Chapter 1
Xandreleusmarin sat in his castle and listened to the rumble of fireworks in the distance. It was the season of the Festival of the Elders, the time when the Bellavaran natives celebrated seeding ceremonies in the nearby village of Dkoklu, and all day the beating of drums and the piping of wind flutes, the susurration of sighs winging up above the treetops, and the awful boiling and roasting scents drifted toward his window, reminding him that, much to his despair, all trading was suspended for the celebrations.
Pressing his elbow against the casement, the Starrian leaned his chin on his hand and stared absently out at the countryside. Since the castle stood atop a rocky outcrop in the center of the lake, there was not a single window that did not have a view of the basin, its tributaries, and the woodlands beyond. Covering more than sixty percent of the planet, ninety-two of which were in the northern hemisphere where he lived, the woodlands of Bellavaran stretched as far as his eyes could behold, a ceaseless, undulating canvas of silver and green that glowed in the dying light. Far above the treetops, incendiaries exploded, one after the other in slow, but aggravating succession. The pungent stench of gunpowder and roasting bark that, when mingled together, had the unpleasant aroma of scorched perfume, assaulted his delicate senses. And yet, he remained at his roost and watched the explosions bloom like tapis flowers against the fading twilight, all while warding off his ever-increasing boredom.
Though Xandreleusmarin had lived on Bellavaran for a long time, he still longed to be among the markets and bazaars of Aderna, where he had fine-tuned his reputation as one of the preeminent collectors in the alliance. This yearning came over him, particularly during the Festival of the Elders, when he couldn’t even trade the trivial knickknacks the Dkokli inexplicably favored. On Bellavaran, he had hoped to find his greatest collectible yet, but, as with all things in life, his expectations far exceeded reality.
Before his life on Bellavaran, xandreleusmarin lived on his home planet Starrus 7, where he was a trader of raw materials and where he also developed his interest in collecting artifacts, first by trading little items with his colleagues in the Economic and Trade Commission and then moving onto more valuable and priceless artifacts among the more inveterate collectors in the field. There he built, what even the most discerning collectors would begrudgingly admit, the most extensive collection ever recorded. Indeed, his entire castle housed all the items he had traded and collected over the years. Among his inventory, which he was more than proud to recount to anyone who would listen, were a few pieces from ancient Starria, the classical epoch of his planet, including the stone statues of Agathine from the sand cities of the Bettura Qet; several pieces of jewelry that belonged to the ancient empress of Najiu, including a broach shaped in the manner of a dhabis beetle with a star diamond inset in its carapace; the infamous coin gown, which was worn by the famed Jendavaran thespian Callestri da Javiste in the groundbreaking historical document e’pekrah cher’n tourah, which he had won in an auction held by Khikirah Büret, the oldest production studio of holographic cinemas on Jendavar. He also had in his possession an entire collection of furnishings from a deposed Varmitian lord, including several high chairs and a lounging seat with the aristocratic family seal stitched into its woven upholstery. He had meditation rugs from Najiu, primitive tools from Aderna, and had even procured an ancient weapon called a Swiss Army knife from the planet Earth, a very fine acquisition since few artifacts from that distant blue planet were accessible to traders.
His collection, which numbered into the thousands, cluttered the entire castle and its grounds, including the sitting room where he now gazed dully outside its window. Statues, thrones, old torture devices, books in their tight bindings, paintings, scrolls, and other relics he had collected over the years gathered dust in the fading light.
The collector loved to collect objects, the less accessible the better, but he loved the trade more than anything itself. In many ways, it was like a hunt, a predator scoping out its prey for the kill. Whenever he encountered a stubborn and resistant trader, he would bristle with kinetic determination until he had worn down the resistance and walked away with his prize. Once he had won the object, his interest in it faded and off it went to his vast warehouse, boxed and crated, never to be seen, fondled, or prized again. Truly, it was the hunt, the yearning to possess something he did not have, the hard bargains he drove, and the thrill of that final catch, that excited him.
After he had retired from his position as a licensed trader, xandreleusmarin became even more bored. Though he continued to trade and collect, his acquisitions failed to spark joy and excitement. The trades came too easily or they didn’t come at all, for other collectors within his tight circle were expanding their collections and often already possessed the very things he hoped to trade them with. Bored and in need of a more thrilling hunt, xandreleusmarin turned to the underground instead. The underground, he had heard, had some of the most sought-after and forbidden artifacts in the alliance, and that particularly satiated another hunger—a desire to break all the rules.
