The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  "I didn't receive any message," Aaron told Ard Chuk, while, unlike the other two, his own pet seemed content to remain exactly where it was. "I just wanted to make a delivery. What's going on?"

  "Our scouts reported Clack's renegades are gathering. We know of three gathers already and have no doubt others are taking place. It's time to form our war bands."

  Aaron frowned. "I've talked to my people. They've made a bullet casing that won't split or shatter, but they haven't had enough time to build tooling and start production. I can't supply ammunition in numbers for another two months, though I can get us some hand formed stuff in a week or two." His frown deepened. "Rifles are another matter. Three months minimum."

  "It will have to do," Ard Chuk said, "though it isn't much."

  "We figured a way for our troops to travel faster," Aaron added, glad to cast one bit of good news to his general. "We're modifying runabouts for their use."

  Ard Chuk shook his head. "I do not know these runabouts."

  "Delmac and I will show you," Missy promised. "It's why we're here. Aaron, dear, why don't you bring these people their toys?"

  "I hear and obey," Aaron said, giving her a brief salute. Kim called to her Zisst and lifted the animal in her arms. Looping his arm through her elbow, Aaron took a moment to wonder why Kim so frequently seemed to depend on his presence. She was a strong woman, perhaps the strongest he'd ever known, but also strangely vulnerable.

  "This will take a while since I can only ship over twenty or thirty runabouts per load," he reminded Missy.

  "But they don't weigh much!"

  "No…but they don't pile well either."

  Flicker

  * * *

  Missy's body glistened wetly with sweat from their lovemaking. Her face was soft and warm, friendly if not loving. Arching his body against hers, Aaron enjoyed the satin feel of her skin while his conscience whispered recriminations.

  This woman is not your wife, his conscience reminded him. She is not your wife.

  No, she was not Melna, but Missy was warm and willing, and she loved him, if only as a very dear friend. Her kiss lacked intimacy but held passion.

  Even so, she was not his wife. Every time they slept together was another proof of his broken vows and deception even though Melna knew of the affair. Although they had never spoken on the matter, he never tried to hide his unfaithfulness from her. For her part, Melna never faulted him because few men on this world were faithful. Besides, she didn't like him enough to care.

  Missy kissed the corner of his mouth one last time before snuggling her head onto his shoulder.

  "Are you finished?" a voice quietly asked.

  "What!" He sprang erect with no recollection of how it happened.

  "I asked if you were finished," Kim said from the foot of the bed.

  Half uncovered and naked, Missy laughed quietly as she rubbed gingerly at her ear. Aaron supposed he should have been gentle when he rose. Her ear pressed against his shoulder only moments before.

  Still rubbing, Missy shifted, sat up, and arranged herself to rest her back against a tent pole.

  "Kim," Aaron said in his sternest voice. "Some things require privacy."

  Kim's dark figure shrugged. "Why? It isn't as if everybody didn't know what you two were doing. This is a tent, after all."

  "You could have joined us," Missy said, still chuckling. "I wouldn't have minded."

  Kim shook her head. "I will never again lay with a man or woman."

  Kim's voice seemed sad, distant, and Aaron remembered the first time he'd seen her. She was being raped. The experience, she told him later, was not the first time.

  A match flared, and a candle lit. Kim sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, hands resting on her knees, her eyes fastened intently on him. Missy stirred, gasped, and then her eyes took on the particular glaze they frequently acquired when her Talent worked.

  "Oh, Kim," Missy whispered. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were better."

  "When I am near him," Kim answered, her tone indifferent. "When I am close to Aaron, I feel the One God, and then the dark places are buried too deep to matter. It is only when we are separate I am filled with the desire to kill."

  Raising her hands from her knees, she looked wonderingly at them. "Blood from another human has never touched these. None-the-less they are covered. I have killed on my travels. Killed so many I no longer keep count. Dozens. Maybe a hundred."

  "Oh, Kim," Aaron whispered. "I didn't know. I won't send you out again."

  Her hands went back to her knees. "I must go. He is out there…somewhere…my father. I have to kill him so I can feel alive. I have to go out there, only I don't want to lose touch with my God."

