There was a loud, vibrating pulse as the crossbow bolt fired and hit Castor in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him to the floor.
Before he could get up, Quade swung the Lancet like a club into the Helix’s head and sent him rolling. He didn’t move after that. White Helix or not, when something as dense as an Antimatter crystal connects with your skull, you stay down. Holt looked at Castor’s limp body. It made so little sense, the suddenness of it, the shift from conversation to brutality, that he just stared in a daze.
Avril tensed—her reaction would have been lightning fast, were she given the chance—but Quade dropped the Lancet and drew both his sidearms in a blur and aimed them at Avril. So did the two burly guards near the door.
Avril froze, breathing hard and angry. She glared at her father. Clearly, this had all been planned.
“Without your silly little rings, girl, I don’t think you’re fast enough to dodge bullets,” Tiberius said as he knelt down to Castor, slowly plucking each of the rings off his fingers, being careful to keep them from touching one another. “But, if you try, Quade has orders to wound you. I would prefer to avoid that, your safety means a great deal to me.”
“What are you doing?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“During China’s Han Dynasty,” Tiberius calmly told her, “the emperor’s army had no crossbows. Their neighbors, the Xiongnu, had invented the weapon for themselves and refused to trade it, no matter what the Emperor offered. They knew that by doing so, they gave away their only military advantage. So the Emperor invaded Xiongnu, and took the technology for himself. He then went on to conquer most of Asia at the time.”
Avril didn’t seem to care much for her father’s history lesson. “This deal was—”
“Irrelevant. If you had listened to anything I just said, you would see that. True power is always taken, never bargained for. It is our way. We will take from the White Helix what we want. There will be no ‘deal.’”
“I swear,” Avril began, barely controlling her rage. “I will fight and—”
“And die, yes.” Tiberius stood and moved to the drafting table, setting the rings on it, watching them glow. Then he hung the crossbow back up onto its spot on the wall. “You said so before. But why?”
“These are my friends.” Avril seemed stunned. “Castor is my brother, you have no idea what we’ve—”
“Your brother is dead!” Tiberius roared so loudly it shook the room.
The sound snapped Holt back to reality, even Avril took a step back. It was the only time Holt had ever heard Tiberius raise his voice, and that in itself made it shocking. When he spoke again, the usual calmness had returned, but it was laced with heat. “These ‘friends’ of yours, this one in particular, did any of them tell you the truth? Did they tell you who killed Archer?”
Holt could see where this was about to go, the path Tiberius had intended it to take from the beginning, probably even before he’d arrived. He needed Avril, for her to rejoin the Menagerie, but she loathed him. What was needed was a way to make her question her loyalties. Even for Tiberius it was brilliant.
“Tell her, Holt,” Tiberius said, turning around, staring at him with the full rage and hatred he no longer needed to conceal. “Tell her the truth. It would mean so much more coming from you.”
Avril looked at Holt, and he saw it behind her eyes, could see her putting the pieces together, deducing what he was about to say. The emotion there almost seemed to plead with him not to. What did it matter now, Holt thought. The deal was finished, there had never really been one. It was all a ruse to lure him back with Avril and it had done its job gloriously.
“It was me,” Holt said—and when he did he saw a little bit of the light in Avril’s eyes snuff out. “I shot him, right below here in his room. I did it, and no one else.”
He could have tried to explain, to say what Archer had been about to do, but there was no real point. Oddly, the words felt good to say, not just because he was, in a way, unloading some kind of burden, but because he knew by saying them that he was sealing his fate, that it would all mercifully be over soon. He wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.
Tiberius nodded to the guards and Holt sensed them step toward him.
“You would defend the murderer of your own brother?” Tiberius asked Avril. “You would die for him? What kind of ‘honor’ did they teach you in that place?”
Holt groaned as one of the guards’ fists slammed into his stomach. The second guard doubled his fists and knocked him the rest of the way to the ground. Kicks followed, brutal ones, with lots of force behind them. He felt the sharp pain of a rib snapping, then another, felt the air burst from his lungs.
