by Jason Letts
To his surprise it was Cori, the love of his life, still masquerading as a cleaning lady with an apron on. But other than her ratty hair and blemished appearance, she wore a look of dire concern.
“I was afraid you’d come here,” she said, approaching him from across the lobby and throwing her arms around him in an anxious hug.
“I had nowhere else to go,” Randall said.
“They’ve already knocked twice. You have to leave!” Cori urged, her voice awkward and endearing.
“Why? What’s going on?” Randall asked. She squinted as if on the verge of tears.
“I don’t know, but they’re rounding up the grand councilors. Another maid told me that hers resisted when they burst in and woke him up. He left in a bag.”
Randall stared straight into Cori’s eyes as she explained what had happened, but he didn’t want to believe it. Why would the guard attack the grand councilors, the very people they worked for?
Just then Randall’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that the call came from Nifer, his public relations specialist. Next to Cori, he eyed the phone until it stopped buzzing. There was no way of knowing if she was trying to help them. He couldn’t trust anyone except for Cori and the members of his own family.
“Look, I brought these for you. They’re my brother’s,” she said, grabbing a plastic bag containing a gray sweatshirt, some old pants with paint splotches, and a wool hat that had ear flaps. Randall didn’t hesitate to change into the less-auspicious attire. “Good. Now, don’t just get out of Toine. You won’t be safe until you’re out of the country.”
“What about you?” Randall asked. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“I have to stay here and cover for you. Don’t worry. Nothing’ll happen to me. Nobody’s shortsighted enough to execute a maid because then they’d have to clean their own shit up.”
She grinned when she said it, and Randall was glad she could find something to be lighthearted about.
Footsteps outside brought a renewed urgency for Randall to leave. He took a step back toward the west exit.
“But that’s not the way to the train station!” Cori stopped him.
“I have to hear that speech and see what’s happening for myself. Then I’ll be on the first train out of town,” he promised, but it did nothing to soothe her.
“Don’t waste another minute. Just leave. Please!” she begged.
“Cori, I love you and I’ll find you. I promise you that,” he said, planting a quick kiss on her lips before breaking for the west exit.
It hurt to ignore her warnings, but he had to know. Taking the side exit made it easy to join the masses on the streets, and the clothes allowed him to blend in with the crowd, most of whom wore bed clothes and slippers. The guards had been ejecting people from their homes so they would hear the speech. As bad a sign as that was, Randall soon noticed something worse.
While shuffling in the crowd, hood up and drawn tight, Randall noticed the streetlamps dim. It pierced his heart, because the only possible cause could be the fall of the ClawLands. In ten minutes only starlight would remain, and in five or six hours the backup generators for the trains would fail. He could make it to Ristle’s airport in time, but he didn’t have time to waste.
Thousands gathered below the grand balcony in Triton Kniviscent Square, named after the fiercest founder of Cumeria, a man who legend held could clear an entire battlefield. The brisk air and late hour spared no one from discomfort, but fortunately it wasn’t long before horns blasted through speakers and Chancellor Aggart, with his burly stature and white beard, appeared. He had two men beside him, and Randall’s jaw dropped when he recognized Chairman Qi Ptock and Inspector Toggler, the two men who had pushed the phony investigation against his father to the limit.
Randall didn’t need to see or hear anymore, and he turned and started wading through the crowd to the train station. It all made sense now, although no one else in the world might realize it. Chancellor Aggart had played the premier families against each other, starting with Randall’s own, in order to provoke some kind of conflict. It must’ve worked better than the chancellor ever dreamed, rapidly escalating and bringing in more families, and now there was only one thing left to do.
The chancellor’s thunderous voice crackled over the speakers.
“Cumeria has been rocked to its knees!” the chancellor proclaimed. “Violence and division have taken root in its core, but we will not abandon the honor handed down from our forefathers in favor of the greed and barbarism we see to the south. Those responsible for this wanton bloodshed will be brought to swift and complete justice. For every light that goes out tonight, we will exact a penalty from those responsible!
“And it’s my woeful duty to report that the sickness corrupting the Cumerian body extends all the way to the Grand Council. These representatives have betrayed their nation, and you will hear several confess their crimes in a moment, but the end result is that I’m left with no choice but to dissolve the Grand Council, suspend the upcoming election, and assume responsibility of the Cumerian government and the welfare of you, its people!”
Cheers and applause erupted through the air with the same crackle as the speech. Nobody’s lips were moving, nor many bodies, but the speakers made it sound like the proposal was met with overwhelming approval. If anybody shouted out against it, Randall was sure the guards would attend to them.
The crowd was large enough that it sprawled into many of the surrounding streets, providing cover for Randall to make it almost all the way to the train station. He kept his head down and made it to the platform without being hassled, finding a place among a few others who seemed keen to leave, as well.
After ten minutes, the next train came and Randall took a seat as far away from everyone else as possible. He felt hollow, like all of the things he’d known had suddenly vanished, leaving him adrift in an endless ocean. His job, his staff, his love, his home, and his country were gone.
