Though Anton enjoyed the excitement and energy during the height of Maratha’s day season, he drank in the long night silence in a way that none of his Ildiran friends could ever appreciate.
As a boy, he’d spent much time basically alone in the alien archaeological digs worked by his parents. Margaret and Louis had treated him as a little adult; they hadn’t seemed to know what else to do. At night in camp, he would sit and listen to them discussing (or arguing about) discoveries they’d made in the ruins. They would try to interpret the Klikiss architecture, room placement, or the weblines of hieroglyphic text on the walls. Occasionally, they would ask their son what he had done during his day as he roamed the site, exploring. Most of the time, though, Anton just eavesdropped and absorbed their passion for the long-gone alien culture. . . .
Here in the nearly empty domed city, Anton had his surrogate Ildiran “family.” Though he did not enhance the thism with his presence, he did share a fascination for their grand Ildiran epic.
In particular, he adored a story about an exotic Ildiran painter who became too obsessed with her art. Not satisfied with common materials, she had painted every centimeter of her skin, from the top of her shaved scalp to the soles of her feet. She made herself into a living mural of Ildiran history and heroes, and people came to stare at her marvelous body. One morning after she had completed her great work, however, the artist discovered a small wrinkle on her face—and realized that, over time, her physical masterpiece would be destroyed by her own mortality.
Convinced that her art was more important than her life, she formulated a preservative poison that would polymerize and fossilize her skin. She drank the poison, positioned herself on a stand with her arms and legs spread so as to show off every detail, and waited while the chemicals turned her body solid, never letting her face form a grimace of pain. According to Vao’sh, the artist’s body-statue was still on display in the Prism Palace, and Anton hoped to see it as soon as they returned to Mijistra.
Now as Anton studied diamondfilm sheets covered with the text of the Saga, Vao’sh hurried into his well-lit chamber. “Ah, I thought I’d find you here, Rememberer Anton. A septa of Solar Navy ships has arrived bearing details of the transition and the new Mage-Imperator’s ascension. They are accompanied by Designate Avi’h himself. He has asked that all work cease in order to welcome him.”
Anton pushed the diamondfilm sheets away and stretched. “Who am I to argue?”
Because of the early death of Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h, Jora’h hadn’t had sufficient time as Prime Designate to father enough noble-born sons. Therefore, there were too few Designates-in-waiting for all Ildiran splinter colonies, especially one as minor as Maratha. As a consequence, Jora’h’s youngest brother Avi’h would keep his position, since there was no replacement available.
As all members of the skeleton crew gathered inside the main storytelling plaza under the central dome, several Solar Navy soldiers from the escort septa followed the Maratha Designate as he strolled back into his garishly illuminated city. The septar, a man named Rhe’nh, stood in his uniform, waiting to be dismissed; he had other Designates-in-waiting to deliver on a convoluted return trip around the Empire.
Anton noted that Designate Avi’h, dressed as usual in voluminous and ornate yellow robes, was shorter than most Ildirans, but he held his head high, as if by stretching his neck he could gain a bit more height. When Maratha Prime bustled with tourists, the stuffy Designate often attended Vao’sh’s story sessions, though out of duty rather than from any innate enjoyment of the tales.
He was accompanied by his chief bureaucrat Bhali’v, a constant companion and diligent assistant. Now Bhali’v spoke loudly in a thin voice, filling the role of crier. “All salute the Maratha Designate!”
The gathered Ildirans clasped their hands against their chests, and Anton quickly did the same. Avi’h climbed the stairs to the central dais, and his bureaucrat assistant hurried up beside him, continuing to speak for his master. “The newly ascended Mage-Imperator Jora’h has commanded that Designate Avi’h return to his planet and watch over his dedicated workers even through these months of darkness. Though this goes against established tradition, the Designate does this to strengthen the thism and to show his benevolence.”
The Maratha Designate stood with a forced smile on his long-suffering face as Bhali’v continued his ponderous announcement. “We will inspect all work activities and keep records to make certain that Maratha Prime is maintained properly during the night season. With the Designate now back among you, this city will thrive even in darkness.”
Anton thought that Engineer Nur’of and his thermal energy project would have more to do with their impending prosperity than would the presence of Avi’h. He could well imagine that a spoiled and pampered noble like the Designate felt cheated out of his half year back in the Prism Palace.
Finally the Designate himself spoke, describing Jora’h’s ascension ceremony, the dazzling funeral pyre, and how the fallen Mage-Imperator’s still-glowing bones had been taken into the Prism Palace’s ossuarium. While the Ildirans listened with rapt attention, Vao’sh was both intrigued and saddened. “I wish I could have been there. Such an incredible event can happen only once in a lifetime.”
After the assembly, when the Ildiran workers returned to their tasks, Avi’h called for the rememberers, specifically asking for Anton as well. The Designate had taken a seat in a colorful and comfortable chair, and the bureaucrat stood next to him, again speaking for Avi’h. “Rememberer Anton Colicos, some much-delayed news arrived for you on Ildira, a report from the Terran Hanseatic League.”
“News? Who could be sending me a message way out here?” Then Anton knew the report was one he had long feared and dreaded.
Impatient and distracted, the Designate spoke in an offhand tone. “It seems your father has been found dead at an archaeological dig on Rheindic Co. Your mother is still missing, however. The Hansa merchant who brought the message did not give very many details.”
Anton reeled, seeing spots in front of his eyes. No words came to him. Vao’sh took his arm, steadying him. “I am sorry, my friend. I know you have long been worried—”
As if he had just cut a ceremonial ribbon, the Designate raised his hand abruptly, done with his duty. “That’s all we have. Nothing else. You both may go.”
Anton walked with leaden feet as Vao’sh led him away.