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

by Nicholas C. Rossis

  Sebastian fought a grimace. He had lost his brothers. He knew pain. It may have its purposes, but it’s anything but sweet.

  “Their pain shall burn away their sins. That way, they shall have less to atone for when judged.” Alexander rapped his fingers on the dusty pub table. “Do you not see? They have rejected Themis—a deadly sin. Pain will purge their souls before their final judgment. Better a temporary pain here than an eternal one in the afterlife. The more they suffer here, the more lenient She will be when judging them.” Alexander caressed his naked chin, a distressed expression on his face. “I take no pleasure punishing these sinners, you know.”

  Sebastian shifted his weight and stared at his feet, unsure how to respond. The priest seemed sincere enough, yet he had just ordered him to crucify dozens of people.

  Alexander’s gaze pierced him, his face more serious than ever. “You and I, we are very much alike,” he said in a soft voice. “I sense their presence in you. The servants of Themis. We both serve Her through them.”

  Oh, I’m a servant now?

  When have you been anything but a servant? Anna’s voice whispered in his ear.

  His hand flew to the hilt of his weapon.

  You were born a slave, the relentless voice continued. Had no choice but to fight for the Iotas. When did you last make a decision that was yours?

  “Everything all right?” Alexander asked him, a deep frown seated between his eyes.

  Leave me alone! Sebastian screamed in his head. He forced his hand to relax. “Yes. Just eager to start.”

  “Good. Have someone bring me something to drink before you go, will you?” Alexander’s gaze fell on a brown smudge on the underside of his spotless white sleeves. His face soured. “Dirt everywhere,” he muttered. “I’ll be happy when we’re out of here.”

  So will the villagers, I'll bet. Sebastian spun around and marched outside. I don’t want to teach anyone any lesson, or help any souls move along. I just want to rid my planet of all vermin, including your lot. Perhaps my new friends will show me the way.

  He made his way outside and to the church, its cellars hastily converted to a makeshift prison. Frost crunched under his boots. How can a whole village not have a prison? Did no one ever offend? He remembered that the Iotas had no prisons either and his mouth twitched. Perhaps I should just return to them. Pratin will know what to do. Why haven’t I heard from him? Have our masters deserted us? Are they disappointed in us? He growled in frustration. Should I follow the whispering shadow until I hear from the Iotas, or should I head back home?

  He reached the church, his hands clasped behind his back, his mind lost in troubling thoughts. Two men stood outside the heavy door. They snapped to attention as he approached. He threw them an angry glare as he pushed the door open and marched between them. My brothers never had any need for this nonsense.

  A short, balding man was sitting behind the door. He jumped to his feet, his chair almost dropping to the floor. “Captain.” He straightened out his robe, his fingers pressing on the leather jerkin underneath.

  “Whatever,” Sebastian barked. “Have your men meet me outside. Bring any tools you can find.”

  The man’s eyebrows flew upward. “Tools?”

  “Building tools. We’re tearing down houses.”

  The man’s face lit up. “Sounds like fun.” A dark look from Sebastian made his grin disappear. “I mean, right away, sir.”

  He hurried away, and Sebastian stepped outside again. The scowl on his face was starting to feel like a permanent feature. Being this close to humans did nothing to help his foul mood.

  The Capital

  Gella

  The current carried the tugboat against the soft wood fenders of the jetty. It bumped against them, then swayed and came to a gentle stop. The captain threw a thick, braided rope to a young man, who grabbed it and fastened it around an iron cleat.

  With the tugboat now moored, Gella handed the barge captain a handful of golden coins. They glistened under the setting sun. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

  “Pleasure,” the man said and moved closer. “Good luck with your mission,” he added in a low voice. The coins disappeared from his palm as if by magic.

  She gave him a grateful smile. The man’s daughter popped her head out of the vessel’s bowels for a moment, holding her doll. Gella waved at her and the girl smiled and waved back before disappearing inside the boat again. Gella lifted her canvas duffel bag, her mind already fixing on the task ahead. A sharp pain on her side reminded her of the stitches.

