Strife: Third Book of the Nameless Chronicle

by M. T. Miller

  “Don’t move,” she said, aware of the Nameless’ urge to step back. He managed to subdue his instinct, and upon her touching his shoulder he found that the flames didn’t burn. Growing used to the sensation, he could tell that his bones were being rewoven and put back into place. A wave of pleasant vibrations went down his spine, relaxing the muscles and soothing any signs of inflammation, at least until the point it reached his stomach. Beyond that point, whatever she did had no effect.

  She stepped back, her hands no longer emanating the soothing fire. She turned to the general. “He is whole. Apart from his face, of course. That I won’t fix.”

  “And you’re not being asked to,” the general said. “Thanks, sister. You are irreplaceable.”

  “So is peace and quiet,” she said, crossing her arms underneath her chest. Although the Nameless couldn’t see her eyes, he was certain that she was taking turns looking at both of them.

  “You ready to head back?” the general asked the Nameless.

  “Yes,” the Nameless said, moving his arm around without any difficulty. It was a strange state he was in. The topmost part of his body had been completely relieved of any fatigue, while his feet might as well drag on the ground. So this is why Horace could move so soon after his ‘surgery.’

  “Let’s go, then,” said the general as he went for the exit. The Nameless followed his lead, resisting the urge to take another look at Chastity.

  “Your men are well-trained,” the general said once they were out of the church. At the bottom of the steps he waited for the Nameless to catch up before they continued to the camp side by side. “I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ll be able to do with more time under your command.”

  Command? “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” the General said, “but I do know a leader when I see one. Crashing into the First Skull like that, now that was the act of a leader. Those men, they’ll follow you into the grave now.”

  The Nameless had his doubts about that, but didn’t voice them.

  “But this won’t be an easy path,” the general continued. “I’ve read the few notes we have on you. They say you don’t socialize too much. If you choose to accept what I offer, and let me expand your command, you’ll drop from ‘a few friends’ to ‘none.’ Are you ready to take that step?”

  The Nameless hoped that his mutilations managed to hide the width of his smile.

  “I take it that as a yes,” the general said. “Good thing, too. If you refused, I’d have had to order you to accept, something I don’t want to do. Exceptional men are best when they act on their own will. Forcing them down a path only stumps their potential.”

  “You think me exceptional?” the Nameless asked with fake modesty.

  “You’ve withstood the First Skull in combat,” the General said, “twice. Within as little as ten days spent here. Yes, Lem, I’d say you’ve got the makings of an excellent soldier. Perhaps something more.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the general said, his mask concealing whatever nuance his tone might’ve had. “You’ll see. Or you won’t. Either way, the One True Church of America will make a whole lot of use of you.”

  Or vice-versa, thought the Nameless. “And you would trust me with this? After so little time?”

  “No such thing as distrust in the Holy Army,” said the general. “You’ve gone through the rite. You got your hood. You’re just as competent to lead as anyone else. This is the way things should be. This is the way things will be again!”

  “In that case, I accept,” the Nameless said.

  “Of course you do,” the general said. “The Lord wills it. Else he wouldn’t have sent you to me.”

  The Nameless nodded in agreement. A lord had indeed sent him to the general. The fact that it was someone else than the man thought, though, would make all the difference in the world.

  ***

  Rush slammed the door to the Nameless’ apartment behind her as she stepped into the third floor’s hallway-street. She did it with such force that the address tag fell off. Clattering, the metal plate containing a pair of sixes spun on the ground, spinning faster and faster before stopping to a halt. The third six remained on the door.

  Asshole, she snorted, proceeding down the hallway with each step slamming against the floor. She’d put off checking Bones’ room for so long, and now regretted having done so at all. But pissed as she was with finding that dead snake in what used to be his bedroom, Rush couldn’t force herself into anger. If anything, she was regretful. With Bones dead, she couldn’t punch her opinion into him.

  So long, Bones. I hope whatever hell you’re in has no snakes, she thought as she headed… anywhere, really. Without any goal in mind, Rush paced the corridors of the third floor. Time had to be passed somehow. There were still plenty of people to talk to, yes, but Rush was an oddity at best, and an unpredictable, living weapon at worst. In practical terms, she might as well be a member of a different species. Asshole or not, where Bones once was now stood a void.

  The fighting sounds from below had died down only to intensify after a while. This trend seemed to repeat again and again, apparently with no end in sight. People fought and died down there, and that fact didn’t bother Rush in the least. We bled for you and you turned coat anyway. Let’s see you handle your own problems.

  Rare were the times when Rush didn’t pay close attention to her surroundings, and this was one of them. In her frustration, she didn’t notice the person heading her way until they almost bumped into each other.

  “Hey, watch where you’re goin’ will ya?” she said as she scanned the woman from head to toe. She was in her thirties, more shapely than slender, with long black hair and a heart-shaped face with eyes of blue. To contrast with her olive skin, her skin-tight cocktail dress was as white as pearls.

