Cloud Rebel: R-D 3

by Connie Suttle

  It was my final act-before the curtain closed.

  I figured Kal would eventually figure it out and show up to take me. That's why I had to maneuver around him. I still had something to do and nobody was going to stop me.

  * * *

  I'd never gotten to see the grand works of art in the Louvre-the attack had happened shortly after our arrival. We'd arranged to be included in a guided tour, so we and those poor souls with us had already been marked for death by Phillips and his horde.

  This time, I'd taken a private tour while heavily shielded, just so I could see the things I hadn't before. I'd already viewed the Mona Lisa and many, many other things. The painting that caught my attention, however, was The Funeral of Phocion, by Nicholas Poussin.

  I stood feet away, studying it. Phocion, a politician often known as Phocion the Good, had lived a frugal, quiet life as an Athenian Statesman. Eventually, however, he'd fallen out of favor and been sentenced to death by a new regime.

  He'd been ordered to drink hemlock, after which his body was denied burial in Athens. At that moment, I felt a kinship with him.

  In the painting, his body was being carried away from the city by two slaves. There were no mourners present to mark his death-everyone else in the painting is going about their business and take no notice of his passing. Even in death, Phocion had been banished from the city he served for so long.

  Pulling my gaze away from the image, I went in search of those who were gathering to attack the Louvre. They'd formed an elaborate scheme to steal works of art and a king's crown, to feed the desires of an Asian dictator.

  Kal would come to the museum at the time allotted for them to begin their killing, thinking I would appear then.

  He would be too late.

  Those employees on the inside, who'd accepted a bribe to let the assumed terrorists in? They were already dead inside an office. They'd be discovered later.

  Folding space to a nearby building, I held my anger in check as I released the particles of eleven would-be killers.

  At the Louvre, it would just be another day.

  Except for one thing.

  I folded space to the museum, shielding myself from view.

  If this were a movie, then someone would put music to this scene-something sad and nostalgic. For what was and could have been, and what everything had come to in the end.

  Instead, there was nothing but silence as I stared across a marble floor at myself. There, the former me, aging and standing apart from her husband, blinked right back.

  I even heard tourists talking about the many, sudden deaths of people scattered across several continents. News programs had repeatedly spoken their theories concerning the disappearance of President Phillips and his Chief of Staff, too. Everybody was scratching their heads, wondering who could have kidnapped the American President with no sign or appearance of a ransom note.

  The attackers were already dead-there would be no blood on marble floors today.

  Elsewhere, the attackers' contacts, cohorts and conspirators were also dead. I'd made a note of all of them when I'd read the attackers. That, combined with information garnered from Phillips, Askins and everyone else, ensured that Mary Evans and anyone she worked with was dead.

  She'd been in charge of the Paris operation. I had no sympathy for her.

  As for Baikov and the Russian President? They'd be found dead in the same room at the Kremlin, their deaths attributed to some strange malady.

  In this time, Ilya had never met me.

  In this time, we'd never had the chance to fall in love and marry. I wanted to weep for my-our-loss. I couldn't; I had something to do.

  It was time to complete my plan.

  This-this last act-was all that was left.

  Good-bye, Ilya, I sent, knowing he'd never hear me.

  Cue the music.

  Lifting my hand (the one that Ilya's ring had disappeared from) and realizing what would happen when I exerted power, I released the particles of my former self across the room, knowing that I would disintegrate right along with her.

  Across that distance, just before we both disappeared forever, I saw her nod in acceptance.

  Chapter 18

  Personal Notes-Kalenegar of the Larentii

  I arrived too late. Yes, I realized the irony of it. I was set to release her particles. By the time I learned what she intended, it was to see the last of her-and her previous self's-particles spread and wink out of existence.

  I kept myself shielded as I dropped to my knees and sobbed.

  At the end, she'd fixed everything. She'd turned rebel to do it, but she'd accomplished the impossible.

  Then, at the end, she'd left us all, completing her self-imposed mission.

