“I thought you’d want to hide it,” Gella said.
“Not this time. I want everyone to see what Altman did.”
She cut away his hair, stopping every now and then to take a look at her work. No one spoke for a while, everyone watching her, lost in their own thoughts.
David broke the silence. “What about the Librarian?”
“What about him?” Gella asked.
“He has so much knowledge. We should go back there. They have resources we need.”
“True,” Cyrus agreed. “Assuming we can find the entrance, that no guards or priests try to kill us, and that the lava hasn’t destroyed everything.” He patted his neck, enjoying the feel of a short stubble under his fingers. “We can worry about that once Altman hangs from the nearest tree.”
“You’re starting with an execution?” David scratched his chin. “If you want the people’s support, you may want to be a different kind of ruler.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s right,” Gella said. “And I know just the person to help you with that.”
Cyrus tapped his foot impatiently. “What are you two talking about?”
Gella patted his shoulders, sending hair to fly all around them and onto the ground. “Paul Gauld.”
Cyrus almost choked. “The Jonian?”
“With Altman fixated on Anthea, Paul’s been running things at the Capital,” Gella said. “Until Alexander had him imprisoned. Supposedly for helping me, but I get the feeling there was no love lost between those two.”
“And you say he’s been doing well at his job?”
“As well as Alexander and Altman let him,” Gella said with a shrug. “He’s been trying to impose justice and strengthen the courts. It’s made a big difference to people’s everyday life. You may also consider giving people more freedoms. There’s a reason why Jonia hates the Capital.”
“You mean democracy?” Cyrus asked, his eyes widening. The thought had never occurred to him.
Gella frowned. “Not necessarily, although that would be a wonderful endgame for you. Anyone changing things so dramatically will need to start off with a strong rule that no one will dare challenge. Once you’ve established that, you can take the time to bring change in. You can start with a constitution. Something that will bind everyone, even you.”
“It won’t be easy,” David said. “Rulers have been killed for less.”
“That’s why he’ll need you,” Gella pointed out. “You can help him.”
“I’ll need both of you, actually,” Cyrus said. “And not just because of this,” he added, pointing at his hanging limb. He threw Gella a questioning look. “We done?”
“All done, my Lord,” she said with a little bow, her lips parted in a teasing smile. “You can get dressed now.”
Cyrus rose to his feet, swatting away leaves and pine needles from his pants. “In that case, let’s get my throne back.”
Fennel Bay
Satori
Salty foam licked her eyelashes, stinging her. She rubbed it off. Tiny crystals of salt crunched between her fingers. With effort, she pried her eyes open. It looked like early morning. The sounds of battle had died away. She raised her body and gazed around. Her eyes caught on Anthea’s banners in the distance, flapping triumphantly in the wind. A guttural cry of joy escaped her lips.
With a moan, she rose on aching legs and walked away from the waters lapping her feet. Driftwood littered the sea. Broken masts and spears broke its surface in silent testament of the Capital’s defeat. We’ve won! She patted down sand from her torn uniform. She ached all over, but she was alive. A huge grin lit up her face. We’ve won!
She tried to run down the shore, but her legs refused to obey her brain. She trudged on the sand instead. A few minutes later, she came across a group of soldiers collecting the dead.
A young man gaped at her. “Ma’am? You all right?”
She gave him a smile. Even that ached. “I’m fine. Where’s Sol?”
The man motioned toward the wall. “With the staff, unless she’s already left for Anthea.”
She nodded her thanks and lumbered up the hill, encountering more soldiers cleaning up the battlefield. Most gave her strange looks but ignored her. She waved away a couple of well-wishing soldiers who offered to help her and finally reached Sol’s tent.
Recognizing her, the guards moved to the side to let her in. She pushed the awning with an aching arm.
Sol was sitting behind her desk, dictating into her e-lib. She jumped up as soon as she saw Satori and jumped into her arms. “I was so worried.”
