Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  Lying sack of whale dung! My knuckles go white on the hilt of my sword.

  “You were born of the light and dark, low birth and high. You were not born to be a killer, but had to be fashioned into one to save this world. You and I both know the dragon of the sea . . .”

  What does he know of the monster that haunts my dreams?

  “We are wild, violent men, but we must both face the truth. In three generations’ time, this world will die, our resources depleted, pollution too toxic, solar radiation burning through our atmosphere—the Pantheon has known this since just before the new Fracture Point opened when you were born. If the populace knew, too, there would be rioting in the streets. When I learned, my outrage was matched only by my will to act. Unfortunately, the College of Electors and High Synod were hampered by argument and indecision. Some even denied the statistics that scientists presented and said Tao was simply going through a natural depletion cycle, that this was part of the Balance. Chilleus Julii was one of these people.

  “I had no authority to end the bickering and rally other Electors to the truth, not yet. I had won a Combat and entered the college, but I was not a member of the High Synod, and I was not the Patriarch of a noble house. I knew that in order to change the course of history, I had to become something more than an anomaly. I had to become a myth, someone the poets would sing of through the ages. So I did something unthinkable—I entered the Combat a second time. Opposing me was Chilleus Julii’s first son, Augustus. He was young, fast, and strong, but I knew if I trained hard, I could win. Old Wusong sponsored me, allied me with his house. He feared the threat House Julii would present if both father and son should sit in power. I emerged a victorious god. For achieving a feat greater than any other warrior of Tao, I was branded the Patriarch of a new noble house.

  “Suddenly, mine was the voice that was heard above the crashing waves, my sigil rising on the high tide of the Pantheon. Yet, for all my newfound glory, questions of the planet’s future still had to be tabled until I could cement the legacy of my fledgling house. I needed a son.”

  A scuffle in the hallway. Guards will be here soon.

  “Then you were born. Your mother was beautiful but an islander. I named you my heir to bide time, but in truth, I was content to watch you from afar, while I could turn to face the problem of the planet’s decay. The opening of the Fracture meant that a definitive strategy could be pursued in earnest. I counseled we follow in the footsteps of the Great Song, build a worldship, look for a new frontier. ‘We don’t migrate,’ Old Julii answered. ‘We conquer.’”

  Edric coughs and blood sprays onto the sheets.

  We’re warriors, Phaestion often said. I can see how my father’s proposal of wandering ten years in the void like vagabonds no longer appealed to the Synod’s sensibilities.

  “Julii himself knew that making war was mere obfuscation, a way to turn the masses to a cause rather than focus on the realities we were facing. It hardly mattered. I’d killed his son. He would have opposed anything I suggested. If I had roared for battle, he would have sued for peace. He called me unclean and unfit to lead. His family had the pedigree of nobility stretching back to the time of the Great Song. I could not murder him outright, but I didn’t need to. I was a legendary fighter and anyone who looked on us knew I would dismantle him limb from limb should he ever back his threats with a challenge.

  “I slowly built my power. My fealty to House Wusong meant I had access to their resources. I expanded the Wendigo. Still, Julii had something I did not—a purebred heir. Julii’s second boy was already exceeding all others. They whispered he was the greatest warrior of his generation, born of a sea goddess, the Great Song reincarnated. When my alliance to Olympias of House Flanders, also a Combat champion, produced Edgaard, I thought you would be free of the burden of inheritance, but Old Wusong chose you for his daughter. He wanted me humbled, I think. He knew you were a political embarrassment—your mixed birth, your smart mouth. He sanctioned the union of our houses, but only through you.

  “Yet, you were not what you needed to be. That day of the christening you proclaimed to be a musician. When I looked on you, compared you to the son of Julii, you showed nothing of the battle prowess I knew that boy already possessed. You shamed our house in front of the entire planet. It was my own fault, but I knew what needed to be done. I survived, Edmon, because of the pain I endured. You needed the same lesson—survive or die. It was my duty to give you what had made me. So I beat your mother for all to see . . .”

