by Jake Stone
“Enough,” Alvarium says gently. “Allow the young man his moment, Elzerath. We mustn’t overwhelm him with promises of luxuries. At least not yet.”
“If that’s the case,” the senator replies. “Perhaps we should allow him to return to his quarters in peace.”
“In due time,” Alvarium says coyly. “In due time.”
I’m thankful when the senator finally releases my hand, and I’m led away from both Elserath and Chopra. The senator’s eyes narrow as he watches Alvarium lead me away to a quieter part of the tent. While Chopra, appearing nervous, mouths the words, “Good luck, my son.”
Politics and intrigue are alien to me, and even with all my training and physical enhancements, I feel like a goat being led for the slaughter.
“Congratulations,” Alvarium says, his gaze shifting to the room. One of the senators, an older woman, but still stunning, waves a hand at him. He smiles in return. “You seem to have performed the impossible, Cross. Perhaps I underestimated your abilities.”
“It’s fine, my lord,” I say.
“Is it?” He eyes me closely. “Oh come now, Xander. If you’re going to survive at this level, you’re going to have to start being honest for once.”
“I don’t understand, my lord.” I do my best to remain calm.
“What’s there not to understand?” he continues in his coy manner. “Vanquishing a demon lord by yourself? Never in the history of our annals has something like that happened. Perhaps there’s something more to you than I thought.”
I give an amused snort, masking my worry. But my gaze shifts nervously to the entrance of the tent, frightened that I might see a group of Republic Soldiers marching in at any instant to arrest me for quarantine. What Atia said is true. If they suspect that I’m something more than human, my life is forfeit, something I must avoid at all cost. “If only that were true, my lord,” I say, granting him a smile. “But you read the report. You know what happened.”
“I do,” he quickly admits, taking another sip of his cranish. “It was all rather impressive. Brandishing your blade, decrying your love for the Republic, stabbing Bantha in the heart, which ultimately exorcized him. Valiant indeed.”
I breathe a sigh relief, grateful to my friends who remained silent for me.
“My only question is…” He turns to face me. “How was a demon lord, a being of such immense power exorcized with merely a mortal wound?”
I meet his gaze, my chest clenched in panic. He knows something. But what that is I’m not sure. Mind blank, I rush to form a response. “Perhaps…Republic intelligence isn’t as accurate as we think it is, my lord.”
He holds my gaze, drawing the moment out for what feels like an eternity. Finally, after a couple of heartbeats, he lets out a snort and turns away. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He tosses back the rest of his cranish. “If only we could provide the enemy with the same useless information our spies provide for us, we could win the war in a day.”
I force a laugh.
“Regardless,” he says. “Job well done.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“No need for thanks.” He reaches for another glass of cranish from a passing serving tray. “Only loyalty.”
“Loyalty, my lord?” My brow pinches as I study him. “But the Republic already has it fully.”
“Not the Republic,” he says with a bitter twist to his lips. “Me.” He casts a glance at the rest of the tent, careful as he pulls me closer to him. “This is a great time for the Republic,” he whispers. “Many opportunities for someone like yourself to advance in position.”
“My Lord?” I ask.
He squints an eye at me. “Oh come now, Cross.” He turns his gaze to the crowd. “A young man such as yourself, a man verging on greatness. I’m sure he has needs.”
I follow his gaze, finding a young female soldier with short black hair and green eyes bending at the knees to serve an old general sitting in a wheelchair. Her gaze lifts as she realizes that we’re staring at her, frowning uncomfortably.
“Whatever you want,” he tells me. “Whenever and however.”
I look at him. “All for my…loyalty?”
“Loyalty is vital for success,” he says. “And I will need all the help I can get for where I want to go.”
“And where’s that, my lord?” I ask.
His eyes narrow and a grin touches his lips. “The Republic is in disarray, Cross. The Dark Horizon has left its worlds penniless and hungry. The people have no taste for war, no desire for glory. Instead, our beloved leader worries about famines and infrastructure. We must make our armies strong again.”
“For the Republic?” I ask.
He turns to me and feigns a look of surprise. “Of course,” he says. “What else is more important than the future of humanity?”
I nod, feigning my belief. But I know he’s lying. He could care less about the people. There’s an agenda here. The only question is: how far does he mean to take it?
“But I have many enemies,” he says in weary disappointment. “People who covet my position and wish me to fail even at the expense of the people. It’s disgusting really. Perhaps if I had someone of your … ilk in my service, someone to carry my glory and rally to my side whenever they were needed, it would guarantee the Republic’s future.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s flattering me, trying to steer me beneath his wing through manipulation. But I will not be this man’s puppet, nor will I kneel before a selfish coward who’s more concerned with honors than honor itself. Instead, I’ll play his game. “I understand, my lord.”
“Good,” he says. “Remember, Cross, the refusal of an ally is the same as a declaration of war. You’ve chosen well.”
