He let go then, that emotion which had been crushing his chest, the loneliness he had felt as she had grown angry at him for not living up to her perception of him as some great champion. Encircling her in his wings, he buried his nose into her hair and let free the great, shuddering cry.
“I love you more than life itself,” he shuddered with unwept tears. “And if I ever lose you, it will kill me.”
Chapter 86
Galactic Standard Date: 152,098.12
Alliance: Haven-1
Young Lucifer – Age 15
225 years ago
Young Lucifer
"Lucifer, son," someone shook my shoulder. "It's time to wake up."
"Go away."
I stuck my nose deeper into Mama's pillow and pulled the covers over my head. It was all a dream. A big, long, terrible nightmare where Mama abandoned me for some terrible, brutal-jawed man who blew up planets and had evil green fire-gods following him around to eat kids like me. The last thing I wanted to do was acknowledge the nightmare was no dream.
"Lucifer." The shaking grew more insistent, accompanied by the warm buzz I associated with Father. "You have a big day ahead of you today."
"Mpfff," I grumbled.
"I could pick him up and carry him to the swearing-in ceremony in his pajamas," a second voice chipped in which I knew to be the voice of Master Yoritomo, Father's Cherubim Master-of-Arms. "Would you like that, young prince? To make your first appearance on network television wearing flannel pajamas with frogs all over them?"
I pulled back the covers and squinted at the visage of Father, barely manifested in humanoid form he was so glowy and bright, and Master Yoritomo, wearing Cherubim ceremonial attire, that battle armor that was embellished with spikes reminiscent of Angelic's wings and gilded entirely in gold. My nose crinkled up to meet my brow at the excessive light, my expression; I'm sure, one of utter befuddlement.
"Father?" I asked. "Is it my birthday today?"
My birthday was the only day Father ever came into my room to wake me up. For a moment I was disoriented, wondering why I was in my Mama's bed instead of my own.
"Even better," Father's golden eyes sparkled with excitement. "Come. Get dressed. I lay your clothes out in your bedroom. Go put them on and then we have an important meeting to go to."
With a groan I sat up and stared down at my frog pajamas. What was wrong with them, anyways? They were soft and warm, with happy green amphibians with smiles all over them that resembled the Delphiniums, a brand-new sentient race who had recently petitioned the Alliance to become full participating members. The old races wouldn't let them in, of course, but I kind of liked those froglike people who reminded me of the happy little frogs in Father's garden.
"Alright," I mumbled. I slid my feet off the bed, frowning as I noticed Father hovered above the floor. It was something he did after he'd come up with some ingenious new way to solve some evolutionary problem or a nifty chess move to beat Emperor Shay'tan.
Cold marble soaked up into my feet. I wish I'd remembered to wear my matching frog slippers when I'd crawled into Mama's bed last night. I was a big, fifteen year old boy and Mama always reminded me that big, fifteen year old boys did not cry. I shuffled into my bathroom without bothering to look at what Father had lay out on the bed for me to wear. If Father had picked it out, it was probably something flowing, comfortable, and hopelessly out of fashion.
I had to wait a few minutes to pee, my winkie having developed a mind of its own lately, always sticking up when I first woke up and twitching when I touched it. I'd asked Mama about it one day. She'd laughed and asked me if I'd dreamed of girls.
Having peed and brushed my teeth, my mental fog cleared enough to shuffle back into my bedroom to see what outfit Father had lay out on the bed.
What … in … Hades?
"Father," I called. "What is this?"
It was a beautiful hip-length sherwani suit of the finest golden-ivory silk, embroidered at the collar, cuffs and button-band with real gold. It had a militaristic flair, with a sash of state, fancy girdle and shoulder-armor which was an almost exact replica of the one Father wore over his robes whenever he sat in the Great Room and resembled the one worn by Master Yoritomo.
"Hurry up and put it on," Father shouted. "The reporters are waiting. A little late is always good, but if you're too late, they'll get angry and say terrible things about you in the newspapers."
