They never really answered any of his questions. The Voice helped translate, but even so all he got out of them was vague mentions of a Lady and an Old Woman they were headed to meet. He assumed this to be some religious figure; perhaps their Themis, so to speak. Patience, was all the Voice had to say on the matter.
Mercifully, she had more to say on other matters, and David took advantage of the journey to bombard her with questions. She had told him the truth; he felt his consciousness expand day by day, as if not her answers but her very existence within him helped him understand everything better.
“So where do you come from? Were you always on Earth?” he asked her now.
“We’ve been on Earth for hundreds of thousands of years. Humans in the past called us Orbs.”
“But how did you get there?”
“We lack the limitations of a physical body, so we can go anywhere. When we first arrived on Earth, the most intelligent creatures we found were primates—your ancestors. We joined with them and helped them evolve.” As they did, some gifted humanoids joined with us. We fed their reason. Their expanded consciousness helped them prevail. They became rulers.”
“Why did you help them?”
“We needed to. We ensured mankind’s survival, but also became dependent on humans, especially during pregnancy, until we seldom reproduced outside of them.”
David shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“You know how your ancestors could eat raw food, but you can’t? It’s just like that. We evolved alongside you, until our species can no longer coexist with other hosts.”
“So our consciousness is like a high-value diet for you?” He grimaced at the thought.
“I guess. But we gave back as much as we got—and more. We helped mankind develop a great civilization a hundred thousand years ago. Man conquered space, formed colonies on distant planets. Pearseus was one of them, once humans terraformed it to resemble Earth.”
“Terra … what?”
“It means humans changed the planet to make it look like Earth. They shifted its orbit and brought in new plants and animals. They cured all disease.”
His eyes widened. “That’s why no one gets sick.”
“Yes. Your ancestors removed all pathogens from the planet. Even now, our terraformers watch for new diseases and cure them as they appear.”
“Wasn’t there a plague during Justice Dar’s time?”
“We sent Enki to cure it.”
David had often heard the story of Enki the Healer, but had no idea of the role played by the Orbs. “What happened next?”
“As soon as the planet was prepared, the first colonists came here, bringing us with them. We failed to see we were not alone. There were others here; creatures we’d never met before. Shei-ka-zuul, the colonists called them—corrupting whispers. When we found out about them it was too late; they had spread throughout Earth and the colonies. They turned people against each other. Wars ensued, colony after colony destroyed from within.”
Images of burning cities and crumbling civilizations flashed in David’s head; a world tumbling into darkness. “That’s awful,” he whispered.
“The Whispers made humans fear the Orbs. For millennia, people carrying an Orb had been revered, considered touched by divinity. Now, they were branded as dangerous lunatics. People hunted them down, murdered them. Having nowhere to go during pregnancy, our numbers dwindled.”
“So what did you do?”
“Some, in their panic, forced people into accepting them. Unwilling hosts are like poison to us, but strong emotions like hatred or dread can make anyone a suitable host. Forcing ourselves upon humans, however, corrupts both them and us. We turn into monsters. These are the Fallen; deformed, corrupted humans joined with Orbs. They end up servants to the Whispers, hunters in the dark.”
“So monsters are real,” David gasped.
“These ones are. They’re almost invulnerable, but slow to procreate, and the First hunt them down continuously. Nowadays, they’re seldom seen outside the deep forests.”
His brow furrowed. “Is that why you said you’d rather die than force me to accept you?”
“Yes. I’d never become an abomination.” There was pride in her voice.
“So you used the First to fight back?”
“Not immediately. Caught between Fallen and humans, some of us suggested we leave and let humans destroy themselves. We’d start anew elsewhere. Others wanted to stay, to fight the Whispers. The bickering paralyzed us, and we did little to stop the coming war. The colonists perished in a civil war that destroyed everything we’d built.”
Everyone couldn’t have perished! “Surely some survived.”
“A few did.” She paused for a moment. “You call them The First.”
His jaw dropped. So the First are our ancestors. It took him a minute to organize his thoughts again. “And when did you decide to help them?”
“The few of us who survived debated for decades what to do next. Many considered technology responsible for the devastation caused by humans. Others felt we’d lose the war without it. In the end, we decided that progress would have to be sacrificed to stability, until the First were mature enough to be allowed to advance once again. We only used technology sparingly, fighting back for a hundred thousand years, reclaiming our territory inch by inch. We were about to win when you arrived.”
“Was it a coincidence?”
“Doubtful. The Whispers managed to orchestrate the accident in order to turn the tide of the war.”
“So, the First are our past …” he whispered, the revelation still sinking in.
“… And your future,” she warned.
“How do you know all this? Were you there?”
She laughed. “I’m just a child, remember? No more than a couple of hundred years old. I was with the survivors when they arrived on the planet, though.”
That made sense to David. The sharp memories she had from this period, the warm feeling she exuded whenever they discussed it ... most of her species studied the Newcomers from afar, living among the First to help them fight the ancient war. She, however, seemed to have an uncommon affinity for those humans that had followed a different path from the First.
