Graveyard of Empires

by Lincoln Cole

  “Don’t say that.”

  “—but I want you to know that this means a lot. No one’s ever really…”

  He didn’t finish the thought.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Tricia said.

  He shook his head. “No. There’s no way I’m making it out of this.”

  They walked in unhappy silence for a few minutes, watching the sun rise and following the train tracks. Richard could barely put any weight on his legs at all anymore. Jayson knew they were in trouble.

  “Speaking of which,” Richard said softly. “Since my arm is over your shoulder, and since I’m going to die and all, would you kill me if I groped your breast right now?”

  “Without hesitation,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

  11

  They stopped to rest twice. The second time Tricia went hunting for water and they finished off the last of their fish. Jayson hoped they were nearing one of the outposts. The mountain loomed before them in the distance, but it was still a long way off. It would take time to get there, and once they did it would take even more time to climb up to the height of the Academy.

  That was time Richard didn’t have. They couldn’t afford days walking in his condition. They needed one of those trolleys so that they could keep moving without straining Richard. And, with any luck, the outpost would have some sort of reserve supplies too. Rations, water, anything.

  By the time the sun was at its full height Richard was stumbling and nearly incoherent. Jayson and Tricia were exhausted and things were beginning to feel hopeless.

  “Just leave me,” Richard said after one of his falls. Jayson caught him but didn’t have the strength to lift him back up.

  “We settled this,” Jayson said, gasping. “You didn’t leave me.”

  “That was different,” Richard replied. “You were hurt. I’m dying.”

  “If you weren’t wasting so much energy talking,” Jayson said, “you could probably run.”

  Richard chuckled. They hadn’t spoken all morning, walking in focused silence. “I know. I have a problem. I’m seeing a therapist”

  “We have to be close,” Jayson said. “I wasn’t paying perfect attention when we rode up, but I remember seeing at least twelve of those stations. That should put them no farther than fifteen kilometers apart.”

  “And we’ve gone about three kilometers already,” Tricia said.

  “Feels more like three hundred,” Richard said. They stumbled a little farther. “I can’t go anymore.”

  “I remember this section,” Jayson said. The station is just around that next bend. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Good,” Richard said.

  They continued walking. When they rounded the bend, though, there was no station.

  “You liar,” Richard mumbled.

  “No,” Jayson replied. “I swear it was right here. It must be that next bend. Right up there. It’ll be around there.”

  “Uh huh,” Richard said.

  “I promise. It can’t be much farther. Five more minutes.”

  Once again, no station.

  “The next one then,” Jayson offered. “I swear, it’s just past that next bend.”

  “Trish, can I borrow your knife?”

  “Just a little farther, Richard.”

  “When this is over,” Richard said. “I’m going to gut you like you gutted that fish.”

  “Wait,” Tricia said.

  “No, I’m not finished,” Richard replied, grimacing. “Then I’m going to cook you over a fire and leave you in the woods for those wolves to find. And then I’m going to—”

  “Shut up,” Tricia said, “and look.”

  They did. A shed sat a few hundred meters in front of them, half hidden in the trees. A tree grew alongside it, hiding most of it from view behind a canopy of leaves.

  “Oh,” Richard said.

  “Please let there be a trolley,” Jayson mumbled under his breath.

  With the shed in site, they sped up, pressing to reach it. They were all excited and hopeful. Finally, things were going their way.

  Richard stumbled a few more times but they kept him from falling as they rushed toward the shed.

  As they got closer Jayson could make out the features better. The track split about eighty meters before they reached the shed with a manual switch. The access track went to the large sliding door for one side of the shed and presumably through to the other side. The shed was some forty meters long.

  The walls were comprised of rusted sheet metal, weathered with age. The sliding door wasn’t locked, but it took Jayson several pulls to jar it loose. It hadn’t been used in a long time. He threw it open, letting light spill in, and saw:

  Nothing.

  Jayson stood in the entryway, the excitement ebbing away. It was replaced with bone weariness. Just an empty shed, forgotten out in the middle of the forest. No supplies. No trolley. Nothing.

  “What now?” Tricia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jayson replied.

  “You keep going,” Richard said. He slipped out of Jayson’s hold and sat down on one of the rails. His face was pale, eyes sunken. “And I stay here.”

  “We already—”

  “Bullshit. This is game over for me. We’re making terrible time, and things are just going to keep getting worse. I’ll be dead by tomorrow.”

  “Then we’ll stay here. Look for supplies, fortify this place…”

  Richard was shaking his head. “No,” he said, then coughed. “No, it won’t do any good. If there was a medical kit here, then maybe. But not now. This is a complete waste.”

  Jayson exchanged a glance with Tricia.

  “Have a seat,” Jayson said to Richard. “We need to rest anyway, and there’s no better place to do it than right here where we have walls. We’ll gather some wood and look for water and see what we can do about making this place comfortable.”

  “Comfortable place to die,” Richard said, chuckling. The chuckle turned into a cough. “I suppose that’s something.”

  “Just shut up, Richard.”

