Sol pressed her fingers to her lips. “I thought you’d spent time at the Chamber of Justice?”
“Not enough to make any friends,” Gella said with a shrug. “I was shipped to Jonia shortly afterward.” She bit her lip. Thank Themis Satori’s not here.
Thankfully, Sol ignored the comment. “That’s unfortunate.” She tapped her fingers on the table, her gaze fixed on something over Gella’s shoulder. “That leaves us with only one option. Paul Gauld.”
“Satori’s father?” Gella nearly choked. “You want me to reach out to the man who handed Jonia to Altman?”
Sol said nothing, her gaze still fixed on the wall behind Gella. After a minute of awkward silence, her fingers stopped their rhythmic dance on the table. “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room. Not even Satori knows this.”
Gella straightened her back on her chair. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sol leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Paul has already reached out to us. He’s frustrated by Altman’s fixation on Anthea. And he doesn’t want to see his daughter hurt. Teo has promised him Satori’s safety, but Paul doesn’t trust him.” Sol pursed her lips. “You can see why Satori can’t know of this.”
She would never trust her father. Not after what he’s done. Gella chewed the inside of her cheek. And maybe she’s right. How can we trust anything Gauld says?
“So, will you do it?” Sol asked.
Gella snapped out of her troubling thoughts. “Like you said, ma’am, I’m a soldier. I will follow your orders.”
Sol leaned back again, her face relaxing. She grabbed her spoon. “Good. Now, let’s discuss the details of your journey.”
Or, possibly, the details of Gauld’s trap. She shook her head to clear it from the worrying thoughts. “There is but one problem I can think of. I’d like to hear what people think, get a better understanding of the situation on the ground.”
“The lay of the land.” Sol smiled. “I expected no less from a former Lancer.”
The beginning of a plan formed in Gella’s mind. “So I could go incognito, and reveal myself once I’ve reached the Capital.”
“Sounds good.”
“Only problem is, people may recognize me.”
Sol tapped a finger against her lips, studying Gella. “Your hair’s longer now. Perhaps if you dyed it?”
“That may trick anyone not too familiar with me.”
“You can also travel by boat. Avoid Jonia. Head south. Follow the Meandering River all the way to the Capital.”
“That way, I can keep a low profile.” Gella nodded. “I like it. There is one other thing, though. I travel alone.”
Sol’s gaze snapped at her. “I can’t allow that.”
Gella raised her chin. I have to trust my gut. If this is a trap, I work better alone. “A crowd would attract attention. A lone traveler, on the other hand, can slip through unnoticed.”
“So will a small group. Three, maybe four people.”
Gella’s foot tapped the floor. “I can take care of myself.” She heard the tap tap tap and forced herself to stop.
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Sol rubbed her eyes for a long moment. “Very well. But you'd better stay safe. Your young friend will have my skin if I let anything happen to you.”
“Who, David?” Gella’s grin hid the dark foreboding in her soul. “I promise to be careful.” She pushed her chair back, preparing to leave.
Sol motioned her to sit back down, her sharp gaze measuring her up for a moment before softening. “Gella, I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for us.”
Gella blinked in surprise, unsure how to respond. “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”
“You did more than that.” Sol raised her glass and took another sip. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of you at first. Sure, I’d heard the rumors about the Butcher of Ephia. I knew they were untrue, but what is the truth?” She lowered her glass on the exact same spot on the table and chuckled. “Then, the whole mess with Scorpio. You’re either the most unlucky soul I’ve met, or...” Her words trailed off as she steepled her fingers. “I now believe you were brought here by forces beyond our understanding. Everything that’s happened to you, every betrayal you’ve suffered, has led to you giving us a fighting chance. Teo won’t listen to reason. Of that, I’m sure. So, I need to know: where will they land? How many will come?” She paused to study Gella with unflinching eyes. “Can you do this?”
