EXXOS.

With their attack gaining momentum, the robot ships careened into the chaotic evacuation activities. Exxos would demonstrate their abilities to destroy, prove the worth of the robots. Success here would ease the pain of the Shana Rei, impress the creatures of darkness, and the robots would benefit from it as well.

Suddenly his ship lurched to a halt, as if a giant invisible hand had wrapped around it. His engines rattled and roared as he fought to charge into the fray; the hull groaned with the unexpected strain. The robots on the bridge struggled to maintain their balance on clusters of finger-legs.

"What is happening?" he demanded, but none of the robots could give him a report. "Is this a weapon the humans are using?"

The ship's control systems winked out and plunged them into darkness. None of the robot attack vessels could move. Their weapons went dead. Exxos's crimson optical sensors flared brighter.

The blackness on his bridge turned into static, and Exxos felt himself falling as the universe dissolved around him....

He reappeared in the entropy bubble with the Shana Rei glaring down at him with their singular eyes. "Your attack has been aborted," one of the inkblots said. "We are done in this place."

"We could have wrecked this outpost," Exxos replied. "All of it, killed all the humans."

The pulsing inkblots hummed. "We no longer want this place destroyed."

Exxos hadn't understood the choice of this target in the first place, and now he was even more confused. "Why?"

"We comprehend additional details now," the Shana Rei answered.

The vagueness of their response angered Exxos. Retreat was foolish and unnecessary. "But we agreed to destroy all life. That is our plan. We cannot be selective. We are here: let us finish our mission."

"No-they do our work." The shadows refused to explain further.

"But we must fight," Exxos insisted. "We have many enemies to destroy. Trust me to envision the long-term plan."

The shadows were not swayed, though. "We continue our methodical eradication of the hydrogues through transgates into their gas giants. We access and attack Ildirans through their thism." The shadow cloud began to collapse out of space and into the dark passages behind the universe.

"For now, we will withdraw from here. We have chosen a more significant target." The Shana Rei paused as if conferring, then added, "We will go to Theroc and destroy the new heart of the worldforest. The verdani are powerful and cause us great pain. We have a way to starve them without destroying ourselves."

Though frustrated, Exxos decided it was expedient to approve. Theroc was indeed far more significant than a minor human industrial operation in an isolated system. "Yes, that is a preferable target," he conceded. "We will help you fight the worldforest."

Through shifting reality around him, he could feel that the shadow cloud was once again on the move.

CHAPTER.

121.

AELIN.

Of all the humans at the ekti-processing station, only Aelin understood the sheer power residing in the bloater conglomeration. As he flew the pod toward them, he saw several nodules sparkle and felt a growing hunger in his mind. He wanted to embrace it all, wanted to drown in it.

He paid very little attention to the shadow cloud, believing that even such darkness was irrelevant to him. As he approached the floating nodules, the gigantic hexagonal ships retracted into the uncertain boundaries of the nebula, which folded up around them. It was not his concern. The inspection pod continued toward the nearest bloater.

After the shadow cloud collapsed and then vanished into empty space, he heard a buzz of distracting voices cross his comm system. The evacuated Iswander Industries ships hovered at a distance, far from the extraction equipment. Lee Iswander remained in the main admin module, still in contact with his ships. Some of the more daring vessels cautiously returned, while others continued down into the distant star system, waiting to receive the all-clear.

Aelin, though, had no intention of going back. His pod descended toward one of the swollen spheres. A bloater sparked off in the distance, and others flickered in some kind of sympathetic rest response. He felt the residual ecstasy of the mental surge he had experienced. He longed to feel it again.

He maneuvered the pod up to the bloater, ignoring the background babble of comm transmissions until a message blared out of the speakers, directed at him. "Who's in that pod? What are you doing?" It was Lee Iswander's voice.

"This is Aelin, Mr. Iswander." Beyond that, he could not explain what the industrialist was not equipped to understand. "I am among the bloaters. I need to ... comprehend."

He muted the comm and applied gentle thrust to maneuver the pod's main hatch directly against the membrane. The soft bloater skin shifted around the hull like a mouth forming a kiss, embedding the pod.

Iswander overrode the comm block, and his voice broke through again. The transmission was rough and staticky. "Green priest, withdraw-back that pod away from the bloater."

Aelin had no intention of obeying. He felt giddy with the certainty that he must know what was inside these nodules.

He disengaged the locking mechanisms, stepped in front of the pod's hatch, and, without hesitating, opened it.