  Stirring at her side, Zisst raised its head to rest its chin on her thigh. Which Zisst? Aaron didn't know. Each was indistinguishable from the others. How else could it be when the animals changed shape and color almost at will?

  "I don't know what to say," Aaron admitted. "I don't know what to do."

  "You are special to Him," Kim said quietly. "You are His Chosen."

  "Yeah, I'm the Bringer, and I'm Death," Aaron said bitterly. "I've heard it all before. The position is light on benefits."

  "You are Chosen of my God," Kim repeated. "I know almost nothing of Him. Please, teach me."

  Releasing a surprised gasp, Missy stiffened. She reached to the floor to lift her clothing, rose to dress herself, and then sat back down.

  "This is more dignified if you're teaching us about Him. Aaron, I wanted to ask this of you for a long time."

  Feeling like a fraud, Aaron spread his hands wide before Kim's flat stare.

  "Kim-I-I don't know any more than you. Heralda knows the answers, only I've always been too afraid to talk to her about Him."

  Aaron's face tingled. Burned. He touched the burn with his fingertips, tracing the path of the pain, recognizing the sensation came from the dark tattoo of Heralda's kiss.

  "Pteer," Zisst said. Rising, it walked a few steps to stand before Aaron. Feeling unsure and uncomfortable in his nakedness, Aaron pulled the blankets tight about his body before laying a hand on Zisst's head.

  "I don't know what to say," he repeated, but his face burned, and so did his hand. Zisst's purr rose in tone and volume. Missy gasped, and Kim's always controlled countenance flickered into a parody of uncontrolled emotion.

  Zisst's purring stopped. Looking to his burning hand, Aaron started. The animal's head had merged with his flesh. Zisst's body followed, flowing into Aaron's palm. Something trickled along his arm's nerves, entered his body, and Zisst was gone.

  Aaron felt no different. Mentally, he searched the reservoir of the One God's power. That too, seemed unchanged, though it also existed someplace not within him at all.

  This, he realized, was another Mystery of the One God.

  Shocked and expectant, Kim's expression appeared longing, hopeful, and demanding.

  Aaron opened his mouth, not sure what to say, not sure if he would say anything. He only knew he had no new wisdom. He felt the same as before, felt like the same man he had always been.

  Despite their expectations, words choked in his throat, but then he began with words not belonging to him. They belonged to Another, and they were Glorious.

  "There is but one God, and He reigns over all the universes. It was He who created the Lady. The Lady, though not a God and only one of seven Angels, created the Lord. The Lord envisioned the earth within this reality. The Lady and the One God made His vision real."

  His voice continued speaking throughout the night. The burning candle flickered and extinguished before the strength of His Words. Aaron's voice spoke, but after the first Words he did not hear what He said. He did not know every living soul within five miles heard. Aaron spoke, and everyone listened.

  * * *

  Listless and weary, Aaron dragged himself from the tent to the sounds of curses, laughs, and the clanking of runabouts falling.

  Blinking sunlight from his eyes, Aaron
used the back of his hand to wipe away moisture and the crusty residue of sleep.

  The camp, he soon saw, was uncontrolled chaos. People climbed on runabouts almost as fast as they fell off. Missy and Delmac tried to instruct some few of the Chins, but not many listened, too enthusiastic over these new toys to wait for lessons.

  An hour later, Aaron admitted to himself most of the Chins did not need a lesson. They learned to ride on their own, almost all of them, hundreds of wild Chins. These people, all superb athletes, possessed excellent reflexes and balance. Within days, riding would become second nature.

  A woman rounded the tent and stumbled over his outstretched feet. Embarrassed, Aaron scrambled to his feet to apologize.

  Kneeling before him, she bowed her head. "Forgive me, Master. I did not see you."

  Confused, Aaron pulled her to her errect. "The fault was mine. I shouldn't have left my feet hanging out there."

  "You did not offend him," Missy said from nearby. "Please go about your business."

  The woman, a warrior of more than a few years, flushed and bowed before hurrying away.

