Night Of The Wolves Part 8

"The Emissary," Arin murmured, just before he felt cold fingers slip around his throat.

"I'm sorry," said a familiar voice, and the kai, clutching at those icy fingers, turned to stare into a pair of eyes that seemed strikingly reptilian, though Arin had never noticed it before. "I'm afraid I can't let you call that a.s.sembly, Your Eminence."

The kai didn't understand. He struggled, but the pressure only increased, and images of joy and sorrow and regret ran through his mind; it was as though it was all coming together, becoming a coherent story. His last thought was of the Orb he had lost, the great tragedy of his life in service to Them.... If Gar had not dragged him out of the shrine when he had, could he have saved the Orb of Truth? Could it be, as the people often murmured, that the Orb had not been destroyed at all, but...taken...?

Black flowers bloomed in his eyes, and the struggle was too great, blotting out his thoughts, and then there was nothing, nothing at all.

Miras Vara sat up abruptly in her bed, sweating and cold. She swept her damp hair from the nape of her neck, breathing deeply as reality began to piece itself together again. She was in her bedchamber, in the small apartment where she lived alone, across the way from the Ministry of Science, where she worked. It had been a dream, only a dream...never frightening, exactly, but it was the same dream she'd had with increasing frequency in past weeks. This time, it had been different.

As always, she had been walking alone in the night, outside the periphery of Carda.s.sia City where she lived and worked. Her feet had been bare, and the stony road had pierced her soles, but there was no blood, no pain. The ground beneath her, invisible in the dark, gave way to softness, coolness like nothing that occurred in nature, at least not on her world...And it occurred to her that she was going somewhere, some specific destination that she had never visited before, and that it was vital she continue on.

This was the part of the dream that she had experienced many times before-walking alone at night, a sudden understanding that she had a purpose, even though she didn't know what it was. But before tonight, she'd always woken shortly thereafter. This time, she had continued to walk for a much greater distance than ever before, traveling blind until the darkness gave way to the fragile light of dawn.

The ascending sun cast a yellow pall across the ground, which, to Miras's astonishment, was coated in something spongy with an undercurrent of subtle p.r.i.c.kliness-something green. green. She knew what it was, but only from books, from her brief school rotation through the agri program. She knew what it was, but only from books, from her brief school rotation through the agri program.

In the distance, not far from a deep stand of wood-real, living trees-she could hear noises, not mechanical, not humanoid, but soft gruntings and cluckings that she recognized as being from animals, from livestock. She was drawing close to a farm. But Carda.s.sians were not farmers, and Miras began to suspect that she was no longer on Carda.s.sia Prime at all. It was then that she recognized she must be dreaming, the most realistic dream she could ever remember having.

She walked through the misty, early light. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. She marveled at the scene unfolding before her. A farmhouse stood near the copse of dark trees-she'd never seen so many trees together. There were animal pens, a broad stable, a vegetable garden, variations of things she'd seen in captures but never in life-and yet everything was astonis.h.i.+ngly detailed, the dirt floor of the yard, the strange, rich smell of growing things. Insects fluttered up from the ground cover, which was everywhere.

She approached a farmhouse, a st.u.r.dily built cottage made of clay bricks, black clay like that which could be dug from Carda.s.sian mountains. But she had already decided that she was on another world, and became more certain when she saw the figures moving beyond the windows of the small house. Though she couldn't make out their features, they were not Carda.s.sian-they were leaner and more graceful than any Carda.s.sian she had ever seen. And yet there was something familiar about them, too...

One of them emerged from the house then, and Miras felt her breath catch. The woman was was a Carda.s.sian-or, at least, she had the same Carda.s.sian cranial ridges, with dark hair and pale gray skin. a Carda.s.sian-or, at least, she had the same Carda.s.sian cranial ridges, with dark hair and pale gray skin.

She's Hebitian. The awareness dawned on her like the early light that played across the fertile land. An ancient ancestor, from the first great civilization to arise on Carda.s.sia Prime. Miras had been to see the Hebitian ruins, and she realized suddenly that she was not on another world, after all. She was in another time. The awareness dawned on her like the early light that played across the fertile land. An ancient ancestor, from the first great civilization to arise on Carda.s.sia Prime. Miras had been to see the Hebitian ruins, and she realized suddenly that she was not on another world, after all. She was in another time.

