Raven's Song

by Launnie Roush

  “What do you want us to do, Pater?” Celeste inquired.

  “I want you to go to our allies among the governors, and win their votes through diplomacy. Offer them money and favors courtesy of Liberty,” Alexander ordered.

  “What about Stephen?” Richard asked.

  “What about him?” Alexander countered.

  “He’s washed his hands of you. Even if he becomes president, what good’ll it do you?”

  “We have plenty of time to convince your brother of our good intentions,” Alexander assured his son.

  “And the Von Rabens?” Richard pressed.

  “The Von Raben vote won’t be won through diplomacy, and our corporate spies’ grasp on subversive tactics isn’t strong enough to win their vote through those avenues. We’ll need true experts in these matters. Tonight, you’re going to take a ride with me, and we’ll pay a visit to these true experts,” Alexander informed his son.

  “Oh boy! Sounds like fun!” Richard sneered.

  “This is an important task we have to attend to, so I need you to be serious and attentive,” Alexander instructed.

  “Of course, Pater,” Richard acknowledged half-heartedly.

  #

  That evening, Alexander and Richard left their home and took a hover sedan to an industrial park located in the far southern outskirts of West Chieftown. The sedan’s lack of refinement vexed Richard greatly, but Alexander had insisted upon using a vehicle less ostentatious than his son’s beloved Lux-cars. He had the vehicle coast up and down several dark thoroughfares that ran between many large, abandoned warehouses. After nearly an hour of this, he ordered the vehicle to stop before a warehouse that appeared no different from the numerous others they had passed. Once they had disembarked from the sedan and it was out of sight, Alexander led his son in a casual stroll down a shadowy alleyway running between two warehouses.

  The men approached a dimly lit alcove set into the side of one of the warehouses. Within the alcove was a rusty steel door.

  “Don’t start any fights, don’t talk to the guards unless they speak to you first, and don’t touch anything you did not pay to touch,” Alexander dictated abruptly.

  Richard looked puzzled, “Why all the rules?”

  “Quiet!” Alexander hissed before rapping on the door.

  The sound of numerous locks being unlatched could be heard, and with a piercing squeal the heavy door swung ponderously inward on excruciatingly rusty hinges. Alexander and his son stepped into a dimly lit, windowless box of a room constructed from water-stained cinderblocks. Derelict office equipment and shipping crates of various sizes crowed the space, and Richard let out a small exclamation of surprise when the door sealed itself behind them with a heavy thud. A tall person then stepped from behind one of the larger crates. It was a man, a detail that could only be discerned from his form, which was clothed in tight-fitting trousers and a long sleeved tunic, both colored light gray. A pair of kamas, weapons consisting of relatively small, scythe-like blades affixed to short handles, was tucked behind a utility belt featuring numerous small pouches, and his head was encased in a gray mask featuring only the vaguest impression of human facial features and the stylized image of a small black spider emblazoned on the forehead.

  A genin, Richard realized with equal parts amazement and trepidation.

  “Good evening, Mr. Fulsom. You’re quite welcome, as always,” a soft male voice greeted from behind the mask.

  “I’m expected,” Alexander explained.

  “That you are,” the man confirmed, “and the White Spider waits.”

  Richard’s trepidation now morphed into deep fear. It was common for children in the Federation to hear tales of the White Spider, a terrible and unstoppable boogeyman who could see and hear everything you did, open any lock with the slightest touch, and stop your heart with a single spoken word. If a child misbehaved, it was common for their parents to threaten them with the possibility of being visited by the White Spider, a threat that typically earned the child’s immediate compliance. When he heard mention of that dreaded name, he quickly realized that all the horror stories he had been told time and again throughout his childhood could very well have some basis in fact, hence his nearly reflexive onset of fear.

  “Does your son understand the rules?” the genin asked.

  “Of course I do!” Richard snapped impatiently.