  Missy's face, Aaron realized, looked different. Somehow, it held more character, though how he didn't know. She had always been one of the most complete people he ever met. If asked, he would have sworn it was impossible to shove more strength or character into the woman. Yet, somehow, it had happened.

  "Welcome back," Missy said. "I didn't think you'd wake at all today."

  The activity around them had stopped. Every eye turned in their direction. Only Delmac's bitter expression caught Aaron's specific notice.

  "I've been sitting here for a while," Aaron told her. "Watching."

  She released a light laugh. In some ways it was self-mocking. Her eyes were shrouded in respect and mystery. "I didn't see you. None of us did. We've looked for you to come out all day, but you were already out. Maybe you're doing Kim one better. Maybe you can't be seen if you don't want to be."

  "Nonsense," Aaron said.

  "No," she insisted. "You've grown." She looked at him, challenging him to deny her claim. Aaron opened his mouth to protest and then closed it as realization struck. He looked straight into Missy's eyes.

  Impossible. Missy stood three inches taller than him. Glancing at her feet, he saw she wore shoes while he wore none. Beneath their feet, the ground was level.

  He'd gained three and a half or four inches. His body had changed drastically in a single night. No wonder he felt exhausted.

  Kim approached them, the grass crinkling and swishing beneath her feet.

  "Shoulders too," she said. "They are broader."

  Missy reached out tentatively, almost touching him before withdrawing her hand. Dropping it to her side, she gave him a rueful smile that did not reach her eyes. The smile turned into an unsure frown.

  "Aaron, friend, I'm sorry. I can't share sex with you anymore."

  "But─"

  "You are my teacher," she said quietly. "It would not be right."

  Aaron snorted and peered up at the sun, remembering all the times he'd hated himself because of their affair. He had been unfaithful to his wife with a woman he knew as a child. He had broken his vows, destroyed his integrity, sullied his honor. Despite every reason he should never share a bed with this woman, he had done so.

  Now she saw him as her teacher, her mentor. For her, this one fact radically changed their relationship. They could no longer be lovers. They could not, Aaron suddenly realized, be friends. They were something different, something more profound and personal and yet distant. He was her teacher, but Aaron was damned if he knew what he would teach.

  "Thank you," Kim said.

  "Is it better now?" Aaron asked. "Can you let him go?"

  "The emptiness is gone," she said. A tone existed in her voice he had never heard before. "It won't return, but I still feel the need to kill him."

  "But─"

  "It is my mine to do," she explained. "You gave the duty to me. He gave it to me. I will kill my father, but I no longer hate him."

  She turned to the crowd, to his subjects. "Return to your tasks," she called out, making a gesture with her hand.

  "The Acolyte has spoken," a woman said, and the Chins once again engaged in learning to use their new tools for war.

  Chapter 13

  Standing beside her general, Lioth watched as Bill Clack surveyed the war band. She knew this band was not like those he saw after first coming to this world. The thousands now standing before Clack were arranged into something he called companies and battalions. Every warrior was strong and disciplined. Many were armed with one of the double barreled brass rifles which used black powder to propel .60 caliber lead balls. His rifles, Clack admitted to Han Chuk, were not modern. They had no rifling and were loaded by dumping pre-measured twisted packets of powder into the barrel before ramming a lead ball down the bore. The rifles were crude, inaccurate, and activated with something called percussive caps, but Clack's army had one hell of a lot of them.

  Lioth once overheard Clack say it paid to have friends in high places, especially when those friends ran entire countries. Not friends, he instantly corrected himself, just a group of people who hated the same man.

  "It feels good to be a god," Clack said aloud. Lioth watched as he ran the tip of his tongue across his lips, almost as if he tasted his words.

  "God might be a little strong," a man called Paxton replied. "The last time I noticed, gods didn't have missing body parts."

  Clack gave the man a hard look. Lioth almost felt the thoughts within him. She saw the workings of his mind, a strange but not unfamiliar sensation. Her life had always been plagued by wild and unreliable Talents. Clack thought the man pathetic. Paxton had not fared well after coming here from Clack's birth world. His body thinned; his humor faded, and his eyes looked perpetually haunted. Clack only waited for a time when Paxton's fall would give him an advantage.

