored with riding in the first commuter craft endowed with a cheap, commercially available anti-gravity engine. Nowadays, forty years later, Rijaal could not even count the number of commuter craft that were using anti-gravity engines to move around the skyline below him.
 
At the same time, his family scored a second great victory for science: the rebuilding of the Hyper-Rapid Antiproton Plant (HRAP), which was destroyed centuries ago, gave rise to the production of antimatter weapons - a dire necessity for the Arajo Freehold military's ambitions to make the world safe for their people.
 
It was their achievements, compounded by Rijaal's opportunistic move to integrate these new technologies into the military, that led to Rijaal becoming the first descendant of the Bollar bloodline to achieve the status of Arajo Freehold Clanlord in the last three generations.
 
It was a humbling thing to reflect on his family's history; his parents and grandparents had fought hard to put their family back in control of the clan. They had sacrificed all their personal dreams for the cause of lifting Rijaal onto their shoulders to reach for what tradition used to say was their rightful heritage. Upon his selection as the new Clanlord, they even sacrificed their own status in life, stepping down from the Clan Council to avoid biasing the Council unfairly in Rijaal's favor.
 
It was now up to Rijaal to ensure that in the remaining eighteen years of his twenty year reign, that his parents' and grandparents' sacrifice hadn't been in vain. And he had solid plans to that effect; like his parents, he was reaching for the stars - although a bit more literally.
 
"The antimatter weapons test was a success," the not so unexpected voice of Jisani, his mother, said softly behind him. He had heard two pairs of footsteps approaching behind him, but did not turn until she spoke. "Nenothab City is no more."
 
Ma'amud Haj-Bollar, his father, accompanied her. Both were youthful looking, just like their son, as they routinely kept themselves rejuvenated in visits with the Dalassi and Nivalavi stationed in the city of Narjeed under the canopy to the west. Jisani was by far the oldest, having lived over a hundred years with the help of the fairies; as Ma'amud often said, he was only the head of their family with Jisani's permission. Ma'amud and Jisani wore matching ceremonial orange and brown tunics that they wore to observe a council meeting, from which they had obviously just returned.
 
Rijaal turned completely around and bowed. "Mother... father... I'm pleased to see everything is going as planned."
 
"The Council will now most certainly accept your plans," Ma'amud explained, "in exchange for you accepting... theirs."
 
Rijaal nodded. "They fell right in line. Good. We have suffered long enough the humiliation of holding our line here in the land of Nazon, taking cover under the remains of the Grue Combine's space monsters..." his voice grew louder and more harsh as he began to spit out his words with disgust, "living under the shadows of their skeletons, cannibalizing the wreckage of our own stellar greatness!" He threw his hands up with disgust as the sheer indignation of their people's situation fell upon him all over again. "Who knows how far the universe has left us behind, because of the Silurheans!" He then turned back to look at the distant land beyond the cover of the shell protecting their city, sighing. "Mother... father... you have to understand my logic here."
 
"Oh, we understand..." Jisani came up to her son's side, taking his hand and looking up into his dark brown eyes. "We've understood all along. This is far from the distraction that some see it as."
 
"Indeed my son, yours is a masterful, far-sighted plan," Ma'amud nodded. "We must test our mettle with the enemies here and prove we are mighty enough to annihilate them from the face of this world, before we re-take our place among the stars. We must also have a homeworld of our own from which to send future generations of Ke'yeppans** and Incorruptible Children to join us... and a world to return to for those who become homesick."
 
Rijaal looked down at his father as he spoke; his superior height was a gift that could only have passed down from his great grandfather on his mother's side of the family tree. His younger brother Darwesh was an imposing figure as well; even his sisters Kabele and Paka were only a hair shorter than their father. "This represents a most fortunate change in plans for my meeting with the Nidale and Shahab..."
 
His father looked to the sky beyond Rijaal. "Speaking of which... it appears that they have already arrived."
 
Rijaal bowed deeply, allowing his mother to kiss him on his forehead; then he stood upright again. "Until later, mother... father."
 
His parents then bowed and walked back inside the living room to exit the suite.
 
