The Cumerian Unraveling Trilogy (Scars of Ambition, Vendetta Clause, Cycles of Power)

by Jason Letts

  Randall grimaced and shook his head.

  “They admired my father, respected my uncle, and tolerated me,” he said. Neither of them offered a counter-argument, which left Randall to ponder the fate of his father, who was probably carrying out his end of the plan around now. It was possible he was already dead, Taylor too. Sierra was helping their mother in Madora. That left Randall as the only Bracken remaining who could be a real advocate for their people.

  Randall sighed, wondering what he could offer that would actually make a difference. Even with the help of the Lus and their media partners, the campaign had never really gotten off the ground or received much attention. They could travel around in their van for years and never win over enough people to start a movement. Worst of all, he was starting to suspect that the journalists were losing interest in their assignment.

  Randall had been playing it safe and staying out of harm’s way when his family and his people had sacrificed everything to give him a chance. Their selflessness naturally led him to be more careful, but maybe what he actually needed was to be more daring.

  “That woman today seemed frustrated that no one was standing up to the chancellor,” Randall noted.

  “That she did,” Dodson agreed, looking back at him through a mirror in the van.

  “And the man we found in the hills was upset because he couldn’t do anything to change the situation. Everyone here is so trapped in doing what they need to survive that they can’t get to where they could actually make a difference, everyone except me.”

  Floret looked over her shoulder at Randall, reached for her camera, then changed her mind and left it alone.

  “So…” Dodson nudged him.

  “So fuck it. The only way anything is going to happen is if I get in Aggart’s face about it and force the issue, and that means we need to go to Toine and Triton Kniviscent Square, right in front of the Spiral.”

  A subtle smile crept onto Dodson’s face, emboldening Randall. Dodson must’ve known this was the right move, or at least that it would get some real attention and have a chance at starting a spark, but he still made sure to point out all of the reasons why it was a foolhardy move.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you wanted by the Cumerian Guard because of your involvement with the traitorous Grand Council?” he asked.

  “I have it on good knowledge that they killed a number of the grand councilors on the night that Aggart disbanded us and took over. I don’t know what they’re going to do when I show up, but whatever happens you’d better get it on camera,” Randall said.

  “What happens if you die?” Dodson asked point blank.

  “Then I hope I become the symbol of Aggart’s oppressive tactics and brutal efforts to silence political dissent. And if that happens I’ll live forever in the minds of his victims all across the country, giving them the courage to stand up and fight for ideals that are worth more than life. The chancellor has disenfranchised his people of their rights and betrayed the country by pitting families against each other, resulting in spilled blood from coast to coast. He may think he’s justified in doing so, and he may even think he has their support and they’ve accepted the change in the country, but he’ll find out differently once a viable alternative stands to oppose him.”

  Randall was starting to feel the rush surging through his veins. More than talking and smiles, Randall realized that politics was supposed to be about putting your life on the line for your ideas. It was about action that you couldn’t fake and standing up to those who manhandled laws for their own ends. Somehow reality rarely measured up to that ideal.

  “It sounds like we know what our next destination is,” Floret said, slapping his fingertips on the dashboard.

  Before they left at the beginning of the next cycle for the drive north, Randall again gathered as many of the remaining townsfolk as he could. He said much the same as he had in the van to the journalists, making it fully clear that it wasn’t his speech but the things he would do and the risks he’d take that would rouse them. Many of them were probably confused or preoccupied with their daily tasks, but Randall promised to set out and bring them something beyond that.

  “I’m going to get your country back.”

  They’d taken enough gas from abandoned vehicles to ensure that they’d have no trouble making the long drive north to the Cumerian capitol of Toine. Except for an engine that sounded like it had a bad cough and a hangover, silence pervaded the interior of the van, where Randall grappled with what he was getting himself into. Despite the lack of chatter, he sensed optimism from Dodson and Floret that they were on the verge of breaking into something big. Their goal was to put on a good show, even if the story was the spectacular failure of a former politician throwing himself into the arms of the enemy.

  Hours passed and daylight faded into night, bringing both advantages and disadvantages. They were less likely to be seen by the Guard or anyone else lurking about, but the going was slower and several hours were squandered after getting lost. Nighttime also raised the possibility that the mission would be less effective. What would having a one-man protest in the square be good for if no one could see him?

  Only time would tell, and the van eventually passed the firefly fields and turned onto the outskirts of the country’s political hive. Randall immediately began recognizing places he knew from when he resided in this town. The buildings were the same, though darker because there was less power for the streetlights. The bar he frequented had no one in it and looked like it was on the verge of closing for good. Continuing closer to the city center and Triton Kniviscent Square, Randall caught a glimpse of his former office down a side street. It immediately made him think of Cori, his forbidden love, who would either cheer him on for making a bold and honest stand or thrash him for taking such an absurd personal risk. Maybe he’d be able to quell the anxiety in his stomach and see her again, but it couldn’t be until after he’d survived his first encounter with the authorities.

  The roads were sparsely populated, and they garnered suspicious looks from a pair of guards on the sidewalk as they drove by. The Spiral rose in front of them in all its magnificence. The leaning tower with its smooth, winding walkway leading to the chancellor’s residence at the very top was adorned in lights, as if the entire structure were embedded in the stars.

