The Cumerian Unraveling Trilogy (Scars of Ambition, Vendetta Clause, Cycles of Power)

by Jason Letts

  Whether it was because they actually supported the chancellor or just that such a rare appearance of him couldn’t be missed, people came in droves to the event. The queue snaked for a mile down several diverging paths, and checking their bags and sampling any food or drink became a tedious task for Taylor. But time rolled on, the line dwindled, and soon enough it was time for the chancellor to emerge from his waiting room to greet the enthusiastic audience, leaving Taylor with the ambiguous responsibility of mulling around while keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.

  A lanky, longhaired member of the Wozniak clan by the name of Merritt took to the podium first to stoke the crowd’s excitement and welcome his guests to the region. Ptock, Toggler, and a few others offered waves before settling into chairs, while the sight of one of the Wozniaks sparked Taylor’s anger and made him wonder his father was being held nearby.

  When Chancellor Aggart was finally brought out, unprovoked applause echoed throughout the area. The big man plodded up the stairs, stooping forward slightly, and mustered the beaming smile required of any politician. He shook the hand of Merritt Wozniak and settled behind the podium, clearing his throat and beginning to speak until the bright flashes of the cameras assaulted his eyes and transformed his smile into the scowl that was much closer to the expression he usually wore.

  But the display of ire was short-lived, and he resumed his scripted remarks.

  “Men and women of my home, I thank you today for joining me in my quest to retain the chancellorship of Cumeria. I never doubt I have the support of the people on my side, and I never back down from a challenge, which is why I magnanimously granted the request for this election to prove that your will is being done in our government. Together we can overcome these growing pains to make Cumeria into a more powerful force than ever before, but to do that we have to make sure that my lowly opponent can’t impede that progress with his lies.”

  While the chancellor continued to hammer away at Randall and boast that his divisive schemes and bloody tactics were benefiting the people, Taylor noticed that the other guards, Chief Investigator Toggler, and the rest of the crowd were nearly mesmerized by his oratory. Aggart did have an uncouth charm about him, but after seeing the ill effects of his policies it had no effect on Taylor, who took the opportunity to exit the venue and circle around to where the fleet was parked.

  The familiar feeling of fear gnawed at his gut, fear that someone would see him and the chancellor would go even further than he had in the sparring room. But no one would know what he did until it was too late and Taylor’s part of his father’s plan came to both the expected and the dreaded end. He hoped his father would be proud, although the man always had a strange notion that only he was allowed to make sacrifices on behalf of the family.

  Taylor opened the back door, ready to spout off at a moment’s notice that he only needed to get something from his bag if anyone asked, and shut the door behind him. After a few minutes, he emerged looking a little flushed and scurried back to the grandstand to catch the rest of the chancellor’s speech. He made sure to catch the attention of the other guards, minimizing the chance they would suspect he temporarily departed.

  For another forty minutes the chancellor yammered away, at times gripping the sides of the podium and frothing, at other times casually lecturing the masses on all of the thoughtful reasons they had to cherish him in his position. For all the enthusiasm they’d arrived with, the crowd became mostly catatonic, their eyes glazed over and idle chatter broke out. Then, all at once, he concluded his remarks and oxygen returned to the air.

  Merritt Wozniak instigated some muted applause by joining the chancellor’s side and putting his hand on Aggart’s shoulder.

  “I believe we have some microphones set up for questions,” he said, pointing to a few stagehands.

  Aggart rolled his eyes at Qi Ptock, and Taylor had been around him long enough to know he was just begging to leave, but Ptock gave him an encouraging nod. Lines formed behind the microphones at various locations in the crowd, and the first spectator given the chance to ask a question was a little old lady with a silver ribbon in her hair symbolic of the Wozniak Conglomerate’s steel empire. Taylor guessed her parents, husband, and children had all spent their lives in service of the Wozniaks. Even with the microphone, she spoke so softly no one could hear her, needing to be told to repeat herself in a louder voice.

