The Star Whorl (The Totality Cycles Book 1) Read online

  The Star Whorl

  Book One of The Totality Cycles

  Published by Seaside Grape Publishers LLC

  Copyright ©2015 by A. Y. Emanuel

  Illustrations by A. Y. Emanuel

  Cover art by A. Y. Emanuel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in

  any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the

  Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Books by Ako Emanuel

  The Ava’Lonan Herstories Series

  Book One: The Age of Light

  Book Two: Light Fallen

  Book Three: The Rites of Darkness

  Book Four: Darkness Risen

  Book Five: The Sign of Turning

  The Sheltered Land Tenets

  Book One: Overland

  The Lerem Must Rise Promises

  Book One: Lerem – Emergence

  Book Two: Lerem – Rise

  The Ways of Magic Series

  Book One: Magic World

  Book Two: Magic Hold

  Book Three: Magic Child

  Book Four: Magic Meld

  The Overt Wars Saga

  Book One: The Secret Defense

  Book Two: The Secret Tactics

  Book Three: The Secret Recruits

  The Korsh Herem Wars

  Book One: Woman

  Visit our website at www.seasidegrape.com

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  Whorl One

  The Mji’Hive An’Siija was filled, not just with people, but with a quiet despair.

  Kreceno’Tiv could feel it. He could sense it with his vuu’erio tennae as if the glyph of it were wrapped around the city-glyph of An’Siija, could almost see it with his secondary retinas. But it was a soft despair, not like the cry of hunger, or the weight of catastrophe – it was altogether more insidious in its spreading tentacles, more subtle in its effect. It was the despair of complacency, the despair of non-urgency, the lack of need to do anything. It was like sleeping without needing to wake, like looking without needing to actually see.

  Kreceno’Tiv felt a touch of it himself, and knew that it was affecting him, making him surlier than was his usual wont. There was only one thing keeping him from succumbing to the inevitable inertia that had taken hold of most of the An’Siija, and indeed, the entire world of Gu’Anin – the prospect of serving in one of the Ministries of the Solidarim. He did not expect to serve in the Solidarim, itself – his father currently sat on that venerable council, and was highly placed and respected.

  And if anyone follows him, it will be my sister, Karaci’Tiv, he thought, trying not to feel sour. Not because she was most likely to follow their father into the Solidarim, but because she had an almost guaranteed purpose, and he was only hoping. He smiled thinly as his friend, Ro-Becilo’Ran, laughed and nudged him, inviting him to share in the un-funny joke that another of their friends had made as they stood, waiting to get into the Butani ya Watu, the Hive of Marvels. Ro-Becilo’Ran was sporting the faint blue and yellow markings and Ropalir physique that pre-mating with Ropali Galici’Bel had induced, for she was of the Ropali Genus. She stood beside him, brilliant blue and yellow markings stark in the dark-time air. Most of his friends were pre-mated, their love-interests standing beside them or in the circles of their arms. He himself was back to the neutral shades of bluish-gray, indicating that he was not pre-mated to anyone. And he had not been, not since Gotra Pelani’Dun.

  Gotra Pelani’Dun, he thought, bitterly, trying and failing to keep his elytra-pace from clacking. I’m no longer your Geni’vhes Go-Kreceno’Tiv, thank the Ancient Hives! He had not really liked himself as Go-Kreceno’Tiv, looking back, and her spurning of him and their Geni’vhes pre-mating had been both humiliating and gut-wrenching, seeming to shred his soul and self. It had torn him up more than he had cared to admit, at least to anyone else, at all cases. He turned his mind away from the awful memories, tried to engage the immediate moment and the silly gaiety of his friends.