Rijaal then straightened out his bulky, black armored military uniform and turned to look upon Ethara as she glided in for a gentle landing on his patio.
 
A brief flash heralded the appearance of her husband Shahab an instant later, dressed in his alternative white and orange royal tunic.
 
"Greetings, your highness," Ethara bowed; her greeting was subsequently repeated by Shahab. "I've brought Shahab of Indumon to request an audience with you."
 
Rijaal waved her off. "That's alright," he said, rolling his eyes. "Please," He bowed slightly, as if to give emphasis his words. "Not even my so-called subjects are that... reverent. My name is Rijaal," he extended his hand to Ethara for a handshake, then to Shahab. "That is what friends call me."
 
As imposing as Shahab was among his people, even he had to look up into the eyes of Rijaal N'han Haj-Bollar. Rijaal, like his maternal grandfather, towered over most men, and was built like a tank. Years of military combat training and accompanying his troops in attacks on Silurhean camps, had both shaped Rijaal into a fine warrior and endowed him with quite a reputation as an accomplished big game hunter. His choice to wear his gray and ebony camouflage combat gear instead of the standard golden robes his clanlord forebears of generations past had worn in public, was more than enough of a clue to the world that he was a warrior as much as he was a leader, and that he would not be seen as going soft.
 
Shahab steeled himself, silently giving thanks that Rijaal was the friendly sort. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Rijaal." He then turned and kissed his wife tenderly. "Ethara, my love..."
 
It was then that Ethara sprung upon him her change of heart. Turning to Rijaal, she requested, "If you don't mind, I would like to stay here with my husband..."
 
Rijaal then said, "Ah, Nidale. Good. Everyone is here."
 
Sure enough, Nidale came from the other end of the patio, from around the corner, leading a confused-looking man by the hand.
 
Studying the human in his gray robe as his eyes darted around this way and that, Rijaal gestured. "Ian Scranton, I presume?"
 
Ian nodded, rubbing his chin, marvelling in how smooth it was again. He had learned a lot while being absorbed into Nidale, but in this case, seeing - or feeling - was part of believing. But then, he also felt healthier than ever, too. He even felt lighter... or was it stronger? He couldn't tell as of yet.
 
Roshana...
 
Ian suddenly staggered backwards as her name came to mind, as well as all that Nidale had imparted to him. Roshana had been captured and taken prisoner... and Hollani was dead.
 
Fortunately, Ian had been given time to adjust to the awful turn of events subsequent to his having been caught by Nidale; he knew what to expect upon his placement in his new mortal shell. He even knew the language of the Silurheans, which was the language of the Nivalavi and Dalassi as well; and that of the Bollars.
 
He struggled to straighten himself up and put his shock and dismay aside, in an attempt to be polite. Extending his hand, his voice trembled but his words came out clearly for the Clanlord before him to understand: "Yes, sir... I'm Ian Scranton, from planet Earth."
 
Rijaal shook his hand with a hearty laugh. The silhouetted man loomed over Ian like a small mountain - by Ian's judgement, he had to be pushing six and a half feet by American standards. Even the other fairy - whom he could tell by his silhouette was male - just about stood in this man's shadow. He was dressed more like a military leader. If this was the Clanlord of which Nidale spoke, he looked more like a sword-wielding leader of a junta who'd just gotten back from deposing a legitimate leadership by military force. However, he would never say that to his face. The man seemed just a bit too jovial, in Ian's opinion, but he decided he was just being too quick to judge. "Just call me Rijaal, young man," he responded back with a bow. "For God shall call us by our names, not our titles."
 
"Is that Scripture?" he said, in Rijaal's language.
 
"Very perceptive," the Clanlord replied with a nod.
 
Nidale gently touched his back. "Are your legs steady yet?"
 
Ian nodded, glancing now and then at the spectacular view of the city sprawling out within what appeared to be the largest cave in the galaxy. "I think I'm ready for a nice walk." He fought the urge to take a couple of dancing steps to show off how strong he felt; he might make a fool of himself in the process.
 
"And as for you, Ethara..." Rijaal turned, "do you wish to remain with your husband?"
 
