"Bring the rejected to the pyre."
The warbringers dug their fingers into Slayven's arms and hoisted him up. He tripped and stumbled as they forced him to walk up the steps and to the edge of the makeshift stage that overlooked the inferno below them. Sweat poured down his face from the intense heat and the panic that threatened to make him faint.
"Remove the gag and allow the slave to say a few final words. May they be an apology for the trouble he has caused in the empire."
Slayven flexed his jaw when the rag was removed from his dry mouth. He had only one thing to say. He turned his head to look straight at Vance then repeated the sacred words. "I'zil mokois vish sohni slissilysh."
The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds in the orange and yellow light from the pyre. The fear on both of their faces was accented by the flames in the darkness of the vastness of space that passed by above the Star-World's thin artificial atmosphere. Rejected and Prince, Azimandian and half breed, slave and computer engineer. Friends.
Vance closed his eyes then spun around. In one smooth motion, he drew the boomerang from his arm and pressed the button on the top, sending the purple plasma glowing along the edge. He pointed it directly at his father. "Let Slayven go. I will not ask again."
"Oh? What is this?" Krisharn stepped closer, his black horns shimmering in the firelight. "Prince Aveni threatening the warlord of Azimandia? And for what? The worthless life of a slave? Are you serious? Put that thing away and stop trying to be funny."
"I'm not joking."
"Wait. Are you telling me you actually said those words to him?" Tirlmayn asked. "He's a rejected. I don't think you actually know what that phrase means."
Vance placed his hand over his heart. "Life and blood for my identical bound soul."
"And you meant it?"
"That's right, I meant it. It has been said, and so it must be. Part of Azimandian culture is honoring that culture. I'zil mokois vish sohni slissilysh is the deepest and most profound vow two Azimandians can make to each other. If you kill Slayven, you have to kill me too."
The crowds filled with gasps and frantic whispers as the warbringers gathered in closer, waiting for Tirlmayn to give the order. Tirlmayn and Krisharn glanced at each other as if wanting the other to make a decision. For five minutes, Vance stood there, his boomerang prepared to strike, to fly, to kill. The intensity in his eyes never faded. He was stalwart and determined until the instant his father's booming voice echoed over the audience.
"Kill them both."
Chapter 4
Vance drifted in and out of a torture-induced semi-consciousness where he had been kept for three days, his arms chained above his head and his back against the rough mold-encrusted wall of the sewers. The only light in the square room came in through the small ventilation opening near the slimy ceiling that looked out into one of the main streets running through Star-World Zero Alpha. He moaned from the pain and numbness shooting through his body from being restrained in the same position for too long. Vance's bare chest and legs were spotted with small circular burns where he had been turned into a living ashtray.
"Vance, wake up. Something's happening up there. Come on. You have to wake up." The young warbringer with the red horns that encircled his ears crawled across the filthy floor to sit at Vance's feet and pat his knees. "Vance."
Vance focused on the shouting that trickled in from the streets above and the smell of smoke. "Visht, it's nothing."
"No, really. I heard them shouting your name. Someone said you had died."
He gained enough clarity to look down at the starving brown-haired teenage warbringer whose cheeks were already growing taut and hollow and his muscles were quickly wasting away. "You're dying."
"Warbringers need so much food, but your clones haven't given me anything. I think that's why they haven't been torturing me in other ways like they have been torturing you. But Vance, none of it matters. We could get out of here."
"Why?"
Visht absentmindedly played with the silver band around his right horn. "Listen to the yelling up there. Something big is happening."
Two Azimandians stopped on the sidewalk near the ventilation grate and started speaking rapidly.
"What are they staying? I can't understand Azimandian spoken that quickly."
Visht weakly pulled himself to his feet to get as close to the vent as he could so he could translate. "Something about a crackdown on the Azimandian Underground. Warbringer Talvier was killed. They were going to execute Slayven as well, but Prince Aveni stood up for him and he was killed."
"I'm Prince Aveni."
"It had to be one of your clones, then."
Vance let out a tired laugh. "Dumb asses."
"Not the brightest, are they?"
He had to know. "What about Slayven?"
"They are searching the Star-World for him. He escaped."
"So all of Azimandia believes I'm dead. They'll never find us now, mate."
"Hold on. They're talking again." Visht turned to Vance with his mouth open in a gasp. "Did you . . . did you say the sacred vow to Slayven at some point?"
"What if I did?"
"He's a rejected."
"So?" Vance asked. "Why are they talking about that?"
"Apparently Slayven proclaimed it and your clone played along in pretending to honor that. He told Tirlmayn if they killed Slayven, they would have to kill him too. So they fought your clone and won. Slayven ran off during the fighting."
"Anything else?"
"No, they've walked on."
"I know my clones are supposed to act like me, but come on. I'm not that stupid."
The metal door on the far side of the room scraped along the stone floor and an exact copy of Vance, metal arm and everything, entered the room with a cigarette in his fingers. He strutted up to Vance and blew smoke into his face before pressing the red glowing tip to the sensitive skin on Vance's neck.
