Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy (The Lightbound Saga Book 1) (3 page)

5: The Alliance Initiative

The pamphlet was the color of honey, but even with the smudgy fingerprints all over it, the piece of paper felt cold and sterile. Maia’s eyes glanced over the stylishly scripted bold, black letters that stood out on the textured paper with haughty indifference.

Are you between the ages of 10 and 16?

Do you yearn to know what lies beyond your village?

Your town?

Or even your planet?

The chance to broaden your horizons is now at your doorstep.

¤¤¤¤

The Alliance Initiative

¤¤¤¤

Journey through wondrous worlds

The Xif, The Jjordic Colonies, and The Solianese Continents

Appreciate their heritage

Master their finest skills

Over the next two years . . .

The brave and the brilliant of our worlds will collide

Only the brightest will be crowned

Only the best will be hailed

“The Sentinels of the Tansian Passage”

Will you be one of them?

Seize the moment, take the Selectives

Series conducted by:

The Xifarian Defense Academy

The University of Advanced Arts and Sciences

The Tri-continental Learning Centers

By decree of the Xifarian Republic

“Haven’t seen these around Appian,” Maia said, wondering if the Resistance, as the rebels liked to be called, had stopped these pamphlets from reaching their village.

Xifarians were looking for an alliance—that just did not make any sense.
A deep grimace spread across her face, scrunching it as she scanned the southern sky, trying to locate the faint outline of the rusty, pockmarked crescent of Xif. She recalled the tale she had heard a million times over, the story of a planet that had suddenly turned up next to Tansi, of the curse that had appeared in the Tansian skies about three decades ago.

Xif’s appearance had stunned the inhabitants of Tansi and reminded them of a past they had long forgotten, of shared roots that went far back to the days before Tansi was colonized, to even before the Scattering, when their race spread itself across galaxies. Xif was not just a planet, but also a spaceship, according to the first rumors. Tales soon started to circle of its long travels across galaxies known and unknown, and of the untold riches of the powerful Xifarians who called it home.

These Xifarians were no different in appearance from the people on Tansi, except for their eerie, incandescent eyes. And they seemed kind and friendly at first contact. The reclusive Jjord, who quietly flourished under the Tansian seas in their oceanic colonies, maintained a wary aloofness from the new arrivals. But for the land-dwelling Solianese, reeling from the crippling devastation of the Scarcity, Xif was the first glimmer of hope in years. The impoverished land dwellers lined up in droves for the mining camps on Ti, the frozen moon of the sixth planet. But that did not last very long. Soon, stories of the terrible conditions on Ti scared away the eager hopefuls and brought forth the true nature of the visitors who forcefully engaged the unwilling and rounded up the reluctant.

Matters spiraled out of control when the three nations—the Solianese, the Jjord, and the Xif—met at the Continental Parliament in the Solianese capital of Miorie in an attempt to soothe the rising tensions between them. At what appeared to be the most opportune moment to strike at the evil that dogged their steps, the Resistance, a ragtag band of Solianese rebels, went up in arms against Xif.

The Jjord struggled to mediate, but the situation was beyond saving. In a masterful tactic of deceit and treachery, the Xifarians unleashed the terrible plans they had for Tansi. They crushed the fledgling rebellion of the rustic land dwellers, destroyed the energy sources of the planet, and held the leaders of both the Solianese and the Jjord captive. From the Solianese, they demanded workers for their mining operations, and from the Jjord they claimed an annual bartering of scientific and industrial knowledge—all in return for a stringently calculated supply of energy. As millions of people teetered on the brink of extinction over the two-day standoff, Tansi was forced into the terms of what became known as the Exchange.

Since then, no one in the land continents above the age of thirteen was safe from the clutches of the intruders. The only exceptions were the elderly, the weak, and the children under the protection of the Clause of Scholia.

Maia’s heart thumped wildly as she pored over the pamphlet one more time.
It just did not seem right.

