by Kyle Olson
One by one, letters appeared in a blank window on her phone. Once the letters had been assembled, she read over the lone word. Satisfied, she hit send and away the message went.
Apologies.
That matter settled, she stuffed the phone back into her pocket and turned her attention to the matter at hand with a clearing of her throat.
“Now then, where were we?”
Seated across the steel table from her was a man, caked in grime, sweat, and dried blood. He glared at her with all the hatred he could muster. He’d not been bound, for there was no need.
“The Marshal herself comes to interrogate me, then stops to check her phone,” he sneered, “Unreal.”
“Some things are more important,” Sejit said in a calm, almost monotone way.
She paced back and forth, her reflection in the one-way mirror following her as she traced a rut into the smooth concrete floor between it and the table. The man, whose name she’d already forgotten, or maybe it was that she never bothered herself about it to begin with, kept glancing past her. It was as if he was attempting to divine who the observers might be on the other side of the glass.
“You still haven’t told me what you want,” said the man.
“Because we both know the question. I will keep this brief: I am here because I do not have the patience to go through the usual process in these matters. The bombings will stop.”
The disheveled man laughed, hoarse and wheezy, “You’d be better off with your thugs asking the questions.”
“I disagree,” Sejit said, hands clasped to the small of her back. She tilted her head just so.
“Your fraudulent election means nothing! Your wealth cannot buy your way out of this, like it bought your votes! We will not be stopped!”
“Is that so? Already, any support you had evaporated after that latest incident with the office building that fell upon the school.”
The prisoner shook his head, “That was not us.”
“I know,” Sejit said, plain as always, “A good thing, however, that your bomb detonated prematurely in the middle of the night. It is lamentable that a few cleaning staff were killed, but the alternative could have been so much worse. Even so, none among the old guard, no matter how ardent, could tolerate your actions. Quite a number have come to my side as a result. I must say, the results have been better than I could have hoped for.”
His mouth hung open and he bolted upright, knocking the chair over. “You know? That was your doing, wasn’t it? You’re insane! We were right to oppose you! You’ve just admitted to… Are they all so deep in your pocket?!” He thrust a finger at the mirror.
“Do not worry, we are quite alone.”
“And yet you left me unbound? Hah! You might be a giant, but I’ve faced far worse,” He flexed his hands, bringing them up into a boxer’s stance, “Perhaps now is the time to strike the head from the serpent.”
Sejit made the face of a master who has been challenged by a child. Boredom mixed with annoyance. “I would not advise it. In fact, you should be honored we are even discussing. Normally, when I question a mortal who has been a thorn in my paw, there is not nearly so much give and take. There are questions from me, yes, but more often than not a great deal more screaming from the subject. But,” she sighed, as if she’d only accepted a fact with reluctance, “Information extracted under torture is often inaccurate.”
“So, what, the Marshal,” he said, hissing the word as if it were a curse, “Is to torture me herself? How deep does your villainy run? No matter. Do your worst. Your lackeys already attempted. But I will not go so easy!”
“Did I not just say—”
He shot forward, upending the table to serve as a distraction and shield in one as he came up over it, intending to take down Jasmine Reith.
Sejit observed his antics. One hand was a fist, the other arm outstretched to trap her in a hold after he’d dealt her a stunning blow. Not a bad attack, considering the injuries and pains he bore from the less-than-kind treatment at the hands of his captors would slow anyone.
When he was within range, she simply shoved him back. It was meant to be just a playful thing, but he flew backwards, crashing into the overturned chair and concrete floor. Gasps of shock slid from between clenched teeth and he gaped like a fish out of water, the breath knocked from him by the impact.
She righted the table and took a seat on its edge, elbows resting on her knees, to look down upon the thing writhing beneath her. Patient she waited until his spasms subsided and he was capable of speaking.
“I would not advise attempting that again,” she said, traces of irritation working their way into her words.
“We, we will not stop,” he said, breathlessly.
“That is the plan. I need your little pack of feral beasts to continue stirring up trouble, albeit in a controlled fashion. So long as you exist, the mortals have something to rally against. Every atrocity you commit brings more into the fold. I would thank you, were it still not incredibly aggravating to deal with.”
“We were right to oppose you, demon bitch! You’re mad, completely mad. A tyrant the likes of which the world has not seen in decades.”
He tried to spit but could manage little more than to drool down his chin.
“Bitch? The most offensive part of that is you have the wrong species,” she said, steepling her fingers between her knees, “Our conversation has already grown tiresome. You will tell me who has been financing your operation.”
“I will never tell. Do your worst.”
“My worst,” she said, as if tasting the words, “Is beyond the limits of your mortal mind to comprehend.”
“Three times now you’ve said ‘mortal’. It did not take long for power to corrupt you.”
She hopped off the table and squatted next to him. He made a feeble attempt to throw a punch, but it was turned aside like the playful swat of a kitten.