So, with belongings in tow, he boarded his private vessel with a small entourage and traveled to the planet Aderna, which was one of the few underground trading sites IPSF had not entirely quashed. And it was there that, quite inauspiciously, he traded for items that he could not find anywhere else. Two items that he found in the underground and prized long after the final acquisition were a collection of krelechs, coinage from the Ro Kan Empire, and a volume of the Book of Dreams, an ancient text written by the people of Idris-Sarra.
The krelechs he acquired from a slimy, malodorous Adernite who traded in the literal underground tunnels of Ingreth where much of the illegal trade took place in roving bazaars. The entire experience was unpleasant––traveling through the long, damp tunnels to the often hidden caverns where the bazaars were temporarily set up, enduring the noisy riffraff who accosted him with their mostly worthless goods––but the acquisition was a fine one. The coins were made of copper, silver, and gold and were pressed with the images of the Emperors of Ro Kan, each of whom xandreleusmarin learned had differing values depending on the emperor’s historical significance. The trader stored the coins within their compartments in a large wooden box with the Empire’s seal cauterized onto its lid. He was fascinated by the acquisition. Trading artifacts from the Alliance’s most dreaded enemy were not only prohibited on the order of imprisonment but inaccessible as well. Few items from the Empire ever moved past the Neutral Zone. But the trader waved away any questions concerning that matter with all four of his hands and demanded to know whether xandreleusmarin wished to do business, to which the Starrian answered with an enthusiastic yes. He could not say no, not to an artifact as unique and valuable as this.
He acquired the volume from the Book of Dreams from a high-level trader in the neighboring district of Uxiua. He was an Adernite of high sensibilities, whose collection, while not quite as extensive as the former director’s, was certainly fascinating. The two had discussed matters of trade over the course of several weeks, not quite satisfied with the items either had on order. The Adernite was not easily impressed, which only heightened xandreleusmarin’s deep respect and common esteem.
Then, one evening, the two were on the balcony of the Adernite’s domicile, enjoying a carafe of wine and the impressive view of the city and the planets Jendavar and Zharkassar-5 suspended in the night sky, when the Adernite asked if he should like to see his most recent acquisition. Intrigued xandreleusmarin nodded yes, so the Adernite retrieved a large box from inside and set it on the stone tablet on which they drank their wine. He removed the lid and took out a book wrapped in cloth.
When he removed the cloth, xandreleusmarin stood up, goblet still in hand, and examined the book. It was rather large, forty by thirty centimeters, with a smooth cover the color of oxblood and chains of geometric shapes embossed in gold. When the Adernite opened the book, it sounded as if he were unlocking sealed secrets inside. Xandreleusmarin was even more intrigued. The thick, glossy pages therein were filled with more geometric shapes and patterns, illustrations of star charts, maps of some sort, and diagrams. The pages seemed to glimmer in some fashion that to this day xandreleusmarin failed to describe accurately. When he touched the page, a discharge of electricity snapped his fingers.
Xandreleusmarin could barely suppress his growing excitement. He asked his companion about the nature of the book and where he found it. The Adernite grinned secretively and replied, “It is Idris-Sarran. The Book of Dreams.”
Xandreleusmarin gasped. He had heard tell of the Book of Dreams, the book of wonders with the whole of the galaxy within its pages. Volumes from the compendium were by far the most coveted within the underground. Any trader worth his salt would give an entire kingdom for even a copy of the tome. But the Book of Dreams had been trafficked off Idris-Sarra during its occupation under the Ro Kan Empire and therefore was illegal to trade, a crime that was also punishable by imprisonment. Under Article 15 of the IPPA guidelines, the Idris-Sarran were given broad authority to recover their stolen artifacts. A sect of archivists called the z’dhia traveled throughout the galaxy, collecting volumes and returning them to their home planet. They were a mysterious, foreboding, and intimidating sect to those who had the misfortune to meet them. Still, ever the trader, xandreleusmarin’s eyes dazzled over the book. He desired to possess it more than any object in the universe.
