The Hencha Queen

The Hencha Queen

The Tharassas Cycle

Book Three

J. Scott Coatsworth

Copyright © 2024 by J. Scott Coatsworth

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for the purpose of review and/or reference, without explicit permission in writing from the publisher.

Cover design copyright © 2024 by Sleepy Fox Studio

sleepyfoxstudio.net

Published by Water Dragon Publishing

waterdragonpublishing.com

ISBN 978-1-962538-58-9 (EPUB)

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by J. Scott Coatsworth

Liminal Sky: Ariadne Cycle

The Stark Divide • The Rising Tide • The Shoreless Sea

Liminal Sky: Redemption Cycle

Dropnauts

Liminal Sky: Oberon Cycle

Skythane • Lander • Ithani

Liminal Sky: Tharassas Cycle

The Dragon Eater • The Gauntlet Runner • The Hencha Queen • The Death Bringer

Other Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Autumn Lands • Cailleadhama • Firedrake • The Great North • Homecoming • The Last Run • Wonderland

Short Story Collections:

Androids & Aliens • Spells & Stardust Collection • Tangents & Tachyons

Contemporary/Magical Realism

Between the Lines • I Only Want to Be With You • Flames • The River City Chronicles • Slow Thaw

Audiobooks

Cailleadhama • The Autumn Lands • The River City Chronicles • Skythane

I want to thank everyone who took the time to join me on this grand adventure, and my husband Mark, who doesn't really understand this crazy thing I do, but nevertheless supports it wholeheartedly.

Acknowledgments

I want to acknowledge the fabulous Kelley York at Sleepy Fox studios for the great cover, and the beta readers who made it through the first three books: Jamie Lee Moyer, Kristin Masters, Lee Hunt, Timothy Bult, and Sue Philips.

And finally, I want to acknowledge Steven Radecki at Water Dragon Publishing, who took a chance on publishing this series after meeting me at BayCon. I am thrilled to be working with Steven and his team!

Prologue

Spin’s quantum brain was in flux, trying to process everything.

Aik was under the spell of some strange entity. Another artificial construct like himself?

Raven had been at Anghar Mor. His first friend in almost a hundred years, lost.

And what about me? He’d been human once. A husband with a daughter named Sera. The same Sera who had flown with him on the Spin Diver, much later. He was certain — facial structure and voice matching didn’t lie. And her laugh had been the same, thirty years after he’d lost her on Earth.

His human memories were patchy. They’d tried to eliminate them when he’d volunteered to become a ship mind. Or maybe they’d sequestered them, and that part of him had been damaged in the crash.

Whatever the reason, all he had left were tantalizing clues.

He’d always felt a special affinity for Sera, and now he knew why. She was his, or she had been. Her death, a hundred years prior, felt as fresh to him as the present moment.

Did she know? What had they told her that day when he’d left her — and her mother — to begin his transition?

More pieces fell into place. Her mother’s name was Genevieve. His Gen. They’d been deep in debt for infertility treatments and an unexpected relocation after a fire destroyed their entire neighborhood in Upstate New York.

My sacrifice saved them. Pain sparked through him like a static charge. Why did I have to find out?

He’d been perfectly happy as Spin the ship mind. But now he knew what he’d lost, and it was as vast and deep as the Grand Canyon.

He would have wept, if he’d still had human eyes

•          •          •

News of the world flowed into the spore mother through her children, the forerunners. It was cold, bitterly cold outside, and only marginally better in the dark place under the mountain where she lived, like her two foremothers before her. She’d released some of her children into the cavern, and they’d improved her dwelling considerably, making it hot and damp like back home.

Home. Her memory was fragmented, incomplete. She could feel the broken edges, the gaps in the knowledge of her foremothers that should guide her. She had more questions than answers.

Where am I from? Certainly not here. This world was unsuited to her kind, though that could be changed. It was far too cold and dry to sustain her progeny outside the mountain walls.

Where is here? There was no answer for that one, either. It was not home.

She was the third of her kind here. Of that she was certain. The previous two must have failed. She would not make the same mistakes. If only she knew what they were.

Every day she understood a little more about her strange home. Every day she grew stronger. Still, she couldn’t do this alone.

A few days earlier, she’d felt him. One of the progenitors from an earlier cycle. He was… strange. Broken maybe, like me. Lost.

He was far to the west, his presence faint against her mind. So she’d sent the forerunners to find him. There’d been mishaps. She wasn’t ready to reveal her presence yet, but something had gone wrong, and they attacked a herd of native animals.

