by Mark Eller
"I love you," Aaron said, fighting back tears. He loved Chase, and he loved Autumn. When he said those words to her in the past, they had not been empty. He had not lied--except to himself--because he had been unwilling to open himself to expected pain.
Felicity was right; he realized as he rocked Chase in his arms, his problem was he could not stop caring. He thought of Amanda, and warmth spread through him. She was family, as was Missy, Patton, and so many others. They were family he loved, and they loved him because they saw something in him he had long denied.
And Melna? His wife?
Yes, he even loved Melna. With all her faults, with all her twists and superior ways, he did love her, and she, in some way, loved him back. Their love, he realized, was not romantic. It was the love of friends.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Karen.
"I love you."
"I know," she answered with a sad smile. "Me too. You." Her cheeks were damp. "The letter. Miss Stromberg said I was to tell you something now."
Aaron licked his lips and nodded as Chase pulled back and began patting Aaron's cheek. The boy's face was solemn, as if he realized something important had just happened.
"She told me to say you are not empty. She said your problem is you are too full. She said you care. You care about everything and everyone. You love people, and because you love them, you are driven to make things right and better. You love so strongly you get hurt because few people will ever love you as much as you do them. She said this is your curse, but it's your gift, too."
Karen reached down and lifted Chase. She adjusted the child in her arms and silently shook her head when he tried to go back to Aaron. "This one is much like you. He hates it when people hurt. His compassion is astonishing, just like yours."
She looked fondly at Chase and then turned her eyes back to Aaron. "This curse of yours, this gift, it's something I wish I had as strongly as you. It's something I wish we all had. The world would be so much better." She shifted. "I've a meeting with the other deans soon. I have to go."
Leaning forward, Karen kissed his one undamaged cheek and started to leave, pausing only when she reached the door.
"I almost forgot. I'd like you to meet some people. They're new engineering students at the university. Very precocious and very young." She left.
"You're a lucky man," the nurse told him. To Aaron's surprise, she moved forward, leaned down, and planted her lips on his. Her lips were soft and gentle, and then she kissed him on the corner of his mouth, on Heralda's kiss.
Straightening, the nurse blushed red and looked unrepentant. Her young features glowed. "I don't know what you're facing," she said. "I don't know who your enemies are, but I understand why they hate you. They hate you because you draw out the best in people. Just standing here, something in you calls to everything good in me."
It's God, Aaron silently told her. It's the One and Only God. The thing calling to her was the God Touch placed within him when he absorbed the second Zisst. He sensed the touch working in him now. He felt his body changing, growing. His inner self was becoming more accessible.
When the nurse left, Aaron closed his eyes once again, exhausted beyond measure, beyond reason. Just plain tired.
Aaron woke to discover he felt better than he should. Turning his head experimentally to the right, he discovered the pains in his neck were gone. In fact, all his pains were gone, even the throbbing in his injured hand.
"It was amazing," a voice said from the side.
Looking the other way, Aaron blinked on seeing two people who owned embarrassingly red hair. They would be boys in Jutland. Here in Isabella, they appeared barely old enough to be considered men.
"Twins?"
"Almost got it in one," the right hand lad said. His smile was infectious, reminding Aaron of another smile delivered to him by a different redhead. "Triplets, but the third leg on the tripod isn't here."
"Have you any idea what it's like to see bruises fade and disappear in a matter of minutes?" the other asked. "We watched you sleep for the last three hours. Might have grown bored if we hadn't bet on which bruise would disappear next or which cut would close."
"Intriguing," his brother added. "The healing didn't happen all at once. One injury healed at a time. First it was a bruise over here, and then a cut over there, or maybe another bruise. I always knew you would be interesting, but I never thought our first meeting would prove this fascinating."
"This isn't our first meeting," Aaron told them. The reopened love still flowed within him, something he would never bury again.
"I suppose it isn't," the first boy admitted, "but we were a bit young the last time you saw us."
"I love you both," Aaron told them.
"I know," the first boy answered. "It pours off you." He shook his head. "You have no idea what it's like to know beyond a doubt somebody loves you this much. It's-it's intoxicating."
"It's embarrassing," his brother added, his smile still warm and infectious. "Could you turn the heat down a little, at least when we're in public?"
"I'll try," Aaron told him, discovering with those words he really could dampen the feelings he emitted.
"Thanks," the second lad said. He held up his arm. "Do you think this is straight?"
"Yes."
"So do I. It healed up pretty good so I'm not mad at Autumn anymore. So where is she?"
"In Jutland," Aaron told them. "I'm sure your sister will be very glad to see you."
"Us too," the first boy said. "By the way, this won't do you any good because nobody can ever tell us apart, but I'm Bret."
"I'll always know," Aaron told him. Though they were so similar, he would never mistake one for the other. Their flesh might be identical, but their spirits shone with individual flames.
He remembered a question Felicity had asked him. She wanted to know if Aaron thought the world he envisioned was better than the one Clack was trying to create.
"Mine is better," Aaron answered her.
