Twelve years ago, after decades of fighting, a number of conflicts had finally cemented the borders as they stood today, and the Peace of the Eclipse had split the explored world into three parts. Since the treaty did not cover the North, it was here that the Democracies most competed with the Capital for resources, mainly minerals. Skirmishes had broken out recently, leading to the Capital routing the Antheans from the mineral-rich marshland.
To the east, the explored world was cut off by a natural phenomenon referred to as the Great Mountain. A deep, unexplored chasm preceded this, appropriately called the Great Chasm. After that, a tremendous mountain range loomed, forbidding access further east.
As for the Capital, Justice Barrett had become its de facto ruler. Later justices had dissolved the Citizens’ Council and assumed full authority in troubled times. Most of them had ruled in a wise and considerate manner; Justice Dar in particular had become a legend, almost as popular as Barrett herself, and people had mourned her like a mother.
They had a different name for Justice Styx, though. During her stellar rise through the ranks from humble lawyer to Augustine’s heir, she had impressed everyone with her fierce ambition and unflinching determination. Ever since becoming the Capital’s ruler, though, people claimed she had lost her mind, growing increasingly cruel and erratic. Hence the name they whispered when no one was around: the Harpy.
300 AL
General Parad’s house, the Capital
January 34, Cyrus
Cyrus rolled on his bed. I should have stopped after the third serving of pie. He rubbed his swollen stomach and groaned at the memory of the exquisite dinner his family had prepared to celebrate his seventeenth birthday.
Heavy steps sounded outside his room. His mother’s muffled pleadings seeped from behind the walls, then someone flung the door open. He lifted his head and his heart skipped a beat. Justice Styx marched into the room, impressive in her ceremonial robe, all purple with black trimmings. She wore her official head cover that left only her face visible, ending in a cylindrical top. Even her soft, silent shoes were purple and black.
Her Guardians surrounded her; an elite group that formed the Justice’s personal guard. They wore black padded uniforms, red capes flowing gracefully behind them. Each was armed with a short energy spear, which were some of the rarest weapons on the planet. Feared by everyone, the Guardians were sworn to see or hear nothing but what their charge wanted them to. Their loyalty was to Styx, and Styx alone.
He could not see the visitors’ faces, as they had lowered their visors, but he did notice that their spears were armed, as highlighted by the arc of light at their ends. What sort of threat do they perceive in my bedroom?
He jumped out of bed, bowing his head as his father had taught him to do when in the presence of their ruler.
Everyone felt uneasy in Styx’s presence, and Cyrus was no exception. He noticed how the Justice wore the ceremonial chain around her leathered neck, and decided it would be better if he said nothing. The memory crystal on her chain emitted a soft glow, a sign that it was recording. She never took it off lately; people whispered she wished to pronounce judgment anywhere, anytime. Even Cyrus knew that her verdicts had become increasingly cruel and erratic, and what had once been a source of stability had become a source of terror.
The old woman studied Cyrus with dark eyes. She mumbled something and Cyrus struggled to make sense of her words. The thin hairs at the back of his neck stood up when he made out his name and the word “treason.” He raised his eyes to meet the Justice’s hard stare just as the latter completed her brief speech: “Sentence to be carried out immediately.”
“No,” he shouted. Dad will be back soon. He’ll show them! “You can’t. My father…”
“He’ll understand,” she muttered.
None of the black-clad men in the room said anything as they carried the screaming boy away. His sobbing hollers were soon followed by those of his mother and sister. Cyrus heard them in the distance as the guards dragged him into Styx’s black hovercar—the only such vehicle in the Capital.
City of Anthea
Sol
“Citizen Sol Walker now has the forum.”