Ruthlessly she’d recalled those ones and destroyed them, ignoring their cries as they extinguished themselves in the glacial snow.

She’d birthed another batch, and these did their job properly, contacting the progenitor and planting a seed.

Now she understood. He had bonded with one of the local creatures, and that bond was an uneasy one.

No matter. He was on his way to her. She would take him in, heal his broken pieces, and maybe he would heal some of hers. Then they would know what to do.

In the meantime, she would begin to prepare the way for him and his kind.

She thrummed happily as her form shifted and grew. Soon she would release her seeds. Soon the world would begin to change, and it would be time for their return.

1

Rise

A sharp crack filled the wine cellar. Kerrick swung the heavy mallet back and then assailed the flopwood boards that blocked the tunnel entrance again. The ancient wood splintered under the blow, sending shards clattering across the stone-paved floor.

It felt good to work out his frustrations. Still, the stubborn wood held out against his assault.

He rested the mallet on the black-tiled stone floor, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Even after a hundred years, the barrier was strong. He’d tried to pry the boards out of the solid stone, but they’d been fastened in too tightly. Brute force it is.

You’re doing great! Cor’Lea’s voice was artificially bright, and she was as tall as he was, maybe a little taller, peering over his shoulder at the sealed tunnel entrance.

Silya had tasked her with bringing him down here to check out these hidden caverns under the Temple, in preparation for the coming war. Important, sure, but also clearly an excuse to get him out from underfoot while she prepared for her official Raising.

He grunted. Thanks. These boards are hard as iron. And hard as Silya’s will.

One day things would be different between them, once this crisis was over. I just have to be patient.

Coral laughed. I’m sure a big, strong man like you can break through them easily. She squeezed his bicep appreciatively.

He shrugged her off. He wasn’t sure if the gawky initiate was flirting with him or just trying to encourage him to get on with it, but either way, he wasn’t interested. Stand back. He hefted the hammer again, and she scurried out of his way.

He suppressed a smile, swinging the mallet around for another heavy blow.

Craack.

This time the board buckled inward visibly. Another few hits should do it.

He pulled back the heavy iron hammer again and hit the same spot with blow after blow. Craack. Craack. Craack.

The mallet broke through and a board fell away into splinters, clattering across the stone floor. One down, three more to go. Why did they seal this cavern up?

Cor’Lea gestured at the natural chamber. There was a winery here before the Temple. Sister Dor said they used to use it for extra wine storage. She looked around the natural chamber, which was now filled with wooden shelving holding a variety of bottled food stores. When Jas ordered the Temple to be constructed, they kept this wide cavern and blocked off the rest of the tunnels.

Just in case the gully rats got in? That thief Raven had apparently made his home in one of the underground tunnels. Who knew who else — or what else — lived down there?

Cor’Lea snorted. Maybe.

Are tunnels all connected, somehow? That was one of Silya’s most urgent projects, to map out the network of caverns beneath the city. Another reason she sent me down here — to get me out from under her robes.

A few more whacks at the next board served to both break it and let out his frustrations at the situation preventing him from doing his sworn job and keeping them apart. And at what she said was coming.

Craack. Craack. Craack.

The board snapped in half, and he judged that he’d cleared enough space to step through into the blocked-off tunnel. "Hand me that lantern?

Cor’Lea complied, taking the opportunity to brush his hand.

He rolled his eyes. I should be flattered. But his heart was already taken.

It was times like these he wished his brother Enrick were still alive. He’d know what to do. He’d been absurdly confident about everything, even though he’d been younger than Kerrick.

Kerrick wasn’t great with women.

He took the lantern and stepped over the bottom board, holding it in front of him. The bright light temporarily blinded him as he sought to get his bearings.

What do you see? Cor’Lea peered through the hole behind him.

His sight adjusted, and the tunnel’s walls came into focus.

He whistled. Stacked along the side of the tunnel were hundreds of crates, all strapped together in groups and sealed. It’s … I don’t know what it is. But I’ll bet Silya will be surprised. They’d have to find a place to put all this stuff — whatever it was, it was likely rotten after all this time. Silya needed somewhere to store people, not ancient goods.

Cor’Lea stepped carefully over the splintered boards to join him. What do you think’s inside them?

The long row of crates disappeared into the darkness. Who knew what the ancients had considered valuable enough to stash down here. Coin? Lost treasure? One way to find out. Does the Temple have a crowbar?

•          •          •

Silya shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat of the throne. Her golden robes made her itch, and her muscles ached from the hour she’d spent on the training field with Hes’Enn. The Temple sword master had pushed her as hard as when she’d been an initiate, and she had the bruises to show it.

