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

by Jason Letts

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, desperate to be let off the hook.

  “Let me help inform you then. You’re going to make a nomination to Cumeria’s Grand Court,” she said.

  It was stunning that she knew how much was going on in their secret proceedings. Somehow she’d managed to cut straight to the heart of what they were doing, and Randall silently cursed Dodson for passing the information along to her. The media company he worked for was essentially owned by the Lus, making the lines of communication swift and direct.

  “I am going to make a nomination,” Randall said at last. He stopped talking, feeling adrift in the conversation.

  “And the person you will nominate is Qi Ptock,” Angela said.

  When her voice came through the phone’s speaker, Randall swore he misheard her, but there was no mistaking it.

  “What, why do you want Qi Ptock on the Grand Court?”

  “The why of my demand is none of your concern. I believe I’ve been very clear about what you must do,” she said.

  Randall swallowed and leaned against a wall. It was all falling apart and there was nothing he could do about it. How could he say no to her?

  “But…‌he might not accept the nomination or be approved by the rest of the councilors,” Randall said.

  “Your life belongs to us, Mr. Bracken, and if you don’t do what I ask then we’ll have to take what is ours.”

  The subtle hum from the phone ceased as the call unexpectedly ended. Randall stared at the device, wondering if it had really been real. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. If Ptock took the position on the Grand Court he’d be a thorn in Randall’s side for as long as he was involved in the government. Ptock would have nearly as much sway as the chancellor, especially one just stepping into the position. The result would be something akin to the near anarchy he’d seen back in Madora.

  The call had gone on longer than Randall had expected, and the other councilors would be wondering what had taken him so long. When Randall tried to take the first step on the path back to the chamber, he found he couldn’t move a muscle. The thought of going back in there to nominate Qi Ptock, the man who had helped dismantle his father’s empire, to such an appointment was ludicrous.

  The councilors who didn’t know who he planned to put forward, like Heath Dolger, would think nothing was amiss and vote as they were instructed. The others who did know might only think Randall changed his mind and play along anyway out of interest for the favor they were set to receive.

  Randall’s quandary was intractable, enough to make him want to get his hands on Dodson’s throat for throwing away everything he worked for. Still, he started back to the chamber with thoughts of how it wouldn’t be that great a loss. Even with the other councilors against him, he could find a way to strong arm himself into the chancellor’s seat and then eventually force Ptock out of his robes. The man would get what was coming to him, even if it took a lifetime.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Randall said, straightening up as he reentered the conference room.

  “I feared you’d gotten lost in this big building,” Ptock said beside the other councilors at the table. Randall couldn’t even conceal a scowl at the petty jab. “Are we ready to resume?”

  “Finally,” Dolger said after Randall nodded. There was a gleam in his eye, an urgency that had built up while Randall was gone. Dolger was ready to vote for his grandmother to be evicted from her grave if Randall told him to.

  “Yes, I was about to make a nomination,” Randall said, standing beside his street. He remembered how his father had told him that the Lus demanded total control in their dealings. They were powerful and dangerous in a way no one in Cumeria was. Crossing them would be the epitome of perilous. “I’d like to nominate to the Grand Court of Cumeria Mr. Qi Ptock.”

  A few of the others gasped, including the former chairman, who immediately abandoned his lackadaisical posture and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. He had some combination of wonder and skepticism on his face. At the very least he was surprised.

  It took him nearly a minute to come up with something to say while the others waited for his reaction.

  “That’s uncommonly generous of you, I must admit,” Ptock said. But his moment of magnanimity passed and the skepticism won out. “Perhaps in the name of healthy debate you’d be willing to expound on the reason you did me the honor of awarding this nomination.”

  Either Ptock was trying to unearth a motive or simply fishing for compliments, but whatever it was left Randall with no choice but to follow through.

  “I don’t think there’s anything I could say about you that everyone here doesn’t already know. Your record as an ardent supporter of the law during your tenure as chairman of the Private Oversight Committee speaks for itself, and I know that as a member of the Grand Court you’ll assist the new council and chancellor with constructing a robust set of rules that ensure the safety and opportunity of everyone in the land.”

  Randall found every word left a bitter taste in his mouth. In a real sense, Randall believed Qi Ptock was working against what every single one of the councilors was there to do, but now he’d be the first one with an official position. After another pause, Ptock rose from his seat and donned a hearty smile.

  “How could I possibly deny such an endorsement? I happily accept the nomination and recommend that we move this matter to a vote immediately, unless there are any dissenting arguments,” Ptock said.

  Sparing a moment to think about Cori and Ralph, both of them were likely to disembowel him as soon as he returned and reported the utter calamity that had befallen them. The other councilors wouldn’t listen to a word he said or even agree to let him take a piss if they had to consent to it after they found out his offer was a fake. Bracken interests would be left rudderless in Toine.

  Randall was the first one to exit the Spiral when the meeting came to a close. As usual, Dodson was camped out in the area, waiting to pick up any scraps that the departing members chose to drop. Dodson’s usual cheerful smile dropped from his face when he saw Randall marching for him. It was as good a sign of guilt as any.