“Xifarians have never thought of alliances. So . . . why now?”

Kusha shrugged. “I don’t know.” He cocked his head and squinted as he thought. “Some think it’s just a show to stop the spreading hatred. Now that the rebellion has grown really strong, the Xifarians hardly find anyone to work for them anymore, even with their annual search. Every day, people sneak their children off, sometimes even before they turn thirteen, into the indigenous learning centers that are popping up all over the continents. The Xifarians could question the validity of these institutions, but I guess they don’t want another uprising. So this year, they’re trying to tempt some people who could speak of all the glorious things out there.”

“You’ve taken your Undertaking vows, right? Tell me you are sworn to some learning center,” Maia asked, suddenly worried. She doubted if a traveling circus boy would have the time to enroll anywhere. Kusha shook his head, confirming her fears.

“What if this is just a ploy to find more people to send to Ti?” The chill that coursed its way up her spine made Maia’s voice tremble. “Do you realize that you’re revealing yourself to the Xifarians by trying out for this?”

“I wouldn’t mind that anyhow. If this is the closest I’ll ever get to Xif, so be it. I shall try my luck,” Kusha declared stubbornly. “What else do we have around here anyway? I have this crazy old bat of a tutor. I’m fourteen and yet I have learned nothing of value.”

“What about ThulaSu?”

A scowl spread over Kusha’s face at her words. He stayed silent for a while, seeming to deliberate whether or not to reply. Then he spoke, softly, pausing every other moment, as if carefully weighing each word before he let it escape his mouth.

“Because . . . there’s nothing left there that amounts to anything. The House of the Sun is all but extinct, and the order of the monks is in shambles. What remains is a mere shadow of the past.”

“That can’t be true,” Maia protested.
He was wrong; he had to be.
A tingle of anger spread its roots within her, making her flush. She could not let him dash all her dreams of going to ThulaSu. She had to defend it with everything she had. “The children from Appian and Shiloh go there. So will I.”

“Listen to me, Maia.” Kusha leaned closer, his eyes shining with concern. “Xifarians are the best chance you have, that any of us Solianese have. ThulaSu, the very best of what remains of our old universities, is nothing but a rebel base. What could you hope to learn there?”

Kusha continued even as Maia looked away from him, trying her best to ignore what he was saying. She was not going to let doubt creep into her mind.

“Not to mention, we’re forced to live the life of peasants from centuries ago, thanks to the Jjord’s refusal to free us of our past penalties. The Jjord fear that we’ll follow the same destructive path that drove us to the Scarcity and will never let us into their institutions to learn anything new or allow us to reuse the technologies of the past. We’re not even permitted to build the simplest of machines. Even the plainest gliders have to be smuggled in; horse-drawn carriages are all we can own. We’re forced to remain the weakest of all people, and I’m tired of living like that. I refuse to remain content with the meager kindness that’s bestowed on us.”

Maia fidgeted. She stole a resentful glance at Kusha. For a boy so young, he talked like he was a hundred years old, and it was infuriating. She was not ignorant of the state of affairs and the hopeless situation they were in, but Xifarians could not be a solution to that problem. She hoped that Kusha would stop talking about this, but he had even more to say.

“Now there are rumors that the energy curfews are going to increase. We don’t have a choice but to accept that without a fight. What if they cut off the supplies altogether? I don’t want to be hiding here, just waiting for that day.”

His words made Maia frown. Hard as it was to confront someone she barely knew, she had to say something. “Knowing how the Xifarians treat us, you think it’s right to associate with them? What about the countless who disappear into Ti every year, including children like us? Don’t you ever think of helping them?”

“And how would you help them by being at ThulaSu?” Kusha countered sharply. His initial gentleness had all but disappeared now. “A chance like this does not come by every day, and I’m not letting this pass. I need to go to Xif to learn more about the Xifarians and their technology. If I can learn enough, I can come back and improve our lot. And maybe, just maybe, if I do well enough at the challenges, they’ll enroll me in the XDA.”