A lithe young woman with long hair the colour of summer hay slipped between the thin crowd. It was a freezing winter day and few wished to brave the cold just to listen to bickering politicians. She reached the large platform at the end of the city square with quick steps. The last speaker walking down the narrow stairs stepped politely aside to allow her to pass, but Sol barely noticed him. The chairman motioned her towards the podium with an indifferent nod. She stood silent for a long moment. White mist emerged from her mouth with each breath. She rubbed her hands together to warm them while studying the crowd around the platform. Her eyes caught on a yawning woman.
Sol’s parents had named her after the legendary Earth sun. Her disposition was anything but sunny on that day, however, mirroring the pregnant clouds smearing the sky above her head. Her speech would make history, she knew; one way or another. She would either steer the city in a new direction, or die trying.
She glanced at her trembling hands. No matter how much she had practiced, how many times she had given the speech in front of her mirror, her heart pounded. Come on, you’ve come so far. It’s now or never. She drew a deep breath.
“Fellow citizens, I am too young to have lived through the glory days of our city. I’m old enough, though, to remember well the troubles that have befallen it.”
The yawning woman now placed a discreet finger up her nose.
“And I’m smart enough to know that the peace terms forced upon us are dishonourable and unfair.”
A few gasped. Were the rumours of her madness true? Otherwise, why would anyone risk death by saying in public what everyone thought in private?
“Our city, Anthea,” she continued undeterred. “City of Flowers, named by Richard Walker himself. My ancestor. City of cowards, he would have called it today,” she thundered.
The nose-picker cocked her head to gape at Sol.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love peace. Richard believed the Democracies needed to be safe from the troubles between Capital and Loyalists, so he placed the Jonian Sea between us. He anticipated war, and wanted to keep us out of it.”
People nodded in agreement.
“But he was also determined we would bow to no master. So what would he make of us today? For years, we grew and expanded our influence to the wider world. We colonized the Marshes, grew wealthy from mining. We were a proud, successful city.”
Sporadic clapping met her words.
“Which is why we refused to obey Styx’s demand to withdraw from the North. We fought. And we lost. Not because we weren’t brave enough, but because we were betrayed.”
Her heart raced in anger. Some jeered. More people clapped now.
“Betrayed by Teo Altman, the man behind all our troubles. Five years ago, he chose that moment for his coup. Teo, Magna’s stooge.” She leaned forward. “They say that power in societies rises naturally to the top, like cream in milk. Well, Teo proves that so does manure.”
People laughed. Teo was the butt of many a joke in Anthea.
“It’s been five years since he attacked the Town Hall. We were caught unprepared then.”
People booed; no one had forgotten the start of their troubles. She raised her hands to quiet them down. Far away, rolling thunder boomed.
“He had not anticipated our response, though. As much as we loved Teo the politician, we hated Teo the tyrant. We kicked him out of the Town Hall, and out of the city. But he ran crying to his father-in-law, his treachery growing even more. He convinced Magna to declare war on his own city, demanding that we accept Teo back. How could we win not one, but two wars?”
She had to shout to be heard over the booing and hissing. Teo’s followers had demonstrated daily for his return. Counter demonstrations had been organized, with street fights ensuing. The constant friction had eroded society from withi
n.
“We fought back, but Altman’s traitors were everywhere. The only way to save our democracy was to suspend it. We gave Draco tyrannical powers. He gave us peace—but at what a price.”
People now exchanged nervous glances. Correctly identifying the crisis as primarily an internal one, the citizens had given Draco absolute powers. Wasting no time, he had undertaken the hard task of reforming and streamlining the city’s complex legislation into a simple set of laws. Although the penalties were excessive, making almost every offence a capital one, he had managed to reduce the internal strife to a minimum—for a time. Even now, when he no longer ruled Anthea, it was unwise to speak against him or his laws, especially the one that made public talk of war a capital offence.
“That’s not the worst of it, though. Draco may be a successful judge, but he is a lousy general. He gave away Salmon Island. Now we have to pay Magna to use our own port. And our taxes get heavier with each passing day. How many of you are in debt?”
Angry fists rose in the air, the square trembling with the shouts and jeers. Curious onlookers joined the swelling crowd.
