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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  “I thought Oran was keeping you busier than a one-armed man in a knitting contest,” Stripet said and Lehmor flinched at the cruel reminder of his handicap. “Where would you find time to serve tables?”

  Behind the façade of the easy laughter, Stripet’s eyes studied him, and Lehmor hid his emotions as best as he could. Experience had taught him that everyone had an agenda, especially the people whose very existence seemed to be a secret. Waiting their table would mean hanging around when they had their private conversations. As generations of First serving in the Newcomers’ homes had found out, this was the best way to spy on someone.

  “Anyway, I don’t think the Iotas need more servants,” Stripet continued, wiping his tears. “Hell, I hope to get rid of them altogether someday.”

  Lehmor pondered the strange comment for a moment. He needed to find out more. “I can’t eat roots all day,” he pushed on. Every day was the same; vegetables for breakfast, then hours of training and meditation, followed by a hearty lunch of roots and lumps of unfamiliar fish-like meat. After a brief rest, the drill was repeated well into the night. He was learning much, but the routine was starting to get to him.

  Stripet’s empty stare showed that he failed to be impressed by Lehmor’s feeble attempt at humour.

  “I have a question,” Lehmor said to change the subject. He motioned around them. They were sitting on a marble bench at the edge of a large plaza. Water surrounded the court, running in shallow trenches, filling the air with its pleasant murmur. Flowerbeds, bursting with unknown, richly coloured flowers, offered their sweet aroma. Everything was built in the familiar organic architecture of the Iota. They seemed to prefer life underground, venturing out only when absolutely necessary, and had great appreciation of running water. Tall, sculpted pillars shaped like trees rose around them, merging with the elegant, carved ceiling over their heads. Everything seemed to be made out of a white wood, hard as marble, yet warm to the touch. The unfamiliar material felt strange, alien. Despite its beauty, it made him long for Malekshei and the North. The sunlight reached the plaza through some unseen openings above them, creating bright shafts of light that highlighted the ageless beauty of the place. Like everything else Lehmor had seen in the City of Oras, it was a stunning combination of form and function; effortless grace stemming from practical need.

  Dozens of men in grey robes of varying shades filled the vast room. Some were sitting on benches that seemed to grow naturally out of the ground. The air before them shimmered with unfamiliar, flowing letters. A small group meditated in front of an elderly man, while a second group performed on a soft patch of purple grass a slow, ritual dance, in perfect harmony. They had left their grey robes in a pile on the ground, the light glistening on their naked skin.

  “What?” Stripet asked him.

  “All Iotas look alike. Are there a couple of really old buggers banging away to create hundreds of identical babies?”

  Stripet laughed heartily at this. “Ah, you’re killing me. No, they’re all clones.”

  Lehmor’s brow furrowed. “What are cloves?”

  Stripet burst into more laughter. “Not cloves, you dummy, clones! That’s what you call it when people copy themselves.”

  The furrow on Lehmor’s brow deepened. This made no sense to him. “Copy, how? Aren’t they born like us?”

  “No, you jerk, they don’t shag each other like animals! They’re not like us!”

  “Then how…” Lehmor made a motion around his belly to indicate a pregnant woman. Playing the part of a thick First had allowed him to learn much from an unsuspicious Stripet in these past months, and he wished to maintain the illusion of stupidity.

  Stripet sighed in exasperation. “Let me try to explain. When we came to the planet, the Oras were already living here, right?”

  Lehmor’s face took a look of deep shame and regret. “Yes. We terraformed it.”

  “Yes, that’s right!” Stripet slapped him on the back. “You’re not as stupid as you look,” he teased. “Yes, we terraformed the hell out of it. In the end there was nothing left from the old planet. Less than a dozen of its original people managed to escape to one of the moons. They only returned to the planet after we had managed to destroy ourselves.”

  “I thought the Shei-ka-zuul did that.”

  “Ah, yes; the dreaded Whispers. True enough; they did play their part. But it was us who pulled the trigger.”

