Triple Infinity

by K. J. Jackson

  Her head swiveled to Horace.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one with convenient secrets.”

  Skye looked back at her husband. “Aiden?”

  “Aiden,” Charlotte interrupted, “you need to take Skye outside and explain. We’ll be fine in here.”

  Aiden glared at Horace, and for a moment, it looked like he would attack.

  Skye’s demanding voice stopped him. “Aiden, what do you have to explain?”

  Swiftly, Aiden sheathed his sword and turned to Skye, grabbing her wrist that held her sword. “Let’s go outside.”

  Skye looked around the room at all the eyes on her. Triaten and Charlotte’s held concern, Horace’s held mild derision. She twisted and yanked her wrist away from Aiden’s grip. “Fine.”

  She stalked out the door, Aiden trailing.

  Triaten immediately turned his attention back to Horace, anger brewing stronger. “You sent your own son to slaughter?”

  “I did. Atticus would have agreed with the decision.”

  “His own death? Don’t be so sure, father. You are fast losing all credibility with this son.”

  “This is bigger than any one of us, Triaten.” Horace’s knuckles rapped the wooden table. “The flame moon cycle has started, Triaten, we all know it. And the African massacres — count it as round one. It was only part of the larger strategy, for both the Malefics and Panthenites. You think round one, Panthenites — not quite. This was a skirmish. We haven’t even begun this war.”

  “A war where you come out the end as a god?”

  A modicum of respect crossed Horace’s face. “So you know?”

  “That god-status is the Malefic’s end game? Yes, we know. What I’m trying to figure out is why you would ever help them achieve that goal — you wouldn’t, unless it was going to benefit you.”

  Horace’s face turned red again. “Don’t be insulting. None of this is for my benefit. I do not wish to be a god. You think I would send Atticus to death to benefit myself?”

  Triaten glared at him.

  He slammed his fist on the table. “You think I’m lying?”

  “The only truth that I’ve heard, the only thing you’ve reminded me of today, is that you are keen on disposing of both humans, and apparently, sons.”

  “It’s a lesson I keep having to remind you of, Triaten. Disposability.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Triaten answered dryly. “That lesson took the very first time you taught it.”

  Horace’s eyebrow rose in question.

  “Ma.” The weight of a lifetime was on that one word from Triaten.

  Horace rolled his eyes. “A human,” he muttered.

  Triaten took a step toward him. “I’ve never asked, father. But it’s suddenly quite clear. I know you impregnated her, and deemed her gone. But why did you let me see her get taken away? You brought her to me, told me to say goodbye. I was to never see her again.”

  Horace looked at him coldly.

  “She screamed when you tore her away from me. Screamed for me. I was her baby. I was hers since I was two days old. And you tore her away. You shoved her into the carriage. And when she tried to crawl out, was half down the side, you yanked her back into the carriage by her hair. She wailed and screamed as the horses took the carriage away. And you had the driver go slow. You made me watch her leave. Watch her crumble.”

  “You had become too attached.” Horace harshly pointed his finger at Triaten. “You needed to see how easily a human could disappear. That they weren’t worth your adoration.”

  Triaten’s teeth gritted. “I…was…five.”

  Horace’s arm swung wide. “And that was old enough to learn humans are not like us. They are disposable. They always have been. And you have always loved them too much, the humans.”

  “And you don’t? You’ve kept plenty of their women. Hidden countless of your human half-breed offspring around the world.”

  “Yes. And all of them are disposable as well. Just like Atticus. I appreciate humans for the balance they keep the world in. And as entertainment. Humans are necessary, but will never be anything more than a sub-par species. That woman that you thought of as your mother was no different. Disposable.”

  Triaten became deathly still. The musty air in the room stalled, as Horace’s words echoed in the walls.

  Silently, Triaten turned away from his father, and walked back to his sword, lying on the frozen dirt floor of the hut. He stared down at it.

  Minutes passed in silence, until Triaten slowly bent down, his fingers slipping into the handle of the steel.

