“Louis, come up here!” she called, then looked back down toward the still-shaky green priest. “Arcas, remind me never to doubt you again.”

Then she clambered into the large, previously unseen section of a pristine Klikiss ghost city, newly exposed by the storm.

71: NIRA

71NIRA

The invitation arrived in Nira’s private quarters, a mirror-engraved placard asking her to join Prime Designate Jora’h for a spectacular afternoon of Ildiran jousting. The sleek-skinned courier, though obviously from one of the upper-class kiths, was far less impressive and magnetic than Jora’h himself.

The courier watched as Nira read the etched letters again, easily comprehending the writing after she had absorbed that skill through the worldforest database. “I have been instructed to wait for your reply. Prime Designate Jora’h is most anxious to have you join him.”

The event sounded fascinating, and Nira was pleased to have an opportunity to spend time with the handsome Prime Designate. “Let me consult with Ambassador Otema.” The courier followed her down the hall to Otema’s chambers, where the old woman sat surrounded by her potted treelings.

Otema had spread out documents given to her by Rememberer Vao’sh. She read lines and stanzas aloud, reciting lyrical tales out of Ildiran myth and legend from the Saga. The ancient priest looked up at Nira, her expression distant and dreamy. “These epic arcs are filled with unusual twists and grand stories. Everything is completely new to the worldtrees.” Her eyes sparkling, Otema touched the stacks of records in front of her. “It would take decades for a single person to skim all this material, much less read it aloud.”

“That is why I’m here to assist you, Ambassador.” Nira had already found the tales of Ildiran heroism, bravery, and tragedy as enthralling as the Malory epic of King Arthur. “However, the two of us cannot possibly accomplish the entire task. Not in your lifetime, not in mine.”

“I know, I know.” The old woman frowned with dismay, crinkling the tattoos that marked her face.

The courier waited outside Otema’s transparent door, his face placid but still exhibiting noticeable impatience. Nira saw a similar engraved invitation plaque beside Otema, where it had been set aside, as if dismissed. Her heart sank.

“Ambassador, I see that you’ve received an invitation as well.” She held up her own, and the light played off its reflective surface. “Will we be attending the Ildiran jousting, as Prime Designate Jora’h has requested?”