  Lehmor shook his head. “So, they returned to an empty planet.”

  “Well, not entirely empty. The Orbs ruled over the survivors, with the help of puppets like the Old Woman. Egged on by the Whispers, many of the Orbs had joined unwilling hosts to turn them into Fallen. So, the fight continued for thousands of years. The Iotas believe in two things: one, that life’s a balance. And two, that interfering always makes things worse. That’s why they chose to remain hidden; to make sure they allow things to unfold.”

  “You speak as if they,” – he waved at the throng of people around them – “were the ones to return,” Lehmor observed. “They live forever?”

  “Well, no. They may live for centuries, but aren’t immortal. They do die at some point. However, every time one dies, another is cloned to continue in his place. They have made a decision to limit their numbers to a round thousand, so as not to upset the planet’s balance any further.”

  “Women only give birth when someone dies?”

  “You still don’t get it. There are no females here; haven’t been for over a hundred thousand years. Twelve men escaped to the moon. No women.” Seeing Lehmor’s confusion on his face, Stripet groaned. “How can I put this? Even if they had women here, the Iotas can’t have children. None of us can. They have a machine that allows them to travel anywhere they wish. Anyone who’s ever used it, can have no children.”

  Cold sweat broke on Lehmor’s back, trickling down his spine. “How did you bring me here?”

  Stripet looked down.

  “I see,” Lehmor said after a while. Moirah would never bear his children. He felt gutted, like Stripet had sucker-punched him, and wanted to punch him back more than anything. Drawing a deep breath and clenching his fists, he did his best to control his emotions. Perhaps there’s a way around it, he thought. If so, he’d find out. Then, he thought of Stripet; last of his tribe. A tribe now doomed to extinction, much like the world once inhabited by the Iotas. Rage gave way to pity, and he relaxed his fists.

  All this was too much; he needed time to process the new information. This was neither the time nor the place. Shaking his head, he tried to gather his thoughts. “So, how do they make more Iotas? Do they steal our babies?”

  Stripet seemed grateful for the change of subject. “No, I’ve told you: they clone themselves. They have a device that allows them to create an adult version of the twelve original survivors at will.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Their technology is unbelievable. They have everything we once had, and more.” Stripet’s face clouded. “Everything that the Orbs and their Old Crone have stolen from us,” he said through clenched teeth.

  If we also had that knowledge, maybe the Old Woman could fix me, Lehmor thought. Or maybe traveling just once didn’t harm me. He mentally examined his body, trying to see if he felt any different, then gave up in exasperation. What am I looking for, anyway? Then a thought hit him. “The Iotas. They have weapons, too?”

  “Of course! What do you think?”

  “Why don’t they make more clones to rule over the planet?” He had heard Oran’s reply, but was curious as to Stripet’s response. What did the second faction think?

  “That’s what I’ve been saying!” Stripet slapped his thigh with enthusiasm. “Even an oaf like you gets it!” He stole a sideways glance at Lehmor. “Sorry, no offence.”

  No problem, I have bigger things to worry about. “None taken. So, why don’t they?”

  Stripet shrugged. “It’s their faith. They’re meant to watch; not interfere, remember?”

  “But they
built Malekshei. You abducted me. Why?”

  Stripet glanced nervously around them and leaned closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Lehmor’s heart raced. He struggled to appear as earnest and trustworthy as possible, bringing his face close to Stripet’s. “Yes.” His breath caught.

  “Some of us are tired of just watching and waiting. This planet’s was ours to begin with, why not take it back?”

  “Ours? You’re a First,” Lehmor blurted out.

  Stripet jerked back and his face flushed. He eyed Lehmor suspiciously, a hint of panicky suspicion on his face. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

  Lehmor gave him his stupidest smile. “Done,” he said and saw with satisfaction Stripet’s face relax. He turned his face away, to hide his excitement. I was right. Some of the Iotas want to fight, but the rest only wish to watch.