  The genin made no reply as he moved across the room and pressed a gloved hand to an inconspicuous spot on the cinderblock wall, his unnerving gaze never once leaving the Fulsom men. A loud buzzing filled the air, and another crate, this one much smaller, slid aside to reveal a staircase descending into the floor, loud music and bright light flooding up from below. As Alexander led his son down the steps, they were met by a handsome man in his early twenties with dark olive skin, short, fashionably styled black hair, a well-groomed moustache, and sparkling brown eyes. He was clothed in a fine tuxedo and a small diamond stud glittered in his right ear.

  “Welcome to the West Chieftown Speakeasy!” the man shouted.

  The handsome man led them down the remaining steps, and Richard was left dumbfounded upon entering the establishment that the abandoned warehouse concealed. Its main room housed many of the illegal acts and objects he had been taught to abhor and shun since early childhood. A long bar was crowded with people knocking back shot after shot of various liquors. Still more people sat partaking of a myriad of mind-altering substances at tables surrounding a dance floor overflowing with writhing bodies. Across the room was an archway leading to a sizable casino, while several more archways led to darkened hallways, one of which was guarded by two genins dressed identically to the one guarding the main entrance.

  The most shocking thing, however, was the stage that dominated the far wall of the room. A half-dozen men and women danced nude upstage, while at center stage numerous couples of were engaged in lewd and vigorous sexual congress. The crowning jewel of this debauchery was the line of another half-dozen men and women who were suspended from the stage’s apron in chairs designed to leave their nude bodies salaciously displayed for the audience. Certain patrons were allowed to approach these individuals and perform all manner of sexual acts on them, to the carnal delight of those involved and any spectators.

  “So this is a speakeasy!” Richard asked, shouting to be heard over the noise.

  “Si. A sanctuary of delight for those who want more joy in their life. We provide these wrongly outlawed fruits of pleasure to those who can afford them. They don’t come cheap, but as you can see, we get by just fine. My name’s Ramiro Barro-Ferrer, and I’ll be your willing host, and more, if you desire,” their escort explained by way of his own shouts.

  “I love it!” Richard exclaimed.

  “Well now, let’s get you to your business,” Ramiro insisted as he motioned for the Fulsom men to follow.

  They were led to the guarded hallway and immediately admitted. The trio continued down a long, shadowy passage and eventually came to a copper-colored door covered in an intricate geometric pattern. Ramiro stopped before the door and, after a sharp buzzing sounded, he quickly pulled it open and motioned the visitors inside. The door snapped softly shut behind them, and office they entered was blessedly quiet, warmly lit, and austerely decorated with straw tatami floor mats and rice paper shoji screens. At the center of the room stood a man dressed in garb almost identical to the genins, except the spider on the forehead of his mask was a stark white.

  He’s real, thought an awestruck Richard.

  Alexander fell to his knees and pressed his face to the floor in supplication. Richard, although shocked by his father’s submissive behavior, immediately followed suit, and they remained this way until their host spoke.

  “Rise,” the White Spider ordered in a harsh, sonorous voice that made Richard’s blood run gelid.

  The man sat gracefully upon the floor in seiza, a style of sitting in which one sits on their knees with their lower legs folded snugly beneath their thighs.
Alexander and his son straightened but remained sitting, also in seiza. Once settled, Alexander waited until the White Spider initiated the conversation with a simple, almost disinterested hand gesture.

  Alexander spoke reverently, “The White Spider honors us.”

  “You honor me by seeking my assistance, Mr. Fulsom. How may I be of service?” the White Spider asked.

  “We come asking that the House of Spiders aids us in keeping an unworthy man, Bertram Von Raben, from taking the office of president,” Alexander explained.

  The White Spider chuckled softly, “Your corporate mercenaries and spies no longer good enough to help you?”

  “Your organization’s the best, and I’ll need the best for this,” Alexander told him.

  “I’m insulted you’ve not come to us sooner for help in dealing with the Von Raben family, but we knew you’d come eventually. As such, the Jonin has already come to a decision regarding this matter.”

  Alexander leaned forward expectantly, “What does the Jonin say?”

