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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  Teo nodded absent-mindedly, observing the ashes that had started raining around them, like grey snow. The wind carried screams and curses from afar. That will teach them never to mess with me again.

  The smell of smoke made him think of food. I’m starving! He clapped his hands and his servant rushed to his side. “I’ll have my breakfast now.” For the first time in weeks, something stirred in his loins as he swaggered towards his tent. “And send for some women.”

  The Marshes

  Marl

  “Is your name really Abaddon?” Marl asked the man riding next to him.

  “That’s what your people call me. I’m told it means the Destroyer.” The burly First was not a man of many words, Marl had found out. They had been travelling together for over a week now, but he still knew next to nothing of the unusual First and his company. He only knew their names; Abaddon, Kiwi and Nellie. These were just the names given to them by the Newcomers, of course; they had not revealed their real names to him. Not that he cared, one way or another. His worry for his daughter was eating him up, twisting his innards into a knot, and he had to find another thought, any thought, to occupy his feverish mind. Had he not been with the First, he felt sure he would have found solace in a bottle. Even the thought of wine made his mouth water and his heart beat with desire.

  Stop this, he ordered himself! He needed something, anything, to take his mind off Valentiner. “So what’s a Fallen?”

  Abaddon raised his arm to silence him. He pulled the reins, and his two companions mimicked him, sniffing the air around them. They squinted, their eyes struggling to pierce the dark forest. In the dusk, what little light was left barely penetrated the thick canopy above their heads. Marl clicked his tongue to stop the horse, pulling gently on the reins. He turned the horse around to face them.

  Abaddon exchanged a silent look with Kiwi, who nodded and rode before them. In no time, the forest swallowed him. Marl started to follow him, but Abaddon caught him by the shoulder. “What –”

  Abaddon brought a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “You wanted to know what a Fallen is?” he whispered. “Well, it’s your lucky day.” The fine hairs on the back of Marl’s neck stood on end. “Hold your daughter. Keep her safe.”

  “How did they find us?” Marl asked as he accepted Valentiner’s frail body in his arms.

  Abaddon nodded towards her. “Not us. Her.”

  Marl understood. She was turning into them; her new family would want to protect her, make sure the gestation progressed undisturbed. He clenched his teeth. “I’ll make sure she’s safe,” he promised.

  Abaddon’s face softened. “Let’s hope you won’t have to. Your steel –”

  “They’re here!” Kiwi’s shout of warning interrupted him. A foul stench caused Marl’s nostrils to flare as the forest filled with the stench of death and rot; decay and corruption. Kiwi galloped back to them, a fiery sword in his hands. In all of Marl’s years as a soldier, he had never seen such a weapon. It hummed softly, pulsing with raw energy as if alive. The lower half covered Kiwi’s hand up to the wrist, while the upper half formed a brilliant blade of metal and light, shaped as an extension of his arm. An arc engulfed the blade, so bright it blinded him, unfamiliar letters lighting up along its length. A similar sword of flame appeared as if by magic in both Abaddon’s and Nellie’s hands, splitting the darkness with their fire. Abaddon motioned Marl to hide behind them as he and Nellie flanked him.

  A terrifying roar echoed in the forest, followed by another, then another. Three pairs of gleaming, sharp green eyes sparkled in the dark, then one of the creatures emerged from the bushes. Marl’s jaw dropped at the sight of a large head with an unwieldy protrusion at the top, almost as large as the rest of the skull. The beast opened its stinking mouth to reveal rotting teeth that would have little trouble cutting through his leather. Their pink skin seemed smooth but thick, and he cast an uncertain look at his short sword, releasing it from the scabbard on his waist. Fallen, Abaddon had called them, and the name was strangely appropriate for these deformed creatures. With Valentiner in his arms, there was little he could do to defend her should they attack him, but that would not stop him from trying.

  One of the Fallen galloped at Kiwi on all fours, to spin around on its hind legs at the last moment, avoiding his thrust. It clawed at his horse, slicing it almost in half. The horse hollered, sending Kiwi to fly cursing into a bush. The Fallen prepared to follow him, but Nellie cut its way, flaming sword in hand. She had dismounted, shouting insults at the monster. Tilting its ugly head, it swaggered towards her.

