by Mason Dakota
“Because the future of the Empire depends upon it?” Ziavir repeated.
“Everything depends upon it.” There was a sad look in Bretton’s eyes as he whispered, “I so wish I could tell you more. This should be a joyous time, not a frightening time. Maybe we will see each other again and I can tell you why even now I feel like singing for joy.”
Emperor Bretton offered out his hand and Ziavir took it. “I’ll keep her safe. I promise. Then you can tell me everything.”
Bretton smiled and clasped Ziavir in a tight embrace. It was unexpected and unbelievable. The Emperor would never do such a thing. Such an expression of affection made him too vulnerable. The thought of how easy it would be to slip a knife into Bretton’s side crossed Ziavir’s mind. But that was why the emperor did it. Just as Ziavir swore he trusted Bretton, the emperor shared that same trust for Ziavir and was making that known.
The embrace caused Ziavir to tear up…because he had never had anyone trust him as much as the emperor showed him now, and because he knew the truth.
This was likely goodbye.
Emperor Bretton broke the hug and smiled at Ziavir. “I wish I could go with you, but that would only put the two of you in more danger and I must defend my home to buy you time. Be safe—both of you.”
Angelia stood and bowed her head. She looked to Ziavir and said, “Thank you, Lord Procurator.”
Ziavir grimaced. “Come on, ma’am. I’ll get you out of here.”
And after that, someone is going to explain to me why I did this, Ziavir thought.
Eleven
Normally I wake up in the mornings with groans and a few aching muscles from the previous night’s…adventures. This time was different. The aches and pains were there, but I don’t recall waking up. I only remember staring at the ceiling and watching the room shift from dark to light with the rising sun.
It took a couple of minutes but I finally got out of bed. It was Saturday morning, which meant I was supposed to meet with Chamberlain and everyone else for our usual bi-monthly breakfast before heading off to work. In the past few months it had become the only time all of us were ever together in the same room at one time. I had skipped out on the past three gatherings, possibly the past four. I just couldn’t bear to see them most days, but they needed to know everything that happened the night before.
I stumbled from the bed and went straight for the shower, which consisted mostly of repeatedly pouring a mixture of room temperature water and ice chips over me from a bucket. Even this early in the morning I felt the beginning of another headache.
Just how hard did that Rigs guy hit me last night?
Maybe the headache was just a warning of another long and miserable day ahead. I got out of the shower, if you could really call it that, and quickly progressed through the rest of my morning routine. The position of my apartment fortunately allowed ample amounts of sunlight to pour in and my installment of several mirrors created a cheap means of lighting, with the bonus of making the tiny apartment appear much bigger. Kerosene lamps and candles were very expensive these days and, while I made more than most Outcasts, old habits die hard.
It’s the little things in life.
I threw on a suit and tie and tried not to groan too loudly with shame and self-loathing. I hated suits and those who wore them. Too many years stealing from corrupt people in fancy suits meant I never felt comfortable wearing one myself.
Life is filled with irony.
I ran out of the apartment, making sure to lock it behind me to avoid any more unwanted guests, and made my way toward Chamberlain’s residence. He lived only a few short blocks away in the start of the suburb section of the Outcast district, so the walk wasn’t too bad and often enjoyable on nice weather days. The air felt crisp and clean of pollutants, one of the few positive effects of there being no power in the city. The sun was out and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.
Then why do I feel like it won’t be?
The street was already busy with people on their way to work. Even after a crisis where people still struggled to survive, life still went on and people still had to work. With abandoned vehicles covering the street, never to be turned on again, most people walked to work. It created a society where wearing tennis shoes to work was socially acceptable, but there were many who rode bikes. Some even rode horses or if they were rich enough used horse drawn carriages. The sight was an odd blend of past, present, and futuristic scenery.
Chamberlain used to live high up in an old dirty apartment like mine. Obviously, once he was bound to a wheelchair, he had to move. Without a steady job or source of income—one of the hassles of the life an Illegal in the Empire—he relied solely on our generosities. Being an Illegal, the offspring of an Outcast and a Noble, was a tough life. It was the inherent duty of every citizen to report such individuals to the authorities in order to have them executed as some sort of abomination. If citizens didn’t comply and it was discovered, the citizen could be executed as an accomplice to the Illegal’s existence.
His very survival depended upon us, and our lives were at risk every day because of it.
He had spent every day of his life living like this. I knew his mother, Linda, a beautiful and hardworking Outcast woman, a waitress at a diner I used to steal food from as a kid. She died a few months after I met Chamberlain. Linda caught me stealing food from the diner one day, and instead of reporting me and having me hanged, she brought me to her home for dinner where I met Chamberlain. From what I know, Linda had Chamberlain early in life, before she married her Outcast husband, Chamberlain’s step-father, a few years after Chamberlain’s birth. That family took me in, getting me off the streets, and raised me like a son, and I grew up sharing a room with Chamberlain.
