Divine Born

by O. J. Lowe

  “What’re you talking about, you crazy bastard?” Pete had to concur on that, even in his pain fogged state. Cyris sounded like he was rambling, the only thing missing was wild eyes and flecks of drool slipping his mouth. The old man didn’t answer, flung out a fist and clocked his son again, Pete saw Theo’s head snap to the side, rolling with the blow.

  “Charlotte. I loved her. How do you think it feels to know the only woman you’ve ever had feelings for just saw you as a means to an end? As someone to take advantage of? You’ve never had that, Theobald because you’re incapable of love. Just like her.”

  Theo snorted. “You know, I hoped you were going to tell me she’d had an affair and you’re just some stranger to me.”

  “Mister Rodolfo?” Cyris said. “Hurt his friend considerably until he civilises his tongue. Despite what he wishes, he is still my son and I will not have him speak to me like that.” Rodolfo looked down at him, grinned through cracked lips.

  “No hard feelings,” he said, looking Pete in the eyes. “Business, eh?”

  “Get on with it if you’re going to do it,” Pete said, privately amazed by how much he sounded like Theo in that moment. “Don’t apologise for it.”

  “Wasn’t intending to,” the big man said. The first blow hit him in the unguarded stomach. “I don’t do that. Never have.” Another one, Pete would have doubled over if the ropes hadn’t held him upright. A third came raining down on him, followed by a fourth and a fifth, punches not thrown in flurries but carefully placed, considered and deliberate. Each shot landed close to his injured ribs, which if not broken had certainly been fractured. Every movement hurt, his mind all over the place. If he’d ever experienced worse pain, he couldn’t remember it, it dominated every synapse of his brain, every feeling, every sense. He couldn’t remember what it felt like not to experience absolute agony.

  “Damnit, father!” Theo shouted. “What do you want me to say?!”

  “You know what I want from you,” Cyris said. Pete barely heard it, too busy trying not to throw up. His mouth tasted coppery, he’d bitten his tongue hard when that last blow had hit him. “What have I always wanted from you?”

  Theo said nothing, Cyris coughed and the rain of punches died away, Rodolfo stepped back and caressed his knuckles. “I don’t want to have to pay someone else to beat my own son, Theobald, but if your tongue doesn’t loosen then that might be the case.”

  “Go for it,” Theo said. “I’m through with you. Been through with you for a long time but you never seem to want to hear it. It’s all you’re going to get from me. I’m not going to give you a moment, not going to tell you I love you because I don’t. If I outlive you, I’m going to piss on your grave.”

  “Man,” Pete said, slurring his words through his injured tongue. “You two could make a therapist real rich, you know that? He could retire to Carcaradis Island and live out his days in luxury after trying to fix your relationship.”

  “That’d mean him spending his credits where they’d do some good, Jacobs,” Theo said, scorn heavy in his voice. “And the thing about him is, he doesn’t do that. He’ll find some extravagance that does nobody any good at all. A monument to his ego. Because Divines fucking know, there’s enough of it to sate him for the rest of his days without adding more.”

  “You give me too little credit, son,” Cyris said. “I’d love to spare the both of your lives, but I can’t. You’re making it easy for me, I hate to say. Kenzo Fojila will kill me if I don’t take care of you.”

  “And if you were any sort of father, you’d take that risk!” Theo spat, the anger rising in his voice. It’d been there for a while now, Pete had noticed, now it was threatening to bubble up and over.

  “If you were any sort of son, I wouldn’t hesitate. Neither of us have been perfect in our relationship Theobald so you can’t point the blame at me in that regard. Maybe I’m responsible for how you’ve grown, but you’re just as responsible for my own failings. A vicious cycle doomed to repeat forever, I fear. The sins of the past plough the inadequacies of the future, I’m afraid to say. I’d hope you’d understand but you’re both young, you’re only children after all.”

  Cyris reached into his coat, drew out a blaster and shook his head. “It’ll be quick, I can give you that. One final gift from a father to a son.”

