by T B Phillips
She asked, “Everyone here is part of the Society?”
“Yes. You called us revolutionaries but we’re more than that. We are truly a society with laws and government. We even have our own army. We crave freedom for ourselves and the Andalonians. We hope to live peacefully beside them after we remake the world without the Council.”
“How do you know that’s even possible? They’re chaotic and their powers stem from unstable emotions.”
“While you hide away in your oracle trying to see things from above, we’re busy placing agents on the ground across all continents. We’ve been grooming them for centuries, and we’re ready to rise together.”
“Is that how my brother reached Andalon? Is that what he does there?”
“I don’t know your brother. But I assume that he’s either making contacts to aid our war against the Council or he’s supporting those who do. We have hundreds of agents spread out among every city.”
“Tell me more about the Dragon.”
“You’ll meet him soon enough.” Cassidy’s response held a finality that abruptly ended the conversation.
Sounds of industry clanged and hissed around them as they walked. Fatwana scanned the factories, taking notice of the large fans lifting dark smoke to the surface. Here and there men loaded crates into trucks, and the lead sister tried to peer into one as they passed. They were all tightly closed or covered with tarps. Her curiosity finally won out and she asked, “What are you producing down here that you have to hide it from The Council?”
Cassidy retorted, “That’s for the Dragon to share if he chooses.”
The women walked in silence the rest of the way and finally approached a stone building of gothic architecture. The cobblestone street leading to the entrance curved around a circular fountain, revealing a sight unlike any Fatwana had ever seen.
She could not believe her eyes. Although the structure was heavily damaged and the dome had been buried beneath layers of dirt and ash, the Society had excavated the entire entrance. The high archway was accented by six tall pillars on each side. Carved religious statues adorned the massive building, depicting figures whose names were long lost to civilization. The massive wooden doors were mostly preserved and hung on their hinges, useless except as adornment.
The inside of the structure was far more beautiful. No light shone through the stained glass windows, but the paintings held as much color as the day the artist lay brush to stone. Above the golden altar, one painting prominently stood above the others. Several women adorned in robes knelt before the corpse of a man. He was stripped to the waist and nailed to crossed wooden stakes with arms outstretched to his sides. Fatwana could almost hear the women wail and pray to the winged spirits adorning the other artwork.
“This is the den of the Dragon, Fatwana.” She led the sister down a long walkway between rows of wooden benches.
At the foot of the altar sat a regal man with a welcoming smile and jovial eyes set under a head of fiery red hair. He looked to be in his early forties, close to her own age, and she could not help but find him beautiful. Prying her eyes and regaining her composure, she asked, “So, you’re the Dragon?”
“I’ve been called that name, among others.” His green eyes twinkled at a private joke as he spoke. He waved his hands at the magnificent house of worship. “Welcome to my home.”
“It’s marvelous. Fifteenth century Europe?”
He nodded. “Yes. And eighteenth and twentieth centuries as well. Our ancestors enjoyed destroying masterpieces in their pursuit of redefining their identity. But they missed this one.”
“Like they haven’t found you?”
“This is only one of our bases of operation. We’ve lain low and avoided drawing their attention until now. We felt that it was best to remain as ghosts until the prophecy was fulfilled.”
“Are you The Destroyer?”
The Dragon’s laughter came honest and from deep inside. “In a way we all are, Fatwana.”
“Why are you so focused on destroying the power of the Council? The people of Astia are content.”
His demeanor changed at her question, growing suddenly serious. “The people of Astia are sheep, blindly giving their lives for their rich and spoiled masters.” The fire in his eyes seared Fatwana’s nerves as he spoke. “The Council has enslaved all mankind. They lock their subjects in wards and communes, unable to consume what they produce for the state while the elite and leaders eat the fat.”
“And you’d rather feed the fat to the people? How do you know they won’t devour each other?”
“For a time in our history most of mankind lived free of tyranny,” he responded, “and we can do so again.”
“Some but not all, and even those living under democracy couldn’t preserve it. After a while they gave up self-rule in favor of global government.”
“No, Fatwana, they did not. Nothing was given freely. It was stolen by each generation under the guise of social reform.” He pointed a finger toward the ceiling. “The people up there are the result of generational apathy. They are no more than children living without purpose.”
She protested, “Their purpose is to feed the collective.”
“Exactly. The purpose that fed our ancestors was innovation. Do you realize how much technology we’ve lost since the Great Eruption?”
Of course she did. Her thoughts returned to the message from Samani and of the scores of people strapped to stone slabs. In a trembling voice she responded, “Even if you overthrow the council, you will have to do something about the people across the sea. Surely you won’t release them. The technology we do have is reliant upon the oracles. Besides, the prophecies describe total annihilation of our continent.”
“Not our continent, Fatwana, our culture. Our way of life.”
“That is one interpretation.”
“The Society will free all who are enslaved and create a new world that is free of tyranny.”