Through the haze of pain, Holt saw Avril staring down at him. It was a stare laced with an anger he had never seen from her, and the sight of it, the knowledge that it was all going to end this way, instilled in him the strangest emotion.
He laughed. Loud and bitterly.
It was enough to stop the guards. They looked at Tiberius questioningly. In response, the man knelt down, right to Holt’s eye level.
Holt said nothing, just kept laughing, even though it hurt. Something about all of it was hilarious, that the end result was exactly what he should have predicted, and yet he had come here anyway. He was a fool.
The world blurred, a mixture of pain and a dreamlike daze that seemed to be growing, and underneath it all lay relief. He didn’t have to go through the motions any longer. He could just let go, and wait for it all to end, and maybe, soon, he would see Mira again. The thought finally silenced his laughter.
“You don’t care, do you?” the blurred face of Tiberius asked. Holt felt a hand grab his hair and make him look into the Menagerie leader’s eyes. “You’re glad it’s come to this. I understand. Well, don’t worry. Before all is said and done, I will make you care again, I promise. It will be my gift to you.”
If only it were that simple, Holt thought.
His head hit the floor. He felt more kicks and punches, but the pain blended into the background, fading away, until there was nothing but black.
13. MISUNDERSTANDINGS
WHILE SHE WALKED through the Armory Pinnacle, Ravan tried not to think about her last conversation with Holt. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left him with Tiberius yesterday, and he’d made no move to contact her.
Good riddance, she told herself. He’d never done anything but hurt her. She was better off with him gone, with him not around to think about or miss, but the thoughts felt hollow.
Whoever that was that had said those things was not Holt, and the idea that all he had ever done was hurt her wasn’t fair. He’d caused pain, sure, more than anyone, but there was a time when he’d filled her with things no one ever had. A sense of belonging, a feeling of assurance, and a promise of something she had never wanted or believed possible. Salvation. All along, she realized, that was what Holt had meant, not just from the things she had done or the person she’d become, but from all the darkness she saw coming ahead.
What would it have been like to not be in the Menagerie, to just … exist? To live. To love. Holt had been the only person to ever make her think that way.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Tiberius’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten he was even there, forgotten where she was. As they moved, all the eyes of the pirates on their land-duty shifts warily watched them.
“No,” she answered.
“I’m wondering what it is you want from your Commandancy. It’s an important rank, it comes with important responsibilities. There are only twelve, after all.”
It was true, the higher up the ladder you went, the fewer positions there were. Only four people held the seventh rank, Overseer, followers like Quade, the master-of-arms, and Petra, the spymaster. The Consul rank, the second highest only to Tiberius himself, had only two, though one of them was empty, and had been for some time. The popular consensus was that that position was to go to Avril, assuming she ever wanted
it. Not for the first time, Ravan thought her a fool. All that power, simply being given, and she couldn’t be bothered. It didn’t matter, someday it would be hers. It was all just a matter of time.
“I could use someone with your tenacity to reorganize the Armory Pinnacle,” Tiberius continued, studying the interior as they walked. “It needs … fresh eyes.”
The Armory was the only Pinnacle whose platform was fully enclosed, sealed with walls of metal and thick wood, and always heavily guarded. Inside was what you expected. Shelves loaded with assault rifles, small arms, shotguns, grenades, and even more dangerous things like missile launchers and antiaircraft guns, all of it looted and pillaged from the ruins of the World Before. When they were treasure hunters, Ravan and Holt had helped fill more than their share of this room.
But the Armory Pinnacle was more than just a warehouse. Sparks sprayed from dozens of welding torches as Menagerie repaired and modified weapons. Nearby, ten pirates ran the ammo forge, using machines to compress and create the unending supply of bullets the Menagerie needed. The forge ran twenty-four hours a day, in four shifts—there was no other way they could keep up with demand. The Pinnacle also held Faust’s prison, though they hadn’t reached it yet. It lay in the very center of the old flare tower this place had been built around.
