by Alan Marble
“So it’s all about the power, then.”
“Don’t mistake my motives, Jonah.” Carolus leaned back, smoothing the hair back over his brow. “For many years I have been forced to watch as that fool Nathan continued to lead the clan down the same decaying path that his predecessors trod. A path of constant war and loss. Have I yearned for the day when I would become elder and lead the clan in a new direction? Yes. Do I have a selfish desire for power? Yes. But you must see that it is for the good of the clan.”
There was an odd, insidious logic to the statement. Jonah could not argue against the fact that the fighting seemed to be taking its toll on the clan, from all he had heard, yet at the same time he could not find himself agreeing with the old man’s methods. “And Abe?”
“Ibrahim? My friend has no interest in power or ruling the clan. His day will come, to be sure. He is many decades my junior and will inherit my position when my time is over.” Carolus paused to put his drink off to the side. “But Ibrahim is interested only in pursuing his love for wealth and women. The end of this conflict will mean he can devote more time indulging in his vices.”
“And the others? Who support the elder?”
Carolus sighed a little heavily at the question. “They will be made to cooperate in one way or another. I pray that they will come around before it is too late, but the situation is fairly grim. That fool Nathan will not change his mind, and he likely will not survive the Syndicate’s methods of convincing. As for the others? I am not sure how they will turn out.”
Jonah scowled darkly. “Methods?”
“You’ve seen the bull drakes. Years ago they were members of an independent clan. The Syndicate applied some kind of magic to sway them, force them to fight for their cause, abandon their identity as a clan. It has been centuries and I do not know that the current Syndicate mages are well practiced in the art. The results may be … less than satisfactory.”
“And you are okay with this?” He glowered down at the old man, incredulously. “You are willing to sit by while they experiment on your friends? Look, I know you might disagree with them but … you’re ok with putting them through this?”
Carolus responded with a scowl of his own, his voice taking on a slightly darker edge to it. “Do not think me some kind of monster, Jonah. As I have said there is no other choice. It is either this or allow them to die fighting, one by one, until they are all gone, until the clan is wholly destroyed. That is why I am asking for your assistance in this. I thought I could count on you, I thought you would understand. Do you, Jonah? Can I count you among my allies?”
There was an inherent danger in the question, and Jonah could feel his skin beginning to crawl once more. Suddenly he felt like was being observed once again, the old man’s watery blue eyes fixing on him with a calculating stare. It was as if he were suddenly on the edge of a precipice; one false move and he might find himself in deep trouble. One false move and it might be his last.
He was not ready to commit to Carolus and his cause, but could, at the very least, understand what the old man was saying. He didn’t see the sense in wasting time and energy on a pointless fight, dying over an old and rotting principle. Yet, as the thought crossed his mind, he also realized that he did not see the value in forcing peace upon those who did not want it.
“I’m still not sure how I can help. I don’t think they trust me, anymore,” he finally answered, in a slow, measured voice.
For a long moment, Carolus seemed to hesitate, as if trying to make a decision. For that long moment, Jonah worried that the old man might not believe him, might not give him a chance, after all. Finally, however, he nodded, reaching over for his drink again. “No, I suppose they will not. Not at first, no. We’ll just have to try and be more convincing, won’t we?”
“I don’t follow,” he responded, confused.
“There’s no need to. The others are being held here in the compound overnight and it will not be until tomorrow that they are transported to a more secure facility. We don’t anticipate any other interruptions, so tonight, at least, we can all relax. Our friends here will show you to a room where you can get some rest. Tomorrow I believe Ibrahim will have a good discussion with you on how to be more persuasive,” the old man said, smiling crookedly, waving a hand and summoning one of the big bull drakes to escort him away for the night.
#
It was morning still when he arrived at the city, the heat of the desert having not yet reached its full fury. The sun at his back was still pleasant, warming rather than burning, and it cast the city in sharp contrasting shadows, making it stand out from the otherwise dull scenery around it, a vibrant oasis of sorts that should have looked welcoming and vibrant after his long trek across the countryside.
But something was different, he realized, something going on within the city itself. From his vantage point on a small hillock approaching the city he could see more movement among the streets than might normally be expected, in spite of the approaching holiday. Something about it felt ominous, and it was with some anxiety that he picked up his pace and made his way toward the vibrantly colored buildings.
The streets were, indeed, rather teeming with people. As he tried to make his way toward his home on the opposite side of the city he found himself increasingly forced to push his way through the crowd, ever thickening as he went, until he found that he was no longer able to make his way. The crowd itself had been pushed to the side, forcing him up against the facade of a shop while he heard distant shouts demanding the gathered to move to the side. There was some kind of procession making its way down the street, he realized, and as a result he was being forced to wait.
It was difficult to see what was going on from where he was, pinned to the back of the crowd, but the clamor around him began to die off as a more solemn atmosphere fell over the assembled. The sound of a bell tolling began to approach, rising up above the din and was finally the only sound he heard as those around him fell silent. Trying to peer in the direction of the sound, he finally was able to see something moving through the mass of people, bobbing up and down as it moved between them : a cross, shrouded in black cloth, held aloft.