  Rage boils inside of me. This is why my mother wanted me to forget. She knew he did it to turn me into a monster, like him.

  “The emperor’s decree and the popularity you gained with the common folk that day made it impossible for other houses to ignore you or for me to let you go. If only you had kept your mouth shut . . . I was suspicious when Lord Julii’s son requested fosterage. Training with Phaestion would accelerate your learning and perhaps friendship between you could change the course of history. Would you be turned to him or him toward you? Would one of you die suspiciously during the Combat exercises? Refusal was politically unwise. I took the chance. I sent Alberich to Bone and then as my representative instructor to the Julii Academy. He said you had fire I didn’t see. Then you almost did die. I wondered if I should let you. It would have been easier for Edgaard and succession. Sometimes I wish you had . . .”

  Hearing what I already know spoken aloud still hurts.

  “You lived, but you were broken. It was Phaestion’s request to alter you. Somehow he convinced his father that you would be an ally, not an enemy. The danger was great and the procedure illegal, but it was the only way to have you whole again. I let love cloud my judgment and allowed it. You survived. I was almost proud.”

  And I almost believe him. I hear the guards gathering outside to ambush me.

  “You defied The Companions. Your popularity with the people grew. When I learned you had taken a lover . . .” He shakes his head and looks at me squarely. “I wouldn’t have done it, Edmon, if I had known your woman was with child.”

  You will not speak of her! My blade sings.

  “That’s it, boy! I killed one unborn by accident, but billions yet unborn will be murdered if you don’t kill me now and stop the Julii. You and I don’t matter, nor do our loved ones in the face of this.”

  A single tear of blood glides down his throat.

  “Your mother, your wife, your teachers, your child—all paid the price for your obduracy. You could have married Miranda, waited until Old Wusong died, waited until I died. You could have annulled the marriage when the time was right. Your stupidity forced my hand. If I couldn’t teach you, I knew Faria the Red would break you.”

  It’s true then. Faria was commissioned by my father the entire time. He betrayed me. I did not want to believe it.

  “The old warrior, a legend when I was a boy for his skill, also had a vendetta against the Julii. He ensured that Bruul Vaarkson took note of you. He healed your island friend so that you could be led into a trap . . .”

  Toshi . . .

  “Nothing you have suffered has been without my forethought or design. I knew you’d hate me. That hate was necessary for what you have to do now.”

  My head spins.

  “I would’ve saved you from it if I could. Now let your suffering be for a purpose. These shaking hands of mine can no longer grip a dagger. I could not commit suicide and blame it on you even if I wanted.” He holds up his old, gnarled hands before him. “I beg you to take my life. Make a better future.”

  Damn him! If I kill, he succeeds. If I do not, this world is doomed.

  I hear the familiar whisk of camglobes. Three silver balls hover around us, dropped from a hidden compartment in the ceiling moments ago. No doubt the globes will automatically release the broadcast the moment I complete the patricide.

  “Do it!” he screams.

  There are no voices in my head anymore. No monsters or memories telling me who I am. My entir
e life has led to this moment, this choice. All the pain, suffering, and death my father engineered so that I would transform from a boy to a monster, a leviathan. All so that I would succumb to the violence he thought I needed to kill my rival, to kill him, and take the throne of Tao. Yet, I understand that this is not balance. One does not rise honorably, as worthy, through blood. One does not save the soul of a world by desecrating his own. I see the path before me, the choice I must make to do what is right, though it may have dire consequences for the people of this planet. It breaks my heart for the future when I choose to do what I must do. I will not take his life.

  “You’d let the universe suffer for your own selfishness! Give me your sword!” he screams. “I’ll take my own life and say it was you, damn you.” He tries to reach out but can’t even lift his weak arms. “Edmon, please,” he begs.

  I’ve come for this final face-to-face now so that he knows, before I go, he has failed utterly. Then again, I’m not as good as I’d like to be, either. The siren sword sings. The blade cuts cleanly. Blood spurts and then oozes. Edric screams and writhes. I pick up the memento from the floor, slick with blood. I gently tuck it into my pocket and pull out the aquagraphic recording cube. I place it at the foot of the bed and depress the playback indentation. Sound blasts from the cube.