Ethara nodded, her hands clasped in front of her. "I would not leave my husband to face this alone."
 
All eyes except Ian's turned to her. "Ethara..." Nidale warned softly.
 
Rijaal raised an eyebrow. "Face this alone...? What do you mean?"
 
Shahab was quick to step in front of her. "I'm here to convey some requests from my people. A few things they've been grumbling about over the Relay-net, basically. A change in battle plans, plus a few other matters, if you will."
 
Rijaal had a sinking feeling about those words, but he maintained his cheerful tone nonetheless. "Requests?"
 
Shahab nodded. "Primarily, I would endeavor to convince you not to go through with your plan to wipe out all of the Silurheans. We will gladly kill the warriors, but the children, pregnant women and those who have abstained from flesh***, must be spared."
 
Rijaal was taken back by this. "That, again? I've already been through this with Chieftain Linjara. The Council just approved a declaration of war..."
 
Ethara and Shahab's eyes widened. "So we're just moving ahead with the extermination of the Silurheans? Over Linjara's objections..."
 
"But mass extermination is the only way to secure this planet..." Rijaal attempted to interject. "We strike, annihilate everything, and move on. It's the only way. The enemy will utterly overwhelm us if we let them bog us down..."
 
Shahab said insistently, "Sir, you are asking us to help you annihilate children. This goes against the will of the Nangwaya people." Rijaal opened his mouth to object, but Shahab continued, cutting him off: "It is a violation of our laws. Even if the laws of the Arajo Clan wholly approves of outright genocide, the Nangwaya will not be made to participate."
 
Rijaal sighed. "Surely you don't care that much about a bunch of carnivorous fairies-"
 
Shahab interjected with frustration. "But what about our Daelath camps? We would not indiscriminately slay those who are close to salvation!"
 
Rijaal was immediately taken aback by that statement. "I would never allow the Daelath camps to be violated. The Council would never dare to disturb them. That is holy ground to the Nivalavi, and thus by extension, to us as well."
 
"You're being evasive, sir," Shahab challenged; Ethara smiled slightly in admiration of her husband. "Will we be able to capture prisoners of war to bring to our Daelath camps?"
 
"Daelath camps?" Ian asked as Rijaal was busy explaining things to Shahab.
 
Nidale was quick to explain, "That is where we send carnivores like Roshana, who are either unwilling to consume flesh, or who can be persuaded not to. They wait there where they abstain from eating meat until their soul auras turn blue... when they become like us... and then we accept them as sisters and brothers among us."
 
Ian looked out at the mouth of the great psuedo-cavern. "Roshana..." Then, as the memories Nidale imparted to him began to rise back to the surface, he turned sharply to Nidale, his face twisting into a scowl. "You mean to tell me you have this... meat detox thing going on... and yet you killed Hollani anyway?!"
 
Rijaal, interrupted by Ian's sudden outburst, cast a confused look at Nidale. "Who is this... Hollani?"
 
Nidale sighed. "She was a flesh eating Arari-"
 
Ian turned to her, his jaw falling open with disbelief. "Flesh-eating?! She was no such thing! She wouldn't even eat a fly!"
 
"She devoured you," the Bishal warrior countered.
 
"WHAT?! She swallowed me and put a fucking SHIELD around me to keep another fairy from eating me," Ian snarled back. "I don't know what universe you come from but where I come from, devouring someone doesn't include-"
 
"She was a man-eating Silurhean," Nidale insisted. "She enjoyed it. Your own memories say-"
 
Ian suddenly exploded, his eyes starting to visibly well up. "SHE WAS MY FUCKING FRIEND, GOD DAMMIT!!! She did it to save my damned life! And your 'Dalassi' goons just up and... you fucking killed her!"
 
Even Rijaal cringed as Ian buried his head in his hands and crouched on the ground. "She saved my life out there..." he moaned through his hands. "Oh, my God... Hollani's dead... and she didn't even have to die..." his muffled voice lamented as he shuddered, his emotions finally spilling out. "Why..."
 