  “Watch out!” Marl shouted, as a second beast emerged from behind her, a few yards from where Kiwi had landed. Nellie was now surrounded. Instead of attacking her, however, the second Fallen prowled towards Kiwi, still lost among the thick leaves. He jumped to his feet, startling the beast, which howled its annoyance. Fumbling around, Kiwi found his sword and lit it up, holding it above his head just as the beast swung at him.

  The blade caught its leg, slicing it off from the knee. The Fallen shrieked in pain and stumbled back. Kiwi followed it to dig his blade deep into its head in one fluid movement. He pulled it out again and whirled around, as the beast slashed at him in blind fury. His final attack plunged the burning sword deep in its neck, leaving it there until the creature finally stopped moving. The ground shook as it dropped dead, a sigh of defeat escaping its foul lips.

  The beast eyeing Nellie spun around to help its mate, giving her the opportunity to jump on its back. She raised her blade, but the Fallen rolled under her feet, forcing her to jump off again. Its roll brought it close to Kiwi. Realising its mistake, it howled in anger. As if in answer, the third beast sprang from behind the bushes, rushing to its aid.

  Nellie was the first to meet it. Swinging her blade, she lunged at the new arrival. It turned to face her, growling to reveal spikey teeth. It moved its body with surprising agility and speed for its heavy frame, twisting effortlessly to avoid her charge. She overshot it, and the beast used the protrusion on its head to bash her, sending her to fly into the bushes with a loud cry. She stayed stunned on the ground as it charged, head lowered, to crush her with its hard skull.

  Abaddon left Marl’s side to gallop at the two Fallen. The charging beast noticed him out of the corner of its eye and whirled around, but it was too late. He leapt onto its back to plunge his sword into its broad neck, twisting it with fury, until only the hilt remained out of its body. Its legs buckled and he vaulted off just as the beast crashed onto the ground, sliding a few yards to end at Nellie’s feet, who kicked it to make sure it was dead.

  The three First now surrounded the last Fallen, which faltered at the new odds. Marl wanted to cheer as they moved closer, then heard a soft growl behind him and a chilly wave froze his body. He craned his neck to see a pair of sickly green eyes glimmering as if taunting him. “Abaddon!” he cried out, fumbling with his sword.

  At the sound of his voice, the beast charged. Marl wanted to kick his horse, gallop away from the Fallen, but fear made him clumsy and slow. The impact of the thick skull sent him flying off the horse, clutching Valentiner in his arms to protect her. Years of training finally kicked in and forgotten skills re-emerged to ensure he rolled safely on the thick forest foliage. He checked his daughter; she was breathing normally, if laboriously.

  The beast swaggered towards them, and Marl’s eyes darted around for his sword, placing her with his other hand onto the soft ground. Unable to find it, he raised himself to his feet to position his body between Valentiner and the Fallen.

  He brought weak fists to his face.

  With a deafening roar, the beast raised itself on its hind legs, preparing to maul him. He ducked and rolled under it, to emerge on the other side. Jumping to his feet, he sprinted away, drawing it away from his daughter. Just follow me, you bastard! The beast took the bait and spun around to lunge at its running prey.

  “It would take more than the four of you to stop us,” Abaddon smirked as he gal
loped towards it, matching its speed. Marl’s attention was fixed on the beast tailing him, so Abaddon’s voice startled him. The scarred First had remounted his horse, and was now more than a match for the Fallen, which cut a sharp left, trying to return to Valentiner. It was met by Kiwi, who snarled and thrust his burning blade into the beast’s eye, leaving it there as he sprang to the side to avoid its jerking body. Blinded by the sword and the gushing blood, the Fallen crashed against a thick trunk, filling the air with broken branches and leaves. Dazed, it rolled off. It thrashed and howled, its life torn from it, never seeing Abaddon’s blade when it pierced its brain.

  Marl knelt down, trying to catch his breath. He had run back to Valentiner, his eyes peeled for any further threats. Abaddon approached him, extinguishing his blade. “Thanks,” Marl panted.