Chamberlain and I had been brothers ever since; therefore, I took it upon myself to care for and protect him. With his incapability of getting an honest job, I stepped in to give him a home. He refused it at first, but I felt it my responsibility. After all, he was trapped in a wheelchair because of my choices. It was the least I could do for the hundreds of times he saved my life. So, with my very first paycheck, I put the down payment on a house for Chamberlain, and I made every payment. It wasn’t much money but to Chamberlain I knew it meant everything.
I stopped in front of that house to take in the fresh air. The house wasn’t big and it wasn’t special by any means. The little, single-story place had one bedroom and bathroom and a small gated lawn that wrapped around the house and driveway. The driveway looked like someone had gone nuts with a jack-hammer. Disproportionate cement steps led up to the porch that held two wooden rocking chairs. The front door opened into a living room, which I knew would be converted into a dining room for all of us. Behind the living room, a kitchen also served as the laundry room. The single bathroom could be reached only by going through the office, which could be reached only by going through the bedroom.
When I bought it, the house wasn’t perfect by any means. It still was a mess. But to Chamberlain, the thought of someone buying him a house, even a banged up one such as this, brought tears to his eyes. I smile thinking of that day.
I opened the wired front gate and walked up to the door. I knocked and seconds later, as I expected, Alison answered the door. Behind her I saw everyone else sitting around a table full of food.
“Good morning Alison,” I said, trying to fake being chipper. She saw through it, but appreciated my efforts regardless. Chamberlain and her were the same in that the effort to be genuine was equal in appreciation to actually being genuine.
If only they knew of the dark cloud coming upon all of us yet again.
Alison was the sister I never had. She joined up with us only by Chamberlain’s pleas—I assumed by some unspoken excuse of his involving love at first sight. She quickly grew into all of our hearts, acting in some ways as the mother we all needed and the friend you could count on.
Standing at about four inches shorter than I, she had long, slightly curly
auburn hair and big brown puppy dog eyes. She wore a plaid shirt with flour dust on it and jeans that had grass stains on them. It was an odd look to see in the city but it suited Alison.
“Griffon! You actually came!” She dove forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly. It felt good, and in six months I couldn’t remember the last time someone touched me with such loving affection. It nearly broke me.
“Come on in! Everyone else is already eating,” she said before turning back into the house. I closed the front door and followed her.
She had changed the living room layout since I was last here. The walls were painted a darkish orange tone with stain paneling, a much more soothing color compared to the moldy gray before. Different photographs of all of us taken at the city park a few years back covered the walls. Those were happier times and I smiled as I glanced at each smiling face within them.
Mirrors bounced sunlight around the room. The sofas had been pushed back to allow room for a long fold-up table surrounded by metal fold-up chairs. On the table lay pancakes, eggs, bacon, and smoked ham with glasses of orange juice and milk. There was already a space with a plate full of food waiting for me. They were always expecting me to show even when I rarely did. My stomach growled in longing to dive onto that table like a mad man and devour every bite of food.
If Lorre and Evelyn are both telling the truth, this could be my last meal.
It had been a long time since I had ever wondered at each meal if it were going to be my last. That feeling ended once Chamberlain and his family took me in. Sitting around the table were Chamberlain, Michael, and Thomas. They were talking when Alison and I entered.
I heard Michael ranting, “See the key to all of it is the right combination of the proper wavelengths delivered at specific points in the temporal shift with the help of some supplementing dark matter to….”
I sat down in the spot next to Thomas, ignoring everything Michael rambled on about to Chamberlain, who appeared to be listening intently to everything Michael said.
Good for him. But I don’t have that endurance.
I whispered to Thomas, “What is he going on about now?”
Thomas was the only Noble of our group. It used to be we Outcasts saw all Nobles as the enemy out to kill us. Thomas had shown us otherwise. He taught us, me in particular, that Nobles were people, too—even if they were genetically superior (according to the Empire). I guess that made them a separate species from Outcasts, like the rest of us around that table. Thankfully, Thomas didn’t care about Chamberlain’s status as an Illegal, and because of that he was officially one of us now.
He was the youngest of the pack but more mature than most. His calm and quiet demeanor hid his lethal capabilities. He rarely spoke, preferred to be alone, and appeared just cold enough to set you on edge around him. I liked that about him. Thomas smiled at my comment, and said, “Morning. He’s explaining his most recent theory on time travel.”
“It’s not time travel! I’m talking about interdimensional travel. You would know that if you were listening!” said Michael as he spun on Thomas, fork in hand slinging syrup and eggs through the air. His eyes locked on me, and he froze. His face grew paler at the sight of me and he swallowed what food still remained in his mouth.
Every time he looks at me, he remembers the day I failed to save us all.
Michael, for as long as I had known him, had always been the quirky individual who liked to speak a thousand miles per hour about technical matters none of us were smart enough to comprehend or that didn’t make sense in the real world. I often felt like I was taking care of a child. You always had to keep an eye out for him so he didn’t get himself hurt. Even still, Michael has his moments when he surprised everyone. The last time was when he stood up to me and went headlong into battle with me to save Chicago, something I never had expected from Michael.
He was a genius beyond compare, gifted with an amazing photographic memory. Everything he saw and everything he read he remembered perfectly down to the smallest detail. It was scary. He also possessed remarkable computer skills, or at least he used to when working computers still existed in Chicago. When the blast happened, Michael’s world crumbled. His whole life revolved around his laptop, working as a computer repairman by day and hacker by night. He had lost his identity.