He immediately offered to make a trade, but the Adernite was disinterested. He had only recently acquired the book himself and treasured it almost as greatly as xandreleusmarin. But being a persistent man, the Starrian insisted on having it. He offered any number of his treasured possessions to the Adernite in return. For days, he labored to interest the Adernite in a trade, yet the Adernite proved to be a stubborn fellow. None of the artifacts in xandreleusmarin’s collection pleased him. It came to seem that every response he offered the Starrian was a slow shake of his enormous head and the slitting of his eyes.
“No.”
Days passed before he, at last, convinced the Adernite to do business with him. This minor miracle occurred only because xandreleusmarin offered his recent acquisition: the Ro Kannan coin collection. He did not offer the collection for a trade because he was particularly invested in it (though he treasured his prize for a good deal longer than most, his interest in it paled in comparison to the Book of Dreams). Rather he wasn’t certain that the Adernite would be interested in possessing the collection since his planet had been the site of some of the worst battles during the war. There wasn’t an Adernite alive who would spit on the flaming corpse of a Ro Kannan. Therefore he feared he might insult his companion with such an offer. But a man given to desperation will attempt anything, no matter how futile, and so xandreleusmarin offered the collection with a good deal of hesitation.
Much to his surprise and delight, the Adernite’s eyes dazzled over the collection as equally as xandreleusmarin’s dazzled over his volume. He was, above all else, a trader. The thought of appropriating something so prized by the enemy whetted his appetite greatly as well. And so, the two made a trade.
Once the volume was in xandreleusmarin’s possession, he treasured it like no other artifact in his collection. He created a case made of acrylic to place it in, then set the case on top of a pedestal around which several light globes were arranged. It was, indeed, the finest showcase he had ever assembled. Every once in a while, he would take the book out of its case and thumb through its mysterious pages, attempting to tease out its secrets, though, in truth, he was less interested in what the book had to say than he was with its fine artistry. The illustrations, the ink, the thickness of the pages, the binding––all of it was marvelous, such extraordinary quality not to be found anywhere else in the galaxy.
But, in time, xandreleusmarin soon grew bored with his find and for many days and weeks the volume remained untouched in its acrylic case.
One particularly dreary morning, xandreleusmarin was in his domicile watching a report on IPNS. The report was about a conference that was being held by the Travel Advisory Commission, open to the public, that concerned the status of the planet Bellavaran. Bellavaran, which orbited Starrus 7, was classified as a Class-20 planet, which meant that travel to and residence on the world was limited and heavily regulated. Despite some vigorous campaigns, IPPA had been reluctant to bring the planet into the alliance since its inhabitants were a largely pre-technological civilization, and interactions with more advanced civilizations might interfere with their species’ natural course of evolution. But many attendees felt such patronizing attitudes were counterintuitive for a peace organization, and argued that the Bellavaran had already shown interest in advancing their trade relationship with their neighbor. According to the report, the arguments went back and forth with no real decision or recommendation in the offing.
After turning off the viewer screen, xandreleusmarin leaned back in his recliner and grinned. He had made up his mind on what was to be his next move.
With the help of an associate from the Economic and Trade Commission, he was able to procure a writ of travel to Bellavaran, something that was only authorized to surveyors or anthropologists, and, after packing his belongings once again, was ferried, along with his ship, on a patrol vessel to the green planet.
After his ship landed, he trekked for several days through the thick woodlands with only his communicator as a navigator, until he came upon a large village called Dkoklu. There he met with the Dkokli, thin giants of a species with skin as silvery-green as the foliage that shaded the planet. When the Dkokli saw him enter their village, they crowded around him, the folds over their eyes changing shape to express their interest and surprise. At once, he demanded that he see their leaders. They did not understand a word he said, but no doubt sensed his commands and took him to see the village chieftains, whom he was surprised to learn were all female.
Underneath the canopy of a town square, xandreleusmarin introduced himself as their elder. During his long trip to the planet, he had learned all he could about the Bellavaran and discovered that the elders of their people were worshipped like gods. It occurred to him that of all the things he had possessed he never possessed something as expansive or extraordinary as an entire village. The prospects of acquiring a village to do with as he pleased whetted his appetite considerably. After a few bumbling attempts at conversation (xandreleusmarin lent them his spare translation bud, which the chieftains marveled at for quite sometime before the trader was able to gesture to them on how to use it by pointing to his very small ears. One of the chieftains, recognizing the gesture, popped the bud into the fleshy area of her jaw, and was stunned that the Starrian could now speak in their language), he learned, much to his chagrin, that the elders were not people or gods but the trees which covered nearly two-thirds of the planet and which provided the Dkokli with much of their nutrients—the bark, leaves, fruit, seeds, oxygen. “The elders,” said one of the chieftains, her eyes arcing in the expression of her people’s grin, “are around us, everywhere, watching over us. They are not ever Starrians.” The other chieftains laughed, which sounded to xandreleusmarin’s ears like mocking sighs.
