Diamondsong 02: Capture Read online

  Clarity surged in her mind, sharpened by her anger. Dime had risked her safety and her ability to return to her family, yet she had still learned nothing. She was not his advisor, nor was she his travel guide. At any moment, this pyr could have her dragged out of the door and locked away for the rest of her life, and all she knew was he drank tea, had a spouse, and thought her home was too crappy to visit.

  “So let’s start with three things,” she said, urgency burning. “First, I want to know why I was arrested, because I think you know why, whether you issued the order or not. Second, I want to know why you are starving the newts, because—”

  “Newts?” Ferala drew back in surprise. “They are forest creatures; they have no role in this.”

  “Your net. There’s a net around this forest, keeping them away.”

  “They are huge animals; you have not seen them. Sharp teeth and wide mouths. Their talons dig like your pickaxes. Would you have them running with your children? Walking into your homes? In your city, do you not cover windows to keep away the bees?”

  Dime hesitated to let on her direct knowledge of the newts, worried about putting them at further risk. So, as she had with the prison guard, Dime diluted her own facts. Except, she reassured herself, what she said was true. “The Ja-lal have information on the newts. That they live on the beaches of the Heartland, cold and starving.”

  Ferala was staring at the markings on her face with a sad look in his eyes, as if he thought they made her dirty. It solidified her sense that he knew her biology. As if Dime was further gone than he’d realized, referring to herself as a brute and sympathizing with animals. Yes, Dime was reading into it, but his expressions were unmistakable. It was the same pity pyrsi showed her when they learned her father’s class. The same pity they’d shown when she said she was leaving the Circles, as if she just wasn’t good enough to stay.

  “We left them sections of the forest,” he said. “But I don’t see why you risked coming here just to—”

  “You left them sections of the forest without water,” Dime rose from the stool. “You’re harming them. Much more and you’ll be killing them. Is that what you intend for the Ja-lal also? Why won’t you answer my questions? What will you do, leader of the Fo-ror, if you cannot stop the flood you describe? Return the Violence? Invite it? Allow it?” Dime’s voice was starting to shake but she did not sit back down. “That’s what the Ja-lal think you want. Is it? Tell me. Please.”

  “I will do what I need to do to protect Sha’s pyrsi. As I have—” Caught on something, he stopped.

  Dime didn’t. “I’m not leaving without answers. Chambers is in session, correct? Are they missing you there? Is Seat Neimano asking where you’ve gone?”

  Ferala winced.

  “Do you have all turn, High Seat? I only know that I am part of something here, and I’m not leaving until I understand why. And you will not lead me away because I will shout to every pyr in my path what was done to me. That it is not the Ja-lal who threaten the Violence. It is you. And if it wasn’t you, it was someone, and I think you know who. If there is an innocent explanation, I’m waiting to hear it. If the Ja-lal took me from you and this is all their doing, then tell me. Go ahead. But if you have done this to me, if you have done this to the newts, what else have you done? What else are you doing?”

  Well beyond fear or nervousness, fury threw the truth from her lips. “I know that I am biologically Fo-ror. I know that I was born with wings. And I know that you feel you have power over me here, because you have valence and I don’t. Well, it’s not valence that is dangerous here, High Seat Ferala. It’s me. And you will tell me what is going on.”

  Ferala sat, stunned, staring into the silence between them. A small rap sounded at the door. He looked frightened for a split stride but then relaxed. “Enter,” he said.

  Tikinal leaned in, his knot of variegated hair followed by a somber face. He glanced between them before proceeding in with a fresh tray of tea. “I am sorry for the delay, High Seat, but I didn’t want to interrupt. Oh. Chambers is in disarray. Seat Neimano is making arguments, but Seat Layanie has refused to start debate regarding the Ja-lal without your attendance.”

  He hesitated. “I advised them you were taking breakfast. It is unclear whether they will continue or whether a recess will be called. High Guard Ulkanet is waiting for a break in which to speak to Seat Neimano.”

