by O. J. Lowe
He couldn’t think of a single good reason. He pulled the trigger, felt the power cells click dry. Her eyes widened, then relaxed, as much as one in horrible agony could relax. Even near death, she wanted to clutch onto life for as long as she could, a chance she’d never given those in the stadium. Nick shook his head in disgust. “Lucky bitch!”
That was all he wanted to say on the matter, found her summoner and dispelled the Mykeltros back into a crystal. It wouldn’t be hurting anyone else. Not today. Not ever if Unisco had anything to say about it.
Some good should come out of this situation. You needed to find it in the unlikeliest of places, otherwise you’d go insane. He could testify to that. After a day like this, he felt like screaming until his throat hurt.
Chapter Twelve. The Final Tale.
“We live in a time of tragedy, where sorrow is becoming a constant companion we must walk arm in arm with. In a time when strong leadership is painfully lacking amongst the Senate and Unisco, though for once the ICCC appears to be getting its act together, the question that remains on the lips of most of the people in our kingdoms, is Coppinger right? She’s been the only one prepared to back up her beliefs with actions, not to parrot oft-repeated phrases with increasing tenacity while at the same time wringing her hands in an unwillingness to act. I’d welcome any sort of leadership she could bring to the kingdoms. Yes, her acts are extreme, but we have reached a point where after the actions seen in the stadium at Westwick today, I think extreme solutions are about the only path to true peace. If she wants to lead, I say we let her. She’s a magnificent woman and one that could truly bring about the change she’s promised.”
Corbyn Jeremies, Canterage revolutionary and sympathiser to anyone actively opposing the current system, speaking to the media.
He’d gotten away with minimal explanations, hadn’t revealed his true purpose here to the local police services and hadn’t been too forthcoming with the Unisco delegation that had come out either. Wasn’t any of their concern. Just made it sound like him and Frewster had been passing through, along with Frewster’s housekeeper. It wouldn’t hold up against severe interrogation. Not when you considered what had happened at Frewster’s house. For the time being, it would do. Someone would realise there was something bigger at work here, Nick was right in the middle of it and he’d have some questions to answer.
Soon. Not now. He wanted the answers himself before he started giving them out. Hard to properly defend yourself when you didn’t have all the weapons at your disposal that would be needed. They’d taken Saarth away, she was still alive but in critical condition. Frewster had already been bagged. He’d seen Ramsey and Helga leaving for hospital. Just him left now who knew what had really happened here. He stood, hands in his pockets staring at the battlefield. Wondered exactly how much of it all had gone out on viewing screens around the kingdoms. Too much for sure, probably more than enough. He needed to be careful, he hadn’t even activated his muffler before storming out there.
He’d wanted Saarth to see who it was. He wanted her to feel fear. Whether she had, he couldn’t say. All he did know was that she was near death and he was alive and kicking. The survivor once again. This was turning into a habit he wouldn’t want to break. Slip out of it and the end would come. It only took one mistake, he told himself, that was everything you’d worked so hard to achieve gone.
Recriminations like these weren’t uncommon at the end of missions. The cost of mortality always felt heavy when you’d felt it coming for you. With that out the way, he’d stepped up into the heights of the stadium, had found himself in the commentary box. Secluded. Out of the way. No reason for anyone to come up here. Perfect. He glanced around the cluttered room, shook his head. Frewster had been here not too long back. He could still smell his aftershave lingering in the air.
Nick slid the memory drive into the bottom of his summoner, placed it flat on the desk and watched the holographic image of Brennan Frewster appear in front of him. Dead for less than an hour, this might have been his last act. It almost certainly was, Nick realised, given his clothing. Another reason to hate Coppinger, another bright soul taken from the kingdoms in her name.