  “Sorry. Mr. Chancellor, can you explain how Cumeria’s gross domestic product has been affected by the rebel pockets and the collapse of the national supply chain?”

  Taylor did a double take, having expected her to ask something fluffy about what it was like to live at the top of the Spiral or comment on a favorite childhood memory. Aggart must’ve been of the same mind, because his mouth hung open a little until he leaned closer to the microphone and stammered a response.

  “That’s a really smart question. What we need to remember about the current fighting is that the nation’s production capacity has been largely unaffected. The important parts of the country, like right here in the OrePlains, are just fine, and trade can resume once we’ve taken care of the holdouts. Next question,” Aggart hastily finished amid the off-putting sounds of countless clicking cameras.

  “What parts of the country aren’t important?” someone shouted out, but that person wasn’t behind a microphone and got nothing more in response than a brush-off hand gesture. The chancellor then pointed to a man in work overalls back near the bleachers.

  “This is what I’ve been wondering about. The Cumerian Guard’s primary purposes are to patrol our borders and protect our citizens. Can you justify using them to settle private disputes and even hand out death sentences as you’ve done based on our nation’s founding documents?” the man asked.

  Taylor gawked at the man and then the crowd, wondering how many of the people here had other tough questions in mind even though they were generally supportive of the chancellor. Some of the people in line were hastily jotting on notecards or formulating questions with neighbors. Taylor had always thought the people of the OrePlains were dumb miners like the brainwashed hicks of the FarmFields, but every indication here made it clear that wasn’t the case.

  Aggart’s mannerisms became jittery.

  “What does it matter? I’m doing this to help you and keep you safe from people in other parts of the country who’d just as soon rob you blind as shake your hand,” Aggart griped, his frustration setting in.

  “But that’s not a judicial justification,” the man at the microphone pressed. It was a good thing he was so far away, because if the two of them were in a conference room together he would probably find his head smashed like a watermelon.

  “My judgment is beyond question here,” Aggart quickly snapped to gasps from the audience so loud that it cut him off from continuing.

  Just then Taylor noticed one of the men with a video camera had crept onto the right side of the stage and was filming the chancellor, who looked over at him with an angry grimace at the same time as another question came over the speakers.

  “Was dissolving the Grand Council the appropriate response to the outbreak of fighting in the ClawLands?”

  Aggart opened his mouth but then stopped himself, clenched his teeth, and glared again at the man with the video camera who was getting uncomfortably close. In an instant Aggart had a hold of the camera, ripped it from the man’s hands, and cracked it in half against the podium.

  “We’re done,” he said clearly to his people, who scampered from their seats to return to the fleet. Taylor and the other guards rushed from the crowd toward the exit as well, passing by mystified looks on the faces of visitors. It was impossible to tell what, if any, fallout there would be from just a few botched questions, but Aggart needed to get more comfortable dealing with people on the campaign trail if he wanted to be more successful. But that was if he ever made it to another event.

  Taylor felt how strange it was to be rushing back to the van that would lead the flee
t away down the dirt road’s gradual decline that wove between some steeper quarry pits. Chancellor Aggart, Qi Ptock, and then others piled into the vehicle, but Taylor stopped and took a long look at the doors.

  “What are you waiting for? We’ve got a long ride ahead,” one of his peers said.

  “We’ll get there soon.”

  As he climbed in, Taylor wondered if those would be his last words. The van doors closed, the driver started the vehicle and then shifted it into gear. It immediately started to roll forward down the hill.

  “Those damn people. Who do they think they are? We should’ve vetted the questions. No one talks to me that way,” Aggart growled.

  “If you didn’t like the questions, you didn’t have to answer them,” Ptock said, catching a stern look from his boss. “We’re going to have to find a way to fix this.”