“You think . . .” Maia was stunned by the audacity of his last words. “You really believe that they’ll accept you at their elite Defense Academy?”

“They have admitted other Solianese,” Kusha argued.

“Yes, and then they stopped. It’s been fifteen years since they last accepted one of our kind. We definitely don’t meet their exclusive standards. Yet you imagine they’ll do it for you, in some miraculous show of kindness?”

“I can always hope, can’t I?” Kusha turned away, his face a vivid crimson.

This boy was maddening, Maia concluded. All he cared about was finding a good life for himself, even if it meant taking favors from the Xifarians. However much she had enjoyed flying with Kusha, she did not like what he had to say, least of all his comments about ThulaSu. Above everything, she did not like Kusha gushing about anything Xifarian, about the people that had broken her family apart. Kusha would never understand what she had endured, how the people she loved had suffered.

“You’re so eager to get to Xif, but what if they send you to fight your own people, your friends, and your family? Would you do it, Kusha?”

Kusha looked at her with concern. For one fleeting moment, he suddenly seemed a little less confident. “Why do you think they would send us to fight our own? What would they fight us for anyway?”

Maia felt the wave of frustration well up inside her again, sweeping away the sorrow that had made her heart heavy. “Aren’t you forgetting the Exchange?” she said rather harshly, irritated at the boy’s blind enthusiasm. “Do you believe it was signed in peace?”

Kusha’s gaze wavered. “In my opinion, the Xifarians had a right to defend themselves. We did attack them first.”

Maia decided that she had heard enough. She could not bear to listen to any more of Kusha’s statements, fact or otherwise. “It’s almost midday and I’m late.” She looked up at the sun and rose hastily to her feet.

They walked to the entrance of the circus in uncomfortable silence.

“I didn’t mean to anger you, Maia. I just hoped to persuade you enough to come and take the tests tomorrow,” Kusha said when they reached the boundary of the enclosure.

“I’m certain that I won’t take the tests, Kusha, but I sure had fun flying with you,” Maia said before leaving. She waved at the boy who stood at the gates watching her walk away. “Good luck at the Selectives tomorrow.”

6: Memories

Thoughts ran wild in Maia’s mind as she left the circus. Kusha, ThulaSu, the Initiative, the Xifarians—everything mixed together and formed a dull jumble in her head. She was still mad at Kusha for his open admiration of the Xifarians, but she was also worried about his opinion of ThulaSu. Dada had often said similar things. She had always disregarded Dada’s comments on the matter, dismissing it as his bias against the last surviving totems of their not-always-glorious past. Hearing the same from a stranger, however, made her uneasy.

Walking across the now fully awake and bustling Shiloh, Maia could not erase the conversation with Kusha from her mind. She ambled down the cobbled streets, passing rows of houses, weaving through an endless parade of enthusiastic shoppers, carts, and wagons, hurrying through markets that sparkled with colorful wares. Everything in Shiloh that she usually found so engrossing was no more than a vivid, raucous blur.

After a bracing stroll around the southern shores of the sprawling Lake Lupitiali, Maia finally reached the Tavern at the Troughs. It sat bright and tall at the center of a busy market. Its yellow-and-green striped awnings created a comforting canopy over rows of seating. Herc was waiting at their usual table. Maia could tell that he was worried from the way he picked away at the loaf of bread in front of him, his thick brows deeply furrowed, his eyes scanning the crowd back and forth. Had it been Emmy, a search party would have been looking for Maia by now. But even though Herc had reason to fret over Maia’s delay, as soon as she arrived, he grinned and diverted his attention to the frothy pot of stew that sat at the center of their table. This lunch was almost a ritual, an essential part of their trips to Shiloh, and one that Maia usually enjoyed. On this day, however, Maia felt restless and inattentive, hardly noticing what she ate or what Herc talked about.