  As if he’d just commented on the breeze, Tikinal swapped out the tea for one Dime could see steaming from its saucer. He whisked from the room and closed the door again.

  Ferala pursed his lips, as if holding back his words. Dime expected another diversionary speech or lecture, but he spoke, now, almost like a normal pyr.

  “Near the time of your birth, a disease spread through the Heartland. A blight so terrible it— I cannot describe it. It killed a pyr from inside and out. There was a chance one might recover, but the suffering was so great, it tried the will of our most dedicated healers. Pyrsi referred to it only as the curse.”

  Dime remembered that Ella had said Fo-ror healed with more difficulty than the Ja-lal, that finding basic remedies for illness was more of a focus for them than the more advanced medical remedies the Ja-lal sought in their enclaves.

  “Anger stirred, not just in Pito, but the villages as well. Pyrsi watched their parents, their friends, their lovers, even their children die before them. It was said some cried with uncontrolled relief to learn that it would soon take them also.” He started to bring his tea close, then stopped, setting it back down.

  “Amongst this anguish, a rumor began that it was contact with the Ja-lal that had caused this curse. That someone had betrayed peace and traveled to the land of the brutes, where they had contracted this foul disease.

  “Then the rumor shifted. It was not just that it had spread through contact, but that the Ja-lal had spread this curse on purpose, finally fulfilling their goal of winning the Great War. Of destroying every Fo-ror on Ada-ji and claiming the Heartland as their own, to blast down its trees and stomp over our ashes, swinging their shining blades.”

  She reeled with new thoughts, sitting back onto the stool to steady herself. She knew that the Violence had been justified in the Great War, but she’d never considered the methods of conducting it. Common things. A blade. An explosive. A disease. Associations so damaging that even after the end of War, minds still suffered, considering whether each new tragedy had been inflicted on purpose. Blade size was still regulated in Sol’s Reach; she’d never considered why.

  “You can imagine what this panic would cause,” Ferala continued. “My sources tell me Lodon is in a state of confusion over the mere sighting of our pyrsi there. Imagine if they were dying, first one here, then another, then scores. Paranoia fed the anger, and soon pyrsi were demanding the Seats act, that they rain powers of . . . valence on Lodon, on all the brutes. Destroy them forever so the Violence would never threaten us again.”

  Dime’s hands shook from this story, from the thought of such a disease—and of such fear, inciting pure desperation for the Violence. Her stomach turned. Her mind spun.

  She thought of Luja, vis studies. Though Luja had not been born then, the medics of Lodon were skilled; they could have helped. The words burst from her mouth. “The Ja-lal could have helped! Their medics are skilled healers.”

  “I think we all considered it, in our minds. But the walls we build ourselves are not so easily scaled. No one spoke it. We all looked to the High Seat—it was not I then. She did nothing.”

  “Not even a quarantine?” Dime couldn’t imagine that.

  “It was a hyperbole. You are correct; she instituted a state of strict adherence to proclaimed rules. Quarantines, barriers, boundaries. Animals were swept from villages with tonics, smoke, and noises to keep them away.”

  “Nets,” Dime murmured. Ferala continued to talk, as if releasing something held deeply, as if Dime were n
ot there.

  “She did nothing about the Ja-lal. Energized, a group of Seats met in private. I was young then, younger than you. I was Seventh Seat, but the youngest of the Nine. We met within the depths of the caves: Fourth, Sixth, Seventh, and Ninth. We discussed ideas freely and without reserve. Ideas our aged High Seat was unwilling to consider. Some covert. Some rebellious. At first, I roared with the fire of my new power. An ability more powerful than valence: freedom.”

  Ferala clenched his hands together, wringing them. “We traded our ideas, expanded them. First, these ideas tenuously introduced the idea of the Violence. Then, they justified it as the only road to peace. Soon, they openly embraced it. It is not to say that I am so pure as to reject harm in all its forms, but when the Violence is treated as an asset rather than a burden, this is when reason flees and colder hearts prevail.” He released his hands.

