Part I — Ice Purity

Chapter 1

Feh-la Ukura scanned the barren monotony of the Nemenusu Plain from atop the shaggy, tusked animal she rode. Through the veils of her black and white headpiece, she recited the opening lines of her mother’s farewell speech, before she had disappeared. It had been the same speech Feh had paraphrased at the start of her own journey that would take her so far from home to locate the lost Source World that had nagged at not only Feh and her mother, but all humanity. Into the frozen air, she whispered: “Somewhere, hidden, a discovery awaits the children of the Node. Somewhere, our history and our identity abides.” Such optimism seemed lost in the numbing desolation of the Nemenusu. The words sounded appallingly naive in the face of the realities now at hand.

This planet, Allamadain, appeared as an unfinished world, the dark expanse of black pumice spreading flat and featureless toward a faint horizon. The scene left her with little hope that the promises of a greener, populated world would appear anytime soon. Unlike her lush, oceanic home, Epsalore, Feh found Allamadain disheartening. Even under her mask, the crisp, dry wind stung her ochre skin with its alien cold, irritating her blue eyes, which saw nothing but despair in the rocks and dust. This was as alien a world as she had ever known. How could the inhabitants, her Allamadainian hosts, persevere in such a place? And yet they did. Somehow, over the eons of isolation, they had adapted. Nothing about their gaunt, half-naked forms explained this adjustment, but here they were, riding across their frost-swept planet, undaunted by their predicament. Like a fragile string of life stranded in the depth of a frozen black desert, lost to all knowledge, the caravan of Allamadainians rode on.

Feh had much doubt about their direction. With the icy cloud cover overhead, the Allamadainians could not use the sun to navigate the featureless landscape. So how were they finding their way? She searched their boney faces for signs of similar concern. White-skinned and tall, the primitive inhabitants of this obscure world were so very different from her. Fatigue from the journey, and perhaps displeasure at the dismal environment haunted their pale, gray eyes. But, uncertainty was a characteristic they had never shown in the few days she had known them. Something gave these people hope, a particular sort of faith in their purpose, in their direction. Feh marveled at the great reserves of confidence they could draw from, so distinct from the skepticism and disillusionment found in her own world, a place so many hundreds of light years away.

For her own motivation, Feh had her family’s reputation, her science and her curiosity to keep her going. Since the time of her mother’s work, the Ukura name had been synonymous with daring archaeological theory. And although it pained her father that she would do so, Feh-la Ukura had strived to maintain that reputation. Occasionally, she even fantasized that she might overcome the scandals as well. In truth, however, it was that most tenacious sort of investigation that she shared with the maternal side of her family that had led Feh to the edges of the human Diaspora, seeking to locate humanity’s Source World, a place mythologized in the story of Te Pewa. And so, again and again, she dwelt on that theory of human origins that had haunted not just the Ukuras but also all of humankind, the hypothesis she had resurrected from her mother’s time. She knew the words by heart, for they alone had restored her morale during the lonely period she had spent exploring the Eosian wilderness—that stellar hinterland beyond Nodal civilization, so very far from home.

“We are a species without a history and therefore, without definition,” she continued reciting to herself. “Somewhere, hidden, a discovery awaits the children of the Node. Somewhere, our history and our identity abides. To discover the truth, we must first lose our fear of it; only then will our eyes be opened.”

In the vacuous desert of the Allamadainian Nemenusu, though, the air devoured the words even as she spoke them. Defeated, she hunched over in her saddle, staring at the bobbing head of the animal she rode. It, too, kept its eyes low. The Allamadainians called these beasts kula. From time to time, the creature would lower its flat, scoop-like tusks to the ground, turning over the brittle rocks in search of something nourishing; but there was never anything to be found and the animal would snort unhappily. Feh empathized with the creature’s disappointment. She had come far for answers, and just as they had seemed so close, she found herself marooned on this forgotten world, so very deficient of promise. Fate, she thought, was a cruel and fickle force.

Home seemed to grow ever distant with each passing day since her transport had been destroyed. Indeed, the terrible certainty of her mission’s failure but also her personal peril burdened her thoughts more and more. Gone was the thrill of discovery that had lured her to the Eos, among the dead worlds that stood between human civilization in the Node and the alien Pladjin beyond. Allamadain was likely such a dead world, at least partially so. Not yet healed, even after the six thousand years of quiet since the Pladjini Wars had ended, it had slipped away from memory to continue on in isolation, untouched. Perhaps it was its location, hidden within the folds of nebular gases that had kept it outside Nodal knowledge for so long. Or perhaps it was the destabilizing violence of the region’s clan warfare that hindered its recovery. Whatever the case, it remained a lost world, its people left to toil with crude tools and base prejudices.

