by PJ McDermott
“But, Mr. Nolanski—”
“No buts—I’ll sort things out with Nolanski. Do you understand?”
Mirda didn’t look happy, but eventually he nodded.
“What’s your boss doing in Harbor Town?” Hickory figured she knew, but wondered whether Nolanski’s indulgence was widely known.
The naur drew his head even further into his shoulders, if that was possible, and wouldn’t look at Hickory. He began to shake.
“How often does he go there?” she asked, but Mirda remained mute.
“What’s going on?” said Jess, puzzled by Hickory’s questions and the naur’s response.
“I think I know, but this guy’s too scared to say more,” said Hickory. “You can go now.” She motioned to Mirda and he gratefully hurried away.
Hickory looked after him thoughtfully. “Let’s finish what we came here to do, and go find Gareth.”
Gareth had some difficulty convincing the boy to take him to Silver Lake. Kyntai stubbornly insisted it would be too dangerous and instead suggested they visit the morning market in the square before heading back to the embassy. They wandered amongst the stalls, beset by the pungent aroma of cooking spices, sampling small servings of exotic vegetable dishes and perusing the stands selling clothing and footwear. Gareth purchased some of the sweets that Jess had liked so much at dinner the previous night, and then they came across the loopus.
The fluffy domesticated animal fascinated Kyntai. To Gareth’s eyes, it was not unlike a long-haired rabbit with enormously long whiskers. He promised the youngster he could have one if he would take him to see the Teacher. The boy squirmed, and wrestled with his conscience, but the temptation had proven too great.
Now, Gareth and Kyntai crouched at the edge of the tree line atop the grassy knoll. A mere fifty yards below them, Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth stood amidst a sizeable crowd. Gareth looked on, fascinated. From what he could tell, there appeared to be three distinct factions gathered there. The close followers of Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth were easy to pick out—sitting at the Teacher’s feet and hanging onto his every word.
The largest proportion of listeners lounged on the grass, eating and drinking as they watched. Gareth figured they were here for entertainment.
The third group was harder to spot. Gareth could hear them, scattered throughout the crowd in twos and threes, all calling out variations of the same theme, “Who are you, Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth, the son of a poor farmer, to tell the priests and scholars what is true and what is untrue?”
Organized activists. This could get a little hairy. Maybe Kyntai was right to be worried. Gareth began to doubt the wisdom of coming here with no one to help him in a crisis but the boy. If he ended up in trouble, Hickory would be mad as hell at him, but he decided it was worth it to get a close look at Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth.
The Teacher’s voice rose clearly above the hubbub. “Can any man, priest or scholar, divine the true meaning of Balor’s word? Only one sent by He can know the truth.”
The answer created uproar amongst the agitator faction. Even the neutral spectators jumped to their feet, shocked at the Teacher’s claim. Many of those watching shook their fists at Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth and shouted insults. Others spat on the ground and punched at their thighs, crying out and shaking their heads. Some, terrified by the reaction of the crowd, hugged their children to them and fled.
Gareth couldn’t drag his eyes from the Teacher, who stood calm amid the storm. The answer that had caused the problem was almost word for word how Christ had responded to a similar question from his detractors. It must be a coincidence, he thought, or… or… His logical mind sought answers but found nothing.
One naur, stouter than his brothers, picked up a clod of earth and made to throw it at Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth. He hesitated as the Teacher’s gaze locked onto his.
Kyntai tugged at Gareth’s sleeve anxiously. “We must leave. There will be trouble here, and there are no peacekeepers. We must go now.” The loopus was tucked safely inside his shirt.
Gareth reluctantly stood up, but it was too late.
“Not only does Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth blaspheme, but he consorts with devils and foreigners,” the thick-set ringleader shouted. “We don’t want their kind here.” He threw the clod of earth at Gareth.
Gareth avoided the missile but was struck on the temple by a flying rock. He crumbled to the ground.
