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

by Jason Letts

  When they arrived at the campaign headquarters, the morale of the staff was still reeling from the debacle over the alpha line, but a fresh face and several crates worth of delicious crab put them in a better frame of mind. Dodson and Floret had been in damage control mode the entire time.

  “We’ve done everything we could to help it blow over. The electricity has already been restored, but the shouting has reached full bore and isn’t letting up. It’s not the kind of thing our network can just ignore either. People are wondering where you got this information and asking who’s behind you,” Dodson said, grim but determined.

  Cycles later, the staff prepared for Randall’s big speech in conjunction with a hunger-relief effort in the city of Ristle. He had traded up for as nice a suit as he could find, and he looked every bit as confident as he did back when he was in the Grand Council. Cori had come around to his cause as he knew she would, and she didn’t hesitate to be the first to step out onto the stage in front of the thousands of Cumerians who had arrived.

  She cleared her throat and adjusted the microphone.

  “You want to know who’s behind Randall Bracken? I am.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Chancellor Aggart’s favorite room in his suite at the top of the Spiral was his sparring room. It was the biggest one by a half, had padded floors, melee combat weapons fixed to the walls, and a more pungent odor of blood and sweat in the air than any other place Taylor had been in his life. Aggart had a few training partners he regularly worked out with, but after he’d revealed to Taylor that he also had the Ma Ha’dere’s energy, he ordered Taylor in and locked the door.

  “Take off your shoes. Remove watches or any rings, lest you foolishly be tempted to use them. Tell no one of what happens in here.”

  It went without saying that the chancellor was a large and burly man with the breadth and general disposition of a gory bear from the Cetaline Mountains. The first time Taylor had faced him in a combat setting was at the meeting when he was selected to join his personal guard, but seeing him limbering up on the other side of the room, shirtless and seemingly carved out of stone, Taylor realized he might’ve also led Cumeria if they had street brawls instead of elections.

  Bracing himself for the pain that was sure to follow, Taylor stepped onto the stiff mat. His trained calm flying out the window, his heart rate ratcheted up and his breathing turned to wheezing as he squared off against Aggart.

  Without warning, the chancellor launched himself at Taylor, slinging his arm forward like a club and forcing Taylor to take the shot just below the left shoulder and spin away rather than be bowled over by his momentum. Backpedaling in an arc around the room, Taylor struggled to fend off blow after blow from the chancellor, who employed an unorthodox combination of styles ranging from those of a bare-knuckle boxer to the chops and grabs of a finesse fighter.

  Most worrisome, Aggart seemed to never utilize the same attack twice, producing such dizzying variation that Taylor had no choice but to make premature blocks based on guesswork rather than be left completely defenseless. Aggart boldly twisted to the side and made a mid-level jab, but rather than straighten out and follow-up with a left punch, he turned his back completely to Taylor and came through with a reverse left-handed smash. Taylor had been taking aim at the big open target, but the swinging fist caught him between the neck and shoulder hard enough to make his legs buckle and knock him to the ground.

  Taylor groaned before tipping back against the wall. The force of the blow stunned him. His breathing was out of control, and his muscles felt taxed.

  “You don’t need to hold back in here,” Aggart said, flashing a grin and extending a hand to lift Taylor up. “It’s just you, me, and the fury in our veins. Some call it the energy, some call it blue blood, but I call it the fury, an irresistible impulse for destruction. You’ve been trying to repress it, and it’s made you weak. Do you want to know what it really is?”

  “Tell me,” Taylor said, grateful for a few more moments to recover. Aggart, who seemed like he hadn’t lifted a finger, was in the best mood Taylor had seen all week. Taking pleasure from violence was an unmistakable sign of the energy. Aggart scratched the stubble on his neck, and his calloused hand took on a shade of blue that grew increasingly brighter.