  “He and I had already agreed to end the great Edric Leontes. The poison had already been administered into his food and drink.”

  “Bastard!” The croak escapes Edric’s lips.

  “There was a feast following the Pavaka. Revels lasted into the night. The bargain was to be the dissolution of your nuptials, our claim to the throne of Wusong removed, and in return, I would wed the heir of House Julii.”

  Security will arrive to find my father in pain, primed for a good, long stint in a regeneration tank. He’ll live out his last years in slow deterioration knowing that no son will take his head or title.

  “Alberich should have been testing the food.”

  I listen wistfully for a moment to the echo of my lost voice, then turn to leave.

  “Alberich’s always resented Father for defeating him in the Combat . . .” I jump to a ventilation shaft, remove the grate, and crawl in to the air duct. Security guards burst through the doors to my father’s chambers as my sister’s confession plays over the loudspeakers.

  “Hurry!” Lavinia shouts.

  I run toward where she stands on the roof.

  “Is it done?” she asks breathlessly.

  I nod. She has not heard the record of her voice implicating her in my father’s poisoning.

  “You won’t regret this, brother.” She kisses me fully on the mouth. I’m still as a statue, repulsed, but not wanting to tip my hand.

  The howl of screamers pierces the night. Two transports with black carapaces strafe the Wusong towers as sonic weapons pulse from defending House Leontes sondis. The rooftop doors open behind us. Dozens of Leontes guards in silver and midnight blue pour onto the roof. I shove Lavinia behind me defensively and unsheathe my siren steel.

  An explosion rocks the tower, and I’m hurled to the ground along with everyone else. I quickly turn to see one of the House Ruska screamers in flames as it sails into one of the Wusong towers. Glass explodes, and flames burst upon impact.

  Phoebe!

  The second Ruska screamer careens through the sondi blockade. My younger sister leans out the cargo bay door, her auburn hair whipping in the wind. “Edmon! Jump!” she screams over the engines.

  I take one last look at Lavinia standing among the guards, alone and haughty, and then I run.

  “Edmon!” she shouts as I leap and dive into the cargo bay of the screamer transport.

  “Pilot!” Phoebe shouts. “Get us out of here.” The screamer veers away, dodging fire from the sondi blockade. I look out a porthole and watch as Leontes guards swarm the rooftop. Lavinia turns to greet them and is shoved to the ground. She tries to rise, and a guard smacks her with a pike. The figures grow smaller as we pull away. Alberich, too, is carried by the guards and thrown to the ground next to her. Edric Leontes, his face bleeding from two holes where his nose should be, is carried on a palanquin toward them both.

  Lavinia looks up at me in the retreating screamer, bewilderment on her face. Our eyes lock, and she realizes that I’ve outmaneuvered all of her betrayals, just as the sondi turns and I lose sight of them all forever.

  Phoebe collapses to the cargo bay floor, racked by sobs. I go to her. “Beremon,” she whispers through tears. “He was aboard the other screamer. He thought that it was better if we split our forces. If one of us didn’t make it . . .”

  I reach my hand out to comfort her, but she stands and strides toward the cockpit before I can.

  “We have little time to prepare if we’re to escape the forces of the Pantheon,” Phoebe says, wiping her tears.

  I raise my finger and point to an aquagraphic map display and swipe to the coordinates I want.

  “Edmon, that’s on the Nightside of the planet.”

  I trace my finger through the aquagraphic writing out the word—WENDIGO. A silence hangs thick in the air, but she nods, understanding that I need to go back. I have one last promise to keep.

  CHAPTER 31

  DENOUEMENT

  I drop from the screamer to the snow pack below. I never thought I’d return to this place. A part of me never thought I’d leave, either.