Reporters? I thought Father hated reporters. But if he needed to talk to them, then I could see why he wanted me to look presentable.
"More terrible than the things they're already saying about me?" I asked, remembering how my rrrrr…. [*Shay'tan Shay'tan Shay'tan … don't even THINK that horrible man's name!*] my -biological- sire said I'd been raised to believe I was a bastard child.
I was no bastard! Mama adored me! And Father had always gone out of his way to make sure I was provided for. It was all a bunch of lies, told by that terrible, silver-eyed man.
I slipped on my shoes, soft off-white leather like the rest of the suit, and fumbled with the girdle, not sure how to put it on. Father peeked in the door and saw what had caused the delay.
"Here son," Father's face beamed. "Let me show you. If you're going to wear this, you need to learn to put it on yourself." He patiently arranged the heavy ceremonial finery on my shoulders so that it looked like I had six pairs of wings, then showed me how to reach inside the solid-gold girdle which more closely resembled feathered armor than a belt you might wear to hold up your pants and fiddle with the clasp to lock and unlock it.
"Father?" I asked. "What's going on?"
"I realized after you went to bed last night that you were right," Father's eyes developed that copper color they sometimes turned when he was determined. "Shemijaza has been able to spread lies because, until now, I tried to shelter you from the galaxy. But you know what? You're all grown up now! I've been promising you for years that someday I would give you a hand in ruling the Alliance. The only way you're going to learn is to roll up your sleeves and do it."
I gave Father that kind of look you might give someone when you have no idea what they are talking about, but you can tell they're excited, so you go along with it and act happy too even though the first thing that pops into your head is 'I hope this isn't another one of those terrible hand knit red-and-green holiday sweaters you're going to make me wear with the knit purple fuzzlewumps that will make everybody laugh at me behind my back.'
As Father led me towards the Pearl Gate, I had to wonder if maybe Mama had come back? We passed through the hall of the martyrs, where Father had commissioned paintings of all the great men who'd given their lives defending the Alliance, past the rotunda of the five hybrid species, who were really only four as one wall had been whited out and painted over with birds, past the halls of species who'd evolved into a higher plane of existence, to stand entrance hall where stood both the Great and Pearl Gates.
I moved towards the smaller Pearl Gate, knowing the Great Gate had not been opened since Father had built the palace.
"No, son," Father pointed to the enormous doors. "Today, we use this gate."
"The Great Gate?" my mouth dropped open. "I thought it could not open?"
"It will only open if you have the key," Father gave me an enigmatic smile. "Here, son. Put your hand in the bull's mouth."
I stared up at the enormous, seventy-foot tall gates which graced the front door of the Eternal Palace, so tall it was said Shay'tan himself could pass through without ducking. On one door rode the younger-looking visage of Father I had seen the day the bad man had shot me, the god who commanded the raw power of lightning. On the other door sat Emperor Shay'tan, holding up what appeared to be a star. Between the two doors sat a lock, surrounded by the carved image of a key. The keyhole was large enough to fit my hand.
"What is this?" I asked Father.
"Once we walk through that door," Father said softly. "I will announce I have created a brand-new position of Prime Minister to rule over Parliamen
t and attend to the day-to-day decision-making of running the Alliance, the matters I am too busy to attend to."
"Who will control it?" I asked.
Father put his hand on my bicep and squeezed, my shoulder now being inaccessible by the armor of state. I almost wiggled under that warm vibration. Father hated to be touched and did not do so often unless you'd done something wonderful to deserve it.
"You will," Father said. "When we walk through that door, I will tell the world you are not some bastard child I hid away, but the son I have raised to be my own."
Tears welled in my eyes. Shemijaza had offered me a ship. Father was giving me his Alliance. I nodded.
"It is time to open the door," Father said. He pointed to the keyhole.
I put my hand in. It felt as though I were reaching through to another dimension, the same feeling I had felt the day I had touched that black wall in the game room the day the Dark Lord had spoken to me, or that sensation I'd felt in the world between when the Eternal Tree had cradled me in her branches. With a soft click, the enormous doors swung open, silent despite their enormous size and weight.
