104 DESIGNATE-IN-WAITING PERY’H

The mad Hyrillka Designate and his corrupted guards held Pery’h prisoner for days. With all the people on the planet voluntarily separate from the Mage-Imperator’s thism, the young man became more and more isolated, utterly cut off from all other presence in the great mental network. Sickeningly adrift and lost. It was enough to drive an Ildiran insane.

Armored guards with crystal spears stood outside his door, preventing the distraught Pery’h from leaving the room. He had demanded to see Rusa’h, even his brother Thor’h, but no one would speak to him. After the Hyrillka Designate had made his outrageous claims, accusing Mage-Imperator Jora’h of poisoning his own father, the guards had kept Pery’h sequestered from everything that was happening.

Through his thism connection—without which he would surely be mad by now—Pery’h knew the Mage-Imperator was aware that something was seriously wrong in the Horizon Cluster, but no one on distant Ildira could guess how desperate the situation had become.

Overconsumption of raw shiing had softened the connection of all Hyrillkans, making their minds pliable. Then Designate Rusa’h had worked his manipulation, using a corrupt version of the thism, and diverted them to his own control instead of the Mage-Imperator’s.

Prime Designate Thor’h had also joined the odd and open rebellion, of his own volition, and Pery’h could not believe that a son of the Mage-Imperator would be so weak-willed as to be swayed by mental domination. With a cold sinking in his heart, he understood that his brother—the Prime Designate of the Ildiran Empire—was a willing accomplice in this madness. . . . He felt so cut off!

Thor’h came to the door of the confinement chamber, accompanied by a squad of soldier kithmen. The Prime Designate stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his narrow chest, his expression implacable. His face was thin and pale, his lips pulled into a pucker of distaste as if he had eaten something sour. Though Pery’h longed to connect to someone, anyone, Thor’h showed barely any sign of recognition for his younger brother. “Come with me to the throne hall. Imperator Rusa’h wishes to speak to you of your fate.”

“Imperator? Thor’h, this is insanity.”

“It is what must be, for the good of the Ildiran Empire.”

Pery’h refused to move. “I am the Hyrillka Designate-in-waiting. You don’t even belong here.”

Thor’h’s eyes flashed. “I am the Prime Designate. I will be wherever I am required to be. And I am linked closer to Imperator Rusa’h than I ever was to our misguided father.”

He gestured, and the guards stomped forward, roughly taking Pery’h by the arms and dragging him out of the chamber. They walked him in a brisk lockstep down the corridors of the vine-draped citadel palace.

Making his choice, Pery’h held his head high and moved his legs so that he walked alongside the guards. Resistance would be foolish at this point, and arguing or struggling with these soldier kithmen would gain him nothing. Though he strode next to them, the young man felt separated by a wide and immeasurable gulf. Gathering the shreds of his pride, Pery’h increased his pace so it appeared that he was leading the guards.

Crowds of Hyrillkans looked at him with vacant stares. These should have been his people, but they no longer felt the same thism that bound him to the rest of the Ildiran Empire. Pery’h should have become their next Designate.

Now, though, as the young man stepped into the receiving courtyard, where his hedonistic uncle had always thrown celebrations, Pery’h saw how much had changed. He had never felt so numb and isolated.

Rusa’h reclined in an ornate replica of the chrysalis chair, more spectacular than the one Jora’h had in the Prism Palace. He wore robes identical to those of a Mage-Imperator; he had even braided his hair in a fashion similar to the great leader’s. Pery’h felt queasy as he wondered if Rusa’h had also had the lunatic conviction to inflict upon himself the castration ceremony, a mockery of the true leader’s ascension. He couldn’t sense any answers, any motivations. “What is this . . . masquerade?”

Seeing Pery’h, the Hyrillka Designate sat up and gave him a superior smile. “Sacred traditions must be restored and protected. Lost Ildirans must return to the true path that made us great, that preserved our civilization over the long millennia.”

Leaving the guard escort behind, Thor’h strolled forward catlike to take a place at his uncle’s side. From the familiar way the Prime Designate moved, Pery’h was sure his brother had become quite comfortable next to the mad Designate.

