by TR Cameron
“The plan was necessary. We executed it because we needed to. We all know we may have to sacrifice ourselves toward a larger goal at any time. It’s part of the gig. You demean their sacrifice by trying to take responsibility for it.”
Cross tried to speak, but Kate cut him off before he could get more than a syllable out. “No, no. I get it. You’re supposed to be all-knowing and never make a mistake. Even if that were the case, and even if you’d gone into this mission understanding that we would lose that ship, it was still the right thing to do. I’m not saying that the sailors under your command are pawns to sacrifice on a whim. Each life is precious. But every piece has a role, and sometimes that role is to protect the more powerful pieces.”
She put a finger on his lips. “Don’t speak. Quit beating yourself up over things that are not your fault and go sleep. You have plenty of actual flaws to worry about without inventing more. If you’d like, I can list them. In fact, if you aren’t moving toward your room in twenty seconds, I’m going to spend the next six hours doing just that.”
Cross set his gloves aside and let his arms fall to his sides, cognizant of the crew members that circulated through the public space. He stared at Kate, and she returned his gaze. In that moment, they said all that needed to be said without a word, enough to hold them until fate let them spend some downtime together again. He walked to the lift and gave Kate a tired smile as the closing door separated them again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kraada Tak watched as the cathedral filled, hidden from the congregants by the clever use of sequenced mirrors and a tiny port cut into a decorative piece in the worship chamber. It was his custom to stand here and watch his people assemble, taking the time to center his mind for the performance ahead.
And a performance it most certainly was. Not in the sense of false belief, but in using every tool at his disposal to convey the will of the gods to his congregation.
He’d been given a set of skills that rendered him uniquely able to connect the glorious visions provided by the gods with the life experiences of his congregation. He took the big and made it personal.
Today his message would get extremely personal. Drawing a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders to release the strain in them. His vestments felt twice as heavy as normal. With the highest echelon of each caste present to see and be seen, the emperor’s planned attendance must have been leaked. Perfect. This day would be pivotal in the history of the Xroeshyn people, and the more important the audience, the faster the story would spread.
Without taking his eyes from the mirrors, he acknowledged his majordomo’s entrance into the room. “I’ll need the heavy chain from down below, Daariel. Polish it with an oiled cloth, then bring it to me here. You have an eight.” Eight minutes wasn’t much time for him to make the chain gleam, but Kraada knew Daariel wouldn’t want to disappoint him.
The chain arrived with two minutes to spare, and Kraada gave his underling a nod of appreciation. He was in prime position to ascend to hierarch when Kraada set aside his mantle, but thankfully he wasn’t a threat to seize the title prematurely. The perfect servant, really. Kraada slung the chain around his neck, each heavy link the size of his hand. He shifted it a centimeter backward, settling the weight on his shoulders. Finally, he fluttered his wings to ensure he had full movement, and settled them with a practiced flick, aligning his feathers.
With a flick of his hand, the attendant that would officiate with him that morning entered to begin the service. It wouldn’t do for him to enter a cold room, so he’d chosen the most attractive of his attendants with deliberate purpose. The males in the crowd would pay more careful attention in her presence. One more tool with which to serve the gods.
As the time arrived, he positioned himself behind the double doors, which swung open silently in the hands of his attendants. He strode through. The chain dangled down his left arm, scraping against the floor, the links sending a hoarse rasp to echo among the statues of the gods above.
“Greetings, brethren, and a blessed eighth day to you,” his voice boomed, filling the room.
The dutiful populace responded, “And also you.” He nodded in acceptance of this minor tribute.
“Today, we must consider the rules the gods have provided that govern how we live our lives. Too often, faced with everyday pressures, we fail to remember their admonitions. We fail to heed the words of the Dhadas. In so doing, we fail to serve their will.” He drifted along the front of the cathedral as he spoke, the grinding of the chain providing a counterpoint rhythm to his words.
He stopped and raised his arms, drawing his congregation’s eyes to the statues watching them from above. “I say again, brethren, when we fail to live according to their words, we fail entirely. There is no in-between here, only that which is right and that which is wrong. Following the words of the gods is right. Failing to do so, is wrong.”
“Following the path the gods have planned for us is a lot like carrying a heavy chain.” He illustrated by shrugging the chain and spinning up a section and whipping it in a short arc before letting it strike the ground with a clang. “To say ‘I won’t need the chain today, so there’s no need to carry it’ is the easy route. The comfortable route.” He let most of the chain fall, holding only the last link as the rest puddled on the floor. “Logical. Rational. Direct. This approach is all of those things. It’s the very essence of choosing the easy path.”
“We’re all guilty of this. You know it as well as I do. So many opportunities for a small shortcut here, a lightening of the load there. So simple to ignore something that might require us to adjust our daily tasks to accommodate it, when we’re already so burdened. The easy way really is the most logical and rational approach to getting through our lives as efficiently as possible.” His voice was sincere and understanding, giving them the latitude to admit the truth to themselves.
