Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  “Not his words,” the Voice replied. “Hush now, here comes the best part.”

  Once the girl finished digging up the hole, the shaman placed three Argikar inside in the shape of a triangle, apex pointing away from the gate. The girl covered the hole again with the moist soil and everyone stepped back as the shaman raised his hands and turned towards the onlookers. The little girl sang an incantation in the ancient language, while the shaman rocked gently and hummed. With the Voice’s assistance, David understood the words.

  “If I command the moon, it will come down; and if I wish to withhold the day, night will linger over my head; and if I wish to embark on the sea, I will walk upon the waves; and if I wish to fly, I’ll be free from my weight. Let my worship be within the heart that rejoices, for all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals. Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honour and humility, mirth and reverence within you.”

  “So shall it be,” the crowd murmured.

  “Let the Whispers leave this place. Let the light guide our path and the Lady show us the way,” the shaman cried.

  “So shall it be,” repeated the onlookers, louder now, and David took an uncertain step back as the soil over the triangle trembled, pulsing with a pale blue light. A sudden column of bright light broke its surface to shoot into the darkening sky, almost touching the twin moons above. It hovered there for a moment, as if undecided what to do next, then bent towards the tower in a slow movement, reaching its far side. The light split in two to form a dome over the entire compound. As soon as it engulfed Malekshei, a loud screech sounded from within, followed by numerous others. The shaman had his eyes closed, lost in his trance. David threw nervous glances around him as the wails died from deep within the walls. A few children wailed in terror, their mothers gently shushing them.

  After a few minutes, the shaman opened his eyes, raised his head and burst into loud singing, followed by the entire tribe. David did not need the Voice to translate; this was a happy song, a song of remembrance and joy and victory.

  Chamber of Justice, the Capital

  June 17, Styx

  The justice twisted and turned in vain, sleep refused to her. A legend says that if you can’t sleep at night it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream, she remembered. “Or a nightmare,” a cackling voice whispered in her head, making her shiver.

  When at last she fell asleep, she saw Parad’s son, the one she had killed so many years ago, standing in her room, a bloodied heart in his hands. He raised it to her; both toast and accusation. She woke up with a jolt, and for a split-second two bright red eyes stood over her, watching her sleep. She let out a cry as a malevolent whisper hissed in her head. “Goodbye, your Honour. It’s been a pleasure.”

  A bitter grimace on her face, she staggered to her desk. Taking her e-lib out of a drawer, she glanced at the numerous reports coming in from the south. The nightmare had left her too disturbed to focus on them. It appeared that troops from Anthea were wreaking havoc in the South, closing on New Capital. They could burn it to the ground for all she cared.

  An immense feeling of tiredness hit her. Tired of watching over her ungrateful subjects, tired of always worrying about the future, tired of constantly trying to do the right thing. She knew she did not always succeed in this, but in her defence she had to look at the big picture. If a few had to be sacrificed to save the many, then it was a decision she would make again.

  She placed her head between her hands and closed her eyes. She must have fallen into a dreamless sleep, for the young boy bringing in the list of the day’s petitioners woke her up. The light creeping through the open door told her it had dawned. Normally, this was her favourite part of the day, when she met her subjects face to face, listening to their problems and dispensing justice on the spot. Not today, though. She toyed with the idea of feigning an illness for a moment, but her subjects needed justice. Who would provide it if not her?

  She grudgingly flicked through the names. One jumped out; an envoy from the north seeking her audience. From what she gathered, a First wanted to correct a wrong done to him years ago. She chuckled at the thought that the First now wanted to subject themselves to her law; this almost made her forget the horrible night she had had.

  “I’ll see this one first,” she told the boy and shooed him away before going to her wardrobe to put on the ceremonial robe.