  “Stop there!” The guard in the tower fires his rifle. Too slow. I’m already on the move. I vault up the tower as the guard tries to get a bead on me for a second pull. Bang! His aim is wide, and I leap from the last strut into the bird’s nest. He reaches for a knife, but a well-placed finger strike to his shoulder makes his limb go numb. The next blow downs him. My boot smashes his weapon into pieces. I’m in a destructive mood.

  Rung by icy rung I descend the ladder. The journey’s easier than the first time I made it. My feet and hands aren’t bound by chains. I’m also different, stronger. I have purpose. The tunnel opens to the hollow cavern of the firelit village. Frost mixes with musty smell of bodies in furs. I’ve arrived during the sleep cycle so the camp remains in repose like an ancient frontier town. I remember what happened within the icy walls of this cavern, though, and remind myself: There’s no innocence here.

  I skirt the gang camps, through the alleys of covered storefronts. My focus is on the old man I once called friend. I make my way through ice and muck to the healer’s hut . . . in ruins?

  The carefully crafted igloo has been smashed to powder. Stains of ash from a smoldering fire, long since extinguished, streak the cavern walls. There’s no sign of Faria the Red.

  Perhaps I’m naive to think Faria must still be alive, that the old man wouldn’t let himself die so easily. There aren’t many places he could be. Scattered tents and sad, dirty men in furs huddle around fires. Poor souls. I can’t free them now, I realize. I can only free myself.

  This whole trip is a risk. Every moment spent is another chance for the Pantheon to prevent my escape from Tao. Fortunately, all eyes will be on the Combat, which begins within the hour. My absence in the arena will not go unnoticed, but the games must go on. I circle the outskirts of the Picker camp then cut through the sleeping bodies to the main bonfire.

  “Edmon Leontes?” a hushed voice asks. I’m on the man before he speaks another word. My hand claps down on Carrick’s mouth. Subtlety was never his strong suit. I put a finger to my lips, indicating the need for quiet, and slowly remove my hand from his face. I had thought Carrick dead, but everything’s foggy from that last day. Apparently my old comrade survived, though he’s missing an ear and a hand.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  As response, I point to my throat and the vertical line that runs from chin to clavicle.

  “Can’t talk. I see,” he mutters.

  I draw lines on my face hoping he’ll understand I’m looking for the man with the facial tattoos.

  “Old Faria?” he asks. I nod. “He’s . . . Edm
on, he’s not the same.”

  I don’t have time for stories. I just need to know where he is. So I shake my head and mouth the word Where?

  Carrick points to the corner of the encampment. A sickly fire flickers next to a heap of rags. I nod, thanking the big man.

  “Edmon?” he asks. He searches for something else, some other word of comfort, but there’s nothing. “Ancestors watch over you.”

  I make my way toward the figure huddled by the fire. The dark man stares into the flames. His face is skeletal, and he’s rocking back and forth, whispering a language I don’t understand. I kneel and take his hand. The old Faria would never have allowed me to do such a thing, but this creature is a mere shadow of what he once was. I look at his fingers. The bones have been smashed and have healed crookedly. I pull back the furs that cover his legs to reveal them similarly twisted beyond repair. This is the payment my father and his men gave him for his service training me in his mysterious arts.

  “Edmon.” The old voice croaks catching me off guard. “Is that you?” He turns his blank gaze toward me. I reach out and grip his shoulder. “I knew you would return,” his voice rattles. He reaches beneath his furs, and his gnarled hand pulls out the nightscript reader that contains the map of Miral. “I’m beyond healing,” he says. “They sent me to the Citadel after you were taken, after they broke me. It was hell moving through ventilation shafts with mutilated legs and broken hands. But I never lost hope that you would return and fulfill your oaths to me. The treasure of Miral awaits.” He expects a response. “Why don’t you speak?”

  I take his hand in my own. I run his fingertip along the length of my throat so he can feel the scar.

  “He offered me freedom, Edmon,” he laments.

  He lied to you, old man.

  “Know that I never would have taught you, if I felt you unworthy. That was real. The treasure is real. I believe it can return your song to you, if that’s what you choose . . .”