The chains clanked as Vance screamed hoarsely and threw his head back. Once the clone removed the cigarette butt and tossed it to the floor, Vance coughed before thinking of a quip. "You guys know smoking is bad for you, right?"
"Shut up." The clone backhanded him across the face. "We have a problem. 18 went rogue, tried to take the power for himself, and now he's dead from a laser through his skull. You hear all that going on up there? That's 18's doing. Half of Azimandia supports your death while the other half is fighting against Tirlmayn, believing you were in the right. It's a matter of minutes until Tirlmayn discovers 18 was a clone. Then all of Azimandia is going to be on high alert and every Star-World will be searched from top to bottom to look for you to stop this conflict."
"Well, they always told me I was pretty. I just didn't know I was so popular."
The clone reached up and turned a key in the padlock before cranking the lever and releasing the chains.
Vance fell to the floor and groaned as the blood rushed back into his one remaining real arm. "Visht, my arm."
Visht crawled over and set to digging his fingers into Vance's shoulder and back. "You're okay."
The clone paced around the room, lighting another cigarette. "I don't know what to do. Actually . . ." He held up the lit cigarette and grinned. "Marking."
"I swear. If you burn me again, I will wring your handsome neck."
"Stop flirting with yourself, Vance." Visht joked. "It's creepy."
"No, no, no. Not with this. With this!" The clone took a black permanent marker from his pocket.
"You carry around a permanent marker?" Vance asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why? I don't do that."
"Just like you, all of us clones have addictive personalities. I sniff them to get high."
"Oh. Gross."
Visht nudged him in the side. "Well, that does sound like you."
Vance glared at him. "The old me, not me now. I'm clean." He sat up, still rubbing his sore arm. "So what are you planning to do with the marker?"
"You're getting a number."
The clone removed his right boot and tossed it into the corner. He held up his bare foot to reveal the black number on the sole of his foot. "A number like us clones have, mate. I'm 77. You're about to be disguised as one of us so they will not find out you're the original."
"What does that gain you?"
"Everything. Or I could saw my foot off and yours as well. You pick."
Vance stood up and brushed the ashes from his dirty silk pants. "Well, those don't sound like good options, do they, Visht?"
"No, My Prince."
He cracked his knuckles. "You know what I think I'd rather do? Take door number three."
"You have two options." The clone sneered at him. "There's not a third one."
"There's always a third one, mate." Vance punched 77 with his metal fist, sending the clone falling backwards to the floor. He jumped on him, grabbing a handful of blond hair, then slammed the clone's face into the wall over and over until blood splattered and the struggling stopped. Vance let the lifeless corpse collapse. "I told you there was a third one. Come on, Visht. We're getting out of here."
"That was very fast and violent."
"Yeah, well, I have self-hatred issues and have struggled with suicide. It kind of felt good."
"That's awful."
"Really?" Vance chuckled darkly. "'Cause it's kind of funny to me."
Visht gave him a small smile. "Stop beating yourself up, Vance."
"See? You get it. It's funny. Now follow me. I've got the key."
They ran as quickly as two battered and starving men could run through a decaying sewer with dim lights that trailed along the wires in the ceiling. Rats and cockroaches scurried into the crevasses and cobweb-covered holes in the walls as their bare feet slipped and slid through puddles of green slime and black spiky fungus. Clothed only in their pants, their breaths fogged in the yellow ancient lights while they shivered from the air conditioners that kept the stench of the sewage from becoming rancid and reaching the city streets above them.
The yelling grew louder above-ground, echoing through the tunnels as it became accented with explosions and gunfire. Plaster, chunks of concrete, and old dust fell down around them when the roaring engine of some massive vehicle moved overhead, causing the sewer tunnels to shake. Vance covered his mouth with his hand, his allergies irritated by the dust and smoke billowing in from the cracks in the stones. Eyes watering and coughing without end, he trudged along with his young warbringer friend behind him.
The halogen light bulbs flickered in the particle-filled air, urging Vance to run faster. He slid to a stop at the end of the tunnel where it divided in two ways down identical paths. He waited to catch his breath and let Visht catch up to him. It had only been three days since he was brought to this end of the sewer, but he did not remember either of these turns. "Come on, Visht. You're a warbringer. I'm an overweight computer engineer who hasn't done a push-up in his entire life."
"You're not overweight. You're . . . pleasantly plump."
"Go to hell, Visht. You're not supposed to agree with me. You good?"
Visht stopped next to him and doubled over, panting through his cold sweat. "How are you doing so well for being tortured for three days straight?"
"I'm elated it was only three days. You have no idea what I've been through. This was nothing." Vance looked down each passageway. "Which way should we go?"
"No clue. Just pick one, I guess. Wait." The warbringer grabbed Vance's arm. "Where are you trying to go, anyway? Do you have a plan?"
"I figured the best plan was to turn myself in. I'll show my father that it wasn't really me who made this mess. Then this fighting will end."
"But the fighting is good. It's great. It's what we've wanted all along. With Azimandia divided, a civil war will distract them from the war with Elysia. There's a chance they won't even look at the clone's foot and they'll all keep believing the real you is dead."
