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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  He had no idea how long it took for the tears to dry out. When there were no more tears left, he shook his head to clear his thoughts, his hand absent-mindedly stroking the rough shell of his wife’s claw. Oran would say it's pointless to dwell in the past. The past is gone, tomorrow’s not here. Only now exists, he would have told him. And Pratin had tried. Iota knows that he wanted peace more than anything. In fact, he had betrayed everything, including the man who had saved him, for peace.

  Sometimes he wished Oran had not taken him to the moon with the rest of the Iotas, while their wives ran the last line of defence against the humans. Why had only the weak survived? Was it a cruel, cosmic joke? He wished he had been allowed to die, along with the rest of the planet. He was not alone in his wish, either: in the hundred thousand years since the great crime, a number of people had refused to be reborn, preferring to fade into oblivion. Almost half their population, in fact. Of the thousand people in the city, most were clones of a mere dozen by now. Natural mating and birth were refused to them, as a result of transforming their bodies into the new, humanoid form.

  Form is an illusion, Oran would say. The old Master had spent all his life in his monastery, along with his disciples when the ships that destroyed the planet had arrived. Only he had fully appreciated the significance of the startling sight in the sky, and he had prepared everyone for evacuation to a hastily prepared moon base. Base! Pratin chuckled. Oran, the mad genius that he was, barely had time to evacuate before the shifting oceans swallowed their monastery. The word base was too charitable a word for the hastily constructed dome on the unhospitable moon. The endless months he had spent there, shivering in the cold and trembling with fear, had further scarred his damaged soul.

  When they had returned to an unfamiliar planet, he had lost his mind with grief and rage, and it had taken him the better part of ten endless rebirths to fully regain it. Ten thousand years – a long time to be mad. Still, longer than some, shorter than others, for everyone had been shaped by the crime against them. A crisis will bring out a man’s true self, and he was no exception to the rule. He had tried to follow Oran’s teachings, for thousands of years, but a seed grew deep inside of him. One of resentment, of bitterness. Soon, he might decide to let his soul move on. Oblivion called him, and he had no idea how much longer he would be able to resist its siren call. How many centuries can a man endure with a crushed soul?

  He remembered an old conversation with Oran. “ ‘The question is, how much do you hate?’ the old man had asked him. ‘Say you have the power to decide their fate. However, everything that happened to them, would also happen to you. Would you wish for something terrible, ignoring your own pain, or for something good?’ ” Even now, he could not answer.

  He shook the dark thoughts away and focused back on the present. What had happened after his death? He had to check the surveillance footage to find out before planning his next steps. Over a thousand clones had perished at Malekshei, along with most of the Fallen. Work beckoned, even if he had only just arrived back to the world of the living. He had to see if any Fallen and clones had survived Malekshei. With some two thousand men left, he had to rethink his plans. This is just a temporary setback, nothing more. And Stripet… He was not on that ridiculous contraption, he felt sure of that. Would Lehmor have left him behind to die? Perhaps. Stripet had murdered his father, after all.

  Still, something felt wrong. Why would Lehmor risk everything by attempting a second escape, when all he had to do was deliver Stripet? Perhaps he did not trust Pratin, of course. Or he didn’t have Stripet, to begin with. Pratin swore under his breath. Had he been taken for a fool? But if the First didn’t have Stripet, then who did? The Old Woman?

  He glanced at the softly breathing figure of his hulking wife and the carefree children surrounding her, playing blissfully in the sand. Even after all this time, the memories of their shared life had refused to disappear, to be buried under countless aeons of experience. Oran only accepted men in his monastery, and Pratin had left his family to find himself. It’s only for a few months, he had promised his wife as he left to regain his lost balance. When the terraforming began, he had been unable to locate his family in time, letting them perish along with everyone else on the planet. His mouth twitched as a fresh pang of guilt gnawed at his guts.

  Pushing from his mind all thoughts of a past long gone, he spun around and stormed out of the hall, his family’s image flickering away the moment he turned his back to them. His thoughts snapped to his next task. He would study the Malekshei surveillance to discover Stripet’s fate. Of course, he should have done that before meeting with Lehmor. Just another thing to add to my growing list of mistakes.

