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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

Two-horns grabbed his shoulder. “We need your help. He’s very sick.”

  “Who is?”

  “Just come,” Two-horns said, urgency ringing in his voice as he pulled David out of bed.

  Hands draped his shoulders with a fur coat and David hastily pushed his feet down into his boots. He rushed behind Two-horns, following him to the main castle, where they had dined so long ago with their Iota host. It felt strange to climb the stairs up to their host’s bedroom, where they had found him dead, and even stranger when Two-horns pushed the door open to reveal Lehmor’s father. Past and present blended in David’s mind as the pungent smell of vomit hit his nostrils, weaving together memory and reality. The old man lay still in his bed, mouth opened in a silent gasp. In death there was something unreal about him, as if he were but an old sigil on a wall. He glanced at the nightstand, half-expecting to see a small ornate silver frame with a picture of a young girl with a pretty, expressive face, beautiful wavy hair and sadness in her eyes.

  The nightstand stood empty, snapping him back to the present. “What happened?”

  “His guard heard noises and found him vomiting,” Two-horns said. “He called for me. He should have called for you. If you had come in time...”

  David shook his head. “I doubt it would have made a difference,” he murmured. He turned his attention to a white-faced young man standing behind him. “You’re the one who found him?”

  The man nodded, too shaken to speak. “Did he say anything?”

  “He moaned; was in pain.”

  “Yes, but did he tell you anything?”

  The man tried to think, then shook his head. “He didn’t make sense. He couldn’t breathe. I think he had trouble seeing me, too. Then, he had the shakes and…” He turned his face away.

  Before David had the chance to ask anything else, he heard commotion behind them and Lehmor burst into the room.

  “Where is he?” he cried out. Shoving David aside, he knelt next to his father to take his hand. He lay his brow on the cold fingers, as if praying

  David’s heart tightened at the sight. He placed his hand on Lehmor’s shoulders, feeling him shake with silent sobs under his fingers. “Come on,” he said after a while.

  “No,” Lehmor murmured. “What happened?”

  “He was an old man,” Two-horns said. “It must have been the joy of seeing you again. His heart –”

  “He was fine last night,” Lehmor protested. “His heart would have stopped at the courtyard. Why here? Why now?” He faced David. “Was it poison?” he whispered.

  David was taken aback at the question. “Who would poison him? And why?”

  “Was it?” Lehmor demanded.

  David knelt close to the dead man. He examined the vomit, taking a whiff, but could not find anything suspicious. “How many times did he vomit?” he asked the guard.

  “Constantly,” the man said.

  “Did you touch him? Was he hot?”

  The man nodded. David examined the blue veins on the man’s face, a sign of the blood’s inability to carry oxygen to the skin.

  “Well?” Lehmor asked.

  “I’m not sure,” David admitted.

  Lehmor’s face went white and he stormed out of the room.

  Malekshei

  Lehmor

  The door flew open, the light from outside illuminating Stripet’s silhouette in the dark room. Lehmor lunged at him like a whirlwind, throwing the Bear to the ground with a punch that would have felled an ox. “You killed him!” he bellowed, then stumbled backwards as a wave of blinding pain crashed through his head.

  Stripet brought his hand to his broken lips and licked blood. “Whom?”

  Still reeling from the pain, Lehmor knelt to grab his foe by the throat. “You poisoned him. I saw you. I’ll kill you!”

  “I drank too,” Stripet croaked.

  For a moment, the two men stood still, glaring at each other, then Lehmor pushed Stripet to the floor. “Are you saying it wasn’t you?”

  Stripet rubbed his throat and swallowed a couple of times before speaking. “I’m saying you’re now the leader. Act like it,” he spat.

  Lehmor stared at him. “I don’t want to be a leader. I just wanted to come home.”

  Stripet pulled a chair and sank on it. “Is that right? ‘Cause I remember a man who promised us his allegiance. A man who claimed to be a friend to the Iota.”

  Lehmor’s head swam. “Not like this!”