One of the First in front of him yanked his reins and stopped, the horse’s neigh interrupting the Voice. The man pointed at a distant hill with excitement and said something in their melodic language.
“What’s going on?” David asked. “What’s that?”
“The Old Woman,” the Voice translated. “We’re almost there.”
Petria
September 24, Parad
Dawn found Parad pacing the parapet above the open gate. He leaned over the balustrade to stare at the long line of rugged people streaming into the city as the sun emerged on the horizon, rosy rays highlighting mountains too remote to see in daylight. They appeared hazy in the morning light, like half-forgotten dreams. He waited until the sun rose, then turned his attention to the plaza behind him.
Last night’s ruse had worked out as planned. Tang had been successful in leading a great portion of the tired army for that one last push. Petria’s defenders, confused by the Lancers’ diversion at the side gate, had withdrawn their forces from the main gate. With Gella’s soldiers securing and opening the main gate, Petria’s defences had crumbled, just as Parad had hoped. He had lost but a few men, whereas the Loyalist forces had been routed, forced to surrender within a few hours of reluctant street fighting. Now, thousands of Loyalists and Armbands sat in solemn silence on the ground in the plaza before him, arms tied behind their backs.
A main part of his ruse had been to trick the Loyalists into believing his army still lay a few days away. Towards this aim, he had left the refugees behind, hoping that Loyalist scouts would mistake the refugees for the main bulk of his army. The first refugees were now catching up with them, and by tomorrow an endless stream of people—mainly women and children—would start trickling into the city. All would be
relieved at reaching Petria’s perceived safety. Parad knew better than that, but he was still savouring their victory and did not want to worry about his next move just yet. They still had to clear the countryside of the rest of Crusoe’s army, then face his main forces beyond the Aly River.
For now, however, his men could rest. He noted with satisfaction the absence of any smoke coming from the city. His soldiers knew better than to attempt to loot it; everyone knew the apocryphal story of how Parad had shot five of his own men during the last war, after catching them raping a young girl. The story had spread to the point of there being at least one woman each year who approached him, swearing she had been the girl saved by him. He smiled at the memory; in fact, no one but him knew if it was true or not, yet the story served its purpose well. Nothing can turn a liberating force into an invading one as fast as a misguided attempt at “fun”, and his reputation ensured that most of the people in the city were ecstatic to see them.
He caught out of the corner of his eye someone approach him and spun around, expecting to see Tang. Gella approached him instead, moving with her cat-like grace.
“Lieutenant Tang would like to see you, sir,” she said in her soft voice.
He stared at her. He had no idea why he said the next words, but they were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. “Would you like to see me, too?”
He could not believe he had just said that, and immediately wished he could take it back, or make an excuse, or claim she had misheard him.
“Sure. I’ll meet you at your quarters for dinner.” She left before he had a chance to say anything.
A moment later, Tang appeared. His face was gaunt and tired, but Parad knew better than to ask him to rest. “We found Major Marl, sir,” he said.
Parad’s eyebrows shot upwards. When he heard that Petria had only lasted three days, he had assumed Marl had abandoned the city. “He hasn’t left?”
“No, sir. He was in the barracks, drunk. His men said he ordered them to surrender, then disappeared into a bottle. Even now, he’s only half awake.”
No wonder Petria fell so fast. Marl wasn’t just a poor commander; he was a turncoat. His fists balled into fists. “Where’s he now?”
“In a cell, sobering up.”
“Let’s go see him.”
They crossed the main square where all the prisoners still sat or lay on the ground. Most ignored them as they passed. The men were dirty and unkempt, not at all what he had expected. The sky was clear and soon the sun would raise the temperature to uncomfortable levels, but the captives seemed resigned to whatever fate he planned for them. He pursed his lips, unsure of what to do with all of them.
“Tang!”
“Sir?”
He motioned at the prisoners. “Make sure everyone has food and water, then have the city council meet me. I’ll need their help.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I have them meet you after lunch?”
Parad nodded as they entered the barracks. Tang showed him to a dark staircase that led to an arched underground complex. A long corridor cut through it, wide store rooms on one side and narrow cells on the other. Parad noticed with satisfaction the alert guards standing around the room.
Tang pointed at one of the cells. Darkness filled most of it and, for a moment, Parad thought there was no one inside. Then his eyes adjusted, and he made out a shadow moving on the bed. His eyes locked with Marl’s. The prisoner stumbled towards the iron bars that separated him from his captors. He was unshaven and wore a plain, unmarked uniform, soiled by a number of dark stains. As he approached, both his captors instinctively stumbled back to avoid the stench.
Marl glared at them with blood-shot eyes filled with hatred. “Well, if it ain’t the hero of the Capital. Sorry I can’t greet you properly, General Stick-up-his-arse.” He laughed so hard at his own joke that he choked and coughed to catch his breath.
Tang’s face went white with rage at the insult, his hand unconsciously sliding to the hilt of his sword.
Parad hurried to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down; they needed Marl alive, and the prisoner had no power over him. The barking of a rabid dog makes no difference. “What happened, Marl?” he asked quietly. Something in his voice cut off the man’s laughter.
