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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  “Thankfully, no. He’s in a coma, his doctor tells me. Very lucky, too. He’s more useful to me as a vegetable, than dead.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Teo said, smirking. “When a king dies, everyone thinks they should take his place. But with the king incapacitated, no one will question his regent.”

  “You’re the regent?”

  “Yes. It was your brother’s last wish.”

  “Was it, now?” The image of Teo walking into Cyrus’s room after accusing her of murder flashed before her eyes. Cyrus had been alive and well, if drunk, when she had left him. She clutched the iron bars with impotent fury. The rusty metal chafed at her hands. “Was that before or after you shot him?”

  Teo shot a nervous glance around before bursting into laughter. “It’s a good thing no one will believe you.” The mirth vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared. “But why risk it?”

  She grimaced in disgust, unable to tolerate his smirking face, his arrogance. She sat back on the bed and shuffled her body away from him to stare at the slimy moss covering the cell’s wall. Where was Xhi? Even the gruff guard was better company.

  Teo leaned towards her, steepling his fingers before him. “I’ve come with a proposal. The way I see it, you have two choices.” He rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought. “Marry me or die.”

  Her eyes widened, then she brought her hand to her mouth to drown the manic laughter that rose to her lips. She stopped abruptly, noticing his dark eyes. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would I marry you? I hate you!”

  “Because it beats the alternative.” How could his voice be so calm, so assured?

  “Death?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head, as if to impart how unfortunate he would find such an event.

  Somehow, his disconcerted expression failed to reassure her. She ran her fingers through her hair and braided a loose strand, lost in thought. “I don’t understand. Why do you need me?”

  “Like I said, Cyrus is still alive. But I don’t know for how long. Should he die, many will expect your siblings to succeed him to the throne. Or you.”

  So, all he wanted was to make sure no one would question his rule. With Angel by his side, this was all but assured. If she were left alive, however, she became a contender. Teo was not an easy man to work with. Themis knows how many power players in the Capital he had already upset; how many enemies he had made. These would gather around Angel without a second thought. Teo was right; her only choices were to marry him or die. Unless… “Why don’t we have an election? Ask the people what they want?”

  Teo let out a contemptuous snort. “Seriously? A democracy?”

  “It’s good enough for the West.”

  “No, my dear, I have a better idea. I marry you, then no one questions my succession. It makes perfect sense.”

  The thought of marrying Teo triggered her gag reflex. “And if I refuse?”

  He shrugged. “I execute you for the attack on your brother.”

  “No one will believe that,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “They already do. Don’t blame yourself, it’s human nature. The bigger a lie, the more people will believe it.”

  Could this be true? More importantly, did she dare to find out? “Then what?”

  Teo flashed her a grin. It was obvious he thought the conversation was going his way. “Then we get married, and I rule. You can do whatever you want, just don’t meddle in my affairs.”

  “No, I mean what will you do next?”

  He shot her a dark look. “Which part of ‘don’t meddle’ didn’t you understand?” After a moment, he sighed resignedly. “Fine, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. Then we conquer the West.”

  “Why? You will already have the Capital.”

  “A fine start. And one day I will rule the world.”

  She closed her eyes. Another war, so soon after the previous ones… Why would anyone follow this madman? “The people won’t fight for you.”

  His eyes popped and he almost choked as he chortled. He wiped tears from his eyes. “The people… the people will thank me by the time I’m through.”

  “They’ve had enough war,” she insisted. “First the Loyalists, then Jonia. Now the West? They’ll refuse.”

  He eyed her with interest. “You really believe that, don’t you? Let me explain how this works.” He paced the room in a small circle, as if giving a lecture. “No one wants war. Why should some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life when the best he can get out of it is to come back home in one piece?” He interrupted his pacing to point at himself. “But it’s the leaders who determine these things. And it’s always easy to drag the people along. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked. Denounce any peacemakers for lack of patriotism. Imprison them for exposing the country to danger.”