“The people of Andalon deserve freedom, but they’re dangerous. How can we help them without destroying the world with their powers? We can’t give them the gift of unfettered freedom.”
The Dragon’s eyes turned dangerous and cool. “They’re humans, not cattle. Would you kill a cow for its ability to produce milk?”
“I wouldn’t give it weapons with which to destroy our world.”
“Our ancestors enslaved the world with idealism. They meant well but lived so comfortably that they forgot the value of adversity. Without the right pinch of salt, mankind would never have developed civilizations. Have you never wondered why the first cities weren’t founded on tropical islands?”
“No.”
“It was because life there was too easy. When life is too easy you don’t care about developing literature or writing. The same goes for a life that’s too difficult. If you’re constantly worried about food supplies or shelter you never invent wheels or mathematics.”
“What are you saying? That our ancestors grew too complacent?”
“Exactly. They were too accustomed to easy lives and lost everything when the caldera erupted. Their world warmed to the point that the oceans flooded their cities and they grew desperate. When the eruption launched their weapons, every other nation responded in kind, killing over eighty percent of the world’s population. For a time, they lost the knowledge to rebuild their own technology, and what we have today is patchwork at best.”
“I know the history, tell me what it has to do with the people of Andalon?”
“They’re the master race and deserve to rule over mankind, Fatwana.”
Unable to hide her shock she raised her hand to her mouth. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Yes. You have. Your brother taught that to me. They were engineered before the collapse of civilization and brought to life by a fledgling society, one desperate to replace their satellites and computers
. Our ancestors made improvements to the human mind.”
“But those experiments failed.”
“Quite the opposite. They were highly successful and produced foresight and manipulation over the elements. But many of the powers terrified the Council because they threatened their control over the subjugated citizens. They seeded the three unpopulated continents with their laboratory rats, culling out the undesired traits and farming the rest for use by the covens.”
“And enslaving oracles through a promise of transcending to the afterlife.”
“That is correct, Fatwana.” The Dragon returned a smile to his face, laughing off the seriousness he once held. “Alas, that’s what governments do. They make empty promises that convince blind followers to give up their free will in exchange for fairytales like equality and prosperity for all.”
He leaned back in his chair and poured from a bottle of wine. Fatwana recognized the numbers seven, five, and four on the label, having seen them before in Chancellor Jakata’s office. “What’s your ultimate goal?”
“At some time before the Astian people were corralled into communes and complexes, they were convinced to give up their ability to think and defend for themselves. Overthrowing the Council is our only avenue. Then we will forge a new world that blends cultures as well as bloodlines.”
Fatwana stared deep into the man’s fiery eyes, trying but failing to find his true intent. This man was godlike; so confident and arrogant. “And who is better to lead both the Andalonians and the Astians but you?”
He answered with a wink and a tip of his glass. After a moment he spoke again. “You brought the information we requested?”
“I did.” She pulled a storage device from the hidden pouch in her robes and handed it over. “Twelve hundred years of Ka’ash’mael prophecies.”
“Twelve hundred?” Cassidy interrupted with shock in her voice. “But Andalon is only a little over eight hundred years old.”
Fatwana nodded agreement. “This version of Andalon is.”
“I don’t understand.”
The Dragon answered, “The council has reset Andalon three times and the Southern Continent twice.”
“Reset?” The Society agent’s confusion grew.
“Revolutions and unrest are common in Andalon and oftentimes appropriate to control population and technological advance.” Fatwana could not keep the sadness out of her voice as she spoke. “But occasionally the situation gets out of control when the powers awaken at a quicker pace.”
“Like now, due to renewed volcanic activity.” The Dragon added.
The lead sister nodded. “Like now. When that occurs the Falconers and Jaguars fall behind in their duties of finding and controlling the latents before they can fully work their emotant powers.”
The Dragon added, “When they can no longer work effectively from behind the scenes, the council steps in. They send military to cleanse cities in such a way that resembles a natural disaster.”
Fatwana agreed, “And sometimes they completely wipe out populations and reseed the continent.”
Cassidy calculated. “The last time was eight hundred years ago?”
“Yes. The Andalonians have never advanced this far or this quickly, and wouldn’t have, if the Society hadn’t been helping them along for the past fifty years.” The Dragon took another long sip of the wine and looked at the glass. “Damn this is a fine vintage.”
“How much have you interfered?” The question came from Fatwana.
“Helped,” the man corrected, “not interfered. About thirty years ago our agents stirred up the Pescari war. The Council couldn’t let the Esterlings lose, so they provided cannons and black powder to the continent. Our sources now tell us that a group of Andalonian revolutionaries have invented rifled firearms.”
Horror struck Fatwana as she remembered the industrial activity in the underground city. “You plan to give them advanced weaponry? They’ll destroy us all as prophesied!”
