Hearing that the Hyrillka Designate had awakened, Jora’h wanted to leap from the chrysalis chair and rush down to the infirmary level, but such a brash action would cause as much of a stir as Rusa’h’s awakening.
Prime Designate Thor’h looked like an overjoyed child. He grabbed the medical kithman’s arm, intending to be the first to see his uncle, but Jora’h raised his hand. “We are all going, Thor’h. I want to see Rusa’h as much as you do.”
Pery’h appeared more relieved than happy at the news. The Designate-in-waiting had felt uncertain about taking over his role, though Jora’h had been convinced that his quiet and intelligent son would be up to the task.
Attenders came swarming in. They jabbered and scurried, retracting the anchor legs of the voluminous chair, adding blankets and colorful wraps, tucking in the Mage-Imperator as if they were packaging a fragile antique for a long journey, instead of just moving him to another room in the Palace itself.
They finally lifted the chrysalis chair and carried it like a palanquin through the wide doors of the contemplation chamber. The procession moved along the dazzling halls, down winding ramps. Startled by the Mage-Imperator’s presence, pilgrims stood staring, unable to believe their good fortune at catching a glimpse of their revered leader.
Prime Designate Thor’h pranced ahead, his eyes as wide and bright as if he had taken another massive dose of shiing. This time, though, his frenetic behavior had nothing to do with any drug other than genuine excitement.
When they reached the infirmary chamber, the doors were flung open and the guards made their way through the crowd of doctors that had arrived ahead of the Mage-Imperator. Rusa’h’s emergence from the sub-thism sleep had taken them all by surprise.
As his chrysalis chair was carried into the infirmary room, Jora’h reached out with thism, following the myriad silvery lines of soul-threads from the Lightsource. But though the Hyrillka Designate was awake, Jora’h could not sense him. It was as if his brother was invisible to the all-encompassing web of thism. Only another part of the deepening mystery . . . but the joy of having Rusa’h awake again was paramount.
Dazed, the Hyrillka Designate sat up in his bed, glancing around. When Jora’h looked at his hedonistic brother, he saw a stranger’s face. Rusa’h was gaunt and pale, his formerly soft features now lean, wasted away after months of catatonia. He had been full of laughter, surrounded by pleasure mates, entirely pampered, and he had always kept a smile on his plump face and a twinkle in his eyes. Now, though, the man looked disturbed and troubled.
Thor’h ran to Rusa’h’s side and embraced him, not even pretending to follow protocol or dignity. “Uncle!” Thor’h’s close-cropped hair was bristly, but his uncle’s hair remained long and full, since he had been unconscious during the death of the former Mage-Imperator, when all Ildiran males had shorn their heads.
“Thor’h . . . ?” the Hyrillka Designate said, trying to reassemble his memories. “Yes, Thor’h. Have the hydrogues gone?”
“Yes, Uncle. The hydrogues did terrible damage, but they left Hyrillka. I helped the people to recover and rebuild. When you get home, you will be glad to see all I have accomplished.”
Pery’h stood beside the Prime Designate and lowered his head formally. “And I am to be your new Designate-in-waiting, Uncle. I am greatly relieved that you can now act as my guide during the transition years. We feared you might never wake.”
Rusa’h finally seemed to piece together the implications of his brother Jora’h sitting in the chrysalis chair, where he expected to see old Cyroc’h. He asked no questions, said nothing at all for a long moment, then seemed entirely uninterested in the new situation.
The attenders brought Jora’h’s chair next to the Designate’s bed, where he could reach out his hand. “We are glad to have you back among the living, Rusa’h. The Empire needs you.”
Rusa’h grasped his hand with surprising, almost defiant, firmness. “Yes . . . back among the living.” He heaved a long, low sigh. “I have returned from the realm of pure light. I was on a higher plane, surrounded by the Lightsource, engulfed in its holy illumination.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again as if he couldn’t believe where he found himself. “And now I have come back to a place of so many shadows . . . so many.” He lay back in his infirmary bed, as if incredibly weary. “But I no longer need to fear the shadows, or the darkness.”
Rusa’h appeared marvelously recovered . . . yet it now disturbed Jora’h greatly that he could not sense his brother in the network of thism. It was as if Rusa’h had been erased, or disconnected. “We must let the Hyrillka Designate rest. We should not trouble him now. He has returned to us, and this is a great day.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Thor’h said. The Prime Designate’s tone carried no request for permission.
“And I too should be here.” Pery’h simply offered a logical conclusion.
Before Thor’h could complain about his younger brother’s intrusion, the Mage-Imperator said, “Yes, it would be best if both of you remained here to help your uncle grow stronger.” He signaled for the attenders to carry his chrysalis chair again. “We will talk further, Rusa’h, when you feel stronger.”