The Gallant (Star Legend Book 3)

by J. J. Green

  He took some wire from his pack—he’d asked the Resistance fighters for it—before disappearing for a while as Wright and Merlin set up camp under one of the trees. The ground was tinder dry, the branches and foliage so dense, no rain ever penetrated.

  After they’d eaten, Arthur got up and walked away again with no explanation of where he would be going or when he planned on coming back. The night was cloudy and the area beyond their camp looked pitch black. It was impossible to see where Arthur had gone.

  “What’s this about?” Wright asked Merlin quietly. “Why are we here?”

  “That’s for Arthur to tell you, if he wishes.”

  “So you know?”

  “He hasn’t told me, but I can guess.”

  Wright made a guess of his own. “Are those ruins we saw the remains of a church?”

  “Yes, I believe so, though I don’t recall ever coming here.”

  “So he’s praying again?”

  “Perhaps. I’m afraid I really don’t know for sure, Major.”

  The last time Arthur had prayed, he’d gone on to slaughter scores of people. That was what Taylan had said, anyway. Maybe the king was anticipating they would encounter a lot of Crusaders soon. Or maybe not. Merlin seemed to think it was something different this time.

  Wright had been thinking about what the alien had revealed to him a few days ago, about powers he represented that wanted the Alliance to succeed. He’d been reminded of something else that Taylan had told him.

  “You aren’t the only extra-terrestrial life form here on Earth, are you?” he asked Merlin.

  “Did I say I was?” the alien lay down on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Do you humans really think you’re alone in the galaxy?”

  Wright ignored his baiting. “At Dwyr Orr’s invasion launch ceremony, Ellis said she saw a woman with the Dwyr who, when everything went to shit, dissolved into a mist and floated away. That sounds like what you can do. Ellis said the EAC have an alien on their side too. Is that right?”

  “Ah yes. Unfortunately, that is so.”

  Surprised by the unusual candor, Wright pressed on, “Does this being represent a power that opposes your own? Are the two of you in some kind of fight for control of Earth?”

  “That’s a simplistic interpretation. I prefer to see the situation more philosophically. But your species grasps things better when they’re stated in black and white terms, so let’s allow that to stand.”

  “I’m no genius, but even I understand there are shades of gray in most things. I don’t think we’re as dumb as you seem to think we are.”

  “And yet, here you are, murdering each other in cold blood every second of every day. Perhaps your appreciation of the level of humanity’s development is, shall we say, more hopeful than realistic?”

  Wright wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off Merlin’s face, but he couldn’t deny the truth of what he was saying. However, he wasn’t about to allow the alien to get away with his insults scot-free.

  “You don’t seem to have much of a problem with helping Arthur to kill when it suits you. What is it you do to him that protects him from pulse fire?”

  The alien turned onto his back. “Impossible to explain, sorry.”

  Yet he didn’t deny he was doing something.

  Merlin closed his eyes. He wasn’t about to go to sleep. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t appear to have any need for it. And neither did he ever eat or drink anything that Wright saw.

  Guessing he wasn’t about to get any more information from the creature, Wright got into his sleeping bag. As a mere human, he needed sleep.

  Something moving in the night woke him up. He opened his eyes and tried to figure out what it was. He could hear soft rustling nearby. Probably a fox searching for a snack. Peering into the darkness didn’t reveal anything suspicious.

  He turned onto his side, preparing to get a few more hours of rest while Arthur did his thing, when unprompted, Hans Jonte popped into his mind.

  The message!

  He’d forgotten to pass on Jonte’s message to Colbourn.

  Shit.

  After everything that had happened in Jamaica, he’d been in a bad state by the time he made it back to the Gallant. The message had entirely slipped his mind. Was it a bad screw-up? It was hard to tell. Jonte had made sure to remind him before he left the field hospital, so he guessed it was important to the ex-head of SIS that word got through to the Alliance that he continued to work on their behalf.

  But surely the man had encountered other BA military personnel. He’d probably told them the same thing and his message had been passed on.

  Whatever the gravity of the mistake, there was nothing Wright could do about it now. He couldn’t risk comming Colbourn from West BI. A single signal to the Gallant would be easy to identify and track for the origin location.

  He closed his eyes and tried to get more sleep.

