The Bearer's Burden (Phantom Pact Book 1)

by Chad Queen

  “I found out if I encoded to tungsten, my body could support my weight, making me tougher. The diamond was even better, because it gave my legs the strength to run. You wouldn’t believe how many circles I ran around in my chamber.” She chuckled. “I can only encode one substance at a time, but having Mother to help me is the only way I made it this far. I wish I could have told you earlier, but Father went to great pains to keep us apart. I think he saw you as a threat to his whole charade. That, and you look just like her. I can only imagine seeing you is a constant reminder of what he has lost.”

  How could she not have known?

  Jace interrupted, “We shouldn’t stay here long. We need to get to a safe house. Is there one nearby?”

  Elon shook her head. “We have to assume they are all compromised. We need to move.”

  “What about Cade? We need to wait for him,” Ashlyn said.

  Elon positioned herself next to Ashlyn and put her hand on her shoulder. “Ashlyn, they would have sent a much larger force after him… We have to assume they got to him, too.”

  “You’re not suggesting…”

  Elon bit her lip. “I can’t say for sure. If he’s still alive, you have to trust he’ll find us.”

  Tears welled up in Ashlyn’s eyes, but she shook off the encroaching despair. “Yes, he will find us.”

  Elon looked at her as if she wanted to say something but seemed to think better of it.

  Jace broke the silence. “We stick to the plan. Let’s meet up with Beatrix.”

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Ashlyn asked, eyeing the building suspiciously. They were in the merchant district of Toltaire. The streets were not crowded, given the hour of the night. They traveled at a relaxed pace, careful not to arouse unwanted suspicion. Elon’s elaborate wheelchair did not help in keeping attention at bay.

  The district exuded charm with its restored classic Chalician architecture, shops and buildings packed in neat rows. The storefront they arrived at was a townhouse-style dwelling with a shop on the bottom and a room on the top for the owner to live. The sign above the shop bore the name Toltaire Tortes & Tasties in brightly colored pastel letters.

  “This can’t be it,” said Jace as he double-checked the address scrawled on the paper before him.

  “What were you expecting?” Ashlyn asked.

  “A weapons shop of some sort. Not…this.”

  Ashlyn looked at him impatiently. “It’s no use just standing out here and scratching our heads. Let’s at least go in and ask if they know where the previous owner relocated to.” She marched up to the door, which had a sign written in friendly lettering: “SOLD OUT—WE’LL BAKE MORE CAKE TO TAKE TOMORROW!” Ashlyn knocked once on the door. After a moment, she heard some footsteps coming down the stairs.

  The door cracked open. An elderly woman with long, graying black hair and a kind face juxtaposed with fierce blue eyes poked her head out of the door. “Sorry, I’m afraid we’re all sold out for today.”

  Jace stepped up to the door. The woman’s expression hardened, and she retreated back behind the door as it snapped shut.

  Ashlyn looked at Jace, eyes narrowed. “Well, you made quite an impression.”

  Jace ignored her and rapped on the door.

  A voice sounded through the door, “Go away! That’s something I know you’re good at doing!”

  “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on,” said Ashlyn.

  “It’s a long story.” He sighed. Jace turned back to the door. “I’m sorry, you know I am. I had to go. You and I both know we were at the end of the road. I need your help.”

  The door opened, though her expression was none the softer. “With what could I possibly help you? I’m just a simple baker now.”

  “Mother…please,” he implored, meeting her eyes.

  “Mother? That’s what you wouldn’t tell me?” Ashlyn said incredulously.

  “Of course he wouldn’t tell you about his own mother,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “He just does what he pleases. Always has.” She sighed, letting the door fall open as she retreated into the shop.

  Ashlyn entered with Jace and Elon. The shop was beautiful. Rich colored tablecloths were draped over wide wooden tables, with small pails filled with an assortment of fresh-cut flowers. She could smell bread baking in the ovens around the back.