“Hello, Nicholas,” the hologram of Frewster said. It was uncanny, the same air of resignation that had followed him into death. He looked tired, more exhausted than he ever had in life. “If you’re watching this, then I never got the chance to tell you the rest of my story. Some circumstances are beyond all our control. I wanted to tell you it in person, answer any questions you might have had. I did intend to tell you it all, you know. And I’m sorry I cast aspersions on your character for saying you’d run off without helping me once you heard it. You live so long, you get suspicious. It’s not an ideal way to be, but you don’t want to take chances if you can help it.”
Nick found himself nodding in agreement. He didn’t know why. The hologram couldn’t see him. Wouldn’t respond. “But it is important, so I feel like you should know the story.” A pause. “Just one thing first. Have them burn my body as quickly as possible! Do not let any of my blood get loose!”
A strange request. Nick shrugged to himself, paused the recording and went to his summoner. He typed in the message, sent it to the medical team. He knew how to phrase it so that it wouldn’t be questioned. If Frewster had felt the urge to say it from beyond the grave, it must have been important.
He could never have been described as the sort of man to be unnecessarily dramatic outside being paid to be so. When he’d been on the viewing screens, he could be dramatic with the best of them. Dramatic, funny, serious, official… He could be all of them and more. The man of many talents.
Frewster contagious. Infected by disease that killed dozens in the stadium. Dispose of body immediately! No samples left behind.
That’d do it. A warning like that, nobody would question it longer than they had to. In a hospital full of sick people, they wouldn’t want to risk an unknown pathogen inflicting even more damage. They wouldn’t take chances.
With that out the way, he went back to the recording. Part of him was aware a fair bit of Frewster’s blood had stained his clothes, he’d burn them later. They were already ruined, might as well kill two storks with one big rock. He pushed play, settled back and listened.
“Okay, so as you recall, Amadeus King’s home had just been invaded by a ruffian with a kjarnblade. I’d tried to shoot him, it hadn’t gone too well. Such is life. We were cornered, I could see that in an instant. No way out. Amadeus had run, he had Maureen and Brendan to worry about. I pulled my trigger again and again, more out of hope than expectation. One shot might get through, he wasn’t wearing armour and it might drive him off. I realise now what a fallacy that was, but I could hope. You know what they say about hope? If you can get it to grow, it will flower. If you kill it, it will never return. I hoped. My cells ran dry, I turned to run but in just a few short steps he was upon me. He grabbed me by the throat, didn’t even touch me in doing it, just threw out a hand and I was thrown against the wall. I kicked and kicked, couldn’t get free.
I thought that was the point where I’d die, if I’m honest. Clearly, I didn’t, but what happened next was even more remarkable. The night man brought back his blade, ready to bury it in my chest, I’d made my peace with the Divines when another window smashed through. My attacker turned, I heard the hiss of another blade and I slid to the ground as his focus on me was lost. There were three of them in the room now, all with shining blades, two going for the night man with vigour and energy. You ever seen one of those swordfights where they’re tapping at each other and nobody really wins? It wasn’t like that. The two new arrivals, they went for my attacker, hammered their blades against his. It didn’t even look like a fair fight, they were faster and stronger, and a lot more skilled. I’ve never seen a fight like it before and I still haven’t today.
They killed him, Nicholas. One of them drove his blade straight up through his ribs and out the other side, damn near cut him in two. I
breathed a sigh, not entirely of relief, but I felt a little more reassured. Not least because someone who’d tried to kill me was dead. I rose to my feet, looked at the two of them as they deactivated their weapons. One was blond like the man he’d just killed, his hair buzzed short into little more than fuzz, his eyes filled with a wild look. I’ll never forget that look, Nicholas. Some things just stay with you and a lot of this did. Clearly. He was powerful, muscular, looked like he could be an actor, but you’d never mistake him for one. There was too much danger about him. Some people just look like killers, you can tell it from the moment you meet them. The other man wasn’t quite so remarkable. Dark skin, black hair also buzzed short, I remember he wore a blue scarf around his neck. Electric blue. Stood out from a mile, you know.