  “When I was a younger sailor taking my first voyage as captain, my crew and I were peddling stolen goods between Horux and the Copian islands when I came down with a mysterious illness. It was devastatingly painful, causing tears in my skin that wouldn’t heal and left me screaming through the night. My crew had given me up for dead, but we found an inhabited island that wasn’t on the map. We figured this was where I’d die, but the village, like many, had a witch doctor. Not ready to abandon all hope, I went to see him, only to discover that every inch of his skin was this shade of blue. He told me he could give me the strength to heal my wounds, and at the time I had no choice but to say yes,” he said.

  “So it’s magic, then? There’s some magic in me doing this,” Taylor surmised.

  “Not exactly. I had to hide this part of myself, as you have, but it wasn’t until I became Chancellor that I could really investigate its origins without only revealing it to those who I was about to kill. Under order of secrecy, doctors took samples of my blood and scanned my joints. We traveled to those remote islands searching for others with the same condition, hunting for stories of individuals with prodigious strength and a penchant for mayhem. Eventually we risked it all by sailing for Didjubus and seeing firsthand the effects of the radiation on Iyne’s smallest life forms.

  “That’s where we finally got answers. After seeing the strange mutations in the bacteria we found and comparing them to what was in my blood and collecting around my joints, we concluded with a reasonable degree of certainty that this powerful bacterial strain had to have originated on Didjubus. We studied its properties and how it seems to push the very boundaries of physics with its ability to generate massive amounts of force while responding to subtle neurological cues,” Aggart explained, getting more excited the longer he spoke.

  Taylor looked at his own hands and gave in to the rush of the energy that gorged them with blue blood. He never could’ve guessed there was something foreign living inside of him, though perhaps it wasn’t so strange because bacteria were already an integral part of people’s digestive systems.

  “Is there any cure? Is it deadly?” Taylor asked. The feeling arose in him that he was ready to resume the fight. Kicking through the walls or snapping bones seemed eminently doable in his current state of “fury,” but he needed answers about his condition, as well.

  “Don’t think of it as a disease, Roark,” Aggart urged. “This is a new kind of life, one that gives you the instincts to survive and succeed. I can say without a shadow of doubt that I would not be Chancellor of Cumeria without the mental and physical strength the fury has given me. Deadly? It’s deadly not to have it. Initial exposure to the bacteria must come in an extremely limited dose—otherwise the victim is overwhelmed.

  “Now, this time, let it push you to be faster and smarter than before. Don’t hold back. Trust it. Let your body radiate the force you can generate.”

  Racking his brain for an attack strategy, Taylor again squared off against Aggart in the center of the room. The timing and control of his opponent were as intimidating as his size, but there had to be a way to break through. A smirk came to his lips as he remembered an old move he used to love to pull on larger adversaries in the Youth Guard.

  Taylor took a step back before launching forward, swerving to the side and feinting a jab to the kidney before dropping to the mat and sliding between Aggart’s legs. The chancellor had already committed to countering the jab, leaving him slow to turn and open to a kick to the back of the knee as Taylor spun around. He leapt onto the bear’s back and got an arm around his neck, but Taylor’s attempt at a choke didn’t last long. Aggart lumbered toward a section of wall covered in knives and maces, forcing Taylor to leap off before being pres
sed against them.

  Desperately wanting to keep the offensive, Taylor raced to get in close until Aggart turned and revealed bright blue veins crisscrossing his chest and reaching up through his neck and around his jaw. The sight stunned Taylor, who became even more dismayed when he landed blows on the chancellor’s chest and ribs that had no impact. Aggart nearly laughed, finally whipping his arm with such force that it knocked Taylor against some rattling swords on the wall even though he blocked the blow.

  He felt like his arm was about to fall off, but that was only the beginning. Aggart drilled him in the stomach and elbowed him in the side of the head. Pressed against the wall, Taylor had nowhere to go, and the swords were cutting into his back. Aggart drubbed the left side of his face and used his other arm to prevent him from falling down. Taylor was bleeding, nearly incapacitated, and wondering how much longer the chancellor would pummel him before accepting that he’d won.

