Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Even in one of the extra-fast express tunnel cars reserved for Nine Families use, the trip to the Mitth homestead took nearly four hours. During that time Thalias and Thurfian spoke only once, midway through the trip, when Thurfian asked if she wanted anything to eat. She didn’t, not because she wasn’t a little hungry, but because she didn’t want to feel obligated to him. The rest of the trip was made in silence.

Thalias had never been to the vast cavern that housed the Mitth family’s Csilla homestead. But she’d seen pictures, and looked at maps, and as they approached the final checkpoint she was fully prepared to look upon the ancestral site of her adoptive family.

She was wrong. Completely and thoroughly wrong.

The cavern was larger than she’d expected. Way larger. Large enough that there were actual clouds drifting across the sky, a panoramic blue she would have been prepared to swear was an actual sky above an actual planetary surface. Peeking out from behind the clouds was the blazing disk of a sun she would also have sworn was real. On both sides of the tunnel car tracks were stream-fed lakes, the one on the right big enough that the light wind rustling through the orchards and gardens was able to churn up small waves across its surface.

A dozen buildings clustered around the lakes or nestled under the forest that stretched off past the lake to the left. Some of the structures were clearly equipment sheds, others seemed to be homes, the latter large enough to each house two or three families in comfort. In the distance near the cavern’s far end was a range of mountains shrouded in mist. Whether they were built into the wall or were freestanding, she couldn’t tell.

And in the center of the cavern, rising majestically from the grassland and garden arcs surrounding it, was a mansion.

It was huge, eight floors at least, with side wings that stretched out a couple hundred meters. It looked vaguely like one of the old fortresses that had been common in the days before the Chiss learned to travel the stars, but the design was somewhat more modern and lacked the bristling weapons clusters that had made those ancient structures so intimidating. The exterior was all patterned stone, glass, and burnished steel, with small angled observation turrets at the corners and an asymmetric tessellated roof that gleamed in the artificial sunlight.

“I assume this is the first time you’ve been here?” Thurfian asked.

Thalias found her voice. “Yes,” she said. “All my other dealings with the family were at their compound on Avidich. The pictures don’t do this place justice.”

“Of course not,” Thurfian said. “Fully accurate, fine-grain pictures might contain clues to the homestead’s precise location. We certainly can’t have that.”

“I thought this was the Mitth family’s old land.”

“It is,” Thurfian said. “But that land covers over six thousand square kilometers and includes many other caverns like this one, all of which have tube car access. Trust me: No one arrives at the Mitth homestead without Mitth family permission. This is your last chance to change your mind about the Trials.”

Thalias braced herself. “I’m ready.”

“Maybe. We’ll find out, won’t we?”

The car came to a stop a hundred meters from the front of the house, beside a large mosaic design set into the ground. “Your first Trial,” Thurfian said as the canopy slid back. “Find your path. If you succeed, you’ll be invited inside. If you fail, get back in the car and you’ll be taken back to the spaceport.” He climbed out, walking along the edge of the mosaic, and headed toward the mansion.

Gingerly, Thalias stepped out of the car, frowning at the mosaic. It seemed familiar…

And then she got it. The whole thing was a stylized map of the Ascendancy.

Find your path, Thurfian had said. Did that mean she was supposed to trace out her hopes for the future?

No, of course not, she realized suddenly. The whole existence of this homestead was a grand gesture to Mitth family history. She wasn’t supposed to trace out her future; she was supposed to trace out the path that had brought her here.

She took a deep breath. She barely remembered her life before the sky-walker corps, but she knew she’d been born on Colonial Station Camco. That was…there. Walking gingerly across the map, making sure she didn’t touch any other planets along the way, she stepped onto the Camco mark.

For a moment nothing happened. She was wondering if she needed to lean over and touch it with her hand when the area around the planet lit up briefly with a green glow.