Every muscle in Gella’s body stiffened as a strong smell of lavender permeated the room. Her gaze darted around, trying in vain to locate the source of the aroma. Parad? What does his presence mean? “Yes.”
The Capital
Alexander
With a reverent nod toward the statue of Themis, Alexander marched into his office. A muscular priest in white robes opened the door for him and bowed in respect. The Head Priest closed the door behind him and slumped into his soft, leathery chair. A rectangular object was sitting on his desk. He touched it with careful fingers. Where did this come from?
“Guard!”
The priest outside showed his square face through the door. “Eminence?”
“Who has been in my office?”
The man’s eyes widened. “No one, Your Eminence.”
Alexander glared at him through narrowed eyes until a fine sheen of sweat appeared above the man’s lips. “This is not the end of this. Leave.”
The man closed the door softly behind him, leaving Alexander to stare in disbelief at the e-lib on his desk. He touched it and the screen came to life. Gawking at it, he gasped. He picked up the device with trembling fingers.
On the screen, men screamed in agony, tortured in countless creative ways. He flicked through the contents, pausing at a lithograph of a man tied to a table. A small scaffolding was erected above him, holding a spindle-like center in place. His entrails were escaping his body, the device wrapping them around the spindle. The indifferent look on the torturer’s face offered stark contrast to the screaming mask of agony on the table. They knew how to treat heretics back then, a voice whispered in his head. His stomach knotted. Sick rose to his mouth. It’s Her will, the voice reprimanded him.
Can it sense my discomfort? He flicked to the next image, then to the next. His hand quivered as he let the e-lib slip through his fingers and onto the table. He hastened to offer silent thanks to the Servants of Themis; the whispers that came at night, the only ones who knew the real meaning of Her teachings.
As if to prove the e-lib’s origins, a shadow from the far end of the room detached itself from the wall, thickening into a smoky apparition as it slithered toward his desk.
Alexander’s hair stood on end as he forced a smile on his lips. “Thank you for your gift,” he said humbly.
A sound like wind passing through a forest of whispering leaves filled the room. “Help all lost souls find their way back to Themis.”
“I will.” He fought a shiver that crawled up his spine. “I promise.” They’re Her servants, he scolded himself. Show the respect they deserve.
“Soon,” the rustling leaves said. “You’ll have help.”
He stole a glance at the swirling mist. Red eyes glanced back, sending an icy panic to creep up his extremities, limbs and into his chest. He bowed his head, returning his gaze back to his hands. “Themis’ will shall be done,” he murmured. When he looked up again, Her wraith had vanished. He rubbed his hands together to chase away the shivers.
A soft knock on the door interrupted him. “What?” he barked.
The guard’s head popped into the office. “The Head of Justice is here to see you, Eminence.”
Alexander hardly heard the words through the fog in his head. With a sigh, he turned off the e-lib. “Fine.”
The guard stepped aside, allowing Paul Gauld to enter.
Paul eyed him coldly. “Alexander.”
“Eminence,” Alexander corrected him, the slight not helping improve his disposition.
“Whatever.” Without asking, Paul sat
on the chair facing Alexander’s desk and glared at him. “We need to talk.”
The images waiting for him flashed in Alexander’s head. His mouth twitched. I do not have time for your crap. He almost screamed for the man to leave. “I am busy,” he snapped. “If you want something, make it quick.”
“Fine.” Paul leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “What the hell happened in the North?”
Alexander’s brows pulled together in question. What is he talking about? “The North?”
“Yes, the North. What did you do?”
Alexander’s fingers rapped against the table as he pondered the strange question. He had traveled throughout the North to evaluate the situation. He had simply reminded people of Themis’ will. Warned them to be on the lookout against heretics from the North. His flock had to realize the dangers posed by the constant stream of refugees. Naturally, some locals, including several judges, had accused him of being inconsiderate—even a fanatic. Have these idiots complained to Paul? “I only did my job,” he said with a sneer. “Our Regent sent me for a report on the situation, remember?”