Marl tried to focus. “What do you mean?”
“How did Petria fall so fast?”
“I sold it, didn’t I? They treated me better than the Harpy ever did. Or you, for that matter. Harpy’s loyal lapdog, and look where it got you. After feeding you the crumbs off her table, she bumped off your own son, I hear.”
Parad noticed with alarm the guards around the room listening in. A slight tremble passed through his body. He hoped no one noticed it as he waved a dismissive hand. “That’s ancient history. Now, what happened with you?”
Marl’s shoulders slumped, making him look defeated, deflated. His face twitched. “A man came. Said I could be free. Sure, they paid well, but it’s my freedom I wanted.”
What man? “Of course. Go on. What did he look like?”
Marl ran a hand through his dirty hair. “I never saw him properly. He showed up in my room one night, a whispering shadow. I’ll be buggered if I know how he got in, but when he talked he made so much sense, you know? I mean, it’s like the first time someone got me like that. He’d done his research, too—knew stuff. Stuff I’d told no one. He said I’d be safe. How could I say no? I’d do anything to be free of the Harpy. Free of you.” His eyes became narrow slits. “Especially you.”
Did Crusoe send someone? “I see … But he broke his promise, didn’t he? You’re not safe; you’re in a prison cell, guilty of treason. Why shouldn’t I kill you right here and now?”
Marl stared at his feet. “I wish you would,” he whispered, all his posturing abandoning him.
All of a sudden, it was an old, broken man facing Parad. He realised it was not him who had broken Marl. The man’s own choices had already done that. Someone had once told Parad that behind every crime lay an insult; this he now believed to be true. And there is no worse kind of insult than one a man hurls at himself. Is there a way to mend a man so crushed? Parad had been furious at Marl for so long, but now felt nothing but pity. “What was life under the Loyalists like?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Good for me,” Marl said with a shrug. “Terrible for everyone else. Especially the servants.”
Parad scratched the stubble on his chin. “The servants?”
“Pretty much everyone. You see, the Loyalists …” Marl retched as if he was going to be sick, and Parad drew back instinctively. Instead, the man belched loudly and continued. “… They’ve a ruling class. Princelings, they call ‘em. They claim their lineage can be traced all the way back to Croix.”
Parad’s brow creased. “Croix died childless.”
Marl chuckled. “Not to hear them say it. According to them, Crusoe’s his direct descendant.”
“I see. And the rest?”
Marl’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “We hung a waiter. He asked a potter ‘bout his work.”
Parad leaned closer, placing a hand on a cold metal bar. “How’s that a crime?”
“It’s knowledge, ain’t it? Knowledge is a crime. It’s why books are banned. You’re only allowed to learn as much as you need to serve the state. Anything more and you become its enemy. It’s why Crusoe’s sigil is the three ants.” He counted on filthy fingers. “Ruler, warrior, worker.”
“And you helped them take over Petria.”
Marl avoided his eyes and sank back onto his bunk, crossing his arms and legs. Parad still found it hard to stomach mankind’s ability for cruelty. He had heard the stories about the situation in the south, but had dismissed most of it as Styx’s propaganda. He spun around.
Tang rushed to follow him. “What should we do with him, sir?”
Parad said nothing until they were out in the courtyard. He drew a deep breath; meeting with Marl made him want to take a shower. He motioned at Petria. “Look a
round, Tang. The city’s safe, but everything else is destroyed. There’s been too much death; too much to rebuild. I’ll have him work, if possible.”
Tang’s face tightened. “He should die for his treason.”
“Law without compassion is but tyranny: isn’t that what Themis teaches us?”
Tang gave him a dry smile. “Didn’t know you were a fan, sir.”
Parad sneered. “I’m not. But what good would it do to kill him? Perhaps if he gets a chance to restore what he ruined, some good will come out of it yet. Shouldn’t what urges you to destroy also urge you to build?”
“I doubt it in this case, sir. His soul’s rotten.”
Parad tapped his nose. “Didn’t know you could smell a soul, Tang.”
“You know what I mean, sir. His time has come to die. He knows that. Death to such men is a gift, not a curse. Haven’t you noticed how people who face death up close wither afterwards? How they change? Some become like empty shells. It’s because the soul’s already dead, even if their body’s not. They rot from the inside, till their body dies as well.”
Parad’s cheeks flushed in anger. “Tang, that’s the worst load of crap I’ve ever heard. People who survive heavy injuries may suffer neurological damage, that’s all. I’ve stared death in the eye. Your own father saved my life more than once. Are you saying I’m already dead?”
Tang stayed silent for a while. “No, sir,” he whispered. “But how alive are you really?”
Parad lowered his eyes. What if Tang was right? Perhaps souls do rot after all. Since Cyrus’s death, a numbness had grown in him, a dullness of emotions that somehow consoled him. He had not felt much of anything until … His mind went back to the previous night, to Gella’s good luck kiss. He had been alive then. His tongue flickered over his lips. “Tang, I don’t want to wait for the city council. I’ll see them now. Make sure the refugee leaders attend as well.”
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 11