Even Shahab was quick to join in the rebuke. "I suspect that among the million fairies in the region, not much more than a few dozen children of Oratho were spared... or am I mistaken?"
 
Rijaal folded his arms and took a deep breath, studying the look of resolve in Ethara's face as she pushed up more firmly against her husband, pressing shoulder to shoulder with him. It was then that the first sign of Rijaal's anger being kindled appeared as his eyebrows dipped into a frown. "Look, Shahab of Indumon," his voice trembled with displeasure, "You are stepping way out of line here. We are about to go to war. We have two Iron War Pigs ready to lead an army of half a million Arajo troops against-"
 
Shahab's eyes narrowed, his frown turning to a scowl as his own displeasure reached a boiling point. "Fine. Then we shall return home right this minute. I will convey to the Chieftain that you wish us to be accomplices to the massacre of more children, pregnant fairies and-"
 
"Shahab!" Nidale turned on him. "How dare you challenge the Clanlord's orders!"
 
Shahab tilted his head in her direction. "Are you saying that he is my master, or my Chieftain's master?" He then turned to Rijaal and reminded him, "We are equals, are we not? Since when do we 'take orders' from the Clanlord?"
 
Nidale gawked at Shahab. "How... how could you..."
 
Taking his wife's hand, Shahab bowed. "Clearly, sir, it is unwise for our people to join you in this war effort."
 
"Wait... wait!" Rijaal said calmly, very carefully measuring his words as he held his hands up defensively. "We're all over-reacting here. The killing of the children of Oratho was... a terrible misjudgement on my part." He paused, took in a deep breath, and added, "I wanted to explain to you a... change of plans in that regard."
 
"What...?" Nidale said, incredulously, gawking at him.
 
Even Ian had to look up upon hearing those words. His face was lined with streams of tears, but upon hearing Rijaal's response, his countenance was one of dumbstruck amazement.
 
Shahab, however, was unfazed. "I'm sure you did," he smiled at the Clanlord. "But your long standing disrespect of my people is of equal concern, and is in fact the reason why you thought to call upon us to join you in this unholy crusade."
 
Ethara was incredulous at his understatement. "Disrespect? They treat us like their dogs! Chieftain Linjara come here, Linjara go there, Linjara roll over, Linjara go fetch, Linjara go sic 'em!" his wife said, her voice dripping with frustration. "We're tired of being at your beck and call!"
 
Shahab caressed his wife's hand. "It's fine, my love. This will come to an end today." To Rijaal, he threatened, "That is, unless YOU, sir, wish to push the issue and risk driving us away from this region, away from your unholy crusade... and of course, away from you."
 
"That's insane!" Nidale protested. "You would cause a rebellion among the whole of the Arajo Clan!"
 
"Oh, wouldn't that be a disaster," Ethara chipped in, folding her arms. "The Haj-Bollar family worked so hard to put the Bollar family back in control of the Arajo Clan..."
 
"Oh, they would not be the only ones disgraced by this," Shahab pointed out. "The Council would no doubt take most of the blame. Which would mean, of course, that the Arajo people would send the Council to the guillotine first."
 
Rijaal rubbed his neck instinctively, clearing his throat. "You wouldn't dare..."
 
"You're right, I wouldn't." Shahab replied. "You would be the one who condemned yourself to death... at your own people's hands."
 
Ian whistled. "Well I'll be damned... politics is universal. Ain't that a bitch."
 
Rijaal ran his hand down his face. "Look. I understand you want to make a name for yourself and this is your first time meeting me on an official matter..."
 
"Make a name for myself?" Shahab chuckled. "Sir, my people grumble on a daily basis about how you and the Council push us around. You can try and kick this can further down the road but the precipice is far closer than you think. And one thing I never do is bluff."
 
"But the Biashal would support any decision you make, Clanlord..." Nidale suggested.
 
"Oh, no they won't," Shahab was quick to warn her. "Elsina has seen her last day as Chieftain if she oversees another massacre of that magnitude. The Biashal people will not tolerate it."
 
Nidale fell silent as she considered a response, and then realized Shahab was right.
 