  She stole a glance toward the kitchen and was surprised to see a very sophisticated setup with graduated cylinders, beakers, and tubing. Not quite the baking paraphernalia she had expected to see.

  Jace approached the woman. “Beatrix…”

  The woman raised her hand as if to silence him. “No, you don’t. You won’t sweet-talk me into accepting any apology you have to offer. Instead, tell me who your friends are,” she said, nodding toward Ashlyn and Elon.

  Jace cleared his throat. “Of course, I had completely forgotten. It is my pleasure to introduce you to their royal highnesses, Elon and Ashlyn Winshire.”

  Beatrix’s brow furrowed, and then her eyes grew wide. “Prince…and Princess Winshire?” The woman glanced around furtively, as if unsure what to do next. “Oh my, where are my manners? Something to drink, yes, something to drink. Tea! Yes, tea. Oh, would you like tea? Please, please, sit down!”

  Beatrix shot Jace a dark look. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Honestly, Jace.” The old woman shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She seems nice,” said Ashlyn.

  Jace shrugged.

  “We need to send word to Carlon and let him know what happened,” said Ashlyn.

  “If Carlon’s still alive,” Jace said, shaking his head. “And if he is alive, I doubt he’s on Vanter.”

  “Where would he go?” asked Elon.

  Jace shrugged again. “Given the activity in Rynth, that would be as good a guess as any.”

  Elon tapped her chin. “Rynth is going to be taken, isn’t it?”

  Jace just looked at the ground. Ashlyn understood. Exiled from his home once more, this time it wasn’t by choice.

  “Do you really think we can stop them?” Ashlyn said, expression hopeful. “If the Foundation has fallen, are we just kidding ourselves?”

  Jace nodded, still looking at the ground. “You’re right. We’re three people wanted by the king himself, no less. What kind of resistance could we hope to mount?”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Ashlyn looked up to see Beatrix in the doorway, holding a tea tray with small porcelain cups arranged neatly upon it.

  “I’m sorry?” asked Ashlyn.

  “You’re wrong. You’re not just three people. There’s more. Many more,” stated Beatrix. “The Foundation fights on, from here to the Ends.”

  “Lady Beatrix, I’m afraid—” Elon started.

  “Bah! I am no lady. I lost that right years ago. I may be old now, but I’m not out of the fight.”

  Ashlyn looked at the woman, confused. “I don’t think we’ve had a proper introduction. Who are you, exactly?”

  The woman stood up straight and held her chin up high. “I am Beatrix Bestforger, former Chief Technologist of the Chalice Military Force and master castforger.” She looked at each one of them in turn. “And I can help you teach those bastards a lesson.”

  Beatrix led them down a short hallway and stopped in front of a painting of a woman holding a pink parasol.

  “During the war, it was obvious we were going to need technology far superior to what we already had. The Chalice Military Force, by order of the king, was empowered to create research strike teams with the charter of building experimental weaponry based on Ancient technology,” said Beatrix as she pulled off the painting.

  Beatrix took off the necklace she was wearing, and Ashlyn noticed it held an ornate skeleton key. Beatrix inserted it into a small keyhole within the wall. She twisted the key clockwise one turn and then counterclockwise three turns. On the last turn, Ashlyn heard a barely audible click when the final tumbler fell into place.

  “I was a
castforger, so I made caster shells, of course. But deep down, I had always wanted something more. Our team had two primary objectives: caster replication and what we called the caster missile. Caster replication you are no doubt already familiar with. Jace, as luck would have it, was on my team and was dedicated to that objective, though we knew even then it was futile.”

  Jace shrugged. “We archaeologists take what we can get.”

  Beatrix ignored him. “That meant most of the team was focused on building what was a very, very large bomb.” The old woman leaned hard into the wall, and a section of it swung inward, revealing a small empty room. After a moment, a light flickered on, illuminating the interior.

  Powered lights? There is much more to this woman than meets the eye, thought Ashlyn.

  “But how could you set off a bomb of that size? Even caster shells won’t fire without a caster,” asked Ashlyn.

