Tales of the Spinward March Book 2: The Red Queen

by David Winnie

  He pulled her back into his memory.

  Noire reported to Tomas on his infrequent visits that Annika did well for the first two years after her husband passed. But he also revealed that Annika’s brain was expected to start to fail when she reached eighty. As Tahn predicted, Annika began to be irrational and delusional. Tomas hired a pair of sirens and traveled to Terra to watch her in a public appearance. He was driven to tears at the sight of her physical decline.

  Not that he was in good shape himself. Years of traveling in substandard ships had saddled him with severe radiation exposure. Due to the unique composition of his physiology, he declined at a slower rate than a common man. He knew he was to die in less than a year.

  He contacted Noire and found the family was already deep in discussions about what should be done about the declining Khan. Gart was ready to ascend. With Robert as Warlord, there was no question that a new epoch for the Empire was ready to begin.

  Tomas volunteered to do the deed. He would break the Law of Angkor, he knew. By the Law, he would deserve death. And by every moral standard, murdering his own sister also demanded his execution. But, as he pointed out, he was already a dead man. Tomas would also finally redeem himself. If just a little.

  The story was told and Tomas was gone. Annika was in her own head, alone, again. Her legs no longer supported her slight body, and Tomas tenderly lowered her to the floor and withdrew the knife. She held herself up.

  “Thank you, Tomas.”

  She looked around at her family.

  “I’m sorry, all of you. I’m so sorry.”

  “We love you, Sister,” Teresa lay a heeling hand of her sister’s forehead, drawing away the worst of the pain. “That is why we have done this. We can’t watch you deteriorate anymore.”

  “I know. For that, for not being strong enough, I am so sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry for growing old, Annika. We are all growing old,” Tomas said

  “I spoke with Dorian,” Noire whispered. “You and Yuri knew this is what would come to pass.”

  “I had still hoped it would not. Oh, it’s growing dark!”

  Annika collapsed in a heap. Her eyes began to flash from emerald green, to black, to flat green and back to emerald.

  “It will be soon. I need you all to know, I love you. Eve? I know you can hear me. I love you. Pico, tell your children Grandma loves them. Tomas? Teresa...”

  Her body shuddered. A puddle of bright blood and thick, grey electrolyte formed beneath her. Garbled noise issued from her mouth.

  “Noire? You most of all. I…”

  She shuddered again. Her sightless eyes sought her brother. In a pained, halting, mechanical voice, she gasped, “Noire, I love you.”

  Her breathing was shallow, panting. It began to slow. Her mouth moved, then she bolted back up on one arm.

  “Yuri?” she cried. “Yuri, is it you?”

  She collapsed.

  The Red Queen was dead.

  The permeating odor was grass, just grass. She took another breath, inhaling rich, earthy smells and sweet grass. She felt a breeze, heard the rustling and sat up. It was a bright morning and she lay in a field of wildflowers. Red primroses, orange poppies, yellow daisies, paperwhites. Violet irises nodded their heads and bluebells danced in the breeze, partnered by graceful ferns. A black rose bush stood alone to one side, silent and watching.

  She stood and stretched. Her hair was long and golden, unfettered and wafting in the breeze. She hadn’t worn it this long since…she couldn’t remember. She was wearing a peasant blouse and mid-calf skirt, like she wore that first summer on the farm. The farm! Low hills surrounded her. Perhaps if she climbed one, she could see where she was. She was certain the farm was nearby.

  Across the field she walked with ease, savoring the sunlight and sweet breeze. She left the flowers behind and walked barefoot in the grass. When had she felt this good, this happy, this satisfied? If only…

  She saw him. Up on the hill. “Yuri?” she said, then called out loudly, “Yuri?”

  It was Yuri, tall, strong and proud. His hair was thick and bushy, the damned moustache full under his wonderful nose. He was smiling a toothy grin and waving. She ran…She ran! Oh, how long since she could run? Up the hill and into his embrace, leaping and wrapping her legs around his long body, her arms around his neck. He fell and they rolled, laughing as they tumbled down the hill. When they landed, Yuri was on top of his bride, kissing her over and over.