“However...” His wings expanded, mirrored by his arms. His left hand still held the chain, and in a sweeping move he swung it up and across the front of him, catching it with his right. In a smooth, seamless motion, the links looped over both arms until he was holding the chain in both hands with his arms outstretched as if he was offering it to the crowd. “…what if we need the chain?” Silence filled the room as he allowed the congregation to contemplate his question.
“What if this is the day you need the chain to defend against an attack?” He folded his wings again and stalked down the center aisle. He swung the chain lightly, turning to face each side in sequence, rotating through full turns as he progressed toward the rear of the cathedral. To the back rows. The rows claimed by the most elite of his congregation. The back rows, where the emperor sat, surrounded by his guards.
“I can hear your pained voices now. ‘Why would the gods allow me to be attacked? Why didn’t they prevent this thing from happening to me?’ That’s the thinking typical of the easy path. But the gods are not interested in the easy path.” Quiet sounds filtered to his ears as his flock fidgeted nervously beneath the sound of his voice.
“Instead, they’ve instructed you to follow their words. No matter how hard to traverse. No matter how rocky the terrain. No matter how unforgiving the environment.” It was no accident he was looking right at the emperor as he said these words, nor an accident that he next turned to Marshal Drovaa Jat.
“The gods have seen to your protection. They’ve given you a chain, and they’ve told you to carry it. They didn’t say it would be easy. They didn’t explain that it’s for your defense. But to suggest that they haven’t taken care of you? To suggest that you can choose which of their words to follow, and which to ignore? You border on blasphemy.” He wrapped the chain back around his shoulders, arranging it so that it no longer touched the floor.
“In all that we do, every single action on every single day, we show our obedience by living to the letter of the gods’ words as given to us in the holy book. To do otherwise is to suggest that we’re their equals, or even their superiors. Down that
‘easy’ path lies failure, death, and damnation beyond.”
Kraada fell silent, folded his wings, and clasped his hands before him. He walked slowly to the front before turning back to his congregation. “The words of the gods must always remain our paramount concern. It is not for us to second-guess them. It is not for us to put practicality ahead of them. It is not for us to seek the easier path. We’ve been shown the currents that will bring us safely home. It’s up to us to spread our wings to catch them. It’s up to us to have the bravery to follow them wherever they may lead.” Kraada swept his gaze across every row filled with his charges, ending with his gaze upon the back rows.
“It’s up to us to trust the gods.” Kraada turned and left without another word, the only sound in the shocked cathedral the grating friction of the chain he once again dragged along the floor.
THAT EVENING Kraada sat at his desk composing sealed instructions to those under his authority. The church had access to many courier ships. They weren’t fast, but they were under his control, which made all the difference. He was beginning a message to Indraat Vray when his majordomo entered.
“Hierarch, the guards report an attempt to breach the cathedral grounds from the west. They recommend that you retire to one of the safe zones.”
“Nonsense.”
“Hierarch?”
“Look at the room we’re in, Daariel. Indestructible windows, bricks that are thick enough to stop any projectile, and a vast array of sensors to detect anyone coming after me. It would be difficult to find a more secure space on the entire planet.”
“Nonetheless, Hierarch, such is the recommendation of your security team.”
With a sigh, Kraada laid down his pen, stood up, and stretched. “All right. I suppose I should trust them to do what we pay them to do. Let me grab my book.”
“I will get it for you, Hierarch.” The majordomo walked in front of Kraada, past the liquor cabinet, and to the small table set in between the chairs facing the fireplace. He picked up the books and turned back to Kraada. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words vanished under an unfamiliar whooshing sound.
Kraada saw it in slow motion as a strange object from the chimney landed in the fire. It exploded upon impact, ejecting a cone of flame shaped by the fireplace. The blast incinerated Daariel and continued on toward him. His instincts propelled him in a dive under his desk, avoiding most of the conflagration. The flames licked around the edges as the wave traveled over it but failed to reach him. The concussion moved the massive ornamental piece of furniture only a few inches, delivering nothing more than a solid smack on the head to complement the scorching pain in his face.
The blow was enough to steal his consciousness away. As he slid into darkness, he reflected on how undignified it was for death to find him cowering under his desk like a child afraid of a storm. His majordomo would mock him mercilessly in the in-between about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When he finally soared above the clouds and storm-tossed skies where he flew, Kraada Tak opened his eyes to see the ceiling of the cathedral’s infirmary. He tried and failed to call out, unable to move his jaw. An attempt to lift his arms revealed that he was strapped down. His fingers scrabbled at the edge of his reach, until he found a button which he depressed in growing alarm.
Almost immediately, one of his attendants arrived at his side. “Hierarch, it’s so good to see you awake.” She untied his arms. “You were thrashing in your sleep, and the doctors feared that you’d injure yourself further. Don’t try to talk. Bandages are holding your face immobile while the skin graft bonds. In another,” she checked the clock, “six hours we’ll be able to take them off.”
She helped him to sit up, raising the head of the bed into an upright position. His body protested, each muscle making itself known with an individual ache or pain. She pressed a stylus and an electronic pad into his hands. He generated a shaky: How long?