And now she, too, was lost with them, her hopes of returning home dashed like the hull of her Noro-Benthen transport had been dashed against the Allamadainian atmosphere.

She recalled that from space, the planet beneath that atmosphere had seemed so intriguing. According to the Noro guide who had brought her to Allamadain, Commander Ekias, the high reflectivity of Allamadain’s surface had caused some to mistake it for a small sun orbiting its larger yellow star; for at remote distances, the thin band of ice-free rock along the planet's equator remained lost in the polar glare. Only by using astronomical instruments could one dispel the illusions created by the naked eye. But few made the effort to overcome the cosmic ploy that led so many casual observers astray. And of those that did notice, even fewer actually went further with their observations. There were simply too many uncharted worlds to concern the minds of local astronomers, whose primary job in the competitive realms of the outer worlds was focused on discovering profitable sites for colonization and xeno-genetic research. With its environment so obviously frozen and therefore incapable of supporting large habitable zones, the amazingly luminescent planet became a mere footnote in the directories of even the most meticulous of local scientists.

Indeed, as Feh had learned, only one astronomical atlas gave a detailed description of Allamadain: The Royal Agradarian Tome of Planetary Systems. The Tome, as it was called by local navigators of this region, described Allamadain as the most likely candidate world to harbor life within the Near Eos. The manual even went as far as to suggest it might be linked with the mythological world of Boors which legend claimed was destroyed during the Pladjini Wars. To back its claim, the Tome noted the apparent similarity of the two worlds. Over half of Allamadain was covered in ice, much as was recorded in the folklore of Boors. Likewise, the large fields of dark rock and volcanism, which spanned its equatorial regions, might coincide with the fabled Buekland, the site of the last stand of the Boorian defenders. There, the Tome’s authors postulated, among the hot springs and volcanic plains, clinging to the brief summers and enduring the ruthless winters, life might still hold on. But, of course, Allamadain lay within the territory of the Noro Clan and therefore was off limits to anyone interested enough to make the journey.

For their part, the Noro Clan appeared to have done little to develop the planet. In fact, the only apparent relationship that had developed between Allamadainians and Noros came through enterprising Noro commanders who began experimenting with ways to extract a profit from their Allamadainian surveys, not the least of whom was Commander Ekias, the Noro chieftain who had brought Feh here.

More than the lack of Noro development on Allamadain, though, it was the air of secrecy surrounding the files on Allamadain stored in the brain complex of Ekias’ warship that had piqued Feh’s curiosity. While the astronomical Tome had seen the ice world as interesting for its resemblance to legend, the Noros considered it a strategic secret, one important enough to warrant restricting the amount of information allowed on its transports, lest hostile forces board their vessels and access the memory cells containing knowledge of this world. Still, some basic data was available. According to the ship’s logs, Allamadain was a class eight planet, meaning that no civilization of any consequence existed on its surface. But class eight planets were known to sometimes contain primitive groups of people, often completely unaware of the greater human Diaspora beyond their world. Apparently, Allamadain was such a world. Even though some Allamadainians knew of the Noros, and even the even more advanced Nodal civilization, most of the Allamadainians, Feh had been told, knew nothing. Such knowledge was kept hidden from the vast majority of the planet’s inhabitants for reasons not yet made clear.

“We shall camp soon,” came a woman’s voice, speaking in Salorean.

Feh knew it had to be Iela-gawa Dasalla, the Allamadainian who had taken custody of Feh when the Noros and their Benthen mercenaries had returned to defend their ship from the Genenkolk raid, the attack that had so quickly turned her visit into something much more permanent. From what Feh’s language implants told her, Dasalla’s title alone, Iela-gawa, suggested just how high her position lay in the Allamadainian theocracy. Iela was a polite title used in Allamadainian whenever one ped someone, directly or indirectly; but gawa literally meant pinnacle or summit, implying the authority she wielded. As Feh had learned from the Noros shortly after Dasalla’s arrival to their landing site, there were only three Gawa-priests on the planet, forming a triumvirate which ruled over the entire world. Of all the Allamadainians Feh had met, only Dasalla could speak Feh’s language, Salorean, an ability she owed to listening to centuries-old transmissions picked up from the Node. Dasalla was probably twice Feh’s age, even though she looked hundreds of years older than Feh’s father. It was all a trick of circumstance, really. In actuality, she was probably only around seventy astronomical years old. Part of Dasalla’s elderly appearance stemmed from the racial characteristics of the Allamadainians with their pale skin and silvery hair. But there were also technological factors. Feh’s father, who was probably older than Dasalla, had access to modern youth-enhancing micro-drones which gave him the appearance of a naturally middle-aged person. Such things apparently did not exist on Allamadain. Indeed, the people of this world looked almost totally devoid of modern technology with their obsidian pointed spears, animal transportation and clothing made from hides and reeds. Obviously, something more advanced than such stone-age tools existed on the planet if Dasalla was able to listen in on Salorean communications. Feh assumed the Noro thirst for tsuke, a fermented beverage produced locally, had something to do with making such technology possible—if only for the chosen few.

