Deep in the distance, Cade spotted a dozen Dundals—one of the three tribes native to Raja Prime—working the fields. Draped in a golden mesh that fell from their wide-brimmed hats all the way to the ground, they plucked derig bulbs as they hummed a spiritual chant that, according to what Cade had been told, warded off malevolent spirits. Cade often found himself wondering how much stock the Dundals could have realistically placed in this chant of theirs, especially when considering it’d been malevolent spirits that had forced them into a devilish pact with Percival. For years, Raja Prime’s ruling tribe, the Faros, had been squeezing the Dundals for increased derig production while claiming higher and higher takes of their harvests. As a result, the Dundals were a starving people. Less derig meant less trading power on Klyzon, a nearby commerce moon. That meant less food, medicine, and other essentials. The Dundals had been beaten down, demoralized, and famished, yet they were still forced to deliver however much the Faros demanded, even if it was killing them.
Percival knew of the Dundal plight, and he also knew of Raja Prime’s value as a strategic location. Not only was it a remote planet in a backwater system, but it possessed the unique characteristic of being surrounded by narrow mass-jump lanes. That put Praxis, not known for its humility in the ships it built, at a profound disadvantage. Sure, one of their warships might be able to position itself just right to make the jump, but it was more likely it’d be torn apart, its pieces belched out upon reaching Vossalos. So, Raja Prime became the coveted location for the Renegades’ base, but it wouldn’t be as easy as making planetfall and setting up shop. All three Raja Prime tribes were known for their fierce hostility to outsiders, and history had proved that whatever their differences, they’d put them all aside and repel whoever tried to infringe on their land.
But if someone could make an ally of one of the tribes, which was no small feat, then an understanding could be reached.
The Renegades hadn’t introduced themselves to the Vossalos system with drop ships, numbers, and weapons hot. That was how you started a war, Percival cautioned, and the last thing they needed was a six-month campaign fighting natives while trying to establish a base of operations. Instead, they entered quietly. Percival, Cade, Kira, 4-Qel, Kobe, and Mig approached the Dundal leaders with a simple offer: They’d “negotiate” fairer terms of harvesting and sharing derig and, in essence, halt the genocide the Dundals were gradually enduring. In return, they’d be given space to set up their base. Though anxious to protect their generations-old isolationism, the Dundals had grown desperate enough to accept Percival’s offer.
Cade looked the other way, stuffing down his own inner conflict as Percival and his followers worked out a deal with the Faros tribe. All Cade knew was that Percival returned three days later, and when he did, the Faros were ready to grant the Dundals the relief they’d been promised. Like that, the Renegades had their new home.
And now, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. At least Cade thought it was, though one vestige of the camp still remained.
“You are not in control of the Rokura,” a voice called from over Cade’s shoulder.
Cade turned, and he spotted the back of Percival’s head popping above the tips of the derig that gently swayed in the breeze. The former Paragon was just ten yards away from Cade, sitting cross-legged in a meditative pose. He didn’t turn as he spoke to Cade; instead, he remained fixed on the rambling fields that broke at the horizon, giving way to a line of jagged crystalline mountains. Settling over the mountains was Raja Prime’s deep-blue sky, streaked with plumes of orange and pink as the planet’s triple dwarf stars set on another day.
“All of your training, all of your work fashioning your mind and body to forge equilibrium with the Rokura—if not dominance over it—has been for nothing,” Percival continued. “You are failing, and your lack of discipline is dragging everyone else down with you.”
“What do you want from me?” Cade asked. “To be perfect? To be my brother? Because if that’s what you’re expecting, you’re going to die a disappointed man.”
“I expect you to focus,” Percival said as he got up from the ground. He turned to face Cade, the Rokura in one hand and his own shido in the other. “I expect you to discipline yourself enough to rule the Rokura, not the other way around. I expect you to be better.”
Percival flung the Rokura in Cade’s direction; Cade flinched as the weapon landed right at his feet, its blades digging into the ground and kicking dirt over his pants.
“No,” Cade said, pulling the weapon out of the ground and gripping it tightly at his side. “You expect me to do what you want. To be what you want. You’re no better than this damn weapon.”
Percival sneered. “And you’re as stupid as you are stubborn.”
“What about what I want, Percival? Ortzo killed my parents. That son of a—” Cade stopped and sucked in a deep breath, trying to cool the smoldering within himself. “If I had let the Rokura unleash on him, it would have been no more than he deserved. But I didn’t. I stopped it from happening, which—you have no idea what that’s like. Though maybe you would have at least a vague notion if you hadn’t been such a coward when you were chosen to wield the Rokura.”
“You selfish brat. Do you really think you’re the only one who’s been made an orphan by Praxis? Parents, spouses, children—no one is spared Ga Halle’s rage and cruelty. No one. And you hold in your hands the means to stop her, and you’re going to squander it. You can justify your failure to yourself any way you want. You’re not the Paragon. You’re not made for this.”
“And what about you? Praxis would have never even happened if you had taken the Rokura when you had the chance.”
“And I’ve been paying for my mistake ever since that day. How about you? You won the Rokura from Ga Halle; you have your chance. But when I look at you, I don’t see someone willing to fight. All I can think about are the people suffering and dying because you can’t get over your own self-pity.”
