by PJ McDermott
Two guards seized hold of Jess by the arms and dragged her to face him. Sequana gripped her head on either side and pushed his fingers and thumbs roughly against her skin.
“What are you doing?” asked Jess in a strained voice. “You’re hurting me.”
Sequana released her and addressed his puzzled companions. “Demons have metal inside their heads. You must always do this when you meet any claiming to be from Castaliena.”
Jess’s tone was indignant. “There is no metal in my head! I am as I said, a visitor to your country. I would have hoped for better treatment from one who is a leader of his people.”
Mack emptied his rucksack on a table with a clatter, revealing a collection of jars and pots. He grinned widely. “Already, we have found plants that may produce great wealth in our land.”
Sequana took one of the jars, opened it, and poured the contents onto the table. He pushed the fibrous roots around with his fingers. “Weeds,” he said. “You are collecting weeds?”
“Not just any weeds. The ones you have spilled onto the table are rare even in your land. When chewed, they aid digestion and relieve disquiet of the nerves. As well, they increase sexual vigor, or so your priests tell us,” said Jess.
“Ha! I would not trust anything those brickshaks tell you. You are more likely to be poisoned than cured eating these!”
Jess smiled. “We will try them out first on some of our own clerics then.”
The Pax leader grunted. “You will eat with me tonight, and we will talk. I would hear more of your country. If I am pleased, I will arrange for you to be escorted to Birregur in the morning. Your yarraks will be watered and fed and will be returned to you before you go. This one will show you where you can sleep.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Their guide led them to a room containing only a rickety bed, the mandatory painting of Balor hanging on the wall, a basin of cold water and a rag to dry themselves.
“Just as well the fearless leader knows nothing about implants,” said Jess. “I was a little worried there for a while.”
“You handled it brilliantly—just the right amount of outrage, but isn’t it strange he hasn’t placed us under guard?”
Jess shrugged. “He doesn’t have to. I imagine there aren’t too many black faces around here. We won’t be able to go anywhere without him knowing.”
Loud shouts and cheers erupted from below. Mack looked through a narrow slit in the wall, overlooking the cavern they’d just left. “Jess, come over here,” he said. A band of warriors led a wagon train into the arena. On the back of one cart, a figure grasped the bars of his cage. “Have a look at that prison transport. Isn’t that—?”
“Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth,” finished Jess, her heart dropping. “A Pharlaxian scouting party must have found him.”
“Yes, but look!” said Mack, pointing at the leading troopers.
Escape
The soldiers leading the Pharlaxians into the arena wore dark plasteel armor on their bulky chests, arms, and legs. Spiked helmets with closed visors concealed their faces.
“Bikashi troops,” said Jess. “What the hell are they doing here?”
“Yes, and guess who that is out front,” Mack said. The leading rider sat astride his yarrak with his visor open, surveying the crowd with cold eyes.
“I reckon I know that face—Vogel—the one that Hickory had her run-in with. I pulled his file before we left Ezekan. He’s an area commander of the Bikashi Shock Pack. This guy’s been involved in a dozen guerrilla attacks on Aligned planets over the years.”
“The last I heard he’d been arrested by the peacekeepers.” Jess’s eyes were wide.
“A temporary situation, it seems. They say his troops idolize him.” Mack shrugged. “I guess as far as they’re concerned he’s a war hero.”
“He’ll know we’re from Earth as soon as he spots us,” said Jess.
“We need to get away before he does.”
“Agreed, but there’s something I need to do first. I don’t want to put your life any more at risk than it already is…” She avoided his eyes.
Mack grinned at her. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m in this for the long haul, remember?”
Jess blushed. “We should be all right until the evening meal. If we don’t turn up for that, Sequana will want to know why. We need to keep out of sight in the meantime, but I want to find out what their plan is for Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth.”
The crowd below were becoming more agitated. They crammed against the cart that held the Teacher, pumping fists into the air and shouting abuse. The Bikashi column pushed its way through and came to a standstill in front of the dais.
“Bring the sorcerer to me,” commanded Sequana.
Two soldiers dragged Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth through the onlookers, onto the platform and threw him down on the floor.
“He doesn’t look so good,” whispered Mack.
The feathery down on the Teacher’s head was clotted with blood, and his shirtfront was stained red, but Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth was unbowed and stared stoically into the eyes of his captors.
Sequana glared back but could not maintain eye contact for long. He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. The rebel leader raised his arms to the assembled crowd. All became quiet, and Sequana’s voice echoed around the hall.
“My brothers, this is Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth, the fortune teller who claims to speak in the name of Balor, now brought before us to receive judgment. You know the tricks this man has conjured to convert the gullible. He professes to heal the sick. He says he can cure the lame and feed the hungry!” The crowd erupted in laughter. “All of these are but deceit from a master liar, one who serves the purposes of the enemy, of the evil spirits, and of the destroyer of our faith. Look at him cowering here, powerless before us.”
Sequana pointed at the preacher and sneered. “Where are your miracles now?”
Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth continued to stare at the Pharlaxian.
“Have you nothing to say, master of lies?” Sequana folded his arms and looked out over his audience who had cheered him at every turn.
