by O. J. Lowe
Apparently, the refuelling station wasn’t the only interesting thing here after all.
They all knew the statue that sat in front of them, cut out of white marble and still in pristine condition. It wasn’t the sort of thing that someone defaced. Nobody wanted to risk the possible wrath associated with the act. Even those that didn’t quite believe weren’t certain enough to take the chance. Tempting fate was an accident waiting to happen. Towards the base, a bronze plaque stood nailed into it declaring the upkeep of the monument was down to the work of the Hoko branch of the Burykian Divine Conclave.
“It’s one of the better ones I’ve seen,” Pete said, staring up at it. Had the sun been up, they would have been cast in its shadow, for it towered over the three of them. Had they stood on each other’s shoulders, they may well have been able to touch the very top of it.
It might have been a lion once. Maybe whoever had designed the statue, scratch that, whoever had been the first to say that this was what the Father of Creation looked like, had seen a lion and thought them to be similar. Maybe there was that whole king of the jungle thing going on and someone got creative. Maybe the lion had been based on the being the statue paid homage to. Stories differed over time, people had too much time to come up with theories, it felt.
Yet what wasn’t debateable was how none of them had ever seen such a prodigiously huge lion in the flesh, nor one that carried itself astride six magnificent legs, claws curled down into the base of the statue as if rending flesh. The collar around its body was perhaps even more remarkable; it started around the neck, extended the length of its spine and down the ankle of each leg. Stories in the book of creations had it as made of bone and sinew, a self-imposed shackle as a reminder that forever the Divines were bound to those below them. Around the collar, they could all see the eight large red stones each placed equal distance from each other aside from a gap in the pattern at the base of the collar.
“Remember that one back home?” Scott said. “I think that one’s bigger.”
“That one was in Delhoig though,” Pete mused. “I mean; you’d expect them to be bigger the closer you get to bigger cities. Because there’s more people there to see it. And that was bang in the middle. Considering where this is, it’s pretty impressive.”
“The biggest statue of Gilgarus in Burykia,” a strange voice said from out of nowhere, startling the three of them. “One of the finest in the five kingdoms in fact. And it’s also one of the most curious as well from a scientific point of view. Can any of you tell me why, perhaps?”
He wasn’t a big man, rather quite small with curly dark hair and tidy little spectacles that made his eyes look an odd shape. Still he strode with a spring in his step, an enthusiasm in his poise that felt out of place in the sleepy little hamlet. That was the second thing. Neither did he look like a native to Hoko, or even Burykia in general. Though his skin was tanned, it wasn’t the natural light-brown-almost-yellow hue of the Burykian people. At a push, he might have been from Premesoir like Pete and Scott. He carried a stick, rested his weight on it with apparent relish, his grin playful.
“Since when were religion and science linked?” Jess asked, a question ignored by the man as he studied the statue with something approaching fervour, apparently waiting for an answer.
“Come, come, I’m sure one of you knows this. This is basic stuff. Look at the statue and…”
“It’s big?” Scott offered. He knew it was wrong the moment he said it and mentally kicked himself. Still, he didn’t have a clue what the strange man was on about, any answer felt as good as another.
Looked like it wasn’t. The stranger shook his head in disgust. “It’s big? Of course, it’s bloody big. Any idiot can tell you that it’s big.”
“Any idiot did,” Jess murmured. Scott bit down the urge to snap back at her. Getting into an argument now wasn’t a good idea. What in the hells was wrong with her tonight? Must be the wine. Either way, the man didn’t appear to hear her as he awaited an answer.
Pete said nothing, studying the statue in silence as he strode around it, running a quizzically appraising eye across the giant expanse of it. He stroked his chin in contemplation, stopped and sighed. “There’s something, I just can’t place it.”
“Really?” Jess said sarcastically. “The great Pete Jacobs can’t make out what’s directly in front of his eyes?”
“And you can?” Pete sounded surprised. “Way I understand it; your eyes’ main use is for wearing makeup round rather than seeing things with?”
