Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series
Page 58
“Malekshei will fall without your help.”
A bitter smile played on her lips. “It may already have, for all we know. And we have our own war to prepare for.”
“There is only one war!” he cried out with effort. “Don’t you see? The—”
She raised her hand to stop him. “I saw. And understood. But I must do the best for my city. Jonia only whetted Altman’s taste for conquest. It’s only a matter of time before he invades the West. And if what you’ve shown me is true, we need every man and woman, even if we survive his invasion.”
“What we need is…” His voice trailed off as his brow furrowed. “You said Altman. Why? Is he the new Caretaker of Jonia?”
Doesn’t he know? “You haven’t heard, have you?” His baffled look answered her. “Cyrus was almost killed by his sister,” she explained. “Teo was made Regent, ruling in his name.”
What little blood was on David’s face, it drained away. She leaned forward to catch him if he fell off his seat. “Impossible! I have met Angel. She loves her brother!”
A smirk played on her lips. “Are you implying that Altman orchestrated the whole thing?” she asked, little doubt in her mind as to what had really happened.
He hid his face in his trembling hands. “I should have been there. I should have helped him.”
“After killing his father?” She shook her head. “I saw what those Whispers can do. You’re still young, despite everything that’s happened to you. Sometimes the direct approach is not the best one.” She picked an invisible thread from her plain red dress. She had a decision to make. If she turned him away, Anthea would lose a potential ally, and a source of infinite information. If she helped him, however, the Capital would not be pleased. The threat of an invasion weighed heavily in her mind.
She drummed a finger against the arm of her chair, lost in thought. “I can’t help you with any troops,” she said in the end. “But I won’t abandon you, either.”
The meeting was over. Sol rose to her feet, ignoring David’s alarmed look. “Guards!” she shouted. The people waiting outside filed back into the room, awaiting her orders. “This man is a friend of the city and our guest. Have a dozen men guard him at all times.”
“No harm will come to him,” a sergeant said and slapped her fist on her chest.
Sol stared at the woman who had made the promise. “He has even more powerful enemies than me. Nothing must happen to him.”
The woman’s gaze shot to David. Sol could understand the woman’s surprise. The young man looked like something the sea had washed up. “Yes sir,” the sergeant said, inching closer to David. She caught his arm as he struggled to raise his body from the chair.
Sol jumped to his side to prop him up. David’s knees buckled under him and he staggered forward. The two women caught him just before he crashed on the floor and let him back down on the seat. “And have a doctor see him,” Sol added.
Malekshei
Moirah
Tie gaped at Lehmor. “Surely you can’t accept!”
He shook his head in a slow, thoughtful motion as he stared at the fire in the pit. The flames sent long shadows to dance on his face, caressing his features. “No.”
How did it come to this, Moirah wondered. She wanted to spit out the bitter taste in her mouth. We’re deserted by everyone, left alone to die. Only a couple dozen of people had stayed with them, led by a young warrior, Rivka. The rest of the tribes had already left Malekshei, Two-horns and the shaman leading them to safety. With so few defenders, Lehmor had quickly abandoned his initial thought of asking everyone to participate in the Council. The seven of them had now gathered around the round, open stove that played the part of the traditional fire pit. Their shadows licked the stone walls. Even they want to escape this place.
Annoush leaned forward to address the Elders’ Council. “Can Pratin break through the wall?”
“Yes.” Lehmor did not raise his eyes, a resigned look on his face.
Moirah hated seeing her husband like this, but could not think of a way out. Her mind jumped back to the night Stripet had killed her father-in-law. When they had cornered him, he had used an energy weapon – a rod, Lehmor had called it. It combined sword, shield and missile in one formidable weapon. Lehmor was right. Even with Sheimleks, they could not hold off an army wielding such weapons.