  The Marshes

  Cyrus

  “How are you holding up?” Angel asked, slowing down her horse to trot beside him.

  When he failed to reply, she repeated the question, a hint of urgency in her voice. Did she think he was losing it? He had heard her the first time, but still needed much more time than usual to think clearly enough. When he did speak, he had to take his time, or the words might run together into an incomprehensible garble. His memory had improved, but what he did remember caused him so much shame that he wished to forget again. His head still hurt most of the time, but it was now a dull, pressure-like ache that was nothing compared to the numbing pain back at the Capital. As for his hand coordination, he could now tolerate a short sword’s weight for a while and ride reasonably well, but little else. He prayed their journey along the narrow trail that led to the Old Woman would be uneventful.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Thankfully, she did not probe him beyond a doubtful glance. She spurred her horse, to ride among the rest of their group. The motley team consisted of Xhi, Hecate and Cyrus’s family. Two First rode at the front, serving as guards and guides, although the trail taking them through the forests at the north of the Capital was quiet. No one but the First even knew of its existence, the Newcomers preferring the lush valleys of the Capital to the dangers of the forest and the unpredictability of the First.

  He watched Angel trot before him, and a memory snippet flashed in his mind. Sam. “I’m sorry,” he cried out.

  She slowed down. “What’s that?”

  In his hurry, his words had sounded closer to “M’sssore”. “I am sorry,” he said, taking time to string the words together. Anger flared in him and his fingers squeezed the reins. Would he ever be able to speak properly again? He swallowed his frustration; this was neither the time nor the place for self-pity. He just hoped the Old Woman would be able to help him. Assuming she even wants to see me. Who could blame her if she did not?

  Angel reached over to grab his hand. “We’ve been through this.”

  He searched for the right words. “I hurt you so much. I’m sorry.” Tears gathered in his eyes, then spilled over to streak down his cheeks. She raised a gentle hand and scooped them away. “It’s fine.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “I forgive you,” she said in a soft voice.

  He took her hand and kissed it, her words like balsam on his soul’s open wounds. How could he ever forgive himself, though? The tears flowed more freely, as if an invisible dam had broken down, and he sobbed. Angel trotted next to him, her hand still in his, slowing down until their horses stopped and grazed at the side of the narrow trail. He lost track of time while a sea of tears washed away his guilt and pain. The shadows from the long trees drew longer around them. The smell of dried pine needles grew stronger as the sun dropped closer to the horizon.

  Lost in their thoughts, neither of them noticed their horses darting up their heads in alarm, ears shooting back and forth. He barely heard a whistling sound, as Angel cried out in pain and flew from her seat to crash onto the ground, clutching her arm. An arrow shaft protruded from her shoulder. She stared at it in shock.

  “Angel!” He half-jumped, half-dropped from his seat as another arrow flew past him. Ignoring it, he raced to her. He grabbed her arms and pull
ed her among the tall shrubs.

  “We want them alive!” an angry voice shouted. Two priests emerged from the thick foliage. One, a tall young man with hard eyes, replaced his bow around his broad shoulders and marched towards them. The other, a short, stubby older man with a short white beard, raced after him. “We want them alive,” he repeated.

  “You have your orders and I have mine,” the young man said and pulled a dagger from his belt.

  The older man’s eyes widened. “They promised me no one would be harmed.”

  “They lied. Now get out of the way or you die, too.”

  Cyrus heard the sounds of battle from far away, cries and the clashing of metal against metal. “Help!” he shouted, wondering if anyone could find them in time.

  The young man slithered to them, his eyes hard as steel. He stood above Cyrus and mumbled something incomprehensible. “No,” Cyrus begged.

  Angel jumped to her feet and flew at the man as he was raising his hand to strike. She dug her nails into his face, making him holler. He lost his balance for a moment, then his fist landed on her face. She crashed to the ground, wailing in pain as the arrow dug deeper in her flesh. He raised his fingers to his face and gaped at the blood on his fingertips. “You’re next,” he promised her with an angry growl, then turned his attention back to Cyrus. He raised his dagger, the hard blade ready to bite into Cyrus’s flesh.