"That can't happen, mate."
"Why not?" Visht asked, his hazel eyes filled with concern. "It's for the best."
"Not my best. Not Ben's best."
"Vance . . ."
"Tirlmayn told me that he would kill Ben if I messed up in any way. If he believes that clone was actually me defying his orders, he will have Ben killed. I can't let that happen."
"Think of the greater good, Vance."
"Whose greater good?" Vance snapped at him. "Your greater good? Because letting Ben die certainly isn't his greater good. You can preach about sacrificing for the greater good all you want, but do you even know what that means? Without my husband by my side, there is no greater good in my life. I will see humanity destroyed before I let Benjamin be taken from me again."
"How can you be so selfish?"
"I've always been selfish, mate. I don't plan on changing now. Call me evil, but I couldn't care less about those random people on Elysia or the soldiers who have been tricked into fighting this pointless war. I would never give anything for them. But for my friends, my family, the souls I couldn't live without? I would give my life, my future, and my eternity to save them. I would slit my wrists and bleed out at their feet if it would please them. My friends are my greater good because without them, there is no good in the world."
Visht shook his head. "Selfish. So very selfish. I had higher hopes in you."
"So did my mother. So did every other person I've met in my life. I'm hopeless. Truthfully? I don't know if sacrificing Ben and letting Azimandia fight against itself will even make a difference. That's why I choose to focus on fixing the problems that I can fix. I can save Ben with your help. But I need your help, Visht. You can get around the Star-World. You know it better than I do. Your sister can get us into the laboratory so we can get Ben and Lucas Stephens out of those cells. We can contact the Azimandian Underground and escape. I will save the people I know I can save."
"And you call yourself a leader."
"Yes, I do." Vance held out his arms. "You're not a prisoner, Visht. If you don't like the way I'm doing things, then you can leave. I will find a way to save Ben with or without you. I'm not changing. If you have a problem with the way I am doing things, then this is where we part ways, mate."
"You're a sociopath."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe."
"You are infuriating. You know that? I hate you."
"So does ninety-nine percent of the universe. But for the time being, the universe is stuck with Vance Trainor. The question is . . . are you sticking with me?"
Visht growled then pushed past him, stomping down the left pathway. "Come on. Let's go find your husband. Once we get out of here, I'm starting an 'I hate Vance Trainor' club."
"Charge admission and you'll be rich in an hour."
They walked along in silence until the orange lights flickered again. This time, they went completely dark as the screams grew above them. The Star-World grew deathly silent aside from the panicking civilians.
Vance felt around for the walls and for Visht. "I've seen enough horror movies to know this is not a good sign."
"I think the entire Star-World lost power. I don't even hear the buzzing of the engines."
"Those are mighty big engines to propel this planet through space. It's surprising they don't have backups or emergency generators."
Visht clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "They do, but they're not kicking on. I've never heard it so quiet before. Something's wrong. And now we're in the dark."
"All we can do is keep walking forward."
"But . . . but there's . . . it's dark."
"Is the big bad warbringer afraid of the dark?" Vance mocked him.
"Don't mock me, half breed. Can I hold your hand?"
"Really?"
"So we can stick together."
Vance rolled his eyes and found the boy's hand. "If this is some attempt at flirting with me, it's not going t
o work. I'm a married man, Visht."
"I wouldn't be with you if you were the most beautiful woman in the universe . . . or even the last one."
"Harsh." Vance led him down the pitch black tunnel as explosions rang overhead and machine gun fire sent more shouting across the Star-World. Blind and hurting, it was slow-going, but they eventually made it to the end of the path they were on. Vance walked straight into a metal door. He stumbled back, rubbing his forehead. "Ouch."
"Is it a door? Open it."
"There could be anything on the other side."
"Who's the scared one now?"
"Then you can go through first." Vance pushed on the cold metal until it screeched as it scraped on the rough stones. Stagnant air awaited on the other side. "I don't think anyone has been this way in quite a while. Do you want to head back and try the other path?"
"No. We might as well keep going. This has to lead somewhere, right?"
As soon as Vance stepped through the doorway, his alien eye began glowing with a pale purple light. "Visht, we've got some radiation."
"Yeah." Both of the warbringer's eyes lit up purple. "Let me take point. I can deal with more radiation than you can. If things get too intense, I can signal for you to turn back. At least we can see by this light. What could be making this radiation, though?"
"We're not down far enough for it to be the reactor, are we?"
"Let's hope not. That thing is guarded." The glow grew brighter, illuminating the next door that was lined with lead and rubber. "Here we go. Radiation levels are pretty high. Do you want to chance opening this?"
"Go ahead. It won't be the first time I've been around too much radiation."
The red-horned warbringer grabbed the spokes of the unlocking mechanism and turned them, slowly at first, then faster as it loosened. There was a click before the door swung open mechanically to reveal a five-story warehouse filled with stacks of waist-tall silver cylinders. The dull pulse of dingy orange emergency lights shone on the support beams between the walkways.
The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10 Page 17