Kevin Anderson - The Ashes of Worlds

“He’s right,” Peter said, yanking a blanket from the bed and running to the water basin that Roamer engineers had installed. “It’s his best chance.”

Outside, the elemental fires continued to spread. After being transmitted through the few hapless green priest conduits, the faeros had formed a parasitic bond with the verdani, converting them into torch trees. From there, secondary blazes had spread to the underbrush, consuming smaller shrubs and plants.

Peter and Estarra wrapped the wet cloth around the squirming infant and secured the wailing bundle to OX’s chest with a utility cord. The Teacher compy held Reynald firmly, keeping pace with the King and Queen as they rushed through winding fungus-reef passages to the outer balconies.

Breathing heavily, Peter stepped out into the choking hot air and watched the faeros flames jump from one tree to the next. Normal fires raced across the fringes of the clearing, where people ran pell-mell away from the fungus-reef tree.

Therons crowded the small lift platforms, trying to ride the cables down to the ground. But the elevators were equipped to carry only a few people at a time, not to accommodate such a massive evacuation. When sixteen people crammed onto one platform, clutching the side rails and each other, the overloaded lift groaned and gave way, spilling the passengers to their deaths. Watching in horror, Peter shouted, but he couldn’t help them.

For just a moment the scope and suddenness of the disaster knocked the wind out of him. Even if everyone got to the ground, how would they cross the meadow safely through growing curtains of flames? There was no time to wonder how this had happened and no time for panic or grief either. Peter had to keep his wits about him and somehow get his people, and his family, to safety.

Estarra saw it, too, and quickly made her decision. “We’ll have to climb.” In answer to Peter’s concerned expression, she gave a confident nod. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve just had a baby. I spent most of my life scrambling up and down worldtrees. If OX can carry Reynald safely, we should be fine. Can you manage?”

Flashing her a determined smile, Peter shouted to the frantic people, “Every able-bodied person, climb down! Treedancers, help the others. Use the platforms only if you can’t climb.”

A few of the overcrowded elevators managed to reach the ground, and the people sprinted across the meadow toward the ring of fire. By now, the fungus-reef tree had caught fire from eager sparks that spread from the initial torch trees. Tongues of flame raced up the golden bark, consuming small fronds, scorching the bark plates, until part of the city began to smolder.

Some people swiftly grasped knobs and handholds in the bark scales. Peter could see they didn’t have much time. “Let’s go.”

Because OX had lashed the blanket-wrapped baby to his torso, his polymer arms were left free. Without further comment, the compy swung himself over the edge and began to climb down. Peter had never seen OX do anything so nimble or athletic before, but the Teacher compy seemed perfectly capable of working his way down.

Estarra went next, calling out encouragement to the people still evacuating. Peter followed. Smoke and steam oozed from between the bark plates, burning his hands, but he didn’t let go.

The compy reached the ground first and turned to wait for the King and Queen. He adjusted the wet wrappings around the infant, keeping Reynald secured to his solid chest. By now the wildfire had caught on the grasses and flowers; shrubs burst into fireballs. Above them, the fungus reef was fully engulfed, and orange flames spat from the upper balconies and windows.

Peter dropped the rest of the way to the ground. “To the edge of the meadow!”

Like solar flares, living arcs of fire sprang from torch tree to torch tree. With a crack like an incandescent bullwhip, another majestic worldtree succumbed to the fiery elementals. Its interlocked canopy of fronds became a ceiling of orange embers; smaller branches caught and transmitted sparks to adjacent ones.

While OX hurried ahead of them, carrying the baby, Estarra kept her head down and ran. But, before they could follow the evacuees into the dense surrounding forest, flames cut them off. The perimeter of the grove formed a burning wall, forcing OX to halt ahead of them.

With a crack and a roar, a thick branch broke loose from above, and a clump of flaming fronds crashed directly down onto the compy in a feathery spray of sparks and embers.

Estarra screamed for the baby. Peter shielded his stinging eyes and dove toward them, but he knew he was too late to save his son.

The little compy pushed his way out, knocking aside the blazing fronds. He kept his synthetic body hunched over, arms wrapped protectively around Reynald. OX’s polymer skin was damaged; ash and soot were smeared like war paint on his smooth face, but his systems still functioned.

Estarra raced forward in panic to retrieve Reynald. Peeling the steaming blanket away, Peter checked to make sure the baby hadn’t been burned. The little boy was wailing, but very much alive.

Green grass smoldered around them, making the smoke burn like acid in their lungs. Estarra pointed desperately across the meadow to the diamond sphere of the hydrogue derelict, which OX had flown during their escape from Earth. “There! That’s our only way out!”

With nowhere else to run, they crashed through the embers of underbrush until they reached the small alien ship. Thankfully, the hatch had been left open. As flames flicked at their heels, Peter and Estarra, along with OX and the baby, clambered inside. Peter sealed the doorway behind them, and the sudden silence made his ears pop. They slapped at the ashes burning their garments, wheezing, coughing, frightened, and shaking with exertion. But safe.

Through the transparent curved wall, they watched angry flames engulf the rest of the meadow and then rush over them.

3

Chairman Basil Wenceslas

Outside in the Palace District’s main square, the Archfather of Unison carried an elaborate shepherd’s crook. He wore golden damask robes ornamented with frills and simulated brocades, and he looked like a jovial old uncle with a long, bushy white beard. The religious spokesman delivered another rousing speech, carefully scripted by Chairman Wenceslas.

People could so easily be distracted without a firm hand to guide them.

When properly motivated, the Archfather, a former actor, could really tug on the heartstrings of an audience. Unfortunately, though, during recent coaching sessions the man had begun to express doubts about the Chairman’s agenda. The Archfather had spent altogether too much time reviewing images of the bloody Usk pogrom. Initially, he had been enthusiastic about delivering a stern message to the upstart colony world — razing the farming town, crucifying the defiant town elders — yet he now questioned the necessity of such actions.

In times like these, Basil expected his underlings to do what they were told for the good of the Hansa and, by extension, the human race. They were not supposed to have second thoughts. With harsh words and overt threats, he had put the man back in his place, leaving him white and shaking.

Making certain the Archfather had learned his lesson, Basil watched the show from the Whisper Palace observation gallery, accompanied by a concerned-looking Sarein and an unusually contemplative Deputy Eldred Cain.

“The Archfather is doing well today,” Sarein pointed out. “You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“I had to fan the flames of his enthusiasm a bit. This time he seems to have gotten the point.”

From the square below, the bearded man bellowed his words. “Yes, the Klikiss aredemons, but demons cannot help what they are. They may be evil, they may be destructive, but it is in their very nature. Far worse are those whochoose evil — people who ally themselves with the Klikiss, with the demons, with our enemies. By this, I mean our treacherous King Peter and his rebellious Confederation.”