The woman was carrying a jug, fas.h.i.+oned from the same ebony clay as the bricks that made up the farmhouse. Her long, obsidian-black hair was loose about her shoulders, and she was dressed in a white linen garment, cut on the bias to grace the curves of her body. She teased a strand of hair around one of her slender, tapered ears, and then she turned. She saw Miras, and smiled at her. Raised her hand.

Miras was startled, having somehow a.s.sumed that she was only observing. This attempt to interact...Her dream was realistic to the point of uncanniness. Could Could this be real? Could she have been drugged, somehow, and brought here without her knowledge? It was absurd to even think such things, but she was helpless not to, it was all so realistic. this be real? Could she have been drugged, somehow, and brought here without her knowledge? It was absurd to even think such things, but she was helpless not to, it was all so realistic.

The woman began to speak, and Miras could not at first understand her. The Hebitian seemed to realize it, spoke slower, more minimally-and Miras suddenly found that she could understand her perfectly well, as though she'd just remembered that she already knew the language.

I do. The words the woman used were presumably Hebitian, a language that all schoolchildren learned the fundamentals of, as their modern language was built upon it. She'd studied linguistics at university, as well. The third time the woman repeated her simple statement, Miras understood it perfectly. The words the woman used were presumably Hebitian, a language that all schoolchildren learned the fundamentals of, as their modern language was built upon it. She'd studied linguistics at university, as well. The third time the woman repeated her simple statement, Miras understood it perfectly.

"I have been waiting," the woman said.

"Do you mean-you have been waiting for me me?"

"I have been waiting."

Miras looked around for any evidence that the woman could be referring to another-and was struck anew at the strange, rich beauty of this long-ago world, understanding now where she was. The landscape was hilly, but the hills were gentle and rolling, not the usual needle-sharp crags of obsidian that made up her Carda.s.sia. The grunts and screeches of animals were clearer now, more p.r.o.nounced, mingling with the sounds of a trickling brook somewhere in the trees and the chir-chir-chir chir-chir-chir of what she imagined were wood-crakes, birds that most experts believed had been extinct for centuries. of what she imagined were wood-crakes, birds that most experts believed had been extinct for centuries.

"I have something to show you. It is something precious."

"What...what is it?"

"It is for your eyes only, Miras."

Miras followed her into the farmhouse, not surprised somehow that the woman had called her by name. The room they entered was clean and filled with light, aesthetically pleasing in a utilitarian way.

The woman went to a wood table that sat against one wall. She opened a flat obsidian box that lay atop it, reached inside-and as she started to lift out whatever was within, the edges of Miras's perception began to blur. The colors of the room became indistinct, began to meld into the cacophony of unfamiliar sounds and smells. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again- -and found herself sitting in her own room, kicking at the bedclothes and pulling her sweat-soaked hair away from the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes again, took another deep breath. Tried to hang on to the indistinct image from the dream's very end, wanting to know what the woman had been about to show her. Something larger than the palm of her hand, something flat with a slight curve, made from dark polished wood and adorned with bright pigments. The object was heavily carved with an ornate design, a design that resembled...a face. It was a mask. The Hebitian woman had been trying to show her a mask.

What does it mean? Miras lay back in bed, closing her eyes again, but she slept no more that night. Miras lay back in bed, closing her eyes again, but she slept no more that night.

Opaka Sulan settled for the winter at a large camp near the northernmost edge of the Sahving Valley. There had been a city here once, Genmyr, that had extended almost to the edge of the forest, more than twenty kellipate kellipates away. Genmyr had been a major textile exporter, in Bajor's simpler industrial times. The majority of the residents-those who had stayed behind, who either couldn't afford to leave when the occupation had turned ugly or had still believed the Carda.s.sians meant to treat them fairly-had chosen to resettle after an "accidental" fire had swept through the city many years before. The fire had destroyed the livelihoods of hundreds of families, made the greater community even more reliant on their oppressors. There were people who said they'd actually seen a group of Carda.s.sian soldiers set the fire, but of course word was not proof and even if it was, there was no recourse.

Many of the broken city's natives had made camp here for more than a decade, year round. There were temporary shelters here, like Opaka's fabric tent, and there were a few more substantial dwellings, though nearly all the buildings had a transient quality, lending a kind of anxiety to the camp, as if all its inhabitants expected the day to come when they would have to pack up their families and move on.