“Thank you, my lord,” I reply.
“One more thing,” he says, halting me in my tracks. “Not all the scrolls were saved. In fact, one of the most important ones is still missing. Are you sure your unit was able to recover all the expedition’s possessions?”
I think back to when we were in the caves, remembering how I had ordered Chun Hei to retreive all the scrolls. “Yes, my lord. From what I remember we took everything.”
“Very well,” he says. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I believe it’s time for some honors.”
I watch as the general draws the attention of the raucous tent with a raised hand. The dignitaries fall silent as they turn in our direction, their brows arched with interest.
He clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Republic, it is my sincere honor to thank you for being here to celebrate this great victory.”
“To Alvarium!” one of the officers calls out, a middle-aged man with a waxed mustache. He holds up his glass of cranish, toasting our general. Others quickly follow suit, none of them wanting to appear slow to congratulate him publicly.
“Thank you, thank you,” Alvarium says in a perfectly gracious tone. “But my victory would not have been complete without the army. Specifically, Battle Saint Xander Cross.” He waves me forward, and I stand at his side, a dumb look on my face as I’m put on display as his toy. “If it weren’t for this young man’s hard work and sacrifice, we never would’ve been able to exorcize Bantha from this world.”
The crowd erupts with cheer, celebrating me with raised crystal glasses of cranish and fake smiles. They stop just as quickly as they started, waiting on Alvarium for his next words.
“Primus,” Alvarium says, turning to the Battle Saint standing along the wings.
I watch, frightened, as the Primus Battorous marches toward me. He’s splendid in his golden armor, face as hard as stone amidst the crowd of frightened politicians. “You’ve redeemed yourself in the eyes of the Order,” he rumbles, taking my hand and nearly crushing it in his grip.
“Thank you my, lord,” I reply, doing my best not to wince from the pain.
“The Primus speaks truly,” Alvarium admits with a smile. “And, in return, we have decided to reward you with a promotion.”
When I enter the tent of the infirmary, I find a makeshift hospital where at least a dozen Republic soldiers, still healing from their wounds, are lying in beds shoved against the walls. Space heaters, the size of microwaves, roar from the corners of the tent, while nurses and healing monks do their best to treat the wounded accordingly.
In the middle, Atia lies in a bed with a bandage wrapped around her waist, motionless as she glares down at the wound that had nearly killed her.
The monks, thankfully, were able to save her in time, cauterizing the wound with holy fire and refilling her blood supply with nanites. The tiny machines do their job as they stitch her wounds from the inside out. She’ll be back, I know, ready to give everyone around her a hard time.
“Captain,” I say, seating myself at the edge of the bed next to hers. “It’s good to see you’re alive.”
“Forgive me if I don’t stand,” she replies. “But apparently I still don’t have permission to move for at least another ten minutes.”
She scowls at one of the monks, a thin man with feeble features working on a wounded patient across from us. He cowers beneath the warrior’s gaze, hurrying to gather his things so he may flee from her view.
“I think you frightened him,” I say.
“Good, a little fear makes people work harder.” She grimaces as the stress of her anger tears at her muscles.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“The monks promise me that I’ll be up and around by the end of the day.”
“Not bad,” I say. “On my planet, you would’ve been out for a week.”
“Well, yes. But according to you, it sounds like your planet is a backwater lake. Fortunately for us, we’re blessed with better technology.”
“Nanites.”
“Amazing little bastards, aren’t they?” She lowers her gaze to the wound and shakes her head in amazement. “We should create a plague of these things and release them on the enemy.”
“Fill them up with antidepressants, so they’re not such assholes?” I say with a smile.
“I doubt that would work, Xander,” she replies.
“It was a joke.”
“Of course,” she says.
I glance around the infirmary, searching amongst the healing monks for any sign of Chun Hei. She’s still missing, with no clue as to where she went. I scratch my chin in wonderment. “Have you seen Chun Hei?” I ask.
“Not since we landed,” Atia confesses. “She had the data scrolls on her, so I’m assuming she took them straight to Intelligence. She’s not one to hide, though. I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”
“I hope so,” I say.
A moment of silence passes between us.
“Thank you for not reporting to the higher-ups what really happened with Bantha,” I tell her. “If Intelligence learned the truth of it, I’d be splayed out on a metal table waiting to be dissected.”
“I already told you, Xander. Your secret’s safe with us.”
“Well, thank you regardless,” I say.
She nods as she runs a hand along the smooth surface of her sheets. “Now that that’s out of the way, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.”
I cringe. “So, you’ve heard, huh?”
“Word of a new Battle Father spreads quickly amongst the camp. It’s a great honor, Xander.”
“And you’re not angry?”