  After coming to a stop, Randall exited the van and went for his bag of clothes, pulling out a fresh suit they’d given him that he’d saved for the occasion. He was anxious to get out of the one he was currently in, which was filthy and looked about fifty years old. Dodson stepped over and stayed his hand.

  “Stick with what you’ve got on,” he urged, and Randall reluctantly took his advice.

  Triton Kniviscent Square was a long expanse of short-cut grass leading to the balcony where the chancellor made his addresses. Legend had it that this was the site of the final battle that forged Cumeria about five hundred years ago, where the United struck their last blows against the overlords from the southern continents. At the moment, the entire area was vacant, except for the statue of Triton on a pedestal in the center.

  Randall stopped when he came even to the statue, which faced the great Spiral. Triton was a monster of a man whose weapon of choice was a bulky steel cudgel that encased the sword of his provincial lord, whom Triton had strangled with his bare hands. The statue depicted Triton reaching back with the fat implement, a maniacal intensity on his face, and at the moment it looked like he wanted to smash the Spiral to pieces. Randall didn’t have muscle in his entire body to make up just one of Triton’s biceps, but he felt spurred on by the legend of a man who’d overthrown his oppressors.

  “Right here,” Randall said, stopping at the edge of the square on the grass. From here the Spiral and its lights rose high overhead, and he was nothing but an ant in comparison to it.

  “We’ll be running the cameras nonstop,” Dodson explained, getting a light in position that Randall was sure would attract attention.

&nbs
p; “There’s nowhere to run now, nothing to do but to face them down myself,” he said, already starting to feel a chill in the air. If he’d been honest about it, he had not thought he’d make it this far. Maybe it was just the Cumerian Guard’s reputation, but he thought he’d be captured and killed before he’d even set foot in the square. Instead, hours passed with him standing there all the while, one of the most wanted men in Cumeria, and not a soldier in sight.

  Randall knew better than to wish for them to show up, but when foot traffic picked up in the area, it didn’t take long for a couple of guards to come through. Their caps and the disciplined way they walked gave them away, as did how they turned and started right for Randall. Swallowing, he glanced at Dodson, who returned a subtle nod.

  “You there, move along,” the voice of the guard called from across the street. It was good advice and telling: They hadn’t recognized him yet.

  “Did you hear me or are you asking for trouble?” the guard added, getting ever closer.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Randall affirmed, clenching his fists to fight off the urge to break and flee.

  “And why’s that?” the guard asked while the other one chuckled. They withdrew their batons and tapped them in their hands. Randall turned to face them dead on for the first time.

  “Because I’m a representative of the Cumerian Grand Council, and I’m doing my duty to the people of the ClawLands.” The snarl in his voice was unmistakable. Randall’s heart rate was up, he was angry, and he steeled himself for whatever they were about to throw at him.

  “Shit. And I thought we were going to have a quiet night,” the guard said.

  “We’d better radio this one in and get clearance,” the other guard added. Suddenly some static crackled in the air as he fiddled with a device strapped into his belt. “Switch, we’ve got a Class A fugitive here in the square. Can you connect with the commander and hand down the orders? Over.”

  “Don’t move a muscle,” the first guard said to Randall, grabbing him by the arm.

  “Switch here,” said a gravelly voice over the radio. “Please hold.”

  Randall knew there was a high likelihood that the commander’s orders would consist roughly of “kill on sight,” but there was something familiar about the voice on the other end of the radio that made his mind spin. The discomfort and the uncertainty lasted minutes until the voice returned and put to rest any last shred of doubt.

  “Switch to Team Red Night, the commander defers judgment directly to CC. Proceed immediately with the fugitive to Entrance 995 for adjudication. Switch out.”

  The stunned looks on the guards’ faces gave away that something was out of the ordinary. They exchanged paled glances with each other and hesitated, while Randall fought to hold in his smirks. If Dodson’s mouth was steady, his eyes were elated. “CC” referred to Chancellor of Cumeria; “Entrance 995” was his personal office at the top of the Spiral. And “Switch” was Taylor, who had made it into the Guard, transferred to Toine, and was making his own orders as an operator.

  “This isn’t going to be pretty for you three. The chancellor loves taking care of problems himself,” the guard said, elbowing Randall in the stomach and then grabbing an arm. They dragged him across the road and pushed Dodson and Floret on ahead. Dodson had slipped the camera underneath his arm and inside his jacket, obscuring it from the guards, and Floret had turned the spotlight out. Whatever happened was going to get recorded and immediately transferred over a satellite link.

  They reached the base of the Spiral’s great, curving walkway leading into the sky. Even in the dark, Randall recognized the doors he had taken to his committee chambers and the legislative floor inside. Doubtlessly they’d recently seen much less use than in the past. As they began their ascent, Randall was struck with how vacant the entire structure was except for one door farther up. Qi Ptock, the chairman of the Private Oversight Committee and apparent lapdog to the chancellor, seemed hard at work, if the noise inside and the light seeping through were any indication.