  “My anger had not abated, but neither could I condone our shadow council any longer. The quarantines had shown signs of working. The impact of disregarding our traditions weighed on me. Of disregarding the way of Sha.

  “Neimano and I argued, a great fierce argument. He was older than me, but I was from a better family and held a higher Seat. I pled my case; I begged for pause. The Fourth and Sixth Seats sided with me. Our group dissolved, in more ways than one.”

  Dime knew there was more, and so she waited for Ferala to finish.

  “He wanted to make the diamonds sing, he said. Show the Ja-lal our might. Yet, without the Seats’ concurrence, he could not mobilize the casters. He would have been imprisoned for treason against Sha. Instead, he returned to one of his older plans, the first that had turned me against him.

  Ferala took a deep breath. “There are secrets the High Seat knows that the others do not. I understand, now, why we were wrong to oppose her. We did not know all there was to know.

  “Neimano resurrected his rejected plan. He named it Project Diamondsong, evoking the might of our kind. The might we refused to use to defend ourselves, as he saw it. For what could be more powerful than ourselves—using ourselves as a weapon. It was . . . for our defense.” Ferala closed his eyes, yet Dime did not turn hers away.

  “In this plan, ten ba’pyrsi were . . . modified.” He opened them again. “They were placed, one by one, over the course of a cycle, in strategic locations, ones near sources of rank and power, believing they would be accepted into Ja-lal society. Neimano knew that the Ja-lal allowed any class to take positions of power. He was so convinced of our superiority, he was sure these small ones would rise to the top.

  “Then, when the time was right, they would be informed of their true nature. That they were tendrils of Sha’s protection, destined to save their own kind. They would, from their imbedded positions of power—and under Seat Neimano’s direction—retake Sol’s Reach and restore Fo-ror leadership over the brutes.”

  Dime spun in a cloud of ideas and horror, without sense of time or danger. There was nothing in this suspended place but she and Ferala, each lost in their own trauma, their gazes finally fully connecting.

  “That is horrific,” she managed to whisper. As flawed as the Light’s Circle was, she could not imagine any of its members doing something so terrible. So cold. Impacting so many lives on just a chance. A shadow of relief flickered that the Circles had not been involved. Had not known.

  “It is. I did not know he continued on with it. We were all so relieved to regain some normalcy, and Neimano and I were not then speaking.” He leaned back, just slightly.

  “The Way of Sha aside, it was a flawed plan, with too much risk. We told him that. We asked, what if the young grow attached to the Ja-lal? They would not, he insisted. What if their scars were noticed? They would not be, he said. The brutes were self-conscious about irregularities in their skin; they concealed them, injecting them with ink. There must be great differences between us, we insisted. They would notice. He laughed, and said the brutes were unintelligent. They would see what they wanted to.”

  Dime couldn’t excuse the other Seats. Explaining that the plan wouldn’t work wasn’t the point, though she did sense Ferala knew that. It disgusted her that Neimano could even express such a plan, yet still be allowed to rule. She had seen this in the Circles, with Atti. It was easier for them to look away than to face what they’d enabled. She pushed back these thoughts, not wanting to miss Ferala’s story.

  “He enlisted an elderly healer, one who was ill and would take the secret with him to Sha. Which he did. I imagine he was threatened or coerced—yet those details rest only with Neimano now.”

  “Then,” Dime asked, wanting to get the whole story before she made sure she never rested eyes on these Seats again, “how did you learn what he’d done?”

  “He told us. He told the three of us who had participated. He was too proud of himself not to boast to someone. He had evidence of our involvement: our notes, our handwriting. We had our word to say we had refused him, but that would be tainted by association.” Ferala sat up. “If there had been a chance of stopping it, I could have acted. But the deed was done. You see? Speaking out then would have only risked upsetting the tenuous peace we had so thinly regained.”

  “It could have removed Neimano from power,” Dime said. “It could have sent me the truth.”

  “I am sorry. I have lived with this shame a long time.”