  “You’re talking about killing me as a gift,” Theo said. “Just consider that the next time you look in the mirror. You can’t take it back. You kill me, and I hope it haunts you for the rest of your life. I hope you see me in the corner of your eye every time you look away. I hope you have nightmares in which the reality of what you’re about to do sinks in. Just remember, I’ll be gone but not forgotten.”

  “You really think you’d be my first ever kill, Theobald?”

  “I don’t doubt I wouldn’t be. I think your crazy bitch killer friend was right. I think you’ll struggle to pull the trigger on me. You think you’re strong, but you’ve always been weak. You chose to raise hands to a boy who couldn’t defend himself when he was growing up because it was the easiest available option. Why show him a better option when you could take out your frustrations on him? You think I know what you want me to say? I know what you’re going to hear and you’re not going to like it.”

  Pete saw the muscles holding the blaster twitch, saw Cyris’ face go black with anger as he raised it and he decided to act, no matter how much it was going to hurt. Frantically he started to jostle away, trying to break the ropes, smash the chair, anything, legs rocking back and forth. A giant hand came down to him, Rodolfo shook his head. “Not going to happen, boy. You can’t break that.”

  Behind him, Pete heard sounds of wood splintering, the snap of rope being torn apart, and he tried to turn his head to see what was happening, couldn’t quite see. The shriek that broke from Theo was almost inhuman as he hurled himself at Cyris, pushing the levelled blaster aside. Cyris swore, tried to throw a punch, a blow Theo easily batted away with his forearm, no hesitation. He spun, threw a roundhouse kick into his stomach and Cyris went down. Rodolfo let Pete go, turned to face the much smaller man.

  “How’d you break that?” he asked, bemusement in his voice. “Little man.”

  Pete tried to crane his head around, see what was going on, saw Theo looking mussed, blood around his face, his hair covering his eyes, a flicker of steel in his hands. He saw the look in his eyes and just for a moment he could have sworn they had a reddish glow to them, he blinked, and it was gone. Must have been his imagination, he thought, as he saw the light gleam off dull metal. Theo flung himself at Rodolfo, blade pointed at his face, all his weight behind it. The bigger man caught his wrist, drove a fist into his stomach, Theo doubled over and staggered back, Rodolfo followed up on him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Theo rose, stuck the knife in his side and Rodolfo bellowed in pain, tossed the smaller man aside like a ragdoll. As Theo hit the ground, the big man yanked the knife out of his side and tossed it away, didn’t see it land at Pete’s feet.

  Come on Theo, Pete thought as he watched his partner rise to his feet. His legs were wobbling, their training hadn’t exactly covered this. You can do this. Don’t trade blows with him, he’s bigger and stronger than you. You won’t win that way.

  Regardless, that looked to be exactly what Theo was going to do, dipped in and hit Rodolfo on his injured side. The roar of pain shook the walls, Rodolfo threw out both hands, fingers trying to grab Theo who ducked under them and hit the huge man in the stomach with a shoulder barge. Pete winced as he saw it hadn’t had the desired effect, Theo bounced off and almost lost his footing. Rodolfo grinned at him, brought back his foot, winding up for a kick and Theo jerked his head out the way, the blow catching him in the shoulder instead. He yelled out, the force propelling him to the ground, Pete watched him roll out the way as Rodolfo followed up with driving a fist into the floor where he’d been a moment earlier. Theo reacted, spun out with a kick to the bigger man’s head, jumped back to his feet, hands up in front of him
in a defensive stance. Blood spattered the floor, gushing out of Rodolfo’s side, the carpet slick with it.

  Pete braced himself, threw his body forward, rocked the chair on its legs. Fire blazed through him, fresh agony trying to halt him in his actions. A whine slipped his lips, he tried to push it down, brush it off and just fall forward. If he could get to Theo’s knife, he could cut himself free. How useful he’d be in fighting Rodolfo, he couldn’t say, but he’d give Theo a better chance even if he was just distracting. Unable to guard his face, he tried to turn it aside, so he didn’t land nose first, his body complaining at the manner of his landing. Not the most dignified position he’d ever been in. He tilted himself to the side, trying to fall on his uninjured half, his hands missing any sort of way to get the knife. Even twisting hurt, he just wanted it to be over but the part of him that was a realist knew that wasn’t going to happen. His hands closed around the hilt of the knife, a flush of triumph ripped through him as he tried to adjust it to sever his bonds.

