The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  They resumed their walk. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear those words, General,” Omar said. “I was told you were a fair man.”

  “Yes, but only as long as I believe I am being dealt equal fairness. Omar, I must know something before we proceed, and I wish you to be honest. I will know if you’re insincere.” Omar consented. “Your father began this war. Your brother became the cold-blooded face of it. The legacy of your bloodline has been established. Why would you come here?”

  Omar could not have been more relieved to hear the question, for the answer had been on the edge of his lips for months.

  “General, I am sixteen and yet I feel like a man of fifty. My life has been about nothing but war. My father read to me from Testament to Truth before I could walk. That book taught me how to read, even though I understood almost none of the concepts. I knew basic military strategy by the time I was five, and I drilled with the children we stole and brainwashed. I listened to my father rage against the Chancellors every day and night; and I never considered the alternatives because he was my father and I loved him and I still do.

  “Then one day, I stood on top of a yellow mesa and saw a Carrier falling from the sky. It never occurred to me anyone might have been onboard. But I thought my father was a magician. He could truly destroy them. In that same moment, I watched my brother put a pistol to the head of a man I thought was our friend. He shot Andrew through the head. And then, when Andrew was dead, Abraham came closer and shot him again. Then he handed the pistol to Gen. Fergus like nothing had happened. I turned to my father, and I saw him put a knife through Damon’s heart and push him over the edge. Damon was like my uncle, and I loved him. But I decided he was a traitor because my father would not have killed him otherwise. And then the war truly began.”

  Omar gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to choke up. “I am tired, General. I am so tired. We were not made for this. The madness, it’s like a virus. It takes away whatever principles we might have had, whatever dignity we pretend to be holding onto. We’re left with nothing but our rage and this need to kill, even when we know we can’t win.” He stopped and faced Hussein. “We can do this to each other for another nine years, and nobody will win. I cannot live that way. Can you?”

  The general sighed. “No, Omar. No man should. I have another question. Have you completed your Passage of Summit?”

  “No.”

  “I beg to differ. Regardless of how all this comes out, you have completed your Passage today. You will never do anything more difficult or honorable the rest of your life.”

  Hussein extended his right hand. Omar almost detected a smile as they shook.

  “Thank you, General, I …”

  “Call me Shalik. If we are fortunate, I won’t need that title much longer, and people can resume speaking to me as a friend, not a superior officer. You will be my friend, Omar?”

  “My father may not approve, but yes … I will.”

  They walked, and Hussein continued. “Then as my friend, you must see the position I face regarding terms of armistice. We cannot go forward without a firm understanding of the consequences to follow. I speak specifically of claims to be made against the instigators of this war and all those guilty of crimes against humanity. Omar, you do realize that your father and his accomplices cannot escape their responsibility? Two million Hiebim have died in this conflict.”

  Omar swallowed hard. “I do know this, Shalik. But there are criminals on both sides. Arrests and trials will need to come later, after we have a final treaty.”

  “Yes. Most will. However, the public outrage against your father, his closest generals, and the jihadeen will create a difficult transition should they be allowed to remain free. Even you will have to face trial at some point. After all, you have been your father’s closest aide.”

  Omar felt a pit in his stomach. “I know, Shalik. I’ve never tried to escape my role. But you must be willing to make an important concession. A general amnesty for all other Messengers. They will have the freedom to live peacefully in occupied territory or resettle elsewhere, even return to their clan enclaves if they are allowed back. The resettlement issue is important, Shalik.”

  “Yes. The amnesty would be a given. I believe we could also reduce the tension if the jihadeen were no longer a concern.”

  Omar understood what Shalik meant. He nodded.

  “I will have to convince my father; but if he agrees, I’m sure we can take care of the jihadeen problem for you.”

  “Excellent. They have cast the largest shadow over our forces. I know of at least two squadrons that retreated rather than engage the jihadeen. They are animals, and they have become more dangerous since your mother took command of them.”

  “She is not my … she gave birth to me, but even she would not call me her son. Still, she will not go down without an incredible fight.”

