The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  Six inside the manor when he had believed there were only four. Aaron thought about raising a protest over being left out of the information loop, but he felt too weary to fight a pointless battle.

  "Where's the body?" he asked.

  "Isn't one," Harris answered. "Or rather, there's a body, but it's not yet dead. Netted her easy, and now she's out on the farm, shackled and working hard."

  "Our second involuntary guest." Aaron gave the man a small smile. Most people thought assassins merited only death. He felt differently. Then again, not many people claimed an assassin as one of their best friends. He knew, through conversations with Kim, very few people trained by the Assassin's Guild were there by choice. Most were taken within the guild while still children. Once there, they learned or they died.

  Maybe he was an idealist, but he preferred to think some of them could be deprogrammed. The oldest were too set in their ways, but the younger ones might still be molded.

  "Anything else?" he asked.

  "I might have found an arc--arc--archeologist who is willing to go to New Beginning," Sedan said. Her voice stumbled over the unfamiliar word. Aaron guessed archeology was not yet a well-known science. "She's teetering on the edge right now, but I think she's leaning in our direction."

  "What will it take to push her the rest of the way? Money?"

  "No. She comes from wealthy roots so she doesn't need money. However, she does desire knowledge and prestige and hates not having enough of one and little of the other."

  Aaron felt pleasantly surprised at hearing of someone not driven by money.

  "I might be able to help her with the knowledge part." He was not up to this. He wanted to slide down in his chair and close his eyes. "She'll have to win her own recognition. My collection has at least half a dozen books on archeology. Maybe more. I'll let her read them just so long as she promises to give the books credit for any theories and information they contain."

  "That might be enough," Sedan said.

  "No reason why I shouldn't have done it before," Aaron admitted. "Those books are pure academia. I doubt anything in them has commercial value."

  Putting off the inevitable, he fastened his gaze on the Rumsfeld sisters before giving a brief rundown on the supplies his fledgling city needed, trusting them to mentally retain it all. By midmorning the next day, he knew, all the supplies would be gathered and waiting for him to transfer. If nothing else, the sisters were efficient.

  The task over, he had nowhere to go but to the main point.

  "The war is inevitable," he finally told them. He went on to describe the raid, the killings, and the cutting off of heads. His words were met with fatalistic silence by some, with expectation and barely concealed anticipation by others.

  Aaron wasn't concerned by the few enthusiastic reactions. He knew his people didn't want to see bloodshed and killing. They were, however, specialists in areas offering few opportunities for a person to prove exactly how good they were.

  "So it will be war," Harris noted. His expression said this was a sad thing, but his expression was a lie. Aaron knew he felt pleased with the news. Mac Harris thought of the forthcoming war as a giant chess game. Aaron understood Harris's viewpoint. Since Harris had met only a few of the people who would be dying, this was more of an intellectual challenge than something immediate and personal. Aaron hoped Harris took his challenges seriously, because this game was permanent.

  "Forgive me for my ignorance," Missy cut in. "I've wondered for a while but thought it would be stupid to ask. Why don't the Chins have horses?"

  Aaron shrugged. "I don't know."

  "There weren't many horses around the older civilized nations until the last forty years," Martha Heins said in the almost bored tone teachers often used. She was an older woman, much older than Aaron, and more plain than attractive. Her face was just there, a thing stuck on the front of her head. She was the type of person who could attend a party, stand in the middle of the floor throughout the night, and when the party finished, not a single person would remember her.

  "I don't understand," Aaron told her.

  "I'm surprised you're not aware of this." Her smile seemed condescending. "Horses are native to the New World. Something over two hundred years ago a few were shipped over here. The Chins don't have horses because they have nothing a horse dealer wants to trade for. There are a few small herds running loose on the plains, escapees and what not. Some of those have been captured and tamed, but not enough to make much of a difference. In lean times the horses become food." Her mocking smile grew. "I'm surprised your fine Isabellan schools did not teach you this."