Tiberius was right, she could make this place run better. A part of her might even like it. A cursory glance revealed half a dozen major ways she could improve productivity on the repair line alone, but the problem with attaining a higher rank was that many of the positions that came with it were boring as hell. Running the Armory Pinnacle wasn’t who she was, and it certainly didn’t fit her plans.
“I was hoping for something in the field,” Ravan responded carefully. Being offered a Pinnacle was an honor; she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but she intended to state her intentions clearly and firmly. Tiberius would respect that. “A Zone Commander. Something dangerous, something no one else wants. Give me whatever zone you’ve had the least success with, and I’ll make it twice as profitable every year after that.”
It was a bold claim, but it wasn’t grandstanding. Ravan could deliver.
Tiberius nodded as they walked. “I guessed as much, considering you intend to one day challenge for leadership.”
Ravan barely kept herself from tripping at his words, but Tiberius didn’t seem the least bit wary.
“Your intentions are clear to anyone who looks,” he said. “Constantly requesting field assignments, asking for ones no one else wants, whether it’s treasure hunting or running a ship on the Mississippi … or finding my daughter. You’ve taken and mastered every tactical regimen we offer—indeed, you’re one of the most skilled fighters we have—and all of it is to put yourself, eventually, in a position to challenge for leadership and to win.”
“Tiberius…” Ravan began, but he waved her off.
“I respect the course you’ve chosen, your plan to take the power you feel you deserve, why would I be threatened? Do you intend to challenge me?”
“Never,” Ravan said pointedly, and she meant it. She respected Tiberius more than anyone in her life.
“I value your loyalty, there are very few I trust more. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you that. Sometimes I feel…” He trailed off, looking past her. He was a man who always gauged how much to reveal, always weighed the risks. It was what had kept him alive, allowed him to achieve what he had. “Avril has never been the most endeared of daughters.”
The thoughts of Holt vanished. It was an amazing admission, she wasn’t completely sure what to say. “I’m glad you find me worthy.”
“You should know I have no objection to you challenging my successor, even if it should be Avril. It’s how I designed the system, a natural selection where the strongest rise to power.”
Ravan was surprised. Not feeling threatened by her desire to challenge him for leadership was one thing, but not minding if it happened to be his daughter, the heir he was grooming, was another.
He seemed to sense her surprise. “A leader is only as powerful as the foes they defeat. If Avril does follow me, then she would be well served to be challenged by you.”
“And if I win?” Ravan asked with more than a hint of contempt.
“Then the Menagerie will be led by the most powerful. Either way my legacy is assured.”
It made sense the way he put it. She just had to make sure she made it count when it was time, and this reminded her of another obstacle.
“How did Rogan West manage to take two Pinnacles?” she asked, and for good reason. Eliminating the threat of the rebels was a necessity. If they won, West would no doubt take his position at the top of the Menagerie and everyone in Tiberius’s upper echelon would be executed, Commandants included.
“The same way they tried to upset the Handover Ward’s operation,” Tiberius replied. “They used a Nonagon match to get people off the platforms, then they struck in force. They took over both that day, Machine Works and Communications, electrified the Skydash lines coming into them, and have kept guards up around the clock. Quade estimates they have a force of almost a thousand.”
If that was true, it represented the greatest challenge to his leadership Tiberius had ever faced. It was impressive, really. Organizing that many, convincing them to bet their lives on the rebellion’s success. Rogan must be one charismatic leader.
“Now you see why finding Avril was so important,” Tiberius told her. “If my reach is shown to extend all the way to the Strange Lands, my perceived power increases. You can already see the momentum shifting from her return.”
“But will she cooperate?” Ravan asked. To this point, Avril had given no indication that was even a remote possibility. She seemed to hate Tiberius and the Menagerie.
“I … remain hopeful she will warm to me in time.”
