Chain of Secrets

by Jaleta Clegg

  I didn't want to. I didn't want to think about the past. I wanted only a future that didn't involve Tivor. She wasn't going to go away, though. Lanoni'lai was persistent, more than anyone I had ever met, including Lowell. I'd learned from him that sometimes it was easier to just give in than to keep fighting. Losing was inevitable.

  "The bond was forced. It was set up so Mart and I didn't have a choice. They wiped his memories so he wouldn't suspect until it was too late. And I didn't know any different. I didn't even know what bonding was until after it was too late."

  "You did not know who you were." It was a statement. "Yet the soul bond was real. I felt that in you. Like a ragged edge of cloth where something has been torn past repairing."

  I thought I'd healed the frayed edges of my soul. I was also good at making myself believe whatever I wanted to believe. Mostly.

  "It's complicated," I said.

  "Perhaps it is because your bond was never physically consummated." She said it as if she were commenting on the weather.

  "Maybe it's because Mart chose to sacrifice himself so the rest of us could get free," I said. "He didn't want me to die with him. He pushed me away."

  "There are those who think you are an abomination because of it."

  "They also think I'm an abomination because of my grandfather. I'm a half breed or less. And yet I'm narushui'zhri."

  "They are jealous of you for that," she said, smiling. She had a dimple in one cheek. She looked much younger when she smiled. "Perhaps it is your other soul bonds that saved you."

  That got my attention. I turned to stare at her.

  "You are surprised? But the other bonds are ones of your choosing. They are not the…" She hesitated, searching for the word she wanted.

  "Zhrianotui?" I offered. It was the Hrissia'noru term for the bond between me and Mart. It meant, literally, one life spirit in two forms.

  "Exactly," she agreed.

  "What other bonds are you talking about?" Her comment bothered me. Had the Hrissia'noru meddled with my life again without me knowing?

  "It is something we have observed with the villagers, down the mountains."

  She thought they were little better than animals. I could read every emotion she had. It offended me, but I didn't say anything.

  "They choose pair bonding," she continued, unaware of my feelings about her feelings, "without regard to the genetics of their offspring. And without considering future implications of their choice."

  "It's called love."

  "Love is not unknown among us," she said, a gentle reprimand. She was so understanding of me I wanted to spit. "But soul bonding, zhrianotui, is much more. One can be bonded without love. It is best for the children if the parents are bonded. It is the stronger force, more powerful than love."

  I didn't want to be discussing this with her. Their whole way of life bothered me. They lived off the villagers, whether they believed it or not. They took what they wanted, leaving useless bits of junk in exchange, believing the villagers treasured their garbage. I'd been with my grandmother less than a week, but it was long enough for me to learn that the mountain folk would much prefer their goods and food over the scraps the Forest Spirits left. They thought a visit from the Spirits was a curse where the Spirits thought they were bestowing some grand gift on the primitive villagers. The condescending attitude stuck in my throat. They treated me with a mixture of pity and deference that was almost as bad. Especially because I could sense the undertones of revulsion caused by my mixed parentage. I was tolerated because I was powerful, because I was powerful and narushui'zhri.

  "Why are you so unhappy here?" Lanoni'lai asked me, picking up on my emotions. It would have been hard not to, I'm sure I was broadcasting them quite heavily. Another reason I'd sought seclusion away from the village.

  I turned to study her face. The expression on mine made her uneasy. She looked away across the valley.

  "One of the mountain birds," she exclaimed, pointing at a distant shadow in the air. "One of the large hunting birds. We call them tre'asu."

  I ignored her, sinking back into my brooding thoughts. This time she didn't try to talk to me. She just sat near me. I felt her emotions and thoughts nibbling at me, though. There wasn't enough distance between us for me to ignore her.

  "What?" I finally barked at her. She was getting on my nerves. I was irritable anyway.

  "The others, your choice-bonds, who are they?" She turned her big innocent eyes on me. I wasn't fooled. She had other reasons for probing. They still didn't trust me. Stealing my memories hadn't been enough to convince them.