  She'd planned this so carefully, down to the minutest detail, and on another day, I would marvel at her skill.

  But not today. Today, I would mourn my mate, as was proper.

  * * *

  Opal

  "It's over."

  Bekzi and I were the only ones left at the villa, now.

  In the last wave of changes, our guests had disappeared, some in a group, others by themselves. Poor James-he'd shouted and wept when Nathan disappeared first.

  "This," Bekzi swept out his hand, indicating the villa, "It belong someone else, now."

  "The original owner," I agreed. "We're a few years earlier than when we started out. Earth's history-some of it, will take a detour and go down a different road."

  "Yes." Bekzi nodded. "Still," he added, "I make promise. I keep." He disappeared.

  * * *

  Larentii Archives

  Nefrigar, Chief Archivist

  I followed Valegar as he gently carried the replacement body Corinne had left in the Archives. I thought perhaps he'd lay it on a pedestal in the same room with those left behind by the Three.

  Instead, he carried it toward the section of Earth's history that had gone dark. There, he fashioned a glass box for Corinnelar's duplicate and set it carefully amid the chaos that this particular section had become.

  In all of it, the replacement body looked beautiful and pristine. I watched as Valegar's tears dropped onto the glass before he stepped away.

  Mourning is never simple.

  Or easy.

  It is a painful, solitary journey that we all take, at times.

  I love you, child, I sent to him. As do your brothers. We will stand with you in the days ahead, no matter what comes.

  * * *

  Dublin, Ireland

  Katya, the message began,

  I regret to inform you that your father, Ilya Kuznetzov, passed from this life earlier today while still in prison. My condolences to you and Sergei for this terrible loss.

  Ambassador Bespalov

  Katya wept.

  * * *

  One Year Later

  Notes-Colonel Hunter

  I read the message on my phone for the fifth time. Laci knocked on my study door again, telling me we would be late for dinner with the President and Secretary of State. I understood that newly elected Amelia Sanders was looking to fill her cabinet. What I failed to understand was why she might consider me.

  After Merle Askins' sudden death, the Joint Chiefs had resigned, leaving a gap that Madam President would have to fill quickly. Shaking those thoughts away, I turned my attention to the message on my phone.

  James was dead. James, Lieutenant Nathan Cross, James' companion, and two others had been killed in a diving accident off the coast of Hawaii.

  I couldn't comprehend that James was gone. The media had the idea that he and Lieutenant Cross were together and were reporting them as a couple. I always imagined that James would tell me someday, but not like this.

  "Come in, sweetheart," I said when Laci knocked on the door again. "I have bad news," I added.

  * * *

  Le-Ath Veronis

  Queen Lissa's Private Journal

  "What is it?" I asked. Renée Coffin, my third personal assistant, walked int
o my study with a cream-colored envelope in her hand. I froze.

  I knew that stationery.

  What the hell was Charles up to now?

  "It says," Renée began, "To Queen Lissa, from Corinne Watson."

  I didn't draw a breath for several seconds.

  Corinne was dead-she'd separated her own particles in the past. She'd learned, however, the trick the Larentii had for delivering messages at a specified time in the future. Instead of mindspeech, however, she'd taken another tack, making sure I'd sit up and take notice.

  Smart woman.

  Well, Larentii. I held out my hand, willing it not to shake.

  Renée handed the envelope to me.

  Hello, Lissa, the message began.

  I was hoping to be there in the past, when Winkler decided to hand the Pack to his son by deliberately losing the challenge. I was supposed to be there, I think, but things got in the way.

  What this means, really, is that if you love your werewolf, then you need to go now-don't delay-and save him from himself. I know you hold the power and talent now to do it, whereas you didn't in the past.

  Go save your love. I would have if it were possible.

  Corinne

  Without stopping to blink, I bent time and folded space. There wasn't any way I would ever not love my wolf, and I would save him now because, as Corinne so deftly pointed out, it was necessary and she couldn't. Belen would get a surprise visit from me afterward, but it was possible that he wouldn't be so surprised after all.