  “You?” Dime couldn’t believe the audacity of the pyr, a pyr who didn’t finish his tea if it sat too long. “You have lived with shame? I have lived with this robbery. I have lived with a lie. I have lived with—”

  She wasn’t sure how to express the frustration she felt. Her life wasn’t a lie. Her life was beautiful. And it wasn’t just once that she’d been disrupted. She’d been pulled from a family she never knew, spirited to a strange land. But she’d built a life there. A happy life. Then they’d ripped her out again, denying her the choice to continue her life as it stood. It was their invasion—once and then twice—that infuriated her, whatever the outcome. The outcome was not their business.

  Dime loved her life. She loved her family. None of that could or would be taken from her. None of that was diminished. Yet there was a question that must be asked.

  “The pyr or pyrsi who would have been my parents.” She left it as a fragment, unable to continue.

  “There is no record. The ba’pyrsi were the most susceptible to the curse, they comprised many of its deaths. It is my theory that Neimano took ba’pyrsi held in quarantine and declared them dead.

  “We have records of many young victims, but to know which were victims of disease and which were victims of Neimano’s ploy cannot be discerned. Even Neimano may not know. He is older; his memory does not reach as far with clarity, and he kept no records of lineage.”

  Dime had gained some small sense of Fo-ror class structure. She knew lineage was important. “When we were to return,” she said, “he did not want any bias from our previous class.”

  Ferala bowed his head.

  “And so, we were from lower-class homes. Outer villages. Places where a pyr had no recourse if they suspected.”

  “It is my theory,” Ferala agreed.

  “Why now?” Dime heard her own words, a whisper, as if spoken by another.

  “The brutes are driven by wealth, Neimano said. He found Ja-lal willing to track certain pyrsi and deliver periodic reports. They were not given details, just instructed on which pyrsi to monitor and where to report. They likely didn’t know they were working for the Fo-ror. He hid the true diamonds in his queries, giving many resources to these mercenaries to report on dozens of pyrsi, some important and others not.

  “Over the cycles, Neimano began to speak more openly to me of his plans, even now as I am High Seat. He resents my position but keeps me informed. It is a threat, of course. A reminder of what I was party to, of what he knows. It is also an offer, that when he deems it time to act on his plans, it will
be my choice whether I stay to lead them.”

  Dime began to consider what that meant, but dropped the thought at his next words.

  “One of the Diamondsong subjects, one of the early ones, surprised him the most. This one he had written off. A dud, as he put it. Placed at the height of the Circles complex, flown to a busy walkway at the height of political season—yet found and taken by a maintenance worker. One who named her, most ironically, Diamond. He laughed at this one, given the grandest of names, yet, the least of the lot.

  “Then, despite her unworthy station, she rose through the ranks of the Intel Circle, the organization Neimano had most prized as a source of reenergizing the project—activating it, as he said. As others faltered, Diamond continued to ascend. He kept me eagerly appraised that this pyr, this low-class pyr, might make it to the ranks of the Light’s Circle. ‘We are almost there,’ he gloated.”

  Dime gasped, the timeline coming into view. “I left. Before I was selected.”

  “You did,” Ferala said, his fingertips pressed together.

  “How many of us?” She thought she remembered, but needed to hear it again. To be certain.

  “Ten.”

  Ten. Nine other pyrsi, like me.

  “Four have joined memory.”

  Four . . . dead? That was too many. She was not old, nor would be the others. But, then, five more remained.

  “Will you tell me about the others? What you know?” Dime wasn’t sure what she’d do with the information, but she was feeling increasingly sure she wouldn’t be back here soon. So, whatever she could get.

  “Diamond, I urge you, there is more at stake here. Our separation is so tenuous; you must feel it. You do not know the things that I know. What the Great War almost did to our kind. What—”

  The firm knock that sounded on the High Seat’s door did not wait for an answer.

  “High Seat, are you— Oh! Good!” The robed Seat, who Dime now knew to be Neimano, waved his hand over his brow in mock relief. “We were worried in Chambers that you’d fallen ill; Tikinal was nowhere to be found, and, oh!” He stepped back, scowling as if surprised and flustered.