He faced the exposed membrane. It exuded an intoxicating smell, like oily electricity. The air vibrated with a powerful summons. He stood there, his eyes half open, letting the bloater know he was there and who he was.

They had already touched once before. With an ecstatic smile, Aelin plunged through the membrane and into the crackling soup of exotic protoplasm. The blood of the cosmos.

In the admin module, Lee Iswander lost all contact with the pod.

CHAPTER.

122.

MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H After the King and Queen left Ildira, taking the others to safety-including Osira'h-Jora'h felt that he should relax. But the sense of brooding, dread, and danger did not diminish.

Hoping to find some solution to his inner turmoil, he consulted four lens kithmen. Perhaps the large-eyed philosophers, known for their connection to the Lightsource, would have the answers he lacked. Focused on that higher plane of existence above even the thism network, members of the lens kith often had a soothing effect on those around them. Each wore a faceted crystal pendant, which they used to reflect flashes of sunlight into their eyes.

They sat together under the open sky near a light fountain. "You are the Mage-Imperator," said one. "You control the thism. You have the most direct path to the Lightsource."

Jora'h wanted to take comfort from the words, but they could not strengthen him. "And if the Mage-Imperator loses control of the thism, what then? Twice now the Shana Rei have insinuated themselves into our thoughts, coercing good Ildiran people to do terrible things. I did not sense it. I was unable to protect my people from them. And I do not know how to stop it from happening again."

The lens kithmen turned their faceted pendants toward him, splashing reflections across his robes. "Draw upon the Lightsource, Liege. Pull greater illumination into the thism. Shadows disappear when light shines upon them."

"Bright lights also cast sharp shadows," he said.

Finding no help in their answers, he rose to his feet, exhausted to the core. Jora'h had felt sick inside ever since the assassination attempts against Nira, and then against the human scholar, the Confederation Prince, and his own daughters in the Vault of Failures. He needed sleep. Perhaps next to Nira, touching her soft green skin, he could find a few hours of peace to recharge his own soulfire....

Knowing he was troubled, Nira did her best to support him. She always did. Even though she couldn't feel the thism, she understood. Their private chambers were lit with colored light. Four spindly young worldtrees, each taller than Nira, stood around the room. Nira often communed with the worldtrees, tapping into the thoughts of the verdani mind before she went to sleep. But now she gave her full attention to Jora'h. "My shoulders may be strong enough to lift some of the weight from yours, my love."

"It is not weight that I fear, Nira. It is darkness."

"Then close your eyes and dream about the light."

She kissed his eyelids, and he lay back, pretending that he didn't feel the cold shadow inside of him. But the more he wished for peaceful dreams, the more harshly his body and mind reacted.

In the human enclave, shopkeepers opened their doors, set out their wares, and prepared for the day's business. Blondie cooked meals for her human customers. Crisp, savory aromas of frying onions and spattering grease wafted from the sizzling griddle. The coffee-shop owner brewed a new batch.

The artist who made mirrored wind spinners and colorful dreamcatchers hung out new creations that she had made the previous day, and now they turned in the faint breeze, reflecting light. The dulcimer maker propped up one of his new instruments, crafted from a combination of rosewood and imported black pine. Taking the soft hammers, he began to tap out lovely ethereal music, but he couldn't seem to find the tune.

The writer sat at his usual place at an outdoor table drinking a second cup of coffee, which tasted just as bitter as the first one. He couldn't concentrate on words to put down in his tablet.

The coffee-shop owner took a seat next to him with a foamy cup of cappuccino. She looked out at the quiet city of Mijistra, which seemed to be holding its breath to the point of suffocation.

Blondie came over, wearing an apron tied across her skirt. The heavyset woman brought two large cinnamon rolls drizzled with white frosting. "These were leftover from yesterday. If they don't get eaten today, they'll be wasted."

The coffee-shop owner said, "I don't feel welcome here anymore. I'm considering packing up and moving back to Ramah."

A gust of wind rippled through the enclave, twirling the dreamcatchers and wind spinners. Suddenly, they fell still. The dulcimer player stopped his music and looked around. The hush deepened.

The writer glanced up to see a group of Ildirans coming down the streets toward the shop district of the human enclave.

Blondie set forks next to each cinnamon roll. "Looks like we might have customers after all."

The writer kept staring at the approaching Ildirans. His brow furrowed, and he slid aside his coffee cup. He had not touched the cinnamon roll. "I'm not sure they're here as customers."

