Both he and Cyrus had earned the respect of the clans’ leaders and regularly attended their meetings. He found he enjoyed their trust, often marvelling over his rise from servant to the inner circle that ruled the First. Cyrus seemed more at ease with that role, having been groomed since birth to wield authority, and had slipped with little effort into the role of the group’s leader. David often admired the self-confidence his friend exuded, as well as the easy manner in which he commanded men. He suspected Lehmor, too, must have been like that once, but since losing his arm he had been more reserved and tended to fall in line behind Cyrus. As for Moirah, her gracefulness was only surpassed by her skill in battle, but she preferred to accept Cyrus as their leader. David suspected she did not want to command Lehmor, wanting to spare her husband’s pride, and respected her for that.
Cyrus was holding a bat and a hard, leather ball in his hands. He motioned David near. “I’m teaching these two baseball.”
“It’s a Capital game,” Moirah explained. “You know of it?”
“I do, but…” David smiled awkwardly. “Have you ever heard of a place called the Haunted Forest?”
Cyrus shook his head. “Nice name. We should have a party there sometime.”
Lehmor and Moirah exchanged an uneasy look. “It’s where the spirits go,” Lehmor said.
“Spirits?” Cyrus laughed. He threw the ball into the air and took a swing with the bat, nearly missing a hen, who clucked away in panic.
A dark cloud shadowed Moirah’s amber eyes. “Fallen live there, with the spirits of their victims.”
David’s eyes must have betrayed his confusion, because she glanced at him and continued.
“If a Fallen kills someone, they corrupt the victim’s spirit,” she explained. “It can’t cross over and has to spend eternity in places like the Haunted Forest. It’s a dark place. I’m lucky Lehmor didn’t die that day.” She squeezed Lehmor’s hand, making him blush.
“Why do you ask?” Cyrus asked.
David scratched his head. “Looks like we’re headed that way.”
Cyrus’s eyes sparkled. “Can I lead?”
David pondered the question. In the past four years, their First hosts had grown to value Cyrus for his fighting skill and prowess, but many still considered him a Newcomer. Lehmor’s handicap had cost him the leadership; they would never trust him to lead a large expedition. Moirah would simply refuse the command. So, someone else would have to lead them. “I doubt any of us can lead,” he said in the end.
Cyrus sulked for a moment. “Why not you?”
David’s brow creased. “Me what?”
“Lead us, dumbass.”
David’s eyes widened. He knew that the First held him in high esteem, partly because of the Voice, but also because of his other skills. Quite often he got certain feelings while meeting people, and he just seemed to know things about them. Simple things at first, like that they had just had a fight, or that they fancied a certain girl. More complex things later, like whether they had lost someone important to them, and who that was.
Because of this, people around him often treated him like a minor oracle, always asking him to foretell their future, heal their ailments, or give them his blessing. At first this had annoyed him, but then he’d realised he could use their superstitions to help them. They laughed at Newcomer medicine, but would follow religiously his advice. So, he spent hours studying the knowledge crystal. To his surprise, even the Voice knew only a small part of its information, whereas her engineering skills were remarkable. He learned a lot about medicine from the crystal, and this knowledge, coupled with people’s faith in him, produced wonderful results. Within a year, he had gained a reputation as an accomplished healer.
Still, his skills as a healer or a blacksmith were one thing; leading people to their death another. He was not ready to lead a military expedition into the heart of Fallen territory. “A hand’s five fingers are not equal,” he murmured.
Cyrus rubbed his chin and cocked his head. “What?”
David pointed at a group of men locked in animated conversation in front of the tribal meeting hall. “I think I’ll sit this one out. Perhaps Two-horns is a better choice?”
The group of Elders who led the two tribes included the shaman, Lehmor’s and Moirah’s respective fathers, and a man called Two-horns. The tribes held him in great esteem because of his battle experience, often asking him to lead their forces. David liked both him and his son, Satsi; a bright-eyed boy who always followed David around.
“He’s a good choice,” Cyrus admitted grudgingly, before perking up again. “We should volunteer, or they might leave without us.” He threw his bat to the ground and ran towards the men.
David did not share Cyrus’s anxiety. It made sense that the Elders would ask them to join the expedition. Fighting the Fallen would be much easier with sheimleks, and his medicinal skills could always come in handy.
His stomach sank. He had a bad feeling about the expedition and wondered if he could predict its outcome. It was one of his new abilities, although he had no idea how it worked.
“Can you show me what will happen?” he asked the Voice in his mind as he made his way towards the Elders in slow steps.
Her crystal laughter rang in his mind. “No one can predict the future.”
“But you do.”
“No, I don’t. Not really, anyway. Life is full of patterns. Watch the skies and you’ll learn of the land; watch the land and you’ll learn of the seasons. As above, so below. When you live long enough, you learn to recognise the signs. In your case, it’s your growing consciousness that’s giving you the insight. The future, however, is not predetermined. People think of it as something static. It’s not; it depends on your decisions. I can see possible futures, and some of them are more likely than others. However, there’s no way for me—or anyone else—to tell you the final outcome with any certainty.”