  On the grass, the group dancing slowly broke off its practice and the men started picking up their grey robes, patting each other on the back while they chatted merrily.

  Ephia

  Teo

  “We will capture Ephia just like your lover did.” Teo observed Gella’s face, loving how flustered she got whenever he mentioned Parad.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not the only one with a strategic mind. I’ve studied his stratagem. He attacked Crusoe’s stronghold, then withdrew. When Crusoe left the safety of his walls, Parad turned around and beat him.” He punched his fist into his palm. “Just like we will.”

  She eyed him with thinly disguised contempt. “Teo, the general had baited Crusoe for weeks before attacking. He had reserve units waiting on the side, and it still was a huge gamble. It only paid off because of Crusoe’s blind ambition. Even so, we would have lost if I hadn’t sent a herd of buffalos to break Crusoe’s lines.”

  She had lost him at Teo. It’s Master Altman to you, you little bitch, he wanted to scream at her. Anyway, he did not care about her inevitable squabbling. He knew it was little more than posing, a feeble attempt to usurp his power. Well, he would show her who has the upper hand. “Good, we’re agreed then,” he said, ignoring her surprised look. “Have them ready within the hour.”

  He spun around and left the tent before she had a chance to nag. “This is madness,” she yelled at him as he rushed away.

  Soldiers, how I hate them… He wondered if her misgivings could be right, but it made no difference; he could not back down now. His hands trembled with nervousness and he glanced around, spotting one of the many whores that accompanied an army. He lifted his hand to capture her attention, then motioned her to follow him. He needed something to take off the frustration of having to deal with Gella’s constant negativity.

  When he emerged from his tent a couple of hours later, he was feeling much better. The sex had been mediocre, but the subsequent lunch and nap excellent. Besides, it did not matter; it had all cleared his head, helping him focus on the battle ahead. He was more determined than ever to prove Gella wrong. The whore had even helped him put on a splendid red leather armour that made him appear taller, as well as protected him.

  A company of running soldiers hurried by him as he headed over to Gella’s tent. She was barking orders to her officers, sending them to fly off to their respective companies. The camp resembled a hive of angry wasps, buzzing with activity. It was a far cry from the situation a few hours ago, and Teo congratulated himself for making it happen.

  “How are we doing?” he asked Gella, observing with amusement her discomfort.

  “We’re not ready,” she replied.

  “That’s your job, not mine,” he said and caught an officer by the arm just as the man was about to head off. “What do you think, are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man stammered, his eyes jumping from Teo to Gella and back.

  Teo dropped his arm and the man scurried off. “See how easy that was?” he asked Gella.

  She murmured something he did not catch, then pointed at his armour. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  He caressed the splendid, supple red leather. Now what’s her problem? “Too rich for you?” he scoffed.

  “Why don’t you paint a bull’s-eye on it and get it over with?”

  “What?”

  “No one else is wearing red. How long before all bows in Ephia are trained at you?”

  “Why don’t you mind your business and prepare the army?” he snapped at her. “This is the finest leather this side of the Capital,” he added, glancing with contempt at her rough, thick armour. He caressed the soft leather with tender fingers, enjoying the creamy sensation. Someday, I’ll treat you like the little bitch you are, he vowed.

  He cast his glance at the sky. They still had a few hours before sunset. “We attack now,” he announced.

  “We should wait until morning,” she protested.

  Can she really be so stupid? “Is it uncommon for battles to start in the afternoon?” he asked, feigning interest in her opinion.

  “This sort of battle, yes. You need –”

  “That’s exactly why we should do it now. They will be expecting us in the morning. This way, we’ll have the element of surprise.”

  Her brow furrowed as her face flushed. “That’s –”

  “Brilliant? Yes, I know.”

  He turned to the stunned officers standing around them, observing them. For a moment he wished they had not witnessed how stupid their leader was; they needed to believe in her, even if she was useless. Still, their dialogue had proven what he suspected; that he had to do everything himself, if he wished for his plan to work.

