‘It’s over, Wynn. The Draig fleet’s gone. And, when you’re better, the Li Zhang family want to talk to you about an alliance, something that lasts this time, between you, them and the others.’
‘Li Zhang? But . . . they’re with Draig.’ Wynn began to cough, his chest burning.
‘Easy . . .’ Bara soothed. ‘The details can wait. We’ll go over everything when you’re well.’
She stood to leave, hesitating by the edge of his bed.
‘It’s okay,’ Wynn said quietly. ‘You can say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘That you want to leave.’
Bara tried to keep her composure, but it was as if Wynn had opened a cellar of long-suppressed pain. She sat on the bed, her head in her hands as she sobbed. Awkwardly, Wynn put his arms round her, holding her until the moment had passed.
‘Bara . . . I love you, never forget that,’ Wynn said, his own face lined with tears, ‘but I don’t want to make you unhappy.’ He heard his own words, feeling like he was listening to someone else say them.
‘I love you too, Wynn, but it’s not enough. I’m not made for a life of duty and ceremony. I can’t live this way, it’s just not me.’
‘I know . . . and I can’t leave my people.’
She nodded. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’
‘I wish . . . I wish I could have been better. You deserve better.’
Bara closed her eyes, shaking her head, unable to speak. Wynn gazed at her beautiful face, memorizing every line, then he reached out and took her hand. They said nothing, sharing a silent goodbye.
‘Where will you go?’ Wynn asked at last.
She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I have the Gallus. I’ll travel for a while, find somewhere that feels like home.’
‘The Benwick?’
Bara recoiled at Wynn’s question. ‘Why there?’
He smiled, but his eyes were full of sadness. ‘Feels like . . . feels like it could be a home for you.’
She turned away, wiping her face. ‘I’ll wait till you’re better, till all of this is over, give you time . . .’
Wynn shook his head. This was the hardest thing he’d ever done. ‘Go . . . Be happy. Don’t wait. I’ll be fine.’
‘No,’ she replied, determined, her brow furrowed.
‘Go tonight, please. Don’t draw this out, I couldn’t bear it. It’s too hard to have you near.’
Bara relented, nodding. She leaned forward and kissed him, lingering with her cheek next to his, her tears on his skin, and then she stood. Their hands parted, and Bara Delaterre walked away.
NAMING
Wynn took a breath, inhaling deeply, testing his remaining lung. Bara had been right, it had adjusted well, compensating for the loss. His injuries were healed, on the outside at least, and the Caerleon’s repairs were almost complete.
‘Ready?’ Gofal asked. He looked taller than usual, his crimson cape of office worn proudly across his broad shoulders.
‘Yes,’ Wynn replied. This was the first time he’d worn his formal uniform since his injury and he felt confined, as if it was holding him back. But it was important that he look the part. He was Prince Halstead of the House of Kenric.
The doors opened, and Wynn, Gofal and their entourage stepped into the large meeting room of the Carter & Grey shipyard. The last time he’d been on this station he was holding a gun, pointed at the Chair of the board. Today was different; he was an invited guest, here to discuss peace, not war. This was the first formal meeting of the new alliance, and it pleased him that it was happening here.
The others were already there: Lady Addington of the House of Addington, Genshu Nakamura, the new leader of the House of Li Zhang, Chief Sinclair from the Clan Sinclair, and Faron Dulac of the House of Dulac. Wynn greeted them each in turn, feeling a pang of regret as he shook Faron’s hand.
‘You look well,’ Faron said with a warm smile.
Wynn laughed. ‘In time. How is the Benwick?’
‘Repairs continue,’ Faron said, his face full of sadness. ‘Eight thousand people dead. We still mourn but, as you say, in time . . .’
‘Yes, in time we all heal.’
‘Or forget the pain.’
‘True. Some wounds never really heal, do they?’
Faron lowered his head, avoiding Wynn’s unflinching gaze.
‘How is Bara?’ he asked.
At first, he thought that Faron might deny it, or change the subject, but after a moment of hesitation he replied. ‘She is well.’
Wynn nodded. ‘Is she happy?’
‘In time.’
‘Good,’ Wynn replied. He turned away for fear of showing his emotions and saw Gofal watching him.
‘The meeting is ready to begin,’ Gofal said, offering a seat to Wynn.
‘Do we have a name yet?’
‘For the alliance?’
Wynn nodded. The small details had proved the hardest to agree on. Everyone was happy with the broad strokes of the proposed alliance, but no one had yet agreed on what to call it. Family names had been dismissed as too biased in favour of one member, so something new had to be found. It infuriated Wynn that they could agree on terms of trade, territory and security, they had even helped each other overcome the shortage of enixium ore caused by Valine’s manipulation, but something as insignificant as a name had proved so divisive.
