She met his stare with wet eyes. “Of course it was. What do you think?”
“But you coped so well. I’m proud of you.”
She wiped a tear and forced an ill-fitting smile on her lips. “It’s not like there was anyone else.”
“No, there wasn’t. Just my little sister.”
She hung her head for a moment. “You know, I tried to save her. I really did. But I was too late.”
Too late? “I know,” he said in a soft voice and took her hand.
She raised her eyes. “She had locked the door. Why had she locked the door? Why…”
His mind raced to an ugly possibility while she sobbed. What door? Could she have… He swallowed to steady his voice. “Why did… Why do you think she did it?” He held his breath.
“Mostly for you.” It was hard to understand her through the sobs. Can’t she stop that for a minute? “But also because of dad.”
That made sense. The Jonians had just murdered Tang and captured Parad. A pang of pain shot through his heart. What despair she must have felt at the thought of never seeing her husband again, after losing her older son.
“It must have been so hard for her, after all these years together.”
“Not really. I mean, she knew about Gella of course. Mom was depressed for a long time before…”
…she killed herself. So that’s what happened. And who’s Gella? He blinked repeatedly, trying to remember the name. Then he remembered the young woman he had seen his father talk to. Was she…
Angel’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. He smiled at her, although his cheeks burned with rage. “I’m sorry to remind you of all this. Like you said, everything’s alright now. We’ve got each other.”
She sniffled, wiping her tears.
“I’ll come and see you soon, but first, I’ve got to take care of something. Is that alright?” he asked her in a gentle voice.
She nodded and gave him a long hug before leaving.
As soon as she left, he stormed out of the room. He found Parad in his study, reading his precious e-lib. Cyrus slammed the door behind him and the older man jumped.
“You startled me,” he said, then noticed Cyrus’s eyes. He turned the e-lib off and waited.
“Tell me it’s not true!” Cyrus crossed his arms and shifted his weight impatiently against the floor.
“I’m sorry?”
“Gella. And mom.” Surely the man needed no more than that.
Parad seemed lost in thought. “I’m sorry, son. You don’t understand. Your mother and I… It was never the same after… what happened, and—”
“So you found another woman? Is that it? One half your age?” Cyrus uncrossed his arms to approach the desk. A silver cup stood half-filled and he sniffed it. Water. He emptied it onto the floor and filled it with wine. Ignoring his father’s surprise, he emptied it in one large gulp.
“Have you ever thought this might all be your fault? That mom might still be alive, if only you kept your dick in your pants?” He shouted these last words, not caring who heard him, but Parad said nothing. This enraged Cyrus further.
“How could you?” he screamed and pounded the desk with the cup.
His father pursed his lips. “Listen, son, I’m not proud of it, but your mother and I drifted apart long before Gella. I tried to make her feel better; I just couldn’t.”
“So what, you left? When she needed you the most?”
Parad jumped to his feet and paced the room. “I had to leave; I didn’t choose to. There was a war, remember?”
“You could’ve sent someone else,” he shouted. “You could’ve resigned and been there for your family, for once.” He knew his words would sting the old man, but did not care. He wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer for his mistakes. “You weren’t there for me,” he said, malice dripping in his voice. “I was a boy. I trusted you to keep me safe. Instead, you left me to die.”
He filled the cup again and emptied it in another long gulp, his head pounding.
“I’m starting to think Styx was right about you. You’re a failure, dad. A failure as a father, a failure as a husband… Perhaps a failure as a general, too. You do remember that the bastards who burned New Capital left freely after ruining my city, right, dad?”
The news of the group of Antheans that had landed on the south, bringing death and fire with them, had arrived towards the end of the previous year. They had terrorized the entire south and burned down a large part of New Capital, taking advantage of the lack of fortifications. Styx had decided to tear down part of the city walls, for fear of another contender, and now they had paid the price. In the end, Gella had been dispatched to deal with them, but the Antheans had returned to the West without a single battle, leaving behind them nothing but devastation. All in the name of the Jonian rebellion.
Cyrus spat the next words. “You think you can beat those rebels, or will you fail at that too?”
His father’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it close again. “I’ll be at the Chamber if you need me,” he growled and fled the room.
Part of Cyrus wanted to run after him, to tell him how sorry he was and cry in his arms. To tell him he’d be there shortly himself, if he wanted to talk. Another part, the one that only felt pain and fear and anger, held him back. He crashed into a chair and filled the cup with more wine.
Part Three
The battleline between good and evil runs through the heart of every man… Man has set for himself the goal of conquering the world but in the processes loses his soul.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
305 AL
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
April 27, David
David jumped back as Parad charged through the door. He did not know the man too well, but a sharp pang in his head told him something was wrong.
“Is everything alright, General?” he asked.
The man seemed lost in thought. He nodded absentmindedly, then started to move away, but David insisted, cutting him off.
“I’m sorry, General, but I couldn't help but notice you don’t look too well.”
