by D. W. Rigsby
The Father’s face twitched. He looked over the table with his red stare. “I don’t have time. You know that. If I could live forever, I wouldn’t be plotting a way to attack the remaining Keepers all in one movement while keeping Dugual busy at the same time. A huge risk, yes. When we run short of time, what else can we do?”
Fin moved down the table, looking deep into the hologram of a surrounding forest, seeing the paths that ran through it. “Attacking Dugual would be a mistake if you plan to attack all the Keepers at the same time.”
The Father kept his focus on the board. “Perhaps. I know this Mittere Ergon is only a fairy tale, yet the Numas have invested much into it. Is Petro still faring well?”
“Yes, my lord, he is. We are keeping a watchful eye on him. I hear he’s assumed somewhat of leadership role in his training.” In Fin’s voice was a hint of laughter.
The Father stood up and cocked his head. “It is good to know. I surely don’t understand why people follow these Numas.” His red eyes flared. “Sheep—those people are nothing but sheep. Prophecies are nothing but a way to control them, yet they don’t even see it.” He went back to the board, holding his hand under his chin with his other arm folded across his chest. His eyes widened. “Mothers who spoil their children and fathers who lack discipline make them that way. They do it unknowingly; their seeds are set up for failure to grow like weeds, yet it is those like myself who see them for what they are—a nuisance—and we yank them out by the roots.” He made a fist and a pulling motion with his arm.
Dugual sat against the flats, the main road leading out toward the west. Above her were the kingdoms of Morella and Nna; directly south were the lands of King Offing, but they now were Ardinias and Rednex ruled by his sons Dwuave and Odian. Farther south, the Father’s lands. To Dugual’s southeast was Clammer, touching the water’s edge. Dugual was slowly being surrounded, the southern lands having all been taken and controlled by the Father’s lineage. The east was still open with King Sirhe posed as Dugual’s ally; and then the north, too, was open to her.
On the table in the center of the war room were miniature men with banners, representing the different kingdoms and the quantity of their men on the field. The Father took a stick in his hand, reached out over the table, and moved a division of Ardiniasin men to the border of Dugual. He studied his move and thought this would be the line to hold King Amerstall’s men while he swept high and across King Sihre’s lands in a pincer move, flanking the men of Dugual. King Amerstall would expect it and would be ready, so the element of surprise would not be on the Father’s side. An opponent who is aware and ready is a formidable foe and, when in a defensive posture, could prove difficult to remove. Speed and confusion would remedy the lost advantage of surprise: coming at Dugual’s men at blinding speed, hitting the outermost edge, and cutting off the tail.
Fin, in his red cloak with his hood down, beamed at the excitement on the board. He stared at the kingdoms and the inevitability of war to come. With a stick in his hand, he moved two divisions of Dugual’s men to the southern border and then took another division and moved them to the eastern border to form an L shape around Dugual’s land. He touched the tip of his finger to his chin, looking on, scanning the table for other possibilities. Then he moved another division of King Sihre’s army to the southern border as a counter.
“It gives them hope, inspires their dreams, keeps them believing in something when there is nothing, and dulls their minds so they are easier to persuade,” Fin said.
“You are a fine product,” the Father said. “The people’s minds are easily captured regardless; they forget what happened just yesterday and go about their daily routines, trying to survive. Survival is key—give them enough to keep them distracted, give them enough so they don’t starve, but don’t give them hope. Apply the right amount of pressure to keep them from falling into discontentment.”
“Aren’t they still sheep?” Fin asked.
“You catch on quick. They are, but they are yours, not some god’s high above in the clouds or deep down in the ground, some god that makes fire, spreads the rains, or brings birth. If they are sheep, well, they go with the shepherd. I am no shepherd, and what I want are lemmings.” He chuckled.
“A man who will do what you want, when you want it,” Fin said.