The land itself was still mostly barren, but the valley was sheltered from the worst of the cold and there was a river only a few minutes away. It was a good place to winter, and many families came each year, seeking community in the hard months. The camp had already swelled to twice its size since the leaves had begun to fall, since the last of the meager crops had been harvested, and the former vedek knew that more would come-many more, to hear her message of unity. She hoped she was up to the task. The people here had embraced her as their guide in matters of spirit. Many were already coming to her for direction, alone and in groups, and while she did the best she could, offered advice from the heart and spoke what she believed, she was often afraid of faltering.

She sat on the floor of her shelter, alone. A few of the camp residents had taken it upon themselves to build her a wood pallet, which made sleeping on the ground much more comfortable. They'd wanted to do more, but she wouldn't have it; they had few enough resources, and she tried to see that all was shared.

She folded her arms around her legs, listening to the movements of life outside-children playing, people working together. Good sounds. It was often difficult for her to find a moment to herself, and usually she was thankful for it; the company of her spiritual family helped to stave off the loneliness that sometimes overwhelmed her, since Fasil had gone his own way. She'd been without him almost two full turns of the season, and still missed him terribly. But today she wanted to have a moment of peace, needed a moment to herself to reflect on the man who had been one of the greatest living inspirations to her-because he lived no more. She had received word that Kai Arin had been found dead in his sanctuary, apparently of natural causes.

Looking back, Opaka could see how her spirituality had grown under his tutelage, could recall many of his services that had touched her faith so profoundly, and she indulged in a moment of tearful regret as she recalled their last conversation. She wished she could have parted ways with him on more amiable terms. But of course, were it not for the disagreement, she would never have left. It was more reason to be grateful to him, for forcing her to be stronger, to be brave enough to do as she had.

Someone whipped back the flap of her makes.h.i.+ft tent, and she hastily wiped her eyes. "Yes? I...I wish to be alone for a moment, if it can wait."

"Mother."

She turned, and saw her son standing in the entryway of her rough home. It had been over a year since he had left to fight in the resistance, and many months had pa.s.sed since he had visited her last-months during which she had not known if he was alive or dead.

His face was more gaunt than it had been when he first left, the soft edges of his childhood replaced with the craggy features of an adult. He sported a new scar that crept diagonally across his left cheek, but his eyes were still the same, warm and wise. She stood and hurried to embrace him, her tears joyful now.

After a long, lovely moment they parted, Opaka smiling up at her boy. She'd never been a tall woman; Fasil had gotten his father's height.

"It is good to see you, Mother. You are looking well."

"You also look well, my son. Of course, just to have you here..." Her eyes welled again.

"I can't stay long. I came because I heard about Kai Arin."

She nodded. "Yes. He was a good man, and he will be missed. Surely, you can stay a few days?"

He smiled at her, but did not answer. "I came to ask you what you have considered, regarding who his successor will be."

"I suppose there will be an election," she said. The Vedek a.s.sembly was no longer a powerful force in her world, nor was it in the realities of the people she spoke with each day. Perhaps that was why the Carda.s.sians still allowed it to exist.

"I imagine Gar Osen will be a candidate," she added, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter who the kai is now."

"It does matter," Fasil said. "I believe the next kai should be you."

Opaka laughed briefly before realizing that her son was serious. "Fasil, I have no interest in holding that office."

"Do you know how many people know about you?" Fasil asked. "And what better way to spread your message than under the authority of the kai?"

"I do not wish to be kai," she repeated. "Let the people choose who they want, it will not affect my work."

"The people will want you, Mother."

"The kai is chosen from the Vedek a.s.sembly," she said. "I'm not even-"

"-a vedek anymore, I remember," Fasil said, a touch of young male exasperation in his voice, and she smiled, loving him so much that it hurt her heart.

"But think, Mother. This new prefect cares not about our religious beliefs. You would have access to travel permits, to political functions, to so many more people."

Opaka considered him seriously for the briefest of moments. If she were the kai, she could spread her message everywhere, everywhere, she would not be dependent on word-of-mouth among small fringe groups. She might even have access to media-Kai Arin's Festival sermon on the she would not be dependent on word-of-mouth among small fringe groups. She might even have access to media-Kai Arin's Festival sermon on the D'jarra D'jarras had been recorded and broadcast, had even reached Bajorans who had settled offworld...