“How is it, then, that I see things before they happen?”
She let out a mental sigh. “People need to dissect life, label it, and put it into neat little containers. They think they can control it that way. Even gods are worshiped in careful choreographies. But life’s not like that. It’s full of decisions, from tiny to grand, leading to any possible outcome.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Think about it this way: a man’s walking on a street, about to turn a corner. As he hasn’t turned the corner yet, he can’t see a woman walking towards him from the other side. You, on the other hand, are standing on a balcony above them. You can see them both as they approach the corner and surmise that they’ll meet. Does this mean you can predict the future? No, it simply means you have a better viewpoint. Now, suppose the woman remembers something and turns back. These two never meet after all, but you can’t know that beforehand. It’s a matter of perspective, not precognition. It’s our decisions in the present that shape our future; never forget that.”
He felt like she did not want to help him, and kicked a helpless stone, sending it to fly over a sleeping dog. Why do we have to go to a haunted forest? Can’t evil ever be on a nice, sandy beach?
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
Teo
Teo Altman entered Styx’s office. He drew a short breath when her cold gaze fell on him, hurrying to wear his best smile. “Your Honour. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Teo Altman,” she said dryly. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long, too long. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to be in your presence. And once again, allow me to thank you for your kind hospitality these last years.”
“Indeed.” Her piercing eyes scrutinized him. “So, what can I do for you?”
He put on his solemn face. “I’m afraid it’s the other way around. You remember how I came to the Capital years ago to warn you of a terrible danger?” He studied her expressionless face for a moment before continuing. “That danger is now closer than ever. I’m afraid those ungrateful westerners are planning to revo
lt against you.”
Again, no reaction. Sweat trickled down his back. What does it take to move this woman?
Styx opened a drawer, produced an e-lib, flicked through it, then handed it to him. “Not many know about it yet.”
He glanced at the contents and his jaw dropped. “When?”
“A few days ago.”
So, it’s truly happened. Jonia has rebelled. He continued reading the classified report. Not satisfied with a simple defenestration, this time they had slaughtered the Caretaker, along with his guard. The whole region had now seceded from the Capital, tearing up whatever remained of the Peace of the Eclipse. War loomed once again. Now, for the real question: How can I best use this? He wore his livid face and looked up from the e-lib. “Those traitors … It seems I’m too late.”
“It does.”
“The Capital may need help to resolve this quickly. I hope you’ll accept a friend’s request to help in any way I can.”
“Help?” Was that contempt in her voice? “How can you help?” She touched the dull crystal hanging from her neck.
He gulped. “I may be the ideal man to talk sense to the rebels. They must be crazy to think they can take on the Capital. Surely they’ll have regretted their treason by now. They’ll want to negotiate a deal. How can they not?” His voice sounded shrill to his ears.
Styx studied Teo for a moment, and he wore his sincere face as he envisioned a deal struck between Jonia and Capital, possibly with some juicy extras for Paul and his friends to sweeten the deal. Once order had been restored, with his help of course, he could enjoy Styx’s gratitude for the rest of his life. If everything went to plan, he would soon be richer and more powerful than he had ever imagined.
“Very well,” she said in the end. “You may do so. But do they trust you enough for that?”
Teo pursed his lips. He had not left Jonia under the best of circumstances. How could he make Paul trust him again? He could lie to Styx about it, but she had an uncanny way of finding out the truth. No, it would be best to be honest about this. “That could be a problem,” he acknowledged.
The corners of her mouth curled upwards into a cruel sneer. “I may have the perfect solution …”
Parad
Parad pried his eyes away from his e-lib as a man approached. “What will it be today, Xhi?”
“Just the usual, General,” came the expected reply. It had become their little private joke, repeated daily in the past four years. Leaving the door to the narrow cell unlocked, Xhi elbowed it aside, holding a small tray high with one hand. He left the tray on a small table, careful not to spill the swill. “But here’s a little extra,” he added, and produced half a roasted chicken with his other hand. “I figured we could share.”
Xhi loved his chicken, Parad had noticed, even to the point of smelling like one. To share his food was a rare treat, in the man’s mind. His rotund physique attested to his gastronomical excesses, as did his soiled uniform. He wiped his fingers on his shirt to clean his oily fingers, then pulled out a chair and sat down, leaving the hay-covered bed for Parad.
With a smile playing on his thin lips, Xhi picked up the jug from the tray and sniffed it. “Jonian.” He smacked his lips appreciatively while pouring the wine into two clay cups.
Parad slumped down on the hay, producing a small cloud of mite-infested dust. He took a cup to sniff it, recoiling at the acidic odour. Jonian vinegar more like it. Still, he appreciated his jailor’s efforts.
“It’s the best I can get,” Xhi said apologetically, noticing Parad’s stoic expression.
“It’s great,” Parad said with a forced smile. “I appreciate it.”
Xhi beamed him a wide grin. “Anything for the hero of Petria. Who knew you’d be sharing drinks with me one day. Bet you didn’t expect that during the parade.”
Parad’s mouth twitched. The euphoria of that time felt like a lifetime away. No sense remembering all that. “Why don’t you tell me what’s new out there instead?”