“Exactly, and therein lies power. The ability to will so many to a cause, to obtain unfettered devotion so that they will do anything you ask—that is what you want. Sheep don’t die for their shepherd; the shepherd dies for them. Lemmings die for no other reason but to follow the others.”
The Father studied Dugual and its perfect position on the board, centered just before the flats, and the open plains where the main road went west to the Free City. Dugual held the key to the realm—all the coin that passed through her hands from the surrounding kingdoms to the Free City—all were investments into robust new technologies. Power came in different forms: military strength, political prowess, and abundance of coin, but the mightiest was the control of knowledge, of invention.
“The minds must be persuaded, and some minds are not easily taken. There is still much risk you must consider—for example, King Amerstall. He follows no gods, and he takes no prayer or meditation. He’s sharp, confident, and has a mind for strategy. You cannot dull his mind, and that is why you plan to attack the city,” Fin said.
The Father shook his head; his look was one of disappointment. “And there is one mind I aim to dull down.” He gave a tight thin smile.
“Who is it? May I ask?” Fin said.
The Father’s eyes darted across the table, and then he brought his gaze up to his son, his advisor. “Oh, come now. You’ve taken the amusement out of it already; try and imagine who it might be. In all the realms, whose mind would I want to capture?”
“I would think Queen Lilith would be a fine target, her being close to King Amerstall. With her mind dull, and with some prodding of making an alliance, she might become one of our advocates without even knowing it,” Fin said.
“She’s strong-minded, strong-willed, and devoted to her husband. Even with a dull mind, she would be of no real use to us,” the Father said. “Who else? Come now. I’m gaining the advantage against your men here.” He pointed with his stick.
“It’s someone in Dugual, that is a given; and it would be someone close to King Amerstall. Queen Lilith is out, so there is Princess Dia, Prince Sid, or perhaps Leader Gull. Yes, those would be likely candidates,” Fin said.
“Yes, those are good choices, but which one? Be a challenge for me; think—the signs are there,” the Father said.
“There must be reason, as you said. What sort of hope lies with these three?” Fin ran his hands together. “I think Princess Dia has hopes to become queen one day, maybe to rule over Dugual herself. And if that is true, she’d want to maintain her father’s affection. Prince Sid’s desire might even be greater, as he is second in line, though some may look on him as being first, but Dugual does not always follow traditional protocol. As for Leader Gull, his hopes, I believe, are met. There is nothing else for the man to hope for. He has all he needs, and he has no ability to move up in his position; perhaps he could be made a lord of sorts, but he strikes me as one who prefers his position, which gives him status and conviction. I will make you another challenge and then make my decision.”
“My lines are about to cut you in half and squeeze the life out of your men,” the Father said, sneering.
On the board, the Father’s division had outflanked Dugual’s men and were crushing them. The images were on top of each other, fighting, taking out the other, coming together and forcing the line backward.
“My challenge is this—of the three, which one of them seems most likely to have the greatest hope?”
“Go on; you have the name, I know. Tell me,” the Father said.
“Prince Sid,” Fin said.
“Yes, Prince Sid,” the Father said.
“But what gain will you have? He is secon
d in line, unless Princess Dia chooses to give up her succession and becomes queen of another land,” Fin said.
“Think of sheep. When the mind is easily controlled, you have sheep; they follow because they know no better. If they understood they were to go to slaughter one day, would they continue to follow?” the Father said.
“People are strange—they are not willing to lift themselves out of their situations, because they see no reason to do so. They place all their hope in another,” Fin said.
The Father’s face lit up briefly. “People want the adventure without the risk. Prince Sid is no different. Over time, we’ll have him where we want him, but I’m running out of time. I am going to try and accelerate the process of dulling his mind.” It was the battle he needed to wage; it had to be now, not later, when his bones were all that were left and he was deep in the ground. “His father could sit on that throne for another thirty years. The crown may pass sooner, and not to Sid but to Dia, if King Amerstall allows one of his children to rule while he’s still in his prime. She could be persuaded to go elsewhere. It would only make sense to remove her from the equation, allowing Prince Sid to be next in line. But what does it gain me if he cannot rule for another fifteen, twenty, or thirty years? I’ll lose either way,” the Father said solemnly.