Tears moistened Satori’s eyes. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She pulled Sol closer to her, drinking in her body’s heat.
Several minutes passed like that. No words were spoken, no explanations given. A myriad emotions welled up in Satori’s heart: Gratitude. Happiness. Love. We’re alive. We’ve won. We’re together. What more can I ask for?
“Is it over?” she whispered in Sol’s ear.
“It’s over,” she whispered back, not breaking the tight embrace.
“And the cavalry?”
“They entered the swamp. So many drowned that they doubled-back to find another way. When the news reached them that we’d won, they entered the ships and headed back to the Capital.” She tugged Satori even closer. “Like I said, it’s over.”
Satori stayed quiet for a while. “Altman’s dead,” she blurted out, the soldier’s need to report winning over her need for silence.
Sol rubbed her back in slow circles. “I know. We picked up survivors from his ship. No one knew what had happened to you. I was afraid I’d lost you.”
“I’m here.” A sudden thought made her jerk under Sol’s touch. “What about my father?”
“We don’t know who will take over. Whoever it is, they can’t be worse than Altman. Traditionally, prisoners are released when someone new takes over. Hopefully, they should pardon your father.”
Hope filled Satori’s heart. She wanted to ask more, but sheer exhaustion made her yawn until her jaw felt it would dislocate. “Can we go home now?” she mumbled, smacking her tongue.
Sol took her hand and raised it to her smiling lips. “We can go home now.”
April 9, The Capital
Cyrus
Cyrus ignored the curious glances they received as they followed the throng of people entering the Chamber of Justice for a petition. Two guards, looking bored, stood before the firmly shut heavy doors leading to the audience hall.
“What’s taking so long?” an older woman standing behind them grumbled.
Cyrus shook his head instead of an answer, memories of the last time he stood as a supplicant filling his head. It was the day he had killed Styx. The day he had assumed her place. The day he had gained everything, only to lose it afterward.
This time, it’s Altman’s turn to lose everything. Would the guards try to protect the so-called Regent, or would they fall behind Cyrus? The thought tightened his stomach. He forced himself to chase it away. He had to stay focused, and worrying was only a distraction. He drew a deliberately slow breath and nodded at the rest of his companions. Together, they pushed through the crowd, ignoring the murmurs.
“Wait until you’re called,” the guard on the left said, barely glancing at him.
Cyrus produced a signet ring from his pocket. He lifted it up in the air, turning in a slow circle to show it around.
“I am Cyrus, son of Parad, Petria’s hero, and rightful ruler of the Capital. Step aside.” When the stunned guard failed to move, Cyrus shoved the heavy doors open with his good hand.
The hall lay empty, save for a rotund clerk at the end of the room and a handful of guards holding silent vigil in the alcoves that lined the room.
Cyrus felt a mixture of disappointment and relief at the sight of an empty seat next to the clerk, where he expected to find Altman. He remembered all the times he had sat there to pass judgment, then his face clouded at the memory of Styx sitt
ing there. Despite everything, she was probably a better judge than me. He marched faster to push away the annoying realization from his mind.
The people behind him followed him into the room, not wanting to miss the day’s events. Excited murmurs filled the hall.
The clerk looked up from his e-lib and jumped to his feet, sending his chair to slide on the floor with a loud groan. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted. “Guards!”
Cyrus lifted his hand to stop the armed men emerging from the alcoves. “I am Cyrus, your rightful leader,” he shouted, showing everyone the ring. He clenched his jaw as the movement radiated a pang of sharp pain out of his hanging limb. No time for this.
The men exchanged shocked glances and lowered their weapons.
“My Lord,” the clerk mumbled and ran down the stairs. “We thought you were dead.”
“And I would have been, were I not saved by Angel.”
The clerk’s eyes widened. “Your sister? But Master Altman—”
“Is the one who shot me,” Cyrus roared. “The one who imprisoned me, with help from his lackey, Alexander.”