  “Let me give you a hand,” the captain offered and moved toward her, but she raised her hand to stop him.

  “I’ve got it.”

  She ground her teeth and threw the bag over the narrow strip of water with her good hand. It landed on the pier, raising dust, then she followed it, landing on the hard wood with a satisfying thump. “Know where I can get a drink and a bed around here?” she asked as she grabbed the leather straps. “I haven’t been to the Capital in ages.”

  He scratched his chin. “You can try the Drunken Maiden, if you don’t mind the company.”

  Memories of a low-lit tavern frequented by sailors waiting for work to come their way filled her mind. Her team had taken her there in a former lifetime, during a joint exercise with the navy. “That still around?”

  “Cheapest wine in the Capital,” he said with a shrug. “Cheapest bed, too. Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Thanks.” She hoisted the bag on her shoulder and lumbered toward the docks.

  She missed the street the first two times, then her tracking instincts kicked in and she homed in on a crumbling building. She had to climb down half a dozen stairs to reach the door. A weathered sign hanging from rusty chains identified the place as the “runken aiden,” the calligraphic first letters having faded away under the Capital’s sun. The door groaned as she pushed it open with her bag. She shoved the satchel inside, letting it slip from her arms as soon as she entered the low-lit inn.

  The place wasn’t as bad as she remembered, but the smell of wine permeated everything, from the gruff, unshaven owner to the barrels behind him. Only three tables were occupied. She made her way to an empty one and kicked the bag under it before crashing on a chair. Her knees ached from the constant seesawing of the barge, and she lifted her feet to another chair. She fought the urge to check on her stitches to make sure she hadn’t torn any.

  “You want a bed, you rent one,” the barman said with a growl. He made his way to the table and kicked the chair from under her feet.

  “Apologies. Wouldn’t want to mess up your fine establishment,” she said with as straight a face as she could muster.

  The man muttered something through his teeth, but his mouth parted into a grin when she flung a silver his way. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

  “A room. And something to eat.”

  “Got the best stew in town,” he boasted.

  I doubt that. “That’d be great.” He turned around, but she stopped him. “Take my bag upstairs, will you?”

  His eyes widened as he lifted it. “You carried this yourself?”

  She flashed him an innocent smile, then turned her attention to a couple of men sitting at a table in the corner. One of them seemed to be in his thirties, the other one older. Their skin was darkened and scarred by the sea and the sun.

  “Can I get you gentlemen something?” she asked and made her way to them. “My treat.”

  The men exchanged an uneasy glance. “What’s the catch?” the older one asked.

  “No catch. I’ve been away south for far too long and wanted to see what’s new.” She pulled a chair. “May I?”

  The man shrugged and went back to nursing an empty mug.

  She scanned the room for the owner as she sat down. “Get us a jug of your finest, will you?”

  His eyes lit up and he kneeled in front of one of the barrels, an empty jug in his hands. A moment later, he appeared by their table, the filled jug
in his hands stinking of cheap wine, only marginally better than vinegar.

  She tapped the table top and he put it down. “Thank you,” she said and flung him a copper, which he caught midair.

  “So, how’s life treating you?” she asked the two men as soon as the owner disappeared back behind the counter.

  “What do you expect?” the younger man said. “With everyone left for Jonia, there’s no work for us left behind.”

  “Jonia?” she asked and filled their mugs.

  The men exchanged a cautious glance. “It’s no secret,” the younger one said with a shrug.

  The older man nodded. “The Regent’s building our fleet. Greatest fleet you’ve ever seen.”

  “Gonna teach them Antheans a lesson,” the younger one agreed.

  “Suits them right, for all the trouble they’ve caused. That’s why there’s no work. They’re to blame for everything.”

  “Even your unemployment?” Gella asked, her surprise genuine.