“This is why you cannot attack Dugual now. You aren’t ready,” Fin said.
The Father turned dark, and his composure stiffened. His red eyes bored through his son like hot metal through flesh, searing it as it penetrated.
Two gold orbs, tiny replicas of the Great Eyes, hovered over the battlefield. The Father pushed a button, and a beam of light shot out onto the orbs. He blinded them, keeping his activities hidden, concealing his next move, which would be treason against the entire realm. His finger pressed another button, and smoglike mist rose up around Dugual’s men, enveloping them. The Father moved his final division of men to the southern border of Dugual and replaced one of Dugual’s defending divisions with his own. He broke his division in two, leaving half to protect its rear while the other rounded to the west of Dugual to meet the oncoming division of Dugual’s men, approaching from the main road. He moved another division from Clammer to the southern border of Dugual and fired several miniature grenades into Dugual’s interior walls. The plumes of smoke rose up and out, hovering just inside the walls.
Fin split his remaining men into two separate groups, one retreating back to the castle and the other forming a thin barrier around the castle’s walls. This proved to be of no use. The Father’s men were beating Dugual’s men, who were outnumbered, and the toxins unleashed into the air were taking their toll on Amerstall’s men.
“I am not taking the traditional approach. Prince Sid’s mind is dull already. He’s young and full of ambition. He wants to prove himself to the world, to his father, even now, knowing Petro is part of some prophecy to be fulfilled; and so we give it to him. Oh, it won’t be easy, but he craves a blue refreshment made from grapes and rosemary, I’m told, and we’ve taken the liberty of introducing a substance that adjusts his mood. This substance works over several years, though my specialists tell me they can increase its effect in a shorter period of time. As for time, it’s my life that may run out before it takes hold. So, I am using a secondary approach—call it my fallback strategy. This blue substance will cause Prince Sid’s desire to become central for him, making him obsessed with getting what he wants—and when he sees we can give it to him, he’ll take it.” The Father’s gaze fell upon the board. “Though I’ve received word that our person in Dugual has made a mistake, and the toxin we introduced into Prince Sid’s drink was discovered. We shall suspend our efforts for the moment, to give it time to pass, and then resume.” He looked on as his men conquered the men of Dugual, but he knew that it would not be this easy and that King Amerstall would rally his men from the Free City to reinforce his position.
“Look, you have men coming in from the west along the main road. The walls I cannot breach, not this time. But I can buy time. I do not plan to take Dugual over at this moment, but in time. I plan to distract her for now. And while she is distracted, my men will hit the other Keepers on the day of the ring of fire, when the moon is in a direct line with the sun.”
“The annular solar eclipse,” Fin said. “I urge you, sire, to reconsider. It will take more time than you anticipate to dull the mind of Prince Sid—years, possibly. We could call on the witch; I know how you despise her presence, but she has had some success with this disease you carry. It will buy you time. And in this time, your works of human enhancement can make progress, maybe even find a way to extend your life ever further than what the witch can do. This will allow you to avoid a direct assault upon your home and your sons’ homes from the surrounding kingdoms. There are other ways to uncover the hidden technology the Numas have placed with their Keepers, and there are other ways to subdue Dugual. Time is all we need, sire.” He bowed his head.
The Father looked away and then back to the board. He pressed his hands down on the table. Fin was correct; time was all they needed. Did he have time? It was the utmost important question, and what if he could not live for another year, or the next six months? What would all his accomplishments have been for? Would his rash judgment cause his sons to forfeit their red of life? The Father realized he was being brash and too careless. The disease’s progression had altered his decisions, causing his mind to willingly to take too much risk for his desire to see all his work come to fruition. No, he mustn’t go forward—not now. “Have her fetched, and only her. No one else.”