  “Oh, I know exactly where I’m going,” the woman said with a somewhat course, yet sensual voice. She leaned in closer, her red-painted lips parting as she was about to place them on those of Rush. In this she didn’t succeed. Reacting as if she were under attack, Rush pushed the woman away, making her fly almost ten feet before she fell flat on her back.

  Oh, shit! she thought as she approached the downed woman, sighing in relief upon noting that she still moved.

  “That… that’s the worst rejection I’ve ever had.” The woman smiled awkwardly as she brought herself up. Rush extended a hand to help her, then caught her straight by the waist when it turned out that one of her heels was broken.

  “Oh, well, not like they’ll be worth anything soon,” the woman said as she took both shoes off, then stood on her own two feet.

  “Who are you?” Rush asked. She didn’t have to ask what the woman wanted; her accelerated heartbeat had told her that already.

  “Ah, no one important,” she said, smiling again as she leaned against the nearby wall and posed so as to accentuate her cleavage. Unlike everything else on the third floor, she somehow didn’t stink. “Just someone who made a mistake. Sorry about that.”

  “What a minute,” Rush said just as the woman’s posture told her she was about to leave. “You thought I was…?”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  Rush paused. She had tried it with girls before. Hell, who didn’t? But it just wasn’t her thing. “What made you think I was?”

  “Well…” the dark-haired woman scanned Rush from head to toe, as if she were skirting around the issue. “The colors and the attitude, for starters. And then there’s the other thing…”

  Rush raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Well, these last few weeks—” the woman looked left and right, as if to make sure no one would hear “—everyone’s been banging their brains out. I’m not kidding. Neighbor to the left and neighbor to the right. Night. And. Day. But I’m seeing you around all the time, so I thought… maybe what you needed was a woman’s touch.”

  Rush fr
owned.

  “Sorry if it came off as an insult,” the woman said as she prepared to leave. “I made a mistake. Hope you won’t report me or… you know, arrest me yourself, Champion.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Rush asked with the woman a mere three feet away.

  The woman stopped moving. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s forbidden. As I’ve said, I thought you’d be into it, and made a mistake. Can I please go?”

  “I’m bored,” Rush said. “And you’ve just broken the law. Your fine is one lunch. As in now.”

  The woman’s face lit up, and her body language changed accordingly.

  Seems I need to set some boundaries, Rush thought. “Just lunch, okay? No homo. What’s your name?”

  “Alma,” the woman said in a tone that seemed to ignore Rush’s rule. “Where would you like?”

  “Wherever there’s food,” Rush said.

  “Food is where we take it,” Alma said in a somewhat confused manner. With the floor’s economy nonexistent, everything was turned into portions and rationed more or less equally. Everyone got their fill. It was just a question of where they’d eat it.

  “True. So here’s how we do it,” Rush pointed a finger in the direction of the food dispensers. “We get the grub, then I take us to this little spot. Dig?”

  Alma nodded, and the two women did exactly as Rush said. Their rations still wrapped, they stood before a window to the east, overseeing the sunlit desert below. The glass let in little to no heat, but still the sight was warming to the heart.

  “So, what’s your deal?” Rush asked as she unwrapped whatever it was that they’d given her.

  “That’s a vague question,” Alma said as she let her backside rest on the protrusion below the window, turning her back to the scenery. She held her food before her, not opening it yet.

  “What do you do? Or did, before this whole shit-show down below,” Rush said as she started devouring her meal. It was a mish-mash of everything, but wasn’t bad at all. Then again, anything was fine as long as it was edible.

  “Ah. Well, I used to be a seamstress,” Alma said, her smile dimming. “But then I met my gi—ahem, ex, and kind of quit.”

  Rush chewed up her bite quickly. “How the shit-biscuits did you manage to afford living here? Cost me an arm and a leg.” Though, I did have additional expenses…

  “She had a high-paying job,” Alma said. “Made me swear not to ask what it was, so I didn’t. She took care of us both, so I didn’t have to work anymore. There was nothing to do but sit back and enjoy my lover. It was…” Alma didn’t smile anymore. “It was divine. She loved using that word.”

  “Ah. Trophy wife. I take it that didn’t work out in the end.” Rush took another bite.

  “She disappeared months ago,” Alma said. “Around the time Lord Nameless took over. No one knows a thing about her, and I did ask around.”

  Got killed in the insanity, Rush silently concluded.

  “I still dream of her, you know?” Alma looked away from Rush and into the desert’s far distance. “More and more frequently, these last several days. She’s in a dark place, alone, and in pain.” She turned to face Rush, not crying, but on the verge. “And every night it’s the same. As if she were calling to me.”

  “What, from beyond the grave?” Rush asked.

  “Maybe,” Alma said. “Or maybe she’s somewhere down there, suffering just as much as she is in my dreams. And I’m stuck up here, unable to help. Just like before…”

  This was a mistake, Rush thought as she finished her ration. She’d hoped that a woman’s company would tickle a long-lost nerve. Give her back membership in an exclusive club that disappeared along with Bones. What she got instead was a whole lot of whining. If I wanted to hear that, I would’ve hung out with Torres.

  “Alma,” Rush leaned in after wiping her mouth. She made effort to make her violet lips as clean as possible. “I’ve got something to tell you. But it’ll only work if you pay attention.”

