“What truth?”
“Well, let’s see. For starters, that the Old Woman told you but one side of the story. The Shei-ka-zuul were here before you and you’ve hunted them almost to extinction. Therefore, they’re right to get rid of you all. Then, there’s the small matter of the unworthy leader you are following, who will lead your men and women to war and death.”
“He won’t.”
“Really? Has he mentioned anything about the Jonian rebellion?”
“Yes.”
“Has he asked you for your help yet?”
“No.”
“What will you do when he does? You’re the rightful leader of the Wind Warriors and the Fire clan. Why fight for the man who betrayed you? I say that you and Moirah belong in the North leading your people, not in the Capital serving a horny boy. So, I ask you again: what will you do now? What would you do if I released you right this instant?”
Lehmor said nothing for a long time. “Find Moirah. Go North.”
Without a word, the old man produced a small key and unlocked the chain binding the shocked First. He threw Lehmor his Sheimlek, a thin smile on his lips as Lehmor grasped it in mid-air.
“Then you’d better hurry,” he said. “She’s probably halfway to Malekshei by now.”
Lehmor jumped to his feet and gawked confused at the old man for a moment, an undecided look on his face. Then he dashed out the door and stumbled out onto a dark, quiet street. Thinking quickly, he whirled around and crept back into the building, slamming the door behind him. He hid in the shadows next to the door, waiting to see his captor’s next move. Stripet passed before him, and Lehmor held his breath and pressed his body against the wall behind him.
Stripet stepped into the room and crashed onto the empty bed.
“Is it done?”
“Yes. I think the First will no longer support the boy king,” said the old man.
“Why’s that so important?”
“For balance to survive, at least two opposite poles are needed. The boy has the makings of a king. With the South gone, all that stands between Cyrus and absolute rule will be the Democracies, divided and weak as they are. They have already angered him and, as soon as the rebellion’s over, he’ll turn his attention there. With the First behind him, they have no chance of survival. Let’s hope our little chat with Lehmor ensures they’re given a fighting chance. A world with one people and a single ruler is a dangerous place. That’s why we’ve tried so hard to keep these people divided ever since they first arrived. Thankfully, Barrett listened to us, or balance would’ve been ruined.”
“What if the boy joins the Old Woman?”
“If the boy listens to the Old Woman, he’ll destroy the Whispers and upset the balance. That would be most unfortunate. The Shei-ka-zuul have been pushed back by the First for millennia. They’re still vulnerable. We need to ensure that the Newcomers fight among themselves, for balance needs both Orbs and Whispers to survive.”
“For the Iota, then.”
“For the Iota, my friend. May balance persevere.”
Lehmor made no sound as he slipped back outside. He crept onto the deserted back passage, his head swimming with the new information as he tried to get his bearings. The street seemed to be buried deep in the Capital’s slums. The Chamber of Justice loomed in the distance, its lights shining in the night like a beacon. Lehmor took a few uncertain steps towards it, then paused. Conflicting emotions ran through his heart. He had to find Moirah, but what if the old man was telling the truth and she was on her way to the North? Should he pursue her? Or perhaps head to the Old Woman, to seek her council?
The thought of Moirah gnawed his guts. He felt betrayed, forsaken, angry. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What he needed was time to decide what to do, time he probably lacked. Any moment his captors might change their mind and pursue him again.
He spun around to head towards the forests surrounding the Capital. He had to lie low for a while, while he pondered his next move.
Chamber of Justice, the Capital
May 15, Cyrus
Cyrus fought to hide his emotions. The departure of the First that had accompanied him to the Capital made his heart flutter with fear, but he could not let people see that. As soon as he had heard the news, he had gone to the First camp outside the city to find Lehmor or Moirah. He had been escorted to Two-horns instead, who had informed him that Lehmor was missing and Moirah had returned to Malekshei. He had pleaded with Two-horns to stay, but the Elders had been clear: every First was to return to the North. Humiliated, Cyrus had left to hide in his office, lying on the couch and drinking to stop the sense of shame and failure overpowering him.