The holographic men moved swiftly from the west, time elapsed, and they both watched as Dugual’s walls held, and King Amerstall’s reinforcements from the Free City swarmed the grounds and defeated the Father’s men.
Can you be what you are meant to be without conflict? Those who were put in your path—the ones who made you fearful, the ones who thought themselves of greater value than you— have brought conflict to you. Why? Is there something there that they fear? How is it you attract conflict? Maybe it is because you need conflict to become what you were meant to be.
—From The Universal Teachings, by Dr. Setner
From the frigid mountains to the lowlands, Petro and his band of brothers sat inside a wagon, rolling down a dirt road. It had been over a month, and they would conclude their first year at Tokus Numas with a hunt. The wagon creaked from a combination of its heavy wood-planked box and the young men who sat inside. It was covered by an arched piece of canvas and crept through the faint light of dusk. It dipped low into ditches, back up over rocks, and swayed from side to side. Today was a warm day with high humidity; rain clouds had formed above, threatening to release their waters upon the living below. Petro’s skin bore cooling sweat that dampened his clothes in the armpits and crotch. He decided that the fingertip he saw on the mountain was nothing; he’d imagined it, probably from too much stress. And he never spoke to anyone about it, not even Vetus Sepher or Vetus Mont. There was no reason to speak of it, and if he did, it would only raise concern, especially if he could not prove there was a person frozen to death on top of that mountain. Petro watched Kad, who sat across from him. The shadows drew dark lines down his face, darkened circles around his eyes, and blotted out most of his features as the night edged toward them.
“I remember one hunt I was on my own, stalking a bear. It was a massive beast, and its paw prints were as large as two of my hands put together.” Kad held his hands out together, stretching his fingers wide. “I was terrified, but I kept on; and when I finally tracked it down, I stood there, wondering if I should even try to shoot or just turn around and leave before it noticed me. As I waited, the bear stood up; it was so tall, twice the height of a man. I thought I might pee myself,” he said. The wagon erupted in laughter but quieted quickly. “Then it saw me, and I knew I had no choice. There was no going back. If I had turned to leave, it would have probably charged me and killed me. So I brought my bow up and pulled the string back.
I was worried; what if I missed? I fired, and I did miss…then—” Kad was interrupted.
“Missed? Yak-nah, it would have killed you,” Sha said.
“No, it would not have killed me. I had my uncle’s ironside loaded with a higher grain of black powder, and the round was large enough to put a giant hole right through it,” Kad spat. “Besides, it didn’t matter that I missed. I killed it with my uncle’s ironside. Thanks for ruining the story.”
There were low scoffs from the others.
Sha raised his hand up in his own defense. “I was just saying it might have killed you if you had nicked it or wounded it. Then it would have charged you and used its front claws to tear you apart. After that, it would have eaten your innards.” Everyone’s faces scrunched up. “I know what I’m talking about. I’ve heard of people being killed before.”
Bran rotated to get a more direct look at Sha. “Who are these people who you know were killed? Do they speak to you from the dead?”
Chortling went around the wagon.
Sha fumbled for words. “I…I didn’t say I knew them. I just heard. And there is a sure way to kill a bear—you shoot it in the head.”
Kad’s jaw dropped.
Petro watched, holding his lips tight and keeping himself from bursting at the gut. It was Kad’s reaction—his face, that look—it was all too much, and he couldn’t hold it anymore. He let out a loud guffaw.
Sha’s stare burned into Petro.
Kad threw up his hands in a wild gesture. “Shoot it in the head? Are you off Spearca? That’s the last place you’d want to shoot a bear. Its skull is as thick as a slab of granite. It seems like you have a similar problem,” Kad said and pointed to Sha’s head, holding a dumfounded look. The young men laughed. “A round would skip off its head, and then you would be dead after you piss it off with trying that sort of nonsense.” Kad waved his hands about his head, moving around erratically and making a comical display.