Paul balled his fists. “And you managed to upset everyone in the process, didn’t you?”
Alexander rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Like I said, I am very busy. If you have something to say, say it.”
“I’m saying you’d better stop meddling in my affairs.” Paul leaned forward, his voice a hoarse whisper. “On whose authority did you close the borders?”
Themis’, you fool. I do not need anyone’s permission to do Her will. “The Regent’s. Once I explained the situation, he agreed it was the right thing to do. We cannot have all these refugees from the North crossing over to our side.”
“They’re humans,” Paul exploded. “For the love of Themis, they are escaping who knows what horrors. What happened to your compassion?”
“You have to understand something, Paul,” Alexander said with a slow growl, like a wolf provoked. “I am here to protect Themis’ children. Not heathen Northerners. Anyone who has left Her does not deserve Her protection.”
Paul leaned back and crossed his arms. “We arrived not too long ago to this planet ourselves. What if the First had done the same with us?”
“That is not my problem,” Alexander said with a shrug. “Just make sure your judges do as they are instructed, and everything will be fine.”
Paul’s nostrils flared. “That’s the other thing. Urging my judges to report heretics to you is crossing the line. You have your priests to harass people. Don’t drag my judges into this.” He smirked. “Honestly, heretics? Heathen? We never heard that kind of crap with Tie around.”
Blood rushed to Alexander’s face like a spreading fire. He jumped to his feet. His chair crashed against the wall. “If you insult me or Themis one more time, I will personally show you how we deal with heretics around here, Jonian.” He sneered at the pathetic little man daring to threaten him. “Or with traitors.”
Paul’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. He shot up. His index stabbed Alexander’s chest. “You dare threaten me, Priest?”
Alexander barely stopped himself from calling for the guard to punish the insolent dog. He shoved Paul’s hand away. “You need to be reminded of your place. There is a natural order to things.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Children belong to their parents. They do as they are told. When they grow up, they work for their masters. They belong to them. Their masters belong to the Regent. They work for him. And everyone works for the glory of Themis. They belong to Her.” His lips twitched into a menacing scowl. “As I am Her instrument, everyone shall do as I say. That is Her will.”
“Everyone?” Paul fixed his gaze on his. “Even the Regent?”
The scowl melted away into a sneer. “If you have a problem with me, take it to the Regent. Until then, I shall do my job as I see fit.”
Their gazes crossed like poison-dripping daggers, then Paul spun around and left, slamming the door behind him so hard that a piece of plaster came loose and crashed on the floor.
Alexander ground his teeth. Someday I shall show you Themis’ wrath, you Jonian bastard.
The Marshes
Lehmor
The clouds above him parted for a moment, allowing a moon’s light to pierce the darkness. Lehmor pressed a small indentation next to his ear and the mask covering his face twisted and turned until it disappeared into his neck with a series of soft clicks. He wiped the drizzle from his brow and breathed in the night air that carried the whiff of smoke from the fires. The villagers had been quick to put them out once the invaders were driven away, but the acrid smell lingered.
No time to waste. He needed to find the children. Last he had seen them, they were cowering away from a clone. Had the creature hurt them? Lehmor’s shot had wounded it; of that, he was sure. But had he saved all the children, or was he too late? My daughter could have been among them. No matter how hard he struggled to push the terrible thought from his mind, it gnawed at him, made his heart beat faster. His gaze darted around, his senses primed.
“Lehmor?”
He whirled around, a faint smile on his lips as he recognized the limping man approaching. A bloodied bandage covered his knee. “Two-Horns. Are the children safe?”
“They’re safe.” The big man facing him clasped his arm.
Lehmor hugged him in relief. “Thank you.” His voice sounded muffled, his mouth pressed against the fur covering the old man’s shoulders.
“I should be thanking you.” He pushed Lehmor to pat his shoulder, leaving his hand there. “You’re the ones who saved us from the night devils.”
“The Old Woman sent us to clear the North of them.”