  "I never much attended school until I went to university," Missy told her. "Still, I taught myself enough to pass the university's entrance exams with the next to highest score they'd ever seen."

  Martha's smile faded. "Very commendable."

  "I transferred two hundred saddle stock to one of the Chin tribes to see what would happen," Aaron admitted. "It didn't work. Some were eaten. A number died because of the drought, and cattle chased down and killed the rest. I don't know why.

  "Okaaay, the chance of using horses is definitely out," Missy continued after a short pause, "and yet the ability to travel quickly is important to any army. Why don't they ride their cattle? I've seen farm boys riding cows back in Last Chance, and I know the tribes use cattle for pack beasts."

  "Like with the horses, it's been tried and didn't work," Aaron said. "These are not the type of cows you're used to. The best of them is never more than half trained. Some will pull things; others will carry packs; a few rare ones will even carry a rider, but none can be persuaded to go where they don't want to go. Besides, when they get in a mood, they turn aggressive."

  "So that idea is out," Missy mused. "Should I ask about camels?"

  "No, you should not," Martha said acidly. "Camels were never up for consideration for a dozen reasons. Now, are you finished asking pointless questions? I hope you are because I would like to get back to discussing how we're going to proceed with this war."

  Aaron fought back an acid comment. He was not entirely sure what war Martha spoke about. The one with Clack's Chins or the war she fought with Missy. Aaron gathered Martha considered Missy too young to be on a council considering such important matters. For her part, Martha set Missy's teeth on edge because the older woman emitted no emotions at all. Usually, the two were at loggerheads.

  And damned if he knew why.

  * * *

  As expected, the meeting ended late and on a sour note. Aaron decided the best place for several of his advisors was inside a Chin encampment since he had hired them specifically for their knowledge of the language. A number of those he chose to go expressed displeasure with the idea. He gave them the choice to leave his payroll or serve where he told them to serve.

  They chose to go. He paid that well.

  Most of the household, except for the night guards, were asleep. Since Autumn was one of those sleepers, Aaron did not bother looking her up. She knew he was here. If she wanted to see him, she would have left a message. The morning would be soon enough.

  His legs felt like the world dragged at them as he made his way to his private wing. He grimaced at the sight of guards standing by the wing's entrance. He frowned even more deeply when he saw other guards stationed within. There was nothing he could really do about them. After all, they were there at his insistence, and the One God knew they had proved their worth. Not only assassins threatened Billowsby Manor. Scoundrels who wanted access to his life and money had tried forcing or sneaking their way inside on several occasions. When caught, most acted as if they should be looked upon in a kindly manner after proving their determination.

  Then there were the thieves and the truly inventive. On four occasions burglars had been caught. One woman managed to somehow bypass all his security and crawl into his bed. Her clever plan, it seemed, was to force him to marry her after the newsies announced their torrid affair. Autumn defused the situation.
She might be only fourteen, and she might only look twelve because of her Talent Stone, but the girl had a clever brain.

  A very stubborn brain, Aaron reflected. Her Talent for seeing the future was intermittent at best, and when it did work, she seldom saw anything worthwhile. In the last three years, her visions had concerned him only once, and he was not so sure telling him a fittings salesman would accost him in a few hours was a great help. Still, despite her Talent's lack of utility, Autumn refused to relinquish her Stone even with Aaron's promise he would give her another in a few years. It was her Talent Stone, she said, and she saw no reason to give it up. They argued, resulting in Autumn keeping her Stone because her precognition might come in handy during the war. Fortunately, from Aaron's viewpoint, Autumn seemed to be aging one year for every three instead of Aaron's one year for every ten.

  He would have to be satisfied.

  None of the people he had given Stones slowed as greatly as he had. Doc Gunther was the closest. He tested out at one for eight when still living in Last Chance. None of the others were more than one for four. The difference might have been random chance, but Aaron didn't think so. He suspected the amount of slowing was directly proportional to the strength of a person's primary Talent. A stronger Talent meant slower aging.