She huffed out a relieved breath as the glow faded away. Okay. From there she’d traveled to the Expansionary Fleet complex on Naporar, where she’d received her sky-walker training. Again being careful not to touch any of the other planets, she walked over to Naporar and stood on it. Again, she was rewarded by a green glow. Next…

She froze. Next had been a series of voyages outside the Ascendancy in her role as a sky-walker, guiding military and diplomatic ships to alien worlds and nations.

Only none of those worlds were on the map. Should she go to whichever Chiss system had been closest to those?

No, that couldn’t be right. The mosaic was a flat projection of a three-dimensional region of space, and there was no way to know from here which Chiss planet was closest to a given alien nation. But then what was she supposed to do?

She looked up at the house. History…but the history of the Ascendancy.

She looked back at the map. The last trip she’d taken as a sky-walker, the one where she’d met Thrawn, had been from Rentor to Naporar. She crossed to Rentor and gingerly stepped on it.

To her relief, the mosaic again glowed green around her feet. She crossed to Naporar, and was again rewarded.

All right. Next had been a trip to Avidich to meet with the Mitth Aristocra who’d brought her into the family. Then off to Jamiron for her formal schooling…

There were three more worlds after that, and each green glow brought back memories of sights and sounds and aromas she’d almost forgotten. By the time she stepped on Csilla, it was almost as if she’d actually revisited those places.

The ground again glowed green. “Welcome, Mitth’ali’astov,” a disembodied voice rose from the mosaic. “Proceed to the ancient home to begin your next Trial.”

Thalias took a deep breath. “I obey,” she said. Walking across the mosaic, her mind still swirling with memories, she stepped onto the soft swish grass and headed toward the house.

There were a lot of Trials.

The first four or five were relatively easy: written tests involving general knowledge, logic, problem solving, and Ascendancy history. It was like being in school again, and while Thalias had only been a fair student she’d always loved learning. She breezed through them with relative ease, wondering if the rest of the Trials would be as straightforward.

They weren’t.

Next came a test to see if she could cross a three-meter-wide water channel without getting wet, using only boards that were two and a half meters long each. After that she had to climb a smooth-barked tree to reach a sight line that would reveal the answer to an ancient Mitth riddle. Another family riddle required her to find a subtle pattern in the flower arcs surrounding the mansion.

More than once, as she worked through the puzzles, she wondered if these Trials had been devised since the homestead was moved under the Csilla surface or if they predated that time. If it was the latter, it meant everything that had once been up there had been duplicated in meticulous detail.

Somehow, that degree of commitment didn’t surprise her.

She’d assumed the Trials would end with the setting of the cavern’s artificial sun. Again, she was wrong. A short six-hour sleep interval, and it was back to another battery of written tests and a couple more outdoor logic problems.

During the entire time, from the moment Thurfian left her at the mosaic map, she hadn’t seen another living being. All her instructions had come via the same disembodied voice she’d heard when she’d first arrived, while her meals and room were waiting when she arrived at the designated places.

Finally, two hours past her small noontime meal, she was sent on the final Trial: to climb to the top of the mountain she’d seen rising up behind the mansion.

At first it didn’t look too challenging. There was a clearly marked trail, the initial slope was only a few degrees, and the frequent clumps and lines of trees promised lots of shade against the blazing sunlight. Making a private bet with herself that she would be back down in time for an early dinner, she started up.

The nice shallow slope didn’t last much past the first line of trees. Fortunately, as the mountain steepened, the path switched to an almost horizontal switchback-type arrangement that would angle her along the side of the mountain instead of straight up it.

A less rigorous climb, but now also considerably longer. Mentally revising her estimate as to how long this would take, she kept going.

She’d been on the path for perhaps an hour, and had made the third switchback turn, when she began seeing tall spikes sticking out of the ground beside the path. There were six in the first group, one of them about a meter tall and five centimeters in diameter, the other five half or a third that height and proportionally thinner. Thalias studied them as she walked past, wondering if this was the lead-in to another puzzle. The taller spike seemed to have a textured or carved surface, and for a moment she considered leaving the path for a closer look.

