Song of Edmon

by Adam Burch

  Now they are all dead. My stomach twists with sickness. What happens that turns men to monsters capable of taking a life so easily?

  Why run, boy? the leviathan in my dreams speaks.

  Suddenly the lights switch off, and I am in darkness. “Mentor?” I ask.

  “Your father has ordered you to cease your exertions. He commands you to enjoy the celebrations or rest and recuperate for your next competition.”

  To the abyss, you son of a whore!

  I stomp through the narrow corridors toward my room. Though I lived a year in darkness, I’ve no desire to return to such a state. The lights turn back on, and I find Lavinia leaning languidly against my door in a low-cut silk kimono.

  “All hail the conquering hero.” Her overt display of sexuality is disconcerting.

  “I don’t have the time, Lavinia.”

  She blocks me from entering. “Does it feel good?” She grabs the back of my head with a small but strong hand and pulls me close to her lips. “Does it feel good to be a killer? The hot blood of the last victim pouring over you? To know you finally have what you always wanted, Father’s love.”

  I want to burst with laughter at her advances, but I’m too sickened. “Edric knows that I didn’t win. I only didn’t lose.”

  Lavinia leans in and kisses me with her cold lips. “You’ve proven your strength. We can rule, you and I together. Let me handle the politics. You can have everything and everyone else.”

  My hands encircle her slender hips. I lift her off the floor and gently remove her from the doorway. “Everyone I want is already dead. Go to bed,” I say coldly.

  “Fool!” she shouts. “I’m your only hope of escape. Otherwise, face your friend in the arena and the civil war that follows. Are you so confident now after killing in one bout?”

  “I killed no one!” I roar. The ensuing beat of silence is deafening.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “They brought me to the arcologies, to a death match in the Under Circuit. Father thought I’d at last be forced to take life in self-defense . . .”

  “And you won, of course.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I evaded them, allowing each combatant to kill one another until only I was the last man standing.”

  “You cheated!”

  “I used the rules against them.”

  “Father must be furious!” She laughs.

  “I can only imagine the celebration upstairs.” We laugh together with mutual hatred. It feels good, but it doesn’t last.

  “You can’t do it indefinitely, Edmon,” she insists. “You won’t kill, so there’s only one other choice. Escape. There’s too much pain for you here. I can help, but you have to help me.”

  I’ve known that my freedom will not come from a physical battle. I’ve known that I would have to wait for my opportunity. Here it has arrived, and all I feel is revulsion. Lavinia’s lust for control and power has spurred her to seek this alliance. She’ll try any tactic to succeed our father. I reach into my pocket.

  It’s time to know the truth . . .

  “You poisoned him, didn’t you?”

  She hesitates, and I know it’s true.

  “Mentor, deactivate all listening and recording devices on the training level,” she says.

  “Affirmative,” Mentor’s metallic voice rings out.

  Lavinia holds my eyes with a dead stare. “We all poisoned him in our own ways, Edmon. Alberich, Edgaard, Phaestion, all the other houses,” she says. “And you.”

  “I was no part of your games. Don’t include me in them now,” I growl.

  “You are part because you refuse to play. It was a year ago, after Perdiccus of House Mughal won the Combat. Edgaard was announced to compete the following year, but Edric wanted insurance. He hedged his bets.”

  He feared for his perfect son’s life.

  “He sought conciliation with Phaestion. There was a feast following the Pavaka. Revels lasted into the night. The bargain was to be the dissolution of your nuptials, our claim to the throne of Wusong removed, and in return, I would wed the heir of House Julii.”

  “You and Phaestion?” I laugh with bitterness.

  “Father promised to provide Wendigo resources and a new fleet of ships to the Juliis’ armada. I would be placed in Phaestion’s court, more spy than wife. Father would buy time.”

  “For?”

  “For Edgaard to win, become an Elector? Who knows?” She shrugs. “It hardly matters. Phaestion refused.”