Kyntai bent over his inert body and sought to revive him. Led by their vocal ringleader, a mob of naurs brushed him aside and bundled Gareth away through the crowd. Kyntai shouted in protest and struggled to hold on to the nearest assailant, but was knocked over by another wielding a wooden club.
Holding the back of his head, the boy struggled to his feet. He looked around futilely for his pet. With a sob, he pushed his way through the still restless mob and followed the kidnappers at a safe distance.
Imprisonment
Consciousness returned like a crab scuttling sideways, clattering over wet rocks, slipping into pools of darkness, then emerging hesitantly as the dawn breaks. Gareth’s head throbbed and blood oozed from the wound on his temple. He tried to move and realized his hands and feet were bound. He struggled to loosen the ropes, but his fingers had no feeling in them. He pushed himself upright to sit against a wall and tried to recall what had happened. There had been trouble at the lake. Kyntai had yelled at him to leave. After that, he could remember nothing. He hoped the boy was all right.
I must have been knocked on the head if the blood is anything to go by. Where the heck am I?
Light flickered dimly from two candles high up on a wall, and he strained to make out his surroundings. That he was in some sort of prison was apparent because of the bars in front of him. The cell felt damp and smelled nauseatingly like rotting flesh. Brick walls curved over his head, cathedral-like, to form the roof.
He started as a rodent-like creature with pale, wrinkled skin and a long tail scurried across the floor and sat in front of him, whiskers twitching inquiringly. Gareth shouted, and the beast disappeared into a dark corner. Instantly, he regretted it. Except for the rat, he was alone. No sooner had the thought formed than he heard a moan. He struggled to his feet, hopped to the front of the cell, and peered through the bars. “Hello? Is anybody there? Why have you taken me here? I demand to be let loose!” His voice echoed hollowly. “Look, whoever you are, you’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. Can anybody hear me?”
A maniacal cackle was his only answer, followed by the moaning, louder than before. He crawled like a caterpillar to the back of the cell and rolled himself into a ball, shivering in the scrubby light from the candles.
It seemed only minutes later that he awoke. His head was clearer, although it still hurt. He was aghast at his earlier outburst. He had forgotten his SIM was still set on parity. Anyone who heard his fluent speech would immediately realize that he was not from Castaliena. Quickly, he reset it to default mode.
He heard the rasp of rusted metal on metal, and a gleam of light fell on the floor outside his cell. He pushed himself up against the wall and waited. Three shadows approached. The leading one fumbled for a key hanging from a ring attached to his belt and unlocked the door, swinging it open to let the other two enter. My jailer. As the figures approached, Gareth guessed one to be an Avanauri of high rank. He wore a brocade jacket over a clean white shirt, open at the neck, and held a handkerchief to his nose. The other visitor was darker, shrouded in a hooded cloak.
The brocade jacket signaled to the jailer, who approached Gareth and cut loose his bindings. He felt a sting as blood coursed through his unblocked veins, and he rubbed his wrists vigorously.
“Please. Where am I? What do you want?” he said, looking from one to the other.
A guttural voice answered him from beneath the hood. “I will ask the questions, and you will answer, shrelek! What is your name and what position do you hold within the Intragalactic Agency?”
Gareth was taken aback. Who are these people? What do they know of the IA? He shook
his head and frowned. “My name is Kronen-sѐr-Varquar. I am Castalie from the Southern Ocean, beyond Scarf,” he said, adopting the formal address of Avanaux.
“You lie!” The individual behind the hood hissed in anger. “You have come here at the behest of the IA. Tell me your mission on Prosperine or you will suffer.” The figure threw back his hood and glared at him.
Gareth was too stunned to speak for a moment. The stranger wasn’t Avanauri or human. If he were asked to describe what he saw, Gareth would have ventured that the creature’s head resembled that of an enormous soft-shelled turtle. Its skin was like tessellated basalt, it had no forehead and no chin to speak of, and its mouth was a slit. A long snout twitched.