The flames crackled and a spark flew from the stove to land next to her foot. The smoke wafted to her nostrils. It was a warm, familiar scent that carried memories of a better time. She smothered the tiny piece of ember with her foot. The night was unseasonably cool, as if the monsters surrounding them had covered Malekshei in a wintry shadow. She shuddered and inched closer to the pit, welcoming the warmth.
“Then why is he not attacking?” Sam asked.
“Stripet,” Lehmor said. “He cares for him.”
“And thinks we have him,” Tie murmured, lost in thought.
“Can’t we give him what he wants?” Annoush asked. All eyes fixed on him.
This caught Moirah’s attention. “Kill the Old Woman?”
Sudden movement caught her eye. Marl revealed himself from the shadows behind them. “Why not? She left us here to die,” he growled in broken First.
“I didn’t escape Pratin to help him now,” Lehmor hissed.
“Then perhaps you should have done what the Old Woman had asked of you,” Marl murmured. “Then we wouldn’t be trapped in—”
“No one made you stay here, Newcomer,” Moirah snapped at him. How did a tribal council end up including so few First? Except for herself and Lehmor, the rest were Newcomers, most of whom she had known for the briefest of times. The corners of her mouth slipped into a scowl. David, who should have been here, has left. Annoush has chosen to stay and die with us. Who knows what people will choose to do when push comes to shove?
“Enough, Father,” Valentiner said, breaking the tense atmosphere with her soft voice. “These people need our help.” Unlike Marl, her First was perfect. Unnervingly so, for a Newcomer.
“You’re just a child,” her father said in the Newcomers’ language, his voice trembling with anger and fear. “What help can you offer them?”
When Valentiner refused to reply, Marl withdrew back into the long shadows. “We must escape this madness,” he muttered.
“Yes,” Lehmor said. Surprised gazes shot up at him. “If we stay, we die.”
Moirah heard the blood rushing through her head. He had put her life in danger – her daughter’s life in danger – only to run away? “Why did we not leave with the rest of the tribes, then?” she asked through clenched teeth.
He raised his hands apologetically, sensing her shimmering rage. “I expected Fallen. Animals. Our walls would keep us safe. But Pratin came with an army.”
“Well, you’ve put us in this, you get us out,” she shot at him, her foot tapping angrily at the empty air.
Lehmor’s face flushed with anger. “I wouldn’t surrender our home to Fallen. We’re First. Warriors.”
“Then we die,” Moirah growled.
“Not this time,” Tie said. “You heard your hubby. Animals can’t scale a wall or blow up a gate. Those men with Pratin, those clone things, can.” She met Moirah’s gaze and held it. “We have to go,” she said in a soft voice.
Moirah rubbed her temples. Part of her longed to fight, to die in a blaze of glory that the tribes would sing about for centuries. Then she thought of her baby daughter. The child she had to protect. “Even if we wanted to, how can we escape?”
“We swim,” Sam said.
Like everyone raised by Tie, he was fluent in First. Still, he’s as clueless as all Newcomers, Moirah thought and burst into laughter. She waved her hand. “Look around you. See any seas?”
He smiled a lopsided grin. “Seas? No. But rivers?”
“You mean sneak out through the portcullis?” Annoush asked. Thick metal bars jutted from the stone walls to stab the river crossing the compound. “Can it even be lifted?”
Lehmor scratched his beard in thought. “No. When’s the next moonless night?”
“Three days from now,” Tie replied readily, amused by Moirah’s surprised glance. “I’m a priestess. We know these things.”
“You always said we need a backup plan, Mother,” Annoush said.
“Tie’s his mother?” Lehmor whispered in Moirah’s ear.
She remembered a conversation with David. “She rescued him from the Slums,” she whispered back. “Both he and Sam call her Mother.”
“My friends have an idea,” Valentiner interrupted them. A chill tingled down Moirah’s spine at the casual mention of the creatures only Valentiner could see. The girl smiled at her, as if reading her mind. “But they’ll need some items. And we need to start work right away.”
Tie beamed them a wide grin. “Just in case Sam’s plan doesn’t work, huh? The best laid plans of mice and men, and all that.”