“What’s new?” Xhi scratched his chin. “Nothing much. The times are still hard. Most Loyalists have returned south. No jobs for them here.”
Parad nodded. Conquest of the south meant a vast reconstruction effort to bring the Loyalists back into the Capital’s fold. The Loyalists had lost much more than a leader that day. Expecting an easy victory, most of their ruling caste had been with Crusoe in the battlefield. In a society run by a tiny elite, the loss of so many of its members had proven fatal. “They’re heading back to New Capital?”
“I guess. I have some friends who moved there for a while. They’re now back. No jobs for them there, either.”
“Nothing new, then.” After slaying Crusoe, Parad had captured and secured New Capital before the Loyalists had a chance to regroup, demoting it from metropolis to regional centre. He had been careful to make friends with the locals, portraying his advance as liberation from the mismanagement and cruelty of the Captains. This ensured co-operation from most, who welcomed him into New Capital and helped him defeat any feeble attempts at resistance.
He had just a vague idea of what the Capital’s policy had been after his imprisonment, though. Most Capitolians had no idea just how backwards the Loyalists had been. To bring New Capital to the same level of prosperity as the Capital must have proven a costly and lengthy process, throwing the economy into a prolonged recession. From the sound of it, the slump was far from over. We bit off far more than we could chew.
Xhi noticed the cheerless smile on the General’s face and patted Parad’s leg. “Still mad at her?” he whispered, glancing around.
“Styx?” Parad clutched his fists. Most of the time he felt numb inside, but fits of rage burst through every now and then. Only his discipline allowed him to keep his calm. He shook his head, unwilling to delve into the subject of his nemesis. “Forget about her. Let’s talk about you. Did you talk to your wife?”
Xhi’s face drooped as he plonked the cup onto the tray. “She’s still with him,” he hissed, spitting out the last word like it poisoned his mouth. Ever since his wife had left him, he had become more bitter every day. “Why would I want to talk to her?”
“To win her back.”
“I don’t want her back,” Xhi snarled. “I want her to suffer, like me.”
“You know that’s not true. You still love her, or you wouldn’t care.”
Xhi filled his cup again and picked it up. “I love her, and I’ll kill her next time I see her.” He gulped down the wine.
“They’ll catch you.”
“So what? I’m already in jail.”
“You leave every night to go home,” Parad reminded him.
“An empty home is no home.”
A pang of guilt ran through Parad’s heart. How many times had Marta returned to an empty home because of him? First his career, then Gella … His jaw tightened for a moment. Shaking the ugly memories away, he turned his attention back to Xhi. “You must move on. You have to forgive her.”
Xhi’s face turned crimson. “Never!”
“Not for her. For you.”
Xhi’s brow creased in confusion. “For me?”
“We don’t forgive others for their sake, but for ours. So we can be happy.”
“I don’t want to be happy. I want revenge. I want her to pay for what she’s done. After all these years, how could she leave me?”
A sigh escaped Parad’s lips. How could he make this stubborn man see reason? He tried a new approach. “Let’s think of it this way. What do you gain by staying mad at her? You’re the one suffering, not her.”
“So?”
“So, what’s the point? Forgive her, and you can rebuild your life. But as long as you cling to a ghost, you’ll always be miserable. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Sure you do. Everything’s a choice, even how we feel.”
Xhi threw him a dirty look. “You’re one to talk.”
Parad’s eyebrows flew upwards. “What?”<
br />
“You think I don’t know how you feel about the …” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “… Harpy?”
“That’s different,” Parad protested. “That’s …” He froze, realizing Xhi was right. He had been clinging to the past, to Styx’s constant betrayals. To her unforgivable crime.
“You think it’s different because you’ve lost more than me? My wife is my whole life.”
“No, it’s not that. Cyrus …”
Realization dawned on Xhi’s face. “You feel you’ll betray your son by forgiving her.”
Parad searched his heart. Perhaps Xhi was right. How could he forgive Styx and not betray Cyrus’s memory? “Maybe,” he agreed reluctantly.
“If you want me to forgive my wife, you should follow your own advice,” Xhi said, smirking. “Until then, I’ll kill the bitch when I see her.”
“No, you’re right.”
“I am?” Xhi looked bemused.
“Yes. Even if I can never forgive her, I still have to let go. I’m not honouring Cyrus, I’m punishing my family. I’ve already lost Marta. Instead of sticking together, we pushed each other away.” He felt torn inside, thoughts of revenge mingling with guilt from his tryst with Gella and his love for the two women. “Can I ever rebuild my life?” he mumbled to himself.
Xhi heard him and shrugged. “Only if you move on.”
The corners of Parad’s mouth curled upwards into a bitter smile. “How?”
Xhi spat out a bone, a half-eaten chicken leg in his hand. “By forgiving Styx, it seems. Just like I need to forgive my wife. Or so you say.”
Parad sank into the hard bed. “Dammit Xhi, how can I forgive her?”
Xhi took a sip and swirled the wine in his mouth before swallowing loudly. “Perhaps you just need to forgive yourself first.”
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 18