  Always a way to get yourself free. Always an opportunity will prevent itself. Those days when they’d all been secured at the academy, forced to find a way free, they suddenly felt like they hadn’t been wasted. The blade met rope and he felt triumph as he started to saw away at them.

  Rodolfo had risen again, his face contorted with ghoulish anger and stained with blood. He didn’t look human, an ogre of old rising to face a warrior eager to slay him. The big man hurled a fist at Theo, he ducked aside, threw a kick to the back of his leg, missed his knee by inches. Rodolfo barked with pain, grabbed at him again, Theo ducked back, weaved out the way and drove a foot into his stomach. Pete didn’t see, continued to saw away at the rope, determined he was going to get it off him before long. Good rope, he had to admit. He didn’t know how Theo had done this so easily and quickly, not when Cyris had been hitting him.

  Speaking of Cyris, he could see him trying to rise over the other side of the room, his face woozy with pain. How hard had Theo hit him? More to the point, how much had he enjoyed hitting him that hard? The irony Theo had probably launched his best punch against someone he probably didn’t need to hit that hard wasn’t lost on him.

  Come on, break! Break!

  One rope snapped, he felt the twinge of triumph, the rest of them loosening. Come on!

  Rodolfo had lost any sense of tactics or skill now, his face warped with fury and he’d abandoned finesse in favour of going after Theo, throwing punches left and right to try and get him. Theo, to his credit, had gone on the defensive, weaving and ducking out the way, trying to evade anything that came too close to him. One blow bounced off his arm and Pete heard him gasp with pain, all he could do to sway out the path of the follow-up blow that grazed his side.

  Come on! His muscles were starting to complain, he sucked it up and ignored them, continued to work and work, not giving up, determined not to fade. The snap of the rope breaking had never felt so satisfying, the crack and the release as it tore the best feeling he’d experienced in a long time. He pulled his arms free, rose to his feet gingerly. Rodolfo hadn’t noticed him, still trying to beat Theo to death. For once, his partners stubborn nature was working for him, he looked terrible, but he hadn’t given up. Giving up would be the easy thing, accepting death.

  Who really accepted death in a situation like this? That thought flashes across his mind as he lumbered towards Rodolfo, not even entirely sure what he was going to do as he approached him. There were plenty of ways to disable him non-lethally, sever the tendons in his legs so he couldn’t walk, stab him in the spine for the same effect. So many choices and not enough time to make them. Theo had already stabbed him, and it hadn’t taken. More than that, Rodolfo had realised he was there, Pete was already on him and he was just too slow…

  Instinct took over, the knife swept up into his throat, metal triumphing over skin and cartilage and Rodolfo’s eyes widened in shock as the blood started to gush out of him.

  Just like that, he’d killed a man for the first time. Rodolfo wasn’t dead, not quite yet, but he wasn’t getting up from it. Reality hadn’t caught up with the fact yet, Pete wasn’t going to rush for medical help for him. He’d be dead by the time they got here.

  Theo coughed. “About bloody time you did that.”

  “You’re welcome,” Pete said, watching him pick up the blaster. “Where the hells did you get the knife from?”

  Theo said nothing, pointed the blaster at Cyris who’d made his move, heading for the door. “Oi! Where do you think you’re going, father dear?” The tone in his voice worried Pete more than he’d like to admit, it was the tone of a man who’d given into sadism, he knew he was going to have to do something horrific and he was privately looking forward to the idea.

  “Theo!”

  He didn’t hear him, just let a shot go right in front of Cyris, his hand on the knob. “I’m not the best shot ever. Not yet.” That probably passed for humility from him, Pete thought. He took a step closer to him, not entirely sure what he was going to do yet. “Might hit you, might not. Might kill you, might just cripple you for life. Hard to say but do you really want to take that chance, dad?”

  “Theobald, you wouldn’t shoot your old man, would you?” Cyris said, turning away from the door. He put his hands up slowly, an uneasy grin on his face. “I mean, we’ve got so much history…”

  “All of it bad.”