But it was only a moment before the absurdity of it made her laugh again-Kai Opaka!-and she took her son's hand. "You must be tired," she said. "Let us eat something. Help me prepare food, and we'll talk of this later."

He grinned. "I admit, the offer of food is enough to make me agree to anything. It is very good to see you again, Mother. I have...missed you." He squeezed her hand, looking away, his face working to avoid tears.

Opaka was nearly overcome to see her son so affected. It seemed she wasn't destined to have dry eyes today. She embraced him again.

"I have missed you, too, Fasil. So very much."

The days had turned into weeks since the Derna incident. Lenaris had not entirely given up hope that Lac would return to them-his disappearance had been so abrupt, Lenaris still couldn't quite believe it-but he knew better than to mistake hope for possibility. Lac was not coming back.

Seefa, who had always leaned toward the anxious, had become convinced that the Carda.s.sians would be coming for them any day now.

"The Carda.s.sians have Lac's raider," he'd said, on more than one occasion since Derna. "They know he was using balon to power it, and they know there is a ma.s.sive balon deposit right here. Mark my words, they will come. After that, it's only a matter of time before they find the rest of our s.h.i.+ps and take us all to work camps-or worse. Most likely, they'll execute a few of us to make examples, and then-"

"Let's not get hysterical, Seefa. There are plenty of other balon deposits on Bajor." It was always Taryl who pulled him back. She refused to be rattled by what anyone had to say regarding Lac, choosing instead to approach the situation with her customary calm rationality. It worried Lenaris not a little that Taryl seemed so placid in the face of her brother's disappearance; he feared that one day the reality of it was going to hit her, and then-he didn't know what would happen then, for he had never seen Taryl succ.u.mb to the kind of upsets that he himself was p.r.o.ne to. Taryl had a fiery temper, but sadness and worry were not usually in her repertoire. Lenaris envied her for it. If he could have drawn on that kind of strength when Darin had died...Lac's disappearance held certain parallels to that particular tragedy, but Lenaris was determined to keep himself together this time.

Still, he was overwhelmed with guilt that it had been Lac who had been caught, and not himself. It was just dumb luck, of course. But then-Lenaris had forgotten to put in a transmission to Lac after exiting the atmosphere himself. What if he could have helped his friend somehow? He didn't know how, but still...He could not help but agonize over every detail of that ill-fated mission.

Meanwhile, Taryl had taken it upon herself to plan a rescue effort with some of the Ornathia cousins, much to Seefa's vehement disapproval. Taryl was certain that Lac must have been taken to Terok Nor, and to her way of thinking, they would have to stage an effort to smuggle him off the station. While the three were calibrating the sensor arrays on some of their s.h.i.+ps, Lenaris had been present for one of many arguments that Taryl and Seefa had been having in regard to the matter.

"You have no idea what something like that would entail," Seefa admonished her.

"That's why we will have to gather information first," Taryl told him calmly. "The comm equipment on Derna will be helpful with that."

"It's ridiculous, Taryl. We don't even know if Lac is there! I absolutely forbid anyone from going to Terok Nor."

"You don't have the authority to forbid anyone from doing anything."

Lenaris cleared his throat loudly, and the two lowered their voices.

But, as she had been with her efforts to repair the freighter, Taryl was undaunted. In secret, she met with Lenaris and a handful of others from the cell who thought they could put together a rescue party.

It had been more than a month since Lac's disappearance when Taryl approached Lenaris, who was was.h.i.+ng out some old metal cans with Ornathia Sten, someone Lenaris liked almost as much as he liked Lac. The salvaged cans would be reused for food, or else beaten flat to repair damaged hull plating.

"You've got a call on the long-range comm...it's from Halpas Palin."

Palin. Feeling a surge of real hope, Lenaris chucked the can to Sten, who caught it neatly, and followed Taryl back to Lac's empty shack, where the Ornathias' best communication equipment was set up. Work on the warp s.h.i.+p had been all but forgotten in the wake of the Derna incident, but Halpas had been a pilot since long before the occupation-he could certainly fly the thing, if he hadn't any ideas regarding how to fix it-and even if he didn't, he might be able to help locate Tiven Cohr. Lenaris had sent out word months before, trying to get in touch with his old contacts.

"Halpas Palin! It's Lenaris Holem!" he shouted into the comm.