  * * *

  Karathia

  "It's a boy," the healer smiled at the mother. The boy's father, Braxlin Ironsmith, stood nearby, nodding proudly. The labor had been long and intense. The mother's eyes closed in exhaustion and she slept while the healer settled the baby at her breast.

  Braxlin had a son-his first child and a warlock to add to the family. He was more than proud and smiled fondly at wife and child.

  "The name? For the records?" The healer asked.

  "His name will be Ilya," a woman appeared.

  "We wanted to name him Brylin," Braxlin snapped, his voice stiff. "Who are you? Why are you interfering here?"

  "Braxlin Ironsmith, this child's name is chosen by the Mighty," the woman snapped back, her body glowing softly in the early evening light.

  "I have no faith in the Mighty," Braxlin hissed.

  "No? Your son will," she retorted. "His name will be recorded in Karathia's history as Ilya Rafael Ironsmith. The birth name has already been reported to the King. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."

  With that, she disappeared.

  * * *

  Matt Michaels, AKA Jayson Rome

  I sat on a comfortable chair on a balcony outside SouthStar's palace while Hank Bell strode around me. Criminals in an interrogation probably felt less intimidated. Every time he looked at me, smoke drifted from his nostrils.

  He was pissed. I got that.

  "Corinne did your work for you, and died for it." Hank wasn't mincing words.

  "She separated her own particles," I attempted to defend myself.

  "What choice did she have?" Hank hissed. "If she hadn't, Kalenegar or any other Larentii would be obligated. She merely relieved them of that responsibility. This shouldn't have gone as far as it did," Hank snapped. "If you'd killed the Lyristolyi who appeared in that meeting, it would have gone a long way toward preventing this disaster. With bodies to prove to the idiots still out there that neither you nor Colonel Hunter were responsible," he flung out a hand.

  "Then," he went on, "if you'd tagged those fucking Elemaiya before they left the White House, or had Keef and Schaff followed or any number of other things, all that could have been avoided. Somewhere along the line, you'd have figured out that a rogue god had arrived and was pulling strings if you'd done those other things and paid attention."

  "I know." I did know. I was supposed to be in charge, and I couldn't say how many times Opal wanted to argue with my actions-or lack thereof. She'd been there through it all, while I'd left Earth faster than a rabbit chased by a hound.

  "I'm relieving you of your duties there," Hank said.

  That caused my head to jerk up immediately. "But," I said.

  "You will retire the minute you return. You will make appropriate arrangements and fake your death from some disease or other, then remove yourself from the planet."

  "But who will," I began. He intended to leave Opal in charge-I just knew it.

  "Opal will decide for herself. I have other plans in place," he informed me. "Your services are no longer required."

  * * *

  Reth Alliance

  Ildevar Wyyld, Founder

  "I detest state funerals, especially when I detested the planetary leader the state funeral is for," I muttered as I studied my formal robes in the mirror. "At least I only have to focus on an elaborate burial box the entire time. It's such a shame that the creature ate Geethe and his companions, after all."

  "I've identified everyone in those images," Norian responded. "One of them-Wymarr Belancour-I still can't figure out what kept him inside that chamber. We've had a bounty on his head for a while. Fisk Boralus-same thing. He was wanted on Lyristolys, too, so I can't imagine why he was meeting with Geethe."

  "Perhaps we will learn those things in the future," I sighed. I had a very good idea why Fisk and Wymarr were meeting with Geethe-but I kept that to myself.

  "Geethe always was a particularly sharp pain in our posteriors," Norian observed. "Lendill is already there; he says the guest suite at the Potentate's palace is free of illegal devices and your stay will be a safe one," he shrugged. "I don't envy you in any way, although the food is good on Lyristolys."

  * * *

  Morrett-Private Journal

  I may never understand how or why I found myself in a long line of people waiting outside a castle door to be interviewed for employment at the castle. I had little to recommend me, after all, and as for explaining what I was-that was better left unsaid. The phrase hadn't been spoken, handing me from one master to the next to ensure my unwilling cooperation, and I hoped it had died with Fisk.