  That was his theory, anyway. It wasn't as if he had many subjects to observe. The only people he could watch were those he had given magnets, and he had no idea if they reacted normally since the magnets were artificial constructs imported from another world, not Talent Stones native to this one.

  He half-stumbled to the doorway leading to his main suite. Two guards stood attendance. The male guard gave Aaron a reassuring smile. "Been in the same condition a time or two myself. A good sleep will put you to rights. Not very often sleep doesn't help."

  "Thanks," Aaron told the man, not bothering to pay him enough attention to recognize him the next time they met. A lot of people guarded his interests. Their numbers were near, if not past, a hundred by now. Their rotation schedule moved them from station to station, here in the manor and throughout his other holdings. Nobody stayed around long, so he seldom bothered learning their names. They were ciphers, markers on the board. At one time, this would have depressed him but no longer.

  Despite his vows to the contrary, Aaron knew he was not the same man he had once been. The broken Chin Empire had proved stronger than his will.

  Opening the door on its deliberately squeaky hinges, he stepped inside and closed it behind him. As expected, the lanterns were lit. It had taken him a long time to accept some people existed only to make sure his lamps were lit, his shoes polished, and his bed turned down. Now, he barely noticed these favors. Another change. He no longer felt guilty because of his wealth and power. To the contrary, he sometimes became irritable because somebody inadvertently treated him like regular folk. This irritability made him feel guilty, but only when he took time to think about it.

  Leaving the lanterns lit, he ignored the guards standing unobtrusively in the room's corners. He made his way to his bedroom, opened the door, and slipped inside. After closing the door, the only available light was what slipped past his half opened blinds. Undressing, he made his way to the bed where Missy's Zisst lay on his pillow.

  Zisst mewed protest as Aaron moved the animal off his pillow and resettled it on the far side of Missy's head. Aaron gave the animal a quick pet. Purring, Zisst settled down into its new place, and Aaron smiled. This Zisst was an exact duplicate of his own, but its loyalty belonged completely to Missy.

  The covers on his side of the bed were already drawn back. He crawled in, snuggled close, adjusted his body to the bare curve of Missy's back, and gently kissed her neck before arranging his pillows. Stirring, Missy muttered something he did not understand.

  "I'm too tired," he whispered.

  "I knew you would be," she murmured back. "Doesn't matter. You always sleep better next to a warm body."

  "True," Aaron admitted as he draped his arm over her and cupped a bare breast. This was one more area where he had become a lesser man. He had lived almost celibate for more than ten years, slipping only twice with Amanda. He had been a married man trying to be faithful to his wife even as she insisted they live apart.

  Kit was gone, changing from cold to unfaithful as she first denied their marriage and then married another man. Melna was now his wife. Unlike Kit, Melna willingly shared his bed. Their lovemaking was enthusiastic, energetic, and without the least bit of passion. No matter how much they wished different, love would never grow between them. They had companionship and a type of friendship. It might not be the stuff dreams were made of, but it was all they could find.

  And so he now sought out Missy. Not only was she his friend, she probably owned more real affection for him than Melna would ever hold. He and Missy shared a gentle caring. On occasion, their couplings were driven by passion, but they both knew matters would go no further. Like with Melna, a great love would never grow between them, either.

  Good enough.

  True love was something Aaron refused to feel again. He felt too old, too jaded, faded, and hurt to open his emotions to another woman. For her part, Missy possessed too much love and too much passion for life. She liked men and women and did not want to settle for one or the other on a permanent basis.

  When they were both at the manor, she spent her nights with Aaron. Sometimes they had sex. Aaron cherished her, but knew their relationship was wrong. She was Missy Bayne. He had known her when she was a child and he a grown man. At one time, he thought of her as his child, just as she looked upon him as a substitute father.