“Michael! You just slung syrup all over the carpet,” said Alison.
“Sorry,” said Michael as he slowly lowered his eyes from my gaze.
Chamberlain laughed a deep booming laugh that filled the tiny house. “You eat your food like you tell your theories. A mess all over the place! Two weeks ago it was shrink rays, last week mind reading devices, and now this week travel through dimensions. What will be next my friend? Robotic, fire-breathing dinosaurs?”
“You know…now that you mentioned it—”
“Let’s not get started on this wild goose chase again,” said Alison, slapping Chamberlain’s arm with a rag for how he goaded Michael. Chamberlain stuck out his tongue at his fiance and I smiled at their silliness. I gobbled down my food, listening to the continued light hearted conversation, tossing a few of my own snarky comments into the air. We were a family, and when we were together everything seemed lighter.
Is this fair?
I’m not sure why I said it. I never realized I was the one speaking until everyone looked at me. But somewhere between Alison talking about wedding plans and Thomas talking about one of his clients I said, “Evelyn is back in town.”
And there I go ruining everyone’s day.
Twelve
The chorus of silverware scraping across plates ceased. Food dropped from Michael’s lips. Alison’s eyes grew three sizes bigger and a thousand questions hung on the edges of her lips. Chamberlain turned to stone. Only Thomas seemed unaffected—maybe surprised more by everyone’s sudden reaction than my words. He looked at me and slowly finished his mouthful.
Michael pushed the brim of his glasses farther up his nose and said, “Evelyn? The Evelyn Chambers?”
I nodded and replied, “She was in my apartment when I got home last night.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Thomas finally swallow and ask, “Um…who is Evelyn Chambers?”
“My ex-fiancé,” I said, a bit harshly.
Why does that still sting to hear out loud?
Thomas nodded only once, leaned back in his chair away from his breakfast and crossed his arms. His dark eyes glistened as he furrowed his brow. I looked to Chamberlain, hoping for some reaction from him. He was still, but his expression hadn’t changed, as if he wasn’t surprised but expected Evelyn to return.
Maybe sensing my longing for a reaction from him, Chamberlain leaned forward, placed his forearms on the table, tried to hide a flicker of a smile by sipping his glass of juice, and asked, “Why?”
Why? I’m not even sure if I really know.
“She…is here on a job.”
“And what is this job?” asked Alison. The look in her eyes suggested she could likely guess for herself.
I licked my lips and said, “She has been hired…to find and arrest…Shaman.”
Once again a brief silence before Thomas asked, “Did this Evelyn take the job?” There was a spark in his eye. Thomas had grown very attached to and protective of all of us—especially Chamberlain as an Illegal. That moment, I knew he was processing whether or not this Evelyn was a threat needing to be dealt with.
I nodded in answer to his question and said, “She said if she hadn’t come, someone else would have taken the job—someone dangerous, someone who would expose all of us.” I glanced at Chamberlain and the message became very clear to everyone.
Evelyn wasn’t just trying to save me. She was trying to protect Chamberlain, too.
“So she not only knows you are Shaman, but also knows that Chamberlain is an Illegal?” Thomas asked. Another nod answered him.
“But this is Evelyn we are talking about. Regardless of the differences between the two of you, she would n
ever arrest you knowing it would get you killed. Therefore, we have nothing to worry about,” Michael said.
This time I shook my head, and said, “It’s not that simple. Her employer gave her a week. She’s already been here three days setting up shop and appearing to be busy. She has four days to complete her assignment or her employer sends someone else. If she succeeds she’s rich. If she fails…” I trailed off, not able to finish the sentence.
Chamberlain caught on and whispered, “Her life is forfeit if she fails.”
Alison gasped, shot back in her chair and said, “What sort of employer would do that?”
“Do you know who would have hired her?” asked Michael, nearly as shocked as Alison.
I nodded but didn’t look up from my plate of food. I felt reluctant to tell them this. I doubted they would believe me. I didn’t even believe it myself, but if there happened to be even a chance that this was real then they needed to know.
“She said it was Adam Rythe.”
Alison gasped again. Michael went pale. Thomas bit the inside of his lip. Chamberlain’s hand shook and he ducked his gaze downward. I saw a vein bulge in his neck as perspiration formed along the top of his forehead.
“The Emperor! Is this a joke?” asked Michael. He then proceeded to whisper some startling things under his breath.
I shook my head and said, “I saw the truth in her eyes when she told me. That was why she came to my apartment last night, not to apprehend me but to warn me. It seems we caught the interest of the Emperor.”
Just when I thought everyone couldn’t go paler, they did. I was in a room full of ghouls. They had every right to be afraid.
It wasn’t enough that Adam Rythe was the Emperor of an empire stretching over most of the North American and South American continents, making him the most powerful man alive. He was a ruthless tyrant. Almost thirty years ago he stole the throne from Emperor Bretton in a coup during the peace talks between the Empire and the King of the Northern Territories.