  “He had no reason to accept. He’s sure of victory.”

  She shakes her head. “No, he refused because he and I had already agreed to end the great Edric Leontes. The poison had already been administered into his food and drink.”

  “Alberich should have been testing the food,” I say.

  “Alberich’s always resented Father for defeating him in the Combat—an unknown peasant ruining his chances at victory? He serves loyally, but not blindly. Phaestion sealed the pact with a kiss laced with the poison’s catalyst during the final couplings of the evening.”

  My face twists, repulsed at the thought of Edric and Phaestion together.

  “Come now, Edmon, the man’s quite beautiful. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She smiles lasciviously. “Father should be dead. I should be Matriarch. A new balance should be struck.”

  “But Edric didn’t die so easily.”

  “And Phaestion reneged. And Edgaard lost. And you came back.” Her voice is frosty.

  “This is sickness,” I say.

  “You’re in the game now! You’ve been in it from the day you were born. You rebelled against being a companion, against Father’s wishes, against the marriage to Miranda. By the ancestors, what did it get you? Your mother lobotomized, your island girlfriend killed—”

  “Careful of whom you speak!”

  “Power rests in your hands. Stop sitting on the sidelines or get the hell out of the game.” She steps toward me. “After tonight, the whole planet will be anticipating your showdown with Phaestion Julii, the greatest aristeia in our history.”

  “Are we done here?” I ask.

  “That’s not what you want, is it?” she asks again. “Father doesn’t understand. No one does but me. Be my ally, and I’ll help you leave this place forever.” She turns and saunters down the hall back to whatever eel pit she swam out of.

  When she’s gone, I pull the aquagraphic cube from my pocket and confirm it captured the audio of the conversation we just had.

  “Bed,” I call out, stepping inside my room. The bed does not come. It’s already extended from the wall with someone on it.

  “My lord?” The voluminous sheets sweep around the woman as she sits up like a goddess sprung from sea foam.

  “Who are you?” The confrontation with Lavinia has dulled my senses. I should have heard the woman’s heartbeat before I even stepped in the room.

  “Lord Edric sent me.” She stands. The sheets fall away, revealing a firm, nubile body. Her hair, the color of spun gold, falls to her shoulders, just above the curve of her ample breasts. “Do I not please you?” she asks coyly.

  “You’re pleasing, but . . .” Elder Stars, I’ve never been good at this.

  “What?” she teases. Her hips sway as she steps toward me. She is curved, but slender and athletic. The perfect Nightsider. She reaches out with a manicured fingernail and traces the contours of my chest. I suddenly feel very exposed. She bites her lower lip. She’s trained for this.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. “No,” I say just as quickly. “I don’t want to know.”

  She smiles and presses her mouth to mine. Her breasts are warm against my chest. I feel her heart beat. My arms wrap around her. This isn’t right, but maybe this is what I need. After years in the cold among the vile rapists of the Wendigo without love, without . . .

  Nadia. Her name whispers in my memory. Nadia. My unborn child. My mother. That was love.

  Gorham. The Maestro. Faria . . .

 
; “No!” I shove the woman away. She crashes into the table and chairs. I’m shocked at my outburst and ashamed. I take a step toward her to help her stand.

  “No, please!” She throws up her hands, terrified.

  I see my reflection in her eyes—my father.

  “Leave, please!” I say. “Quickly!” She grabs her clothes from the floor and flees.

  I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. Lavinia’s right. Play the game or get out of the arena. I pull the aquagraphic cube from my pocket once more. My thumb touches the activator indentation. Opera fills the chamber. My song.

  I was once a boy of Bone. I loved music and dancing. I had a mother and someone I loved. I had a tribe and a people.

  I see a way out. It may just work, but I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been very wrong before.

  The doors of the Wusong throne room open. My father reclines on the throne like the king of death. Two sleepy whores, drunk on the evening’s wine, dote on him. A stringed quartet plunks out spare notes of an electronic tune. The languid vestiges of the celebration.