The Ildirans came from all kiths, judging by the mixture of clothing and body types, but they moved as if choreographed into a single unit. Their steps were somnolent, their expressions affectless.

The dulcimer maker put on his performance smile and played several notes before falling silent. Other humans came out of their shops and homes to watch.

The Ildiran crowd revealed clubs and crystal-bladed weapons. Without increasing speed, without yelling or showing any emotion at all, they began to smash and attack everything in sight.

Jora'h found no pathway to the Lightsource from within his nightmares. He dreamed of the lens kith, who smiled and gave him advice in a language he didn't understand. They appeared one after another in a circle around him, and he spun around, desperate to learn what they were saying.

But every time he turned his back on one, the lens kithmen drew a dagger and stabbed him between the shoulder blades. When he whirled, trying to get away, a different lens kithman stabbed him. Each jolt of pain thrummed out through the thism, and made the stain grow.

One of the lens kith handed him a large round lens. "Peer through this, Liege, and you will see what truly awaits."

But when Jora'h stared through the lens, it merely painted the whole world black.

The humans in the enclave tried to defend themselves. The writer fought with a chair. Blondie returned with cutting knives and heavy pans.

The marching Ildirans fell upon the dulcimer shop, smashing and jangling the instruments. When the musician tried to stop them, they smashed his skull to a pulp and stomped on his ribs until his body was a broken pool of flesh.

They set fire to Blondie's diner, and the flames and black smoke rose high.

The writer and the dreamcatcher artist barricaded themselves inside a home, but the structure was not defensible for long. Ildirans smashed the windows, broke down the door, and pushed their way inside with clubs and crystal blades. Eight Ildirans managed to fit into the small home, and they closed on the cornered victims. Each one took a turn at the stabbing.

The massacre continued. All the artwork, signs, businesses, and homes were vandalized, desecrated. The fire began to spread. They slaughtered every human, dragging some out from bolt-holes and cutting them to pieces in the streets. Others were simply locked inside their dwellings and burned alive.

Throughout it all, the mob made no sound. When they were finished and every human was murdered, the Ildirans reawakened and became aware of who they were.

Looking around at the bloodshed and destruction they had caused, they began to wail. Their return to consciousness was no mercy, though, but a brief revelation so they could know despair at what they had done.

Then, like harvested grain, every one of them fell dead in the bloody streets.

When Jora'h tore himself out of sleep, he was screaming. Nira shook him, held him against his thrashing. She shouted his name.

He stared at her and finally his eyes focused.

Nira put her arms around him. "I'm here. It'll be all right."

But he knew that it was far from all right. He dreaded going out into Mijistra to discover exactly what had just occurred.

CHAPTER.

123.

KING PETER.

During the Kutuzov's return to Theroc from the Ildiran Empire, the mood aboard was somber, not like a celebratory homecoming.

King Peter had already been aware that the shadow clouds were immensely destructive-General Keah's encounters proved that, as did the obliteration of the Golgen skymine. But in Mijistra, he and Estarra had also seen how the darkness infected random Ildirans like a murderous poison. The Shana Rei were a far more insidious enemy than he had imagined.

If the creatures of darkness had declared war on intelligent life itself, human and Ildiran, there could be no reasoning with them, no negotiation. The Shana Rei and the Klikiss robots would have to be fought, defeated, destroyed.

He and Estarra were glad to have their son back, though dismayed to learn of Reyn's debilitating medical condition, which he had hidden from them. He had revealed his illness to Osira'h-and to Arita, months ago-before telling his parents. Peter was shocked that he hadn't recognized the signs. The clues seemed so obvious now.

And just when Reyn had finally decided to accept all the help that others could offer, the Spiral Arm might be at war again with an enemy more terrible than they could comprehend. As the Confederation's King, Peter had to defend all of his worlds, but as a father he couldn't help worrying about his son....

As the Kutuzov arrived at Theroc, General Keah stood on the bridge, regarding the ferocious verdani battleships and the heavily armed Manta cruisers placed in orbit to protect the planet. She propped her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Under normal circumstances, I'd tell you we're safe now, Sire, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances. We have the Solar Navy's sun bomb designs, and I intend to have our armaments industries at the LOC manufacture them at top speed."

Peter looked out at the thorny verdani treeships as the Juggernaut glided past. Osira'h and Reyn watched the forward viewscreens together; the two seemed inseparable. The halfbreed girl tilted her head, and her brow furrowed. Her feathery hair twitched just slightly. "Do the treeships always feel so ... uneasy?"