“Of course you are. Everyone but the rich and powerful is. And when the Bulls and the Sea Lions suggested that anyone with debts not be allowed to vote, what did Draco do? He quit.” Her throat felt dry and she swallowed a couple of times, her burning throat making her wish she had thought of bringing some water with her. “They tell us we have peace now. Yet, they tell us we’re not allowed to speak in favour of war. What are they so afraid of?”
A raindrop dripped down her hair. “So I ask you,” she shouted, “what kind of peace kills the society it’s supposed to protect? What kind of law murders those with a different opinion? Is this the city my ancestor built? Are you the kind of people to kneel before Teo Altman and his like?”
The chairman moved to stop her, then glanced at the crowd staring enraptured at the fiery young orator and took an uneasy step back. Sol continued breathlessly, urged on by the heated shouts.
“So, what am I proposing? Simple: rescind Draco’s law against speaking in favour of war. Then, let me command the army for three months. We’ve waited long enough. Our city is dying. I beg of you: give me the chance to lead us out of the darkness these traitors have thrown us in. Let me guide Anthea into the glory my ancestor intended. Allow me to give Teo Altman the lesson he deserves and recapture what’s rightfully ours. Let me win back Salmon Island.”
Another thunder clap echoed, this time closer, and the skies split open to release a downpour of rain. Instead of rushing to the nearest shelter, the crowd watched the young orator in frozen silence for a moment, before breaking into rapturous applause. Moments later, they had voted into law both motions.
She lowered her head as if to protect her face from the pouring rain, but in truth to hide her grin. It had taken careful planning to arrive at this point. Her family, however influential, would not have been able to protect her. Nor would her beauty or femininity; Anthea prided itself in its equal treatment of men and women. Had she failed to convince the crowd or to secure the vote, she would have been forced to flee the city. Her servant had already packed and was waiting to hear from her.
She pushed away a soaking strand of hair from her face. Now, she could move to the second part of her plan. She had spent many a night studying the military strength of Anthea and Magna before deciding to reignite war. The people’s enthusiasm had elected her to lead Anthea’s army. She was no fool, of course; she knew people talked. After today, Teo Altman would entrench the Salmon Island garrison, expecting Anthea to attack sooner or later. A strike against Magna itself, though, he would not anticipate.
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
February 5, Cyrus
A clang jolted him awake. His jailor, a former soldier named Xhi, was kind enough, but Cyrus missed his home, his family. His mother would be terrified, and his father… Parad would rescue him, for sure. The thought did little to comfort him, though. The itching, bug-infested hay mattress and the shouts and cries from the other prisoners did not help, either.
His brow furrowed as he examined the narrow slits near the ceiling that served as windows. The lack of any light told him it was not yet dawn, and he wondered if he might have misheard. Then a flame hissed to life, revealing a shadow standing before the bars to his cells. Keys jingled and the door creaked open.
“Come!”
Cyrus instinctively crawled away from the gesturing hand. The melodic accent could only belong to a First, and they had no place in the Capital’s prison. What’s going on? Where is Xhi? He opened his mouth to shout for help, then closed it again as he stared at the gaping door. How much worse could a First abductor be, compared to Styx’s harsh justice? He remembered a story his father had told him about her. During her last trip to Jonia, she was resting on a hill overlooking the sea when a fisherman approached her and offered her his catch of the day, a large mullet. She got so upset over the intrusion that she had her Guardians grate it against his face until the poor man bled out. If Styx was willing to mutilate a poor fisherman simply for interrupting her rumination, Cyrus could only imagine what fate she had in store for him.
He staggered forward, his hand extending to feel his way in the little light let in by a torch’s flame. A hand grabbed his arm to pull him out as someone draped his shoulders with a smelly cloth. A moment later, the largest First he had ever laid his eyes on placed him into a wicker basket. As the man knelt to hoist the basket onto his back, Cyrus heard hurried whispers. He cracked the lid open to glimpse a boy enter his former cell, looking exactly like him. A woman locked the door behind the boy, pausing for a moment before prying herself away to hurry after them. In a corner, Xhi lay sleeping, slumped on his chair. His posture looked strange, as if his limbs had gone dead, his unseeing eyes glistening white in the dark.