  “What have you been telling her!” Randall shouted and grabbed Dodson by the collar, shoving him back against a cement wall among some sculptures. Dodson tried and failed to push Randall away as he rifled through pockets for cameras, mics, and any other recording equipment.

  “What are you doing?” Dodson asked, aggrieved as he watched his equipment trampled into bits.

  “You sold me out, sold this entire committee out by feeding information back to Angela,” Randall said, turning his sights back on Dodson, whose eyes widened.

  “Fed what information? No one has told me anything.”

  Randall put his arm against Dodson’s throat. Resorting to violence was the method of choice for Chancellor Aggart, and Randall had told himself he’d never take that path, but he had no way else of procuring the truth.

  “Give me a little more credit than that. You’re not bad at what you do, Dodson. What have you told Angela Lu?”

  “Randall, I’ve got nothing to tell her,” Dodson pleaded. His hands were up and he stopped struggling.

  “Then how did she know!” Randall yelled directly into the journalist’s face. He thought he’d been betrayed by Dodson, but the idea suddenly formed in his mind that someone else was working for the Lus. Who could’ve been behind the push to get Qi Ptock onto the Grand Court other than Qi Ptock? Was that surprised look all an act? Had he been working for the Lus from the beginning? Randall had too many blind hunches and not enough answers.

  The vote to approve Qi Ptock for the position had been unanimous.

  CHAPTER 6

  Senseless knocking rankled Sierra, who buried her face in a pillow in a weak attempt to keep the sound out. She didn’t immediately gather that it was her door receiving the knocks, but when she did all she could muster for a response was a despondent groan.

  “Sierra, you have to
come out here!” Tommack called before forcing the creaky, crooked door open.

  Sierra was half naked and half asleep on a mattress bridging the gap between the floor and a wall in a severely slanted room. The entire house teetered on its side and could fall at any time, but that didn’t matter. Families were like houses, and hers had already fallen.

  “Leave me alone,” she said. The pillow felt moist from her tears.

  “There’s something going on outside and you have to be a part of it. You can’t just lie in bed cycle after cycle,” he said.

  “You didn’t seem to mind it before when all I did was lay in bed. What difference does it make?”

  Since the helicopters came and took her mother away, Sierra had barely seen anyone. It was all part of her strategy of accepting the situation. When her parents were lost, it meant the complete collapse of everything she was striving for. There was no more company to lead, no more town to protect. All she had was Tommack to occasionally distract her and a life of little consequence to look forward to.

  Tommack gingerly descended the sloping floor and took Sierra by the arm, turning her over. He was upset, or possibly just anxious.

  “You’ve lost a lot, Sierra, but it’s not over yet. Just take a look outside if you need proof of that. What you’re doing isn’t healthy. Don’t shut yourself away and assume that things will never get better. We’ve got to always keep moving. I get the sense that I need to keep pressing forward. And it’s not good that you’ve hardly been eating.”

  Sierra grumbled and pursed her lips. It felt like she had a hangover, even though there was no alcohol to drink. The feeling couldn’t be described as anything over than punishment for being alive.

  “I’m not going to take anyone else’s food. There’s hardly enough to go around. And if you feel like you need to go somewhere, then here’s an idea. Why don’t you go and do it? I didn’t put a leash on you,” she said.

  It took a hard look and a surly grimace from Tommack to make Sierra realize she’d insulted him, particularly his affections for her. Sierra knew he cared, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d been kicking dirt on it. Nothing about it seemed to matter much. Tommack got up and went to the door, looking back at the last second and shaking his head at her.

  “Put something on and come outside. Do it now,” he said.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” Sierra argued. “I’m a strong person.”

  “You were.”

  After Tommack left, Sierra spent a few agitated moments in bed before crawling out, tossing on whatever garment appeared to be closest, and climbing to the door. It was chilly out, and Sierra crossed her arms. It didn’t take her long to realize what Tommack was talking about. Nearly the entire town was assembled at the intersection making up the new center.

  As Sierra wandered over, she caught sight of Razi and Maglum, both of whom stuck out like a sore thumb. They couldn’t speak Cumerian, had nothing to do, and were known to roam about the area for cycles at a time. Sierra suspected that sooner or later they’d roam away for good, probably blaming her for bringing them to this forsaken land of broken dreams. She was ashamed to look at them.

  Other people in the crowd noticed her too but then returned their attention to city councilor Grent’s oratory. When the Brackens used to walk down the streets in the ClawLands, they would instantly become the center of attention. It felt so strange to have people glance at her and then pretend that they hadn’t.

  “By turning our humble smithy into a full-fledged production center, the ClawLands will begin our comeback and finally get the justice we deserve,” Grent said.

  Squinting and standing on tiptoes, Sierra tried to see what Grent was talking about but couldn’t. She eventually had to squeeze deeper into the fawning crowd to get a reasonable look. Someone shoved her back, forcing her to elbow someone else. She was nearly thrown around until she finally emerged at the front, where Grent had an iron mold set up.

  “Stand back, please. We don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he went on, spotting Sierra and giving her a hard look. A couple of men from the smithy poured some molten steel into the mold and then closed it up with a lid. Smoke and a searing sound came from the mold.