  The blows kept coming, and Taylor found it hard to breathe. No one stayed in the personal guard for long, and not even his energy could do much now to ward off the aching pain that had stricken him. Aggart grabbed him by the front of his uniform and flipped him over his shoulder like a ragdoll. Taylor flew to the middle of the room before colliding with the mat.

  Mercifully, Aggart relented. Taylor found himself able to do no more than peek at the chancellor through the one eye that would open. Aggart scratched his neck and gave Taylor a skeptical glance.

  “You didn’t think you would win, did you?” He exited the sparring room, leaving Taylor still on the floor. No, he didn’t think he would win.

  Taylor wasn’t sure how much time he spent limp on the floor, but eventually he managed to get his feet under him and return to his duty of guarding the chancellor, which seemed more of a joke than ever. Upon entering his office, he found his boss meeting with Chairman Qi Ptock, the one who had pushed the investigation against Taylor’s father to facilitate Aggart’s power grab. Since wiping away the Grand Council, Qi Ptock had taken the role of Chief of Staff.

  Neither of them looked up from their discussion at the desk.

  “Sir, you no longer have any choice but to engage with the election. Mr. Bracken seems to be taking a more professional tack, projecting himself as a leader on the ground, and it appears to be working,” Ptock explained.

  Aggart slammed his fist against the desk, cracking it.

  “I know all about his tact, nothing but lies and steaming piles of shit!” Aggart countered.

  “That may be true,” Ptock said, clearing his throat. “But unless you get out there and hit the campaign trail, there’s nothing to counter it. His numbers are starting to rise and the Megga Media Corporation is fawning all over him. You can no longer sit this one out and expect to win, presuming you intend to respect the results of the election.”

  Chancellor Aggart gave Qi Ptock a piercing glare. Ptock was known for living and dying by the rules, which is what made it such a surprise for the Brackens when they discovered he had abdicated his independence in favor of pushing Aggart’s agenda.

  “This is such damned nonsense. I can’t believe I agreed to this in the first place. The guy is a fool, as green as they come, and now he thinks he can get to me with a few speeches and some bogus publicity stunts. He doesn’t know what it means to have real power, real responsibility. When you’re in this chair, you have to act aggressively to push Cumeria forward. That’s what Triton Kniviscent did, and that’s why I disposed of the squabbling wretches in the Grand Council. If we don’t consolidate power, we’re never going to be able to use it to tackle the real problem: these damned premier families.”

  Qi Ptock swallowed and nodded.

  “You need to get out there and say that in a way that the masses will find palatable. Nothing about consolidating power or using it against the premier families. Stick to Bracken’s weaknesses and how your vision for the country—”

  “Yes, yes, I know what to do,” Aggart said, cutting him off. “Give me some time to think about it. I’ll do some public events, but I’m also going to show this clown that he’s not free to do and say whatever he wants in my country.”

  Qi Ptock standing over him, Aggart procured a sheet of paper and began to write on it, furiously scribbling for a few moments before folding the page and stuffing it into an envelope. Ptock’s dark eyes widened, and he eventually accepted the envelope and held it gingerly between his fingers.

  “Are you sure about this, sir?”

  “Quit asking me stupid questions and get out. I said he’d be left alone, but I didn’t say anything about anyone else.”

  Qi Ptock went for the door beside Taylor, momentarily cringing at his ripening bruises before exiting. As much pain as Taylor was still in, it was nothing compared to the interest he felt over what Aggart was planning for his family. It was risky to do anything more than just stand there, but Taylor couldn’t help it.

  “Excuse me, sir, but what was the letter for?”

  Chancellor Aggart scoffed and shook his head. Perhaps he was in a comfortable mood because of the beating he’d just delivered, and he answered freely.

  “Old Man Bracken’s being held by the Wozniaks, and I had to tell that priss Velo to finish the job before he could get cold feet about it.”