The sense of trepidation he was feeling in his gut intensified, and he craned his neck to try and get a better look. When he realized he had no hope of seeing the procession from where he was, he forcibly pushed his way through the people, eliciting some minor but irritated protests as he went, until finally he was close enough to see the procession go by.
He caught sight of a number of clergy and other officials making their way through the streets but it was those who followed that commanded his attention. Clad in yellow sanbenitos decorated with various symbols of evil and malice, bearing the names of their crimes written on the cloth, labeled unmistakably “herege condenado” : convicted heretic.
They passed toward the city’s plaza, one by one, eyes downcast and defeated. It was the auto de fe, the elaborate trial orchestrated by the Inquisition. The very sight of it made his stomach turn.
At the last were those convicted of the most serious crimes, accompanied by a pair of friars each, heads hung low. These were the ones condemned to be taken to the quemadero outside the city and be burned at the stake. This he could not watch, and with a heavy heart he shook his head and turned away.
Just as he glanced away, however, his eyes caught hold of one particular sanbenito decorated rather ostentatiously in demonic looking dragon figures. As the condemned passed he hazarded a glance upward, his eyes happened upon the name, Estefania de Ribadeneira. A glance up at the flowing black hair that was tied behind her head was enough to make his heart sink.
His beloved wife, being dragged away to die.
Without so much as a second thought he leaped over the barricade that had been erected to hold back the crowd and bolted in her direction. “Estefania! Estefania!” The friars at her side turned to look at him with a startled expression and the crowd around him gasped in surprise but he paid them no heed.
She turned around to look at him with those midnight black, almond shape eyes that he knew only too well, reddened with tears and wide with surprised. “Alvaro, no!”
The sound of hooves clopping against the ground filled his ears but he paid them no heed. Long before he could reach his wife something hard and heavy smashed into the side of his skull and sent him crashing to the ground, the world spinning around him wildly. More screams sounded around him before an angry looking official loomed over him, sneering. “What are you thinking, interrupting the procession?”
Groggy, dizzy from being hit like that, he merely shook his head and groaned. “Estefania … Estefania, you can’t take her … she is innocent!”
“That is not for you to decide. It is between her and God, now.”
“No,” he moaned, pulling himself up to a seated position before he was cuffed soundly against the head again, sending him sprawling. “No … you can’t take her …” As he rolled on the ground he could see her being led away down the road toward the plaza, her back turned to him again, her body heaving as if she were sobbing.
The official who had smacked him down gave him a kick in the ribs, as well. “Unless you have something to confess as well, I would urge you to stay out of the way.” With that the official got back on his horse, rejoining the procession and blocking his view of Estefania.
Sobbing, he pulled himself back up to sitting, some of the crowd having dragged him back to the side so the procession could pass. “No,” he sobbed, reaching in the direction he had last seen her. “No …”
“Hey, Jonah. You awake in here?”
Abe’s voice tore him rather roughly from the dream. For a brief moment he found himself lying on his back in an uncomfortable cot, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what had just happened until the realization that he’d been experiencing another one of the strange dreams - visions - once again. A sick feeling at what he had witnessed still stuck in the pit of his stomach, and he was in no mood to deal with the man. Turning his head, he frowned openly at his visitor, turning his eyes back upward toward the ceiling. “No.”
Abe chuckled heartily in spite of the response that he got. “Well, come on then. Sleepwalk with me.”
He didn’t really see much point in arguing or fighting, so he pulled himself up out of the cot with a quiet grunt and followed as Abe led him out of the compound, passing by several of those big, silent guards, the ones that gave him chills in spite of the fact that they no longer seemed interested in him. His guide seemed to respect the fact that he was not feeling chatty in that morning, speaking only to let him know they were heading outside, pushing the doors open at the end of a hall and stepping out into the brilliant morning light.
The valley hidden away between the mountains was just as quiet as it was during the day as it had been the night before. Stretching out before him for the better part of a mile, the valley floor was flat and featureless, dotted with scrub and some kind of grass, surrounded by rocky hills that surrounded them. In a way it was like a whole other line of defense for the compound, keeping the rest of the world out.
It was also eerily reminiscent of some of the desert landscape he had seen in the vision, summoning some of the images anew. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he tried to will them away.
Abe spoke up again, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he strode away from the building and apparently toward no specific destination. “So. You decided to work with Carl after all, then? Smart man.”
“Like I had a choice,” he protested, all but growling under his breath.
“Of course you had a choice,” the bigger man said with a soft chuckle, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and pushing them onto his face. Even here he wore a sharp double breasted suit, his black leather shoes kicking up little plumes of dust that made him look very out of place. “You always have a choice.”
Jonah grunted quietly again and shrugged. “Well, it was that or get thrown down into the dungeon with the others.”
“It was still your choice.”
Staring at the bald man as he strode a few steps away before stopping, he shook his head. “What are you getting at?”