“I never asked for this!” Cade yelled, pointing the Rokura at Percival. Though he hadn’t moved any closer, Cade noticed Percival had raised his shido in a defensive position.
“Your parents never asked to die. Neither did your brother, neither did all the other people—real people, Cade—who lost their lives because of Ga Halle’s madness. The galaxy is a cruel place, and I will not stand idly by and let you waste the chance to make it less so.”
The anger drummed so hard in Cade’s chest he could hardly breathe. He was tired of being the one burdened with cleaning up everyone else’s messes. Percival’s failure with the Rokura; the Well’s failure to stop Praxis when it had the chance; even the entire galaxy’s failure to recognize how evil Praxis was, unify, and fight back without having to be coaxed into doing so by a messiah. Because Cade was no messiah. He was afraid. He was uncertain. He was flawed, deeply and thoroughly. That wasn’t the stuff of saviors, and it was only a matter of time before everyone else—Percival, the Rokura, maybe even Kira—came to recognize what Cade already knew. And when that happened, when it became abundantly clear Cade wasn’t the one who could meet their expectations, he’d be all alone. Just like Ortzo had said.
“What are you going to do, Percival? Are you going to make me be the Paragon?”
“If I have to? Yes.”
Cade gripped the Rokura in its center and crouched into a fighting position. “I’d like to see you try,” he said.
Percival took a deep, hesitant breath. “So be it,” he said, then charged at Cade.
Cade met Percival halfway, and against the three suns disappearing behind the horizon in the distance, their weapons clanged together as they exchanged their opening strikes. Cade and Percival pushed against each other and locked into a standstill; with no aid from the Rokura, Cade was equally matched with the former Paragon in strength and, in this moment, determination. Driven by pride and a shared, deep-seated need to be right, neither Cade nor Percival allowed themselves to surrender an inch for fear of what it might mean
to lose.
“And what if you had let the Rokura kill Ortzo?” Percival asked as he continued to shove his shido against Cade’s Rokura. “You’d really surrender everything to see one man dead?”
“Maybe,” Cade huffed. “Maybe I would.”
“Then your parents died for nothing,” Percival said and kicked out Cade’s knee, sending him stumbling forward. Percival spun out of Cade’s way and came around, ready to defend himself.
“What are you talking about?” Cade asked, quickly getting back into fighting position. “My parents did die for nothing. They were casualties of a war they had nothing to do with.”
“Mig told me what Ortzo told you. All this time, have you really believed that your parents were just aid workers? Cade, they were helping the Kaldorians fight for freedom; they were helping them defeat Praxis.”
“You’re LYING!” Cade yelled.
“Your parents believed in something. Your brother believed in something. What about you, Cade? Do you believe in anything?!”
Cade rushed at Percival, fast and nimble. He swung the Rokura high, thrust it forward, then swiped it at Percival’s legs. Each strike was defended, but each strike also sparked the Rokura’s intensity. Energy was once again crackling off its blades, building to an uncontrollable summit.
When Cade tried to drill the bottom of his weapon into Percival’s stomach, Percival quickly sidestepped the attack; with Cade unbalanced just enough, Percival was able to use his shido to catch Cade in a choke hold.
“Good,” Percival whispered into Cade’s ear. “Now is the time to control yourself. To focus. Use the weapon to defeat me. Don’t let it use you.”
“I am in control,” Cade snarled back as he drove an elbow into Percival’s side, breaking his hold.
Cade held the Rokura up to his face, ready for more. He felt the weapon’s heat warm his skin, and through its cycling energy he saw an obscured image of a self-righteous Percival square up for continued battle. Cade couldn’t tell how he felt about Percival’s temerity: glad his so-called mentor was still willing to fight, or concerned over what would happen to himself and Percival if their duel went on much longer. The former was winning out, and Cade had a flash in his mind that it was the Rokura, not him, that was enthused to keep an unnecessary fight going. But it was just a flash.
This time, Percival was the one to take the offensive. He swiped his shido in a downward arc at Cade, and its blades crashed against the Rokura. Cade was ready to turn Percival’s momentum against him, but he was too slow. Nothing about his fighting felt right; he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get a feel for himself or the Rokura. He was lost, too concerned over what kind of influence the Rokura might levy on him and what the unintentional results might be. Percival used his distraction to get a step ahead. When Cade went to make his attack, Percival beat him to it; he drove the blunt end of his shido across Cade’s face, knocking him off-balance. Just as Cade staggered a half-step, Percival swung his shido hard against the Rokura, driving its crackling head into the ground. The weapon drove into the dirt, and the entire ground lit up as bolts of searing white light shot out in every direction. Cade tried to wrench the Rokura from the ground, but Percival drove a knee into his abdomen, and then he grabbed Cade by his shirt and used his weight to shove him to the ground. Cade lost his grip on the Rokura, and it remained stuck where it was as he fell onto his back.
By the time Cade looked up, Percival was standing above him, his shido pointed in his face.
“Control, you say?” Percival panted. “If you were in control, you would have beaten me before I could even lay a finger on you.”