  “It’s not for you to decide. A fair-weather friend is no friend at all.”

  Lehmor leaned forward, bringing his face inches from Stripet’s. “Did you murder my father, or not?”

  Stripet said nothing for a moment, their eyes locked in furious battle. “I need you to do something for me,” he said in the end. Lehmor’s brows clashed on his face, in an expression of disbelief. When he did not speak, Stripet repeated, “I need you to do something for me. You’re a leader now. I need you to lead your people against the Old Crone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Stripet stumbled to his feet, shoving Lehmor away.

  “You asked me if I killed your father. Let me ask you something, first. Are you our friend, or not?”

  “Not if you’re a murderer.”

  “Is that right? Then why did you obey the Old Crone like a puppy? The same woman whose Wolves slaughtered my entire village? Or follow Cyrus; the man who almost killed you?”

  “This is different!”

  “Is it? The only difference I see is that we wish to bring peace to the planet, whereas you follow those who bring war.” He took a step towards Lehmor, staring him in the eye. “What will it be, friend? Will you stand with or against us?”

  Lehmor took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, realising his fingernails had dug into his palm’s flesh. “Did you kill my father?”

  “So what if I did?”

  The blood pounded in Lehmor’s head with rage and he drew a sharp breath. “Then I’ll kill you,” he hissed.

  Stripet took a step back, chuckling. “I don’t think you understand the situation,” he said. He slid a dagger from his belt and handed it to Lehmor, who eyed him with suspicion. “I killed your father. I poisoned him.”

  Too easy! Lehmor eyed him with suspicion. “You drank too. I saw you.”

  “I had the antidote with me. I drank it as soon as I left you.”

  Lehmor’s face turned hard as stone. “Even with one arm, I can...” He glanced at his new arm and a thin smile crept on his lips. “Screw that. You’re dead.”

  “So, are you going to kill me, or talk about it all night?” Stripet asked and opened his arms wide.

  Lehmor placed a palm behind the dagger, pointing its tip towards his foe. Growling with rage, he charged. A moment before the steel touched his opponent, he cried out in agony and stumbled. The weapon slipped through his fingers as he brought his hands to his head. He crashed against Stripet, who flung him to the side, sending him to bang against the floor.

  Stripet wiped sweat from Lehmor’s forehead, watching him groan in pain. “I told you, we made improvements. You think we’re idiots? We’re the oldest living thing on the planet, what did you expect? You can’t kill me; even trying will give you more pain than you can imagine.”

  Lehmor ground his teeth and tried to clear his thoughts. His head felt like someone had split it in two, poured molten lava inside and sewed it up again. He moaned and staggered to his feet, then lost his balance and dropped on all fours. “Get out,” he moaned. “I never want to see you again.”

  Stripet slipped beside him and kicked him in the ribs. Lehmor spun around, crying out in pain. “I’m disappointed in you. You were my friend. You asked us for help and we obliged. We saved your life, trained you, taught you. And this is how you repay us?”

  “You’re a liar. I know. I have seen them.”

  Stripet pursed his lips in confusion. “You have seen…” His face lit up. “Ah, you followed us into the incubator! You’ve seen the future,
then. How lucky for you!”

  “You’re crazy! Everyone will fight you.”

  Stripet shrugged indifferently. “Let them. We have weapons and the best men to wield them. What difference can a few savages make?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “You may question my means, but my motives are good. We must stop the Old Woman. No one should suffer like I did.”

  Lehmor had by now caught his breath, and he leaned against the wall, clutching his side. “Bull. It’s just revenge.”

  Stripet stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Oh well, I suppose I won’t shed any tears when the bitch dies. Which, by the way, I’ll need you to do for me.”

  “What?”

  Stripet knelt and faced Lehmor, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You will kill the Old Woman for me. Or your tribes will perish. Your beautiful wife and daughter, too. Everyone you love. Dead.”