  “Men, this is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Today, we teach those pesky Jonians a lesson they won’t soon forget. For the Capital! For Cyrus!” He congratulated himself on that last bit; no one would curry favour with Cyrus by claiming Teo had forgotten to mention their prince’s name.

  He shouted an order and someone fetched him his horse. It was taller than he liked, and he struggled to climb on its back, shooting angry looks around to see if anyone made any comments. Everyone seemed preoccupied with the imminent attack, though, worried faces meeting his glances. I’m surrounded by cowards, he thought, exasperated.

  “Charge! Follow me!” he yelled, and spurred his horse.

  He covered the crimson leather with his cape, making himself indistinguishable from the other riders, as he exited the camp leading the cavalry, his head spinning with excitement. This was the day he would finally fell a city; the day he made his name as a strategist. People would speak his name with the reverence usually reserved for Parad and his ilk. He did not look for Gella, part of him hoping she had stayed in her tent to sulk. He had no wish to share his triumph with that snooty bitch.

  Hundreds of hooves pounded the ground, making it tremble under their assault. A cloud engulfed them as they descended upon the city, and he wished he could watch himself ride, heading the army. He coughed to clear his throat from the scratching dirt and wiped his tears, as he stole a look back. Everything was blurry; from the companies hurrying one after another in tight formations to the camp spitting spear-wielding soldiers at Ephia. He covered his nostrils with his cape, breathing though the cloth. As he covered the distance to the city, he heard with satisfaction bells ringing an urgent warning. His plan was working; they had caught their enemies unawares.

  They were now a hundred yards from the walls. The fortifications looked taller than he expected, and he searched in vain for an opening into the city. The thick, wooden gate was shut, and first one arrow flew at him, then another and another, until their screaming cries filled the air. It’s a good thing they can’t see the red, he realized grudgingly.

  He ducked and turned to avoid the arrows, reaching the wall within moments. He stared with dismay at the stonework, then remembered Parad’s plan and took heart. An arrow scratched his knee, and he signalled a retreat; there was no reason for them to remain within range of the archers. His horse rose to its hind legs, startled by a stone the defenders had t
hrown at him, and a second arrow scratched his shoulder, tearing the leather. Who knew Ephia had so many archers?

  The rest of the cavalry finally caught up with him, like a wave crashing against the hard stones. Men and beasts howled all around him, as arrows, rocks and spears pierced and crushed armour and skin. “Retreat!” he bellowed, and a horn somewhere blasted the command.

  The cavalry retreated just as the foot soldiers approached, swelling their ranks and slowing everyone down. Even worse, they were still in range of the damned archers. He pulled the reins to avoid a spear held by one of the soldiers. “You idiot, get out of the way,” he yelled, and the man stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but an arrow shot through his neck and the man stumbled backwards, popping his eyes in surprise.

  Teo’s cape flew open as blood sprayed him, soiling his fine armour. More arrows headed in his direction. “Retreat!” he shouted once again. He spun around to gallop away, longing for the safety of his tent, as fear clutched his heart. Where is Gella and her troops? This is all her fault! She should have organised the attack better! “Retreat,” he cried again at the screaming mass of men and beasts surrounding him. Just you wait till I tell Cyrus of her failure. He’ll skin her alive! “Retreat!”

  December 306 AL

  Petria outskirts

  Marl

  Malcolm Marl had to stop digging for a moment to catch his breath. He leaned against his spade to wipe thick beads of sweat from his forehead. Farming was hard work, but he would not change it for the world. A moment later, the corners of his lips curled upwards, as he took in the stunning view from the field he was working on. A soldier all his life, he had never expected to find the peace he’d been craving from a farmer’s simple life. He glanced at the sun setting over the horizon, painting in rich, golden hues the long rows of vines that were his pride and joy. In the distance, it silhouetted a tall mountain range in soft light, pale like the half-forgotten memories of his former life beyond it.