Xandreleusmarin felt like a fool—the trader wished he had acquired a group of mercenaries, for he very strongly at that point desired to order the Dkokli to bow down to him, if not out of respect than certainly out of the butt of a gun. Yet, disappointingly, xandreleusmarin was a Starrian, far too influenced by the precepts of his compatriots to think that cleverly on the matter. Soon his embarrassment passed when the Dkokli showed interest in his goods and offered to trade with him. They seemed amused when he showed interest in their common tools and instruments, but the Starrian knew that in time, once the planet was folded into the alliance, those common tools might trade quite handsomely on the market. In return, he provided them various worthless trinkets––a few boots, a ring or two, a spare communicator, and the translator bud.
For weeks, he lived among the Dkokli in their huts, which were humongous, hollowed-out knots in the trees, partook of their customs and learned their values before, soon, he too tired of this (perhaps he would have been far more invigorated had he the chance to possess the village and its people). He wished to be alone to think and contemplate among his possessions.
After learning of a lake near the village, to which the Dkokli traveled by boats along the rivers that flowed through the woodlands, and a rocky islet that was settled in the middle of the lake, xandreleusmarin had an idea. He asked the villagers to take him to this islet.
They traveled for half a day before they reached their destination. The lake was large, viscous, and green with algae and bark. And in the center rose the islet, steep with rocky inclines and thickened with vegetation whose foliage dipped into the green waters. When xandreleusmarin saw the islet, he knew he had to possess it.
Through many negotiations that lasted for days, xandreleusmarin was able to convince the village chieftains to allow him to set up his domicile there. With a remote, he was able to steer his vessel to the islet and land it on its shores. And with the help of several villagers, he assembled a large castle made of materials he synthesized from the replication machine on his ship. For many days and nights, he and the villagers labored to build his castle, and when it was completed, it stood several stories at the top of the island, lording out across the lake and the wooded landscape around it. The castle had only three rooms—the sitting room where he slept, bathed, and ate; a showroom where he kept the majority of his collection; and a large foyer where he greeted guests. And for many days and months, he sat alone in his castle among his possessions, occasionally greeting the village chieftains who visited him from time to time, traded goods and tales, or gave him word of any sign of travelers who might come to take him away. He had learned or at least sensed that his stay on Bellavaran, which was supposed to be temporary, might have been noticed by now. IPPA officials, particularly the Oellians, were obsessively preoccupied with keeping abreast of such things.
But once the villagers returned to their home, he was alone again, watching the alien world spin by his window. And yes, before long, he became bored yet again.
Isolated from his compatriots and the trading sites of the four quadrants, he grew older in this manner. The fine hairs along his ridge scalp turned silver and the long stripe that bifurcated his features was too turning pale. His bones began to ache and his lungs wheezed out a song of age. It began to seem that his fate was to die on this planet, alone among his things. Whenever he occasioned to entertain this thought, he grew sad and melancholy.
Then, one day, while he was cleaning his possessions, his eyes fell upon the Book of Dreams. It was still housed in its casing, spotlighted by the soft glow of the light globes. He had not seen nor touched it in ages. He took the volume out of its case and thumbed through its pages. The pleasure he once had in possessing it had long since faded, but he still appreciated its artistry. Briefly, he considered putting it back on the market. Perhaps he could find a trader who would be willing to procure it in return for something more valuable. He knew that such a trade would have to happen soon, for the longer he possessed it the likelier he would be visited by a N’Dhia who would lay claim to it. At first, he dreaded the idea of losing such a valuable possession, far more so than the trouble he was certain to get into with IPPA regulators. But isolated so completely in the backwoods of Bellavaran, he didn’t have many opportunities to offload the artifact quickly. He was resigning to the fact that either he was going to be visited by an IPPA regulator very soon or, far worse, a N’Dhia.