  “Yes?” Alma asked with longing in her eyes as Rush leaned in closer. Once their faces were an inch apart, she closed her eyes and opened her crimson lips.

  “Man up,” Rush said, a moment before turning and walking away. She didn’t look back.

  I’ve had enough weakness to last me a lifetime, she thought as she went around the corner.

  ***

  Standing tall before five circular arenas, the Nameless oversaw what was now his unit. Before him, fifty men took turns fighting each other or shooting bows and arrows. Some of them he had picked himself. The others were chosen by either the general or other sergeants.

  A lot more advancement to go, he thought as he inspected the technique of an ongoing grapple. “You in circle three! That’s sloppy work! Go lower!” he roared, his eyes still moving between the arenas.

  In all likelihood, this will hurt me in the future. He focused on Kenneth for a couple of seconds. The fanatic’s mastery of melee combat was improving quickly. He seemed to have a knack for it. What he didn’t have was a trainer. One more for me to betray and kill. Even though the lion’s share of his attention was focused on the men’s training, he still twitched at the sound of footsteps that came from his right.

  Ever since the incident with Annabelle, he wasn’t comfortable having a nun nearby; not without someone ordering her in some way. The willing approach made by this one, then, came with no small measure of surprise.

  “Sergeant,” she said in a monotone voice.

  A step up from outright hatred, I reckon, he thought as he gave her his full attention. That, of course, didn’t mean that he spoke. If she wanted a reply, she would have to ask a question.

  “You are wanted. Follow me,” she said, turning around and beginning to walk away without waiting for his response.

  The Nameless turned to the men. “Keep at it until I tell you different!” he shouted, then followed in the nun’s footsteps. It was difficult to describe, but the way he’d defied Malachi had changed the way the men looked at him. It was still the First Skull they feared and obeyed, but slowly and certainly, Stanley Lem was becoming someone anyone could aspire to be. No more than fifty men ascribed to the idea at the moment, but one had to start somewhere.

  The nun led the Nameless away from the training yard, and even the field of tents. Somewhere far beyond, he caught glimpses of another camp. Most likely for the women, he concluded as he kept his pace.

  In the center of the whole enclave, there was a relatively small gold-decorated tent. Gleaming crosses and metallic, thorny vines dropped down its walls, touching the ground. There was no security to guard this treasure. Who in their right mind would try to steal in the heart of the Church’s power?

  The entrance was wide open and bereft of guards, and the nun led the Nameless in. Contrary to his expectations, the tent’s insides were not like those of the cathedral nor a barracks, but what would be best described as an extravagant club. Chairs encircled several tables, all made of the same spotlessly white wood. Seated around the one farthest from the entrance were the general and Father Light.

  “Have a seat,” the general said once the Nameless got close enough to hear. Father Light gestured to the nun, who was quick to nod, turn, and leave.

  Without uttering a word, the Nameless pulled a chair and sat on it, his eyes drifting between both old men. He inspected the table briefly, noticing that the general and the priest had an expensive-looking bottle of transparent liquor before them as well as three glasses.

  “Care for a glass?” the general asked, pointing to an empty one that rested before the Nameless.

  “Thanks, but I do not drink,” the Nameless said politely. “I quit.”

  “An admirable decision,” said Father Light. “If only the rest showed such temperance.”

  “This is grade-A stuff,” said the general as he took the bottle and raised it up a bit. “You have our permission to let loose. Nothing will happen, I guarantee.”

  “I am fine,” the Nameless
said, getting comfortable.

  “Suit yourself.” The general filled his own glass to the brim, then put the bottle back on the table. With both hands he removed his skull-mask, laying it on the table and revealing the clean-shaven, sharp-featured face of a man who seemed to be winning against old age. He lifted his glass and took a sip, surprising the Nameless with the flexibility of that stone face.

  “We are more than pleased with your work here,” Father Light said while the general lowered his glass. “Your work is methodical, effective, and above all, keeps the men working together. This is no small feat, especially for such a recent arrival.”

  “Thank you,” the Nameless said. “But?”

  “There is no ‘but,’” said the general, gazing at the Nameless with a pair of crystal blue eyes. “You and men like you, if they exist, are just what we need. Yet a sad fact is, you’re the first of your kind we’ve stumbled upon. No one has progressed this fast, and I’d like to know how you’re doing it. A soldier like that, we need to be able to reproduce. The first step in that process would be for us to learn more about you.”

  And here it is, the Nameless thought as he artificially steadied his breathing. The hardest part of his infiltration. He looked at the priest, whose quicksilver irises seemed to stare straight into his soul. Chastity gave off that impression as well, despite her eyes being hidden behind those chrome-colored shades. It was the look of someone who would know a lie on sight. It made sense. After all, they subsist on lies, like I do.

  “What would you like to know?” the Nameless said in a flat tone.

  “Your training, for starters,” said the general.

  This will be difficult. The Nameless considered whether to flat-out lie or tell half-truths. The second option seemed far more reliable. Whether or not he was paranoid about the priest, he would take no chances.