  The sun was up when she entered the large hall that served as audition chambers. Half a dozen steps separated her seat from the spacious open hall. The sunlight burst into the room through the tall windows in widening slices that failed to reach her seat. The room had alcoves along its sides, a soldier standing in rigid attention inside each of them. Two Guardians stood behind her, spears at hand. She allowed herself to feel safe, the memory of her dream finally fading from her mind.

  Styx sat on the tall seat and caressed the crystal hanging from her neck, making it glow. She then waved at the clerk sitting behind a small desk at the foot of her chair, a short, bald man, dressed in a luxurious light fabric that did nothing to hide his obesity.

  He stood up and shouted in a thin voice, “The Honourable Justice Styx will be presiding. Let all who wish to bring a matter to her most benevolent attention now step forward.”

  Cyrus

  Cyrus had spent most of the night awake, thinking of the morning and how he would finally confront his tormentor. When he finally managed to close his eyes, the familiar nightmare had woken him. The justice stormed his cell, breaking his escape before feeding him to hordes of raging Fallen. They chased him through dense woods, catching up with him to sink their teeth into his writhing body. He cried out as their teeth and claws shred him to pieces, tearing him from limb to limb, and jolted awake, covered in thick beads of sweat.

  He splashed some ice cold water on his face, his breath coming out in curt pants. He had mentioned the dreams to no-one, for fear of losing the First’s respect. How could they follow a scared boy into battle? Hiding his fear had taken its toll, though, and he had spent years perfecting his confident, authoritative demeanour. He always worried that people could see right through him, see the scared little boy hiding behind his brave facade. The thought fuelled a deep rage within him; today, of all days, no-one should suspect the truth about him: that he was a coward who had run away, leaving a young boy in his place.

  He waited for the doors to open, his heart thumping in his chest. When he first returned to the Capital a fortnight ago, he worried someone might recognise him. Mercifully, no-one had; most seemed intimidated by the large First who had come to sell his furs in the Capital’s markets. He enjoyed that, loving the sight of people falling silent as he entered a room. He also liked how easy it had been to be granted an audience with the notoriously busy justice. They must have thought that a First seeking her help might entertain her.

  The crowd around him seemed terrified and hopeful in equal measure. They all carried the same air of despair, but then again they would have to be desperate to seek help from the justice. The bored soldiers at the entrance had searched him, keeping with an angry glare the old, rusted sword he had purposefully brought to make sure they did not bother him about the Sheimlek hanging from his belt. He had done his best to appear like just another dumb First, but could not resist the temptation to adorn his belt with the teeth he had taken from the Fallen slain in Haunted Forest. Most guards had not even noticed them, of course, but the totem made him feel brave, almost like nothing bad could happen.

  A sudden movement around him told him that the justice had entered the audience hall. Both supplicants and soldiers stood upright around him, as if she were going to emerge from the still closed large door to inspect them. This amused him until he noticed that his back, too, had stiffened. Angry at himself, he relaxed his pose and tucked the Sheimlek under the thick hide surrounding his legs. When inactive, it resembled a simple decorative hourglass, so it should pass unnoticed, but he preferred it lay hidden until he needed it.

 
; Styx

  As two soldiers pried open the heavy doors at the far end of the room, dozens of people poured in, with more waiting outside. Most stared at their feet, but one locked eyes with her. She found his lack of respect both annoying and intriguing. From his attire she surmised this was the First who had sought her justice and motioned him forward.

  He walked in an assured manner that betrayed a high standing in his society. She studied the furs that covered his body; some of the animals she did not recognise. For example, the large, foul-looking teeth that adorned his belt. Something about him made her uneasy. Her soldiers and guards always forbade anyone to bear arms in her presence, and a sudden wave of gratitude filled her heart.

  When he addressed her, he sounded respectful, but his voice carried an edge that chilled her, like a well-honed blade.

  The clerk perched at her feet said glanced at him with dismay. “You may speak.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Your Honour, I come before you a supplicant. I’ve suffered a great injustice and only you can put it right.” His voice sounded strained, but his choice of words betrayed an education unusual to a First.