Outside on the checquered courtyard stood thousands of people, cameras, reporters, and even hovercraft with cameras mounted on them. Father touched my arm and nudged me forward. I tried not to faint as I realized how many people must be staring at me right now, the boy the silver-eyed man had shouted he wanted back, but none had ever seen.
Father stopped to stand in front of the podium.
"I'm not very good with words," Father said to the cameras. "I've always been more prone to digging into a problem and working with a small group of colleagues to get things done instead of talking about it. And for that I'm sorry. For the past fifteen years, there has been a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding I will clear up today."
Flash bulbs flashed. Microphones were shoved closer. I felt as though I were under one of Father's electron microscopes in his laboratory.
"Nearly sixteen years ago, I sent an ambassador to the Third Empire to try to work out an accord for peace," Father said. "A half-Seraphim Angelic, the woman you know as Asherah. Against my advice, she married the rebel leader, the man you know as Shemijaza. I won't go into details, but she found out on her wedding night that the man she married had a dark side, and she fled."
The cameras flashed. Reporters asked questions and Father held out his hand, indicating he would not answer until he finished.
"It was my fault she had been sent there," the Emperor said. "When we found out she was with child, she was terrified Shemijaza would do exactly what you all saw happen when he found out he had a son, but she did not wish to raise a child without a father. So we made a pact. I would protect her from her husband. And I would raise her son, who was a prince, the son of a ruler, as if he was my own."
"Is it true you and the boy's mother are lovers?" a bold reporter asked.
Lovers? Was that like … married?
Father's eyes glowed copper, and I feared for a moment he might lose his temper, but then he sighed and met the reporter's gaze.
"No," Father said. He put his arm around me. "But it wasn't for lack of trying on -my- part. I've just had to be content with the privilege of raising Lucifer to be my son."
Tears welled in my eyes. All these years I had always wondered why Father hid me from the world, and even after I had found out about Shemijaza, I had worried if he'd never acknowledged me because he was ashamed of me.
"Lucifer has been trained from the day he was born to take the reins of power of this Alliance," Father told the reporters. "But unlike Shemijaza, there is one thing I cannot offer Lucifer. Someday Shemijaza will die and leave Lucifer his kingdom. But as you know, I am a god. I do not age or die. So it was my son who came up with the perfect solution to this problem."
Wait Father. Wait. Pause. I had watched speeches on the television after his long, boring one the day I'd been shot and knew he should wait to give anticipation.
"Effective immediately," Father said, "I have created a brand-new position of Prime Minister to rule over Parliament. From this day forward, Parliament will attend to the day-to-day decision-making of running the Alliance, the matters I am too busy to attend to. I hereby irrevocably appoint my son, Lucifer, to be that Prime Minister for as long as he shall live and then, thereafter, title to rule shall pass to his lawful heir."
"A second house will be created within the existing Parliament, not just the House of Lords to resolve disputes, but a second body, the House of Commons, to raise taxes and pass laws that are independent of my laws. The Commons will be elected by the -people,- not delegates from the old royal houses from each homeworld as is the case in the House of Lords."
"I will retain veto power, but if you get a two-thirds vote, you can override me. It will be a fully independent governing body ruled by a hereditary leader. More free, even, than the one concocted by Shemijaza."
There was a gasp. The reporters started with explosive questions. There was one; in particular, I'd wanted to very publicly answer ever since I'd first watch the brutal-jawed, silver-eyed man blow up that helpless mining planet.
"Lucifer, what do you think of Shemijaza's offer to rule his Third Empire at his side?"
I looked into the cameras and flared my wings like the raptors which sometimes snuck into the garden to hunt rodents.
"Shemijaza is -not- my father," I said as coldly as I possibly could. "Father is my father. I reject any man who would blow up seventeen helpless planets to make his point. I was born here, in the Alliance. I have been raised to love it my entire life, and now that Father has created a position where I can put the ideas he taught me into practice, it is my hope we can work together, as a Republic, to make this Alliance even greater."
