Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  Zach frowned. The comment had taken him by surprise, but he realized that was probably intentional and forced himself to think past it. He eyed the bodyguard again, and suddenly something clicked in the back of his mind. Esharian accent, oath to defend magi…

  “You’re an Eclipsean, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Again the man’s eyebrow twitched, if only slightly. “I was. Not anymore.”

  Zach repressed an involuntary shiver. The Crimson Eclipse had a fearsome reputation, even among the Arkadian army. They were said to be the best…and it did explain the man’s icy demeanor, at least a little.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” Aram assured him. “You’re safe here.”

  “Right,” Zach muttered, tossing a furtive glance down the hall. “You know, I think I’ll go and get that pastry after all.” He made it all the way to the staircase before stopping and looking back over his shoulder. “You didn’t actually answer my question. What if the Vakari comes here to harm us?”

  Aram’s gray eyes flickered. “Then we die.”

  ***

  Eve had been reading disparaging things about western Arkadia as long as she could remember. It was a land of poor, backwards, uneducated torbos who drank too much and had far too many children. Nothing on the trip so far had convinced her otherwise—that is, until she took her first bite of Danev’s pastry.

  “These are amazing,” she exclaimed, trying to strike a careful balance between dignity and face-stuffing. Zach had brought a plate up to her, and he was thumbing through a few books he must have grabbed from the shelves.

  “Freshly baked,” he said. “You should have had them three hours ago when they were still warm.”

  Eve gobbled down a second one almost as quickly. As good as sleep had felt, she hadn’t really eaten much in the past week, either. Now she had gotten a full night’s rest and eaten a delicious meal—if someone hadn’t just tried to kill them, she might have mistaken this for a vacation.

  “I’m sorry about how I acted last night,” she murmured once her mouth was mostly empty. “I’m not really sure what came over me.”

  He set down the book. “You mean shoving me out of the way and charging into the hallway?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that. I guess I should have just sat there or something.”

  “Well, sometimes people do things you’d never expect under pressure. Tell me if I’m wrong, but unless you really changed when you went to Rorendal, you’ve never been in a fight in your life.”

  “There was Emma Brown when we were twelve.”

  “Pulling hair doesn’t count,” he replied with a smirk.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Well, then I used to beat you up pretty badly.”

  He snorted. “I wasn’t allowed to fight back, so that’s not really fair.”

  Eve rolled her eyes and drank part of her juice. “Even first-year students are taught how to weave a kinetic barrier. It’s the overt manipulation of energy, gravity, and whatnot they won’t even whisper at you until you take the Oath Rituals.”

  “Reasonable enough, I guess,” he said. “Assuming you can only use the technique to defend yourself.”

  “That’s the idea. But my point was no, I really didn’t get into any fights at school.”

  “Well like I said, people react to stress in different ways. One of my drill instructors used to talk about controlling those primal responses. Most people react with fear and either run or just freeze. A few turn almost feral and lash out with rage.”

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Eve said, probably a little too defensively. “I was scared at first, but then I just got really mad at you, of all people. It helped me focus, I guess.” She took another sip of juice and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What about your first time? What did you do?”

  Zach tilted his head down and twiddled the book in his fingers. “The first time we used live ammunition in a drill I froze. A lot of people did—more than half, including many of the biggest guys.”

  Eve looked into his eyes and wondered how hard that was for him to admit. Zach had never been the super-macho type of guy before he shipped out, but he was still a guy—his ego was certainly as fragile as the next man’s. But the fact he was able to tell her at all spoke volumes, both about him as a man and their relationship.

  “I’m sure that didn’t last long,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Eventually you learn to deal with it. Everyone has their own way to concentrate and stay focused.”

  “You seemed totally in control to me last night,” she told him, smiling wryly. “That’s actually what got me irritated in the first place.”

  He grinned back but shook his head. “I wondered if age and school might eventually dull that chip on your shoulder.”

  “Nope,” she said, raising her head proudly. “I’m just as bitchy as ever.”

  They shared a laugh, and she broke off half of the last pastry and started on it. She was two bites in before the smile vanished.

  “Do you think we’re safe here?” she asked softly after a moment.

  “I don’t think we’ll be safe until we head back home,” he said gravely, “and maybe not even then. Chaval is definitely behind this. Aram mentioned that the attempted assassin was a Talami woman—a yohisha, at that.”

  Eve shook her head. “What does that mean?”

  “A spy, more or less. The thing is, apparently Chaval has one working for him, and Aram is pretty sure it’s the same person.”

  She set down the pastry as a cold shiver passed through her. She’d suspected Chaval right from the beginning, but somehow it hadn’t felt real until this moment. One of the most powerful men in the country had murdered her mother, and now he was trying to kill Eve.

  No, they definitely weren’t safe here. They weren’t going to be safe anywhere.

  “The confusing part is why a Vakari was trying to help us,” Zach went on. “Aram is pretty certain she was protecting us.”