"This," she said, "is the question you must ask yourself before making a decision. Is the world you want worth the price? In the long run, which will prove to be better, yours or Bill Clack's?"
Looking on his almost grown sons, Aaron made his decision. In truth, he had made his decision long before. He made it when he first laid down the plans for New Beginning and the university. Why else would he have built a facility mimicking a perfect fort? Why else would he have made the perfect lure? Why else would he have had Hal Linley cart in a wagon train containing over eight hundred dangerous barrels?
Why else would he have blinded himself to exactly what he was doing?
Chapter 18
"Oh, my Gods," Lioth breathed as she settled closer to the ground, shaping her body as best she could to the slope's contours. Grasses and weeds rose above her, but a careful parting with her fingers allowed an obscure vision of the vast army raptly listening to some fool natter on. "Will the man never shut up?"
Not an army, she thought. These people were worn, failing, tough as sinew, and a mob. They were an ill-armed hodge-podge of bolg wanting to be glorai. They were a joke, only the joke traveled deep inside Chin territory at the behest of a charismatic fool.
This is what happens when a person follows orders to chase down rumors, she told herself. She had come, she had seen, and she wasn't happy.
Han Chuk wouldn't be happy either. These fodder would compromise his plans.
Looking on them, Lioth hoped they would gain sense or learn hunger. She didn't care which just so long as they turned around and went back to where they came from. She was sick and tired of seeing dead bodies. Her fascination with war had long ago worn thin.
Pray Gods she did not have to lead more trusting fools to their deaths. Lioth knew she could not do it again. Even betraying one's enemies weighed heavy on the spirit. Feeling resigned, she rose to her feet, not caring if these fools saw her. If she were lucky, they would take warning from her presence.
If she were lucky. From t
he way the mob seemed engrossed by their leader's unending speech, she doubted luck would find her.
Sighing, she looked back the way she had come. Five days of running brought her here. In five more she would be returned to Delmac, her captive and slave. The thought made her strangely pleased.
Rising, she started running, moving her legs with ease to test their strength. Her Talent, she found, flowed strong today. If its strength held, she could easily change her five day journey into two. Part of her wondered if the fool called Prophet would still be speaking when she rejoined Han Chuk, but really, the answer didn't matter. Like so many others near her of late, the fool and his army were doomed.
* * *
"Look upon me and know the Lord speaks to you with my words. I am the way to His heart, the way to His will, and He wills the total destruction of the Blasphemer. There is the Lord. There is the Lady over who He rules. There is no One God reigning above Them."
"Personally," Armand commented while chewing on the handful of jerky these people called a meal, "On a conscious level, I don't find him inspiring. If I disassociate myself from the words, they have no appeal. No draw."
"They're tripe," Faith agreed. "The Lord ruling over the Lady! Gods, where did he get that from? Mind you, despite reason, I'm still absolutely filled with fervor to rip Aaron limb from limb. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and tear his head from his body." She looked down at her hands. "It's an interesting feeling. The only thing stopping me is the fact Aaron isn't here. If he were, I'd be compelled to do just that, knowing in my head, I'd hate myself for it."
"Agreed," Armand told her, because the part of him not standing off to the figurative, observational side felt exactly the same.
He tried to pull another chunk of jerky free, failing miserably because it was too dry and because his teeth were becoming loose. Shrugging mental shoulders, he left the end of the jerky in his mouth, knowing from past experience moisture would eventually soften the meat. Dinner was something he no longer expected to finish quickly.
He looked to his wife. Faith's always trim waist was now too trim. Two days earlier they had crossed a river. Prophet of the Lord, newly arrived to their progression after a long absence, declared there was no sin in public bathing when their stench was such an affront to his nose. He ordered the mob to strip off their clothes and enter into the Lord's washbasin.
Much to Armand's dismay, the sight of so many thousands of naked female bodies had held no interest for him. Not even Heshel's naked form with her unnaturally splendid breasts had drawn a reaction. He hoped this lack was simply a matter of exhaustion and malnutrition. Unfortunately, he suspected his advanced years, and the fact he so completely loved his wife, was the more accurate explanation.
Fortunately, Faith had not paid his attitude much attention. His shock had been so great when he saw the stark outline of her ribs he would have told her any truth if she had asked. The knowledge of his fidelity would be a terrible blow to her perceptions. Faith knew him for a terrible flirt. She suspected he'd had several dozen flings over the years. Like so many women, she was not jealous because it was her bed he slept in at night. In fact, she seemed to take a certain pride in how desirable other women found her husband. To correct her on the matter would not be right.
"Our journey will soon come to an end," Prophet intoned from where he stood on a tree stump. "We will enter into his lands walking on our righteous feet. We will stand straight and proud, making our demands with such Holy force the Blasphemer's misled followers will throw him from their presence. They will deny the Blasphemer and vilify those who speak in his defense. Within weeks, he will stand before us, and he shall die because you demand his death. I demand his death. The Lord demands his death. Aaron Turner will die."