The door swung open and his father walked in, Annoush following close behind as always. Parad paused for a while, allowing his eyes to get used to the dark, then drew a chair next to Cyrus, who fixed his gaze at a deep worry line crossing his father’s forehead. For a moment he found himself back in Styx’s cell, jumping at every sound, wondering if he would ever see his family again.
“Sometimes I get really scared,” he blurted out. “I think I may be losing my mind.”
Parad took his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll be fine.”
“The First have left.”
“I know, son.”
“I’m tired of all this fighting. Perhaps I should make a deal with the Jonians and get it over with.”
“Many lives will be spared if you do. Are you sure about this?”
“I just want my life back. This is all too much for me.”
“I understand.”
“You do? I never asked for any of this. A crazy justice tried to kebab me. Monsters in forests, a weird lady pulling the strings behind the scenes… It’s all too much; all I want is a normal life.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you that. But I am proud of you. Despite everything that’s happened, here you are today: ruler of Pearseus—and you’re just a boy. I wish your mother were here to see you.”
“I miss her.”
“So do I, son, but we’d lost her long before…”
He bit his lip, probably remembering their previous argument. Relief washed over his face when Cyrus nodded his agreement.
“I know, dad. I’m sorry about…”
Parad made a gesture to stop him and Cyrus gave him a shy smile. A knock on the door interrupted them, and they parted reluctantly.
“Come,” said Cyrus in an authoritative voice, slipping with ease back into the role of the ruler.
A guard appeared. “Master David has returned and requests an audience. Shall we show him in?”
“Of course,” Cyrus said.
David entered hurriedly. He seemed a little surprised to see Parad. “Good day, sir.” Parad nodded as David turned to Cyrus. “Where’s everyone?”
Cyrus lowered his eyes. “Gone. You tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean for this, but I still don’t understand; what happened?”
“I… I screwed up. And yet, I swear to you, it was like watching someone move my body despite my will. Like a puppet.”
“Was it…” He paused, glancing at Parad.
Cyrus shrugged. “The Whispers you mean? I honestly don’t know. What did the Old Woman tell you?”
“She…” David paused to clear his throat as he produced a silver amulet. “She gave me this. She said it’ll help.”
How can a piece of jewellery help? Cyrus studied the amulet with curiosity. A faint blue light travelled along the fine lines etched on its surface. “Why is it glowing like this?”
David’s arched an eyebrow in surprise. “It didn’t before.” He placed the amulet around his neck. “The room,” he mumbled. “It’s changing…” He cried out in alarm and raised his Sheimlek-dar, which came alive in his hand.
A stream of balls of light burst from the weapon. One of the shots missed Cyrus’s shoulder by an inch and exploded on the wall behind him, shooting debris everywhere. “Sto
p,” he cried out and lunged at him as the door burst open and guards barrelled inside.
David lost his footing and stumbled backwards, his Sheimlek-dar still shooting in the air its deadly bursts. Cyrus rolled behind his desk to take cover.
When the barrage finally stopped, Cyrus raised his head and gaped at his father. Parad gawked at a charred hole on his chest. His face did not betray any pain, merely disbelief, and he glanced first at Annoush, staring back in shock, then at his son. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood trickled out. His knees buckled. Cyrus let out a loud cry and rushed to catch him as Parad crashed to the ground.
Parad
Life oozed out of the burn hole on Parad’s chest, as he tried in vain to raise himself from the hard floor.
“I’ll kill you,” someone screamed. He assumed it was Cyrus and pried his eyes open with great effort. Cyrus was holding him in his arms, glaring at David with burning eyes.
Why is he so angry? It was an accident. Parad tried to speak, but coughed blood instead. That can’t be good. But I feel no pain. Just numb. Someone bumped on him and he turned his gaze at Annoush, who knelt sobbing beside him, taking Parad’s hand into his.