  Horace behind her, Charlotte took a step toward Triaten. Still in a crouch, he looked up at her, eyes demanding she back off.

  Her face crumpled, pleading with him. Her voice was a whisper. “No. Triaten. Not the way.”

  He watched her as she silently pleaded with him, his face hardened in cold contempt.

  When his muscles unleashed, he shot up, and Charlotte instantly recognized what he was about to do.

  So she stepped in front of Horace, and the steel impaled her, right below her left shoulder. The tip of the sword halted, an inch from Horace’s heart.

  Charlotte buckled at the instant pain, staggering backward, dropping her own sword. Horace moved out of her path. She bumped into the wooden table, and gripped the edge with her hand, fighting to remain on her feet.

  Triaten had immediately released the sword, and when she succeeded in opening her eyes against the inferno in her chest, she saw him, deathly white, soul crushed as he watched her. He was frozen in the middle of the hut.

  She met his eyes and shook her head, slowly, trying to tell him that it was alright, that she would be fine. But another wave of pain shot through her body, and she folded at her stomach, attempting, but failing, to hold in a scream.

  “I am going to kill you.” Was the next thing Charlotte heard, and when she looked up, Triaten was advancing on Horace, a rage that she had never-before seen in him fried the air.

  “Triaten. Stop.” Her voice managed to be stronger than she thought she could produce.

  He halted, halfway to Horace. His eyes didn’t move from his father.

  “Stop. You need to leave.” Charlotte’s voice was growing weaker.

  The rage in Triaten didn’t drain, instead, it shifted to Charlotte with his look. “You side with him?”

  Charlotte swallowed the scream that the next wave of pain was producing. It was all she could do to get the next words out, but she knew everything — everything — hinged on getting Triaten out of the shack. Hinged on stopping him.

  “I do. If it will get you out of here. I do.”

  Triaten stared at her, and the rage slowly tornadoed with betrayal on his face. It took minutes for the fury to explode. It exploded in his body — every limb, the core of him, shaking. But his words were cold, callous, as he spoke to Charlotte. “Then you have made your choice.”

  He turned and stormed out of the hut, knocking the door off its hinges along the way.

  Once he cleared the door, Charlotte fell to her knees in a mixture of relief and pain. She gasped against the agony in her chest, trying to steady herself. She looked up at Horace. He said nothing to her. Just watched her, face blank.

  Slowly, she got to her feet. Her jaw set hard, she glared at him. “Pull this thing out of me.”

  “Are you going to stand or sit?”

  “Stand.”

  “As you desire.” Horace walked around her, turning her shoulders so she could lean on the table with her right hand. He put his hand into the black hilt of the long sword.

  “Ready?”

  Charlotte closed her eyes, chin buried on her chest. “Do it.”

  He pulled smoothly and quickly, but it was a long sword, and Charlotte felt every inch of it, slicing her muscle and tissue as it exited. But she wasn’t going to collapse. She wasn’t going to let Horace have the satisfaction.

  Blade out, she took minutes with her head down, fighting against the blacknes
s that threatened her brain. Finally, she opened her eyes. Horace was watching her.

  “I need the sleeve of your coat,” she demanded.

  “Really?”

  “Do it. I have to stop the bleeding. Unless you want Aiden to come in here and finish what Triaten started. Him, I won’t be able to stop.”

  Horace went over to his black trench coat and ripped the sleeve off. He handed it to Charlotte.

  “You may be feeling the need to judge me, Charlotte, but every son should want to kill his father. It makes them stronger. That’s what I have worked hard to create in Triaten, strong character. Strong enough in body and mind to defend his own. Strong enough to lead. To make hard decisions.”

  Charlotte’s face contorted at his words. She wasn’t sure if the rock in her stomach was from the pain, or from Horace’s warped views of the world.

  “You live in a very sick reality, Horace.” She stuffed his balled-up sleeve under her soft-shell jacket, pressing it against the bleeding wound. “Give me the other sleeve.”