“The proof of who I am is not in what I say but in what I do and in how I serve Balor.” The voice was clear and strong and carried over the crowd to Jess and Mack in their chamber.
Those watching hissed and jeered. Sequana motioned to the captain of the guard. “Take him away and watch him well. We will have some sport with this one tonight.”
Jess made for the door. “Stay here,” she commanded Mack. “I want to hear what the leaders have to say. It will be easier for one Castalie to mingle in the crowd than two.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in arguing with you, is there? Just be careful,” said Mack, as Jess pulled up her hood and slipped out.
The crowd surrounding the dais had thinned, but the leaders remained deep in discussion as Jess approached. She stopped twenty meters short of the platform and focused her SIM on the group ahead, straining to pick up their conversation. One of the Avanauri leaders, with a hawk nose and wearing a feathered cape, rose to his feet and addressed the others. “I do not like the idea of making use of this mystic to further our cause. He is clearly insane, and no-one who is not could believe otherwise.”
Another nodded his agreement. “He has only a small band of followers—hardly enough for us to worry about, surely.”
Sequana shook his head and spoke with authority. “He is a symbol of change, but not the change we would like to see. This man represents a future world where the Book of Balor is nothing more than a child’s storybook. I can assure you, I have studied this man well. He will become a threat to our cause if he is not dealt with now.”
He looked into the faces of the movement’s six leaders, holding each one’s eyes for a moment. “Am I not Sequana, the one chosen to lead the people back to the ways of Balor? Hear what I say. This imposter is to be torn asunder in front of the gates of Ezekan as a warning and a sign that such will be the fate of all
unbelievers! We must strike terror into the hearts of our enemies.”
Jess retreated to her room and relayed the discussion to Mack. “We have to do something.” She didn’t know why the thought of Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth suffering a painful death terrified her so much. In her work, she had witnessed death many times, had herself dealt out death. But this is different. Her nails bit painfully into her palms.
Mack saw the anguish in her eyes and spoke softly. “I’d like to, but what can we do? You know the IA has a policy of non-interference in local affairs.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Jess. “The Agency is well known to ‘interfere’ when their best interests are threatened. In any case, this is a good person, Mack. There’s something special about him. Whether he’s the Son of God or not, I don’t know …” She faltered, then found strength again. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stand by and watch him being drawn and quartered.”
Mack gripped Jess’s arm as she tried to brush past him. “Hold on Jess, let’s sit down and think this through.” He guided her to the table and took the chair opposite. “If we’re going to do this, we need a plan.”
Jess smiled. “You’re quite a guy, you know that?”
Mack left an hour later to try to find where they were holding Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth. Jess went foraging for the supplies they would need when they made their escape—if we make our escape. The plan was flimsy, but it was the best they could come up with. If it didn’t work out, they would likely both be dead by morning. She wished Hickory were here with them. She would know what to do.
Some traders from towns and villages in the district who were sympathetic to the Pharlaxian cause had been permitted to set up stalls in the caldera outside. Jess bought several mid-sized water carriers and a quantity of dried crab and fruits without any questions being asked. She returned via the stables and checked on their yarraks. They were well cared for, but happy to see her. She hid her purchases under some bales of goldengrass in the loft. With a little luck, they would go undiscovered until they were ready to make their escape.
When she returned, Mack was waiting with the news that the Teacher was being held in one of the dungeons below ground level. The guard he had spoken to was prepared to take them to see him—for a sizable fee. “I told him you were his consort and wanted to attend to his injuries.”
An hour later, they made their way to the rendezvous point. The guard waiting for them was a heavy set naur with hands like shovels and a ragged scar on one cheek. He fidgeted nervously and glanced around as though expecting to be discovered at any second. Mack pressed some coins into his hand to forestall any change of mind and whispered, “Double this when we’re done.”
The guard’s moist pink tongue darted across his lips at the sight of the gold glinting in his hand. He nodded, then hurried them into the lockup.
Closing the door behind them, Scarface removed a torch from the wall and led them down a spiral staircase. The flickering light cast eerie shadows over the walls, and their footsteps echoed hollowly. They emerged into a room containing half-a-dozen cells to hold prisoners awaiting trial, or death. Chains, irons, and other instruments of torture hung on the walls, and two soldiers sat at a table playing cards. They looked up as the trio approached. Scarface spoke, gesturing towards Mack and Jess. The taller of the two took a key from the wall and handed it to their naur with a guttural grunt.
Scarface led them past the empty cells to a solid metal door. He peered through a peephole, then unlocked the door that opened into a large, darkened room. Inside, they could just make out a steel-barred cage. Scarface walked a few paces into the gloom and Mack drew the small club from inside his jacket and readied himself to strike.
Scarface thrust his torch forward, swinging it left and right. He stepped a pace forwards, and the cage was fully illuminated. It was empty. He gasped and shouted in alarm for his companions. Mack thrust his club back inside his jacket just as the other two came running up. They stared wide-eyed, but there was no-one to be seen.
The soldiers fell into an argument, with the other two accusing Scarface of somehow spiriting the prisoner away.