  The older man leaned toward her. “Everyone knows Sol’s behind all our troubles. The Regent explained it all the other day. Made sense, he did.” He nodded gravely, agreeing with himself, as he raised his cup.

  “Well, them and that Jonian, Paul,” the younger one hissed, lowering his voice. “Themis knows why the Regent brought him here. He’s too generous for his own good, if you ask me.”

  Gella’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What has Paul done?”

  “He’s been laying off people left, right and center,” the old man explained, wiping his chin. “My cousin, he was a clerk for twenty years. That Paul, he chucked him off like a tick.” He shook his head. “Things were never this bad under Styx.”

  “Styx?” she blurted out. Things must be really tough if they miss the Harpy. “Sure, but she’d have you hanged for not speaking her name with the proper reverence.”

  “True enough,” the old man said with a chuckle. “Still, she’d have kicked the Antheans’ arse a long time ago.”

  “Problem is, they never forgave us for sending ‘em packing out of the North ten years ago,” the younger one said, scowling. “Now they’ve teamed up with monsters. Unholy creatures. Themis knows where they dug them up.”

  “Those Antheans aren’t to be trusted,” Gella said, nodding so hard her neck creaked. “Where did you hear all this?”

  “A priest dropped by the other day,” the older man said. “He told us. They been up North. Know what’s what.”

  “The Regent’s said it too,” the younger man said. “What do they want from us? Why can’t they leave us alone?” His voice sounded shrill.

  The older man raised his glass. “To kicking their arse a second time.”

  She took a sip and forced the acidic liquid down, fighting a grimace.

  March 18, The Valley

  Sebastian

  A scream cut through the air like an ice blade. Startled birds flew away from treetops, disappearing within the morning fog.

  In the middle of the town square, three priests were building a cross. The prisoners wailed inside a hastily-built wooden cage. Among them, a First, strangely out of place, was cursing at the guards. Sebastian cocked his head. And they call us monsters. He spat to cleanse the sick feeling in his stomach. The human capacity for cruelty shocked him. What do you expect from a species that wiped out an entire planet without so much as a second thought? he asked himself.

  He fled the town square, hands behind his back, eager to leave human nastiness behind him. Death should be quick. Efficient. For a moment, he imagined himself a giant, towering over the planet. He would lift it and shake the humans off, like shoving ants off an orange. A chuckle escaped his lips. It froze on his mouth as he caught, out of the corner of his eye, Anna studying him. His head whipped around. Where Anna had stood a breath ago, fine mist played in the sunlight. He ground his teeth. The apparitions were becoming more frequent.

  He had to get away from all these humans. Go back to his creators. But the voices had told him to stay with the disgusting priest. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. I need a distraction.

  He marched to the church. A single bored-looking guard was standing outside. Sebastian ignored him and pushed through the door and into the corridor. He followed the stairs down into the cellar. A second guard jumped to his feet.

  “Show me the prisoner,” Sebastian growled.

  The guard pushed a key into a door and stepped to the side.

  Sebastian crossed the threshold into the makeshift cell. His superior eyes had little trouble adjusting to the dark. They had removed all prisoners but the warrior. Still, the rancid stench of urine, fear and pain filled the air. The stench of humanity. He scrunched his face in disgust and swallowed bile. In the corner, a dark mass crawled away from the light.

  Sebastian took a step forward and pointed his finger. “You. Who are you?”

  “Just a man.” His voice sounded hoarse. “The question is, who are you?”

  A wise guy, I see. Unless he’s hiding something. Sebastian ambled to the corner. Heavy chains had been placed around the man’s hands and feet, but his gaze showed more curiosity than fear. That can be changed. They studied each other for a moment.

  “Here’s a joke,” the man said after a while. He coughed to clear the rasp from his throat. “A priest and a clone walk into a village.”

  A clone? Sebastian’s eyes widened. Humans called him and his brothers monsters. Their true nature was unknown to anyone. Unless… “You were in Malekshei.”

  A flash of pain passed through the man’s eyes. He faced the wall. “I’m thirsty.”