  “The Jonin, in its irreproachable wisdom, has decided that the time is not yet ripe for any reasonable course of action. The president is a relatively healthy woman, and it could take several years for nature to run its course. The Jonin urges patience in this matter,” the White Spider imparted.

  “What?! We gotta act now! The Von Rabens are poised to take the presidency, and if we don’t get rid of ‘em now, we’ll be fucked!” Richard raved.

  “This’ll be the only time I’ll tell you to mind your manners, boy!” the White Spider growled ominously.

  “I don’t think my son completely realizes who it is he’s dealing with. May I be allowed to explain?” Alexander requested, a request the White Spider granted with a nod of his head.

  “My son, you know doubt have heard rumors about the House of Spiders, how they’re the largest criminal organization in all of human history and whatnot, but I doubt you know what this truly means. The number of active genins, or foot soldiers, supposedly numbers somewhere in the millions. These genins are led by a group of officers called chunins, veteran genins that are trained in deeper level espionage and military techniques, and the chunins, who count the White Spider among their number, answer to the Jonin, a powerful and charismatic leader whose actual existence is often doubted. Though they’re based in the lands south of the Federation, they have dealings in every illegal activity in the Federation, from simple street crimes and drug trade to espionage, blackmail, and even political intrigue. Trust me when I say they’re unmatched in matters such as this, and if they say we must wait, then we wait,” Alexander imparted.

  Richard let out a deep sigh of exasperation, “I’m not a damned moron, Pater! Everyone knows about the Spiders, but it’s stupid to wait on this! We should get the Von Rabens before they have a chance to dig in!”

  “Son, most of the time having something done right is far better than having it done fast,” Alexander advised.

  Richard relented with a half-hearted nod and shrug.

  “You understand that when the time does come for action, our fee will be four hundred eighty, payable in full,” the White Spider related.

  Alexander nodded, “Four hundred eighty million dollars it’ll be, then.”

  Richard gasped when he heard the amount of money they would have to pay this criminal and his shadowy organization.

  “You find no problems with this agreement?” the White Spider asked, his gaze now fixed firmly on Richard.

  Richard sighed, “Anything to keep the Von Rabens out of the presidency.”

  “Then it’s settled. Come gentlemen, have a drink,” the White Spider invited.

  A genin appeared from behind a nearby shoji, placing two glass tumblers and a large glass bottle filled with a watery brown liquid beside the White Spider. After the drinks were poured and distributed to the Fulsom men, they raised their glasses.

  “To the successful culmination of our business venture!” the White Spider toasted.

  The men drank heartily from their glasses, yet only Alexander was able to stomach the foul liquid, though his face still contorted with disgust. The White Spider chuckled softly as Richard’s drink blasted from his mouth as a fine mist. “First time drinking alcohol?” he queried, “Well, I suppose whiskey is an acquired taste.”

  SIX

  One week after the announcement of Max and Caitlyn’s engagement, Frederic was summoned to East Chieftown's main Black Order lecture hall. Upon his arrival he was escorted to the hall’s elegantly decorated visitor’s center, where he took a seat in a plush armchair and waited patiently for his host’s arrival. On one wall an informative video was airing on a large screen-cloud. A soothing, almost sultry-sounding female narrated while a slideshow of still images showing the lecture hall and several of the Order’s apparently joyful adherents engaged in various activities within its rooms slowly played.

  The narrator spoke thusly:

  The Black Order teaches that humanity is the all-powerful pinnacle of perfection and rulers of all creation. Its adherents revere great figures of human history and the various triumphs of humankind. Our lecture halls are large, airy spaces constructed from dark polished mahogany which has been covered in intricately carved sunken and bas reliefs depicting various motifs of import. In addition, mirrors are placed throughout the building so that adherents can marvel at the beauty of the human form. The main auditorium contains a stage and podium from which the Speakers lecture. The adherents are seated before the stage in even rows of plush stadium chairs. The lectures, which take place every Tuesday morning, typically consist of the Speaker delivering speeches on subjects venerating human perfection. Afterwards, the adherents are offered the chance to come onstage and share their own experiences of human excellence.