And why shouldn’t I? Even the queen needed to stay in fighting form. Still, her aches and pains argued for a little relief.

The fact that her connection to the hencha had strengthened only made things more complicated. They were curious as children sometimes, poking at her and asking what this meant or what that sensation was. Quiet!

Cor’Lea had helped her sort out her gully bird’s nest of hair into some semblance of order before taking Kerrick to the cellar. But that was as far as she’d been willing to go in a nod to regal decorum.

Sister Dor had shaken her head, but hadn’t said a word out loud.

… solemn responsibility to the hencha gatherings and to the people of the Heartland …, Dor droned on, reading from the official Raising text.

Silya wished she could hurry things along. She couldn’t wait to see what Kerrick found, and she had a million other things that needed doing. Besides, the sooner she could get off this uncomfortable chair, the better.

Patience, little one. Her mother’s voice from childhood came to mind unbidden, making her want to squirm all the more.

She lifted her thumb, making a small blue flame appear and disappear there. I’m a human flint.

Mim’Aya! Dor stared pointedly at her thumb. Please show a little respect for the ceremony.

She hung her head. Sorry, mim. And just like that, she was an initiate again, despite being raised to the highest post in the land.

The other sisters present, Tela, Aster, and Sallia, shook their heads and whispered softly amongst themselves.

Silya blushed. I am acting abominably. She sat up and squared her shoulders, ashamed of the bad example she set. Surely I can sit still and not fidget for all of five minutes.

Dor nodded and continued. By the power vested in me as first aide, I hereby name you the Hencha Queen, Seventh in the Royal Line. Sister Tela, the staff, please?

Is it finally over? She barely remembered the staff. She’d last seen it from a distance in Yen’Ela’s hands, when she was a little girl.

Sister Tela lifted up a black-cloth-wrapped bundle as if it weighed fifty kilos and handed it to Dor, who balanced it awkwardly and slipped off the covering to reveal the staff.

Silya whistled. It was beautiful. Entwined ebony branches twisted around one another, capped with carved hencha leaves. She reached out to touch it, and a thrill of blue fire ran up her arm. It looked ancient and new. May I?

Dor nodded, a slight smile quirking the edge of her lips. It’s yours now.

She stood, took the black staff, and lifted it into the air, her various aches and bruises vanishing in an instant. It was lighter than she expected, yet filled with the weight of years. It felt alien to her touch, setting up a strange buzzing in her arm, and yet it felt comfortable, as if it had always been a part of her. The strange dissonance intrigued her.

Sister Tela’s eyes widened. It’s true. ‘She will carry its weight as if it is nothing.’

Foolish human. That thought was not her own.

Silya repressed the urge to chuckle. Even the hencha were bored.

Instead, she closed her eyes and slammed the butt of the staff into the ground, making her audience gasp.

She felt the weight of it now, and the gathered power of the hencha. They were right — this ceremony was a farce, a human foolishness. What need was there for all this pomp and circumstance? One either did things or one didn’t, and whether one had an official Raising didn’t make a lick of difference.

Still, she knew the ceremony’s rituals weren’t for her. They were for the sisters.

Someone gasped.

She opened her eyes. She had grown, or the room had shrunk.

The sisters drew back in fright, their faces washed in blue by the light that emanated from her. She held out her arms — they were as black as the staff, gnarled like wood.

A flight of wisps appeared from the doorway, dancing toward her like embers from a fire. They encircled her, spinning around her like bright blue sparks. She felt alive, electric, bursting with energy as the hencha poured themselves into her.

The sisters dropped to their knees and put their heads to the ground. All hail the Hencha Queen! they intoned together. May she live a hundred years.

The voices held more than a little fear.

She tried to speak, to tell them to get up off the ground. Surely that can’t be good for old joints? But all that came out was a raspy sound, like wind through the branches.

Just beyond her sight, she could feel the world. Beneath her feet, thousands of living things thrived and scurried through the darkness of the caverns that riddled the spines. The Elsp teemed with little flashes of life, fish swimming in its channels and avoiding fishermen’s lures.

Further afield were hencha gatherings … vast fields cultivated by humans. Or were they the ones doing the cultivation? There were stands and forests of trees — flop trees and violet pines and ring trees, and even a few she didn’t recognize. Trees with huge heart-shaped leaves, and spindly dry things in the deserts to the south.

Erphin and verent and eircat and ix, and even tiny rainbow-winged orinths. All a part of the vast tapestry of the world.

All connected to one another … and to her — so different from humans’ independent universes, where people touched only flesh to flesh.