  As a result, their relationship struck Aaron as incestuous. Sometimes, after they made love, after he spent his passion inside her, sometimes he had to climb out of bed, go to his privy, and throw up.

  Missy knew how he felt and what he did. When her Talent worked, she was empathically tuned to him. His reaction bothered her, but not enough for her to call off their relationship. His problems were his to work through, she said, not hers. She was a grown woman, far past childhood, and she liked sex. Simple reasoning. Simple motives, and not entirely true. Aaron bore Heralda's kiss, the Lady's marking, on his face. Missy liked to kiss that mark. She liked to touch him, to love him, and to know by doing so she drew little bit closer to the Lady and to the One God she had come to revere.

  Aaron thought her near reverence of his connection with the One God was twisted, but he never kicked her out of bed. He needed the release she provided. Such rationalization was another indication of how much he had changed.

  His eyes ached. His headache refused to leave. Exhausted, he lay curled against Missy's body with his hand still cupping her breast, rubbing his thumb in small circles around her nipple, feeling its smooth bumps. It hardened to his touch. Missy made a soft sound. Her hand rose, covered his, and pressed his palm tighter against her.

  Aaron fell asleep.

  The nightmares came, but not so strongly as when he slept alone.

  * * *

  "Everything's ready," Autumn said.

  With Autumn by his side, Aaron exited from the manor's rear entrance. He felt almost rested, but wished he could grab just a little more sleep. Pausing for a moment, he allowed the sun's rays to soak into his skin. The sky was clear, making it a blue deep as a lover's eyes. He heard birdsong and saw fresh almost ready to open leaves. Motes of sunlight danced across his daughter's red hair. Aaron felt clean and at peace, almost like he had felt when the One God washed the foulness from his soul. He wanted to suck the sunlight and birdsong into himself. He wanted to cleanse himself like he had once been cleansed. He wanted to deny everything this job had turned him into.

  But he could not.

  The sun dimmed. The green leaves faded, and the world once again became a place where Aaron Turner's clay feet could tread without ruining something gloriously pure.

  "See," Autumn said, as they neared a pile of goods. "I told you everything was ready to go. Those Rumsfeld sis
ters really know how to get things organized." She gave him a sly glance, looking askance and slightly upward. Except for her hair color, she resembled him more than Kit. She stood inches shorter than most children of her apparent age, and she had his features.

  "I'm learning from them," she continued. "Actually, I'm learning a little bit from everyone. I hope you don't mind."

  As if his opinion made much difference. These days, Autumn did mostly what Autumn wanted. She had this freedom because she no longer did thoughtless things which might harm herself or the people around her. Age accounted for part of her maturing, Aaron figured, but life's ugliness accounted for more. Being kidnapped by people intending to murder her ruined Autumn's trusting outlook and opened her eyes. However, the experience and the intervening years had not significantly mellowed her desire to have her own way. Instead, Autumn's resolve for independence only grew fiercer, so much so Aaron worried about her, but not enough to haul back the reins.

  Irrepressible Autumn.

  But not today. Today, she seemed different. Not as focused. Almost fragile.

  "Are you sure everything's there?" he asked. The pile certainly looked large enough.

  "The sisters say it is. Since the list only exists in their heads, I have to take their word for it."

  Aaron nodded agreement. The Rumsfeld sisters possessed perfect memories. If he were to ask them in a year exactly what this shipment contained, they would tell him to the last nail. In another twenty years he would get the same answer if he remembered to ask.

  Reaching the supplies, Aaron stopped and concentrated, taking a third of the packaged loads into his mental awareness, not caring about the watching guards. His Talent no longer remained a secret. In fact, very little about him remained secret. Such was an empire's price. Only the nature of Zisst and Aaron's tenuous connection to the One God stayed private except to those within his inner circle.

  Flicker

  "I like to watch the way it fades away," Autumn said as he gathered the next load in his mind.