Two-Horns cocked his head and studied him. Joy danced in his eyes, along with apprehension. “Does that mean you have her blessing?”
The relieved smile on Lehmor’s face widened into a grin. “Yes. I’m the tribe’s leader.”
“We are,” Moirah’s voice said behind him. “And we’ll have time for celebrations later. Right now, we need to tend to the wounded.” Her voice softened. “And take care of our daughter and the children.”
“They’re fine,” Lehmor said.
“I heard.” Moirah was still wearing her helmet, but there was no mistaking the relief in her voice.
Lehmor clasped his Sheimlek. “I’ll look for stragglers.”
Moirah grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “You’re a leader now. Others can fight. This is your job.” She gestured toward the groups of men and women coalescing around groaning, twisting bodies—or, even worse, silent, immobile ones. “You must tend to their needs while I fetch our daughter. Cyrus and the rest can hunt the creatures.”
The fighter within Lehmor struggled against this, but the father in him had already agreed. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Moirah nodded and dashed off. “Two-Horns…” Lehmor’s voice trailed off as he noticed the old man gaping at Moirah’s figure, fading into the night.
“That was Moirah?” Two-Horns’ voice betrayed his awe.
Lehmor realized that, with her helmet on, the only distinguishing feature on her suit was the nametag—only, Two-Horns could not read the Dreamers’ alphabet. The sole clue to her identity was her voice, muffled through the helmet. “Yes.”
Two-Horns shook his head. “Too much is happening for this old man.”
“I’ll explain later. Where’s the shaman?”
Two-Horns led Lehmor to a large hut in the middle of the village, still shaking his head. Men and women were carrying the wounded inside. Hushed sobs and loud groans filled the air. Every now and then someone screamed in pain. Some eyed him with curiosity, but most were too busy tending to loved ones to notice the dark-clad silhouette trailing Two-Horns.
Lehmor pushed the awning away to enter the hut. Acrid smoke hit his nostrils, mixed with the copper smell of blood and the foul stench of death. After the clear, night air, it choked him. He coughed to clear his lungs. He spotted t
he shaman hovering above a bed. His taut features made him look older than Lehmor remembered. Mellis was standing behind him with a large flask in one hand, forcing a drink down a man’s throat.
Lehmor walked around a series of hastily-prepared hay mattresses that filled the floor to reach them. “How are they?” he said instead of a greeting.
A pained half-smile appeared on the shaman’s face. “It’s good to see you again. I wish it were under different circumstances. Still, you saved our lives. Thank you.”
“Thank the Old Woman,” Lehmor said. Had it not been for her last-minute consent to them taking the Sheim-h’thor, the Dreamers’ armor and weapons, the battle’s outcome would have been very different.
The shaman nodded. “I will.” His face twisted in pain and he stumbled.
“You’re wounded,” Lehmor said and took the man’s arm to stop him from falling down.
“I’m fine. Your friend has helped me.”
“He needs rest,” Mellis said without looking up, “but he’s a stubborn old man.” He put down the flask and wiped his hands on a piece of cloth. The man on the mattress murmured something and closed his eyes, letting his head drop.
Lehmor took Mellis’ shoulder. “Do you need help?”
Mellis stroked his beard. He looked tired but serene, like this was what he was always meant to be doing. “I have Tie to help me. And Angel, with her man.”
Well, looks like everything’s under control here. Perhaps there’s still time to hunt. Lehmor wet his lips with his tongue. The sound of horses neighing and galloping outside told him Cyrus was preparing the pursuit.
As if reading his thoughts, the shaman reached out and grabbed his arm. “We need your help.”
He guided Lehmor to a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen. Lehmor struggled to remember her. Had he been away so long as to not recognize his own tribesmen? He chased the disturbing thought away and knelt down.
The shaman took his thumb and placed it under a tight bandage on the girl’s thigh, just below her hip. “We can’t stop her bleeding. Can you press here?”
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 89