But while her orders hadn’t said she couldn’t look at the spikes, they hadn’t specifically said she could, either. At this late stage in the Trials, she decided, it would be best to err on the side of caution.

Unless this was supposed to be a test of initiative?

Thalias scowled. Mind games inside mind games.

Still, she could see through the trees that there were more groups of spikes upslope of her current position. She’d keep going and watch for some pattern that would hopefully indicate how exactly she was supposed to jump on this one.

She’d assumed the cluster she’d seen through the tree would be the next one. To her mild surprise, she found a trail of much shorter spikes laid out along the path immediately after the first group. Some of the spikes seemed to be alone, while others formed small groups. Usually there was a slightly taller spike at the center, though none of these had the height or elaborate texturing of the first one she’d encountered. Frowning at each spike as she passed, looking for the still-elusive pattern she knew had to be there, she continued.

Two switchbacks later, the spike clusters suddenly reappeared with a vengeance. Another tall spike, even longer and more elaborately carved than the first one, was set back fifteen meters from the path on a small hummock. Nestled around it were at least fifty other spikes, again of varying heights, again with no pattern of size or positioning she could see.

From that point on the spikes never went away. Tall ones, short ones, occasional huge ones—they were all over the place, set back from the path or running right up beside it.

Two more switchbacks, she decided as she once again changed direction. Two more switchbacks, and if she hadn’t found a pattern by then she would head over for a closer look.

“Impressive, aren’t they?”

Thalias jerked, nearly twisting her ankle as she spun around toward the voice. Set back ten meters from the latest curve in the path, beneath the gently waving branches of a group of trees, was a carved wooden bench. Seated at one end was an old man, his skin pale with age, his eyes unusually bright as he peered out of the shadows. His hands were folded together in front of him, resting on the top of a walking stick that was as elaborately carved as any of the spikes Thalias had seen. “Yes, they are,” she replied, her heart beating a little faster. The first person she’d seen since Thurfian disappeared…

He might have been reading her mind. “No, I’m not part of the Trials,” he said with an amused and rather conspiratorial smile. “They don’t know I’m even up here. Probably tearing their hair out looking for me. But I wanted to speak with you in private, and this seemed the best way to do it.”

“I’ve been here for two days,” Thalias reminded him, trying to get a clear view through the dappling of light through the tree leaves. She’d seen that face somewhere before.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you. But while it may have looked like you were alone, you never were. Not until they sent you up here.” He waved a hand around him. “Besides, there’s such a rich sense of Mitth history on this mountain. Makes it the best place to discuss the future of our family.” His waving hand stopped at the group of spikes Thalias had just been studying and extended a finger to point at the largest one. “What do you think?”

“I—don’t know,” Thalias stalled. He looked so familiar. “It’s impressive enough. But I don’t—”

“Impressive?” The old man gave a snort. “Hardly. He was a grandstander who always put his own glory above the family. At some point, you see, bringing in Trial-borns and turning them into cousins becomes less about the family’s needs and more about impressing those who are dazzled by mere numbers.”

“Yes, of course,” Thalias said, an electric jolt running through her as she realized what she was looking at. Someone of Mitth blood—a syndic, Councilor, or some other upper-level Aristocra—was memorialized here. The large spike, surrounded by the memorials of those he’d brought into the Mitth from other families.

And with a second jolt she finally recognized the old man facing her. “You’re Mitth’oor’akiord,” she breathed. “You’re the Patriarch.”

“Very good,” Thooraki said. “You paid attention to the row of simulatings along the grand hallway. Impressive.” He shrugged. “Sadly, that level of observation skill has nothing to do with the Trials, or you’d have just earned yourself extra points.”

“Thank you, Your Venerante,” Thalias said. “But honestly, I don’t think you’re the type to be dazzled by mere numbers.”