  “Gods, Yuri, is it you? Is it really you?”

  It is my love, it is really me,” he answered. “I have been waiting so long for you. And now you are here.”

  “But where are we, Yuri?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but Annika, you’re here now.”

  “Whatever shall we do, my love?”

  “I don’t know that either,” Yuri replied. “But let’s do it together.”

  Epilog

  “Grief never ends…But it changes. It is a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, not a lack of faith. It is the price of love.”

  Author unknown

  The sun descended over the Gobi. Eve orbited the Temple complex and landed the shuttle a distance from the other multitude of ships parked here today. There were always those who feared seeing an Imperial Intelligence ship.

  Some of them had a good reason to fear Imperial Intelligence.

  Today was not a day for intimidation. Eve’s father had culled her impatience, teaching her the value of placidly waiting for enemies to expose themselves.

  She landed delicately, the ship settling without a bump. Noire sat in the cabin, eyes closed, meditating.

  “We’re here, Father,” she whispered. A hovercar waited to carry them to the place of the ceremony. They passed four Legions of soldiers in formal dress. It was to be expected, the Queen was one of them.

  The assembly formed one-hundred-yard circle around the funeral bier. The platform had been assembled with great precision. It stood six feet high and broad enough for the ritual. Prayer banners rippled in the wind; bright garlands of flowers arched around the platform.

  “Brother, are you here?”

  “Eve and I are, Teresa. We will be there in a minute.”

  “Well, hurry, it’s almost time to start.”

  The family had assembled near the pathway leading from the Temple to the bier. Tomas had fallen ill after the killing. Fearing his life was coming to an end, Gart provided a fast scout so his uncle could return Nutrize 11, his home in the Rim, in time to die surrounded by his family.

  Noire and Teresa stood in the front row, alone. Annika’s heirs and children, save for the Khan, Dorian and Violet, stood behind them. The grandchildren and great grandchildren filled the rear rows. The public funeral had seen two million on the ground and trillions across the Empire by holo on the previous afternoon from the Giza Palace. Today was for family and close friends.

  A gong’s mournful clang tolled. Every twenty seconds, it resounded as long columns of priests and nuns of the temple came forth, surrounding the inner circle. After they were arranged, a soldier strode down the aisle way bearing the banner of the New Khan. Crown Prince Gart Russolov Khan followed twenty paces behind, wearing his dress army uniform. As his mother had, the badges and ropes of his General rank were muted and black.

  Twenty paces behind the Khan came a second banner, borne by a veteran woman officer. The Colonel was crying as she held the banner high, leading her best friend on the final journey.

  Cardinal James followed a twin row of saffron-wearing bonzes, each wearing a different colored sash and headpiece. The Cardinal and the eight bonzes waited at the base of the ramp leading up to the platform.

  Eight soldiers bore the platform holding the Queen’s remains. The bearskin she had worn so fiercely at her coronation covered her body. The procession ascended the bier, holding her body level, setting her remains on the altar with tenderness. The detail officer drew his sword an
d called out, “Salute!” Four Legions of soldiers raised their arms and cried in unison, “HooooOOOO! HooooOOOO! HooooOOOO!”

  The holy men arranged themselves around the body and the hide was pulled back, exposing Annika to the open sky. Normally, the chieftain would wear ceremonial dress. The Queen wore her army uniform, her Captain’s tabs muted on her collar, a pair of pilot’s wings on her left breast. Cardinal James circled her body, chanting a prayer, waving an incense burner. He blessed her, bowed and left the platform.

  The bonzes began a chant, raising their arms to the body, then to the four directions. They bowed a final time, then proceeded to their place with the priests of the Temple. The bonze wearing the orange headset stopped. His hand straightened a lock of hair that had strayed (Not a hair out of place…) then bent and kissed her forehead before he departed

  The Khan ascended the ramp and stood next to his mother. He held a burning torch raised high as he cried, “Gods of the Grass! Gods of the Wind! Gods of the Sky! Gods of our endless Steppe! She has served you well and now she is finished. We return her to you now and demand you welcome her into your realm.” He shoved the torch into the space under her body as he had been instructed, then leapt from the platform, joining his family. The woods of the bier were carefully dried pines and beeches. They would burn swift, hot and smell sweet. Oils and perfumes had been spread across the wood, sprinkled with spices and incense. The Queen’s funeral odor would be pleasing to the Gods.