  Taylor swallowed, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop the letter or help his father. Suddenly struck with something he’d heard so long ago, Taylor remembered the words of the Defender, who had told his father that he had more to fear from paper than a sword. That paper had just passed Taylor by, and all he could do was stick to his part of the black contract. He had to find a way to kill the chancellor, and find it quickly.

  Chancellor Aggart was about as reclusive a leader of Cumeria as one could possibly be. He hardly ever left the Spiral, and making speeches from the balcony was a rarity reserved for momentous occasions. But that changed when the election began to heat up, and the chancellor, his senior political operatives, and his entire security detail left the capitol in a cluster of black vans known as the fleet.

  “Giving speeches like this is such a waste of time. The people who show up are the last ones who need to hear it. Winning the chancellorship used to be such a routine affair requiring nothing more than making the biggest promises, mostly to the heads of the premier families, and then shrugging your shoulders when they couldn’t come true while bemoaning political realities,” Aggart said from the front passenger seat.

  In the seat behind him were Qi Ptock, the newly appointed chief investigator Shelman Toggler, and his secretary.

  “Be that as it may, these are extraordinary times,” Ptock counseled. “The old structures are no longer there, and you must make your presence felt by communicating directly with the people. You’ll be taking some questions, as well. Just make them feel like they’ve been heard.”

  The chancellor had done some warm-up events in the vicinity of the capitol, and now they were headed to a larger venue in what was still considered friendly territory. While the pols yammered with the chancellor in the front of the van, Taylor and the rest of the personal guard were in the back looking out the window at the desolate mines and quarries of the OrePlains.

  For as far as the eye could see, hulking steel machinery carved the landscape in search of hematite that could be turned into steel. The sky was bright blue, except where the wind picked up sand and sediment to form ephemeral twisters that rose and fell with the steep rubbly hills.

  Taylor still felt stiff and bruised after his fight with the chancellor, but he perked up at the mention of a disturbing bit of news from one of the other guards.

  “There’s word going around that one of the traitors infiltrated the Guard and managed to transfer into the Toine contingent. They’re looking all over for him.”

  “Where’d you hear that? Those idiots have no idea what they’re doing over at base camp.”

  The conversation in the seat in front of Taylor made him want to shrink to the size of a pea. He had little do
ubt the higher-ups in the Guard were on to him, and if they already knew he’d made it to the capitol it wouldn’t be much longer before they traced him to the chancellor’s security detail. Taylor broke into a cold sweat at the thought of getting caught before finishing his job in time for the rapidly approaching election.

  “Everyone’s talking about it. Somebody is playing us all for fools,” the guard said casually, but he got the attention of Shelman Toggler, the loose cannon with a touch of schizophrenia who had conducted the actual investigation against Taylor’s dad. Toggler getting even a whiff that something was wrong made it even worse, because there was no telling what he’d decide to do.

  “Does anybody know what they’re planning?” the other guard asked.

  “Apparently it involves the chancellor and it can’t be good.”

  Shelman Toggler said nothing, but it was clear from a sudden shake of the head that a light bulb had gone off in his mind. Taylor had little time to lose, but he didn’t have a clue how he could discreetly take out the chancellor with people around him all the time like this. The stress of it started to get to him, and his jaw quivered. The van ran over a rock and jumped, further unsettling him.

  Taylor looked at the front of the van where the chancellor always sat and decided that a well-planned and discreet death that gave him time to get away was no longer an option.

  The event was held at a massive grandstand overlooking tunnels and mines that bore a strong resemblance to the fissures in the ClawLands. The stage had a few chairs setup, a podium, and some brightly colored banners hanging overhead featuring campaign slogans and other propaganda. Along the sides of the venue were elevated platforms for the media’s video cameras.

  Once they’d exited the vans, Taylor and the other members of the security team were assigned the task of searching visitors before they could be admitted to the long stretch of bare rock for people intending to stand or some steel bleachers about fifty yards back from the stage.