  "You looked in my head, you know them."

  "But it's different when you tell me about them. I'm not inoru'zhri. I cannot read your emotions. The story is not complete without them." She said it as if it were the most logical reasoning in the universe.

  I looked away from her, to the gray rocks of the mountain peak, now mostly buried in white snow. I didn't want to talk to her about Tayvis. He was the only one I could think of that I might have chosen to bond with.

  "Tell me more of the one named Jasyn," Lanoni'lai asked. "She is very important to you, is she not?"

  The question caught me off guard. "Yes, she is."

  "What is it like? To share a bond with her?"

  A bond? With Jasyn? Now that I thought about it, there was a bond there. We trusted each other. It hadn't been easy for me, not for a long time, but now I would trust her with anything. The thought brought an ache of homesickness. I missed her.

  "Tell me." She reached across the space between us to lay her hand on mine. Hers was warm and small and browned by the sun.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "You don't trust me." She left her hand on mine, though my comment and suspicion had hurt her.

  "No, I don't."

  "I am curious, nothing more. All I've ever known is this valley. I've never even been to the dancing meadow. You have traveled to dozens of worlds. I have never known any but my own people and their ways. I merely wish to understand."

  I felt the truth of her words. I couldn't hold her responsible for the suspicion of the others, or for their demeaning attitudes about me.

  "Where do you want me to start?" I had nothing better to do for the afternoon.

  She heard the softening in my voice and smiled again, showing her dimple. "Tell me how you met her."

  "You saw it in my mind."

  "But that isn't the same. Tell me, like a story."

  "I met her in a blizzard," I began. The rest of the story poured out of me.

  Lanoni'lai may have been a mind reader. She was also a very good listener. Once I started she kept me going until the shadows crept across the whole valley and the smell of supper cooking finally reached us.

  It didn't make my frustration go away, but it helped me forget. For a while.

  Chapter 30

  Kuran sat at his desk, papers scattered haphazardly over the surface. Some spilled onto the floor. There was every evidence of a crisis in progress. Kuran no longer even saw the confusion of information. He stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused while he thought.

  He should have been happy, satisfied at least. Things were going very well. His plans, set into motion weeks ago, were finally bearing fruit. His agents reported success after success. But something nagged at him, a sense of something not right. And he couldn't figure out what. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

  He had not heard from Jhon, not since that one transmission reporting the woman, Dace, was in the mountains. He should have reported back after he killed her. It was a loose end that Kuran wanted resolved. It was not an important one, despite the presence of the ship still in the port. The strange little man in the horrendous clothes had demanded another visit. Kuran had managed to talk him into extending his deadline another week. Sending one of his agents to sabotage their ship had helped delay their launch. Kuran had also arranged for the fuel to be contaminated. He was nothing if not thorough. It would be a
t least a week before their ship was even capable of flying again. His agents reported the crew suspected nothing. He had his doubts, but the little man Leon was still playing by Kuran's rules. He could afford to let that situation stew for a while.

  He wondered again why the Gypsy Council would concern itself with a Patrol agent. All of his digging had uncovered nothing that would suggest the woman Dace was connected with the Gypsies. Or any of the trading companies. She worked as an independent. A query sent to the Guild offices on Tebros had returned nothing. She was not a member of that organization. So why threaten all trade on Tivor? What could she possibly mean to them? And just how important was she?

  It didn't really matter, not anymore. She was dead. Jhon was good, very good, at killing things. Kuran regretted not asking her different questions when he'd had her in his interrogation room, but it was late for regrets. He would not waste time on them. Or on Dace, or Zeresthina, or whatever she chose to call herself. It was merely curiosity that kept him asking about her.

  There were more pressing matters that needed his attention.

  The distant sound of gunfire echoed faintly in the room. It had grown less frequent, but the rebels were still very much active. Kuran glanced at his clock. Only seventy three more minutes. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait.