Cyrus closed the lid again and grabbed wicker strands to stop himself from bumping up and down as the giant First carried him through the prison. After what felt like an eternity, someone pried the lid open and pulled it away. He cowered at the bottom of the basket until a friendly woman’s face appeared over the hole. He recognised the First who had locked his lookalike into the cell.
She smiled a wide grin. “Come. You’re safe now.”
The big First that had placed him into the basket held it steady for him to climb out.
“I wasn’t scared,” Cyrus lied as soon as his unsteady feet hit the ground.
The woman chuckled and tussled his hair. “Good.”
Cyrus’s gaze darted around. They were inside a dark tunnel, probably somewhere underneath the Chamber of Justice. The smell of mould and decay hit his nostrils, making his face twitch. “What is this place?”
“The way to freedom,” the woman assured him.
“We have to go back,” Cyrus said. “My father—”
“You’ll see him later,” the man said in a gruff voice.
Cyrus heard the urgency implied, and nodded. “I saw a boy enter my cell. How did you make him look like me?”
“Magic,” the man said in a sad voice.
“But who’s the boy?” Cyrus demanded.
The First stared at him with anxious eyes for a moment, before spinning around to leave.
“It’s his son,” the woman behind him whispered as soon as the man was out of earshot.
Cyrus shuddered. He might not understand how they had turned the boy into him, but he did suspect the fate that awaited him. A deep shame filled him. Shame for not being stronger; for not telling the man to take him back, save his son and let Cyrus die; shame for running away; shame for being afraid.
“Can’t you save him?”
“We will. When the time comes, we’ll slaughter a pig. Perhaps your justice won’t know the difference.”
“Slaughter…” The implication sent one shiver after another up and down his spine, tying his insides into a knot.
“Why are you helping me?” he whispered.
“It’s the Lady’s wi
sh,” the woman said.
He cursed himself for not paying more attention to his father’s lessons on First religion. It had something to do with a female deity, he remembered. An oracle was supposed to convey her messages to the First. “How do you know her wish?”
“The Old Woman told us,” she replied with a puzzled look on her face, as if he had asked the silliest thing.
That must be the oracle. “But you will take me to my father,” he insisted.
“Yes,” she promised, looking away as she uttered the word. “Now, come. We must hurry, or dawn will find us in the city.”
She headed off into the dark without looking back. After a moment’s hesitation, he bolted after her.
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
February 7, Parad
General Parad sat still, staring at his plate, as a servant served him his soup. He did not dare move a muscle, feeling Justice Styx’s stony glare focused on him. The smell of the dish put in front of him was enticing enough, but he had no appetite. His eyes darted in the justice’s direction.
Like most officers, Parad struggled to stay on the Harpy’s good side by asking no questions and doing anything required of him. His clear thinking and careful avoidance of politics had allowed him to successfully continue his military career under her rule. Keeping his head down had suited him, and he had managed to do so despite the many injustices he encountered daily. Still, serving an absolute monarch carried significant risk. He never stopped worrying about any sycophants whispering the wrong thing in Styx’s ears in an attempt to promote themselves by discrediting him.
He risked a fleeting glance at the guards’ eyes, trying to discern the meaning of the sudden late night dinner he had been summoned to. He could see nothing of their expressions behind the dark visors that covered the entire upper half of their faces. They had met him as soon as he had arrived at the Capital and escorted him straight to the Chamber of Justice. He would rather have gotten some much-needed rest before his debriefing, but dared not offend Styx. Her guards had even forbidden him to contact his home to let them know he was back. He knew he had been away for a long time and his wife would be worried about his safe return, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 3