“My father will learn what you are doing,” Pery’h said, not raising his voice, keeping his tone reasonable but firm. He could not even imagine what sort of punishment might be appropriate for these outrageous actions. “The Mage-Imperator will not allow you to continue this . . . this atrocity. You cannot keep it a secret for long.”

A hot edge of madness threatened to cut its way into Pery’h’s mind. He was so alone. Alien thism surrounded him, yet not a thread of it penetrated the solitary confines of his mind.

“Oh, but we intend for Jora’h to know. Even with his inept grasp of the thism, I’m sure he already senses something is wrong. But you, Pery’h, must send him a clear message. Our pilgrims are already in place in the Prism Palace. The usurper will learn the gravity of the errors he has made and the crimes he has committed.”

“You call my father a usurper?” Pery’h was more shocked than angry. “He is the Mage-Imperator—”

“I am the true Imperator!” Rusa’h roared.

Thor’h sighed, leaning close to speak to his uncle. “He will never surrender the Prism Palace to you, Imperator.”

Rusa’h was saddened. “I know, and many Ildirans will suffer because of it.”

The guards held their crystal-tipped spears and glared at Pery’h.

So utterly abandoned and isolated, Pery’h found it difficult even to talk, but still he forced out the words. “Listen to me, Uncle. You were injured. Your mind must have been . . . damaged by the hydrogues. You have to see that this is folly—”

Rusa’h grasped the edge of the false chrysalis chair and hauled himself upright. His braid twitched and thrashed. “Oh yes, Pery’h, I can see—I see more clearly than any Ildiran. I have followed the soul-threads, witnessed how tangled and frayed they have become. Jora’h and our father before him caused a great deal of damage, but it is not too late to save our people. We must return to the proper ways.”

Pery’h raised his eyebrows. “Is it proper to speak treason against the Mage-Imperator who holds the thism?”

“I hold all the threads of thism here. You can sense it yourself.”

Pery’h could indeed sense it. The pain of emptiness seared his mind.

“Every person on Hyrillka is bound to me,” the Designate went on, “and our enlightenment will spread across the Horizon Cluster and eventually to all Ildirans. Jora’h should not resist this change, but he is blinded and stubborn. After poisoning our father, he does not understand how far he has fallen.”

Pery’h looked into the eyes of the Ildiran doctors, the lens kithmen, the guards and courtiers. Even the pleasure mates, who had once been soft and beautiful women, now looked as hard as crystal blades. Worst of all, the Prime Designate’s eyes had turned stony; by his expression, Thor’h seemed to know exactly what was about to happen—and had decided to allow it.

“You will be our message, Pery’h,” Rusa’h said. “Since you refuse to cooperate with us, you are a loose end of the thism. You must be separated from the trap that holds you.”

Claws of isolation pierced his mind, but Pery’h stood bravely. “My father is the true Mage-Imperator. I will never turn from him.”

Rusa’h smiled. “We don’t expect you to. That is why we will no longer even ask.” He raised a hand and signaled to the loyal guard kithmen. They all took an intimidating step closer to Pery’h.

“After this,” the Hyrillka Designate said, “Jora’h will be forced to respond. And we will be ready for him.”

The soldiers raised their crystal-tipped spears and, before Pery’h could so much as cry out, they struck him down. They thrust and stabbed, driving the Designate-in-waiting to the floor. Others took glassy alloy-handled clubs and battered him as he fell, breaking his skull, his bones. Pery’h’s blood splashed on the clean tiles. He could not struggle as the blades plunged into him again and again.

These were not his people. Pery’h felt no connection to them. The last face he saw was that of his brother Thor’h standing beside the facsimile chrysalis chair, watching calmly.

Sprawled on the floor, the young man reached out a hand to grasp at the soul-threads that glittered around him. Through his pain and disbelief, Pery’h clasped the single bright thread of thism that linked him to his father, and held it like an anchor line—until the light mercifully claimed him.

The spear thrusts and club blows continued to rain down upon Pery’h’s lifeless body for a long, long time.