  It erupted with such speed as to almost seem an explosion. The entire assembly knelt, out of respect and because the heat from the fire would wash over then. Not one mourner moved. After an hour, the pyre collapsed into a crackling heap, eliciting a low cry of surprise.

  The fire burned until three hours before dawn, smoldering into a glowing pile of embers. Priests, wearing thick, padded shoes, entered the coals and journeyed to the center. There, using scoops, tongs and brushes, her ashes were collected and placed into an urn decorated with red flowers. Finished, they carried the urn to the Khan.

  In turn, he carried her to Noire. “Here is all that is left of her, Elder,” Gart told his uncle. “Please, honor me and our family. Take her to rest with our father.”

  Noire, now the patriarch, led his family into the Temple and entered the Ossuary with Teresa. Tradition said only siblings should be here for the interment. He and Teresa had agreed and let their defenses down so the whole of the family could bear witness through the mind link.

  The urn was warm in his hands. Yuri was there, of course, resting in the niche, waiting for Annika. Noire placed her next to him, then had an inspiration. He pushed the urns until they were touching, removed the long cord from his hair and wrapped it around the bases, tying them together with a loose knot and bow.

  “It’s time to go, Brother,” Teresa’s words lay lightly, but painfully on his heart.

  “In a moment,” he told her. “I’m not ready yet.”

  Teresa patted his shoulder. “I’ll come see you in New York next week.”

  He sat on the floor. The silence was a roaring in his ears and he began a recalling. That night, so many years ago, after they had been told of the death of their father. The Proctors had wakened the children, told them and sent them back to bed. He was terrified and found himself in Red’s room, crying and lonely. She let him into her bed and held him.

  “We’re going to be fine, you know. I’ll make sure we’re all fine. I’ll make it all okay, Black, you can trust me.”

  He had sworn himself to her that night and she kept her promise. Today, every Terran was safe, thanks to her. Queen Annika, the fifteenth reincarnation of the Great Khan, had secured all the Terran Empire’s future.

  Noire stood, clapped his hands and bowed. He saw the door to the next chamber. On it, Angkor Khan stood, fierce and proud. Beyond that door, the Great Khan himself slept. Noire ached to enter the door, to see with his own eyes the founder of his line.

  But it was not to be. He was not Khan.

  As he left the chamber, he thought felt a light touch on his mind, like a whisper in a fierce wind. “Good bye, Brother.” He stopped and listened, but it must have been his imagination.

  The family had departed, returning to their lives. He left the Temple and walked in the direction of his waiting ship. Eve was there and ready to leave.

  It was an hour before dawn, now the darkest time of the moonless night. He paused and looked to the sky. It was spring and the whole of the Sagittarius Arm, down to the Galactic core, was visible. Noire held up his hand, blocking hundreds of stars from his view. Covering more stars than the Empire had when she started. Now, we control nearly a quarter of the sky.

  A flash in the corner of his eye. He saw red, green and blue lights flare and disappear. The new Khan wasn’t waiting, but sending his fleet against a new enemy to the Empire.

  Annika would be so pleased.

  Noire gazed again at the stars, He closed his eyes and saw Annika astride her horse on Celtius, her hair streaming behind her, her arms open, eyes wild. Screaming her challenge to the universe: “VICTORY! FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS, I AM VICTORIOUS!”

  “Goodbye, Annika,” he whispered.

  He hurried to the ship. “Eve, prepare for departure immediately back to New York.”

  With the new war, there would be much to do…

  Books by David Winnie

  Tales of the Spinward March Book 1 “The Great Khan”

  Tales of the Spinward March Book 2 “The Red Queen”

  Coming soon:

  Tales of the Spinward March Book 3 “The Ballad of Katy O’Hare”

  Come visit and “like” the Tales of the Spinward March Facebook page. Artwork, commentary and news of upcoming books.