I looked at them, they looked at me. Thanking them felt like the prudent thing to do, so that was what I did. I strode forward, not displaying even a hint of ill-intent and pumped their hands. I’d made my peace with dying, didn’t mean that I wanted to and with their timely intervention, I had been spared a fate I hadn’t expected when I’d gotten up that morning.
They both looked more than a little uncomfortable, like they hadn’t expected this. I always think that’s good. Life should be about the unexpected. You appreciate things more that way.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, polite and courteous as is the style when strangers save your life. “As much as I appreciate your timely intervention, I’m going to have to ask you what you’re doing here?”
Gratitude is nice, business is business. We all wind up with a purpose in these kingdoms and it’s best to follow that purpose through its course. Besides, I was curious.
“What next?” the blond man asked. “Are you going to say you had it under control?”
I smiled at him, not afraid to admit to my own shortcomings in this matter. “Dear Divines, not at all. He was about to murder me.”
“You appear remarkably cavalier about it,” the dark-skinned man said.
“Everyone goes sometimes,” I replied. “If you fear death, then it will come for you sooner than you think.”
“Sage words,” the blond man said. “Someone fancies themselves a philosopher?”
“Not in the slightest. Just that sometimes attitudes are the inches that make the difference between life and death.”
“I like him,” the dark-skinned man said. “You don’t often hear someone so unenlightened speak with such passion and wisdom.”
I didn’t know what he meant, but he must have seen my hackles rise at being described as unenlightened for both burst out laughing.
“Don’t take it so hard,” the blond man said. “Not your fault. You can’t be criticised for what you cannot change. Too many do that.
“Who are you both?” I asked. Introductions and answers both felt long overdue. “And what are you doing here? Other than saving my life, of course.” A winning smile goes a long way. Sometimes you need to give a little. “My name is Brennan Frewster.”
“Adrian Battleby,” the dark-skinned man said. From Lahzenje? I wanted to ask, kept my tongue still. The Battleby family of Lahzenje were famous back then. They made weapons. Don’t think they do anymore now. Demand went out of the window for it, I think you’ll find if you look it up. Not entirely sure. Don’t really care. A Battleby was a big deal. The other fellow, well I think you’ll recognise the name even if you never met him.
“My name’s Canderous,” the other man said. “Canderous Arventino.” He couldn’t have been much more than in his early twenties at that point, a junior to Battleby for sure. I’m not sure if he’s still alive today. You might be in a position to know that more than I, Nicholas.”
Nick paused the recording, glanced out the window towards the stadium battlefield. He didn’t know how to feel about that. He’d never met Canderous Arventino. Sharon had told him he was dead, had never gone into the details. This explained much. If she’d had the same powers as her father, then it was interesting. Maybe there would be something useful on this recording after all. Not that he’d expected Frewster’s last words to be offering him closure about the family he could have had.
Honestly, he found it more intriguing than revelatory. Next time he saw Baxter, he’d ask him about Arventino, see what he had to say. That could be worth listening to.
“It was about that point that Amadeus burst back in, it must have made for an extraordinary scene, yet I will credit my old friend in that he showed no hint of distress or confusion. He just stood there and listen, as if dumbfounded by the stories he was hearing.
“We’re Vedo,” Arventino said, saying it with pride, like it was to mean something. I thought Amadeus’ jaw might fall off his face. It meant nothing to me.
“Impossible!” Amadeus said. “You’re supposed to be a myth!”
Battleby bent down, retrieved the dropped blade from the character I’d come to think of the night man, pocketed it. They both wore casual gear, the sort of clothing that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.
“I very much assure you, we’re not myths,” Arventino said. “We only let the kingdoms think that because it’s easier.”
“What’s a Vedo?” I asked. Three pairs of eyes looked at me and I shrugged. “I never heard the name before, I think it’s a reasonable question.”