  Chapter 21

  Sector 1 – Axis

  Argus Wade

  1

  “What’s he doing?” Yeol whispered, tilting his head to the side with a frown. His eyes were locked on the spectacle in front of him. His face was a mask of awe tinged with fear as he watched the robed figures move about the courtyard.

  “It’s a ritual,” Argus Wade explained, straightening his black robes and pulling the hood back from his head. They were ritual robes, itchy and uncomfortable. Everyone was expected to wear them for religious holidays. “Something the church has done for thousands of years.”

  “What for?” Yeol asked.

  “To pay homage to our ancestors. This shows our respect for the dead. Today, we ask for their guidance,” Wade replied. He considered pulling Yeol away—children weren’t allowed to take part in religious rituals until they were fourteen—and decided against it. Better to dispel his youthful illusions now than let them build over time.

  “They ask a pig for guidance?”

  Wade was silent for a moment. “Not exactly.”

  The porcine was snorting and squealing as a nimble, cloaked man led it to the center of a deep pit of sand. The pit was surrounded by several Ministry Officials, including the Minister Givon Mielo, as well as many of the high priests.

  Behind them were students at the Ministry as well as low-ranking priests. Everyone was chanting, filling the courtyard with a quiet hum. Even the priests who spoke low of the Ministry were in high religious fervor today.

  Which was reason enough for Argus Wade to keep his distance. As a member of the Ordo Mens Rea, he had a target on his back. Better to spend his day hidden from the people itching to form a mob.

  It was a beautiful day on Axis—thanks to the domed structure forming their sky—and a lot of priests would visit. Some civilians would come as well to offer alms and pray.

  Argus glanced
up at the dome roof above them, looking for any signs of wear and tear. In some there were lines or imperfections, dispelling the illusion of open sky. A few were even missing lights or had broken machinery, making the dome shape obvious. Above the Ministry, however, the dome was perfect. Open sky above him. Except it wasn’t. It was tons and tons of metal, trapping him like a rat in a cage.

  He hated these holidays. He hated the rituals with a severe passion. His Order, the Ordo Mens Rea, had no rituals of its own. When they were adopted by the Ministry they were forced to give up their old way of life. They were forced to accept the Ministry’s God as the one true God.

  That had never really bothered Argus. It had been over two hundred years since so he didn’t even know who their original God or Goddess might have been.

  What he did care about was how ignorant the Ministry was. They were proud of that ignorance, reveling in it. Normally Argus didn’t mind the life he’d been forced into. But it was days like today that made him truly hate it. If it wasn’t for his unique genetic markers he would never willingly be associated with something this primitive.

  He’d never even had a chance at a normal life.

  He sighed and gently squeezed the young student on the shoulder. Yeol was turning eight in a few weeks. Like Wade his enrollment in the Ministry was not voluntary. He shared the genetic markers; as such he would spend many long years as a test subject and victim. He would be looked at like he was different, a freak, for the rest of his life.

  The Ministry took him from his family at two months old and brought him here to live in an antiseptic plastic room with the other babies. He knew nothing about life except what the Ministry wanted him to know.

  And if he ever, ever, stepped out of line, they would declare him a dangerous subject and lobotomize him. He would become a Keeper Then he would serve as an example, a shadow wandering the halls with a vacant look, terrifying the next generation of children brought in as human guinea pigs.

  So no, Argus wasn’t interested in protecting Yeol’s fragile reality. Better that he understands early what would be expected of him. If Yeol didn’t view the Ministry and the Shields through rose tinted glasses then he would have a better chance of surviving in this cruel, harsh world.

  2

  “You ready to go?” Argus asked. The cloaked man was leading the pig in circles, letting everyone see it. It snorted every few steps.

  “Can I watch?” Yeol asked, looking up at Argus with big eyes.

  “You shouldn’t,” Argus said. He’d been put in charge of Yeol and five other children as a mentor this year. The Ministry’s sadistic program to give children the semblance of a parental figure. Wade hated performing this role and avoided the children as much as possible.

  “But can I?”

  Argus sighed. “A few more minutes,” he said.

  “Yay,” Yeol replied, turning his attention back to the courtyard below them.

  To think, only a few weeks ago Patrick Uhlren was down in that courtyard, impressing students with his virtuosic shooting skills.

  Will ritualistic slaughter be as impressive?

  The courtyard was comprised of cement flooring with two meters of dirt on top with grass and flowers growing out of it. It was constantly changing as the Church updated the selection to match the times. White flowers, pink, large green bushes. Once in a while, they even planted trees.

  For the ceremony today, a garden dominated the northern side and an enormous circular pit of sand decorated the other. The walkways overlooking the courtyard were full with everyone who couldn’t find room on the ground floor.

  That pit of fine grain sand—imported from a planet in Sector Three for this occasion—was already stained red from the morning rituals.

  An old woman stood in the sand, hunched over and frail. She wore long black robes and ugly white hair rested on her shoulders. A white bone mask covered her eyes.

  She was the Ritualist.

  Two other men came onto the sand with ropes. They slung them around the pig’s neck and the three men took up a triangular position with the animal in the center. The Ritualist removed the hood on her cloak; her face was a mess of lines and wrinkles and she was anywhere between sixty and two hundred years old.