The only remaining question was if his family had been taken, as well, and he picked up his phone and dialed, desperate to reach any of them.
CHAPTER 27
Ristle’s black market doctors weren’t good for much other than hawking bandages and plucking out bullets, but fortunately that was all Lowell and Sierra needed. Within twenty minutes a guy in a back alley lit only by a torch burning against a brick wall managed to fish the bullet out of Lowell’s upper chest and wrap Sierra’s arms and head in cotton and gauze until she looked like a mummy. The doctor dipped Taylor’s hands in some soupy goo. The question that remained was whether anything would heal once they left.
While Sierra was on the table, the doctor had gotten an awful fright when a lumpy little creature with skin like a toad crawled out from under her clothes. He’d nearly smacked her in the face while throwing up his arms.
“Nemi,” she’d whimpered, and even as they led her away Lowell and Taylor continued to stare at the winged creature that couldn’t be anything other than a dragon. It was just there, taking up space in the world, though all logic argued otherwise.
“And I thought I’d seen everything,” Lowell sighed. “You’ve got a story to tell us, Sierra.”
But now was not the time. Randall would be arriving at any minute, and then there’d be a short ride over to the airport for the next flight out. He’d explained the situation about the chancellor attacking the grand councilors, but leaving the country had already seemed like the only plausible course of action to Lowell.
The trains were moving slower than usual and most of the lights had gone dark by the time Randall shambled onto the platform to greet them. Lowell almost didn’t recognize him in the cheap, loose athletic clothes he wore, but what mattered was that he was there with them in one piece.
“This can’t be!” Randall gasped.
When he saw Sierra in her partial cocoon, with nothing more than a slit in the bandages to breathe through, Randall couldn’t have shown more grief if she were stil
l on fire.
“I’ll live,” she muttered. It had crossed Lowell’s mind to tell Randall about her on the phone, but in all honesty seeing her was better than being told and imagining her skinless face.
“Let’s just get moving to where we need to go,” Taylor suggested. It was prudent of him, especially considering that missing their train could leave them stuck or subject them to unwelcome attention. They weren’t safe anywhere in Cumeria, not anymore.
The train came a few minutes late, and soon enough they were at Ristle’s airport, standing near the main gates where the windows allowed glimpses of the flares used to illuminate the runway during nighttime hours. The last time Lowell had been here was when he’d seen Tris off on her disastrous journey, which amounted to the crown jewel in the treasure trove of terrible ideas he’d amassed lately.
Scanning the board for information about upcoming flights, they considered the sparse options. Other than a few strategically placed runaways, only rich cities had airports, and there weren’t nearly enough of those to make global travel easy.
“We’ll be safe enough in Lyria,” Randall suggested, and Lowell shrugged his assent. Going anywhere seemed like exile for a man forced out of his home. Even if they decided not to stay in Lyria, it’d be easy enough to catch a flight from there without constantly needing to watch his back. He kept his eye on the other morose people taking up chairs and benches dotting the building, any one of who might recognize him and give them trouble.
A whooshing sound filled the air in the terminal, marking the arrival of the next plane, a sleek jet that ground to a halt on the other side of the windows near the gate. The ladder popped out to allow passengers to disembark, but it hadn’t even hit the ground before some fool emerged from the plane and slid down the railing to the tarmac. Possibly airsick or drunk, the man shambled over to the entrance.
Once he’d entered, the pale lights revealed a man who had the dress and shaggy hair of a sailor. He appeared completely out of place, nauseated, and hardly able to keep his balance. Alongside Randall, Taylor, and Sierra, Lowell stood between the board and the gate, which happened to be right in his path. They all gawked at him as he reached underneath his vest and grasped for something.
“Look out!” Randall cried. The man removed a square envelope and slapped it against Lowell’s chest, hardly looking at him and certainly not recognizing him before staggering on empty-handed. He must’ve had a hellish trip.
The envelope was damp and had the smell of body odor to it. Lowell had to peel it off of his chest in order to take a look at it and make the split-second decision whether it needed to be flung aside. But what he saw made his eyes bulge.
“Would you believe it? It’s got my name on it!” Lowell said, gobsmacked. There was something about the handwriting that sent a tremor through his arm, encouraging him to quickly crack the seal and unfold the paper. There were words that would be pored over countless times, but for now he skipped to the end just to see if his latest hope would be dashed against the rocks. Tris’s signature, that small bit of ink on the page, seemed to counterbalance all of the atrocities he’d known recently.
“What is it?” Randall asked as Lowell scanned the text.
“It’s from your mother. She’s stuck in Madora, so we won’t do more than stretch our legs in Lyria before continuing across the Still Sea. But she’s not stuck. She’s staying there.”
Lowell was so absorbed in the letter that everything around him could’ve been sucked into a void and he wouldn’t notice. He drank the words off of the page as if they were nourishment for his soul.