Lehmor leaned towards her again, a baffled expression on his tired face. “Do Earth mice make plans?” he whispered.
She shrugged to indicate her ignorance and pushed a half-burned log into the stove.
Anthea
David
The foul concoction stank of mouldy lemon, hot peppers and garlic, along with things like ginger and oregano. The old doctor Sol had sent him had given it to him. David had to drink it three times a day. The long time spent shivering in the waters to escape his assassin had nearly killed him, but after three days, his high fever had finally broken during the night. He swivelled himself on the bed, patting with dismay the soaked sheets, then stood on shaky legs.
His clothes were neatly stacked on a plain wooden chair across the bed, next to a large, heavy cupboard. Sol had insisted he stay at her own house for safety. He struggled to remember his conversation with her, mere fragments popping into his mind. Sliding to a closed door, he placed an ear on the hard, engraved wood. Soft murmurs came from outside, and he remembered that Sol had posted guards there. No other sound could be heard in the early morning hour.
He glanced around. The only light in the sparsely decorated room came from the few stray rays of a sun yet to be seen. Taking advantage of his solitude in the half-lit room, he grabbed the crystal and replayed the meeting. He barely recognized himself, feverish and barely speaking, but studied with interest Sol and her reaction to what he had shown her.
While organizing the meeting, he’d had no intention of showing her the crystal, but when they had finally met, he could hardly stand, let alone talk. Her stunned expression showed him the bet had paid off. This was a woman who would not be swayed by pretty words, but seeing is believing, as they say. The determination in her eyes as she digested what he had shown her, told him they had found a new ally. Still, she had refused to give them troops. What help was she prepared to offer him, then?
Thud. The dull sound outside his room interrupted his thoughts. A small cry followed it, then a second thud. He pricked his ears and caught a shuffling sound, like something heavy being dragged on the floor. His gaze flicked around the room for a hiding place. They landed on the large corner cupboard. As the handle on his door jiggled, he snuck into it. His heart pounded in his chest. Only a few heavy coats were inside, which he pushed aside as quietly as he could, shutting the door softly. Through narrow slits carved into the wood, he saw the door to his room pry open. A man snuck inside, his drawn blades glistening with dripping blood. David’s breath caught as his tattooed nightmare examined the bed. How did he find me?
The man pricked his ears and sniffed the air, like a dog looking to catch his prey’s scent. He placed a palm on the straw mattress, then knelt down to look underneath. For a moment he stood still. A bead of sweat trickled down David’s eyebrows, stinging his eyes. His heart thumped so loudly that he felt sure the man would hear it.
The assassin’s eyes fell on the cupboard and he started towards it in soft, steady steps. David shut his eyes in a vain attempt to hide from the man, then heard a floorboard creak inches from his hiding place. Then another. His eyes shot open again, to see the man’s hand grasp the handle.
With a loud cry, David hurled himself against the cupboard doors, throwing all his weight behind him. The doors flung open, crashing against the assassin and breaking his nose with a loud crack. One of the blades clanged on the floor. The man’s hand flew up to protect his face as he staggered backwards.
David raised his hand, the bracelet coming to life. The man’s eyes popped open at the sight and he bolted towards him with an inhuman speed. The Sheimlek-dar’s blast caught him right between the eyes. His head exploded, spraying fragments of bone and brains everywhere. David jumped to the side as the headless body continued its forward movement, carried on by the dead man’s own momentum, to crash against the cupboard door. It slumped onto the floor with a loud thud. The heart kept on beating for a few endless moments, sending blood to jet through the man’s neck.
David gaped at it, frozen, as the room’s door flew open and a score of guards rushed in, blades drawn, followed by Sol. Her dishevelled hair and gossamer robe showed that she been rudely awakened moments before. Her eyes widened at the sight of David trembling before the headless body, his glands still pumping adrenaline into his body.