Scott let out a cough of laughter he managed to turn into a choke. He rubbed his eyes to further the illusion. Somehow, he doubted she bought it. He’d probably pay for it later. Probably. She looked like she wasn’t paying attention, more focused on the statue.
“My, my,” the man said. “What are spirit callers coming to these days? I remember when you had to be at least minimally observant to be a success.”
“Don’t fight a lot of statues,” Scott said. He was proud of the comeback. “Mister err…”
“Fleck, David Fleck. Professor David Fleck. Don’t call me Mister. I’m a researcher,” he said, straightening his jacket in one jerked motion. “Do you want me to tell you the answer to the question?”
“Oh, can I, can I?” Jess sang up, strangely gleeful in her triumph. “I want to savour this moment.” She took a deep breath, grin on her face. “I know what it is.”
“Take it away, my dear,” he said.
“It’s the stones,” she said, straining up onto her toes to touch the collar where it met under the neck of the god-king. Her fingertips just about made it, her shirt riding up slightly as she stretched, showing an expanse of smooth, tanned skin. “Most renditions of Gilgarus usually have nine stones in the collar. This one only has eight. There’s a flaw in this one… Huh?!” She straightened herself out for a moment, looked at her fingers where they’d touched the collar and shrugged. “That’s odd.”
Pete looked annoyed, Scott noted. She’d gotten him good and he didn’t like it one bit, shaking his head in disgust.
“Aren’t you just full of surprises,” he said sourly. “Check out Gilgarus Girl over there.”
“Hey, if you’d had crazy weird religious parents too,” Jess offered. “You’d know it all as well. Saw it when we first came here.”
“Not just a pretty face,” Fleck said. “This is why I prefer being in the field. I can’t make those comments in the classroom.” He grinned as he said it. “I wonder if you can tell me why.”
“Why what?”
“Why there’s only eight stones. It’s a pretty big flaw, after all. I’m surprised more people don’t notice it.”
She shrugged, the delight suddenly present in eyes glazed with surliness and sarcasm minutes earlier. For a moment, she looked like the Jesseka Blake Scott had fallen in love with, back in the day. “Never seen anything like this before. Not sure. I mean, like you said it’s a pretty big flaw.”
“Drunk sculptor?” Pete offered. “Maybe someone stole it.”
“Dear boy,” Fleck smiled. “This statue is structurally and aesthetically flawless in every single way, but for that one small error. Sculptors who partake of the wine do not have their work displayed this prominently, believe me.”
“I think it might be the latter though,” Jess said suddenly. “Someone stole it.”
Fleck raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“When I touched it just now,” she said, pointing up at the collar. “There’s something wrong with the space where it should be, it feels a little different to the rest of the statue. Like something’s been filled in after, a gap or something.”
“An interesting theory,” Fleck said. “But again, unlikely.”
He held up a summoner, brought an ape into existence, a shaggy red furred chimp-like creature only slightly taller than him but with great long arms and stubby feet. What set it apart from most simians that Scott had ever seen was the great tail sticking out from its be
hind, prominent like a third limb. Fleck didn’t look worried as he was hoisted up by the spirit to get a better look at the collar, three fingered hands closing around his waist as it lifted.
“Higher, Cornwallis,” he said softly, the ape’s arms stretching to full length and Fleck’s spectacled eyes were level with the collar. “Good, hold me steady.” For a moment he remained silent as he considered the hole, fingers probing and teasing Jess’ claim. “Hmm, that’s a good eye, my dear. Most don’t notice it. Time has weathered it well. It has been filled in, but not by a thief. Most thieves are opportunists. They snatch, grab and run. They don’t linger to do extensive renovation work. Especially not a job like this. Not something sacred.”
“I love how nobody thinks that someone wouldn’t steal it,” Scott said. “I mean; I grew up with some pretty desperate guys. They’d have tried to steal from the Divines themselves if it meant getting paid for it.”