“Just a little friendly chit-chat,” Abe said, beckoning him to continue, following a slightly worn path in the dirt that cut between some of the knee-high scrub brushes. “You could have picked that option. Gone to your doom with them, retained a little sense of pride, or something like that. But you didn’t.”
“Sorry. I’m not in the mood to die,” Jonah answered a little dryly, confused and somewhat suspicious at the strange course of the discussion. It almost felt like Abe, a traitor himself, was admonishing him for choosing to save his own hide.
Not that the larger man seemed to be passing any judgment “Neither am I,” he replied, flashing a big, toothy smile back over his shoulder. “So it’s not like you picked to go along with our little plot out of principle. Just out of self preservation. I can respect that.”
Once again, Jonah felt like he was being judged, put on some kind of impromptu trial. Once again he felt like he was standing on the edge of two fates, and whatever he said here would determine which path he would go down. Much to his irritation, Abe had stopped at a spot where the path split into two, illustrating his predicament. “I still don’t know what you’re getting at. You make it sound like there was no right choice to make.”
“You could have embraced Carl’s plan wholeheartedly. None of this cowardly halfway stuff.”
It was more than he could take. “You know what,” he spat out, balling his hands up in fists and shaking one of them at his somewhat surprised companion. “I’m sick and tired of getting pushed into these kinds of things. You want to trick me into saying something that gets me thrown into the basement? Fine, call your thugs and have them take me away now. Let’s just skip the trick questions and the traps.”
Abe pulled his sunglasses down some to look at him over the frames, his expression growing dead serious. “You mean that, Jonah?”
“I don’t care. I just don’t really care anymore,” he said, nearly exploding. “What does it really matter, anyway? You all have it out for me, anyway, so let’s just get it over with. I’m tired of the games.”
Pushing the shades back up his nose to cover his eyes, the big guy grinned once more. “Well. You’ve got it half right, kid.”
In his agitated state he was only confused by Abe’s reaction. Jonah was half tempted to simply let loose with the anger that was building up and assail the man standing in front of him, in spite of knowing that he wouldn’t stand a chance. Not this way, not as a dragon, not at all. He would be outmatched, taken down in a heartbeat.
But at least it would feel good.
Still, the cooler half of him prevailed, keeping his anger at bay for the moment. “What do you mean by that?”
“Someone’s got it out for you, Jonah, that much is for sure. But it ain’t me. It’s not even ol’ Carl, really. It’s the Syndicate. They’ve got it out for all of us. You, Carl, me, the rest of the clan. They don’t really care a lick for a single one of us. Yesterday was only the first stage of the trap.”
“I don’t get it,” he practically hissed, furrowing his brow. Abe was not making any sense.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets and resuming his slow walk, Abe cleared his throat. “Carl is so eager for this all to go off right that he can’t really see it for what it is, but it’s pretty obvious when you think about it. Step one, corrupt someone influential in the clan. Step two, kidnap the elder and set a trap for the whole council, all in one fell swoop. Step three,” he said, pausing, shaking his head with a sardonic chuckle. “Set a trap for the rest of the clan. Bam, finish them all off.”
“Wait,” Jonah interjected as he tried to wrap his mind around what the big man was saying, new layers of intrigue and confusion wrapping themselves around the whole situation and serving only to muddle his thinking. “What are you saying? Carl wants to use me to lure in
the rest of the clan, so they can be … whatever is being done to the others?”
“Not Carl. The Syndicate. Carl sees you as a pawn in his scheme, but in their scheme he is every bit as much the pawn. As soon as they get their hands on what they want, they’ll take him down, too.”
“Why are you telling me this? Hell, if you have this all figured out … why are you working for them?”
Once again Abe laughed softly. “Working for them? Well, I suppose I am, aren’t I? You could call me something of a double agent, then.”
Jonah squinted at him dubiously. “You’re not making this all up to make me look foolish? To find some reason to get rid of me, get me out of the way?”
“If I wanted you outta the way, kid, I’d have you locked up by now. No, I don’t want you out of the way. I need your help.”
He leaned his head back at that and breathed out a low sigh. “You need my help.”
“That seem so strange?”
“No.” He shook his head a little bit and closed his eyes. “It’s just, if I hear that again … I don’t know. Today has been such a strange day. A strange weekend. Look, this whole last week has been … I don’t know. To be honest I’m just not really sure what’s real anymore, if I’m imagining the whole damned thing or what.”
Abe nodded a little more soberly at that. “I know a lot has happened to you, kid. If it were up to me I wouldn’t be so quick to try and turn your life upside down, but I don’t really have a choice. There isn’t much time.”
“Time?”
“Yeah. In just a few hours from now the Syndicate will have transport here to start taking the others to a more secure facility. I guarantee you that once they’re loaded up and taken away we’ll never see them again - at least not in the way that we remember them.” The big man shifted his posture a little bit, glancing back in the direction of the compound. “If we’re going to act it has to be right away.”