"Amen!" many of the crowd cried out. Loudest of all those near Armand were Lundy and Borland, once again trying to prove their superiority to those around them. Then again, maybe they were just caught up in the mood. Prophet of the Lord's face was holy, his gestures sweeping, and his words inspiring to the tens of thousands who listened to his "God" amplified words. The words swept through Armand, making him want to cast aside the jerky still stuck between his lips, making him want to rise to his feet and march once again. Knowing it was all complete bullshit, he still had to fight the impulse, and that pissed him off.
"Gods," Faith murmured so quietly only Armand heard. "Who gave the idiot a Talent Stone? I'm fighting the urge to run up there and confess we're spies."
Armand quickly bit off his wet chunk of jerky. Carelessly tossing the rest of it to the ground, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly between his own,
"Be strong," he whispered urgently. "A confession would be our deaths."
"I know," she answered. "Only it bothers me. We're agents and spies. Murder isn't what I do best."
She looked him in his eyes and clamped her mouth tight shut. Her bottom lip curled inward, folding between her teeth. Armand watched, her hand trapped between his, while his wife fought a silent battle with misplaced guilt over two of Prophet's spies they had killed and buried a week earlier to protect their identities. Faith deliberately bloodied her lip as Prophet droned on.
"While it is true each of us has sinned against the Lord, it is also true there are sins so great every other pales in comparison. Such a sin is the one of creating the pretense of a new god, of a One God, of a creation claiming it stands higher than the Lord and Lady. I say onto you, speaking the words the Lord has decreed me to speak…"
* * *
"How was my performance?" Prophet asked. His face set in supreme arrogance, he leaned back to rest his head in the lap of an over-endowed woman-child who had been patiently waiting for him to do just that. Her fingers caressed his brow. Another woman, owning worshipfully glazed eyes, held a drink by his right hand. Leo Khante stood behind her, his eyes equally glazed as his hand automatically stroked the drink holding woman from her long neck to the center of her buttocks with his fingerless hands. He too, was naked, a living example of what happened to people with whom the Prophet was not pleased. The thing Khante once called his manhood had been removed. Only a scabbed wound remained, the last remnant of his self-inflicted injuries, after Prophet informed him the Lord felt displeased by Khante's attitude.
While she willingly admitted to herself she had only wanted to use the man, Brenda Montpass mentally shuddered every time her eyes were drawn to Leo's mutilation.
"Overblown and plodding," One daringly answered Prophet. She shot an acid look toward the woman holding his cup. "Does she have to be here?"
"Yes," Prophet replied. He ran a slow hand over One's upper thigh. "A necessary reminder. I want you to remember I'm the master here, not you. I'm playing your game, but I play it because I chose to do so, not because you or your queen ordered it."
"It isn't right," Two said. "She used to be one of us."
"Number Three, if my memory serves me correctly," Prophet said lazily. "An amazingly susceptible woman. Once there were five, and now there are only two. The fruits of conspiracy are bitter. The powers of the world ordered me to serve their will. Before I finish, they will serve mine." He looked directly at the woman. "Dear, tell me again, which country did you supposedly represent?"
"Halimut," she replied in worshipful tones. "One and Two are Iruptk. Three and Four belong to Halimut. Five was Nefran born."
"Don't you think it a bit ironic the only ones left are you two?" he asked Two. "I really don't know why I keep you around. It isn't as if you're much help. Now Brenda, she is a help. She spends her time wandering among the masses, singing my praises, and acting as a lightning rod for the disaffected who are beginning to question me." He gave Brenda a paternalistic smile. "It was very bothersome for me to have to speak to each of them individually. She took the necessity away."
"How can I forget?" Two said unhappily, giving Brenda a look so hate filled Brenda almost took a step back from the woman. "I'm not forgetting that Five broke away, either."
&nb
sp; "A coward," Prophet said, dismissing Five contemptuously.
"He was brave enough to deny you and follow the orders of his new ruler," she pointed out.
Prophet waved a dismissive hand. "His purported ruler, most likely a puppet to Isabellan manipulation. His defiance was not an act of bravery. It was an act of stupidity. The usurpation of Nefra is only temporary. Before this year ends, I will sit on the Nefran throne. Its crown will mesh nicely with the Chin Diadem."
"There is no Chin Diadem," One pointed out.
"No," Prophet answered. "I haven't designed it yet, but I will immediately after we destroy the apostate's city." His smile showed not one trace of humor. Evil delight shone from his eyes. "After all, we only outnumber them by ten to one."
* * *
"Mistress, do you have spare food. I'm so hungry."
"No, sorry," Brenda answered. "I have a little salve. It will help your broken boils."
"Bless you, Mistress. Bless you."
Dressed in falling apart rags, Brenda moved among the mob. Her attire mimiced the crowd's, a futile attempt to merge unobtrusively into their mass. Her body was too healthy, her cheeks too full for her to truly blend in.
Looking in their faces, she searched their eyes. Every so often, taking a chance, she pulled somebody to the side for a quiet word. Sometimes, she reached into her pocket and handed something over.
The sight of a man caught her eye. He sat with his back against a tree, head bowed, fists clenched. Sweat ran down dirt-caked furrows on his face. He looked sick or dangerous, and nobody else stood near.