“Don’t touch him!”
Cyrus shoved Annoush away and his feverish eyes darted around.
“No…” Parad tried to say, but a soft murmur was all that escaped his lips. So tired… I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, no more, he promised himself and sank into Cyrus’s arms.
The room swam with swirling darkness and light. Through closed eyelids, he saw strange shapes flying before his eyes. Smokey tentacles and red eyes parted to give way to shades of people and orbs of light. His parents, long gone. Marta. A loud bark startled him and he turned to see his dog, his trusted childhood companion. How can this be? Am I dreaming? He staggered up. Strange how light he felt now, whereas a moment ago he could barely open his eyes. He took the dog in his arms and held her close, enjoying the feeling of her wet muzzle on his cheeks.
From far away, he heard voices.
“You once saved my life, which is why I’ll now spare yours,” someone growled. “But you’ll pay for this. You all will.”
The fury in the voice surprised him. Why are these people so angry? What can be so important?
The voices sounded further and further away as light engulfed him and all thought left him.
David
David stumbled to his feet, sick rising to his mouth, his mind unable to comprehend what had just happened. He did not fight when a guard restrained him and another jerked the bracelet off his hand.
“I never want to see you again. Any of you.” Cyrus’s voice sounded strained. Words serve like roads, allowing thoughts to travel freely, or like dams, keeping thoughts from bursting out. Cyrus pressed his lips together, as if struggling to stop himself from uttering the words that would mean David’s and Annoush’s death.
David stole a glance at Annoush, still slumped next to Parad, sobbing uncontrollably. Two guards towered over him. He wanted to protest. None of this would have happened if only Cyrus had not jumped him. Every part of his being screamed against the situation he had found himself in, while the guilt of having taken the life of a man he respected like a father crushed him under an unbearable weight. He could not remember ever feeling so wretched.
Cyrus now turned his attention to Annoush and stared at him with flaming eyes. “Why did my father trust a boy to protect him?” He shook his head. “Despite my best judgment, I won’t kill you either. However, neither of you will ever set foot on my land again.”
Annoush threw a confused gaze at Cyrus. He said nothing, but David read in his eyes the same need to protest. Cyrus’s glistening eyes, though, told him there was no point; nothing they said could change his mind. He was always impulsive, but now grief and guilt had carried him past the point of reason.
Perhaps David could still serve him though, even now. He cringed at the memory of the vision he had when he put the amulet on—hateful red eyes glistening in the shadows behind Cyrus, and dark, tentacled limbs writhing around his feet. “Will you at least wear the amulet so you can see for yourself what surrounds you?” He ignored the confused look his guards exchanged and continued. “Please. For the Old Woman.”
This meant little to Annoush, who stared at him blankly, but Cyrus’s eyes flashed with rage at her mention.
“The Old Crone’s the reason that my father’s dead. She gave you the damned weapon that killed him. Why would I want to do anything for her?”
“She gave you the means to fight back, to protect yourself, when you most needed it.”
Cyrus ground his teeth. “She gave me the means to fight her war, you mean. And I’ll thank her properly for that one day. But first, I have other matters to attend.”
He turned his attention to David’s guards. “Escort them to the gate. They have one day to vanish. Anyone that brings me their heads after that will be richly rewarded.”
His words chilled David. “Can I at least take what I need?”
Cyrus’s face was a mask of contempt, a tight, mocking sneer on his lips. “What, you want to butcher more innocents? I should have you executed just for that. No, I’ll have your precious weapon destroyed. You’re walking out of here with your life; that’s already more than you deserve.”
David’s mind raced frantically. “How do you know our guards won’t kill us and bring you our heads tomorrow?”
He noticed the guards glance at each other in a way that failed to reassure him.
“Yes, that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?” Cyrus scoffed.