  He opened the bottom drawer in his desk. He lifted out the hand weapon he kept there. It was an antique, like most of the weapons his police used. This one had been well cared for. The charge light glowed steady green. It was bulky, really too overpowered for the job, but it was what he had. He slipped it back into his drawer.

  Seventy one minutes now. He started sorting the papers on his desk, pretending to be absorbed in the task. There were many things demanding his attention. Reports from his police detailed the movements of the rebels. Reports stolen from other offices were mixed in. Most of them wouldn't matter in another fifty nine minutes.

  He had to stop looking at the time. He had to act natural when they came to tell him. He had to keep them from suspecting he had anything to do with it. He took three long, deep breaths and picked up the top report.

  Kuran had always been good at pretending. He was also good at concentrating. When the shouting and shooting began, he didn't have to fake his surprise. He also couldn't help glancing at the clock. Three minutes late. He pulled open his drawer and drew out his blaster.

  The halls were full of milling people. Most looked confused and frightened. He barreled out of his office, his blaster held high.

  "What's happening?" he barked at one of his supervisors.

  "They took Potokos and some of the others hostage," the man answered. "We heard weapons fired."

  "Where?" Which others? he asked himself silently. It would make a difference later.

  The man was already running down the corridor outside of the police offices, shoving people out of his way. Kuran ran after him. The rest of the police hastily jumped to join him. Good, he thought, it would add to the confusion. And make it all the harder to determine the truth later.

  They ran up several flights of stairs to one of the grandiose hallways that led to private conference rooms. Their footsteps echoed on the marbled floors.

  A group huddled outside one of the doors.

  Kuran skidded to a stop near them. "Who's in there?"

  One woman burst into tears.

  "Citizen Prime," another said in a shaky voice. The man behind her patted her shoulder as she rocked back and forth. She didn't seem aware of him. "Esua and Zotan were with him. They were discussing—" She stopped, seeming aware of her audience for the first time. Her face went even paler, to the shade of fresh snow. "Things," she finished. "I was taking notes for him." She reached with one hand for a stylus she no longer held.

  "And?" Kuran prompted when she stopped. The odor of smoke and ozone lingered in the air. Scorch marks ruined the carved wood surrounding the door. A thin trickle of melted metal leaked from the lock.

  "They came from nowhere," the woman said. "Two of them. They had blasters." Her face crumpled into tears. Her sobs were loud in the hall.

  "They were rebels," the man behind her said. "They had to be. Who else would want to shoot Citizen Prime?"

  Kuran wisely didn't answer that question. He directed the five men with him to either side of the door. He wanted them out of the line of sight when he kicked the door open.

  "Sir," one of his men stopped him, "it may be dangerous." The man was thinking too well. He could ruin everything.

  "And it is my duty to protect Citizen Prime," Kuran answered. He kicked the door open before the man could interfere.

  The scene in the room was hazy with smoke. Potokos slumped to one side in a chair, his eyes wide open but unseeing. A single hole, rimmed with seared flesh, marked his forehead. He was dead, as Kuran had ordered.

  Esua was dead, too, sprawled on the floor with half his chest burned away. One of the rebels lay face down next to him, a knife standing out of his back. Kioren moaned in another corner. Zotan stood by the far bank of windows, back pressed to the glass. Dagon, leader of the rebels and Kuran's plant, faced him with a blaster held high, pressed to Zotan's forehead. Kuran took everything in with one swift glance.

  Dagon began to turn to look. Kuran lifted his blaster. Dagon jerked once as the bolt struck home. He stumbled backwards, into the window. The glass, weakened by age and weather, shattered. Dagon flailed for his balance. His hands grabbed the frame, momentarily stopping his fall. The sharp glass cut through his hands. He looked to Kuran, the pain of betrayal in his eyes. Kuran watched him slip, his hands leaving streaks of blood behind. Dagon's wordless cry of fear rang in the room as he fell to the ground, forty feet below. Kuran lowered his blaster.