“The Head Priest?” The clerk’s eyes were almost popping out of their sockets by now. But…” His head jiggled from side to side, as if trying to shake his thoughts into order.
Cyrus turned to the crowd and lifted with two fingers a mop of dark hair to show everyone the ugly scar. “Altman shot me. He then framed my sister. When she rescued me, he accused her of kidnapping me.” He turned his head to make sure everyone had a good look. “When I tried to return to the Capital, Alexander captured me and imprisoned me.” He nodded at the sling. “Almost killed me.” It’s probably best if I don’t explain what else he had in mind. “He was the one responsible for the troubles in the North. The troubles he blamed on Anthea.”
People gasped. A woman fainted. A young couple rushed to her aid. Everyone else was hanging on the words falling from his lips.
“Altman has sacrificed many lives for his ambition. It is time he paid for his crimes.” He whirled around to face the clerk. “Where is the traitor?” he thundered.
“My Lord,” the clerk stuttered, his face as white as a wave’s foamy crest. “Mast—” He paused. “The Rege— ” He stopped himself again, his nostrils flaring, as if sniffing the winds of change and opportunity. “The traitor”—he emphasized the ugly word—“is dead. We just received word. The expedition has failed. Anthea won. Altman died a coward’s death, fleeing the battle.”
Anxious murmurs rose from the crowd, but a weight lifted from Cyrus’s shoulders. Altman’s shadow has been weighing on me far more than I thought. With both him and Alexander dead, there’s no one to challenge me. He placed his hand on the trembling clerk’s shoulder.
Kill him, a voice hissed in his head. Show him the price of working with your enemy. He shrugged the dark thought off with a shudder. “My friend, it is up to you and me to fix the Capital. There’s much to be done. Can I rely on you?”
The color returned to the clerk’s face. “Of course, my Lord.” He lowered his eyes. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Cyrus walked the steps up to the familiar seat, a throne in everything but name, and stood before it, reclaiming it as his. He made sure he had everyone’s attention before speaking again. “My friends, these are dark times.” He dropped his head in shame. “This is partly my fault. I have made many mistakes during my first reign.” The murmurs died out. “I trusted the wrong people, and they have wreaked havoc on our realm. They have brought discord and war. Death and chaos.” He opened his hands in supplication, ignoring the pain lancing his back, and raised his eyes to the crowd. “Will you let me fix this? Will you let me guide the Capital into a new era? An era of freedom? An era of prosperity? An era of peace?” He roared the last word. It echoed in the hushed room for a long moment.
Timidly at first, then thunderously, the small crowd started chanting his name. People cheered. The guards thumped their spears to the floor in rhythm with the chanting, making the floor tremble.
Cyrus turned to the clerk. “Altman has imprisoned Paul Gauld. Free him. Bring him to me.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The clerk hurried off, his long shirt flapping behind him.
Cyrus lifted his hand in the air to silence the jubilant crowd. “You know Gella,” he continued when the clamor died down, and pointed at her. He motioned his friends to join him on the platform. “She has served the Capital all her life. Altman, with his lies, made me exile her. She is reinstated as General of the Capital, effective immediately.”
The excited crowd chanted her name along with his.
“And David,” he said, taking his hand and raising it. “We grew up together. He stood by me more times than I can remember. But our enemies poisoned my mind. I betrayed him. He will serve as Regent of the Capital, taking Altman’s place.”
David’s name was added to the renewed chanting.
I wish you were here to see this, Father.
“He is,” David shouted to be heard over the clamor.
A grin parted Cyrus’s lips. Thank you, he mouthed. The smile fainted as he considered how much needed to be done. First of all, his family. He had to bring them back, along with Tie. She had to take over as Head Priest, making sure to purge Alexander’s evil from the Church. Then, the Whispers, whose continued presence was a constant threat. It would take time before they were all gone. He needed to be vigilant until humanity was ready to face them—united at last. But, for that to happen, the Capital needed to mend fences with both the First and the Democracies. To rebuild the Valley. He needed to discuss with Paul the possibility of giving Jonia some sort of autonomy, yet also wished for him to overhaul the justice system. Would the man be able to handle both duties? Would Jonia be satisfied with autonomy, or would that only embolden them into a new revolt? He remembered something his father had once told him: “even as a war gets resolved, it carries the seeds of the next one.”