The man said nothing for a moment, then faced David. “Alright, I’ll tell you. Ever since we returned here, I don’t recognize my son. It’s like this place has changed him. Yesterday I caught him screaming at a servant for spilling his wine. Which is another thing; when did my son start drinking like that? Back in Malekshei he barely touched it, now he’s already half-drunk and it’s still morning. Also, when did he become a mole?”
“A what?”
“He always loved the outdoors, but now he spends all his time in that dark office of his. It’s unnatural.”
David reflected on those comments for a minute, silently consulting with the Voice.
“We’ll look into it,” he promised.
Parad’s brow furrowed. “We?”
Although some First knew of the Voice, almost no Newcomers did. David realized that Cyrus must have neglected to inform Parad. “His friends. Us.”
“Thank you,” Parad said and lumbered down the hall.
David waited until Cyrus had returned to his office. He had a suspicion and unconsciously traced the bracelet on his wrist with uneasy fingers. He motioned the guards outside to let him in unannounced and crept through the door.
Cyrus slouched behind the large desk, surrounded by the room’s long shadows. Then something shifted, like a veil lifting from David’s eyes, and he saw a long, smoky tendril reaching out from the far end of the room towards Cyrus, gently caressing his head to form a band around it.
His jaw dropped and for a split-second two red eyes stared at him from the shadows. He raised his hand in alarm and the Sheimlek-dar sprang to life to engulf his hand. Cyrus noticed him and jumped to his feet.
“What do you think you’re doing, servant?”
His words took David aback, giving the tendril the time it needed to disappear back into the shadows. David fired a shot towards the back
of the room, but he knew he was too late. The blue light struck the empty wall with a loud hiss and dissipated. Before he had a chance to search for the creature, the guards burst into the room and hurled him to the floor.
“Get off me!” he shouted, but they pinned him down, ignoring him. Cyrus massaged his temples, staring at David with wide eyes.
“What the hell just happened? Did you fire at me?”
“Not you, the thing.”
The guards exchanged a confused look and David nodded towards them, his eyes fixed on Cyrus in silent plea.
“Let him go,” Cyrus murmured. “I need to talk to him. Alone.”
The guards left the room reluctantly, glancing behind.
Cyrus sat back down. “What thing?”
David explained what he had seen. Cyrus stayed silent for a moment.
“I’ll be honest. Normally, I’d think you’re nuts. The voice in your head, that thing you did with Two-horns’ son… I’m not sure if you’re a freak or some kind of prophet. Still, all these weeks, I’ve felt a pressure on my head. It started here”—he pointed at his right temple—“and went on around the head.” He shook his head. “It’s gone now.”
“Shei-ka-zuul,” replied David and raised his head. “And I’m not making it up. The Whispers are real, just like the Old Woman said. They drove Styx crazy and they’ll do the same to you. Do you even remember what happened earlier with your father?”
Cyrus’s brow furrowed. “Yes, although my head feels heavy thinking about it. It’s like a fog or something. Did I really call him a failure?”
“I don’t know, but he was pretty upset.”
Cyrus made for the door. “I need to talk to him—” He spun around, facing David. “But first—those Whispers of yours. You think you can stop them?”
“I don’t know. But the Old Woman might.”
Cyrus chuckled. “She’s the only one crazier than you. You sure you want to go back there?”
“The question is, will you be alright while I’m gone?”
Cyrus shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel weird thoughts in my head, but there’s no way to tell them apart from my own. Sometimes I feel so angry, for no reason. It makes it hard to focus.”
“Perhaps I should have Lehmor and Moirah look after you while I’m gone? With their sheimleks they’re the only ones who can damage a Whisper, apart from the two of us.”
“Yes, but you’re the only one who sees them. How can we fight an enemy we can’t see?”
David pondered the question. “We can tell them to watch for unusual fits of rage. Besides, I think our weapons seem to know when there’s Whispers around. Have you noticed it too?”
“You mean that blue shine? You think that’s what it means?”
“I believe so.”
“It’s not a bad idea. Ask them to meet us here. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as I’ve prepared everything. There’s no point in waiting when the enemy’s already made their move.”
Moirah
Moirah missed more than just the safety of her tribe around her; she ached for the openness of the North and the rich, earthy smell of the woods. Even as a child, she loved the wilderness. While other girls helped their mothers, she fought with the boys. She had learned to ride a horse almost as soon as she could walk. She lived for the thrill of the battle; the chase; the hunt. Only one man had ever managed to best her, and she had married him.
Instead of doing the things she loved, however, she now lay on a soft bed, resting in the spartan room, staring at the wooden ceiling. She longed to be out in the marshes, fighting the Fallen; instead, she waited to take over the watch from Lehmor.
It had been his turn to guard Cyrus, a duty he bore better than she did. Having been a warrior all her life, this bodyguard duty annoyed her. She reminded herself that an invisible enemy can still be a real one and tried to control her feelings; letting the enemy make you nervous means handing him an easy victory.