She shrugs, appearing lethargic. “It’s no secret where my ambitions lie. But you’ve earned it. My time will come. And if it doesn’t, well, my life is still worth serving the corfew and the republic. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I’m not,” I say.
She looks at me, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “And why’s that?”
“Because I don’t want it.”
She sits up in her bed, throwing her legs over the side, and faces me with a look of anger. “How dare you?” she says. “We nearly died in there, and you refuse this honor?”
“It’s not my honor to receive.”
“Then whose honor is it?” she demands.
“Ours,” I say, holding her gaze.
She lets out a long slow breath, the anger in her face melting away. “Oh Xander, ever since I’ve known you, all you’ve ever done is doubt yourself. But at some point, you’re going to have to embrace the effect you have on people. You inspire them. You help them. And they follow you for it.”
“People follow you also,” I say.
She shakes her head. “It’s not the same. They admire me. With you, you earn their appreciation by being smart and helping people. They trust you. Look at the women of our fist, they trust you, dare I say, even love you.”
“Is it enough to keep them together?” I ask.
“Our time has run its course,” she says. “And we must move on.”
“I can’t accept that,” I say.
“Xander—”
“No,” I tell her. “You say people love me because I help them. Well, we’re all hurting. And I’m not going to let you all go just because you’re still upset over what happened in the caverns. So we were a little honest with each other, so what? That’s what friends do. You know what else they do?”
She looks at me in silence.
“They forgive. And they move on.”
She turns her gaze to the window. “If only it were that easy.”
“It’s not,” I admit. “In fact, it’s probably the hardest thing to do. But we’re Battle Saints, remember. The hardest of the hard. Strongest of the strong. We do not cower in the dark, we do not hide behind the weak. We stand our ground, and we fight until the enemy is dead, or—”
“We are but dust,” she finishes. Her hand reaches for her wound, a slight wince touching her beautiful face as she’s stung with a deep pain. She’s thoughtful at this moment, calm, resolute. “As true as that is,” she says. “It doesn’t matter. You’re our superior now, and we’ll just be another fist-unit in your century.”
“You mean if I had accepted the post, that is?”
Her eyes lift to mine. “You refused it?”
I rise to my feet and hold out my hand for her to take. “We rise together, or we don’t rise at all.”
Her brow knits together as she stares up at me.
“Now stop being lazy and get up.” I hold out my hand for her to take, which she eventually does.
Her grip is firm despite the wound in her chest, and I help her to her feet. She’s beautiful in the subtle light shining through the window of the barracks, her lips fresh and plump, her blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. She’s so unlike any woman I’ve ever met and so utterly opposite of Rachel. But there’s something just as wonderful about that, something that makes me feel at ease.
“Very well,” she says in a determined voice. “Get some food and return to the barrack to rest. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to go over for the attack on the capital.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, saluting her with a fist to my chest.
She replies in kind, and I turn away, feeling a sense of relief that my unit—our unit—is still together, at least, for a little while longer.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When I arrive at the barracks, I’m relieved to find Chun Hei sitting on my bunk. The purple-eyed beauty rises to meet me.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask.
“A long story,” she signs. “But I’m back now, safe.”
“Good enough for me,” I say, pulling her into a tight embrace. It feels good to finally see her after everything we’ve been through.
Pulling away, I take a good look at her face, alarmed to see her disheveled appearance. The smudges on her cheeks have been wiped clean, but there are some cuts beneath her left eye and a bruise on her neck.
As a medic, Chun Hei heals the wounds of others first, which means, her cuts and bruises come last. Still, I can’t stand to see her untended to, and I quickly pull out a rag from one of our supply bags and wet it with a bottle,
wanting to clean the cuts on her face.
She pulls away when I dab her wounds, but there’s a small smile that follows.
“Stop fidgeting,” I sign to her. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”
Her purple eyes glow with mischief.
“Not like that,” I tell her, giving her a little peck on the lips.
“I didn’t come here to be tended to,” she signs.
“Well, tough,” I sign back.
“No,” she signs. “You don’t understand. There’s something I have to show you before anyone comes back.”
I stare at her in silence, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“This,” she says, producing the leather satchel we found in the cavern from behind her back. “I need to show you this—now.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. But I’ve learned that it’s always best to ask questions later. So, glancing over my shoulder, I check to see that no one is around. “Some of the Saints might be returning,” I tell her.
“Not here, then,” she signs.
I nod. “Outside, then. Away from the camp.”
Slipping the satchel into a supply bag, she throws it over her shoulder, where it’s quickly concealed beneath the red cloth of her cape.
Exiting the barracks, we walk through the snow, passing through the camp and outside of the perimeter where we can be alone.
We sit upon a boulder, away from the camp where no one can see us.
Chun Hei, glancing cautiously over her shoulder, hands me the satchel that she’s been hiding beneath her cape. It’s light and worn—a thin piece of leather, that if I had to guess, is no more than five pounds.