"And what of the ship Shemijaza sent for you?" another reporter asked.
"It is an inanimate object," I raised my chin to look as arrogant as I possibly could. "A bribe. A plaything for a little boy. I am not a boy, but a man. I do not take bribes. And I will not go with him!"
Father answered a few more questions, and then signaled the press conference was at an end. I felt relieved as everybody kept asking questions about the silver-eyed man that I did not know the answers. The Great Gate shut behind us like the blast door to one of Father's military bunkers, locking the hordes outside.
"Mister Prime Minster," Master Yoritomo gave me that slight head-nod the Cherubim gave to someone they considered to be a social equal. They only bowed for Father, and even then, it was always a token bow.
"Master Yoritomo," I said.
"The second order of business," Master Yoritomo said, "is to make sure, if you're going to go out in public, that you learn how to defend yourself from getting shot a second time. As soon as you get out of that suit, you are to begin training."
"In Cherubim primitive arts?!!"
I almost wiggled like a small boy before I remembered I was a man now, with a man's job and responsibilities.
"Perhaps in time," Master Yoritomo said. "For now, you will have to be content with learning how to shoot. I would like for you to meet our greatest general."
I stared at the burly, dark-winged man whose hair and feathers were beginning to turn the same shade of grey as his cold, grey eyes. An angry red scar ran from his eyebrow all the way down to his chin and his chest bristled with so many medals it was a wonder he didn't fall forward from the weight of them. At his hip was strapped a pulse rifle, the weapon Master Yoritomo wanted me to master. It was the weapon strapped to his other hip, however, which caught my eye.
"A sword?" I asked in awe. "A -Sata'an- sword?"
Father's highest-ranking general gave me a salute as though -I- were his commanding officer.
"General Abaddon reporting to teach target practice, Mister Prime Minister."
Chapter 87
November - 3389 BC
Earth: Mesopotamian desert
Jamin
For three days the camelid's rocking pace was the daydream Jamin li
ved. The Amorites stopped often, forcing him to drink and checking the hole in his shoulder which Aturdokht had bound. Infection raged from the evil spirits which had taken control of his body. He was hot. He was cold. He was so weak he could hardly sit up.
He dreamed as they traveled of his dead mother calling to him from that world beyond. Sometimes she was so close it felt as though he could feel her kiss his brow.
"Mama?" Jamin reached towards the dancing sands for the hand that reached towards him from the light.
Kudursin laughed, but his voice sounded nervous. "You are reaching for the dead."
"I can see her," Jamin struggled against the rope they had used to tie him to the saddle so he would not fall off. "She waits for me just but on the other side."
Hands pulled him down from his camelid. He cried out as they touched his shoulder which felt as though it was on fire. The sun beat down, but Kudursin hid him in the shadows and forced him to drink. Fire. Sunlight was the enemy in the desert.
Rocking. He was back on the camelid again. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. With each step his shoulder throbbed, a hellish pain, a hellish pleasure. A hawk circled.
"Can't you see I am already dead?" Jamin shouted at the omen.
The hawk mocked him with a shriek and flew away. The Amorites laughed, but it faded into the throbbing of his heart beating in his shoulder, all thumping to the rhythm of the camelid's soft paws touching the rocky soil. The air was so parched that no sooner did he drink than his mouth was dry. The stench of his own sweat choked his nostrils. No. It was water he choked on now. Someone had forced more water down his throat. He realized he was lying on his back. He must have fallen off the camelid again.
"Kudursin," he whispered. "Let me die."
"The lizard demons promised an ungodly fee if I deliver you to them alive," Kudursin's hand gripped his. "Hang on just a little bit longer, young chieftain. The lizard people have powerful magic that can heal this wound."
Rocking. He was no longer sitting, but strapped on his belly across the camelid's hump. He dreamed of a song without words. Each time he heard it, it reminded him of Gita. She had sung for him the day his mother had died, that scrawny little girl with the too-large eyes who'd just been dumped off in their village by her drunken father. It was the reason he had always watched out for her.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 83