  Cyrus raised a feeble hand to protect himself from the strike. He did not feel fear for himself, only for Angel. She should not have to suffer for his mistakes. He rolled away as the man plunged the dagger, crying out as it scratched his chest. Cyrus tried to run to Angel, but his foot caught on the shrub and he crashed down. He turned around. The man jumped to stand above him. “I’m your Prince,” Cyrus said, the words catching in his throat.

  “Sorry, Prince,” the man rasped. “I have my orders.”

  The priest’s eyes widened and he let out a surprised gasp as the tip of a short sword emerged from his guts. The dagger dropped from his hands, and he spun around. He cast a questioning gaze at the older priest, standing behind him.

  “So do I,” the older man said unapologetically. “And they don’t include their death.”

  He rushed to Cyrus as the young man crashed to the ground. “You all right?”

  Cyrus waved towards his sister. “Angel!”

  The priest helped Cyrus to his feet and carried him to where Angel lay. She whimpered when Cyrus turned her around, then her eyes flew open. “Cyrus!”

  He fought his desire to embrace her, examining instead her shoulder. The arrow had missed puncturing any arteries, passing instead through the muscle at the edge of her chest. “She’ll be fine,” the priest said behind him.

  “Who are you?” Cyrus asked without turning, trying to speak clearly.

  Before the priest had a chance to answer, galloping horses approached them. “You all right?” Xhi asked and jumped off his horse with a dexterity that belied his girth.

  “The twins—” Cyrus’s stomach sank at the thought that anything might have happened to them.

  “Everyone’s fine. Two men ambushed us, but our First friends kept us safe.” He glanced at the priest and his hand grabbed the pommel of his short sword. “Who’s this?”

  “Father Mellis, at your service.” The man took a funny bow as he spoke.

  Xhi looked at the young priest, lying on the ground, sword in his back. “You did this?”

  “His orders were different than mine,” the man said with a shrug.

  “He saved us.” Cyrus wanted to say more, but the effort was not worth it and he turned his attention back to Angel, propping her up. She grimaced as she raised herself to shaking legs.

  Xhi examined her wound. “She’ll be fine. But we need to take the arrow out.”

  “Let me,” Mellis said and fished out a small flask from his robe. “One sip,” he cautioned and offered the flask to Angel. Xhi grabbed it and sniffed it.

  “What’s this?”

  “Angel’s trumpet,” the man replied. “A tea made from its seeds, to be exact. It will dull the pain and fight the infection.”

  Xhi cast him a suspicious look. “You a healer?”

  “I was. That’s how I met Tie. She’s the one who turned me into a priest.”

  Xhi handed the flask to Angel, still eyeing the older priest. “Angel’s trumpet for Angel. Nice.”

  “No more than a sip,” Mellis repeated.

  “Or what?” Xhi asked.

  Mellis stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. “Just don’t.”

  She nodded and took one sip, then returned the flask. It disappeared within the priest’s ample robe. Following Mellis’ instructions, Xhi and Cyrus laid her down under a leafy tree. Cyrus held Angel’s hand and watched her anxiously, while Xhi and Mellis dragged the young priest’s body away from the road.

  “They tried to kill us!” The shrill voice made Cyrus jump. He shot an annoyed glance at Hecate, who lunged at her husband, yelling loudly. The two First hurried behind her. One was holding his side, blood gushing through his fingers.

  “It’s your fault,” she screamed at Xhi, while Mellis fought to hide a chuckle. His expression changed rapidly when she turned her attention to him. “Why is he here? He’s one of them, ain’t he? Kill him! Kill him now!”

  “Easy now,” Xhi said and tried to hold her, but she escaped his hands.

  “If you don’t kill him, I will,” she yelled and jumped at the priest, pounding him with her fists until Xhi pulled her away.

  “I’m sorry,” Mellis said. “My orders were to find you, lead you back to safety.” His face dropped as he looked at the dead man at his feet. “His orders on the other hand…”

  “Got him killed,” Xhi said, still clutching his wife. She twisted in his arms to get away.