“As much as I enjoy discussing criminal theory,” Fleck said dismissively. “I’m afraid it’s not why I’m here. I’m just here to enjoy the statue. To pause and recriminate on the past and future. As I look upon it, I see what could yet be and what has been. Not physically. Psychic ability remains even beyond me,” he added, seeing the look of incredulity on the faces of Scott and his friends.
“I see the love and the devotion that went into crafting it. I see the remnants of those who have been here before. I see that despite all we think we know, there is much more we don’t. And I see the challenge for everyone to strive harder. Because for all our achievements, there is still more that we can do. Our story doesn’t end until long after we are gone. Because what we leave upon this world shapes generations to come. Our footprints don’t fade that easily. That, my dear, is the link between religion and science. Faith. Just because you know one doesn’t mean you can ignore the other. Everything is connected. Everyone is connected.”
“What sort of researcher are you?” Pete wondered as the ape lowered Fleck to the ground. “I mean; I think there’s probably more to it than what you’re saying there is.”
“And probably you’d be right,” Fleck replied. “At the same time, I can’t help but feel you probably have different problems on your mind than scientific theology. Quin-C competitors?”
“How did you…?” Scott stared to ask. Jess looked a little impressed as well. Pete just looked annoyed.
“You’re not local, you’re not natives to Burykia, there’s a refuelling port here and the only ship in is departing for Vazara in a few hours. Chances were at least one of you was.” He shrugged ruefully. “Simple elimination.” His smile grew. “I cannot linger here any longer than I have. That said, I’m sure you’ll do fine, despite your lack of vision. I wish you luck and offer you my farewells. Boys. Ma’am.”
That stung a little, Scott thought as Fleck bowed his head and turned to leave. Pete looked furious. Jess amused as she watched him walk away.
“Okay, tomorrow can’t come quick enough,” Pete muttered. “I want to prove him wrong. Lack of vision. Git!”
“You know who he was,” Jess quipped. “Someone who just put you in your place.” She sounded like she was finding it hard to keep the smile out of her voice.
Chapter Six. Fuller and Rocastle.
“You know what you need to do. Everything and anything. All that matters are your orders. You have your directives; you take it from there. I will not accept failure. It is not an option. We’re nearly at the start of a new era, not just for the company but for the kingdoms and I can’t allow anything to destabilise that.”
Message to Alana Fuller, employee of Reims Incorporated, before setting out on her trip to Carcaradis Island. Orders from the very top of the company.
The eleventh day of Summerdawn.
Alana Fuller shrugged her shoulders lazily, stretched her legs and yawned. The dull roar of the aeroship engines were slowly starting to fade away and she was satisfied the flight was nearly over. She felt sick, had never like flying. Never likely would. She wished she wasn’t strapped into her seat. Why couldn’t you stand on these things? That’d make it slightly more bearable. Slightly. At least until it started bucking, turbulence kicking in and there you are being tossed around like spaghetti.
The thought was enough to make her stomach gurgle, eyes darted back and forth in search of the pouch. Her skin felt like it was going the colour of Rocastle’s jacket. Rocastle being the guy next to her, a giant smirk over his smooth features as he watched her discomfort with barely concealed glee.
“Come on,” he said, placing a hand on her leg. It might have been meant to be comforting but she doubted it, for it looked like a giant pale spider waiting to pounce. She’d never met anyone like him before and after this ride, truly didn’t want to again. They’d met at the aeroport and she’d hated him immediately. His hands were huge; he was a big guy, not quite fat but amply filling his seat. He had hands like a woman, soft, delicate, smooth, even if they were three times the size of the hands on any woman she’d ever seen. They might even be manicured. Why he felt the need to wear that bright acid green jacket, she might never know.
Flamboyance was his forte when the mood struck him. The man felt like a walking personality disorder, eerily friendly one minute, sadistically creepy the next. It was one of the sad facts of any walk of life you couldn’t choose who you wanted to work with, for if one could, he would be so far down the list she wouldn’t even be able to smell the sickly scent that lingered about him.