Ian insisted. "Hey, this is fun to watch and all, but I want to see Roshana. I want to see her now."
 
Rijaal nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Nidale, you will take him to her. Then bring him back here, immediately." To Shahab he said in a commanding tone, "Now that we've ironed things out here, you two will accompany me."
 
"How about, 'will you please accompany me?'" Shahab insisted. "I'm not here to receive orders-"
 
Rijaal's nose twitched. "Now you're trying my patience..."
 
Shahab folded his arms, staring the Clanlord in the eye, "And you have nearly exhausted the collective patience of my entire people." Shahab's lip trembled as he measured his words: "We will not tolerate being treated as anything less than equals. Which means, you will stop barking orders to our Chieftain... to my mother. Is that clear?"
 
Rijaal opened his mouth to speak, but then he thought the better of it. Millions of fairy women adored Shahab of Indumon. Romance stories about Shahab's encounter with Nenea and Ardwen in the middle of a battlefield were very popular reading in the cities, even with the women of the Council. He was a major celebrity among fairies and Bollars alike. Shahab was full of steam and anger at the moment, but if forced to make good on his word, he would have a hurricane at his back.
 
"Wow," Ian quipped from the sidelines as Rijaal and Shahab glared at each other in tense silence. "Looks like one pair's swingin' and another pair's gone into hidin'."
 
Rijaal sighed, shaking his head. "Shahab, you're cold as ice. It's no wonder your mother sent you today."
 
"I don't suppose a big guy like that ever gets laid low like this very often..." Ian said, intentionally trying to get on Nidale's nerves. Nidale simply stood there looking on, in a state of shock.
 
"I have made lapses in judgement in my relations with the Nangwaya tribe, I admit that..." Rijaal spoke contritely. "But you must understand this has been a mistake made and compounded by many generations of leaders." As Shahab stood there glaring skeptically at him, he continued, "Look... we are rational leaders, are we not? The Council has called on Nangwaya Chieftains far more than I. I... I can prove that. You can read their minutes and see their recorded comments." Gesturing to the side, he explained, "Ask Linjara herself who orders her around the most."
 
"I understand completely," Shahab nodded. "We of the Nangwaya Tribe are willing to forget your... complicity..." He paused just long enough to savor Rijaal's ever so faint shudder of embarrassment, "Assuming that when this war is over, you will consent to a set of demands that will help you... remember that we are your equals."
 
Rijaal could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Demands?"
 
Shahab nodded again. "First... when this war is over, as I said... we will be sending delegates to join your... Council... to make our voices heard more directly."
 
Rijaal's jaw fell open. "Delegates?! To the Council?! Now wait just a-"
 
"Yes," the Chieftain's son reiterated, cutting him off. "Your Council will be three times as large from now on, what with my people and the Biashal now coming to participate in your decision making..." As Rijaal started to speak again, Shahab added, "I suggest that you make plans to expand the Council Chamber to accommodate these new changes. And allow me to introduce you to one of my delegates..." He gestured to Ethara, who was by now absolutely beaming. "My wife Ethara, the greatest of all our warriors, and trainer of my mother's personal guard."
 
Ethara smiled broadly; she had just heard of Shahab's schemes when she absorbed him and his memories on her way there. It was still a delightful surprise to actually see him act on such bold, sweeping plans.
 
Rijaal just stood there, gawking at him. "You've already picked..." His eyes shifted this way and that. "You've been planning this all along. I see."
 
Shahab nodded. "Those who have taught me well, will join your Council. And as I said, the other third of the new Council will consist of the Biashal tribe's leaders. My mother, you and Elsina, will form a ruling Triumvirate."
 
"What about you, Shahab?" Ethara frowned, not liking where his comments were leading.
 
"I will succeed my mother at some point to join the Triumvirate," Shahab said with a smile. "When I am older and wise enough to do so."
 
"But..."
 
Rijaal rubbed his chin and whistled low; then he chuckled. "Well, Shahab, it seems you are wise... and brave enough... to twist my arm into a knot and impose your will upon the whole of our Council."
 