  He produced a small, cloth-covered parcel and opened it to reveal a cube, made from a rough, charcoal metal. Removing the bear necklace, he inserted the claw into a small opening and pushed. One side clicked open and he rotated it, closing it again after half a revolution. He pushed it closed, and watched glowing red streaks cover its sides, pulsing softly in an increasing frequency. “When the Clone and his Fallen are done with Malekshei, you will wish your tribe had the fate of mine.”

  He pushed the claw again and back-traced his movements, caressing the cube gently once the red glow slowed down and subsided. “You can save everyone, though,” he continued. “You remember the Argikar dome? The one over Malekshei? The Old Woman lives inside a similar one, only stronger. I can’t cross it. But you… All you have to do is place this inside the dome and click it like I did, and all will be fine. No one needs to suffer for your treachery against the Iota.” After placing the bear claw necklace around Lehmor’s neck, he patted him gently on the shoulder with his left hand before punching him in the face with his right one. “Go make things right.”

  He raised himself slowly to his feet, planted a vicious kick in Lehmor’s gut and pattered out, humming a tune to himself, as Lehmor emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, his vomit splashing the cloth-covered cube.

  Malekshei

  David

  When Lehmor had stormed out of the room, David had wondered if he should follow him. Two-horns, however, wanted him there until the shaman arrived. As soon as the old man burst into the room, David made his excuses and rushed to Lehmor. Although this was not the same man he had last seen at the Capital a lifetime ago, his pain was real enough, and his suspicion of poison troubled David greatly. He had to find out more about the new arrivals.

  He knocked on Lehmor’s door gently, not wishing to disturb his grief. Hearing but a groan, he pushed the door and entered the dark room. It reeked of vomit, and he wondered for a moment if grief did that. He remembered the night when they had found Satsi, Two-horn’s son, and his own reaction to the boy’s death, and shook his head in pity for Lehmor. What he must be going through…

  Lehmor was doubled over on the floor, barely moving. David knelt down and helped him lie in bed. He found a pot with some water inside and placed it on the stove. I should call for Moirah, she’s the one who should do this. He wanted to discuss it with Lehmor, reassure him about Moirah and the baby, but it would have to wait. Finding a cloth, he dipped it into the lukewarm water and cleaned Lehmor’s mouth from the vomit. As he did so, he noticed something else, too. Blood? He could not be sure in the dark.

  He reached the thick curtains and flung them apart before opening the windows to let in the crisp air. The first rays of the early morning sun were struggling to break through the miserable, overcast sky; even the weather was mourning. I should have done this first, he scolded himself. The little light from the window fell on Lehmor, illuminating various cuts and bruises. What David had at first mistaken for vomit, was in fact caked blood surrounding his swelling mouth.

  This is no grief! This man was beaten up! “Who did this?” he asked, alarmed.

  Lehmor cracked his eyelids open. “Find him!” he whispered and sank back in bed.

  “Find…” David’s brows met. “Stripet? You mean Stripet?”

  Lehmor nodded and groaned as David rushed out of the room, almost crashing into Moirah.

  The Marshes

  Marl

  Valentiner had been sleeping throughout the journey; a strange, unhealthy slumber that clenched Marl’s guts. Why her? he wondered for the hundredth time, longing for a drink to steady him. Couldn’t you have taken me instead? I’m stronger; I could fight you.

  “She’s stronger than you,” Abaddon said suddenly, as if he could read his thoughts. “Her innocence protects her.”

  “How did you…”

  “Know what you’re thinking? You’re not the first father I’ve taken to the Old Woman.”

  Marl rode in silence for a while, then his thoughts returned to Valentiner. You have to think of something else, he reminded himself. He turned his attention to Abaddon. The man was an enigma to him. To the world, probably. Even his name seemed made-up.

  “Why?” Marl insisted, and the man cast a sideways glance at him.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do they call you Abaddon? The Destroyer?”

  “I do the Lady’s will. Sometimes, she wills me to destroy. Others, to save.”

  “This is what you do, then? Extract whatever that thing is from people?”

  “I make sure any Orbs that invade unwilling hosts are slain, before they turn them into Fallen.”