  “I have no doubt. Everything you can do to eradicate these monsters will serve you in good stead. The biggest question mark is whether your father will accept these terms. We cannot have peace unless the great Trayem Hadeed commands it. Will he?”

  “No. Not at first. I’ll need time. He has had many difficult days since Abraham died. I’ll know when best to approach him. I’ll make sure Asiah is with me.”

  They headed back toward the canopy. “Again, an honest answer,” Shalik said. “Where do you summon such courage?”

  “From my father.”

  They talked of much more, but Omar could not escape the image of Hadeed, who would feel hurt and betrayed when the terms of armistice were placed before him. He did not believe his father, even at his worst moment, would brand Omar a traitor, but would it represent a permanent divide across which they could never reunite? Was their quiet talk last night – a reflection upon the good times before the war – the last pleasant memory they would have of each other? Ever since Abraham’s death, Hadeed had been obsessed by dreams of dark rooms, shadows, and ultimate truth, and of writing a new manuscript that would tell of a Hiebim paradise free of the Chancellor menace. Hadeed listened to military briefings with a clear disconnect and rarely asked the generals of their timetable for victory. More than once, Omar had to forcibly remove his mother, Gen. Baqqari Adair, from his father’s lair because she would not stop her insistence that Hadeed regain the mantle of leadership of the Messengers of Honor. She insisted Abraham would expect no less, to which he said she knew nothing of what Abraham would want. He was my son, Hadeed said. I am the only one who knew his heart.

  Omar felt Adair’s wrath as well. As he forced her out each time, she insisted Omar was poisoning his father, stripping Hadeed of his warrior spirit and crippling the cause of a free Hiebimini. This accusation flew in the face of reality: The generals ran the war better than his father ever did, gaining and holding territory with efficiency.

  Omar settled his spirit and put aside concerns about what he would face upon his return to the Schrindorian Mountains. Instead, he took a seat across from Gen. Hussein and carefully, thoughtfully negotiated the terms of armistice. They laid out the major issues shortly before sunset. The Chancellors reviewed the document for all on CVid. Both signatories pressed a thumb against a flashing beacon on the CVid surface and implanted their gene-stamp. They received a data chip, shook hands, and retreated to their Scrams. Along the way, they recovered their weapons. Omar never felt taller.

  The western sky was painted with a dim red along the horizon, and dusk settled in as the three Messengers reached their Scram. As Lt. Assam opened the stern entry port, Omar turned to Gen. Benazir.

  “We are doing the right thing,” he said. “Aren’t we, Asiah?”

  “The only thing. Now the tough part begins.”

  “Yes. My father. He will be …”

  “Difficult, yes. But I’m also concerned about the Patriots. Can we trust Hussein?”

  “Completely. He opened up to me. He wants this to be over at least as much as we do. He might encounter some resistance, but the Chancellors wil
l put pressure on his people. I think those bastards want peace so they can step in and solve the mess we’ve made of our world.”

  Benazir agreed. “Never discount a Chancellor’s need to show you how valuable he is.”

  They stepped into the Scram at the instant a faint yellow flash filled the entry port, followed by a rumble across the plains. They turned and stared, jaws agape, as a distant fire rained upon the planet, the unmistakable debris of a Scram.

  “No,” Omar said, his body suddenly cold.

  Gen. Benazir grabbed Omar. “Hurry. Get out. Keep your rifle close.”

  Omar jumped and ran but got only twenty feet before a pair of distinctive pistol blasts followed him. He swirled about and caught Gen. Benazir, who stumbled forward, blood rushing from his mouth. His lips moved, but he spoke no words as he collapsed dead in Omar’s arms.

  Lt. Assam Azul aimed his pistol between Omar’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Azul said. “I thought this was the path, but they told me … I’m sorry, Omar. I’m sorry. We can’t surrender.”