  “You’ve missed the party, my son,” the dying king croaks.

  “All of you, out!” I shout. “I’ll speak with Lord Leontes alone!”

  I grab one half-naked courtesan by her arm and shove her toward the double doors. She screams. Everyone scatters. Alberich unsheathes a ceremonial dirk.

  “Really?” I sneer. He may remember the spastic little boy he tried to teach on the sands long ago, but we both know that Edmon is gone.

  “It’s fine, Alberich. My son, the victor, wishes to converse.” Edric sounds like a gurgling old toad.

  “I watched out for you, boy,” Alberich warns. “Even when your father would’ve had you executed. Don’t forget that.”

  “I haven’t,” I respond coldly. “Nor have I forgotten who made me watch as my mother was beaten. Or held me down as Nadia’s neck was snapped and her body dropped into the Southern Sea. I thank you for your kindness.”

  Alberich files past me. The doors slam behind him.

  “If you intend to kill me, I wouldn’t bother. You’re fast, but the automated snipers throughout the chamber are faster still. One can’t be too careful these days. And you’ve proven you aren’t ready for the patricide. You think I don’t see you looking for escape? I can’t have that, Edmon.”

  “I haven’t come to kill you, Father. I’ve come to save you.”

  He sits up in his chair, and his bones creak with the effort.

  “I have an offer. Take it and live. Refuse and House Leontes is ruined.” He doesn’t like being ordered? Too bad. “You wish for me to enter the Combat, kill my old friend, take my place as an Elector, and help fulfill your plans for Tao. This won’t happen. Not ever. I’m not your son. I renounce you.” His eyes grow hard, and his jaw sets like stone. “Don’t be angry just yet. You are going to grant me my wish.” I smile.

  The anger boils inside him. He’s about to speak.

  I cut him off. “You believe my taking your place is the only way to save our planet. You believe this because you’re dying and you must see your plans in place before you pass.”

  Coughs rack his body.

  I speak over the hacking. “It’s a false hope. Think, Edric! You may live for years yet, but how many? One? Five? Ten at the most? You trust me to carry forth your plans after you’re gone? The son you hate? Lavinia is self-interested and conniving. She doesn’t share any vision beyond her own lust for power. Edgaard was the son you dreamed of, but Edgaard is dead. Phoebe’s soft and holds little value. Alberich is a servant. And I refuse. No, the only man strong enough to lead House Leontes is you.”

  Through his anger, I see an admiration that I’ve recognized his greatness.

  “I haven’t come to take your place. I’ve come to give you knowledge to help cheat death itself.”

  His brow furrows in confusion.

  “In the Wendigo, there was a man named Faria the Red. I suspect you’ve heard of him. He competed in the Combat over a hundred years ago and forced Chilleus of the Julii to cry for mercy. He taught me the deadly secrets you’ve witnessed me use. The power was not originally created to kill. That is simply how it has been twisted by the weakness of men.” I step closer, baiting him. “Your enemies have poisoned you, aging your body beyond its years. I’ll give you the power to counteract this. With my knowledge, you’ll live much longer, perhaps decades.”

  “You’d gift me this knowledge?” His eyes narrow.

  “For my freedom? Yes.” The only way to destroy you is to be free of you for all time.

  “I’ll teach you to tame the cells within your body. With this power, you can fight the pathogen. It will not be easy, but you are Edric the Leviathan, two-time champion of the Combat. You will do this and then supply me with passage off this world. I’ll fade into the vastness of space. You’ll sire a new son, a better son. In time, no one will remember Edmon Leontes. Do you accept?”

  Silence hangs between us like a thick umbilical cord, waiting to be cut.

  He sighs. “You’ve defied me at every turn, proven that you can turn my greatest hopes into my utmost shame, but House Leontes must survive. At last you are right, Edmon. Only I can do what must be done. Go.” He waves his hand. “We’ll begin tomorrow.”