  Eve wiped the powdered sugar from her lips and searched her memory. “I didn’t even think they existed anymore. Mother said the last of them were wiped out during the Polerian War.”

  “Evidently not,” he murmured. “Anyway, when I got up this morning I poked around Danev’s library and tried to see if he had anything on the Vakari.”

  “Any luck?”

  “That depends,” he said, turning one of the books toward her. On the cover was a rather risqué illustration with two beautiful people, a lot of silken sheets, and not much clothing. “How accurate do you think this is?”

  “Blessed Kirshal,” Eve breathed. “It’s like my mom’s stash of terrible romance novels.”

  He grunted. “I don’t understand how the same myth can be used to frighten children and excite adults all at the same time.”

  “The power of imagination, I guess,” she said, leaning back on the bed. “All I know is that supposedly the Vakari were created from Defiling magic. I remember dad describing a war between Vakar and another country a few centuries ago. He said they were all wiped out, and that the soil itself was completely dead. Nothing has lived there since.”

  “Hard to believe,” he replied softly. “Or it was, until I saw Kalavan.”

  She pressed her lips together. “You never really had time to tell me about it. I couldn’t believe it when you wrote me and said you were being sent there.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I can’t even explain what it was like. Everything was just…drained. The plants and trees were all black, and I don’t mean they were burned or rotting—they were just dead. The corpses of people weren’t much more than clothed skeletons, like the flesh and blood had been torn right off of them.”

  “But it didn’t create more Vakari,” she said. “I wonder what was different.”

  “I have no idea,” he breathed. “All I know is that we have one of them protecting us now for some reason, and it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

  Eve nodded distantly. “Mom only ever spoke
of them as killers. I had some friends at school whose parents used to tell them fearful bedtime stories about Vakari coming to punish any mage who misused their power.”

  “Like some kind of vindictive ghost,” Zach said. “Well, regardless I don’t think we’re going to find any answers here unless Danev comes up with something. And to be honest, I’m not sure how long we want to wait.”

  She frowned. “You mean before we go home.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded. “I want to know what’s going on as much as you do, but it’s not safe here, Eve. Forget the Vakari—I don’t trust anyone, including our hosts. And you know Chaval will try again.”

  “He’s going to be president,” she reminded him. “If he thinks I’m a threat to him, it doesn’t matter where we run.”

  Zach sighed and brought a hand to his temple. “Let’s just be careful, okay?”

  She smiled tightly and grabbed his hand. “I don’t need to be careful. That’s what you’re for, remember?”

  “Right,” he muttered. “In any case, Aram said it will be awhile before Danev gets back. He was hoping to contact some of your mom’s old college friends.”

  “Hopefully they’re still alive,” she said gravely. “Though I have to admit a part of me almost doesn’t want to know.”

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Eve squeezed his hand once then pulled away. “I loved the mother I knew. I’m not sure I’m going to love this other one we keep hearing about.”

  “It’ll work out,” he soothed, though she could tell by his tone and sinking shoulders that he had been thinking the same thing. He just didn’t want to show it in front of her.

  She smiled. Whatever did come of all this, the one thing she did know is that she couldn’t imagine being here without him. Even when she saw right through his stoic reassurances, they still worked. Mostly.

  “I know,” she told him. “Now get out of here.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I need to get dressed,” she said with a wink.

  “Oh, right,” he mumbled, and she had the satisfaction of seeing his face flush just a bit as he left the room.

  Eve smiled again and cracked open her suitcase.

  Chapter Eight

  “Every time you walk through that door I’m hoping you have a miracle in your pocket,” Karyn Marose said. She stood near the floor-length window on the eastern side of her office, one hand propping up a glass of red wine and the other dangling at her hip. The purple velvet folds of her robe of office were as pristine as ever, and the golden trim complimented her dark hair nicely.

  Glenn Maltus stopped a few feet into the room and let the door swing shut behind him. “I’m sorry I have to keep disappointing you.”

  The silhouette of her lips curled into a faint smile before she finally pivoted to face him. “I’m getting used to it. Every day we pray for one and none are forthcoming.”

  “It’s going to take more than faith to see us through this, I’m afraid.”

  She grunted and finished her glass before setting it down on her nearby desk. “So why are you here, Glenn?”

  Maltus took a deep breath and walked over to the window. It looked out upon the majesty of Selerius, the most gorgeous and vibrant city in Arkadia and perhaps all of Toerth. This tower itself was a shining, sky-scraping spiral and a testament to advances in modern architecture. Karyn, like the long list of magi before her, was the rightfully elected mayor of the city. In the last few years, she’d been attempting to build a wider support base to challenge the impotency of President Janel in the coming election. As it turned out, she should have been focusing on Simon Chaval. After Kalavan, the hope of a magi returning to the presidency was dim at best.

  Karyn was the only member of the Valmeri Seven that Maltus had remained in regular contact with since he moved away from Tara in Lushden. Karyn, like him, had left most of her radical ideals behind when she left Valmeri and ventured out into the world. By now, a career in politics had surely scrubbed off the rest.