  He did so, and she wedged the other ball of cloth behind her shoulder, hoping it would soak up enough blood that there would be few questions from Aiden. Luckily, her jacket was black, and would hide the blood. The tear in the fabric was obvious, but their clothes were always torn, so hopefully, he wouldn’t note it.

  But she did need to stall until the bleeding stopped. She walked over to the open doorway. The door had come to rest at a sad slant, only a few bottom screws held up the shredded wood, barely keeping it from clattering to the ground.

  Eyes on the landscape, Charlotte exhaled relief as Triaten disappeared from view over the faraway ridge.

  “You’re not going to go after him?” Horace asked.

  Charlotte pressed on her chest as she stared at the desolate red hills. “I know when to leave him alone. And in this instance, I’m the last person he needs.”

  “He should need no one. That is the point.”

  Charlotte couldn’t stop her head from shaking. “You are turning any affection he has for you into hate, Horace. Is that really what you want?” She didn’t turn around to face him. “You do realize that taking Susan away had the exact opposite effect on Triaten, than what you had tried to manipulate? You martyred her. And Triaten has cared about nothing but saving innocent humans, since.”

  “It will eventually wane. Of more interest to me, is that I see you and Triaten have finally decided to mate. That will bode the Panthenites well. It is well-past the time you took your duty to the race seriously.”

  Charlotte turned into the hut and went to pick up her sword. Attempting to not jostle the open wound, she awkwardly slipped her sword over her shoulder and into the sheath that hung across her back. Her eyes went to the open doorway, still refusing to look at Horace.

  “I have spent my whole life trying to prove I’m not just a vessel for the next generation. That my worth is something more. But after all this time, that is still what I am to you and the elders, isn’t it?”

  “You weren’t branded for nothing, Charlotte. Your blood is too pure.”

  She spun to him, eyes questioning. Through all the years, she had never gotten any of the elders to talk of her lineage. “If it’s so pure, why was I dumped like trash on the mountain?”

  “Dumped? No, we took you away from your mother.”

  “Took me away?” Charlotte reeled. “Why would you have done that?”

  “She didn’t care for how she was impregnated.” Horace shrugged, nonchalant. “She tried to cut you from her belly several times. So she had to be strapped to a bed for most of the pregnancy. She never saw you. You never saw her.”

  Horror flashed on Charlotte’s face, and then was immediately replaced by suspicion. “Why are you telling me this, Horace?”

  He sighed. “It’s a cautionary tale. I tell you now, away from the mountain, this is your warning. The elders have not given up on all of the old practices. They may have a sheen of modernity, but they haven’t strayed far from many ancient practices. For stability, we still need to expand the Panthenite race. Frankly, Charlotte, they have near lost patience with you. One way or another, you will be bred soon.”

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped slowly, horrific understanding permeating her brain.

  “I am just relieved you’ve gotten there on your own. We had given up on Aiden mating with you — the male has to be willing, of course, and since Skye came to be, that’s not going to happen.” Horace continued with a dismissive wave. “I wasn’t looking forward to explaining the situation to Triaten or Aiden. So Triaten is a fine choice for your first offspring.”

  “What do you mean, my first? Triaten is my only choice.”

  Horace only offered a shrug. “Regardless, the match will be most acceptable to the elders.”

  Charlotte’s jaw finally managed to snap back into place. “You do not get to discuss us, Horace. We are not your concern.”

  “Everything you do, my dear, is of my concern. After Skye shifted time back, your refugee camp was on slate for sacrifice. I stopped that because of your presence.”

  Charlotte’s eyes were like ice, her voice, cool detachment. “Don’t even try that, Horace. I know very well that if you did manage to stop anything, it was because Triaten was at the camp. We both know you would not sacrifice him.”

  Horace shrugged his shoulders. “Be that as it may, you are alive because of me.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath, grasping for control of her anger. “Horace, you have been the closest thing to a father for me. But the respect you’ve earned throughout the years is quickly waning. It is, in fact, in shreds. Do not burn those last shreds. I am leaving right now, because, quite frankly you disgust me.”