  Abaddon grinned. “What, this? This was fun.”

  Marl counted three bodies around them. “Where’s the last one?”

  “One escaped. It will be half way to Malekshei by now,” Abaddon reassured him. “Don’t worry about it. We’re almost there.” Nodding, Marl watched him lift Valentiner up with one hand. “Now, come. You’ll have to share the rest of the ride with Kiwi. Hope you don’t mind a little company.”

  Marl shook his head and staggered towards the gruff First.

  Malekshei

  Lehmor

  When he saw Moirah rushing towards him, Lehmor froze for a moment. Jealousy, anger, pain; it all melted away to reveal a single overpowering emotion, like a single note rising above an orchestra’s cacophony: love.

  All thought left his mind as he rushed to meet her, to hold her in his arms. When their lips met, he felt complete; the emptiness in his heart, the void in his soul, finally filled. He forgot about Cyrus or Stripet or the Iota; nothing mattered but Moirah’s sweet mouth on his lips, her breath mingling with his, the softness of her hair under his trembling fingers, the suppleness of her body melting into his.

  He almost cried with frustration when she pushed away to gape at him, then he realised what she was staring at. He raised his hands and showed them to her, an embarrassed half-smile on his lips.

  “What kind of magic is this?” she asked, her eyes narrow slits. “Who are you?”

  “Moirah, it’s me, I swear!” He tried to catch her, to bring her back into his arms, but she slipped from his grip. A crowd gathered around them, the news spreading like fire through the village.

  “Lehmor had one arm,” she said in a frenzied whisper. “He had –”

  “Lost the other to the Fallen. Yes, I know. It’s me!”

  A booming voice behind him interrupted him. “You must be Moirah. Lehmor wouldn’t stop talking about you. I can now see why.”

  Stripet wore his best smile. He appeared jovial, easy-going.

  “Who are you?” Moirah asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

  Stripet took a small bow. “Stripet’s the name. Or at least I think so. I was raised away from my people, so can’t be entirely sure. Anyway, I ran into your husband outside the Capital. He was badly injured. I took care of him.”

  “Injured?” Moirah asked, a glint of compassion and worry crossing her face.

  “Almost dead, to be precise. I doubted he’d make it, but he’s a strong one.”

  “And his arm?”

  Stripet raised his shoulders. “He was near death, but had two arms. When he came to, he said he’d lost his arm, but had no memory of how he got it back. Must be a miracle, praise the Lady!”

  “Praise the Lady,” some murmured among the crowd. Lehmor flinched at the lie, but dared not contradict Stripet. He wanted Moirah back in his arms so badly that he would say anything to win her back.

  Moirah turned her attention back to him. “Is that true? You don’t know what happened?”

  Lehmor thought back to the cavern where Stripet had tied him to the bed. He had no memory after that, waking up in the forest. “I swear to you, I have no memory of how I got my arm back,” he said, content he was not lying to the woman he loved.

  “Anyway, when he was well enough to travel, I thought I’d bring him back to his people,” Stripet said, interrupting them. “You should have seen him, always blabbing about this place. About his wife.”

  Moirah slipped closer to Lehmor and touched his arm. “Is that true?”

  Lehmor nodded, his throat too clogged with emotion to speak.

  A thought clouded her eyes for a moment. “There’s something you should know.” She seemed uncertain how to continue, and he nodded to encourage her. He cursed himself silently as his heart sank. She must have found someone else while he was away. He could hardly blame her; he was a fool for thinking she would wait for him when he could be dead, for all she knew.

  He swallowed to clear his throat. “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he promised. Then he blurted out, “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

  Moirah raised her arms towards a young girl standing beside her, cuddling a well-wrapped bundle. As the girl handed it to her, Lehmor frowned, trying to understand, then it hit him. He was a father! A wave of elation crashed through him, bringing tears of joy. Then a second, darker one followed it, and his guts clenched. Or just a fool?