  His cynical words chilled her. “The people will know the truth.”

  “The truth is for me to choose. If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, it will become the truth. The trick is to use clever words. We liberated Ephia. We freed the South from oppression. Anthea fought us in the North not so long ago; we must protect ourselves. Even in a democracy, the goal is to confuse people so that they decide against their own interests.” His face beamed and he waved his hands in a theatrical manner to point at the cells surrounding Angel. “Not that this is a democracy, of course.”

  “The truth will eventually come out.”

  “Not if I can help it.” He studied her for a moment. “I know it’s not much of a choice for you, but I hope you make the right decision. I’m not without heart, though. Whatever you decide, the twins will be safe. This, I promise.”

  Of course. He needs them, or he can’t remain a Regent. Themis, am I becoming as cynical as him? “Do I need to make a decision right now?”

  His lips twitched upwards to reveal his teeth. “I’ll come back in a few days. Choose carefully.” He pried the key from the keyhole and left it on Xhi’s table. “I’d rather open the door next time.”

  She jumped to the iron bars and shook them in rage. “I’d rather die first,” she screamed at him.

  He banged his fist on the door for Xhi to let him out. “That, too, can be arranged,” he said with a chuckle, without looking back.

  Malekshei

  Lehmor

  He had to negotiate a way out, or they would all die. But first, he had to make it back alive. The sturdy gate behind Lehmor groaned in protest, then slammed shut with a loud bang. A number of snarling Fallen snuck out of the woods to greet him. He lifted his head in a vain attempt to breathe in some fresh air. The stench of rotting flesh and decay from the creatures overpowered the faint smell of pine trees basking in the sun. Lehmor scrunched his face and dug his heels on his horse’s side. As if sharing his disgust, the horse trotted towards the tent standing in the middle of the new clearing. Lehmor fixed his gaze at its awning. Out of the corner of his eye he caught glimpses of humans, all looking the same. He shuddered at the memory of the pods where these men grew, burrowed deep inside the Iota’s caves.

  Yesterday, one of the creatures – clones, Stripet had called them – had approached the gate to arrange a meeting. In the days before that, other clones had erected a plain, light grey tent in the middle of the clearing where hundreds of First tents stood but a few weeks earlier. The empty space, broken only by a few pieces of colourful toys and broken pot shards left behind in the hasty departure of the tribes, pierced Lehmor’s heart, bringing home the desolation his choices had brought his people.

  One of the clones took the reins and steadied Lehmor’s horse, ignoring the dust raised by the anxious hooves. Lehmor jumped to the ground, stealing a look at the man. Pale, icy blue eyes met his. The stranger’s head was shaven, as was his face. Blond stubble showed on his thick skull, while colourful tattoos of demons covered his bulging muscles. Lehmor pursed his lips and spun around to march t
owards the plain tent. He pushed the awning away to enter.

  The smell of incense greeted him, reminding him of the last time he had met the Iota sitting in a dark corner of the room. Their eyes met. Lehmor nodded his greeting as a smile crept on the man’s lips.

  “Well met, Lehmor,” Pratin said.

  Lehmor studied him. The man exuded the same confidence that Lehmor remembered from their last meeting, but something had changed. He could not put his finger on it, but his gut told him Pratin was even more dangerous now. More determined. He wished he could ask Oran for advice. “I wish it were under better circumstances,” Lehmor replied.

  “Had you listened to Stripet instead of betraying him, they would be.”

  “Betrayed him?” Lehmor fought to keep his voice steady, even as his fingers dug into his palms. “He murdered my father.”

  Pratin waved the accusation away. “Well, yes, of course. How else would we make you ruler of all First? That was our plan, remember? The plan you agreed upon?”

  Lehmor took one step forward, his hand bolting involuntarily to the empty leather scabbard on his belt. “My father,” he repeated, stressing each word.