“You’re happier not knowing, Mister Frewster,” Battleby said. “Why did this man come here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe if you’d interrogated him instead of stabbing him, we might know.” My breath caught in my throat, I hesitated. Those eyes were back on me. “It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked today though.”
“Really?” Arventino sounded bemused, like he wanted to make a sarcastic comment. Vedo or not, I’d have punched him if he did. There is just no need for certain things.
“Yes.” I decided to rise above it. “I was at the hospital earlier, my father died…”
“My condolences,” Battleby said. I nodded at him, gave him a smile of gratitude. Felt like the least I could do. Normally I don’t like being interrupted.
“But we were attacked there. Me. Him. They wanted to know about the Forever Cycle.”
I heard Amadeus suck in a deep breath, saw him shake his head in disgust out the corner of his eye. I almost rounded on him, once again determined that he should tell me what he knew about it.
“Now that is a myth,” Arventino said. “Allegedly anyway.”
“And yet, I’ve been attacked twice in a short space of time which I don’t believe is a coincidence. So, tell me, one of you. What chance that it’s a reality?”
I was still reeling from the revelation that my mother might have been Divine, not something that I wanted to share with these two. Who knew what they might do, I doubted it would be good for my health if they found out. Divine blood. The idea was preposterous and yet people had killed for less. Religion was as good a reason as any to start shedding blood, especially when it led down the road to power.
“It doesn’t necessarily need to be real or not for someone to believe in it,” Battleby said. “For whatever reason or another, they’ve gotten it into their heads it is real and that you can help them with something. They attacked you at the hospital, they attacked you here. You are the common denominator in all of this.”
He was right. I didn’t like to admit it, but he was. The idea I was a target felt… I don’t know how to explain it. I’d never played that role before. Always I was the hunter. Did it make me feel powerless? I don’t think so. It pissed me off more than anything. Right there in that room, I felt the grin crawl across my face.
“Okay,” I said. “They want me. We can work with that. We hunt them. We find them. We wipe them all out.”
“This man had one of our weapons!” Battleby said, digging his foot into the night man’s remains. “At the best, he’s a rogue Vedo. At the worst, he’s a sanctioned Cavanda. Either situation is cause to worry.”
“I don’t know what either of those things are,�
� I said. “Ergo, I’m not worrying about it for now. Just saying.”
“The Vedo are the guardians of knowledge, they search for understanding in the mysteries of life,” Amadeus offered. “They have power, but they choose not to use it for their own gain. The Cavanda…”
“The complete opposite,” Arventino said. “Selfish, unrestrained greed. They’ve been waging a silent war on the kingdoms for lifetimes, scheming to get into power and hold onto it. It’s only through our efforts that they haven’t succeeded.”
At this point, I felt like pointing out that if they’d schemed for lifetimes and nothing had come to fruition, they couldn’t be very good at it. Things change though, and nothing scuppers dreams more than people. Just because the previous generation had a goal of something doesn’t mean that the next one would be any good at carrying it on. Any chain is only as good as its weakest link.
“I still think we should kill them all,” I said. “Easiest way to wipe a scourge from the land. Find the source. Cut it out. Kill it.”
“Easier said than done,” Battleby said. “If it were easy to wipe the Cavanda out completely, we would have done it centuries ago. They’re like cockroaches. Hard to kill. You think you’ve gotten them all and from the last one springs many.”
“I’m not talking about them,” I said. “I’m talking about him and his friends. He’s got to have others. You said it yourself, if they’re rogue then nobody will miss them. Let’s arm up and…”
“I like how you assume that you’ll be a part of this,” Arventino said with half a smile. “Given you did so well against this one malnourished specimen.” It was his turn to kick the body of the night man. “That’s what happens when you abuse the Kjarn. It distorts and disfigures you, makes you a shadow of your former self. It’s a common sign in rogues. We have more sense, the Cavanda have more sense. I don’t like to credit them unnecessarily, but I must in this instance.”