  “Not all of it terrible,” Cyris continued, his voice taking on a soothing tone. Pete could tell he was wasting his time, it didn’t even look to be having the slightest effect on his son. “I mean, I didn’t do too bad. Look at you. You were nearly a champion. You’ve got the power of life and death in your hands here. What I did as a parent can’t have been that bad.”

  Theo said nothing. The blaster wavered in his hand.

  “I mean, like you said earlier. You can’t take this back. You pull that trigger and it’s over. I’m gone from your life forever. You’ll have to live with it for the rest of your days.”

  “Are you trying to dissuade me or encourage me?” Theo asked. “Because you’re doing a terrible job of persuading me not to.”

  “Theo, I’m appealing to your better nature. Don’t do it for me, do it for yourself. Do you really want to kill me and taint your soul forever? You do it and you’ll be broken inside.”

  “I already am,” Theo said, resignation in his voice. “You did that. You made me what I am and that’s not something you should be proud of. I’m your greatest success and your biggest failure. That’s your legacy, you know that? One of failure at the very basic level.”

  Cyris smiled at him. Pete slowed down, he truly didn’t want to put himself between father and son. It’d be suicide. Theo looked like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. Cyris looked like he’d been part expecting it.

  “Down on your knees,” Theo said. “Put your hands behind your head.”

  “Dear me, are you really going to try and arrest me? Do you have the authority for that? I see no official identification, no declaration of purpose. You barge in here, I was well within my rights to defend myself. Mister Rodolfo got a little overzealous, but you can’t argue with a man like him. Well, you couldn’t. Even if he didn’t have that gaping wound in his throat, he wouldn’t be doing much talking now.” Regardless of the words, he complied, slumped to his knees slowly and placed his hands behind his head, interlocking his fingers.

  “You’ve got a history…” Pete offered up, he didn’t even believe the words that came out of his mouth as Cyris laughed.

  “Everyone has a history, Mister Jacobs. Do you recall a certain dragon in the town of Threll and your associate, Mister Taylor? He still owes me that beast, I wanted it for myself. I never forget my history, Mister Jacobs for it is a memory of debt that separates us from the beasts and the savages.”

  “You should write motivational speeches,” Pete said. “I reckon you’d make a killing at that.”

  “I did at everything else. As to my history, full pard
on for services rendered to the kingdoms. It was a nice ceremony, they gave me a medal for my part in providing intelligence on Claudia Coppinger and her associates. Very shiny. I keep it in pride of place at home. I was a Divine-praised hero.”

  “Home invasion is not trumped by torture, father,” Theo said. “They’re going to lock you up again. You think a pardon means they forgot about you? It just means the moment you give them a reason to, they’re going to throw away the key and about fucking time too. You won’t get away with it this time.”

  “Theobald,” Cyris said, looking up at his son, their eyes meeting. His voice remained steady as he spoke, not a hint of emotion there. “Your mother… I wish I’d never met her.”

  Pete saw what he was going to do, even before he did it, saw the hardening of his partner’s mouth, the fury screaming across his face, the twitches in his muscles and the flash of the muzzle as the blaster discharged. Cyris’ head snapped back, and he hit the ground, a pair of unseeing eyes staring at Pete, a third bloody one glaring at him accusingly.

  The shout died in his throat. He couldn’t speak, his mouth felt dry, horribly stale and he couldn’t take his eyes away from Theo. His partner looked at the weapon in his hand, blew on the barrel, knocked the smoke away from it before sliding the safety up and sticking it in the waistband of his trousers.

  “Do you think,” he started to say, “this is going to affect whether we pass or fail the test?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two. The Cycle Stays the Same.

  “You might want resolution, but I’m afraid, boys and girls, life doesn’t work like that. Not everything gets tied up in a neat bow, no matter how much you might hope it so. Does one story end? Absolutely. Does another start? Of course. We are all a part of life’s great picture, we each play our part, and, in a way, our stories never truly end. They carry on through our actions, those we leave behind. Remember every new beginning is some beginning’s end.”