Those are a lot of responsibilities for a single man. His shoulders dropped, the heavy weight of duty placed on them.
David laid his hand on his shoulder, snapping him back to the present. “You’re not alone,” he shouted to be heard over the roaring crowd. “Remember that.”
The smile returned on Cyrus’s face. There was much evil to fight in the world, but David was right. Together, they could overcome it. They would overcome it.
PEARSEUS:
SCHISM
Pearseus prequel
Year One
“The sole goal of schooling is to teach them simple arithmetic,
nothing above the number 500, writing one’s name
and the doctrine that it is divine law to obey the Germans…
I don’t think that reading is desirable.”
Heinrich Himmler on the four years of elementary school,
which was to be the only education of the Reich’s new subjects
December 31, 2099 AD, UES Pearseus
Lucas
First came the alarm. Seconds later, the first explosion. It traversed UES Pearseus, bearing an eerie resemblance to ripples caused by a pebble breaking the surface of a still lake. The shockwave made its way along the ship’s axis in confident, devastating strides that disfigured its elegant form and dismembered its hull, sending twisted pieces of flesh and metal to impregnate the void. Alarms blared while pods shot from the mutilated spaceship, carrying people and equipment to the planet below.
Luckily for Second Engineer Lucas Rivera, the main engine in the ship’s bowels exploded seconds before he entered the engine room. A moment later and he would have been vaporised by the explosion or sucked into space. Instead, the violent tremor threw him onto the floor. He watched with horror as the entire section in front of him disintegrated. The pressure sucked his friends out of the ship one after another, their mouths open in silent screams, their faces masks of agony.
Stop him! cried a crystalline voice in his head.
Lucas woke up with a jolt, covered in thick globs of sweat.
He lay on the bed panting for a few minutes, then jumped to his feet to stagger to the small sink in the back of his cabin. Splashing some water on his face in a vain attempt to wash the nausea away, he leaned against the sink, head bowed, breath slowly returning to normal. For a moment he considered heading back to bed, then decided the bar would be a better choice. The nightmare had left a foul taste in his mouth; he needed a drink, and to see some people, even the kind of people on UES Pearseus. After all, it was New Year’s Eve.
The ship itself could hardly be described as beautiful. It owed its unusual name to its pear-shaped body, the extra girth necessary in order to accommodate the recently developed Faster-Than-Light engines, known as FTL drives. These bent space around the vessel; engaging them could transport them to the far end of the galaxy in the blink of an eye. Of course, this would not be necessary on this occasion. Their destination had been the heliopause, the space at the very edge of our solar system. Since reaching it a few hours before, the ship had stood still, preparing for the centennial celebrations.
There were over five thousand people on board, if one included both crew and the extraordinary menagerie of people crazy enough to spend New Year’s Eve on a spaceship and wealthy enough to afford it. Since the space cruise had been advertised as the place to be, with the new century dawning that very night, the world's most successful businessmen, politicians, actors and celebrities filled the ship. They all looked forward to the party of a lifetime on the edge of the solar system.
Lucas stepped into the narrow corridor and grinned a polite smile to a couple walking towards him. He took a deep breath; the corridor reeked of alcohol. The man tripped, and Lucas recognised a former president. His escort, a beautiful young blonde half his age, held him steady. They both giggled as a bodyguard pushed Lucas aside. He stumbled, yet felt no resentment, his mind stuck at the explosion in his dream. Stop him, the voice had said. Stop whom? He could not shake the feeling something was wrong. My place is at the engine room, not the bar. He glanced at the people heading away from him and spun around, picking up his pace.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 110