  “What is this?” she asked. Grent didn’t hesitate to go on the offensive.

  “You weren’t paying attention at all, were you? Typical. As I’ve been saying, there’s been a serious lack of leadership in the town, but I’m putting an end to that. Finally the ClawLands will seize on a new opportunity to enter into a new industry, one that won’t be monopolized and exploited by a single family’s misguided and vain ambitions.”

  Sierra didn’t have anything to say, but considering the Wozniaks were the primary steel producers and forgers in the country, she had a hard time imagining that a product made of steel would do anything other than ultimately enrich their sworn enemies.

  Not all that familiar with the steel-molding process, Sierra watched with the others as the molten steel hardened. They finally opened the lid to reveal a short tube. Using tongs, Grent slid it out of the mold and then dropped it into a bucket of water, which immediately spewed steam into the air. Minutes later, old man Grent removed the tube from the water and waved it high in the air where it caught the light. The crowd applauded and cheered.

  “Now for the finishing touch!” he said, quieting everyone down.

  From behind his back he produced a handle with a cylinder and a hammer on top. Sierra’s eyes widened as he attached the barrel.

  “You’re making guns? That’s your big plan?” Sierra asked. It was almost funny, but Grent certainly wasn’t laughing.

  “It’s time we were able to defend ourselves. Now we’re one step closer to being able to fight back!” he said, trying to stoke more applause from those gathered around. Sierra looked over and caught eyes with Tommack, who shared her skepticism.

  “What do you think’s going to happen with a few extra revolvers?” Sierra asked. “Do you think that’s going to make a difference if thousands of folk from the OrePlains or FarmFields sweep in?”

  “Typical short-sighted analysis from the Brackens. That kind of thinking is why we’re in this position in the first place. If we’d had one gun back when your mother was taken, things might be very different now.”

  “We might all be dead,” Sierra said. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that this is a long-term strategy for resurrecting the ClawLands. It isn’t. Every gun manufacturer Cumeria has ever known quickly became a magnet for criminals and the more powerful, who steal everything and kill the ones running the operation. When anyone gets a hint we’ve got a stockpile of guns, we’ll all pay for them with our lives.”

  Grent eyed the newly assembled weapon in his hand and grazed its sleek end with his fingertips. The design was crude and carried the possibility of a malfunction that would injure the one who wielded it, but Grent looked at it lovingly. Then his face took on a macabre expression as he pointed the gun at Sierra.

  “Then tell us what we should do. If you’ve got a better plan, we’re all ears. How about it?”

  Although she was fairly certain the weapon was not loaded, the effect of the city councilor of the ClawLands pointing a gun at her, a member of the Bracken family, was not lost on anyone. Sierra’s despondency crept back in, her head drooped, and her arms hung lifelessly at her side.

  “I didn’t think so,” Grent continued, turning to address the crowd. “It’s time for us to take responsibility for freeing ourselves from the destruction around us. We need to move forward and fight to take back what was lost so we can become whole once again.”

  Grent’s proclamations continued to draw the interest of the crowd, but Sierra couldn’t listen to a word of it. She slipped back among the spectators without drawing much notice until she exited through the back and started walking toward her dilapidated home. Each step was a trudge. Moving was too much work.

  “You’re not going to stand in line for your gun?” Tommack asked, suddenly at h
er side. He was joking, but her current mood was impenetrable to humor.

  “Could be a long wait. Doesn’t look like they can make them very fast,” Sierra said, dragging her feet.

  “I don’t know what they think they’re going to accomplish. Defending yourself is one thing, but forming an army of a few dozen is another. You need to do something to change their minds,” Tommack said. His hand was on her shoulder, but she couldn’t look at him.

  “They can do whatever they want. I’m not in charge of their lives,” Sierra said. Tommack removed his hand. “You saw for yourself that they wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Tommack’s sigh felt worse than a slap in the face. The last thing she needed was one more person’s condemnation.

  “I never thought you were the type to give up,” he said. She finally looked up to see a sorry grimace on his face as he glanced around, probably wondering what he was doing here.

  “I…‌Tommack…” Sierra sputtered a few words until she got to thinking about how little she could do and gave up on the rest of her statement. She took a seat on a plain wooden bench set against the wall on her house’s slanted porch, which had suffered some burn damage and plenty of neglect even before that.

  Settling her elbow on her knees as she hunched over, she saw Razi and Maglum coming over. They took a seat on the steps, occasionally saying something to each other but mostly appearing bored. Tommack leaned against the open doorway with his hands in his pockets.

  They listened to the sounds of the makeshift forge for a while. Every so often they heard the sound of a gunshot or the hiss of new steel in cold water. The townsfolk milled around, keeping an eye on the proceedings while going about their usual business.

  They were still there later in the cycle when Grent came down the hill pushing a cart full of tools for the forge. He still had on the long thick coat he wore earlier, as well as the look of someone with an inflated sense of importance. Sierra glanced at him and expected him to continue on his way, but he came to a stop and twisted his contemptuous face at her.