  I bow and leave the withered king on his throne.

  A faint pulsing twitters beyond the edge of hearing. The rhythm grows as I shift in the blackness of unconsciousness.

  Wake up, Edmon!

  I struggle to open my eyes from a drowsy coma. Eventually, my eyes flit open, and I take in the blurry light of a white room. This is not my bedchamber.

  “He’s returning to consciousness, lord,” a voice says.

  “Leave us,” my father replies to a doctor in a white lab suit.

  What’s happened? I open my mouth to scream, and no sound comes. My view rushes into focus. I’m in a white room with healing tanks and instrument racks. I lie in bed with a monitor reading my vitals. Edric sits at the foot of my bed, his long robes trailing on the floor. He looks like a corpse in midnight blue.

  The last thing I remember was lying in bed, a clicking sound from the wall, and a sudden sting at my neck, my hand quickly flying to the site of the sting.

  I try to speak, and nothing but a faint whisper passes my lips. My father raises a bony hand to quiet me. “After your speech last night, you’ll not be speaking again. Or singing.”

  What? Again, no sound emerges.

  “To cheat death, if only for a few more years, what more could a man like me want? It was a clever offer. I thought about it for a long time. An hour to be exact. For a man who prides himself on split-second cunning, that was an eternity, I assure you.”

  No!

  “I don’t have years to learn as you have had. As a warrior, I accept my fate. What I do not accept is a son who refuses to understand his place or his responsibilities to his people.”

  He doubles over with violent hacking. I watch the old man writhe in silence until he can speak again.

  “A new path must be forged, and I’ve already lost too many sons. You will succeed, Edmon, because I’ve cut off your options. You must become what I’ve made you, or all is lost.”

  My body moves slowly, anesthesia still in my system. I push through it to force my hand to my throat. I feel a smooth, waxy scar, a line that runs the length of my neck from chin to collarbone. How long have I been under?

  “Your vocal cords are gone. You’ll never sing again. You’ll never speak again. You’ll never disobey again.”

  The scream inside my head is louder than any leviathan roar. I push the air out with every ounce of my soul, and all that emerges is a gasp, the merest exhalation of breath. Silent tears batter my cheeks, more devastating than thunder as I shake, not even able to truly sob.

  “When you’ve triumphed in the arena, maybe you’ll find a way to replace what you’ve lost.”

  He’s taken every person I cared for, every hope I ever had, and
torn them to ribbons. Now he’s taken my song. Who am I? I am a mere shell. All the music is gone.

  The old man reaches under his robe and pulls out an elegant, white stick. It looks like an elongated bone. He hands it to me.

  “It may be mistaken for a cane,” he says. “But it is much more.”

  On closer inspection, I see the bone is a scabbard fashioned from sea coral with an ivory inlay.

  “The coral was taken from the reefs near your home. The inlay from the horn of the narwhal . . .”

  I slowly unsheathe a blade.

  “The singing steel was tempered in the forges of Albion. If Phaestion of the Julii has a siren sword, so shall you have one, too.”

  I remember holding Phaestion’s blade as a boy. The metal sings but not joyfully. It is the lament of a siren who has lost her home.

  “It’s based on an ancient Jian design. More refined than a rapier, quicker, and stealthier than a katana . . .”

  The pommel is silver and hollow with a leviathan bisecting the empty space. I’ve seen the design before. The mirror-Edmon in the Arms of Agony held the same sword. How is that possible? The siren steel sends vibrations into my body.

  “She will be your voice now.” The old man stands. “We must see this to the end.”

  CHAPTER 28

  ORACION

  Weeks pass. I move through them lifeless. I eat mechanically. Bathe as if I’m an automaton. I fight as if I am a beast. Perhaps that’s what men are when they are violent—mere animals. Even the extrasensory experiences of my other faculties, which I learned under Faria’s tutelage, seem dulled. I walk in a world of shadow. Only death can end the suffering.