  “Thinking of her again?” Ro-Becilo’Ran asked, his voice humorous, though there was sympathy and the wish to comfort him, too, Kreceno’Tiv could see it in his glyph. Ro-Becilo’Ran’s glyph was clear to him without him having to focus his eyes to a semi-compound state or touch the other young man, for they had been friends for as long as he could remember. He knew his glyph was just as clear to Ro-Becilo’Ran, and that did not bother him, for Ro-Becilo’Ran was like a brother. And right now, his friend’s glyph radiated many things besides sympathy, including pleasure at seeing him, and a desire for them to interact and have fun.

  “No,” he retorted shortly, though he was not really that irritated at him. The situation, however, standing in the infernally long line to try to gain access to a place that most of the other denizens of the city were also trying to get into... that irked him beyond measure.

  “Yes you are,” Thynnu Tikati’Pas said, sassily, teasing. “Be careful, you know what thinking too hard about someone does, right? You inadvertently apply Nil’Gu’vua to their glyph, and boop! There they are!”

  There was laughter at this assertion, an ancient myth that had no foundation in fact.

  “Can we talk about something else?” he asked testily, knowing his irritation would only draw the interest of those around him, but he was unable to contain it.

  “Of course, Kreceno’Tiv, anything for you,” Ropali Galici’Bel said, waving the others off. Her voice was half teasing, half commanding, and the rest of them desisted. “We can talk about our last term in Secondus!”

  Whorl Two

  There were collective groans and complaints, but at least they were not goading him anymore. He did not really want to think about their last term in Secondus, which started in two turns. All he wanted to think about was right now. But right now, they were waiting for the chance to get into the Bustani, a vain hope if ever there was one. The Bustani ya Watu was the one last true entertainment, the only thing in the whole Mji’Hive that still seemed to be a cause for excitement. For, in its many twisting, ever-changing, dim and bright halls and cells, were the wonders of the Totality, brought from distant worlds under the aegis of the Solidarim to amaze and delight the populace. Now the attraction and its offshoots in each major Hive were the only thing that held back the ennui, and he and his friends had stood here on many a dark-turn in hopes of getting in, but not much hope.

  This is pointless, he thought bleakly. He shifted his weight, his legs and feet aching, wondering if he should make a cushion to sit on. By unspoken agreement no one glyph-conjured seats or lounges, as it would only add to the congestion and confusion of the line and the idle populace around them. Only personal cushions were used, if someone wanted to sit. He shrugged, moving his wing-nets under the double elytra-pace on his back. The vestigial wings were slowly filling with fluid, and would soon break through the elytra-pace, signaling full maturity. The discomfort in them added to his bad mood, he knew. We’ll never get in. We rarely ever do. In fact, the only time he had ever gotten into the Bustani was when his father, Vespar-Drelano’Sev’Tiv, had gotten a special facilitation for himself and his famiya to enter the Bustani, and Kreceno’Tiv had managed to secret Ro-Becilo’Ran along. Together they had marveled over the strange and sometimes frightening things that had been on exhibit, and they had had a wonderful time recounting these things to each other, listing what they liked the most, and which world they would visit when they grew up.

  But we won’t, he thought, holding in a grimace as the self-same Gotra Pelani’Dun and a group of her friends just happened to show up and tri
ed to join them. He stiffened inside as he had the very mild Gotrar-response to her cloud of pheromones, as did other males close to him who were un-pre-mated. Her friends’ scents were not nearly so strong, so hers dominated as she waved her vuu’erio tennae in his direction, trying to persuade her way into a place beside them in line. He shook off the reaction almost unconsciously, and the pale purple and orange patterning to his shoulders, wrists, shins, vuu’erio tennae and elytra-pace disappeared. He did not want even the slight Gotrar-induction being in proximity to her would cause, or any other reminder of that time.

  “See, I told you,” Thynnu Tikati’Pas whispered, poking him. He scowled at her, and she laughed and turned back to her pre-mate.