"No need to scream, Lenaris, I hear you loud and clear. Whoever posted the long-range comm towers did fine work. I got word from someone in Jalanda that you were looking for me."

"For you-and Tiven, as well," Lenaris said. "It seems we might have access to a warp vessel that could use a little...adjusting."

"So, you're finally ready to apologize, are you?"

Lenaris scowled to himself. "Did you hear what I said?" he asked. "A warp vessel, Halpas! Maybe we could forget the past for a minute and consider what that might mean for the resistance."

"It was my understanding, Lenaris, that you were through with the resistance."

Lenaris tried to swallow his anger, but it was not easy. The older man had always been an absolutist in every sense, never forgetting a single slight-Bajoran to his very core. Lenaris tried to forget the many times that Halpas had treated him like a child, the sneering and insistent reminding of every mistake Lenaris had ever made. And then the final, furious rift that had torn the cell-or what was left of the cell-apart for good. Lenaris had foolishly underestimated the old man's tendency to hold a grudge.

"Listen, Halpas," Lenaris said tightly. "Let's just let bygones be bygones. I've got a warp s.h.i.+p. One that I think has a good chance of being salvaged. And if anyone could pilot it out of the atmosphere, it's you. Now, if you know where Tiven Cohr is, then there's nothing stopping us from using this s.h.i.+p for a full-scale attack. Are you with me?"

"I know where Tiven is," Halpas said. Halpas said. "He lives near me, at the edge of the Berain Valley." "He lives near me, at the edge of the Berain Valley."

"In the city?" Lenaris asked. He'd been to Berain City a few times.

"I also know," Halpas went on, as though Lenaris hadn't spoken, Halpas went on, as though Lenaris hadn't spoken, "that he wants nothing to do with you-unless you're willing to apologize, of course." "that he wants nothing to do with you-unless you're willing to apologize, of course."

Lenaris was incensed. He didn't have time to pander to the foolish politics of a couple of stubborn old men. "Forget it," he said sourly. "I'll find someone else who can fix it."

Halpas laughed, a faraway sound on the comm. "Still as prideful as a "Still as prideful as a batos," he said. batos," he said.

"Look who's talking," Lenaris muttered, and he ended the call. The warp s.h.i.+p wasn't a priority right now anyway; he had a rescue effort to help organize.

6.

"h.e.l.lo, my old friend." Kalisi greeted Miras warmly as the two met near the turbolift at the Ministry of Science. Miras was pleased to see her. Although they both worked in the same building, they rarely saw each other; they had been hired by different departments, worked in different wings of the facility. Kalisi's position in defense technology, sanctioned and funded by the military, held a great deal more prestige than the field Miras had chosen. Miras found her agricultural studies fascinating, especially from a historical perspective-for it was generally believed that Carda.s.sia Prime had once been green and abundant, before a dramatic s.h.i.+ft in the climate had turned it to desert-but she seemed to be one of the few who cared. Miras believed she had seen ancient Carda.s.sia herself, in the unfinished dream that continued to plague her; while she had no illusions that their homeworld would ever again be so fecund, she held hope that it could again be made fertile.

Not that it matters at the moment, she thought. The dream came almost every night now. She felt as though her life had been put on hold, that she could not pursue any matter, personal or otherwise, until she could decipher its meaning. she thought. The dream came almost every night now. She felt as though her life had been put on hold, that she could not pursue any matter, personal or otherwise, until she could decipher its meaning.

"What was it that you wished to see me about, Miras?"

In spite of her eagerness, Miras approached the subject hesitantly. "Do you remember that object that we examined just before we completed our final project? The thing from Bajor-"

"Yes, the dirty old box with the strange writing on the sides." Kalisi smiled. "It hasn't been that that long, Miras. Two, three years? Of course I remember it." long, Miras. Two, three years? Of course I remember it."

"I've learned a few things about it. I learned-some time ago, actually-that it was probably one of the Orbs of the Prophets. Have you heard of them?"

Kalisi frowned. "Orbs of the Prophets? It does does sound familiar-the Bajorans call their deities 'prophets,' don't they? So the item is ceremonial, then." sound familiar-the Bajorans call their deities 'prophets,' don't they? So the item is ceremonial, then."

"Yes, in a way. The Bajorans believe an individual may have...experiences from exposure to these Orbs." Miras smiled, making an effort not to seem crazy. "Anyway, I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I thought I might like to have another look at it."