“They tried water-boarding, dehydration, and even put you in a hole in the ground out in the desert for some time. For a mortal, that is impressive. Perhaps you have had training to resist torture? Perhaps your idealism is a farce? You are no doubt a foreigner. Your documents were perfect, but that is their flaw.”
He said nothing, which spoke volumes.
“But, even mortals have their limits. You could be flayed, slowly, starting with your toes. Modern medical technology would be effective at preventing infection from setting in, at keeping you alive until all your skin was removed.”
The man swallowed, “Monster! I will tell you nothing!”
“Such things take time, however, and my patience is thin,” Sejit said, leaning in close, “If you do not tell me now, not only will you be brought to ruin,” her voice ascended, growing angrier and louder with each syllable, “but your family and your family’s family, any who knew you, and the squalid stretch of a miserable nation you called home will be reduced to a barren wasteland.”
“Hah! Yosel’s military is weak. Your threats mean nothing.”
“You misunderstand,” Sejit said, voice returning to a strained calm, “My nation would play no part.”
“Mad bi—”
Her hand lashed out like a cobra, wrapping around his throat and hoisted him into the air where he squirmed and gagged for breath. His fingers scrabbled and clawed at her hand, but her grip was surer than steel. Where ragged nails bit and drew blood, the wound healed over almost before blood had time to rise to the surface.
Skin sprouted golden fur. Her hand found new strength and surged in size, each finger ending in a murderous talon. The ground shook, clattering the few bits of steel furniture in the room. Dust and sand from the floor whipped round her in a whirlwind.
In desperation he clung to her arm, to lift himself up. But, in so doing, he allowed himself the opportunity to gaze into her eyes. He wished he hadn’t. People didn’t have eyes like that. They pierced his thoughts, devoured sanity, and drew him into their grasp. Fear like he’d never known was born from a singular truth
echoing in his mind: She was desolation. In her gaze he witnessed the fall of his nation, his people, and everyone he had ever cared for, just as she had promised. The beast within those eyes growled at him, licking its chops. It was all he could do to keep his trembling hands on her arm to support himself.
“You have one last fleeting moment, mortal,” she bellowed in a voice that straddled the line between human and beast.
“C,Co—” He tried to gasp out, but his words and breath were failing him.
Sejit released her hold, spilling him to the ground like a sack of meat. “Go on.”
“Co, Coanphany,” he managed to croak, clutching at his throat, “They are funding th-the rebels, and sent a few of us to, to train them…”
Coanphany. I should have known. I have been expecting him to act, but no, this is not his style.
She stepped forward. He recoiled like a frightened puppy.
“Who gave the order?”
“Char, Charzan Higit, head of the ISA contacted us himself,” he said, still wheezing, “Hand-picked several men from special forces units.”
He reports directly to Ifon. There is no way Ifon is ignorant of this. I know him better than this. Or do I? Or… is it possible he is working with someone? That must be it.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Sejit lashed out at the table with a fierce kick, hurling it into the wall with such force it took a chunk out of the concrete and snapped the welds on the legs, sending them pinwheeling through the air where they each took out chips of their own in other walls. The simpering thing at her feet drew himself into a ball.
She huffed, snorting in deep breaths.
Composure. Patience. Restraint. Control. Strength.
She closed her eyes. Seconds later, her breathing returned to normal.
More than ever I need answers. Sophia’s progress is too slow. Should I bring her back? No, not until I ascertain Tess’ motives. Respond, damn you!
The unique sound of someone who was trying with every fiber of their being to be silent caught her attention, brought her back to the present.
“Return to the hovel from whence you crawled,” she commanded, “Continue as if you escaped your captors by some miracle. But,” her teeth snapped together like the jaws of a predator around its prey, “You will sabotage their efforts, re-direct them. Keep your cell in the headlines, but know that if another bomb, another incident damages anything or anyone of value, I will exact my price.”
The man nodded furiously from a position on all fours, forehead beating against the cement.
“Leave!”
He was unsure, for a moment, but wasted no further time in obeying his new master. Scrabbling across the room, he found the steel slab of a door unlocked and bolted down the hall.
Everything is going to shit and every day that passes only hurries it along. This is testing me more than I ever thought possible. Perhaps it will be best to advance my plans, if only to unsettle Ifon and whoever else may be scheming in the shadows. Perhaps…
Deep in her heart, an emotion she had not experienced in centuries weighed down upon her.
Will I fail Tarkit?
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The phone in Tess’ pocket buzzed.
She’d left her business phone… somewhere, not that it mattered, since she’d been specific that she was not to be contacted and wouldn’t respond to anything during her much-needed and lengthy vacation. Only a few people had her personal number, and considering several of them were in the same house as her at the moment, that narrowed the possibilities.
She fished it from her pocket, curious and eager to see what the message might be.
A single word.