  Pratin’s steely gaze followed the movement of Lehmor’s new hand. “We made you what you are,” he growled in a voice that sent a thousand ants to crawl over his skin. “Don’t forget that.”

  Resentment churned in Lehmor’s chest. “I was fine before I met you.”

  “You were dying, you mean. And this is how you repay us. By killing the man who saved your life.”

  “Stripet?” Lehmor’s brow creased. He had no idea what had happened to him. The Old Woman had sent her Wolves to abduct him, but his fate thereafter remained a mystery. “He’s not dead.” Did Pratin know more of the man’s fate?

  “Isn’t he?” Pratin’s features relaxed and he leaned backwards, relief flashing momentarily in his eyes. “That’s good to know.”

  So, he doesn’t know. He was fishing. I wonder if he knows of the Wolves’ raid. Perhaps I could use this… Lehmor wore a threatening look. “He’s safe. For now. But anything happens to me…”

  Pratin clicked his tongue. “We’re not savages. We don’t kill messengers. I only asked to meet you because I want a peaceful end to all this.”

  So, he thinks Stripet is still in Malekshei. That’s probably why he hasn’t already attacked. Good, this buys us some time. “I’m listening.”

  Pratin leaned forward to face him. “Return us Stripet and Malekshei. Unharmed.”

  “And if I do?”

  “You live.”

  The offer sounded too good to be true. Or it would, if they had Stripet. Perhaps they could get him back. Or was there a catch? “Moirah?”

  “Her too. And your daughter. Everyone you love will be safe.” Pratin sounded almost bored.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Bloodless lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “You still have to keep your end of the bargain. Kill the Old Woman for us. I assume you still have Stripet’s… gift?”

  “No.” The answer escaped Lehmor’s lips before he even thought about it.

  Pratin nodded with sympathy. “I understand it’s not easy. Which is why I’ll give you some time to consider my offer. Say, a fortnight? Think it over. Discuss it with your wife, with your friends. After that…” Pratin’s voice trailed off.

  Two weeks to come up with a plan. “I will.”

  “Good. That will be all for now.” Lehmor spun around without another word. He pushed aside the awning. “Oh, and Lehmor?” Lehmor paused, the awning hanging in mid-air. “One more thing,” Pratin continued in a sweet voice. “Should anything happen to Stripet, his fate will be yours.”

  Lehmor kept his face expressionless as he stepped outside, but his heart thumped in his chest. How could he guarantee the fate of a prisoner no longer in his charge?

  Anthea

  Sol

  Sol studied the young man standing before her, his head bowed. Naturally, she had jumped at the chance of a meeting. It was not every day that a delegate from the notoriously secretive First ventured to Anthea to seek an audience with her. Indeed, she could not remember the last time something like this had happened. A fresh perspective and a possible alliance could make all the difference now that Teo Altman had become Regent of the Capital. The threat of an imminent invasion now crawled over Anthea like a chilling shadow.

  The man’s long hair was tied into a high tail, in accordance to First custom. A short beard covered his face, aging him, although his smooth skin and youthful movement, unencumbered by age, meant he was probably still in his early twenties. What drew her attention, though, was his eyes. They glistened as if fever devoured him – and his frequent shivers, in defiance of the stifling summer heat, suggested that it did. What unsettled her, however, was the inconsistency between the man’s eyes and his age. These were the eyes of an old man; a man who had already seen too much. She struggled to figure out the discrepancy while he waited patiently to be addressed. There was something else about him, too: he lacked the fine features of the First, their fair skin or their grace, shining through their barbaric ways, like a rough diamond shines through the surrounding muck.

  Sudden insight hit her. “You’re not First.”

  “No, Your Honour, I’m—”

  She raised a hand to stop him. “I’m not a justice. Just call me Sol.” It was hardly her proper title, but she did not care much for formalities.

  He cast her a surprised glance, then continued. “I’m a Newcomer.”