  Sebastian fought the urge to beat the truth out of him. Still, he was nothing but a human. And humans had needs. “Guard!”

  The guard hurried inside.

  “Bring this man some water. And food,” he added as an afterthought. He waited until the man was back with a loaf of stale bread and a jug of water. He took them and handed them to the prisoner, then waved the guard away.

  The prisoner gulped down the water before attacking the bread. Within minutes, there was none left. He brought his chained fist to his mouth and burped. “Sorry.”

  “Malekshei. You were there.”

  The man cradled his knees, a flash of sorrow marring momentarily his features. “I was in Anthea.”

  “Then how do you know me?”

  “One of you tried to kill me. I killed him first.”

  Sebastian let out a dry laugh. “If one of my brothers wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  The man shrugged. “I’m here. He’s not.”

  He’s not lying, Sebastian realized. “No. He’s not.” He paced the room, his hands behind his back, before stopping again in front of the strange human. “What’s your name?”

  The man hesitated, then relented. “David.”

  “How do you know me, David?”

  David shrugged. “I don’t. Do you know you?” When he received no answer, he leaned forward. “Are you more than a simple tool—a weapon bred for destruction?”

  The image of Anna flashed in Sebastian’s head. Her blood dripped from his fingers, then disappeared as he stared at them in disbelief. I must be going crazy.

  David cocked his head. “You are more than that, aren’t you? What did you see?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Sebastian roared. “How do you know me?”

  “The Old Woman has shown us your kind.”

  Finally, some answers. “So, you’re a First. She gave you your suit?”

  “No. And yes. To fight you.”

  Sebastian tried to hide his surprise. This was unheard of. She must be getting pretty desperate to hand out her goods like that. That information alone might make it worth ignoring the whispering shadow and rejoining the Iotas instead. They have to know about this.

  “What difference does it make?” David asked, as if reading his mind. “You’re probably the last of your kind.”

  Sebastian’s breath caught. “What?”

  “The O
ld Woman destroyed the Iotas. She killed Pratin and all the clones.”

  Like a dam breaking, blind fury flooded Sebastian. “Lies!” he hollered. “You’re lying!”

  The guard burst into the room. “Is everything—” He glanced at Sebastian’s face and took a step back.

  Without thinking, Sebastian hollered and struck the man’s abdomen, channeling all his rage into his palm. The man let out a cry and flew backward. He crashed against the stone wall. His body slipped to the floor, lifeless. Sebastian stared at the corpse, panting. He swirled around and kicked David, who cried out in pain and rolled on the floor. Sebastian raised his foot to crush his spine.

  The Valley

  Alexander

  A single guard was standing before the heathen church. He snapped to attention as Alexander approached.

  “Let no one in,” Alexander ordered.

  “Yes, Your Eminence,” the man said in a single breath.

  The Head Priest glared at the cross hanging above the door before stepping through the threshold. He ignored the narrow steps leading downstairs into the prison and marched straight through to enter the church.

  Long wooden pews lined the room. Through narrow windows, shafts of sunlight expanded and fell across them. They cut across the pews and floor, making the dust in the air glitter.

  Alexander took slow steps toward the far end, where a lone altar stood. His footsteps echoed in the still room. The room emanated peace and tranquility, even though no religious images adorned its walls, save for a simple wooden cross that hung over the white marble slab covering the altar’s top. Faint echoes of jasmine-smelling incense seeped through the air. The very walls seemed to seep with holiness. He half-expected cherubial choirs to break into hymns at any moment.

  The whole place creeped him out, made his hairs stand on end. He climbed the short step separating the altar from the rest of the room and yanked the cross down. As if mocking him, it slipped through his fingers and swung left and right. Letting out a frustrated groan, Alexander climbed on the altar and yanked the cross. With a sudden jerk, it came loose in his hands. He lost his balance and crashed on the floor, one hand still gripping the wooden cross. He tossed it away and raised himself, cursing.