David raised his hands in protest but could not think of anything to say until the Voice whispered an idea in his head. “I have but one final request. May we pray for forgiveness at Themis’s temple before I go?”
Cyrus’s brow lowered and his eyes narrowed. “I thought you only did what the Crone told you. Since when have you become religious?”
When David said nothing, Cyrus waved a dismissive agreement. “Very well. Take them to the temple, then kick them out. I never want to see either of them again. Alive, anyway.”
He knelt beside his father’s corpse as the guards escorted the prisoners out.
Cyrus
As soon as they left, Cyrus let his emotions burst out. An immense feeling of loss overwhelmed him and he sobbed over his father for hours. No one dared enter the room until he had no more tears to shed, and he called the guards to prepare the body for the pyre.
Three grave guards stepped carefully in. He sat expressionless, watching them pick up the body with tender care. As they passed through the door, one of them banged Parad’s head on the wall. A flash of rage stroke through Cyrus and he jumped to his feet. He picked up an e-lib and hurled it at the guard’s head. It struck the unfortunate man’s head with a loud crack. Blood sprinkled from the wound as the e-lib crashed on the floor behind them, its bloodied corner soiling the carpet. “I’m sorry, sir,” the man muttered, then staggered outside.
Cyrus sank on his chair, trying to regain his composure. Had he allowed his rage to mislead him? He thought not. He had fought his first instinct to kill everyone on the spot; David for betraying him; Annoush for failing to protect his father; that idiot guard for his disrespect.
His father would have been proud; he had always warned him against making rash decisions. No, if anything exile was too lenient a punishment for his father’s murderer and failed bodyguard. He almost decided to call back his guards and have them execute them right then and there, so he could witness it, then remembered he had given his word and took a deep breath. His head pounded with a dull pain and a dark mist seemed to surround him, clouding his thoughts.
Wiping his eyes, he stepped out on the balcony, leaning on the rail to take in the spectacular view. The landscapes of the North consisted mostly of misty, dream-like lakes and dripping, mesmerizing silhouettes of soaring mountains, each one a pale blue echo of the next, like fading memories. The city view formed its opposite. Da
wn painted the sky in rich colours of red and orange, the twin moons dwindling away as the day approached. The soft light coloured Lucas’ hexagonal structures and pods. His eyes glided on their rooftops, following them to the heads of the Twelve. The sun adorned them with a tender halo, appropriate to their reverence.
He wondered what their thoughts would be on his situation. Kibwe, the Guide. Lucas, the Builder. Barrett, the Just. Dar, the Pious. Enki the First. And his own ancestor, Joe the Farmer, turned Joe the traitor, then Joe the warrior. He glared at the patient statues, resenting their serenity, imagining their haloed heads hacked off. His gaze, burning with rage and envy, slipped onto the sleepy city. How could it be just another day for so many; why were they not mourning like him?
The cityscape formed an awe-inspiring sight, but the luxurious hues only reminded him of the flames that would soon devour his father’s body. He imagined the same flames consuming the world and his body tensed. In the distance, the rising sun set alight the sparkling gold rooftops at the Asian Temple and the flames inside his soul seemed to spread out of him, engulfing every inch of the planet as far as his eye could see.
It’s your destiny, a voice whispered in his head. Embrace it.
He loved that thought; it made him feel one with the fire, a feeling so intense that he momentarily forgot his pain. A fog lifted from his mind, allowing him to see his path with an unprecedented clarity. Even the constant throbbing in his head ceased as it filled with images of cities burning and screaming men. Dreams of wreaking terrible revenge on those who had caused his torment overpowered him, made his head spin.
The beginnings of an idea formed in his mind. He would follow his father’s plan. First, he would divide the Jonian cities, attacking one after another. He had to consult Teo on this, but he was certain that none of them would rush to help another city—a former competitor at that—if they did not feel threatened themselves. He could thus exploit their main weakness: their short-sightedness.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 30