  Omar dropped the general and his weapon simultaneously. “No, Azul. You’re wrong. This isn’t a surrender. Don’t you want to live in peace? Please, Azul. Don’t do this. Don’t …”

  Omar saw dark figures emerge from behind the Scram. Although their shadows blended with the dusk, Omar knew who they were. The way they walked, the way they prepared to attack and feed. The joy they took in circling their victims. Once the jihadeen had Omar surrounded, Lt. Assam lowered his weapon.

  One jihadeen moved in between them. Omar recognized the small flashing red beacon attached to the warrior’s left bicep as an emitter for a distortion bubble, which would have hid these interlopers from detection.

  The warrior shot Assam through the head.

  The same jihadeen turned to Omar and removed her veil. Gen. Baqqari Adair trained her pistol on her youngest son.

  “He took a long time making up his mind,” she said of Assam. “Couldn’t trust him.”

  “Please,” Omar said. “You can’t do this. Think of my father. Think of Honor.”

  “I am,” she said. Omar could hear the contempt. “I am thinking of the man he was before he had sons. A man of vision and rage. He can be that man again. Without you, he will be.”

  He tried not to tremble or call out for his father. He did not want Adair to tell others he behaved like a child at the end. Yet Omar could not stop his tears.

  “Adair, mother, we can have pea …”

  He saw a flash, and a plasma peg seared a hole through his brain. His body wobbled then collapsed upon the remains of Gen. Benazir Asiah.

  Gen. Baqqari ordered her jihadeen to arrange the site as if it had been attacked by Patriots. As darkness descended and they prepared to leave, Gen. Baqqari thought to close her son’s eyes. Instead, she reached into his robe, found the data chip, which she destroyed, and walked away. The stars came out, and a chill fell over the plains.

  Shortly after sunrise, a whirlpool formed on the surface near the gates of the Rashadii ruins and erupted into a dust storm. By midday, Fayed Omar and Benazir Asiah disappeared beneath a sculpture of sand.

  THIRTY TWO

  REMEMBRANCE & COMMITMENT

  Schrindorian Mountains

  Two weeks later

  “I WAS RIGHT,” HADEED SAID. “He would have been the perfect ambassador. If anyone could have negotiated for us, gotten through to the Collectorate, it would have been Omar.”

  First Gen. Willem Fergus grew impatient. Hadeed had not stopped rambling for hours.

  “Honor, you are, of course, correct. But decisions need to be made. If we allow the Patriots more time to regroup …”

  Hadeed smiled as he drew circles in the sand, each representing one of the twelve eyes that continued to inhabit his dreams. “We would have rebuilt the People’s Union, but this time kept it true to its name. We would have been a powerful people, a warrior people, but Omar … he would have reminded those warriors of their capacity for honor, integrity, and civility.

  “The night before he …” Hadeed paused, his mind briefly a fog, “before he tried to save us all, he and I forgot all about the war and talked about the early years. Before … before it all went wrong. Did you know Omar wanted to play competitive haepong? He wanted to follow my trail.” Hadeed sat back against a stone outcropping over a narrow mountain pass. “Never would have imagined. He was always the quieter one, you understand. He didn’t respond to the warrior mentality like Abraham. But the best on the pack are fighters; they’re fearless, they’re hunters. I never saw it in him …

  “Maybe I never tried to. It was Abraham, you see. I saw him in me. Abraham would have been Secretary of United Defense Forces. He would have reported only to me. He was so much like me. So much. I never told Omar how much I …”

  Hadeed choked up and stared at Willem, who struggled to keep eye contact. Hadeed admired Willem’s steadfastness and patience through the past few days. Willem and his other surviving generals had been keeping him apprised of the rapidly-changing disposition of forces as both sides geared up for new confrontations. Hadeed had heard the words, processed the details, but quickly filed them away in the recesses of his mind. He spent much of his time with Omar after the body was retrieved – more than a week following the Rashadii attack – and he closed himself off to his staff. They gave him time to grieve and must have expected a clear return to leadership after Omar’s burial, but Hadeed struggled to give them even that much.

  “He was the only good thing,” Hadeed mumbled over Omar’s grave two days earlier. “The only good thing.”

