But why leave important messages in code? Why not make them easy for everyone to read?

Affie kept picking out new symbols, trying to guess what each might mean, trailing her finger beneath each line. Then her finger came to a stop and her smile faded. This symbol was a four-pointed star—a distinctive, stylized one, a symbol Affie knew by heart. Which was fitting, because she wore it over her heart every day she wore her uniform coverall.

It was the crest of the Byne Guild.

“It’s muggy in here,” Orla said. “Almost steamy. Gotta give the biome credit—the best-seeded arboretums rarely last anything close to this long. This one not only survived, it’s got humidity.”

“Lucky us,” Cohmac said wryly.

They stood in the central sphere, within what Orla could see had been a kind of ceremonial area, one marked with a stone-carved seat—or, perhaps, a throne. A total of four statues stood guard. Each one depicted a different species, or perhaps mythological figure, but they all shared the golden plating and the richly jeweled ornamentation. Vines slithered along the nearby trees and archways—not literally, though the constant rustling encouraged that illusion.

The light was dappled with the shadows of leaves. Those shadows played on Cohmac’s face as he stepped closer to one of the statues, peering up at the finely carved wings and carapace.

“Do you recognize it?” Orla asked.

Cohmac shook his head. “The style of carving is not unlike the ancient Kubaz. But that system is so distant my first assumption would be that the similarity is a coincidence. Furthermore, the Kubaz don’t have any insect gods, so far as I know.”

Orla put her hands on her hips. “Maybe they’re not gods. Maybe they’re monarchs, or historical leaders.”

“Monarchs, perhaps,” Cohmac said. “But I doubt they’re historical figures. The way they’re elevated over the viewers, the grandiose haloes over their heads—see, there are spaces that probably held even larger jewels once upon a time. To me that suggests profound reverence. The deepest respect and adoration. In the long run, history isn’t that kind to anybody. But religions are. Myths are. There could be other meanings, too; until we translate this language, I can’t offer anything more than an educated guess. Gods would be my bet.”

A soft breeze tugged at the edge of Cohmac’s robes, played across Orla’s cheek. At first Orla simply welcomed that faint touch of coolness. Then she thought, Guess that’s why the vines are rustling. This station has even better ventilation than I’d realized.

Then Orla felt a delicate shiver of unease. An eerie sensation that only grew with each moment. Cohmac turned to her. “There it is. The shadow. The darkness.”