  The grim smile on her face showed that no matter how many times she’d performed this duty, she still enjoyed it. A long jagged knife appeared in her right hand.

  “What are they going to do?” Yeol asked, his voice taking on a note of apprehension. “What’s the knife for?”

  Argus let out a long sigh and held up his hands in defeat. He couldn’t think of a better way to explain. “They are going to kill it.”

  The woman stepped forward, and with a smooth swipe of her wrist she slid the knife across the pig’s throat. It squealed once, trying to jerk free, but the ropes held firm. The squeal was replaced with a wet wheezing sound as the pig slowly fell to the sand. Its eyes held a look of abject terror. Blood spurted.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Argus could swear he heard a drip, drip somewhere.

  The creature thrashed against its ties for nearly a minute.

  Yeol had a terrified look on his face and his body was shaking. “Why?” he mumbled.

  “It’s a ritual,” Argus explained again, taking the child’s shoulder and guiding him farther down the hall. The next part was to cut open the animal’s midsection and drag its entrails out. The Ritualist would ‘read’ them.

  No one in the Ministry actually believed she could see the future, but the rituals were still common whenever important events or holidays were coming up. It was a source of pride and solidarity with history.

  And one which outsiders weren’t privy to. There were no civilians allowed down there now. They would be allowed into the chapel, but they would never see this courtyard. Such barbaric rituals weren’t discussed in polite company.

  “What for?”

  “History,” Argus replied. “And respect. These are ceremonies that we enact to show our devotion to those who came before.”

  “Why do we do this, though?” Yeol asked. Argus couldn’t think of a good answer. There was no sense in ranting to the child about the stupidity of people who held the power.

  Once the pig was out of sight Yeol seemed to calm down. His body stopped shaking. The beauty of children, Argus knew, was in how fast they forgot traumatic events.

  Or how well they repressed them. It was always hard to tell which.

  They walked down the hallway, passing other students and priests and guests. Argus wasn’t a teacher, but he was a respected member of the Ministry. Yeol was a good kid, ambitious and clever and very lonely in his new surroundings.

  He supposed the reason he didn’t avoid Yeol like the other kids was because he was the same age as his daughter—before he abandoned her on Denigen’s Fist. Just thinking of his daughter made Argus’s chest hurt. He was worried sick about her.

  She was safe, he knew. The Captain had promised that Abi would be protected, and he didn’t doubt that Captain Grove would keep her word. At least in that regard.

  “We just do,” he answered finally. He felt like he should say something.

  “When did we start?”

  “A long time ago,” Argus answered. “Back when the Ministry was founded.”

  Yeol seemed to think this over. “What about our Order? The Order Mint Raya.”

  Argus smiled. “The Ordo Mens Rea,” he corrected. “No, we never actually sacrificed any animals.”

  “Oh,” Yeol said. “But we’re part of the Ministry, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” Argus said. “But we didn’t start in the same place. They…adopted us.”

  “Why?”

  Because when they found us the first plan was to kill us all. They decided we would make a better weapon.

  “Because they wanted to teach us about the True God,” Argus said instead. “And because we could help them, too.”

  “How?”

  Argus paused. The halls w
ere mostly empty. He didn’t like using his powers where anyone might see—they were expressly forbidden from using them publicly—and it was the fastest way to become a Keeper. He might be a priest on the official record, but here in the Ministry complex, he was as much a prisoner as if they’d used steel bars.

  He guided Yeol into a side classroom. The door was unlocked, and he was careful to lock it behind him. He left the lights off and guided Yeol to the front near a window.

  The room was plain and empty, lacking any wall decorations or posters that would be found in the typical classroom. The Ministry didn’t allow the teachers to use any special teaching materials or posters.

  He gestured at the board.

  “Write your name.”

  Yeol looked at him curiously but did as he was told. He scrawled Yeol Din across the board in big capital letters. Argus waited until he was finished, and then did one more sweep of the room. He wanted to be completely sure that no one saw or heard anything. Especially if he was about to break one of the sacrosanct rules.

  “Set the chalk down. Good. Now watch,” he said. He closed his eyes, focusing on his mind and building energy. When he opened them again he cast out through his implant. The chalk lifted out off of the table, seemingly of its own accord, and floated to the board. He heard Yeol gasp in surprise but kept his attention on the board. He didn’t want to lose his focus.

  He scrawled Argus Wade in chalk on the board with the little piece and then pulled the chalk through the air into his hand.

  “How did you do that?” Yeol asked, breathless.

  “That was nothing. Here. Think of a number,” Wade said. He stepped forward—he couldn’t multitask with his implant—and handwrote ‘52’ on the board. “Now a color—” orange “—and now think of any random thing.”

  Argus hesitated a second and scribbled spaghetti on the board. Then he set the piece down. Yeol’s jaw was hanging open as he watched.

  “How can you do that?” Yeol asked. “You can read my mind?”

  “Surface thoughts,” Wade said. He rubbed a bead of sweat from his brow and fought down the sick feeling that came whenever he used the implant. He wasn’t good at it, didn’t do it often, but it served very well for parlor tricks. “And I can move some objects. But they have to be really small.”