Too many stories hung around him for her liking, each of them was utterly believable. What really freaked her out about him, beyond the rumours about his personal life, was his voice. “Better out than in. Let’s hear that sound. Come on, bet you choke it all up before we land.”
High, unnerving, just plain creepy. That was how he sounded. It made her feel a thousand tiny legs running up her spine, hundreds upon hundreds of maggots spreading themselves across her, chewing, swallowing, spitting up her flesh.
“Just think, there’s still a slight chance of crashing,” he continued, managing to somehow sound bored and yet mocking at the same time, cruelly gleeful as he twisted his hands together in a knot. “All it takes is a cruel twist of fate, the dice rolls and…”
He popped his lips in a wet kissing motion, the smirk growing. In tandem with the sudden jerk of air twisting the aeroship about, Alana felt her stomach churn. She scrabbled for the sick pouch again, frantic in her efforts, grabbing it just in time to spill up her lunch into its depths.
Rocastle brought his hands together and sarcastically applauded. “Bravo, the perfect performance from Ms Fuller, the toast of the house.”
“You know, I will shoot you when we land,” she said through the bitter taste in her mouth. “That’s not a lie.” It wasn’t either. There was a small blaster in her case. Self-defence.
“Course you will, darling,” he smiled. “I’d shoot me too if I were in your shoes. Because they’re hideous. Seriously, with what you get paid, why? Buy a decent pair of heels, love. Can’t jump for the stars in those things.”
Worse than the nausea was the fury. Cold naked fury she wanted to let loose. Why had she been paired with this filth? Of all the other people in the organisation, it had to be him.
“Don’t wear them,” she said, keeping her face composed and her voice level, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The landing lights were coming on, they’d be on Carcaradis Island soon. At least when they checked into the hotel, she could get away from him. Preferably he’d be as far away from her as could be. Several dozen floors and she’d still need to shower to get the scent of him away from her. He wore too much scent, it stung her nostrils, sweet and sickly like rot. “Don’t need to.”
“Oh sweetie, every woman needs a good pair of heels.”
Won’t bite. Can’t bite.
He must have sensed her discomfort, he showed his teeth, pearly white and pointed, and settled back in his own seat, crossing his legs. She got the feeling he was revelling in the
depths of her misery.
“Believe me, I know,” he added. At least he’d stopped sounding so maliciously gleeful for the moment. That pleased her no end as she clutched the arm rests, her joy compounded as he rested his head back and closed his eyes.
Idly she wondered if he was wearing makeup over his eyes or if the light was playing tricks. Some questions weren’t worth an honest answer. She’d sooner enjoy the novelty of him being silent.
As far as Alana knew, Carcaradis Island hadn’t had its own aeroport until the decision had been made to stage the Quin-C there. No aeroport, no mag-rail system, no super high-quality hotels, certainly no stadiums. Now it had them all. She remembered the day it had been announced to the five kingdoms this prestigious competition was going to be held not just for the first time in Vazara but on some crappy little backwater island not even close to being ready to stage it.
That had been ten years ago, and what a change had been made. Countless billions had been invested to create an ideal island getaway paradise, something for the future. After all, Alana’s boss had been one of the investors, the main pusher of the idea really. She’d been adamant she wanted the tournament to be held in this specific place and had moved the heavens and the kingdoms for that to happen.
Why? She hadn’t said. Plenty had asked and although there’d been many different answers, she privately had the impression none of them were the truth. There had to be something about it. She might have been working too long in this line of work, she might just be feeling cynical, but she doubted it’d be a savoury one for anyone involved.
She heard the crash, felt the wave of panic rush through her before realising it was just the landing lock securing the aero into place. As soon as it had emerged it faded, they were landing here, and she could get out of this tin can death trap. She leaned down, slid her shoes back onto her feet. That action brought a tut from Rocastle, apparently not as asleep as he looked, mouth spread into a slit of a grin.