“My Dearest,
I haven’t much time to convey all that has happened, but suffice it to say I’ve experienced more horrors in these past weeks than in all my previous years combined. Your men were killed when we stopped in Pover, and then Copian pillagers brought me to Madora and attempted to rob me, but a man here known as the Defender of Madora told me it was my place to save the poor of this city, that I needed to be their virtuoso.
You must think it insane, but I’m finding the task to be a meaningful one and that I have a knack for it. I’ve created a market and some are earning more in a week than they would in a year, but there’s so much more to do that’s beyond my knowledge. I need someone like you here to build this with me.
What are the chances this letter will reach you? They must be nothing, and yet they seem so much greater than the chance you’ll put down your work and come back to me. You’ve spoken before about wanting a fresh start or a chance to do things over. I beg you, leave it all behind and fulfill that desire here in Madora with me. There are countless people we could make a real difference for in this desperate but beautiful city. You can leave the world behind right now and have it all here with me.
I’m running out of space and time, but I will never run out of love for you or our children. Let them know I think of them constantly. One day we’ll all be together again.
In everlasting love,
Tris”
Lowell could barely get through the letter before tearing up. He turned to his children and gave them a hug, knowing that was exactly what Tris would’ve done. Lowell shared the letter and finally read it aloud for Sierra, marveling at what Tris had done for herself. Of all of them, she was the only one whose luck was improving, her earnest nature showing more promise than anything Lowell’s experience had produced. It sounded like they needed her far more than she needed them.
Once the plane was ready for its flight to Lyria, Lowell and his children prepared to board. Together they passed through the gate and approached the plane that would give them the distance they needed to recover.
“What do you think’s going to happen here?” Taylor asked, and Lowell pursed his lips.
“I don’t know, but I can say for sure Cumeria hasn’t seen the last of the Bracken family. The survivors in the ClawLands need us to come back and set things right. The whole country needs someone who can stand up to the corruption, establish binding rules, and create a sense of common cause. Then there are those who’ve wronged us and are awaiting their justice.
“I told you once that you were free to go your own way, but it looks like we’re all free now. Free to get our revenge.”
The End
THE VENDETTA CLAUSE
PROLOGUE
Plagrass was known as the wild continent, and Tommack Linkter believed himself to be the wildest man on it. That wasn’t because of unkempt hair or unpredictable behavior, but rather because he had a deep connection to the land that gave him a sense of its past and future. At the moment, that sense hinted at something terrible.
Tommack had spent the past four months working for Bolt & Keize, putting together one of their remote solar installations. Alongside a couple of grunts and an uptight technician, he was perched on a plateau outcropping looking over an arid valley. Beautiful, for sure, but Tommack couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so long in one place.
“It’s getting dark,” Tommack said, eyeing the firelight against the ground.
The workers correctly read into his statement that they needed to erect the tarp to keep the light from alerting every nasty saurus or bloodthirsty hill tribe to their location. Bolt & Keize had hired him because he knew how to find food and water, stay out of sight, and survive, but the best way to do that was to keep moving. Tommack had taken the job because he needed to work intermittently to fund his traveling, but as soon as he arrived at the location he knew it was just a matter of time until something out there noticed them and decided to pay a visit. The land told him so.
While the workers went about assembling the beams for the tarp, the technician scooted closer to Tommack along the pale, dusty log. He was wicked smart, couldn’t lift half of what Tommack could, and had a perverted mind he wasn’t afraid to share.
“Another cycle in the bag. What I wouldn’t give to head over to my tent and find someone inside stark naked, legs spread, and sopping wet.” He grinned.
&n
bsp; “I can’t help you with that,” Tommack replied. He wasn’t a stranger to innuendo or dirty banter, but the technician wasn’t someone he had any interest in sharing it with. Besides, they all knew when they signed up that the chances of meeting an attractive woman in the Plagrass wastelands was about the same as sprouting a third arm.
“I didn’t mean you,” the technician continued, scratching the front of his gray work overalls. “But you can’t say you don’t feel the same way. Getting busy and getting boozy. Am I right?”
Tommack sighed. He could see where this was going already. The technician rubbed his hands together and leaned closer.
“Since the other guys are occupied, what do you say you and I break into that special something you’ve got in your bag to take the edge off?” he said, a covetous look in his eye.
Several cycles ago, some stone ants got into Tommack’s bag, forcing him to clean it out and reveal a glass jar full of clear liquid that the technician believed to be vodka.
“I told you before. That’s my emergency water. The only thing that’ll get you buzzed out here is if you can find a lucogen plant.”
“Sure, it’s water,” the technician said, incredulous and annoyed. His disappointment was fine if it bought some space, but Tommack began to worry he’d find the technician digging through his things the next time his back was turned. It’d be better if he didn’t find out what it really was.
“Hey!” one of the workers yelled in pain over the sound of clanging pipes, immediately getting Tommack’s attention. It looked like one of the workers had dropped a pipe on the other’s foot, immediately leading to a scuffle on the end of the plateau near the mostly finished solar installation.