  The van picked up speed on the decline as it came toward the narrowing road and the pits. Even from the backseat, Taylor could tell when the driver took his foot off the gas and set it on the brake pedal, which dropped to the floor like a stone. It would’ve been a good time for Taylor to harness himself in, but it would be better for him if he didn’t make it.

  The driver stomped on the useless pedal, finally shouting, “The brakes!”

  The fishtailing vehicle sent everyone into a panic, and out the window they could all see they were headed for one of the pits, which seemed to rush closer and closer until the ground gave out beneath the van, tipping over the edge and rolling sideways down the hill. The sound of breaking glass and hollering echoed in Taylor’s ears as his head hit the vehicle’s ceiling and he was mashed against the bodies around him.

  Everything would be fine as long as something took out the chancellor, whether it be the front of the vehicle took the brunt of the impact or that something in the engine exploded.

  There was no way of knowing how deep the pit was, but the rolling suddenly became less intense, and the vehicle came to a stop on its side. Taylor sensed he was bleeding somewhere, and the groans let him know that other people around were also hurt, though still alive. But the pain seemed so much worse when he heard the chancellor’s chipper voice.

  “This’ll take some of the attention off of those questions!”

  Taylor closed his eyes and accepted the failure of his best shot to kill the chancellor before the election.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Are you enjoying your accommodations, Mr. Bracken?” a thin man with black hair and a close-cropped mustache in a fancy, striped silver suit asked. Velo Wozniak sat on a stool outside Lowell’s dungeon cell, a bare light bulb shining on half of his face. “We haven’t used these since the old times when we kept our own laws, but we wanted to make sure you got the full tour.”

  As it happened, the month or so that Lowell guessed he spent in captivity was much better than it could’ve been. Although Velo considered it the most pitiful squalor, the floor was carpeted, the room had heat and running water, and his laundry was done once a week. No doubt Velo had ordered someone to give him only bread crust to eat, but a dozen kinds of seeds and nuts were embedded with a honey glaze on that crust. In truth he was eating better than he did in Madora.

  “Why are you dragging this out?” Lowell asked. He was seated against the painted cement wall and hadn’t even noticed his guest arrive until he sat down and spoke. Time passed like a torrent while he sat very still.

  Velo offered a weak grin and reached into his jacket to produce a piece of paper.

  “The chancellor wonders much the same thing. He sent me this letter telling me that I can kill you with impunity because of the Vendetta Clause. Your daughter killed my son, and so I’m permitted—encouraged, even—to kill her father,” he said, tucking the envelope back into his jacket pocket.

  Lowell cast a wary look at Velo. Was there anything actually written on that paper? Had the chancellor really bothered to put pen to page in order to condemn an already condemned man? Velo had virtually nothing to fear from the nation’s loosely enforced laws anyway.

  “So that’s what you’re here for, then,” Lowell said, indifferent.

  “Actually, it’s not. Just because something appears worthless doesn’t mean it will always be so, and it’s the same with you. Don’t try telling as much to that withholding cunt Portia Illiam, though. If it were up to her you’d be nothing but food for flies by now. Believe it or not, I’ve actually been trying to save your life,” he said.

  The tones and the rhythms were unmistakable, even in Lowell’s foggy state. Velo was trying to sell him something, convince him. Despite being completely at the mercy of the Wozniaks, Lowell still retained something that wasn’t yet lost.

  “How magnanimous of you,” Lowell said. Velo craned his neck, willing to preen at even the most obviously disingenuous compliment.

  “All those times we negotiated at the table of steel, I always got the distinct impression that the Wozniaks and the Brackens were not natural enemies. Steel and gas go hand in hand, and we all would’ve been better off if you’d joined our conglomerate.”

  “Is that why you instructed your son to rape my daughter?” Lowell said, eliciting bristles from Velo.

  “I didn’t have to tell him to do anything. He just knew that would be the easiest way to make the acquisition. Once Sierra became pregnant, they’d marry, and soon enough Bracken Energy would be subsumed into the Wozniak Conglomerate without having to fight through the shackles of your pride.”