  Marl’s face twisted in pain. His daughter, turning into a monster. He had never seen a Fallen before their terrible encounter in the forest, always assuming they were little more than fairy tales to scare children. What do you do when you find out that monsters are real? What do you do when your daughter turns into one? He turned his attention back to Abaddon. “What happens when you’ve killed one of them?”

  The man shrugged. “Whatever the Lady wishes.”

  “How do you know her will?”

  “The Old Woman tells us.”

  “She’s an oracle, then?”

  “She tells us the Lady’s wish,” Abaddon explained patiently.

  Marl shook his head; he would not find out anything more. “How do you do it? How can you chase these monsters away, only to see them re-emerge elsewhere? It all seems so futile.”

  “It’s not futile to your daughter,” Abaddon pointed out.

  Marl hesitated. “Are you going to save her?” he whispered.

  Abaddon looked at Kiwi, Valentiner cradled around his waist. They exchanged a silent look. “Yes,” he said in the end.

  A sigh of relief escaped Marl’s lips. “Are you sure?” he asked eagerly.

  “No,” Abaddon admitted and spurred his horse. “We’re almost there. Come.”

  They followed him on a narrow path leading upwards. Soon, they encountered some ancient broken pillars, jutting from the soil like the rain-washed bones of a half-buried carcass. They met them with increasing frequency after a while, until they passed the remains of a weathered wall and entered what looked like a derelict courtyard. Gnarled trees and vines grew around the ruins of ancient structures. It had rained recently; the soil was wet, clutching around the horse’s legs in thick lumps that flew around as they ascended the hill.

  Marl smelled the smoke even before he saw a diminutive old woman sitting down at the entrance of a small cave, facing a small fire. She jumped to her feet as soon as they approached her.

  “We need your help,” Abaddon said. Kiwi dismounted in a hurry and rushed Valentiner to her. The woman took her in her arms. She examined her with tender fingers, then turned to Marl.

  “Are you the father?” she asked. Marl nodded, unable to speak or move; his knees felt like they would give way if he did. His heart pounded in his chest. “Wait here,” she commanded.

  She disappeared into the cave and Abaddon dismounted, motioning Marl to do the same. He walked
over to the fire on trembling knees and Abaddon sat him down. “She’ll be fine now,” he promised. “The Old Woman’s the only one who can cure your daughter.”

  “How long…?”

  “A week. Two weeks. As long as it takes.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Marl with genuine gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”

  Abaddon leaned towards Marl and squeezed his shoulder affectionately, staring at him with surprisingly warm eyes. A glint around the man’s neck caught Marl’s attention, and he squinted to look at a medallion that hung there, held by a thick chain. The silver image of a howling wolf had escaped the confines of Abaddon’s shirt. The exquisite artwork surprised Marl; it was hardly something he expected to see adorn a First’s neck.

  “What’s that?” Marl asked and pointed at the wolf.

  Abaddon followed his eyes and fumbled with the medallion, shoving it back inside the safety of his clothes. “Nothing,” he murmured. He rushed to his feet to shout a command. Kiwi and Nellie hurried to open a large sack and started preparing their camp. Marl raised an eyebrow in question, but Abaddon made no further mention of the wolf. “We’ll rest for the night and leave at dawn,” he said instead.

  “Where will you go?”

  Abaddon raised his shoulders. “Wherever I’m needed.”

  “How do you know who needs you? How can someone find you?”

  A faint smile played on Abaddon’s lips. “I go wherever the Lady sends me, do whatever needs to be done.”

  “Must be nice.”

  A shadow darkened Abaddon’s face. “Not always.” He seemed lost in thought and Marl did not dare ask more, waiting for him to snap out of whatever dark memory haunted him. “What will you do when she’s cured your daughter?” Abaddon asked in the end.

  Marl shook his head. “Head home, of course. My place is with my family. As soon as my daughter is well, I’m heading back. My wife must be worried sick. I may’ve been a warrior once, but that was another lifetime.”

  Abaddon studied him for a moment. “What did you fight for, in that other lifetime?”