“Of course not! I plan to intercept the Astian soldiers sent to reset the continent. I’ll take their weaponry for us and secure our own uprising.” He took another sip. “As far as the prophecy goes, that’s why we needed your records. We need to know just exactly how he will bring the destruction when the time comes.
“Modern weaponry combined with their powers? Isn’t that obvious?”
“No. I think that the event will be much more destructive and magnificent than your imagination allows.” He leaned in close and added, “And that is precisely why I need your prophecies. So that we can stop him in the act.”
Fatwana felt her heart sink and her stomach churn. “You’re insane to believe that you can stop the prophecy or even control the fate of the destroyer.”
The Dragon chuckled and gestured around the once holy place of worship that surrounded them. “Except for the fact that there is no fate, only free will. Nothing is predetermined, Fatwana, and soon we will walk beside the true gods, those designed by mankind.”
Terror gripped the lead sister, suddenly aware that she knew too much of The Society’s revolutionary plans. “I must go. I need to return to answer The Council’s summons.”
The Dragon slowly shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that you won’t. I need you to aid your brother in his work and to ensure that he doesn’t fail.” He took a final swig from his glass. “You have work to do in Andalon.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was noon before Flaya returned to the windmill. She was out of breath from running nearly the entire way and startled Taros when she barged through the door. He sat up quickly with his knife drawn. “What is it?”
“There was trouble in Weston last night.”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of trouble?” In his mind he imagined the worst kind.
She leaned against the doorway as she spoke between deep breaths. “A riot broke out in the Pescari district. Your uncle led warriors against the soldiers and drove them out.”
“I’m sure that he had reason to do so.”
“Taros…” She fell to her knees, hands on her stomach.
He ran to her, kneeling down with both hands on her shoulders. “What is it, Flaya? Are you well?”
“Yes, just a cramp from running.” She lied. The pain was unbearable and felt more like her heavy womb ripped from within. She had missed her monthly and, although she hadn’t seen any morning sickness, her body had already changed. Her nipples were hard and both breasts throbbed with pain from the swelling. I won’t be able to hide the baby for long, she thought. “Taros, there is more that you need to know about Teot.” She felt him pull back with worry. His uncle was his only family.
“What about him?”
“Felicima has blessed him as well. He wields her power just as you.”
His face paled, then he breathed out relief. “Then I’m really not a god?”
“No. You’re a man, but I believe that you are both chosen by her to deal out justice and punish those who are prideful and threaten her people.”
“Who else knows?”
“At first only I, but I’m sure that my grandfather will work it out soon if he hasn’t already.”
“Daska.” Hatred hissed as he spoke the name aloud.
Flaya felt that it was finally time to reveal the truth. “My grandfather opposes you. He speaks of a legend passed down through the time, back when the Falconers still visited our villages and before we settled on the Steppes of Cinder.”
“What is the legend?”
“It was prophesied that a man would steal Felicima’s power and wield it as his own, eventually destroying his own people. Taros, he thinks that’s what you’ve been doing.”
Realization settled in his eyes. “And if he knows that my uncle wields it, he likely sees him as Felicima’s savior of our people. He will proclaim him the true shappan?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“My uncle will not challenge me with Shapalote. He’s loyal to me.”
“Daska has been telling him lies, Taros. We don’t know how much of them he believes.”
“Flaya?” Taros sat back with eyes on the floor.
“Yes, My Love?”
“Are you really?”
“Am I really what?”
“Are you really My Love?” His voice was steady with cruel undertones. “Why have you been coming to me, every night for all of these weeks?” He steadied himself for her reply, remembering the rush of uncontrollable power the last time he asked a similar question. “Flaya, why did you come to me and convince me to lie with you?”
“At first I came at my grandfather’s insistence. He has wanted us paired so that he can keep eyes on you.”
“So, you never loved me, either?” He flinched at the memory of acrid burning flesh and hair as he poured his anger into Sarai. I never meant to harm her.
“I’ve loved you since before, Taros.”
Hope and doubt dueled in Taros’ mind. “Before what?”
“Before Cornin shunned your mother after your father fell to him in Shapalote. Do you remember? We were young, but we used to play together.”
“No. I don’t remember much at all before the day he gutted my father alive. He left him for the vultures and didn’t even give him a proper funeral. He left him on that hill for an entire year until the animals and insects had picked him clean. Only then were we allowed to cast his remains into the fumarole. But it was too late for him to rejoin Felicima.”
“I remember.” She moved to his side and held him. “I loved you even then, Taros, but my grandfather forbade me from visiting you with the shunned, despite that you chose to live among them to be near Lynette.”
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You speak the truth?”
“Yes. That’s why I was so jealous of the Westonese girl. She touched and teased you and I watched her set up your heart to break.” Her cheeks darkened when she added, “When he finally told me to find you and to bear your child, I did so gladly, My Love.” His eyes turned to her stomach and she nodded. “Yes. Feel.” She gently grabbed his hand and placed it low across her womb. “It is yours, Taros.”