“Even if she doesn’t,” Ravan replied, “you still have the deal with the White Helix. You should demonstrate the weaponry soon, tomorrow even, let everybody see what you’ve done.”
He slowed to a stop and Ravan studied where they were. It was the center of the platform, where the giant steel rungs of the tower stretched upward, and it was the only part of the Armory that didn’t have a ceiling. New sections of metal had been welded into place up and down it, a rail system for lowering, raising, and maneuvering what rested about halfway up: rows of wooden “capsules,” about six feet by six feet, fifty in all.
These were Faust’s “prison cells,” large enough to lay down in, they had no windows or light, and Ravan grimaced at the sight. She hated being locked up more than anything else, she couldn’t imagine being inside one of those things for even a day. Lengths of thick chain hung down from the top, part of the pulleys and winches that moved the cells, and hanging from them, his body wrapped tightly, was a person.
He was so still, it took a moment for Ravan to even notice him.
“A demonstration?” Tiberius’s eyes were on the hanging figure. Something about the intensity of his stare made Ravan look closer at that limp form. “There will definitely be a demonstration.”
It took her only a few seconds this time. Mainly it was his right hand, one of the few parts of him not completely covered in blood. There was a tattoo there, unfinished. If it had ever been completed … it would have looked exactly like hers.
Ravan felt a train crash of emotions inside her, every one of them in rapid-fire succession. Anger, guilt, horror, pain, sadness, shock, they all exploded in a thick wave that moved through her body and almost knocked her down.
Her fists clenched. She bit her lower lip until it bled, but she didn’t feel it.
A sickness swelled in her stomach, and all the while, her eyes stayed locked on Holt, hanging from the chains, his blood dripping down and collecting on the floor, and all the while, her mind worked to find some way to explain what she was seeing, because it simply couldn’t be what it looked like.
“Your reaction is nothing to be ashamed of.” Tiberius’s voice sp
oke in her ear, cold and dispassionate, but it sounded a million miles away. Ravan’s body trembled, she couldn’t blink, could only stare at him, feeling every injury she could see on his body, and there were many. “He was one of the few you were ever close to. I understand, Ravan, but, as I … explained to Holt, forgiveness is weakness. You know this better than most.”
Her body felt numb. She wasn’t sure if she was even still standing.
“Holt was a traitor. He did things there are no remitting.” There was a slight heat to Tiberius’s voice, the only indication of the burning hatred underneath. “He killed my son. He diminished my power, I had no choice.”
There were more than just bruises on Holt’s body, she could see. There were cuts too, they had used a knife. She shut her eyes … and the world swayed, threatening to overtake her. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t …
“‘Power unclaimed must be taken,’” Tiberius recited. “‘Power lost must be retaken.’”
It was the Menagerie mantra, and Ravan knew it well, she’d spoken those words at every ceremony for every star point she’d ever filled in on her left wrist. She knew the words so well, in fact, she should have seen this coming. There was no bargaining with Tiberius Marseilles, no matter what you had to offer, but she hadn’t let herself believe that.
Ravan opened her eyes again. She could just make out Holt’s chest rising and falling under the chains. “He isn’t dead.”
“No. He is very strong, but he always was, wasn’t he? Strong … and smart. It’s a shame, to think of the power he could have brought to the rest.”
“What happens to him now?” Ravan forced herself to ask.
“He will be executed publicly, and then strung from the Armory Pinnacle. A symbol not just to the rebels, but to all the Menagerie: that power lost has been retaken.”
“And the deal? With the White Helix?”
“When Rogan and his rebels have been dealt with, a large force will head west, toward San Francisco.” Tiberius moved slowly around from behind her, his voice cold and calculating. “They will claim the deal has been finalized. They will enter the camp there, welcomed as allies. And then … they will kill every single White Helix and Wind Trader they see, and take the Antimatter technology for our own. That is the Menagerie way. Deals and brokering are for Wind Traders.”
Valley of Fires: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) Page 13