  On that account, Lowell knew he was right. Never under any circumstances would Lowell allow his family and their corporation to be taken over by the Wozniaks or anyone else. A lifetime of grinding away at Sierra might not even do it, but the child who was half-Wozniak anyway wouldn’t feel the same way.

  “It seems a safe bet it won’t work out that way now,” Lowell said.

  “It most certainly will not, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still let old grievances die and come together. You’re still a memorable figure in this country, and if you came out and publicly stated your support for the Wozniaks, then that would bolster our claim to Cumerian power,” Velo insisted, leaning closer to the sleek steel bars of the cell.

  “You must be mad.”

  Velo adjusted his thin tie and leaned back on the stool. To Lowell’s knowledge, no one occupied any of the other cells. Attempts to find a way out or convince staff members to let him go were futile. He’d spent a considerable amount of time wondering what they were going to do with him, but Lowell had no idea they wanted him to join them.

  “Let me tell you some hard truths, Lowell. Your son is going to lose the election. The ClawLands are on the verge of being wiped off the map. Bracken Energy is history. Your entire family line is at risk of being snuffed out, starting with you if you prove not to be useful. Not to put too fine a point on it, but you will die if you don’t make a public appearance and read a prepared statement to the letter announcing your fealty to the Wozniaks,” Velo insisted.

  “Here’s another hard truth,” Lowell shot back, getting angry. “I abhor your family and would never lift the slightest finger to aid it. You may think your decadent lifestyle insulates you from the problems in Cumeria, but getting rid of me won’t save you from the sudden and permanent ruin you’re going to experience.”

  Velo nodded and leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees.

  “It’s one thing for people to react that way when they’re feeling safe, but it’s another entirely when their lives are actually on the line. The cycle before the election, we’re going to hold a press conference for you. All you have to do is read the words on the page, and if you deviate even one word from the text, a sharpshooter will send a bullet through your brain. The decision will be entirely yours.”

  Velo smiled and ran his hand through his hair, supremely confident in his scheme. But Lowell was focused on the prospect of Randall losing the election. What had become of Taylor? If the campaigns were still running, it couldn’t be good. All that mattered now was that
Randall won and created space for Sierra to restore the family and the people of the ClawLands.

  “There’s nothing for you to say,” Velo went on. “You’ll make your decision when the time comes. I’ve got to go handle some things, but I believe there’s someone else here to see you. It’s your ex-wife, Melody Hockley. “

  “Really?” Lowell cringed, unable to help but show his disgust at the mention of the vile woman who had scooped away his fortune. No doubt she was still out at the Vault, the Hockley estate to the northeast of Ristle. Lowell’s insides burned with the desire to see someone get back at her.

  “No, I’m just kidding, but it’s almost that bad,” Velo chuckled, getting up from his stool, stretching momentarily, and then strolling down the hall out of sight. It was quiet for a time, long enough for Lowell to wonder if Velo’s promise of another visitor was another lie or trick, until the sound of shuffling footsteps dragging along the carpet drew his attention. Lowell couldn’t imagine who could be walking freely around the Wozniak estate that he would possibly want to see, but he looked up anyway as the newcomer approached.

  To his surprise it was a little girl of no more than a few years with dirty blonde hair. She had on a blue dress, stockings, and a look of subtle inquisitiveness. Lowell wasn’t sure who she was until a man he knew all too well stepped into sight behind her. Short black hair, thick in the shoulders, and with a grim countenance, Arnold Keize picked up the girl and set her on his lap as he settled onto the stool.

  “This is a very bad man, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, putting one hand over her stomach as if she were at risk of being kidnapped. Lowell was aghast that the man who had precipitated much of his downfall wanted to show up and rub it in.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls coming here,” Lowell seethed through his teeth. Keize’s eyes narrowed in stark condemnation.