  Malekshei

  David

  Couldn’t the Voice be here to help? He was so happy to hear of Lehmor’s return that he had rushed to fetch Moirah without waiting to greet Lehmor first. Now, he was struggling to make sense of everything. Even accounting for the Old Woman’s abilities, he had never heard of someone growing a limb back. Why had she not done that back when she was treating him? Unless it was all some test, and Lehmor had been rewarded with a new limb. Reason and faith warred within his soul.

  Lehmor’s escort caught his eye. The stranger seemed relaxed and charming, except for a pain buried deep in his soul, a darkness that caused David to flinch with a sympathetic ache whenever he stared at him. He claimed to have been in the Capital; was he raised there? His accent was strangely neutral; neither the thick Newcomer accent, nor the flowing, singing one of the First. There was a hint of something old about him, despite his youthful appearance, and David struggled to put his finger on it. The man seemed to sense his apprehension and their gazes locked. With a start, David realised it was the man’s eyes that troubled him. He had the eyes of an old, bitter man; someone who had seen so much pain and loss that they had hardened, losing their warmth long ago. Hard like his soul. He wondered what might cause a man to have such eyes.

  The new arrival studied him for a moment, then turned his attention to the Elders hurrying towards them.

  “So, it’s true?” an elderly voice said behind him.

  He slipped away to allow Two-Horns and Lehmor’s father to approach. Lehmor and Stripet bowed their heads in respect. “Hello, Father,” Lehmor said.

  The old man grabbed him by the shoulders for a moment, then wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. “Praise the Lady,” he said and sobbed openly, “my son is brought back to me.”

  David was touched by his outburst of emotion. Their leader was a well-respected, reserved man; the kind who always put the good of the tribe before his own. Having lost his wife in childbirth, he had never remarried; Lehmor was his only son and the tribes’ heir. Wind Warrior custom dictated that the elder child was given the right of first refusal, if they had the tribe’s support. The only condition was that the child can lead into battle, and for that, custom dictated that they needed to be able-bodied. Once Lehmor had lost his arm, he had lost any chance of ruling the tribe. A problem now solved. With the Lady’s clear blessing in the form of a new arm, no-one would dare oppose his bid when the time came.

  “Is this the man I should thank for your return?” Lehmor’s father asked, clutching Stripet’s shoulder.

  “I have that privilege,” Stripet replied, his face beaming with pride. David noticed with unease Lehmor’s eyes darken for a moment.

  “Then you will be the guest of honour.”

  Stripet bowed his head and murmu
red his thanks, as the Elders gathered around Lehmor and welcomed him home. The shaman examined his arm with awe, while his father still had his own arm around Lehmor’s shoulder and was laughing with joy.

  Lehmor’s attention, however, was fixed on the baby in Moirah’s arms, a frozen, thin smile on his lips. David had little trouble reading his thoughts. He would have to talk to him as soon as possible, before jealousy pried the couple apart once more.

  Malekshei

  Lehmor

  His father had asked to meet in private, but Stripet had insisted he attend as well. He was now sitting behind them, in the far shadows of the room, while Lehmor and his father sat at a small table, drinking the traditional welcome drink, made from fermented milk mixed with honey. Despite the strong smell, Lehmor found it the best drink he had had in a long time.

  “So, you remember nothing?”

  Lehmor shook his head. “Not since Cyrus…”

  His father raised a questioning eyebrow. “What does the boy king have to do with anything?”

  “It was an accident.”

  Anger flashed in his father’s eyes, his protective instincts kicking in. His hand jerked, spilling the drink on the table. “He’s the one who almost killed you?”

  “No. His men thought he was in danger.”

  His father shook his head, unconvinced. “I should’ve never listened to the Old Woman. I never did like that little creep.”

  Lehmor hid a smile. In fact, his father had been very impressed by the Newcomers’ bravery at Malekshei, and had treated Cyrus and David like his own sons. Since his wife’s death, all his time had been devoted to his tribe, and he had not sired another child. When Moirah and Lehmor had wed, the two tribes had united under his and Moirah’s father’s stewardship. However, the Fire clan frowned upon women leading, so it would be either Lehmor or one of their children who would put on the mantle someday. His father had often asked Lehmor to rely on Cyrus and David if he needed support, and trusted them both enough to allow them to join the Elder Council; a rare honour indeed.