  Early in her career, she’d been an idealist actively pushing forward many of the notions their group had advocated—things like the expansion of temples and healing magic into rural areas, the open development of new technologies and medical science, and so forth. But as the Industrialists grew in strength, she had slowly sunk deeper into the rut that marked her social class as clearly as the expensive wine, the robust library, and three-story mansion. She, like most magi, had become terrified of change, for they had so very much to lose.

  “A few reasons,” he said. “My superiors want to assure you that the election is still their top priority.”

  “Well, that’s good to know, now that there’s no time left to win it,” she muttered, unceremoniously dropping into her chair. “Do you people even watch the polls?”

  “I don’t particularly trust them.”

  “Yes, well, they’re all we have, and they don’t look good. Actually, they look downright abysmal.”

  “There are those in the Enclave who believe the election can be salvaged. They wish us to spend resources cultivating goodwill in the time we have left.”

  Karyn leaned forward. “Glenn, we have less than three weeks—nineteen days, to be precise. It’s over. People around here are already scurrying around trying to pick up the pieces for the mid-term parliamentary elections. Or they’re running around like headless chickens claiming the world is about to end…”

  Maltus cocked an eyebrow at her. “You never used to be the quitting type.”

  “He’s thirty points ahead, for Edeh’s sake. He has enough support to control parliament without a coalition. That hasn’t happened since—”

  “Janel may drop out,” Maltus interrupted. “Most of his voters would flock to you. It would narrow the gap.”

  “He won’t, but even if he did it wouldn’t matter.” She ran a finger through her graying hair and closed her eyes. “Please tell me you came here for something more than this.”

  “I was instructed to relay that message. That doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

  Her eyes opened. “So what do you think?”

  “I think whether we like it or not, Simon Chaval is going to be the next president of Arkadia. Polls can be rigged, numbers can be skewed, but those are all huge risks with no guarantees.”

  “So you’re one of the doomsayers, then.”

  “I’m a realist,” he corrected. “And I’m not suggesting we give up. I’m saying we need other options.”

  Karyn’s face soured. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to like this even less?”

  “Because you’re a smart woman,” he said, smiling tightly. “The Magister’s Council has informed me in no uncertain terms that Chaval will not be allowed to come to power. You can guess what the options are from there.”

  “Remove him and create a martyr,” she said. “We start a civil war, and then someone worse rises in his place.”

  Maltus pressed his lips into a thin line. “Whoever steps in to fill the vacuum would be an improvement.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “He wouldn’t be Simon.”

  She locked eyes with him for a long moment before sighing and lowering her head. He turned back to the window and had to hold back a sigh of his own. It wasn’t much of an answer, he knew, but he believed it regardless. Like any revolutionary group, the Dusties were more about an idea than an individual person. But in this case, that idea—namely that industry and technology, not magic, were the future of Arkadia—was so interwoven with one particular individual that it was difficult to separate them. Whoever rallied the rabble would not be as calculating or precise as his old friend. Simon was a rare man, one of those incorrigibly charismatic and insatiable figures who emerged only once in a few generations. Maltus had no doubt the man’s successor could be dangerous, but he would not be the same.

  Still, that didn’t mean killing Simon was the best course of action. It wasn’t
even a particularly good one.

  “It’s not much of an option,” he admitted, “but it is on the table. The other ones might be even less pleasant.”

  “We can’t fight a civil war,” she told him. “Not now, not like this. There are times I think we’re barely a nation as it is. Something this divisive…”

  “The resources are in place. I don’t think anyone is under the illusion it will be clean or tidy, but it may be the only choice.”

  “I can’t accept that, Glenn. And I can’t believe you would, either.”

  He grimaced. “There is something else. I assume you heard about Tara’s murder?”

  She nodded. “I heard. There were some tasteless jokes around here about the alleged Prophetess not foreseeing her own death.”

  “I know you two had a falling out,” he said, letting his voice cool, “but she was our friend once.”

  “Glenn, I understand you two were close, and I didn’t wish her ill,” Karyn told him. “But you have to admit she was…frustrating.”

  “She was terrified, and with good reason,” he said. “How many people get visions of their own daughter destroying the world?”

  Karyn glanced away and sighed softly. She couldn’t understand even if she wanted to, Maltus knew. She had forgone a family for a life of politics, just as he’d done for a life of service to the Enclave. But in his case, he’d been able to vicariously sample that world through Tara. He knew what it was like to have a child, and he knew what it was like to fear for her future.

  Tara’s husband had died a decade ago, and in the years between the two of them had filled a void in each other’s lives. He’d watched her daughter grow, and he liked to believe he’d experienced at least a few genuine moments of fatherhood over the years. For a while, he even knew what it was to be a husband.

  If nothing else, it had eventually allowed him to understand why Tara had retreated like she had. He understood why the only thing that had mattered to her was preventing the horror she had seen so vividly in her dreams.

  “So, what about Tara, then?” Karyn asked softly.