Gareth cowered. Bikashi! What’s a Bikashi doing here? This is bad, very bad. There was little point in carrying on with his subterfuge. Whether in disguise or not, all Bikashi had cause to know an earthling when they saw one.
The alien pointed a scanner at Gareth and grunted. “Castalie do not wear implant technology, Earthman. If you do not tell me what I wish to know, you will be put to the rack.” His speech was harsh to Gareth’s ear, adding to his fright. He had never run into a Bikashi before, but he knew the history well. Everything about this one confirmed the tales of horror he had heard.
“Wait, there’s no need for that—it’s quite simple. I work freelance for an Earth organization called the Alien Corps. They sent me here to find a preacher named Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth.”
“More lies! You have one last opportunity to cooperate. Otherwise, the information we seek will be extracted from you—painfully.”
“I am cooperating. This is the truth.” Sweat broke out on Gareth’s brow. Why don’t they believe me? “We were asked to come here by the Avanauri authorities. You’re the one who shouldn’t be here. When the IA find out—”
The Bikashi snarled, but Gareth continued on regardless. He faced the Avanauri and stabbed his finger at him. “You’re some kind of official, aren’t you? Your government asked the Corps for help. You do realize you’re consorting with one of the most evil races in the known universe?”
The Bikashi’s small round eyes studied Gareth, then turned abruptly to the Avanauri. “I shall leave him to your devices. Inform me when he is ready to talk.”
The naur signaled to the jailor. “Bind him.” He watched the Bikashi disappear into the gloom then turned to Gareth. “I fear you have made Vogel angry. That was not wise.” He smiled thinly and sighed. “You have guessed correctly. I am indeed a politician of sorts, but perhaps different to what you imagine. I have no love for this government who would barter our faith and traditions, and for what? For money—pah!” He spat at Gareth’s feet. “My friend Vogel is proving to be an invaluable servant to the people of this land.”
Gareth was scornful. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? The Bikashi are a cruel people. They were ejected from the Intragalactic Agency because they have no integrity. They can’t be trusted, and they always demand their pound of flesh, with interest.”
The naur pushed his face close to Gareth and spoke through clenched teeth. “The government of Avanaux are the ones who can’t be trusted! They are led by fools and sycophants. They place their faith in meaningless customs, ceremonies and the trappings of worship. These leaders announce new laws in his name, but ignore the commands of the one God.”
He took a step back, then continued more evenly, “Balor does not require idols and the adoration of images; indeed he abjures them. Abidance by his law, as it has been handed down to us from the first naurs, is all that is required. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Gareth bit his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to get into a dispute over religion with a fanatic. “What about the Bikashi? How does he fit into this?” he said.
“Vogel has proven his worth, many times over. He will be rewarded when we of the Pharlaxia take power and your Agency and all other despots are banished from Avanaux.”
Gareth knew there was only one thing the Bikashi would want from Prosperine. “You must believe me. All they want is to get their hands on your crynidium,” he pleaded, his eyes wide with fear.
“Vogel seeks to prevent the IA from gaining further advantage over the Bikashi nation. He has no interest in claiming the silver liquid for himself.”
Gareth shook his head and barked a laugh. “You can’t believe that. As soon as the Agency leaves this planet, the Bikashi armed forces will fly in and walk all over you. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. The Bikashi are totally ruthless. Please listen to me. I’m not your enemy. I can help you.”
“You are the one who does not understand. The crynidium means little to me, except for what it can buy. Our leaders feed the people superstitious stories of it being given to us by Balor.” He laughed mockingly. “The Bikashi have promised to help rid Avanaux of these fools and the priests who support them. They have failed our people and do not deserve to rule. When I become High Reeve, the Bikashi will receive a just share of the crynidium, and I will administer the remainder for the good of all the people of Avanaux.”
There was nothing Gareth could do. He said wearily, “So, the Bikashi give you weapons and gold, and in return, you provide them with the most valuable substance in the universe. You will take over Avanaux by force, and they will have the means to wreak havoc throughout the civilized planets.” Gareth shook his head.