  “Oh ha, let us stand and wait with you,” Gotra Pelani’Dun said, cajolingly, speaking to Thy-Lerefo’Gol, though she kept turning her eyes and vuu’erio tennae to Kreceno’Tiv every other word. “We won’t get in, but we can stand and not get in together.” Her friends giggled, most of them unattached and looking around interestedly at those young men in his group who were also unattached. The males gazed back, just as interested. But those around him and Ro-Becilo’Ran and their friends raised voices in protest. Many hundreds had been waiting in the sloppy line fully as long as they, and in many cases, longer, and they would tolerate no line-breaking.

  “No skipping ahead in the line!” someone behind them called out, and others took up the cry. “If you all want to stand together, you can all go to the end of the line together!”

  “Sorry,” Thy-Lerefo’Gol said, gesturing a half-regret mixed with denial. “We don’t want to lose our position.”

  “But we won’t get in, so what does position matter?” she persisted.

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” he said gravely, though others laughed.

  So Gotra Pelani’Dun and her group were constrained to move to the end of the very long line. He was relieved – dealing with Gotra Pelani’Dun was not on his personal recountings of enjoyable pastimes, not anymore. He had long since lost the somewhat deeper purple and orange coloration and Gotrar-physique being Geni’vhes pre-mated to her had induced. With her departure, he returned to his dour thoughts. We won’t get to other worlds – not unless we definitely go to Tertius, and then definitely get into the Solidarim. Only those who are Administrators of Nil’Gu’vua worlds get to Long-Travel, and only to those worlds, specifically. Or those brave enough to be the frontier-explorers to undeveloped worlds – they get to Long-Travel into the unknown. The second Star Whorl of the Totality is largely unexplored, but it’s so much farther away that Long-Travel to that Star Whorl is a significant risk. The only unexplored worlds left here in this Star Whorl are Nil’Gu’dae worlds, where criminals are dropped off. All the others have more administrators than they can handle. Long-Travel to them has been stopped.

  “See how much we think of you?” Thynnu Tikati’Pas said, giving him a glinting smile.

  “Appreciate it,” he said blandly, not rising to the baiting. His friends were going out of their way for him, for there really was no difference where they stood in the interminable line.

  No difference, and no hope. He wanted to gesture exasperation and impatience and he clacked his elytra-pace at this ceaseless waiting, but the alternative was all the other useless pastimes that did not divert him any longer. Not even standing on the edge of Algna Suprum, the uppermost landform of the World-Tree Mid-Trunk Junction, was enough to elicit a thrill. He remembered he had marveled that the landforms, upon which the main Mji’Hives of An’Siija and other Mji’Hives were built, were made from the living substance of the World-Tree Anin’Ma, itself. They resided where the main Trunk, stretching inconceivably high above the far-away surface, split into seven sub-Trunks that proceeded to grow upward to the atmosphere-breaching Crown. He had stood at the balustrade edge of Algna Suprum many times, looking down into a misty darkness only broken by the dim lights of a lower hive-city on a lower branch. Even that had palled, among all the other activities that had also lost their thrill, leaving only the line to the Bustani.

  I could be studying, he thought, though he did not need to, really. The lessons came easily, too easily. He did not expect the lessons of this coming term to be any harder, merely different. The only other thing that fascinated him was the theory/study of Long-Travel itself, and he longed to vuu-study the glyph of it.

  The line moved, giving occasion to a cheer from those waiting, and derisive comments from those who were just sitting or standing around, not doing anything at all. He took three steps forward, and knew that the rest of the dark-turn was well lost, even as his friends joked and chattered with false, brittle gaiety around him.

  Whorl Three

  They gave up a few time-marks later, deciding to waste time, instead, at an overcrowded gregaris-park. They chose to walk there rather than using their personal transport glyph-constructs. Kreceno’Tiv listened to his friends talk as they wended their way through the dark-time press, jostling and being jostled by innumerable others, and taking no note of the casual contact or slight glyph-knowing that the contact brought. They just made sure to keep glyph-track of each other, for the glut of people would not abate once they reached their destination, and the chances of finding the group would be vanishingly small if one of them got separated from the rest. He wondered briefly if this was how it had been in the time of their distant, pre-sentient ancestors’ hives, for the crowds were almost familiar, a comforting nearness and press of populace. But then, the hives movements had been directed by Malkika, pre-sentient Queens, who had had complete control of those in their respective hives. And the denizens of each respective hive had been able to find each other by a complicated system of chemi-scents. That complicated system used in pre-herstoric times had been bred out of them, and now the mating chemi-scent was practically the only type left that they still used.