  Lioth shuddered, shaking away the unwanted wildness of her erratic Talent. Once again, she silently prayed to the Gods she would never find a Talent Stone. She hated thinking about what her rouge Talent would do to her if it became enhanced.

  "The ancient god Jephastis was lame," Clack reminded Paxton. "Vodin traded his eye for knowledge. I gave my hand for control of this part of the world." He smiled bitterly. "Mine was the better bargain."

  "And now we're ready for the dying," Paxton said.

  "The dying begins," Clack agreed. "We just need to discover where the hell Turner stuck all his people. Go back to your troops and find me Turner's Chins."

  "I'll find them first," Han Chuk broke in. "My brother is one of those who lead. Nobody knows his mind better than I do." Han Chuk's expression became more solemn, somber. A sad cast rested deeper on his face, one Lioth had watched grow greater and greater with each passing day. Han Chuk knew he would soon lead troops against his bother. The knowledge seemed to fill him with both dread and excitement. Some secret part, Lioth knew, dreaded the meeting. Another part desired the challenge because nobody was better at war than the sons of Han Chuk's father.

  A betraying thought ran through Lioth. Not even Emperor Clack was as great a man as her general. Han Chuk's father had sired six living males. Han Chuk had proved his full worth three weeks earlier when a wife finally bore him a living male child. Han was now honored with the privilege of continuing the Chuk name if his child proved worthy.

  The emperor, on the other hand, had sired tens and tens of children, but none were male. Emperor Clack appeared strong of mind and body, but something inside him seemed weak.

  "Heyoo!" Paxton shouted. Raising his arm, he pointed to the west. "Advance!"

  Like a bull moose parting brush before him, Paxton marched through the ranks of his troops. When he reached the far side of his war band, Paxton walked heavily toward his assigned marshaling area. His band stirred, shouldered their arms, and followed in the straight lines demanded of them.

  Snorting, Han Chuk waved a hand over his head, laughed loudl
y, and jogged south. With no word spoken, his band broke into separate groupings. Some followed their general. Others fanned out in long sweeps, scouts delving for sign of Turner's followers. Everyone obeying Han Chuk moved at a steady, ground eating jog.

  They made for a brave scene.

  Lioth remembered dead bodies, screams of pain, and traps hidden amid grass and trees. She shuddered, aching at the thought of red blood on smooth skin, wondering if it might be better to head off on her own to fight her impulses. The plains, the hills, and the forests belonging to the Chins were not the entire world. There were other peoples, other places, and many of those accepted strangers into their midst. Perhaps in one she might avoid her curse.

  "Well?" Clack asked, scowling.

  Frowning, Lioth looked toward her departing people. Her feet reluctantly began moving, taking short strides which gradually grew longer and faster. Dry grasses crackled beneath her feet, and then she was running, her legs stretching out in long strides. She moved three times faster than the war band, but that didn't matter. She could maintain this pace all day. She could go faster if the mood struck her because this, too, was an aspect of her wild-assed Talent, a Talent she had never before experienced. Undiscovered Talents bubbled inside her, more than she had any right to claim, more than she dared allow any of her tribe to know.

  Her wild side was not a first for her people, nor even a second or third. Once every few generations a child was born with Talents both accessible and wild. Most of those children gave themselves away before turning five. When discovered, they were killed. If they were not, madness invariably struck sometime during their lives. They became berserkers questing for blood, and no blood was sweeter than that belonging to their family and tribe.

  * * *

  Nothing seemed so sweet to the Tyrant as a morning filled with dying screams. Crying, parents and children, wives and co-wives, husbands and siblings, only added to the spice.

  Ignoring the waiting ambassadors, guards, slaves, and all the others who constantly nattered for her attention, the Tyrant looked out her palace window, enjoying the sight of the condemned's suffering. Eight died today, though she might order more executions later in the afternoon if the mood struck her. At least fifteen unused vertically mounted lances were prepared on the killing field just in case.