“The explosion occurred thirty-one hours ago, Hierarch. The doctors kept you in deep sleep so that the grafts could take hold without interference.”
He nodded and wrote: Daariel?
She shook her head sadly, seeming sincere, as she said, “Killed by the flames. Instantly, and a blessing at that.”
He closed his eyes, saying a small prayer for the soul of his majordomo as it found its way to the in-between. Soon. Soon you, and all our ancestors, will be free to move on to paradise, he thought.
He felt her watching him, and he lifted his lids to look at her face. It was the attendant who’d been with him during the service. Her beauty was now muted by the washed-out grays of her mourning clothes. He paused for a second, thinking, then wrote in a steadier hand: Responsible?
“Unknown. The military’s investigating… As are we.”
He raised an eyebrow, which pulled uncomfortably against the bandaging immobilizing most of his face. “We’re unwilling to leave anything to chance in this investigation. And while we cannot stop them from examining things, there’s no reason for us to abandon our own efforts. We’re not ones to walk the easy path, Hierarch.”
The bandages prohibited him from smiling, hiding all outward manifestations of his inner amusement at her actions. She’d already sought to turn this sequence of events to her own benefit by grabbing power where it was available, taking the lead in overseeing the investigation, and communicating with him. Kraada was always pleased to see ambition in his subordinates. This one would bear watching.
Contacts from marshal or emperor: he wrote.
“None.” She looked around, making sure no one could overhear, then leaned in close. “Hierarch, it’s my belief that elements of the military or the palace guard were behind this attack. It would take the right technology and the right abilities to evade our defenses. Moreover, they knew exactly where and when to drop the explosive. That suggests extensive surveillance and multiple people involved. I don’t think we can trust anyone outside the church.”
His stylus scrawled for a moment. My attendants?
“All accounted for at the time of the attack, Hierarch, including me. All the records of our investigation are available on this tablet for you. They can only be opened with your eye scan.” He gave her a sharp look at that, and she made a placating gesture. “We don’t think an insider was involved, but full security protocols are in place.”
He discovered he could grunt, and did.
“Will there be anything else, Hierarch?”
Doctors. Now. He wrote with a flourish and set the tablet beside him on the bed. He resigned himself to getting little to nothing done in the next few hours.
AFTER THE REMOVAL of the bandages and a good night’s sleep, Kraada sat in his former majordomo’s workspace. It was the best place for him to work, given that his own office was in shambles. Everything was destroyed or scorched, and he seriously doubted the room could be restored. His messages had been consumed by the flames, so he painstakingly recreated them.
He looked up as his attendant walked in. “Hello, Thiaa. Nice to be able to talk to you this time.”
“Greetings, Hierarch. I’m enthused to see you looking so well, so quickly.”
“Have you brought me an update on the investigation?”
“Yes, Hierarch. We swept the surrounding areas. Three thousand meters in all directions. We discovered the surveillance position watching your office, on the roof of a housing complex to the east. The minimal physical evidence left behind suggests military-style boots. The incendiary appears to be a compound that includes military explosive and standard blast powder. The most notable thing about it is probably the lack of shrapnel. Although the results were quite devastating, they could’ve been catastrophic had the perpetrators packed metal within it. Even more so if the shards were poisoned or infected.”
“Are you saying they were not trying to kill me?”
“There’s no way to determine that, Hierarch. If we assume they lacked access to these materials, it was likely an attack by amateurs. If we assu
me that the primary purpose was to send a message to you, and only secondarily to injure or eliminate you, it would suggest someone skilled.”
Kraada stood and paced in a tighter circle than he was used to, which irritated him. He shut down each twinge of pain with ruthless focus. Force of will was essential at a time like this, and force of will he had in abundance.
“I tend to think it’s the latter. Given the timing of the attack, and the fact that I alerted the emperor and the marshal of an impending important speech, one or the other may have taken that as an incentive to begin planning.”
“Or both of them.”
Kraada gave her a nod, staring into her eyes. “Absolutely, or both of them. That seems unlikely, however. I don’t sense that they’re aligned enough for such a move. No,” he said, his voice trailing off for a moment, “this feels like a message from Drovaa Jat.”
“How shall we reply, Hierarch? In kind?” She stood at attention, her body stiff, her beauty sharp and dangerous. He imagined she accomplished whatever she set out to do, and he would need that sort of person by his side in the days to come.
“I offer you promotion to majordomo, Thiaa. You’ll have authority over the physical premises of the cathedral and will assist me in all things. For the duration of this crisis, and perhaps for the duration of the entire war against the trespassers, your life outside these walls will be minimal. You’ll work to exhaustion and beyond in service of the goals of the church and the requirements of our gods. They, and I, will only tolerate success. Failure will see you banished from the church. Do you accept?”
Without hesitation, she replied in the only acceptable fashion, “So may it be, Hierarch.”
“Excellent. Your first task is to choose a priest to oversee the cathedral defenses. We cannot trust those who aren’t in service of the gods. Bring your suggestion to me. If I approve, the cathedral will have a new seneschal.”