  At first, I'd stared in disbelief at the date and time on my now-ancient comp-vid. I'd been flung more than four hundred sun-turns into the future. Yes, I'd double-checked, asking the man ahead of me by tapping my question on the comp-vid. He'd verified the date.

  It stunned me at first-that revelation, but then the woman had achieved impossible things before, in order to deliver me from Fisk and the others. Therefore, I felt like a free man where and when I stood, and that meant I required employment to feed and house myself.

  Perhaps they would allow me to work in the kitchen or as a castle servant who cleaned chambers and hall. Those things I could do well enough, and perhaps I could find a way to buy new books with my earnings-my comp-vid was now tucked tightly in a pocket and I didn't intend to let it go.

  Whomever she was-the woman-had decided to let me live. I would do my best to justify her faith in me.

  "You-what's your name?" a man at the door barked.

  I made the sign-the one that indicated I couldn't speak. Then, pulling my comp-vid from its pocket, I tapped my name on it for the man to read.

  "Morrett?" he pronounced it by rolling both Rs. I shrugged-that was good enough. "Come with me," he beckoned. "I think the Prince would like to see you."

  Little did I understand at that moment that Prince Amlis would not see my inability to speak as a disability. As it turned out, he'd had a silent servant before.

  "You understand Alliance common?" the Prince asked. He used a normal tone, knowing my hearing was fine and that there was no need to shout as if I were deaf, too. I nodded.

  "You carry a comp-vid," he nodded toward my device. "Do you like to read?"

  I nodded again-with much enthusiasm.

  "I need help with my library," he said. "I need to stock and replace most of it. How would you feel about doing that? Are you familiar with history, geography and o
ther books of learning and lore?"

  My breath caught in my throat. Yes, I tapped on my comp-vid. I have many such in my comp-vid's memory, I added, tapping the words as swiftly as I could.

  "Perfect," the Prince declared. "I name you Chief Librarian to the Prince. Rodrik will outline your duties and arrange for funds to buy books. Mind you, I want physical books as well as those you store in a device's memory. Every Prince should have an actual library, don't you think?"

  Joy, such as I'd never known, swept through me and I wept from the intensity of that unfamiliar emotion.

  * * *

  James

  I felt as if I were opening my eyes for the first time. All I recalled was the accident and the panic that came with it-before Nathan disappeared in murky water and my eyes went dark.

  "You awake. This good," someone spoke. I blinked, discovering I was on dry land instead of a boat.

  Nathan, his hand grasped in mine, lay next to me. I watched his eyes open before turning my gaze on our companion, who sat on the soft grass nearby. Below us, the green-carpeted ground dipped and fell away, revealing rows upon rows of trees, all of them covered in the sweetest-smelling white blossoms.

  "Who?" I croaked. "Where are we?"

  "I Bekzi. I keep promise to protect," our companion shrugged. He was young-and old-at the same time. How I knew that, I couldn't say.

  Someone else appeared in my field of vision, walking up the hill toward us. He flashed Bekzi a wide grin. "That Gerrett," Bekzi stated. "He come to help."

  "Jamie?" Nathan turned his head toward me. "Are we dead? Is this heaven?" His hand gripped mine tighter.

  I couldn't deny that what I saw above and below us could be categorized as heaven-the sky was so blue I couldn't put a name to the color of it. Wisps of white clouds floated past that deepened the blue and gave me a shiver, it was so perfect. The air was so pure, too, that I couldn't fill my lungs fast enough.

  "Not heaven," Bekzi chuckled. "This-is Avendor."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  Breanne

  The crypt was dark, but spelled against damp and mold. No dust settled on this coffin; a warlock had seen to that.

  Sometime in the future, the beautifully carved and bejeweled box would be altered and its true contents hidden. I smiled at the thought before breaking the spelled seal and pulling up the lid with power. Weak light shone about the warlock's body, which was protected against decomposition.