The Old Woman had asked them to protect Cyrus and stay close to him, so she had to obey. Not only had she saved Lehmor’s life, but she also knew the Lady’s wish, even if Moirah could not understand her half the time. It was the same with David. She liked him well enough, but he unnerved her. Despite his bookish looks, she had seen him fight the Fallen in Malekshei, as brave as any warrior, and had heard dark rumours of the part he had played in the death of the fort’s previous owner. In her gut, she sensed that David would be a formidable opponent, despite his charmingly innocent, even naïve appearance. Funny how the same thing that endeared him to most people made him seem dangerous to her.
She scolded herself for those thoughts and unconsciously raised her head in pride. She was Moirah of the Fire Clan; slayer of the Fallen; victor of Malekshei and wife to Lehmor of the Wind Warriors. Nothing and no-one scared her, certainly not of a boy like David. Cyrus, though…
Her heart fluttered at his thought. Strange how she had not paid any attention to him until recently. Back north she had laughed off the awkward boy’s infatuation and his clumsy attempts to learn the ways of the wild. She chuckled at the memory of a feast long ago, of his embarrassment and his drunken passes.
Since arriving at the Capital, however, he seemed different. These past weeks, his presence intoxicated her, making her head spin every time they met. She had caught herself flirting with him on more than a few occasions. Perhaps the power he exuded since taking over impressed her. Or maybe she had always fancied him, her feelings only now becoming apparent to her. His awkward flirting excited her even as she dismissed it, making her heart beat faster. Could it be it was more than just the bodyguard duty that she found unnerving?
All these thoughts made her uncomfortable. She got up to pace the small room. Whatever else she felt, the one thing she knew was that she still loved Lehmor with all her heart, and would never want to hurt him. She realised she had been wrong earlier. She was afraid of someone, after all: herself.
General Parad’s House, the Capital
May 2, Cyrus
Cyrus slipped into his father’s study. He had used the Jonian situation as a pretext to talk to him. There had been a tension between them since the incident a fortnight ago, and the need to apologize haunted Cyrus.
As always, Annoush escorted Parad; the young man followed him around devotedly. He unnerved Cyrus, but his dedication to Parad seemed sincere enough. Annoush was sitting on a chair across from Moirah, who lay cat-like on the couch, eyes half-closed, yet alert to any sign of trouble. He greeted them with a nod.
Parad stood up to greet him. Cyrus hugged him, surprising him. Parad returned the warm embrace, until Cyrus broke it to speak. “I need your help,” he blurted out, unsure of how to begin and uncomfortable with the old man’s affection. “We may have got rid of the Antheans, but the Jonians are no closer to surrender. What do you think I should do?”
While Parad returned to his seat pondering the question, Cyrus studied his face. It looked tired, with deep worry lines crisscrossing it, scarring his handsome features. Were they always there?
“What if you gave them what they want?” Parad asked in a flat voice.
“And admit defeat?”
Parad shrugged. “It wasn’t your war to lose. The justice started it, not you.”
Cyrus’s face flushed. “If I give up now, no-one will take me seriously.”
“Is that so?”
Cyrus tapped his fingers on the table. “Is that another one of your Zen moments?”
His father chuckled. “I’m merely pointing out your options. Back in Malekshei, all you talked about was how you wanted a normal life.”
It was Cyrus turn to ponder. “I can’t,” he said in the end. “No dad, I have to do this. Can I rely on you?”
Sadness flashed in Parad’s eyes for a split second, but he replied without a thought. “Always. What do you want me to do?”
Cyrus smiled. “What you always do. Win me this war.”
Parad rose to his feet, a deep frown sca
rring his forehead, and reached into the desk. He dug out his e-lib and a map flickered on the table. Cyrus leaned over to see better.
Parad pointed at Jonia. “What do you see?”
“Jonia?”
“Yes, but I mean about its location.”
“It’s next to the sea.”
“Exactly. Also, it’s located at the centre of the Jonian Democracies. Which means that if we strike there by land and by sea, we’ll cut the rebellion in two.”
“Great idea, except our fleet’s no match for theirs.”
“One thing the justice did well was play the divide and conquer game. What do you know about the leader of the rebellion?”
“Paul, you mean?”
Parad took a sharp breath. “Paul Gauld. I had the pleasure of enjoying his hospitality.”
“Sorry, dad. I know you must’ve had a rough time.”
“Not really. Tang had it worse.”
Cyrus glanced at Annoush, but the boy seemed to ignore them. Yet, Cyrus caught, for the briefest of moments, a pang of pain shooting through his face. He turned his attention back to his father, catching the end of his sentence. “…but that Teo character kept his promise. I was more of a guest than a prisoner.”
“What do you make of him, by the way?”
“Altman? I don’t trust him any further than I can throw him. Ambitious and amoral. People like him have their uses, though; as long as they are kept on a tight leash.”
Cyrus shrugged. “I’ll keep it in mind. Anyway, back to Paul?”
“He’s even more ambitious than Teo and I get the impression he’s just as amoral, although better at hiding it. Jonian cities will be loath to come to each other’s support; that’s their weakness. If we attack them piecemeal, we can score a few easy victories before talking to him.”
“Why? We should crush them.”
“Then what? You can’t rule by force alone; you’ll be like Scorpio, always looking over your shoulder. Far better to seduce them, starting with Paul.”
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 26