“Just tell me the truth about my parents,” Cade breathlessly said, slumped on the ground, defeated. He had to know if his parents were victims or martyrs; it was a distinction that, to Cade, was everything. Victims were something to mourn; martyrs were something to fight for. “I need the truth.”
“I didn’t know either one of them, but I knew of them; they were the couple on Kyysring who could get you supplies and help move them. They were resisters, Cade. Like all of us.”
Cade let his head drop against the ground as he felt an enormous weight press against his chest. Tristan, Kira, Percival, the entire galaxy, and now his parents. All pressing their hands on Cade, directing him to become something he was convinced he could never, ever be.
“This isn’t over, Cade,” Percival said as Cade remained on his back. “You might think it is, but it’s not. I won’t give up on this. I won’t give up on you. You can do this. You and I, together, can do this.”
Cade groaned like he’d aggravated a deep wound. But with the Rokura out of his grasp, at least his head was regaining a semblance of clarity. No longer were shards of glass corkscrewing in his mind, twisting every thought he called his own while, simultaneously, a foreign presence buried its impulses into his psyche. “We’ve trained. We’ve meditated and focused and pushed, and here we are, at the point where we’re fighting each other. The Rokura is meant to be with the Chosen One, Percival. And I think we’re both understanding why.”
“Let me ask you a question. Do you think Wu-Xia was the Chosen One when he made the Rokura? When he used it to bring peace to the galaxy?”
“That’s different,” Cade said as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not Wu-Xia.”
“It’s only different if you choose it to be. Strip the legend down, and all you have is someone willing himself to become something better, something more. It’s what I see in that story, and I know for certain it’s what Ga Halle sees.”
“So what? You think I haven’t tried convincing myself and the Rokura that I deserve to be the one who controls it?”
“Your belief in yourself is questionable, Cade, but that’s not the point. The point is that neither one of us knows how to do this,” Percival said as he pulled the Rokura out of the ground and handed it to Cade. “I was born being able to claim this weapon, which means I know nothing of having to will myself into using it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m not capable of showing you how to become a self-made Paragon. That leaves us one option: We have to bring you to someone who can.”
Cade grabbed the weapon hovering in front of his face. He wasn’t through with this weapon, and vice versa. Not yet.
“I told you I knew things about the Rokura and its legend, things they didn’t tell you at the Well,” Percival continued. “Well, it’s time to put that knowledge to the test.”
“Meaning what?” Cade asked. “I’m sorry to sound skeptical, but who out there is going to help make this Paragon thing happen for me?”
“Who? Who do you think?” Percival said as he turned and walked away from Cade. “There’s only one person who can help you now … Wu-Xia himself.”
* * *
In the shelter of a narrow pass, protected by a natural canopy created where the impenetrable sides of two mountains abutted, the Renegades made their new, temporary camp. Cade decided to make the journey on his own, using coordinates given to him by Percival. By the time he arrived, night had taken Raja Prime and darkness reigned. Using the soft light he’d coaxed from the Rokura, Cade moved across the landscape a single glowing fok to anyone watching from a distance. After two hours of walking, the derig fields began to thin, giving way to the unwelcoming mountainous terrain that supported no crops and, thus, were home to none of the Raja Prime tribes. Cade negotiated this land with care; he was certain there was a trail that provided a more direct route, but he didn’t know where it was, nor did he have any interest in sending a comms to anyone for help. Cade needed solitude; he needed time to clear his mind in preparation for the journey ahead. Time to consider just how desperate he and his allies had become.
His field scanner rendered useless by the unbroken night that surrounded him, Cade’s visibility was limited to the little bit of space illuminated by the Rokura’s glow. That’s why Cade failed to spot the camp until he was nearly on it. First, he caught the faint gl
ow of a fire’s spark; its embers cast just enough light to shimmer off the crystalline mountain walls that crowded the space overhead. Soft hues of indigo and emerald played a visual harmonic off the rough exterior as the small bits of glowing crystals caught the light and then bounced it from one side to the other. For a brief moment, Cade stopped to watch the show. His reverie, though, was short-lived. He didn’t have time to waste.
The temporary base was more of an encampment when compared to what’d been dismantled while Cade was recuperating. The Renegades had recruited a lot of new faces in the months since the War Hammer had been destroyed, allies that came from all over the galaxy. Some were motivated to join the fight because they were born soldiers and war was all they’d known since as long as they could remember; others had never held a weapon in their lives but joined simply because it was the right thing to do. Cade hardly recognized any of the men and women he passed as he walked through the canyon. But he recognized the looks on their faces: demoralized, tired, and full of doubt. Percival had told Cade the reason they’d dismantled their hard-won base; he told him about the hotshot admiral who boasted a brutal and efficient record and now had the Renegades on his radar. Percival had no choice but to take extra precautions to hide their presence while he still could. He ordered some to orbit a nearby asteroid field, sent others on missions, and, knowing Percival as Cade did, he surely had plans for those who remained on Raja Prime. All this maneuvering to avoid the cunning wrath of one Admiral Ebik.
We Are Mayhem--A Black Star Renegades Novel Page 7
