When he studied the matter objectively, Anton noticed striking differences in the passages about the Shana Rei. They were sketchy placeholders, not as rich in detail or implied veracity, and he found evidence that these sections were fictional, meant to hide the horrific truth of the ancient hydrogue war. To the stodgy rememberer kith, these revelations had been a greater assault on their race than the hydrogues. Later, Mage-Imperator Jora’h shook the entire rememberer kith to the core when he commanded that all ancient records be opened for thorough critical study, that all of the sacred texts be reassessed.
As Anton dug deeper, separating the tales, the reality grew more complex still. Newly resurrected records showed disturbing indications that the Shana Rei might have been real after all.
The confusion among the rememberers verged on insanity and despair. Their kith dealt only in absolutes, and uncertainty disturbed them greatly. Anton didn’t know what to believe anymore. He doubted the rememberers had forgiven him, even after twenty years.
His jaunty step faltered as he led Dyvo’sh along the sun-drenched streets of Mijistra toward the newly excavated document crypt. Maybe it would be wiser if he didn’t inspect the new records, for they were sure to cause more turmoil… But if he refused to look at new records, he too would be responsible for hiding true information. He clapped a hand on his assistant’s bony shoulder. “Let’s open another can of worms, no matter how big it might be.”
Dyvo’sh blinked his large eyes. “Excuse me, sir? Why would we require worms?”
“A human idiom. I’ll explain later.”
For Anton, the story mattered most of all. He wanted to tell it, preserve it for posterity, and let someone else dicker over the societal implications. Though human, he felt closely tied to Ildira as the first human scholar to translate lengthy segments of the Saga of Seven Suns for academics to analyze and interpret. Anton had no interest in becoming one of the navel-contemplating breed of academics. He loved the challenge of translating new material and immersed himself in the process.
After the Elemental War, he’d spent years with his mother Margaret, the famous xeno-archaeologist, recording the chronicle of the Klikiss race—The Song of the Breedex. He and his mother had scrambled to preserve the remarkable story before the insect race vanished forever, leaving only the husks of discarded bodies in the bizarre ruins of their cities.
After Margaret died and her remains were buried on Eljiid, a Klikiss world where she had been studying, Anton had returned to Earth. He took a position at the university, received accolades, was named an assistant dean, and—best of all—had a light course load. He taught only one advanced class per semester, which allowed him to write a biography of his illustrious parents…
But Ildira always called to him. After Mijistra was rebuilt following the war, the Mage-Imperator once again extended an invitation to him, and Anton jumped at the chance. He came back to a guest office in the Hall of Rememberers and had been here for the past six years.
When Anton and Dyvo’sh reached the construction site of the old sculpture museum, Anton watched the worker kith, artists, and sculptors who were restoring the exhibits. This restoration had the dual purpose of preserving history for Ildirans and edifying the human settlers—a handful of “Ildirophiles” who had formed their own small enclave in the capital city, where the expatriates ran traditional stores, cafés, and craft workshops.
The museum workers recognized Rememberer Anton Colicos, who was one of the most well-known humans on Ildira, even more familiar to them than the Confederation’s King Peter. Considering the uproar he so often caused, Anton sometimes wondered if the mere sight of him struck terror into their hearts. After all, his discoveries often resulted in changes and disruptions.
Anton greeted them with good cheer and asked directions to the newly uncovered document crypt. When the reticent workers talked among themselves, Dyvo’sh stepped forward. “Rememberer Anton asked a question! You know he has the blessing of the Mage-Imperator himself.”
One of the museum administrators directed the two visitors to a debris-strewn staircase that led to underground levels. Anton called for three squat muscular workers to accompany them. “And please bring your battering clubs and those Ildiran pickax things. We need to break open the vault.”
Anton saw the consternation he was causing. Ildirans had so much difficulty accepting anything they hadn’t done before.
In the underground chamber lit by ceiling-mounted blazers, he and Dyvo’sh stood before the repository that had been walled up in ancient times by a barely remembered Mage-Imperator; over the years, other structures were built on top of it. Once “history” was set in stone and a Mage-Imperator’s reign was permanently recorded in the Saga, all else was considered superfluous. Anton supposed the Mage-Imperators might feel a kind of rivalry that let them bury the extravagance of their predecessors in order to showcase their own reigns, only to have the same thing done to them by their successors.
But scrap heaps sometimes held the most interesting items for a historian.
The museum workers hesitated when they looked at the seal. “Well, go on,” Anton said, “break it open. I’d like to study the documents in there.”
Guard kithmen hurried down the stairs in a clatter of weapons, accompanied by two bustling rememberers. “Halt! We forbid you to break that seal. You cannot defy the clear commands of a Mage-Imperator.”
Dyvo’sh looked frightened, but Anton just groaned. “If you prevent me from seeing the documents, then you are also defying the commands of a Mage-Imperator. I’d say the current Mage-Imperator’s orders supersede the orders of one who returned to the Lightsource centuries ago.”
The guard kithmen took up positions in front of the crypt door, blocking the workers and their battering tools. A museum administrator hurried down from the upper levels. “This vault contains discarded records not considered fit for inclusion in the Saga. It holds nothing of interest.”
Anton was frustrated. “Then you don’t have to look at it, but I’m interested.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can send word to the Prism Palace right now, if you insist on ignoring the orders of the Mage-Imperator.”
With another commotion on the stairs, a lean pantherlike warrior woman bounded into the vault chamber. Her movements flowed like liquid, and she was accompanied by another scrappy girl who seemed cut from the same pattern. “You appear to need my help once again, friend Anton,” Yazra’h said.
Anton let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the Mage-Imperator’s warrior daughter. Yazra’h gave him a flirtatious, hungry smile, the kind that always made him uncomfortable. He said, “Not quite so dramatic a rescue as you’ve provided in the past, but I’d appreciate your advice on how to handle this situation.”
Yazra’h’s mane of coppery gold hair flowed in all directions, and her bright eyes gleamed at the prospect of a fight. She wore thin, tough armor with intimidating spines on her shoulders, but her legs were bare. The girl beside her was similarly dressed, and Yazra’h nodded to her. “This time Muree’n can help me explain our point of view.”
The two faced the guard kith who blocked the document crypt, standing firm but uneasy. Yazra’h snapped, “Well? I am the Mage-Imperator’s daughter. I command you to do as Rememberer Anton says. I will vouch for him.”
One of the nervous rememberers stood to one side. “The seal on the vault forbids it. That is the word of a Mage-Imperator.”