Jess intervened. “It’s not possible,” she said. “How could he have bypassed you without you seeing him?”
“Unless you were asleep at your station,” said Mack.
The three guards looked aghast. Anyone investigating the escape would come to the same conclusion. They blustered that the Teacher must have used magic to disappear. They swore they had remained awake at all times.
“Look,” said Mack. “You might be telling the truth, but I don’t think Sequana-sѐr-Kira will believe you. If I were you, I’d get out of here, fast.”
They stared at one another, then Scarface moved hurriedly to the door. The other two followed on his heels.
Jess put her finger to her lips. “Wait,” she whispered to Mack. When the guards had gone, she pointed to the cell, and both went inside and searched the walls inch by inch. There was nothing. No sign of any loose stones or any possible means of escape, or anything to indicate that Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth had ever been there.
“Either he disappeared into thin air or he left by the door,” said Mack. “I’m inclined to believe the latter.”
“Which means someone took the keys and let him out,” said Jess, pacing back and forth in excitement
“Or he had a key on him when he was put in here. My guess is one of the guards let him out while the others were asleep.” Mack laughed. “In any case, he’s gone. Probably halfway to Ezekan by now. I don’t think Sequana is going to be happy when he finds out. We should get out of here straight away.”
“I agree.” She nodded quickly. We’ve learned as much as we can. We need to get back to Ezekan. It’s important the information on the Bikashi presence here gets to the IA as soon as possible.”
“We’ll need a disguise to get through the gates and past the lookouts,” said Mack.
“I think I know where to get it. I’ll meet you where the yarraks are being kept,” said Jess.
Mack drew his cloak around him and made his way over to the stables. The place was empty as most of the naurs and nauris were preparing for the evening festivities. He saddled their mounts, then looked around inquisitively.
A short time afterward, Jess returned with two ankle length garments with long sleeves she had bought from a stallholder at the market. “Put these on. It’ll help us blend in.”
“And here’s my contribution,” said Mack, holding out two Bikashi helmets and breastplates. At Jess’s astonished look, he explained. “There’s a row of these hanging up in the next room. The helmets smell a bit, but we won’t have to wear them for long.”
The guards didn’t give them a second look as they rode past, and out of the caldera.
Ultimatum
The High Reeve of Avanaux looked again at the scrap of paper on his desk. A singularly uninspiring piece of drivel, but dangerous. He had questioned the messenger at length on its origin but could elicit nothing more than that a desert rider in Tontine had given it to him along with some coins to ensure its safe delivery. The naur had been tortured but to no avail. He died taking any secrets to the grave with him. Yonni-sѐr-Abelen regretted the necessity, but he had to make sure the messenger was keeping nothing back.
The letter was signed Sequana-Sèr-Kira, leader of Balor’s true people of Prosperine. Impertinent braggart, thought sѐr-Abelen, then re-read the message once more. In the name of our God, Balor the magnificent… blah, blah, blah. He skipped the rest of the self-acclamations, noting only that the author was at pains to point out his close relationship with the Supreme Being. Unless, the despotic rulers of Ezekan, and their priests, cease all government activities and stand down in favor of the Party of the Pharlaxians, the leader of Balor’s true people will wage a holy and vengeful war. You have until dawn tomorrow. Send your answer with the one who brought this letter. If I have not heard from you by midday, on your head be the consequences.
He shifted his gaze t
o the icon of Balor, hanging on the wall behind his desk. The central question was whether this was a minor uprising that he could crush with his own resources or whether a heavier response would be needed. He pondered the letter and recalled his earlier conversation with Josipe-sѐr-Amagon. If the Pax truly had help from off-worlders, then it was beyond him. He sighed and pushed the icon to one side then placed his palm on the sensor pad.
A section of the wooden paneling silently slid open to reveal a hidden room. He passed over the threshold and the door closed behind him. He shivered, fearing the power of the alien technology that could open locked doors without his touching them and which allowed him to observe his office while he remained invisible to those outside. The Earthlings had installed this secret room shortly after they arrived so that they could speak to their distant scientists. He did not know why or how it worked, but he did know how to make it work.
He went over to the bureau, took a key from the drawer, inserted it into a slot on top of the desk and turned it. A small panel slid open revealing a screen and a touch pad. Hesitantly, he sat down and placed his hand on the pad. After a few minutes, the screen glowed to life, and George Lace smiled out at him.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, High Reeve. To what do I owe this honor?”
Yonni-sѐr-Abelen stifled a gasp. He had known what to expect, but it was unnerving. “I have received an ultimatum from the Pharlaxians led by the rebel, Sequana-Sèr-Kira. If I don’t stand down my government, he threatens all-out war.”
The admiral pursed his lips. “That isn’t good news, Yonni, but I’m sure you will be able to deal with it.”
The High Reeve snapped back, “I wouldn’t have called if it was something trivial!”
“Indeed. I am somewhat surprised. You know our policy of non-intervention in internal matters. That was made plain when we outlined the scope of our support for your administration. But please, continue.” His hands formed a steeple and he tapped his bottom lip, smiling.