  “Why?” Cyrus asked. All eyes turned to him in question. “Why kill us?”

  “I’ve heard rumours,” Mellis said. “Our new Head Priest was selected outside of our Order, at the Regent’s request. It is said they’re pretty tight. If Alexander wants you dead…”

  “He’s simply following Altman’s orders,” Xhi finished the man’s thought.

  “We should turn ourselves in,” Hecate whimpered. “We’ll never get away with it.”

  “Stop it,” Xhi warned her.

  “It’s your fault,” she screamed at him, spittle landing on his face. “Saving Cyrus was supposed to make us rich, not kill us all!”

  “Enough!” Xhi bellowed, his face flushing in anger.

  She slapped him, a hard slap that left a red mark on his cheek. He stumbled backwards, then smacked her. She yelped as she dropped to the ground.

  “I hate you,” she shrieked. “I wish I’d left you when I had the chance!”

  “I wish you had,” Xhi spat at her.

  “Stop it!” Cyrus cried out.

  “You stay out of this,” Xhi growled. “You’ve done worse.”

  Cyrus hung his head. “I know.”

  Xhi hesitated for a moment, then spun around and turned his attention to the priest. “You. Why you helping us? The truth.” He made a threatening motion towards him, and Mellis raised his hands.

  “Tie and I go way back. That’s how I knew of this trail. When you disappeared, I thought I’d stake it out in case you came this way.”

  “So you helped them find us,” Xhi said, smacking repeatedly his fist against his palm. His hands trembled with anger.

  The pallor on Mellis’ face increased with each smack. “Alexander told us you needed protection. He said he wanted to return the Prince safely to the Capital. I had no idea he had given separate orders to his men.”

  Xhi kicked a foot sticking out of a bush, sending it to disappear into the leaves. “He ain’t one of yours, then?”

  “Alexander has brought his own men into the Order. I don’t know where he found them. He doesn’t trust anyone who served under Tie.”

  Xhi pursed his lips, glaring at the priest. “So what you gonna do no
w?”

  Mellis took an involuntary step back. “I’ll head back. Say beasts killed everyone else.”

  Xhi shook his head. “You’re coming with us. No one will believe that beasts killed three strong men but left you alive.”

  Worry crossed Mellis’ face. “Listen, I—”

  “Stop,” Cyrus cried out. Angel moaned and clutched her legs, turning on her side. Her lip trembled, a fine sheen of sweat covering her face. “Mellis? What’s happening?”

  Mellis pushed Xhi aside and hurried to Cyrus’s side. Angel let out a soft sigh and appeared to fall into a deep sleep. “It’s time. I’ll be right back,” he said and started towards the forest.

  Xhi grabbed him by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To fetch my medicines. I’ve left the bag with the horses.”

  Xhi stared at him with hard eyes for a moment, then released him. “Go with him,” he ordered the unwounded First, his eyes never leaving Mellis. The priest patted down his white robe in indignation before marching off.

  The two men returned swiftly, bringing four horses with them. Mellis dismounted and hoisted a leather satchel on his shoulder before rushing back to Angel. “Has anyone got any alcohol?”

  Xhi handed him a flask, his hand slowly steadying.

  Mellis poured some on the wound, then got to work. He produced a sharp knife from his robe and removed the arrowhead, taking care not to move the shaft. He then pushed the arrow out of Angel’s flesh in one swift movement. His eyes squinted as he examined the wound. He poured some more drink into it, washing away the flowing blood. “I’ll need some cloth.”

  Xhi shot an angry glance at his wife, who was still whimpering in the middle of the trail. Snivelling, she stood up and reached for a bag hanging from the side of her horse. She produced a long piece of cloth and handed it to her husband, avoiding his eyes. He tore it into thin strips and gave them to Mellis, who emptied the flask on them. After cleaning the blood, he waited for the flow to be reduced. Once it slowed down to a trickle, he sprinkled the wound with a fine powder he took out of a small box. Humming to himself, he fished out a needle and some thread, using it to sew the skin.