‘Chief Sinclair suggested the Harvest Union.’
Wynn looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
‘Today is the first of September, also known as the harvest month back on Earth. The word suggests a coming together for mutual benefit, to reap the crops we have sown. Chief Sinclair has always been somewhat romantic, but I think the name is apt.’
Wynn smiled. ‘The name doesn’t matter, it’s what we do together that counts.’
‘True, but names can convey an expectation or an intent. They can be self-fulfilling, they have power.’
Chief Sinclair stood, and the room became silent, ready for the meeting to begin. He smiled, addressing them warmly, but Wynn only half-listened, his mind elsewhere. Gofal’s words seemed to infest his thoughts. It had been almost three years since the destruction of the Obsidian, since the day he’d met Bara, but so much had changed in that short time. He pictured himself before that day, and it was like looking at a child. He was changed now, different in so many ways. He was no longer Wynn, the boy prince. It was a nickname from childhood, a term of affection used by those closest to him. But now he was a man, and perhaps that name belonged to another time. After all, names have power, so Gofal said.
Chief Sinclair sat down, offering the floor to Wynn, but he was still elsewhere.
‘Wynn,’ Gofal prompted.
He looked at him, suddenly aware of the room again. ‘Don’t call me that anymore,’ he said. ‘My name is Prince Halstead.’
HOME
Bara stared out of the window at the Ark Royal Caerleon. It was the first time she’d seen it since her departure three months ago. It seemed smaller now, the color of its hull not quite as vivid as she had remembered it, the burnished surface marked and worn. It drifted by the Benwick, close enough for her to pick out the pinprick light of individual windows, and she felt the irrational fear of being watched, as if a thousand eyes were looking back at her, judging her for being on the wrong arkship. She pulled the curtain over the window and returned to the seating area, curling up in the soft embrace of cushions and rugs.
She pictured the meeting, wondering what Wynn had said to Faron. She would know soon enough; Faron had signaled to say he was returning soon. His shuttle would come home, and they would talk about the meeting over a simple meal eaten cross-legged on the floor.
Home.
She had started to use that word again. For the first time since the destruction of Melchior she had begun to feel safe, living here. She felt happy. But then the burden of her discovery came back to into her mind, splintering the hope for peace and order. She could no longer avoid the truth of the scans
; she was starting to show. Her hands moved to her stomach, a protective instinct to hold the new life that grew there, and she wondered what Faron would say. She would tell him after the meal, when he was rested. She prayed that he would understand, that she could count on his support, but she didn’t know him well enough to know how he would respond. Sol! She didn’t want to go through this alone.
And then there was Wynn. She carried his son, the heir to the House of Kenric, the prince-in-waiting. She would have to tell him soon, he deserved to know, but for now Bara wanted to keep this to herself.
She smiled, feeling content, not caring about the trials of the future. Right now, it was just Bara and her son. She would enjoy this next hour, knowing it would be the last time before she would have to share him with others.
CHAOS
Scribe Akito Mori walked briskly through the secretive corridors of Icarus’ lower levels, feeling the terrible weight of his new role, today more than ever. He had wanted to be Scribe since he had joined the Church, his ambition and drive pushing him up the ladder, seizing opportunities as they arose, until he had finally been given the role he coveted so much. But, now that he had been given the title, albeit on a temporary basis until Scribe Barrahaus could be found, he realized he had been chasing a hollow dream. This wasn’t the job he thought it was, it didn’t fill the need for validation he’d always desired, and now there was nowhere left to go. He was at the top of the ladder, looking down.
He had hoped this morning’s visit to R113 might have cheered him up, but all he found there was more bad news. His appointment as Scribe should have settled the recent fluctuations in the Church’s plan, but if anything, the deviations were getting worse. The plan was at a critical juncture, and he did not want to be the Scribe who oversaw a period of chaos. Mori wanted his page in history to be kind to him.
As he carried on towards the infirmary he tried to put his doubts to one side. The nurse was there at the door, waiting to meet him with a nervous smile on his young face.
‘He’s awake?’ Mori asked, skipping the formal greeting the nurse would have expected.
The man – his name was Marcus, Mori recalled – bowed, then fixed his eyes on Mori’s shoulder, refusing to look any higher. ‘Scribe, thank you for coming.’