  He kept view of the tracking glyph he had on Ro-Becilo’Ran and felt his own body’s slight reaction to the ever-changing pools of chemi-scent as they moved. His deshik changed to conform to each physique transformation. Ro-Becilo’Ran did not react, due to his pre-mating.

  Eh, how did Pelani’Dun find us in the line? he thought, as a Gotrar-induction came over him, and he looked around, irritated. She must have known that we would be in the line to get into the Bustani. Not that the line was hard to find, but it took up more than a quarter of the length of the Mji’Hive, and it was hard to distinguish between those actually in the line, and those just loitering in the area.

  Why am I even thinking about her? he berated himself, as the location indicator-glyph for the park/gardens came into view, wildly overgrown in the cordoned-off places, and trampled down almost to the wood/soil in the open areas. But he knew why – because, besides the prospect of beginning his last term in Secondus as something to occupy his mind, or the more distant prospect of Tertius, the most interesting, albeit distasteful, occurrence in his life at this moment was her renewed pursuit of him. It had been almost funny the way her eyes had widened when she had first seen him during the between-term break, after his sudden growth-spurt. She had been dumbfounded, openly staring. Then she had pretended nonchalance. It had almost been worth the pain of that sudden growth, to see the surprise on her face, the realization that she had given him up for being too undeveloped, just to have him spring up to his full height, almost in a single five-turn, half an orbis later.

  Well, she won’t find us here, he mused. Not unless she has the same sort of tracking glyph we’re using, on one of us, but so subtle that I can’t detect it! The thought amused him, then disturbed him. He looked over the members of his group that he could see, then engaged his vuu’erio tennae to his secondary retinas, bringing most of the glyphs around him that were not apparent to normal sight into sharp definition. And there, following not him but Ro-Becilo’Ran, was a faint, second glyph of recognition/tracking, set by an unfamiliar subjective creator. Well, not totally unfamiliar. None of his other friends were so double-marked. It was not quite v
eiled, not quite contravening the Unveiling Laws, just very, very slight.

  Annoyed, he gently took hold of the extra glyph, and changed it ever so slightly with his Nil’Gu’ua, so that it wandered around before catching hold of a random person within the crowd.

  Ro-Becilo’Ran turned his head at the brush of Kreceno’Tiv’s Nil’Gu’ua. “What was that?” he asked, raising a vuu-brow.

  “A little pest was hanging onto you,” Kreceno’Tiv answered, shrugging. “I sent it away.”

  Ro-Becilo’Ran raised the other brow, not taking his meaning. Then his friend’s gaze centered past him, and comprehension came clear. Kreceno’Tiv turned to see a familiar purple and orange head bob in the crush, as if seeking.

  Gesturing annoyance rather than projecting its glyph, and clacking his elytra-pace, he turned back to his friend.

  “I’m tired,” he stated, “and it’ll take the rest of the dark-turn just to get through this morass. I’ll see you in the light-turn.”

  Ro-Becilo’Ran gestured understanding. Kreceno’Tiv turned and began to make his way to the boulevard where he could apply Nil’Gu’vua to his personal transport glyph. A pair of incredulous magenta Gotra eyes locked onto him and watched him walk away.

  Whorl Four

  He almost began to regret his decision to leave as soon as he glyph-conjured his transport and set it to take him back home. There was nothing there to really amuse him, nothing to fully distract or absorb his mind. Other than skimming the interlinked dataSpheres, there was really little of interest to do.