  “What’s this injustice you speak of?”

  “When I was but a boy, I was almost killed for a crime I didn’t commit. I was then exiled. My father was betrayed, falsely imprisoned and condemned to death. He now has to live in hiding. And yet the monster behind both deeds is allowed to go free and has never answered for these crimes.”

  Styx’s brows drew closer as she realised there was no trace of the melodic First accent in his voice. And his words… No First spoke like that. She twisted on her chair, deciding she wanted him gone.

  “I’m afraid these are matters for your own council. As you know, since the Peace of the Eclipse the First are allowed self-rule over their territory. Why bother us with such tales, worthy of savages?”

  A murmur rose in the room and a few people smirked. He ignored the jibe, slowly producing a signet ring from his pocket. He lifted it up in the air, turning in a slow circle to show it around, pausing to stare at the unblinking soldiers.

  “My name is Cyrus, son of Parad, Petria’s hero and loyal subject to the Capital. I was taken from my bed at night, imprisoned for no crime of mine. The Justice ordered me executed, but the First rescued me.”

  People gasped and muffled curses covered the room. Styx jumped to her feet, sending her chair to crash against the wall. “I’ll hear no such lies,” she shouted.

  A woman in the crowd fainted, and people rushed to her aid.

  The two Guardians took an angry step forward. She smiled at the fear that flashed briefly in Cyrus’s eyes, but his face changed almost immediately to a stubborn, hard mask as he continued.

  “That’s not all. Styx also sent my father to Jonia, supposedly to secure peace with the rebels. But she betrayed him, handed him over to our enemies. An innocent man died trying to defend him; a man you all know well. Captain Tang.”

  He had to shout now to be heard, and smiled at the sight of the pudgy clerk screaming, “Silence in the court,” in despair, as the soldiers in the alcoves exchanged uneasy looks. “I rescued my father on the day of his execution and ensured his safety,” he continued. His hands trembled as he stared at the soldiers, meeting their eyes, one by one. “Is there no-one in this room to defend my father’s honour?”

  With great dismay, Styx saw one by one the soldiers step forward out of the alcoves, eyes fixed on Cyrus.

  “Stop,” she screamed. “Arrest him! Kill him!”

  Her two Guardians turned on the energy tips of the spears and jumped down the stairs towards Cyrus, but none of the soldiers moved. The crowd drew back, scared. As the first of the Guardians reached him, he pulled the silver cylinder from his belt. People gasped as it transformed into an energy weapon of some sort, although he wore no batteries on his belt.

  The first Guardian charged, pointing the thrust of the spear towards Cyrus, who swiftly pushed it aside with his right hand while stepping sideways, then pulled on the shaft to throw his opponent off-balance. The Guardian’s own momentum threw him past Cyrus, who quickly turned and sliced with the unusual sword, almost cutting the unfortunate man in two.

  Seeing this, the second Guardian threw his spear at Cyrus, who avoided it with ease. The woman behind him was not as fortunate, and the energy tip almost sliced her leg off. People rushed to drag her away as she cried out in pain.

  Cyrus took a step forward, and the Guardian turned and ran past Styx, who screamed insults at him. He ignored her and slammed the door behind him. Styx, realising she was now trapped, dashed towards him and banged on the door, stealing terrified glances at Cyrus.

  Her stomach tightened; that moronic Guardian had locked the door behind him. She heard his whimpers and swore, yelled and threatened him, but the man was too scared to obey.

  Enraged, she spun around to face Cyrus. He had turned his attention to the traitorous soldiers. She wanted to scream that she was the one they should be listening to, not that barbarian. She listened in disbelief as Cyrus addressed the guards with an authority only she should carry. Her fear first turned into hate, then panic as she heard his next words.

  “Anyone honourable enough to serve a real patriot, make yourselves heard!”

  “Hooah,” roared the soldiers.