As he continued to thumb through its pages, he was struck by the thought that he had never met a N’Dhia before. They were an extremely rare lot. How many in the galaxy, he thought, can honestly say they had met one? They moved so mysteriously and came and went like the wind. And yet, of all the things that were uncertain in the universe, one thing he could set his clock by was the impending arrival of a N’Dhia. An experience like that was so rare and yet so certain was utterly priceless. And therefore, xandreleusmarin concluded as the tantalizing thought ballooned inside his head, extremely valuable.
The idea whetted his imagination and drew his lips into a broad, cunning smile.
Returning the book to its case, xandreleusmarin dashed back to the sitting room and set out a plan.
Several days later, he sent out word to a villager with whom he had made the majority of his trades and whose eyes and ears he trusted the most. The villager arrived, standing tall and firm, with his long, knotted walking stick pressed tightly in one hand, and a large blade sharpened from wood dangling from rope around his hip. His eyes were pressed tight in the manner of someone bothered. “It will be the Festival of the Elders soon,” he said as explanation. The Dkokli never did anything that was not in complete restitution to those damnable trees. Impatient to get on with business, xandreleusmarin promised that after the festival, he will send a word out to his former superiors of the Dkokli’s wish to belong to the alliance. He told him he knew chieftains who were situated high enough in the organization that xandreleusmarin’s word alone was worth a hzana or two. This had the desired effect; the Dkokli was more than pleased to do his bidding.
“I will have a visitor soon,” he said. “Perhaps not now, perhaps not tomorrow, but soon. He will be an Idris-Sarran. Do you know what Idris-Sarran look like?” When the Dkokli shook his head, xandreleusmarin gave him a description. “Once you see him, you won’t mistake him,” he said. “When he arrives, come back here as quick as possible to tell me. But by no means let him know I am aware of his presence. Do you understand? He must not know I am aware of anything.” The villager nodded and promised he will be on the watch for the Idris-Sarran.
After he left the castle, the Starrian was alone yet again, staring out of his window, waiting.
He waited a long time.
Then the season of the Elders arrived. Once the trees reached their peak harvest, their spores were released into the air, spreading far and wide to pollinate, thus ending the festival and its bounty. Xandreleusmarin never took part in the festivities but would listen from his windows and watch the display of spores as they winged high in the air and set fire to the sky. It was a magnificent display, but xandreleusmarin had seen it so many times that he lost interest and only sighed and wished he could find something, anything which could set fire to his sensibilities.
As he sat by the casement window, staring out at the view, he sighed once again out of boredom. A knock came at his door.
“Enter,” he said.
The door opened and in walked the Dkokli trader, tapping his walking stick against the stone parquet. He stood before xandreleusmarin with his eyes horizontal in a serious manner.
“Yes?” said Xandreleusmarin.
“He is come, the one you seek,” replied the Dkokli.
Xandreleusmarin straightened in his chair as a trill of excitement ran up his spine. At last. He asked the Dkokli where the Idris-Sarran was. The Dkokli replied that he was in the village with a female of strange origin. They had been conferring in private with the ik’k’yi, the name the Dkokli called their chieftains. They had not announced their reasons for coming.
“Shall I bring them to you?” said the Dkokli.
“No, no,” said xandreleusmarin breathlessly. “Do nothing.”
The Dkokli looked vaguely confused. “Nothing.”
“Yes, nothing.” The collector explained. “The Idris-Sarran will come to me in time. He will ask someone to bring him here. Only then, will you bring him to me? But I want him to come to me on his own. Do you understand?”
The Dkokli still looked vaguely confused. Not a bright one, this, xandreleusmarin thought. He explained again that he wanted the Idris-Sarran to come to him of his own free will, a concept he was quite certain the Dkokli did not understand. “Bring him only until he asks you to. Do you understand that?”
The Dkokli slanted his eyes upward with a frown. He couldn’t begin to understand if he understood anything. “I will bring him to you when he asks.” Then nodding his round head, he departed.
Xandreleusmarin frowned, feeling vaguely dissatisfied until he reminded himself that his plan––his carefully laid plan––was soon to come to fruition. He faced the window again and watched the fireworks light up the night sky. Vague dissatisfaction turned to simmering joy. He smiled. How lovely, he thought. How lovely the feeling.