  Zotan slid slowly to the floor, fainting with relief. Or so it looked.

  Kuran ignored him and the corpses in the room. He crossed to the shattered window and stood, looking down at what had been Dagon. Cold air whipped through the room, tasting of rain.

  "Sir," one of the police behind him called urgently. "This one is still alive."

  Kuran turned quickly. That wasn't part of his plan. The policeman knelt next to the other rebel.

  "Turn him over," Kuran ordered. "I want to know who he was working with. I want to know what happened here." He wanted the man to die while they questioned him. He reached down and tugged at one limp shoulder.

  The policeman didn't argue, he knew his place. He grabbed the man's shoulder and rolled him to his back. The man stared up at Kuran. His breath gurgled in his throat. He coughed once, a bloody spray, then died. Kuran stood, ignoring the spatters on his leg.

  "Oh." It was a whimpering cry of pain. The woman, Potokos's secretary, was in the doorway watching everything. She stuffed one hand in her mouth to muffle her sobbing.

  "Clear them out," Kuran said to one of his officers. "We don't need hysteria."

  "What will we do, sir?" another officer asked. "The Citizen Prime is dead."

  "And so is Citizen Esua and Citizen Hydos," Kuran answered.

  "Citizen Zotan, too," another officer added. He crouched near Zotan. His face was pale and set as he slowly tilted the other man forward. Zotan's back was drenched with blood. A shard of glass stuck up from his side. Kuran met the officer's eyes. All according to plan. The man showed potential. Perhaps too much.

  "What are we going to do?" the officer who asked before asked again.

  "Seal off this room," Kuran ordered. "We will deal with the dead later. Right now, we must take control. The rebels must be stopped. Send Citizen Shaydoc to me in the reception room."

  "And the other members of the Inner Congress?" the man asked.

  "They will need to be informed. It is essential that we strike now, within the hour. The rebel leader is dead." He pointed at the shattered window. "Go find Citizen Shaydoc. Now." He pointed at random. He had to move, to take control of the situation, before they started asking questions. He briefly regretted hiring competent officers. Stupid ones were m
uch easier to fool.

  One of the officers left at a run. Two others were out in the hall, keeping the secretaries quiet. He could hear others, those who worked in the building, coming closer, asking questions.

  "Go to the reception room," Kuran ordered the man still kneeling by the dead rebel on the floor. "And find the other members of the Inner Congress."

  The man nodded and left quickly, wiping blood from his hands onto his pants as he left.

  The remaining officer smiled as he stood, Zotan's body slumped at his feet. "Excellent work, sir," he said.

  Kuran's face hardened. "You are under arrest for the murder of Citizen Zotan."

  The man's face twisted with surprise and anger. "That wasn't part—"

  Kuran raised his blaster and shot the man. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Another officer, alerted by the sound of the blaster, peered into the room. "Are you all right, sir?"

  "Corruption in the police force," Kuran answered. "This officer used the confusion of the fight to murder Citizen Zotan. We must root out those disloyal to the government." He turned his stare on the officer standing in the doorway. The man swallowed hard.

  "Loyalty to the Citizens," the man said hastily.

  Kuran walked from the room, stepping delicately past the spreading bloodstains on the floor.

  "I must assume the responsibility of Citizen Prime," he said as he walked into the hallway. "Until such time as peace is again established. Until then, the police are authorized to use whatever force is necessary to keep order. Tivor will not be allowed to descend into anarchy. Is that understood?" His words were like a whip to his officers. They straightened to attention.

  Kuran watched as they snapped orders, pushing back the terrified crowd that had gathered, holding them at bay. Kuran stood a moment longer, posing for them, allowing his grief and his resolve to show. Zotan would have been useful.

  He turned on his heel, striding purposefully to the door to the reception room. Shaydoc would be easy enough to dispose of, he thought to himself as he pulled the heavy doors open. That left Kioren, hopelessly incompetent and no threat, and Atera, who might prove difficult. Kuran's spies within Atera's people indicated he had plans of his own.