  She turned and walked toward the door, then paused. She spun back to him.

  “Whatever game you’re playing with the Malefics, it needs to stop. There are too many innocent lives at stake. And Triaten will kill himself trying to save them. You’re jeopardizing everything you’ve built with the Panthenites over the last one hundred years.”

  “Did it ever occur to you, that is precisely what I am trying to protect?” Horace reached to the back of the chair to pick up his sleeveless coat. “You worry too much about the human lives, Charlotte.”

  “Do I?” She winced at sharp pain as she crossed her arms. Her eyes flew to the ceiling, looking for patience. “You know I live by the starfish parable.”

  “To make a difference to one?” He scoffed. “It’s a nice notion, Charlotte, but it was made up by someone who never had to be accountable to the grand scheme of things. We cannot afford to take the minute point-of-view, especially during this flame moon. We need to concentrate on the big picture, and what is right for all, instead of what is right for some.”

  Charlotte shook her head sadly. “So why does the big picture always seem to involve death?”

  She didn’t wait for a response. Instead she turned and walked out the door, stepping high above the shredded wood.

  Outside, Charlotte followed the voices of Aiden and Skye to the back of the pink hut.

  She stopped when they were in view, arguing, and then interrupted them. “We need to get out of here. Before I kill him. Which I wouldn’t like to do, as he’d probably kill me first.”

  Skye turned to Charlotte. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry — the tears had already dried along her cheeks. “All those babies. All those mothers,” she whispered, shaking, at Charlotte.

  Aiden’s hand went to upper arm, but she shrugged it off, taking a step back. She wasn’t letting him touch her.

  “I thought I saved them. I thought I made a difference. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do enough.”

  Charlotte went over to her quickly, throwing her good arm across Skye’s shoulder and not letting her escape. “But you did, Skye. You saved tens of thousands. You saved me.”

  Charlotte started walking, guiding Skye along with her. Aiden trailed behind.

  “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”


  Charlotte conjured up calm reason, even though her own gut was shredded. “Almost all of the camps were defended. You made that happen. You just need to concentrate on that. It was just a few that fell. And between coming after Horace and those reports of the fallen camps being verified, there hasn’t been time to process any of it. Much less tell you about it.”

  “But those ‘few’ means thousands died.” Skye’s voice was small.

  “Yes, and thousands more lived.”

  Skye just shook her head. “I should have done more. Given us more time.”

  Charlotte pulled to a stop and turned to Skye, grabbing her shoulders. The movement tore the wound on her chest, but she ignored it. “You need to stop. Without you, all of us would have died under these attacks. And then we really would have had several hundred thousand innocents dead, and mayhem in the world. Hundreds of thousands, Skye.” She couldn’t hold back the slight shake she gave Skye’s shoulders. “This isn’t a game. And your power isn’t something to trifle with. You are that important because you can save so many.”

  Charlotte looked at the ground and sighed. With a deep breath to steady herself, she looked back up to Skye. “But we all have our limits of what we can do. And this may sound harsh, but the limits are reality, and it sucks — but you have to get used to the fact that some will always die, Skye. We can’t save them all.”

  Charlotte dropped her hands from Skye’s stunned shoulders, and turned, beginning the trudge back to the vehicles.

  The long walk back was bitter, both in the biting wind, and in the shoulders of all three. Charlotte, Skye, and Aiden moved along the cold ground in single file. Over the last hill, Charlotte sped up as she went down.

  Fear settled onto Charlotte’s brow as she stepped over the deep tracks on the ground next to Aiden’s jeep, and looked across the empty expanse of land. Triaten was long gone.

  { Chapter 19 }

  Skye was the first to notice Charlotte had passed out in the back of the jeep. They hadn’t been ten minutes away from Horace’s shack. Skye scrambled over the front seat to get to the back as Aiden screeched to a halt.