Shahab raised an eyebrow. "Imposing? I wouldn't call it that. I would call it giving all sides equal representation in a Council which officially declares itself as the seat of all power in all of the land of Nazon."
 
Rijaal groaned.
 
"Would you not say the Arajo have been imposing your will upon us?"
 
Rijaal was quick to shoot back, "We make requests. We don't give orders."
 
"You routinely make decisions here that affect all of us. We merely want to participate in the making of those decisions."
 
"And if we refuse?"
 
"Then you may find it difficult explaining to your citizens why we will not join your war effort."
 
Rijaal shook his head. "Okay, well you must understand that this is a bit much to sell to the council," he replied in a clearly patronizing tone.
 
Shahab's response was deadly serious: "As would be our participation in the war, of course."
 
Ian started to laugh.
 
"And while you're at it," Shahab added, "I would also demand that you rename the Council Hall after my grandmother..." Seeing the Clanlord do a double-take, he snickered. "Sorry, a little... Nangwaya humor there."
 
Ethara put her hand over her mouth as she finally lost control of the fits of snickering that she was struggling so hard to stifle. Tears began to trickle down Ian's face again - but this time they came from laughter.
 
Rijaal N'han Haj-Bollar shook his head, hanging it low for a moment as the enormity of Shahab's demands began to weigh him down. Shahab had, in essence, brought to the table some of the demands he had been hearing over the entire Relay-net for quite some time, but which none in his political circles took seriously.
 
"Do we have an agreement, Clanlord Rijaal?" Shahab extended his hand.
 
Rijaal N'han Haj-Bollar sighed, his shoulders sagging; then he shook Shahab's hand. "We have an agreement, Shahab. The Council will no doubt fight you over adding Biashal and Nangwaya delegates to their meetings, but..." He reached back and scratched his head, "In light of the consequences of refusing your... reasonable demands... I'm sure they will yield."
 
Shahab gave him a respectful nod. "Excellent. Since I have your word on this, we will wait until this is over, before we talk of reshaping the Council. For now, however, I must remind you - in the coming battles, we will be afforded the right to rescue those Silurheans who can be saved."
 
Rijaal nodded. "Agreed."
 
Ian, no longer humored by Rijaal's humiliation, reached out to grab Shahab's arm. "Hey... what about Roshana?"
 
Shahab sighed. "Ian Scranton... your friend Roshana killed two Biashal warriors. I..." He sighed and put his hand on Ian's shoulder, "She must stand trial for her deeds. I... I can't help her with that."
 
Ian's shoulders sagged; he wanted to say more, but the law in those parts seemed to be identical to those of Earth - and on Earth, Roshana would have been taken to the gallows.
 
"I'm sorry about Roshana, Ian..." Ethara put her hand on his shoulder as Shahab turned away, his mood even darker than before. "I wish I could guarantee her safety... but she killed two Biashal warriors. The law says that since she is a Silurhean, she must die."
 
"Thanks," he said dejectedly.
 
"We really should go, my love," Ethara said, leaning against her husband. Then, to Nidale, she winked. "You take good care of Ian, okay?"
 
Nidale nodded mutely; then Ethara and Shahab led a stunned Rijaal through the glass doors into his own well-lit living room.
 
Ian raised an eyebrow; no longer obscured by the darkness of the seemingly eternal night sky under the great cavern ceiling, Rijaal's physical details became completely clear under the soft yellow lights of his luxurious living room. His coffee toned skin was almost as dark under direct light as he was standing against the poorly lit darkness beyond the patio, with many long, thin braids radiating from his head down to just beyond his shoulder blades in the pattern of a narrow, rectangular sheet, bound at the bottom by the golden sculpture of some weird, coiled up animal. Shahab and Nidale were a bit taller than his chin, but his shoulders were what made him most impressive. If this had been Earth, Ian would have likened him to one of those ex football players in the Earth Federation Marines public service ads touting the glory of the Draft.
 
That only made him chuckle again as he recalled how swiftly Shahab brought the big man to his knees. He'd learned a lot about local politics in just a few minutes.
 