The remainder of the day was no better. She was lost in her own thoughts as she tailed a busy Herc hurrying to complete his chores. The long drawn-out potato expedition had eventually come to a successful end, and Herc was definitely a happier man. But Maia felt miserable; a leaden ache had invaded her head, hammering away insistently at her consciousness.

And they were running late. By the time the duo finished packing all their purchases carefully inside the carriage, the moon had inched its way up above the rooftops of Shiloh. When Herc proposed a short trip to Maia’s favorite haunt, the fancy market, the abode of an endless medley of knickknacks and trinkets, she suggested that they head back home instead.

Maia did not climb up to her usual perch on top of the wagon, but settled down inside the carriage. She snuggled into one corner and peered out of the window, eyes sweeping across the crumbling figures of lions and eagles that adorned the black stone arches of Shiloh’s Western gate, watching the darkening skies as the wagon rumbled on. Maia had always loved the moonlight, but this night, the pale blue rays flooding the hills and the valleys felt cold and foreboding.

The haunting trumpet of a pachyderm cut through the stillness, bringing back memories of her conversation with Kusha once again. Along with it came a creeping allure of the Alliance Initiative, burrowing its way into her heart until Maia could not resist any more. A flood of questions surged through her mind. Xifarians were masters of space travel, and surely the contestants would get a chance to look at their crafts.

How exciting would it be to soar through the skies in a real spacecraft?

Maia braced herself as a nauseating wave of disappointment swept through her.

No! Temptation is not an option. ThulaSu is all there is; there can be no room for anything else, no space for irrelevant and senseless curiosities.

Bitterness rose swiftly and formed a painful lump in her throat.

“Why couldn’t my life be like everyone else’s? Why does everything have to be so . . . complicated?” Maia grumbled as she kicked the seat across from her. “And why did I have to meet that circus boy today?”

As she fought to control her anger and frustration, agonizing memories made their way in, washing away the pangs of resentment and restoring a bit of the conviction that Maia had yearned for desperately since the afternoon.

She shifted in her seat, thinking about her uncle Alasdair and about the last time they had met, five years ago in Miorie. He was a thin and wiry man, with a cold disapproving face, always dressed in his stiff-collared blue Parliamentarian’s suit buttoned up to his neck, his form always impeccable, his dark eyes always humorless. A highly decorated war hero, he had lost his right arm and nearly lost his life during the Exchange.

He spoke very little, least of all to Dada, Maia had noted curiously. He visited often though, spending long hours reading to Maia or playing with her. Maia could hardly believe his kindness, particularly given who she was—a luckless orphan, whom Dada was generous enough to give shelter.

Uncle Alasdair did not share Dada’s enthusiasm for Maia’s flight lessons. If Maia happened to take her glider out during one of his visits, his face would darken and his eyebrows would knit into a deep frown. He never spoke of Sophie, his only sister, or of her tragic death at the Second Surrender. He never told tales of her brilliance or of her exemplary stint at the Xifarian Defense Academy like Dada always did. Maia never understood why, until that one evening in Miorie.

Uncle Alasdair’s daughter, Sana, who was about the same age as Maia, was visiting. Herc had carved two exquisite swords out of wood, and painted the blades silver and the hilts black. Maia and Sana had spent the entire afternoon sparring, their exercise routines magically transformed by the superbly crafted weapons. When Emmy announced Uncle Alasdair’s arrival, Sana ran to show her father her newest possession.

They had sprinted gleefully toward the study, twirling swords along the way. Sana’s outstretched hand froze on the doorknob at the sound of angry voices that came from inside the room. The duo stood rooted to the spot by the unusually loud exchange between Uncle Alasdair and Dada. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted out.

“Do you have to let her fly? Can’t she just be a normal child?”

“Maia has talent, Alasdair. And she loves flying. I can’t deny her.”

“Can’t deny her? You want her to turn out like your daughter? A traitor?”