Dasalla rode up beside Feh. Despite her age, her eyes shined like circles of platinum, set deep amidst fans of wrinkles. Far from the meager clothing the others wore, Dasalla dressed in flowing white gowns befitting her lofty station. The only color on her entire person was the bright red of her tiny lips, so thin they formed only a brief but distinct line under her long, narrow nose. The Noro Commander Ekias, had explained that Dasalla had come from the Allamadainian capital, several days journey to the north, deep in the Nemenusu plain. Apparently, she had been traveling to the coastal region, a place called Tsuden, and had diverted south when her party learned of the Noro arrival. Now with the Noros destroyed and Feh marooned, Tsuden was also Feh’s destination, whether she liked it or not. That is, until Dasalla returned to the Allamadainian capital where the Triumvirate would decide what to do with Feh.

“How do you feel?” Dasalla asked, again in Salorean. “Are you tired?”

Feh self-consciously adjusted the headpiece covering her face, which the Allamadainians had required her to wear while on their world. The veils, hanging down from a white and black crown, were made of dark, silky, opaque fabric, weighted to her chest with small but heavy beads. She was trying to be very careful to avoid offending Dasalla, who had explained the religious importance of keeping Feh’s Salorean features unseen by any Allamadainian. This involved covering not only her auburn hair, but also the orange skin of her hands with gloves as well as wearing a long Allamadainian cloak. “I’m a little sore from riding all day,” Feh replied in Allamadainian, testing the language implants Commander Ekias had provided her. The words came out difficultly. It would take some time before the implants matured.

Dasalla’s tiny red mouth formed a smile, causing an abundance of creases to rupture over her face. “I can give you a compound of herbs to apply to your skin. Even the Lamadans must use them.”

Feh followed Dasalla’s eyes toward the group of soldiers leading the caravan, the Lamadan Guardsmen. Like all Allamadainian men, the Guardsmen grew long gray beards which they braided with black or white reeds. Those with more authority decorated the gray locks of their hair and beards with black or silver beads. Even with the cold winds blowing around them, the soldiers wore little clothing except for the scruffy white pelts of kula hide around their waists and the white and black paint decorating their torsos and faces. With their bearded faces smeared white, the Lamadans appeared like wraiths against the dark gloom of the Nemenusu plain, fearsome and bizarre.

“How much longer will it be before we reach the coast?”

Dasalla stared ahead, as if reading distant messages in the coils of mist that obscured the horizon. “The Nemenusu is a large place. It is difficult to say how many more days our journey will last. Only the kula know such answers,” she said, scratching affectionately the shoulder of the beast she rode. “From my own experience, I would say we have two or three more days before we reach the Tsudenese Mountains.”

“Mountains? I thought the Nemenusu led to the coast.”

“Yes, after we cross over the mountains, you will find the sea.”

Feh had not known there would be mountains in their way. It was already freezing on the plain. How much worse would the mountains be?

Dasalla seemed to sense Feh’s unease. Steering her kula close to Feh’s, she patted Feh’s thigh reassuringly, looking through the veils that concealed Feh’s eyes. “Do not worry, Tsuden is a wonderful place, so green and fertile. It’s my homeland. I’m honored that you will see it.”

The Gawa-priestess was being humble, Feh thought. It was Feh who should be honored. Dasalla was allowing her to see things no non-Allamadainian had ever seen. In fact, judging by the tone of the debate her marooning had sparked among the Allamadainians, she sensed she was lucky they had permitted her to live.

As the dull light of the sky began to fade and the temperature started to drop, the caravan stopped for the night. Above the camp, the scattered light of Allamadain’s solitary moon shone through the cloud cover, illuminating the cone-shaped tents of white kula hide erected for Dasalla’s entourage and their guest. At the center of the camp, servants built fires and prepared dinner, a meal of oily fungus, stewed in a rich broth of kula milk and herbs. When it was finished, Feh joined Dasalla by the fire.