  Randall feared Qi Ptock or the frenetic investigator Shelman Toggler would pop out of that door and deny him his meeting with the chancellor, but the guards continued prodding them up and up without obstruction. Soon they were so high they could look out over Toine. Randall got the sense that Aggart’s heavy hand stifled the entire town.

  The guard behind Randall had his arm twisted in an awkward position, but the upcoming exchange dominated his thoughts. Rarely had he seen the chancellor outside of speeches and they’d never had a real conversation, but now Randall had just moments to get his point across and make a convincing case to viewers.

  Randall strained under the pressure. Two sentences, three? He knew he had a single utterance to back the chancellor into a corner, lay out his case, and push for reinstating the election. The message had to be boiled down to its simplest, purest form and delivered convincingly. For all of those who couldn’t, he had to stand up to the man who had shattered Cumerian society.

  As one would expect, there were more members of the vaunted Cumerian Guard standing in front of Entrance 995. The group made it to the platform adjoining the ornate door and the elegant balcony, pausing while the guards exchanged the details of the situation. Randall took another look at Dodson, whose beard and dark hair helped him blend in, and the journalist shifted his jacket to better conceal the camera. Floret, younger and no doubt more in awe of Aggart than any of them, was wide-eyed and fidgety.

  One of the men standing at the entrance ducked inside, while the other ushered the group into a well-lit entrance chamber adorned in murals depicting famous Cumerian battles. The tile seemed so regal and clean that Randall felt badly about stepping on it with his filthy shoes. A secretary flipped through papers at an impressive desk of polished stone in the corner. The room seemed otherworldly, making Randall regret letting Dodson prevent him from changing into a nicer suit until he considered that the people watching would feel similarly outclassed. It forced them to relate to him.

  Each wall had a door, and then one straight ahead was slightly ajar. The hushed tones of the guard slipped through and were followed by the chancellor’s thunderous boom.

  “Huh? What damned nonsense are you saying?” he said, his impatient and confused voice echoing off the walls. The sound of footsteps came next, and the door swung open to reveal the burly Cumerian leader in a suit of black leather and thick poly-fiber, which wasn’t much different than the Guard uniforms. “What’s going on here? I’ll have someone’s head for this!”

  The guard who’d accompanied them from the square opened his mouth to speak, but Randall stepped forward and cut him off. Dodson’s jacket swung open, revealing the camera.

  “Chancellor Aggart, what you’ve done to Cumeria has been unforgivable. You know the people of this country don’t support you, and if given the choice they’d choose me over you!”

  The chancellor, momentarily halted and glancing back and forth between his new adversary and the visible camera lens, contorted his face in a look of pure contempt.

  “You? You must be joking. You’re nothing but the squirming byproduct of a failed dynasty, all but faded out into existence. I could have you disposed of and no one would bat an eye.” He glowered.

  Randall breathed it in and reveled in it—that pride he’d always sensed in the man giving those speeches who just had to have it all.

  “The only thing getting rid of me would prove is that you know you can’t win a fair election because of what you’ve done.”

  The trap had been sprung, but Aggart still held all the cards. He could throw Randall straight off the balcony and his grip on the country would go on as it had, but Randall could see the needle he implanted pricking at the burly man in front of them. By being so dirty, thin, and defenseless, Randall would force Aggart to appear even weaker by backing down from the challenge. The chancellor again glanced at the camera lens, which would convey him to millions of Cumerians in the coming days through video and print repor
ting. His face turned crimson and his biceps clenched as the walls of the system closed in on him.

  “Everyone knows that the old Cumeria was broken, and this country needed a bold visionary to shake things up and wipe away the entrenched forces. When the dust settles, Cumeria will enter a new golden age like none ever seen before.”

  The chancellor continued to speak in his forceful way, but Randall grew relieved when he heard the essence of a campaign speech. It wasn’t enough for Aggart to be a ruthless dictator; he expected people to love him for it as well.

  “When the people have their say, you’ll find out exactly how unwelcome your changes have been. Every voter will have a chance to strike back at you for lost income, lost pride in Cumeria, and lost loved ones from the fighting you encouraged,” Randall said.

  “You have no idea what I’ve done and what I’m doing.” The chancellor seethed. Randall quickly raised his voice, goading him.

  “Give them your word now that Election Day stands and the popular voice will be done. Or have you abandoned all respect for the founding principles of this nation?”

  “It shall be!” the chancellor bellowed, flustered and appearing ready to blow a blood vessel. He jerked forward suddenly, making Randall throw up his arms in a vain defense, but he actually went for Dodson, ripping the camera out of his hands and quickly searching for an “off” button before opting to smash the device against the ground. The video camera cracked in half, and Aggart tossed the other half away before volleying another angry snarl at Randall.

  “When it’s over and I’ve won, then you’ll be properly disposed of.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Taylor’s mind was too active to fall asleep in the Guard barracks at the end of the cycle. He bunked by a window, which he’d purposefully left open despite the chill. If he heard footsteps coming for the door, the plan was to leap out of the window and disappear into the woods northeast of Toine. His shift on the radio had barely ended before news of Randall’s clash with the chancellor had reached them, and there was no telling what would happen next.