Sana turned toward Maia, her deep blue eyes wide and uncomprehending. Maia was sure she had the same stunned look on her own face. She did not understand. Sophie, the daughter Dada adored, a traitor?
That could not be.
Uncle Alasdair was surely mistaken. Dada had always said how accomplished and wonderful Sophie was; Herc and Emmy had never disagreed either.
But why did Uncle Alasdair say that about her?

There was a long pause before Dada spoke. “Sophie was never around to explain herself. You should give her the benefit of doubt, my son.”

“Explain? The benefit of doubt?” The two girls shrank closer to each other in alarm as Uncle Alasdair thundered. “After she crippled and almost killed me, you want me to give her a chance? Had she not betrayed us that night, we would have had a fair chance at the Exchange. Today, our futures wouldn’t be property of those Xifarians.”

He had stopped, but only to catch his breath. “She not only let me down, but the entire planet as well. She sold the life of every man, woman, and child on Tansi to the Xifarians.

“And do you know how that came to be?” Uncle Alasdair continued his bitter rant. “All because of you. You had to send her to that Xifarian Academy because nothing in our world was good enough for her. They gave her ideas to turn on her own people, slaughter her own brother.”

Maia had not understood why everything around her suddenly turned cold. She vaguely felt Sana shuffle closer.

“We never had a chance at the Exchange anyway.” Dada’s reply was barely a whisper.

“That doesn’t make everything right.” Uncle Alasdair sighed loudly. “How can you keep denying that she was ready to kill me to prove her new allegiance?”

“Because I don’t believe that,” Dada said stubbornly. “She must have not recognized you. It’s possible, with all that was happening at the Parliament that night—”

“No,” Uncle Alasdair yelled. “It is not possible. She looked into my eyes and then she struck me down. I could not even raise an arm to defend myself, I was so shocked. And you know what? She wouldn’t have spared you either if you had crossed her path that night.”

When he paused, the silence was absolute. Then Uncle Alasdair spoke again, his voice cold and distant. “I’m tired of seeing you take your daughter’s side even though you know how I suffered because of her actions. I will end this now, Father. I will stay away until you are ready to accept the truth as it is, and not as you would like it to be.

“And please, I beg of you, let Maia choose her own destiny. Just because she’s Sophie’s child, don’t force her to walk the same path.”

Everything turned into a blur.

Uncle Alasdair had flung the door open and strode outside. He stumbled to a halt at the threshold, his eyes sad as they looked into Maia’s, his hand trembling as he ruffled her hair. Then he took Sana’s arm and walked away. Dada hung his head when Maia crept into the room. He looked shattered, a mere shadow of the man she revered.

“My mother?” Maia managed to whisper. “Sophie is my mmother?”

Dada hugged her, fiercely, as if afraid she would vanish if he let go. Maia wanted to rejoice. The dream was a dream no more, she had found family.
But there was no joy, only . . .

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because this burden . . . you’re too young for it,” he had said, his gaze not meeting Maia’s as he pleaded for sympathy for her mother, his Sophie. “Maia, all that Alasdair said . . . we don’t know enough to be sure.”

There was no joy, only the burden of shame.

His drooping shoulders bore the story of his loss and of the tragic truth that was a part of Maia’s inheritance. That evening, hiding alone in a shadowy corner of the lonely, silent house, Maia had pledged to mend the lives Sophie’s act had torn apart, to bring father and son back together. In the week that followed, after Uncle Alasdair severed all ties with him, Dada had moved to Appian. That was five years ago.

Maia forced her eyes open and stared up at the sky, seeking solace among the steadfast light of the stars. She felt exhausted; her chest hurt from a dense, crushing pain that was spreading up her throat. Thinking about Sophie always made her feel that way. She leaned her head on the windowsill, closed her eyes, and inhaled a lungful of the chilly evening air, hoping to drive out the numbing sadness that engulfed her.