It made her doubt her own eyes, despite the fact her vision was a step above perfect. If someone had offered Tess a wager about whether or not a certain lion goddess would have apologized, she’d have bet her entire fortune without a shred of doubt. Good thing she never placed that wager.
It should have been a pleasant surprise, at the least, and a huge victory at best, yet all it did was leave her disquieted and unsure.
Her resolve had gone through two amendments already, and now, it’d have to be scrapped altogether. Maybe her original idea wasn’t so great, after all.
Or maybe that was just herself making excuses, finding reasons to go back to being Tess.
What do I do?
I need her. Or do I? If I don’t use her, will she use me?
Ifon? Daontys?
What
Do
I
Do?
A shadow offered its wisdom. You must do what you must, what you feel is right.
What is right?
The shadow shook its lupine head and departed on the same ephemeral stream from which it had come.
“Fuck!”
She stomped to her feet from the chair, phone held in an outstretched hand, mere moments from being hurled. In the quiet of Tarkit’s living room, Tess slumped back down. In her solitude, she lowered her head, cradling it in her hands, elbows on her knees.
Maybe it wasn’t such a hard decision, maybe she just thought it was.
Maybe she was thinking about it all wrong.
Maybe the question she had to answer first was something completely different.
Who is Sejit to me?
She fell into a long thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
After all the ruckus with assassinations and bombings, the international community had the chance to relax collectively release their held breath. Somewhat, anyways. Yole Manick’s death had the entire region alleging Coanphany was responsible, from sternly worded private communiques to consuls in closed embassies to open accusations made on the floors of parliaments and in throne rooms. Which was, to those in the know, rather droll since it was the last thing Ifon wanted to happen. Coanphany’s other neighbors, smelling an opportunity for concessions, began making demands, with much of the barking coming from their southern neighbor, Skannag.
Demands like being allowed to conduct their own, independent investigation into Coanphany’s possible involvement to ascertain if there was evidence of corruption and crimes against their international neighbors.
Which anyone investigating any underground links to any government would be sure to find.
Making demands of Ifon could only end in one way, and yet they were always so surprised by the result.
The world had managed to make it nearly a month without some international crisis.
In Yosel, the full assembly had been gathered—Even those ministers and governors that would’ve been on business, on vacation, or simply abroad. This led to a general malaise at the Assembly Floor, this and that politician complaining about how Jasmine was abusing her authority already.
They have yet to see real abuse, Sejit mused, taking in the few dozen men gathered.
From her box and podium at the center of the half-circle of seats, the Marshal stood at perfect attention, her bearing as sharp as her dress. The top generals seated in the military council’s box behind her were in awe of their new head of state, especially after the sad condition of Julian in his last years. That wasn’t the only reason they were in awe. They already knew what she was planning and had already pledged their support.
The old warbirds had been easy to convince. Wasn’t just glory and profits, but they felt an attraction to her. Not sexual, or even friendly, but like she was their kin. Being around her made them feel young again, men half their age.
The speaker banged his little gavel, bringing a hush to the proceedings. He went about his duty, listing off a short list of things no one cared about but had to be said to make it official, because if it wasn’t official then what was the point of it all? With his final words, he nodded towards Jasmine. “Marshal Reith has the floor.”
She had no need of papers to shuffle or read from, no aides to ferry notes.
Her voice was calm and clear.
“I expect many of you are waiting
for me to say that I apologize for recalling you from your important matters elsewhere. To this I say: What could be more important than duty to your nation?”
Murmurs of discontent flared up in the usual sections. She smiled.
“My election will not be the last. In the coming months there will be another wave of voting. I stress this matter for those of you gathered today who were appointed by my predecessor. Bear this in mind as I still maintain the authority for determining which seats and when.”
No longer content with murmuring, one minister shot to his feet, slamming a fist upon his station. “This is abhorrent!”
The speaker scowled and slammed his gavel, “The floor does not recognize Minister Davis.”
“What good are elections if the Marshal still holds the power to do as she pleases?”
“Take your seat, Minister!”
Davis made eye contact with Vice-Marshal Eventh, who was seated behind her near the military staff present. It was fleeting, but Sejit noticed.
If only he truly cared about representation, but at least he and his ilk are still dependable.
“She’ll hand-pick a cadre of sycophants for the nominations. We won’t be a republic, but an oligarchy!”
“Davis! That is enough!” The speaker slammed his gavel, “Take your seat or you will be removed!”
Begrudgingly, the man sat down. His district had been one of the hardest hit by the civil war, and as it was one of the most distant from the capital and contained almost nothing of importance, was the last to receive funds for rebuilding.
Until now.
It so happened the wide, deep river winding through the largely agricultural area was an excellent way to ferry in heavy vehicles and equipment as it was close to the borders of two nations. To the west was Olmsel, the quasi-nation that had popped into existence as part of the cease-fire when the civil-war ended, and to the east, Husphert.