  The woman ushered them inside, smiling. “Clever girl—you’re absolutely right.” She closed the door and pushed a red button on the wall. The room began to descend.

  Ashlyn reached out and braced herself against the walls of the small room.

  The woman looked at her, still smiling. “No need for that, sweetie. You’re perfectly safe. There is still so much we do not understand about the technology of the Ancients, the casters most of all. Our group had the privilege to dissect one, you know.”

  Ashlyn’s mouth dropped. “But they’re worth a fortune!” Destroying one would be unthinkable.

  The woman laughed at Ashlyn’s reaction. “I know, I felt the same way. But we were desperate to learn more about how they operated.” She sighed. “We didn’t learn much, to be honest. At least nothing that would aid in the replication project.”

  The room ground to an abrupt halt, and Ashlyn fought the urge to reach out again. The doors opened, revealing a laboratory that would have made any scientist in Chalice envious.

  An entire array of unique artifacts lined the towering bookcases that surrounded the lab. A few emanated light that filled the room with a cool white glow.

  Ammo canisters overflowed with blank caster shells, and a portion of the far wall was dedicated to a wide array of casters. Some barrels were long and elegant, with ornate markings the entire length. Others were short, with glyphs etched upon each side. It must have taken considerable effort to get enough time with the originals to create such detailed copies. Even though it was a small section of the lab, it spoke of a lifetime of work.

  Beatrix noticed Ashlyn’s reaction. “Beautiful, aren’t they? They don’t fire, of course, but I don’t have the heart to get rid of them. Perhaps I can make them work one day. I haven’t given up all hope, yet.”

  Jace looked at Beatrix. “Just a baker, huh?”

  The woman shrugged. “A girl’s got to have a hobby.”

  Jace shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve recreated the laboratory, brick for brick!”

  Beatrix was beaming but trying her best to appear nonchalant. “I wouldn’t say ‘brick for brick,’ but I was able to salvage most of it. After the war, they assigned the equipment to storage.”

  Jace smirked at Beatrix.

  “What? It is still technically in storage. Just in storage here, is all,” Beatrix retorted.

  Jace turned his gaze to what Ashlyn figured could only have been the caster bomb. “You never gave up.”

  “I couldn’t. I have a debt to pay.”

  Jace nodded solemnly.

  Beatrix motioned for them to follow. “This way.”

  Ashlyn had been so fixated on the caster collection she had overlooked the large metal device in the center of the room. It looked like an elongated tube of brushed steel. Rivets held it together at every angle. The top panel was swung open, revealing its interior. It rested on a thick steel platform, and tools were strewn around it, as though it had been recently tinkered with.

  “Here is my opus. Made up of 1,332 inlaid caster shells hand-crafted with love by yours truly. The shells themselves are grouped and oriented in alternating directions, providing for a full 360-degree spherical shrapnel radius once it hits its target.”

  Elon rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen caster shells quite like those. They’re enormous.”

  The old woman smiled. “I forged these myself. The base design was taken from an explosive variety we discovered from our research of the original caster cache discovered in Rynth.”

  Ashlyn pointed to an array of what looked like wine barrels made of steel inside the missile. “Are those…?”

  Beatrix nodded and motioned for them to come closer. “There are six first-generation combustion reactors wired in sequence. Enough to blow a city block sky-high. I don’t know where the Wraiths came from, but I do know this will send them back.”

  “Does it work?” asked Elon as she rolled closer to peer inside.

  Beatrix sighed. “I don’t know. But it should, in theory. I never had a chance to find out for sure, thanks to Jace leaving the team.”

  Ashlyn looked at Jace, who rolled his eyes. “Not this again. The war ended. They would never let us continue development with the Accord in place. Don’t make this my fault.”

  Beatrix ignored him, continuing. “As you noted earlier, Princess, caster bullets won’t fire unless shot from a caster.” She led them to a workbench and opened a box that held the components of a caster. “When I dissected this gun, I noticed this component here,” she said, tapping on a tiny cylinder of light silver.