  The yell sent chills running up and down her spine, as she realised no-one in the room wished to fight for her. Her legs buckled and turned back towards the door, banging it, screaming obscenities at the Guardian behind it.

  Cyrus continued relentlessly. “Anyone brave enough to serve a real patriot, draw your weapons.”

  “HOOAH,” came the roar once again, only this time repeated banging of spears on the ground followed it, the sound of her approaching doom.

  “Anyone strong enough to serve a real patriot, correct this injustice once and for all!” he shouted a third time and panic swallowed her.

  She frantically searched the room for a possible escape, but all she saw was mocking red eyes in the shadows surrounding her. Her breath caught when the soldiers shouted “HOOAH” for the third time, then sharp pain bit her as three spears impaled her on the wooden door. She clenched her teeth; she was a justice, and would not give him the satisfaction of crying out her pain. She had to explain, though.

  “I’m sorry. I had to do it. You don’t understand, I did it for the people,” she tried to say. A garbled, incoherent hiss escaped her lips instead, the air fleeing her punctured lungs, and she fell into a black pit of despair when he laughed manically. She knew there was no escape. “No,” she begged as her tormentor slowly raised his weapon, then she whimpered at the sight of the flaming blade reaching her terrified face.

  General Parad’s House, the Capital

  Cyrus

  Cyrus did not want to let go of his sister, pressing her against his body. He reluctantly opened his arms when she pretended to choke, giggling. Coming back to the Capital had been everything he had expected—and more. The old house looked smaller than he remembered, but the real surprise had been his siblings. The twins, Elsie and Cook, had been toddlers when he had last seen them. Now, they were cute preteens. Angel had blossomed into a smart young woman with big, almond-shaped eyes and long, shiny sable hair that accentuated her fine features.

  Sitting together in his old bedroom, he could almost pretend nothing had changed. He gazed at her with tenderness, taking in all her charm and beauty. More than anything, he wanted to keep his family safe from all the ugliness and threats he had encountered, from being woken up in the middle of the night, to being chased by Fallen. They’ll have the life denied to me, if it means using any means necessary, all the resources of my position.

  Angel sat beside him, still giggling, and took his hand. “I wish mom could see you now. Not just alive, but ruler of the Capital. That’s one for the e-libs.”

  With Styx dead, the soldiers had been keen to let him lead. He used this power to assure his swift ascendance. Parad had advised against it, j
ust as he had told him not to kill Styx. All this made Cyrus doubt the old man’s sanity; why would anyone discard such a gift?

  His lips curled upwards, but the weariness pulling at his limbs betrayed his sadness. “You know, we never did talk about what happened.”

  She let his hand drop and squirmed on her seat, avoiding his eyes. “Should we?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Crossing her arms, she leaned back. “It’s all ancient history. All that matters is that you and dad are here. Why delve into the past?”

  Her awkward response startled him, made him suspicious. What is she hiding from me? He tried to remember what he knew of his mother’s death. It had all come through the First’s formidable spy network.

  When the First rescued him, it had been an eye opener. He realized just how much they knew of what happened on Pearseus, especially Capital and Jonia. Their presence everywhere as servants and traders made them practically invisible. Most people carried on a conversation around a First without a second thought, believing them too thick and slow to pose a danger. The First were keen to cultivate this perception, he had found out. It was they who had passed on the news of Parad’s imminent execution, forcing Cyrus to expedite his plans for Parad’s escape. Even as far as Malekshei, news travelled fast.

  It was also they who had informed him of his mother’s death. Lehmor himself had delivered the news. He had never been one for words, so Cyrus had imagined the lack of details on her death as part of that. All Lehmor had said was that she had died of a broken heart. Cyrus had taken this literally, thinking she had died of a heart attack. Was there something else? Something Angel hid from him?

  “You’re right, sis. It doesn’t matter.”

  She unfolded her arms, still avoiding his gaze. “I just thought you may wish to talk about it,” he continued. “You know, ‘cause it must’ve been such a shock for you.”