He opened the door and Mori entered, following the nurse to the small room with the injured patient. As he stepped into the space, Mori stopped, caught in the raging glare of the patient’s eyes. Wires radiated out from the man’s body, snaking to beeping monitors and life-support equipment. He was immobile, still healing, but Mori saw the vivid spark in that face, making him seem the most alive of the three men in the room.
‘Do . . . do you know who you are?’ Mori asked, approaching the patient.
‘He can’t speak,’ Marcus explained, ‘not yet. But he seems cognizant. He is aware of himself and his surroundings. We’ve managed to communicate using a keyboard to answer some of his questions.’
Mori gasped. ‘You . . . you have answered his questions?’
‘Yes, but they were basic–’
‘Sedate him!’ Mori hissed. ‘Now!’
Marcus fumbled, finding the appropriate drug, then administered it into the patient’s arm. All the while those burning eyes glared at Mori, naked loathing that picked at his soul. Slowly, the man’s eyelids became heavy, and the spark of hatred faded away.
‘You do not speak to him, understand?’ Mori said once he was certain the man was unconscious. ‘I thought my instructions were very clear.’
‘Sorry, I just presumed . . .’ Marcus shook his head, realizing his folly. ‘It will not happen again.’
‘He knows where he is?’
‘Not exactly. He knows this is a Church facility, but that is all.’
‘And he has confirmed his identity?’ Mori asked, his voice edged with nervous tension.
‘We had already established that through his DNA records, but he has corroborated our identification, yes.’
‘So, it’s true,’ Mori said in a cautious whisper. ‘That is Orcades Draig, the former Valtais of the House of Draig.’
Marcus nodded, holding his pad to his chest, as if in protection.
‘Leave me,’ Mori demanded.
The nurse obeyed, closing the door behind him.
Scribe Mori edged closer to the patient, his spine tingling. ‘I’m supposed to kill you,’ he whispered. ‘The former Scribe’s instructions were implicit. If you were to regain consciousness before her return, I was to snuff out your life.’ He stood over the bed, feeling braver now. ‘She was scared, you see? She knew what a threat you might be to the future, to the plan. But you don’t look so tough now, do you?’
He reached out with his finger and touched the man’s cheek. Orcades Draig remained silent and still. Mori smiled with relief and pulled up a chair. ‘But things have changed. The old Scribe . . . I don’t think she’s coming back. It’s been months now. I think it’s down to me, and I can’t be held to a promise to a former Scribe, can I?’
Mori waited, wondering if the man could hear him. ‘The new Valtais, she has started a civil war, you see? The House of Draig has fractured, and their fighting threatens to drag us all into chaos. The plan is in flux. Someone must stop her . . . someone has to reunite the House of Draig and bring stability to the plan. You can do that, Orcades, can’t you?’
The man’s heart rate monitor beeped a little faster, then it returned to its languid pace.
‘I will set you free,’ Mori said as he stood up. ‘I will give you a ship. The rest I leave to you and the will of the gods.’
The story continues in book 4,
Arkship Conquest
Pre-order now!
AUTHOR’S NOTES
It’s hard to believe this is the third novel in the Arkship Saga. I’m glad the series has found a dedicated readership – that’s you! It means I can continue to write and explore in this vast playground. And there are plenty of stories to tell. These three books chronicle the first chapter in Prince Halstead’s reign, but there is a lot more story to come. You read that last chapter, right? So you probably know where book four is headed. There’s a score to settle between Kenric and Draig, new alliances to be made, new battles to be fought, and the small matter of Bara’s child, not to mention Gofal’s exploration of his gift, the machinations of the Church and the true nature of the Infinite Gods. I’m also contemplating a prequel series that would chart the last days of Earth, the destruction caused by the Fracture and the formation of the Cluster. But I’m getting ahead of myself!
For now, let me just say a huge thank you for buying and reading the first three books. If you’d like to see more stories, then you can help by leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews make the book more discoverable (is that a word?) and bring new readers to the Cluster.
Thanks as ever to my amazing family, especially my wife, Diane and my two daughters. Thanks also to supportive friends like Barry Hutchison, Chris Chatterton, Bryan Hitch and Nick Cook. A final thank you must go to my ARC team and other early readers for their insightful feedback, especially B Allen Thobois, Conor Daly and Michael Slezak.
Book four is called Arkship Conquest and is due out in May 2018. If you want to know more about it, then sign up to my mailing list newsletter! You’ll get regular updates on my writing, sneak peeks of cover art, free stories plus lots more.
Thanks again, I hope you’ll be back for the next part of the saga.
Best wishes,
Niel Bushnell
February 2018
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