“Very good, my dear Thalias,” the Patriarch said, his smile broadening. “Indeed not. I search for quality and cleverness.” He cocked his head slightly. “Speaking of which, I was called away as you were starting the water-channel challenge and haven’t had a chance to review the recordings. Would you be so good as to enlighten me as to your solution?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Thalias said. “The channel’s only about a meter deep, so I took two boards, placed their ends together in the middle of the channel, then pushed one board to the opposite side and lowered the other to my side. With the two of them angled up against the channel’s edges, I laid another board horizontally across them.”

“I don’t believe that would quite clear the water,” the Patriarch pointed out.

“No, Your Venerante, it didn’t,” Thalias agreed. “So I added two more angled boards, these set into the center of the horizontal, and placed one final horizontal across them.”

“Very nice,” the Patriarch said. “I remember one Trial-born who began as you did, but then simply laid more boards across the first horizontal until the stack was above the water level.”

Thalias felt her lip twitch. Focused on angles and engineering, that solution hadn’t even occurred to her.

“Equally effective, but not nearly as elegant,” the Patriarch added. “I’ve always liked elegance, and your records during your sky-walker years suggested you were of that frame of mind. Indeed, that was why I made the decision to bring you in.”

“You brought me into the Mitth? You yourself?”

“Why not?” he said. “Watching over the family also means watching for those who will make the family stronger.”

“I’m honored,” Thalias said, feeling a sudden stifling sense of her own shortcomings and inadequacies. “I can only hope I’ll someday be able to live up to your trust in me.”

“Someday?” He gave another snort. “Really, child. You’ve already repaid my trust many times over. Even now you stand guard between my greatest achievement and those determined to destroy him.”

“I don’t understand—” She broke off. “You mean…Thrawn?”

The Patriarch nodded. “Another whom I personally chose to join us.”

“Really,” Thalias said, frowning. “I thought it was General Ba’kif who pointed the Mitth to him.”

“And who do you think pointed Ba’kif?” the Patriarch countered. “Oh, yes. Labaki—that was his name back then—Labaki and I have known each other for a long time. I’m the one who told him about Thrawn and encouraged him to point that fool Thurfian toward him.”

He sighed. “I saw greatness in him, Thalias,” he said, his eyes and voice going distant. “Greatness, and skill, and loyalty. He will be my crowning, the memorial staff that will someday stand close beside my own.” He tapped his walking stick as his gaze clouded over. “If he survives.”

“I’ve seen him in battle, Your Venerante,” Thalias assured him. “He’ll survive.”

“You think I fear his loss in war?” The Patriarch shook his head. “No. Barring something unforeseen or uncontrollable, he’ll never taste more than temporary defeat. No, Thalias, the threat to him comes from within the Ascendancy. Possibly from within the family itself.” He beckoned to her. “Come. Sit beside me, if you would. I fear I have but little time left.”

Carefully, uncertainly, Thalias walked across the grass and eased herself onto the bench beside him. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

“You’re doing it,” he assured her. “You’re listening to me, as few others in the family do anymore. More important, you’re watching over Thrawn, working with him as an unflinching ally and assistant. Guarding him against his enemies.”

He waved out over the mountain. “The transfer of leadership from one Patriarch to the next is designed to run smoothly. Usually it does. But sometimes it belies that promise. Even as we speak, there are several who are preparing their challenges and arguments, maneuvering for the moment when my walking stick is handed over to the historians and carvers for the version that will stand in the soil of the homestead. Some of those see Thrawn as an asset to the Mitth. Others see nothing but threat and danger.” He shook his head. “If one of the latter ascends to the Patriarch’s Seat…” He left the sentence unfinished.

“I don’t understand that,” Thalias said. “He’s a magnificent warrior. How can they see danger in him?”

“The danger is that he’ll overreach himself, or take the Mitth into some adventure that leaves us politically vulnerable. Should that happen, our rivals will surely take advantage of our momentary weakness. These particular contenders for the Patriarch’s Seat would prefer to trade any potential glory Thrawn might bring to the family for the assurance that he won’t bring an equal degree of infamy.”

Thalias nodded. “Seeking a steady path without risks.”