"Ian..." Nidale's soft voice yanked him back to the cold, harshness of reality. When he turned, his face already twisted sourly again, she said, "I will need you back within me again. Unless you desire to take one of the Bollar shuttles here from Doruba to go back home."
 
Ian studied the raven-haired fairy, his lip twitching. "You've seen enough of my thoughts." He then pointed in her face. "You LIED about Hollani! Is that what you fairies do? Steal people's memories and then twist things out of context?!"
 
Nidale postured defensively. "That foul creature had you so twisted that you-"
 
Ian jabbed his finger at her, cutting her off. "Look. Stay away from me. I'll take the bus... shuttle... whatever. Keep me out of that filthy cesspool you call a womb, got that?"
 
Nidale put her hand to her mouth. "Ian... how could you say that..."
 
He laughed with disbelief. "Oh, this is rich. You're mad because I insulted your precious girly parts but you MURDERED MY FRIEND, someone who saved my life, and that's okay?!" His hand clenched into a fist; then he threw his hands down, turning away. "Get me a shuttle, please. And get me as far away from you... Dalassi... as I can possibly get." He then turned and leaned over the banister, looking at the city spread out under the great canopy overhead; there was little difference between the alien skyline before him, and that of a major city on Earth. There was the odd monkey wrench-shaped building that should have collapsed under its own weight, which he'd never seen on Earth before, but the flying traffic, the people walking on lower levels, the floating digital billboards, all reminded him of home. "Roshana's dead, isn't she?"
 
Nidale didn't respond.
 
"Isn't she? They must have already found her guilty and hung her or some bullshit, didn't they?"
 
Ian turned to see she had walked away from him, and was standing in front of a circular-looking floating screen in the living room through which Rijaal and his companions had walked a moment ago. A man in a gray uniform was on screen - obviously someone who had something to do with arranging their transportation.
 
His lip curled into a snarl.
 
"Hey!" he shouted at the open patio doorway. "Make sure you're not on that damned thing with me. I hope I never see another one of you 'Dalassi' again! You murderous, lying animals!"
 
Nidale turned and cast him a scowl; then she sighed and bowed to him with a tight-lipped expression. "Your Silurhean friend Roshana has been taken nearby for her trial over the killing of two of our warriors. The good news is she's still alive."
 
Ian's heart sank as he summoned the courage to ask, "And what's the bad news?"
 
Her response almost floored him: "She's being interrogated here by Arajo clan telepaths as part of her trial. When that is done, she will be handed over to the Arajo scientists."
 
Ian backed up against the stony bannister wall. "Scientists?"
 
Nidale nodded, responding coldly. "No doubt the Bollars will... experiment on her."
 
Aghast at her words, Ian slid down until his butt hit the ground. "That's... that's madness..."
 
"I'm sorry, Ian. Roshana's life will be judged forfeit because of her deeds."
 
"If there was even a trial at all..." Ian murmured.
 
Nidale continued, but by then, Ian was hardly listening: "The Arajo scientists typically negotiate to take condemned Silurheans like her as their property. I can only hope she dies quickly; you know all too well what happens to those who get experimented upon..."
 
 
 
 
 
* Mana: Magic energy.
 
** Ke'yeppans - the ancient name for the Bollar people. Most often used nostalgically, or in religious activities and scientific discussions with a highly taxonomic bent, it is not the word their people call themselves in common conversations.
 
*** A carnivorous fairy's soul aura (not visible to normal humans, but visible to all human psychics, mages and also fairies) is red, by definition. It is bright red just after a fairy has eaten flesh; however, unlike the Kadruata, it immediately begins to blue-shift. This decay, which continues as long as a fairy doesn't eat any meat, is not noticeable for the first few minutes, days or even weeks. However, over the months and years, it becomes noticeable. After 19 years without eating any meat, a fairy's soul aura will have completely blue-shifted until it is purple - at which time a woman fairy, in particular, can eat meat and turn red again, or insert someone (a human, fairy, or the rare elf) into her vagina, which will feed them to her womb - turning her soul aura blue, permanently, making her an exo-symbiote, a child of Tarajika/Gaia/Morgania (depending on which society you're in).