The naur signaled to the jailor. “Send for the interrogator.”
Kyntai burst breathlessly through the door searching for Hickory, or Jess, or anyone to tell his news. He broke down and sat on a chair with his hands over his head, sobbing, not knowing what to do. Nolanski found him there two hours later, inconsolable. While he was still trying to extract a coherent account from the boy, Mirda arrived with the news that he had been discovered by Hickory and Jess. “In the name of all that’s holy,” said Nolanski, “I give you both one simple job to do, minding these people, and you make a hash of it. Kyntai—stop crying, you stupid naur, and tell me what happened.”
Between sobs, Kyntai related the story of how the trio had split up and how he and Gareth ended up at Silver Lake. “The naurs put Gareth in the back of a wagon and covered him with blankets. I followed them until they reached the peacekeeper compound and then I ran back here.”
“The police took him?” said Nolanski. “But why would they arrest the little shit?”
“Excuse me master, but I do not think these naurs were peacekeepers. I saw the insignia of the Pharlaxia party on the neck of one of the naurs,” said Kyntai.
Nolanski’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re sure? You saw this clearly?” He tried to locate Gareth on his SIM with no success. Cursing, he questioned Kyntai further about what he had seen, then called Hickory and Jess. He quickly explained that Gareth had been arrested and they needed to reach the peacekeeper compound as soon as possible. Nolanski told them to stay where they were and he and Kyntai would pick them up on the way.
Hickory and Jess waited impatiently until he pulled up in the cart thirty minutes later. “Jump in. Kyntai can give you his eyewitness account on the way.”
“Bloody fool,” said Jess when Kyntai had finished his tale. “I knew he was desperate to see this Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth. This is just so typical. I hope to God he’s okay.”
“I hope so too, because he won’t be when I find him. He’s disobeyed a direct order. I could court-martial him for this,” said Hickory. Idiot. Why couldn’t he wait? He might have jeopardized the whole operation. I told him to stay away from Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth. She asked Nolanski about the mob, the ones Kyntai had referred to as Pharlaxians.
Nolanski shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “I really don’t think this is their work, despite what Kyntai might have seen. The Pharlaxians are right-wing extremists—political activists—one of three or four anti-government cliques operating in Avanaux.
“The Agency tries to keep out of local politics, and I haven’t had any trouble with them or their followers. Their
leader goes by the name of Ecknit. He’s gathered public support by capitalizing on widespread dissatisfaction with the temple priests. He accuses them of being greedy and corrupt and holding too much sway over the state, which is probably true enough. Ecknit and his lieutenants assert strict observance of the Book of Balor, and their stated manifesto is to re-align the common law to their religious beliefs—a return to the ‘good old days’ before the Erlachi wars. I think some people are so stirred up about the self-indulgence of the temple clergy they don’t see the irony in this.”
“So, you don’t think these Pharlaxians would see some advantage in kidnapping a Castalie citizen?” asked Jess.
Nolanski shook his head. “They are capable of it, sure, but I can’t see why they would. I suppose it’s possible this was a rogue group. The Pharlaxians have a militant arm made up of independent cells operating on a classic ‘Chinese walls’ footing. Activity undertaken by an individual cell can’t be traced back to the parent group. Some of these are armed and known to be ruthless.”
Hickory ground her teeth. She wanted to lash out, but she held her temper. Why didn’t he tell us this last night? Is this guy deliberately trying to obstruct the mission, or is he just stupid? Either way, we still need his help to find Gareth. She nodded encouragingly. “Sounds like they’re well organized. How many followers do they have?”
“Hard to tell. Still a minority in the city, but probably a lot more support in country towns. They’re well connected and have sympathizers in important positions across the country. They may even have infiltrated the government, which would be why they’ve never been held to account for some of their more outlandish activities. There’s one other thing…” He paused, rubbing his chin.
“What?” Alarmed, Hickory clutched his arm and forced him to face her.