  Now, as he tried desperately to disperse the fog from his mind, Hadeed continued to stare at his First General. He tried to remember all the strategic and political information Willem had delivered since the Rashadii attack. He had a vague sense of the Chancellory having called upon both sides to honor the intended peace agreement, a document that managed to escape along with the one survivor – a Sanctum representative who successfully hid among the Rashadii ruins and braved dust storms the next morning. Hadeed seemed to recall how both the Messengers and Patriots rejected the terms when they accused each other of sabotaging negotiations. Some called the agreement a forgery, and the survivor could not identify the attackers in the fading light. Yes, it all came back. He remembered his own generals arguing.

  “The assault pattern is textbook Patriot,” Gen. Assam Hajib insisted, holding back grief for the loss of his own son. “Their arguments about the jihadeen are an outrage.”

  Indeed, the Patriots disavowed any responsibility, saying only the jihadeen would have had the audacity to stage such an attack. Naturally, Gen. Baqqari Adair vowed brutal revenge for her son’s death and said her forces were hundreds of kilometers from Rashadii on that day.

  “Besides,” Gen. Fergus said, “The notion that Gen. Baqqari would order the murder of her own son is beyond the pale, even for a butcher like her.” Willem did not make his remarks in Adair’s presence. He knew better than to incite her, as did the other generals.

  And still, Hadeed continued to stare. He studied the changing lines on Willem’s face, and he remembered how Willem looked so long ago when Hadeed and Damon first found him in a caravan. Willem was frightened and angry, but he was also youthful and fit, ready for a new adventure. Now, Hadeed thought, Willem resembled an elder. The lines above his brow were thicker, as was his girth.

  “What have I done?” Hadeed finally said, barely above a whisper. “We were going to have a paradise on Hiebimini.”

  “Yes, Honor,” Willem said. “Hiebimini for Hiebim. That dream is still possible, but we cannot remain still any longer. Time is working against us. There are growing calls to accept the peace accord. If we do that …”

  Hadeed nodded. “I know. Trust me, Willem, I know. They will execute us all. And the Chancellors …” Hadeed felt the same nausea as when he first saw Omar’s body. “No one will ever fight them again.”

  “Honor, if we are to make a move, we must do s
o promptly. The Patriots are staying behind their lines until they hear our response to the Chancellory’s call for cease-fire. A full frontal assault, without warning, could leave them unbalanced and dispirited. If they see our determination, many of their units might peel away. We have long heard of rumored splinter factions who dislike the Patriots’ weapons pact with the Sanctums. We could win them to our side. We could …”

  “Make war for years. We could scar Hiebimini more than it already is.” Hadeed placed a hand on Willem’s shoulder. “I am tired. You are tired. The Hiebim people are tired. This was never supposed to be endless war. It was a means to a paradise.”

  “What are you suggesting, Honor? Do you actually want to sue for peace? We have no proof that Omar actually signed that document and …”

  “No, Willem. No peace. The question is how do we honor Omar? Gen. Benazir? Lt. Assam? Do we continue to paint our world in blood, or do we end this? What will honor them? What will satisfy the years they gave to us? The years my sons did everything I … expected.” He fought back tears. “There is only one way. We can have peace and victory. Find Gen. Assam. Bring as many others as you can. Meet me in the war room.”

  Willem showed the hint of a smile. “Of course, Honor. I will tell them you have a plan.”

  Hadeed wanted to contain his top general’s excitement, to make him understand that none of them would like this plan, that the war was going to end in a matter of months … one way or the other. He could not tell them why he knew this was the only way out. He could not explain about the twelve eyes or his obsession with the words that came to him nightly: “Final truth.” He could not tell them about the path he was destined to take, because he did understand it himself. Yet Hadeed knew he could not hold back any longer. Omar’s death sealed the inevitable. His fate – and those of his comrades – could be found somewhere inside the hundreds of cave etchings and paintings Hadeed had drawn since the weeks following Abraham’s fall.