  “While seemingly innocuous, my experiments with live caster shells revealed that contact with this piece of the gun is what triggers a caster shell to fire, minus the auto-aiming functionality, of course. And with pieces I reclaimed from third-generation artifacts, I can rig multiple shells to fire from a single cylinder.”

  Jace, sensing Ashlyn was lost, elaborated. “She can use the triggering mechanism from a functioning caster to set off a chain reaction, which will cause these custom caster shells to fire and explode in a blaze of glory.”

  Beatrix beamed like a proud parent showing off her newborn. “But that’s not the best part,” she said, pointing to a bundle of packed metal spheres that lined the interior of the bomb. “I finally had a breakthrough that allows for the ignition of the blast powder the Ancients used for mining. With this starter mechanism, I can ignite all the blast cells within here. One of these cells can level a building.”

  Ashlyn took a step back from the device. “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe,” she laughed, “unless you press this button here. In which case, we’d all see the stars again.” Beatrix held up what must be the detonator for the device. Ashlyn was not comforted.

  Jace turned to look at the missile. “Now all we need to do is figure out how to get this thing to the underground rail lines.”

  Beatrix grinned. “How do you think I got it here in the first place?”

  32

  A King’s Burden

  Citizens of Chalice, I have a promise to make. Today marks a turning point in our fledgling nation. Do not for a moment think that I will sit upon this throne and idle my days until we all wither from age and regret. Right now, we stand upon an overabundance of opportunity. The very secrets of our planet’s past and future are within our borders. We will stand on the shoulders of our ancient forefathers, and we will rise, as they once had, to the stars themselves. This I promise you.

  —From King Liam’s Inauguration Speech

  “The Wraith has returned?” King Liam was not pleased. For years he had clawed and scratched to craft an empire in Chalice, and now it was all falling apart. Even the largest stone can become a grain of sand upon the shore, he thought. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Chalice was dying, and it was his fault.

  It did not seem like very long ago when things were going well for him. His company controlled all the mines of note, and his investments were growing at an alarming rate. Securing the throne from the previous ruler was the ultimate validat
ion for his ambition. He had other plans, of course, but the arrival of the abominable Wraiths ruined all of that.

  Liam snorted. He once had the hubris to believe they could fight the Wraiths. Beings who traveled among the stars! What real hope did they have? But hope he gave them, his people. And they had some semblance of peace for a time. It was an illusion of peace, but that’s nearly as good as the real thing. His treachery was his greatest secret and his greatest gift to his kingdom.

  Liam did not know why it had decided to return. His dialog with the Wraith had become more and more strained with every visit. The Wraith seemed annoyed at having to talk with Liam.

  “Any sign of Elon?” he demanded.

  “They’re scouring the city as we speak, Your Highness,” the older man said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with the king’s stride.

  Where had that boy gone to? The betrayal was more than he could take right now. It should have been impossible for them to escape with the amount of manpower Liam had at his disposal. But if Elon was helping them…well, Elon was a quick study, and Liam had been grooming him for years to be his replacement. If anyone could have escaped his grasp, he took some comfort that it was his protégé.

  He slowed his pace as he came to the grand hallway. Best not to make a scene, he told himself. You still hold some power here. He convinced himself he could cover up this unannounced visit, or figure out a good way to spin it to the papers. Perhaps an amendment to the Accord? More promises to cooperate with the Wraiths?

  He knew that was unlikely; the Wraiths did not respect them. But they do need us. I just don’t know why.

  Liam had been playing a dangerous game by spying on the Wraiths. It was against the Accord, but he needed answers. But aside from the reports of erratic energy patterns emanating from the Thread whenever a village vanished, he had nothing to show for the effort. At first he could blame an illness or point a finger at a pirate attack from a nearby country on a seaside town. But when multiple towns were wiped out in a single month, there was very little he could do to stop the rumors.