  Body art and modification are a key component to the Black Order's philosophy, as adherents are expected to display dominance over even their own flesh. As such, every adherent possesses some form of body modification and makes extensive use of cosmetic and body art nanites. Prayer is not practiced in the Black Order; the adherents instead performing a meditative morning affirmation which helps them face any hardships they may have to confront that day.

  The slideshow cut off and in stormed Rodger Van Camp, Keynote Speaker for the Black Order in East Chieftown. Van Camp’s skin was covered in nanite-animated tattoos and various piercings studded his body, which was clothed in formfitting cloth trousers and a sleeveless tunic, both colored black.

  Behind him came a small, hunched-over old man dressed in solid white sarum with a golden infinity symbol emblazoned on the chest. He had a soft, ruddy-complexioned face and was completely bald. His eyes were a cheerful green and were crowned by a pair of bushy white brows. His name was Anthony Bell, and Frederic was pleased to see the man despite the fact he was a priest of the Order of the Creator, the religion that opposed Frederic’s own.

  Rodger started before Frederic could even acknowledge his presence, “What’s this I hear about your son’s wedding taking place in this old wad’s temple?!”

  Frederic stood, paid Rodger his proper respects, then bowed his head to the old man, “It’s a privilege to see you again, Blessed Bell.”

  “Peace for you and yours,” Anthony returned in his habitually soft and friendly voice.

  Rodger broke in, “What of my question?”

  Frederic appeared to be exasperated by the question, “Let’s all ponder this question of yours. My son’s a Creator devout, and his fiancé, though not devout, does claim the Order of the Creator as her religion. It seems to me their choice of venues to be married in is a natural one, but I’m sure you beg to differ.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell him,” Anthony included.

  “Keep your mouth shut!” Rodger snapped at Anthony.

  “So what's your counter argument, Speaker Van Camp?” Frederic asked.

  “The Black Order’s been one of the strongest supporters of your family for nearly a century, and your generous contribu
tions to the Order have not gone unnoticed. So why are you allowing the most anticipated event of the past five years to take place in that White Order rot hole? Be a good father and use a heavy hand on your son regarding this matter. See to it he has his wedding ceremony in the Grand Amphitheater,” Rodger demanded.

  “It seems to me you’re just after the notoriety that’ll come to you if the wedding takes place in our Order’s most renowned lecture hall. My son’s fully grown, he and his fiancé have complete authority over this matter, and they have decided to be wed in the White Seat. Until the day I die, you’ll find me in a Black Order lecture hall every Tuesday morning, but my son has his own beliefs, and they don’t involve the Black Order in any capacity,” Frederic decreed with ominous finality.

  Rodger clenched his fists at his sides, and without another word stormed from the room.

  “I tried to explain all this to him once before, and I assumed it would be a simple enough concept for him to comprehend,” Anthony remarked with a small shake of his head.

  “It’s more complex than you think. Rodger’s not a dense man, so I’m sure he knew why Max’s wedding was taking place in the White Seat. He is greedy, though, and easily manipulated,” Frederic pointed out.

  “You suspect a foul plot?”

  “We’ve known for a while now that Van Camp was in with the Fulsoms, and we’ve reason to believe they're planning some sort of attack on Max’s wedding, an attack Speaker Van Camp is somehow involved in. We’ve no solid evidence to support our suspicions, but we still have to take every precaution possible.”

  “And that’s why you won’t allow the ceremony to take place in the Grand Amphitheater,” Anthony concluded.

  “It’s true that the White Seat is more secure than the Amphitheater, but Max and Caitlyn made their decision long before we discovered this plot, and it’s a decision I wholeheartedly stand behind,” Frederic assured him.

  Anthony smiled warmly, “Your son does me a great honor. He’s always been one of the most devoted of my congregation, and I was overjoyed to learn that he wished for me to personally conduct his wedding ceremony. I promise that I’ll pray fervently for the protection of you and your family.”