“Which is foolish,” the Patriarch said, his mouth twisting with contempt. “The cautious path merely guarantees a slow slide to irrelevance. The Mitth must take risks—calculated and well planned, but risks nonetheless—if we’re to maintain our position among the Ruling Families.”

For a moment the only sound was the rustling of the wind through the trees. “What can we do?” Thalias asked at last.

“I honestly don’t know,” the Patriarch conceded. “I’ve done all I can. Even as my life stretches toward its conclusion, so my power and authority wane.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t look at me that way, child. This is as it should be, and as it must. The reins of command must be neatly gathered so as to be handed over to my successor without any sort of delay or uncertainty, lest the other families leap in to exploit such confusion to our detriment.”

“I understand,” Thalias said, shivering. She’d seen how politics colored relationships even among the professional warriors of the fleet’s warships. It must be far more virulent in the Syndicure. “Tell me how to protect him.”

“He has friends,” the Patriarch said. “Allies. He may not know how to gather them to his side when necessary. That will be your task.” He shook his head. “I knew from the start that politics wasn’t his strength. But I never realized just how blind he was to those shifting winds.”

“I’ll do my best,” Thalias said. “Assuming I’m still in the Mitth at day’s end.”

“Still in the family?” the Patriarch echoed, frowning at her. “What are you talking about, child? Of course you’re in the family. Your travel through the Trials may not have shown brilliance, but it was more than adequate. You’re officially a Trial-born now, Thalias, only one step from advancement to ranking distant.”

“Thank you,” Thalias said, bowing her head to him as a flood of relief washed through her.

“But only if you aren’t reported as apparently having fallen off the mountain,” the Patriarch said, some of his earlier humor peeking through the darkness of his warnings. “You’d best continue to the top. Study the staffs as you climb. Note the pattern and flow of family history. Meditate on the lives and triumphs of the Mitth.”

“And on their occasional failures?”

The Patriarch nodded, the humor fading again. “Especially their failures,” he said quietly. “Note closely the gaps in the memorial record, the asymmetries where a syndic’s or Aristocra’s efforts have been cut off. Failure can be a harsh but capable teacher.”

“But only when those who observe it learn from it.”

“Indeed.” The Patriarch reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for speaking with me, Thalias, Trial-born of the Mitth. And watch over your commander. I cannot help but feel that he holds the key to the Ascendancy’s future, whether that future be triumph or ultimate destruction.”

“I’ll watch over him,” Thalias promised. “To my own life or death, I’ll watch over him.”

The sun had long since set, but there was still a glow in the western sky when Thalias finally emerged from the path. Thurfian had clearly been watching, and as she walked toward the mansion he appeared through the door and motioned her toward a tunnel car waiting by the mosaic map.

“Change of plans,” he called as she came within earshot. “I’m needed back at the Syndicure, and the Patriarch said I should take you with me.”

“Is there trouble?” Thalias asked.

“None that I’m aware of,” Thurfian said. “But Admiral Ar’alani sent a message asking that you be returned to the Vigilant as soon as possible.” He gave her a suspicious look. “I also note that while I was conveniently distracted, Thrawn managed to slip away.”

“That was certainly not my intent,” Thalias said, knowing full well that she wasn’t fooling him in the slightest. “But since you bring up the Trials, when will I know if I passed them?”

“You think too much like a schoolgirl,” Thurfian said sourly. “The Trials aren’t an essay to be graded and returned after class.” His lip twisted. “Yes, you passed. You’re now a Trial-born of the Mitth. Congratulations. Get in.”

“Thank you,” Thalias murmured.

She sat sideways in her seat as they headed out, watching the mansion, the mountain, and the homestead fading in the distance behind them, until the tunnel wall abruptly blocked it from her sight. She’d never dreamed she would actually meet the Patriarch of her adoptive family, let alone have a long and serious conversation with him. She would hold that meeting, and her promises to him, locked away in her heart.

And even as a new chapter of her life was beginning, so now did an era in the Mitth family’s life draw to a close.