  A Newcomer? Is that how the First refer to us? “Were you born among the First?”

  “No, in the Capital. My name is…” He hesitated for a moment, then his head rose in defiance. “My name is David Rivera.”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Rivera? Not of…”

  He nodded and cuddled himself, leaning forward. A descendant of Lucas Rivera himself! Curiosity filled her and she leaned forward to study him closer. Was that another shiver that ran through his body? His olive skin and short stature betrayed the truth of his words. She struggled to remember the statue of Lucas in the Capital. She had only seen a painting of it years ago, so she was unsure of any resemblance. Still, she had no reason to doubt him. She waved him to continue.

  “Everyone speaks very highly of you,” he said through clenched teeth. “You brought peace and prosperity to Anthea, after years of strife.”

  Sol had no time for flattery, but there was a despair behind his words that intrigued her. She had to know more about him. “How did you end up with the First?”

  “They helped me escape Styx.”

  She gaped at him. “You knew the justice?”

  “I was her servant for many years.”

  “What happened?”

  He stole a look around him and paused. Whatever had happened, he had no wish to discuss it among so many. After the attempt on her life at the Temple Hill, armed escorts always surrounded her wherever she went. Ruling Anthea had already cost her the life of her brother. Now, it had turned out to be just another kind of prison. She longed for her freedom. Could she send away the guards? They would have searched him, and she could perceive no threat coming from him; just fear and sickness. But fear of what?

  “Will you please leave us?” she told her guards and the clerk taking notes beside her.

  Without a word, they pattered out of the room, shutting the door softly behind them. She motioned David to take the clerk’s seat next to her. “You may speak freely. We’re alone.”

  He staggered to the chair and sank down. Still, he hesitated, as if searching for the right words. She fought her impatience, her gut telling her there was more to this young man than met the eye.

  He finally fished a small crystal out of his sleeve. “Perhaps it’s best if I showed you.”

  He placed the unfamiliar item on the small table separating them and murmured something, caressing the smooth surface. The glass glowed and a moment later colourful images danced from its centre to surround them
.

  “Not many know the truth about Pearseus,” he whispered. “We’re not alone.”

  She stared at the story unfolding before her eyes, mesmerized. The first survivors landed, like scared children, lost in an unknown world. She gasped at the Emissary’s murder. At the battle for Malekshei and at General Parad’s death at the hands of David. She stole a glance at his ashen face while the scene played out and her eyes widened in recognition. He is that David – the most wanted man in the Capital! Her gaze jumped to his bracelet, the one he was wearing even now. So inconspicuous, but in reality a Sheimlek-dar – a powerful weapon, capable of firing energy blasts. The weapon that had killed Parad.

  More scenes snapped her attention back to the crystal’s haunting story. Orbs of light fought whispering shadows. A war as ancient as time. She witnessed humanity’s first journey to the stars, to Pearseus. A terraformed planet, wiped clean of all life, in preparation for humans’ arrival. She saw the Dreamers and the First, last remnants of that first wave. Threads became apparent, linking together ancient and new, First and Newcomers, the Capital and the West.

  When the crystal displayed the last Council in Malekshei, she understood the reason behind David’s journey to Anthea. She heard them discuss clones and the Iotas. Meaningless words, until a tattooed, blond demon with eyes of fiery ice stared at her, a bodyguard’s lifeless body behind him. A death meant for David.

  Her dumbfounded brain tried to absorb the new information. Dark thoughts swam in her head. Her pulse pounded in her throat. Everything she knew had been turned on its head in a matter of minutes – everything! She wondered what people would say if they knew. What they would do.

  A cicada outside the window burst into a joyous song under the blistering sun, bringing her back to the present.

  She gaped at the shivering man before her. She could send him back to Altman, as a gesture of good-will. Or, she could offer him much-needed sanctuary. Would that speed up the invasion she was desperate to avoid?

  “What would you ask of me?” she asked after a long silence.