The two women ate in silence even though both had so many questions they wanted to ask the other. Instead, they stared into the licks of fire, eating their dinner and contemplating the uneasy silence between them. When Dasalla had finished her meal, she turned her eyes away from the flames and watched Feh navigate the soup under her veils. It was an unfair hardship to impress upon Feh, Dasalla thought. Despite the necessity of disguising the Salorean, Dasalla still felt guilty. She understood very well what the disappearance of the Noros meant for Feh. And, there was still the judgment of the Triumvirate awaiting her when the work in Tsuden was finished.

Enough silence, Dasalla thought. “Do you dwell on your future?” she asked.

“I do,” Feh replied quietly.

“Indeed. It is not good that the Noros perished.”

Feh recalled the bright streaks of light that had fallen down from the night sky, heralding the loss of the Noros and their attackers, the Genekolks. The battle had lasted only seconds, but its impact on her destiny was total. She looked up at the starless sky. Were the clouds to part and reveal the stars of the Eos over her, the shower of destruction would probably still fall on Allamadain.

“They’re a coarse people, the Noros,” Dasalla added. “And their Benthen servants—a filthy, ruined race. It must have been difficult for a Salorean such as yourself to live among them.”

Feh laughed politely, if dully. Dasalla’s insight was keen. “You know Saloreans well. It’s remarkable given the isolation you impose on yourself.”

A long pause suggested Dasalla was choosing her words with care. "We are a deeply spiritual people,” she said finally. “Material wealth is not so important to us."

Feh looked into the fire, its heat so welcome after the frigid ride across the plain. With a soft voice, she broached a new subject which she had wanted to discuss all day with Dasalla. “Do you fear the influence of the Node?”

Dasalla stoked the kula dung in the fire with a narrow stone she pulled from near her feet. "Our people live mostly in ignorance. Our isolation has cultivated a kind of worldview dependent on this isolation. Allamadainians are not prepared for the ways of the Node. All traces of such knowledge must be kept hidden from view, for the time being. Masked, if you will. This is why your face must be concealed and why our capital, Lamour, is built so far from the population centers."

Feh had figured so much. She recalled that the Noros had hidden their warship behind the moon of Allamadain, where people on the planet could not see it. She also remembered how the lander had touched down so far from anything.

"But the people in the capital know about the Node?"

"Yes. They alone."

"So, why must I wear my veils out here, where nobody can see me?" Feh asked.

"It's become a tradition, I suppose. Do you find the headpiece uncomfortable."

"No,” Feh replied. “Strange, perhaps, but not uncomfortable.”

Dasalla smiled.

“How long has this secret been kept?"

"Three hundred years, around the time the Noro Clan began spreading to this region of the Eos."

Feh had more questions, but Dasalla changed the subject. "It’s late now. We must rise early. Come, I’ll walk you to your tent.”

Feh rose and took Dasalla’s outstretched hand. Walking among the groups of Allamadainians who chatted and sang softly in the firelight, she followed the Gawa-priestess to the faint white cones set beyond the ring of fires.

“I’ll leave you to your dreams, Iela Feh-la,” Dasalla said once they reached Feh’s tent. “I would have them be free of worry. Know that I will do what I can for you.”

Feh yearned for more clarity in Dasalla’s purpose. Could this Gawa Priestess’ interests in the Node save Feh from the more fearful Allamadainians? And if so, what kind of life would she lead on this barren, medieval world?

“I will make an effort to dream of pleasant things,” Feh said to her hostess.

When Feh had entered her tent, Dasalla disappeared into the darkness.

Inside the tent, it was difficult to see. The interior was heavy with the smell of the kula furs laid out over the soft reed mats. Finding her way through the darkness with her hands, Feh managed to locate her pack from which she pulled the insulated jacket from home. After removing her cumbersome headpiece, she pulled the Nodal clothing around her, activating its heat cells.

While she awaited the jacket’s warmth to take away the chill, she thought about her old life on the tropical shores of her home world. Her mother had once told her that she could control what she dreamed by focusing on what she wished just before falling asleep. Her home planet of Epsalore truly would be a dream now, one obscured by distance and time. Still, she knew it was out there, far beyond the layers of clouds and atmosphere, shining out of sight in the depths of space. Somewhere, like the notion of the Source World of Te Pewa, it lived, spinning around a star that might never shine on her again.