“He just killed four of my best guards,” she said and spat at the corpse. “Thank you.”
David nodded, still too shaken for words, as she studied him. “You look better,” she said. “I’m glad. When you’ve cleaned up, come see me. I have news of your friends.”
“Male—”
She raised a hand to stop him, a sideways glance reminding him of the people around them. A servant rushed into the room to clean up the mess, a bucket of sawdust swinging from his arm. He waited patiently for two guards to carry the dripping corpse out before dropping on all fours to sprinkle the sawdust on the floor. When he reached a large piece of scalp, he paused. He picked it up with two fingers and threw it into the empty bucket. If the abattoir stench of death and blood bothered him, it failed to register on his face.
The Capital
Paul
A prison by any other name, Paul mused, his gaze tracing the arcs of his veranda, overlooking the lush forest that spread behind the tall walls. Many would kill to live in a house such as this, with its majestic gardens, pool and even electricity, thanks to a wind-powered generator. Not to mention his very own e-lib. A life fit for kings, but no more than a prison for the man who would be king.
Still, a small price for betrayal. Once he had signed over Jonia to the Prince, Altman had dragged Paul to the Capital, to “ensure his safety,” as he put it. Shortly afterwards, Cyrus had been shot by his crazy sister. Paul had been forgotten in his gilded prison ever since. He would happily exchange it for a hut in the Slums if it meant gaining back his freedom. Armed guards made sure he did not escape, but even if he did, where would he go? Most Jonians would kill him without a second thought, and he had even fewer friends in the Capital.
And yet, I’d do it all again, to keep Satori safe. The irony being, of course, that his daughter had been safe all along, having escaped Teo’s clutches. And now no one knew her whereabouts, not even Teo. Teo Altman, his former friend, now Regent of the Capital. He had played him for a fool, made him betray everything he believed in. Now Paul had lost everything that ever mattered to him.
He groaned with frustration and plonked his empty goblet on the table. The glass surface almost shattered, startling the young, exotic-looking girl who played the sitar at a corner. The nasal melody came to an abrupt end as she threw him a frightened look. Teo had been a gracious host, making sure his companion had the long, silky black hair and olive skin that appealed to Paul
. Still, Paul placed little trust on the girl who warmed his bed and entertained him, confident that she reported his every move to Teo. In his mind, she was little more than a jailor, albeit a striking one.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and motioned her to continue.
The music resumed, uncertain at first, then with more confidence. It drowned out the cicadas, making him long for their monotonous drone that reminded him of Jonia. He raised himself on anxious legs to pace the veranda. When this was not enough, he walked down the stairs that led to the garden. Golden apricots and ripe peaches filled the orchard that covered roughly a quarter of the garden. Their intoxicating fragrance enticed his nostrils, and he grabbed a low-hanging peach, pulling until it broke free. He rubbed it with his sleeve. Using both hands, he twisted it until it split in half, then sank his teeth into the aromatic flesh. A drop drizzled down his chin. He used his fingers to wipe it clean. Bland. The honeyed favour filled his mouth, but the sensation failed to reach his mind. Nothing could pause his dark thoughts. He cringed at the memory of the day when his whole life had unravelled in a series of unintended crimes. Hardly a day passed without remembering the trembling of his hand as his treacherous blade sank into his admiral’s flesh. He had spent hours trying to wash away the blood, but could still see the rusty liquid on his hands, sense it under his skin. Not your fault. You did what you had to do.
His eyes met those of a watchful guard, almost invisible in the shadows of the trees. Paul spat the peach out of his mouth before swinging around and returning to the veranda. He sank back into the soft pillows and ploughed the fabric, absent-mindedly wiping invisible blood from his fingers.
Malekshei
Annoush
“Push!”
The iron grating lifted an inch, then another, with a loud groan that echoed through the stillness of the night. Annoush held his breath, certain that all Fallen in the woods would have heard them by now. If they failed to make a quiet escape, none of them would make it through the night.