  When he woke a few hours later, Merlin was gone but Arthur had returned. Pre-dawn light filtered through the canopy. Arthur was awake, his hands behind his head, deep in thought.

  “Did you do what you came here to do?” Wright asked.

  “Yes, in a sense, though what I need to do cannot be done. Rather, what I did cannot be undone. But I feel better for coming here.”

  At Wright’s puzzled silence, he said, “I’m speaking in riddles, aren’t I? I’m sorry, my friend. Have you ever done anything you deeply regretted?”

  Wright thought of the campaign to retake Jamaica. He thought of Patel falling backward into his arms, her face gone. He thought of his last sight of Elphicke, climbing down through the open manhole. At one point, he would have been able to justify to himself what he’d done. Now, he was finding it hard.

  He replied, “Too many things.”

  “It’s a part of being human,” said Arthur.

  “That’s what Merlin would say.”

  “It’s part of trying to do right. But what I did here was not because I wanted to do right. I committed a great sin, my unnatural son was born, and the result was the loss of everything I had worked for. My kingdom fell.”

  Wright could take a stab at what the ‘sin’ was, but he didn’t understand what the rest of it meant. He guessed Taylan probably knew. If they ever found her, he might ask her, but he didn’t want to probe too deeply into what seemed to be a sensitive subject.

  “If you’re ready to move on,” he said, “we should do that. We can get two or three hours of walking in before broad daylight. I wonder where Merlin’s got to?”

  “I’ll look for him,” said Arthur.

  While he was gone, Wright broke camp.

  He’d been waiting for his companions to return for a while when Arthur came back alone. Or, not entirely alone. He was carrying three dead rabbits. He smiled with boyish glee.

  “The wire you have these days works better than the twine we used to use in my time.” He removed the wire from the animals’ necks and gutted them before tying them by their back feet to his belt. “We can eat them later.”

  “No sign of Merlin?”

  “No, I couldn’t—”

  The alien poked his head under an overhanging branch. “All ready?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “I told you once, I am mistress here,” said Morgan softly. “I hope from now on, you will remember that.”

  Kala glared at her, but she swallowed the response that came naturally to her lips, instead forcing out, “I will remember.”

  Her time in the Belladonna’s brig had taught her a lot. It had taught her that what she’d feared the most, that Morgan would get Perran under her control, had already happened. At some time in their weeks aboard the ship, in the course of teaching her son telepathy, his affection had transferred to her usurper.

  She had also learned that Morgan found it easy to make those around her do her bidding. Kala’s crew had carried her, fighting and struggling, to a cell and locked her away. The people she’d thought slavishly adored her
had been turned against her in an instant.

  The final thing she’d come to understand during her time of incarceration was that she was nowhere near ready to give up. She would rather die than allow Morgan to steal her child and her domain from her.

  “Do you agree to never attempt to leave this ship without my permission?” asked Morgan.

  “I do.”

  “That you will never spend time with your son unless I am present?”

  Kala’s chest constricted. “I agree.”

  “That you will do exactly as I say regarding the running of the Crusade?”

  “I will.”

  “Then you may be released,” said Morgan.

  The guard unlocked the door.

  For a week, Kala had sat behind the transparent wall, on view to all who passed by, humiliated as a display to men and women who had once worshipped her.

  She stepped through the gap.

  “What’s that on your arms?” Morgan asked.

  Kala pulled her sleeves down, but Morgan pushed her right sleeve up again.

  Off and on, for days, Kala had scratched her arms and legs, taking out her anger and frustration on her body. She’d dug her fingernails into her skin, clawing at her flesh, only achieving satisfaction when her blood ran freely.

  “Why have you done this?” asked Morgan, pushing up Kala’s left sleeve. She held Kala’s gaze questioningly.

  “Weren’t you the one who said the Crusade needed a blood sacrifice?”

  “This is not sacrifice. This is something else.”

  Morgan passed a hand over the damaged skin. Kala felt a tingling sensation as it healed and became whole again. She was angry. The wounds meant something to her, something she couldn’t put into words. She didn’t want Morgan to control her body as well as her behavior. She didn’t tell her she’d also hurt her legs.

  “Do not do that again,” said Morgan.

  “Where’s Perran?”

  “He’s in my cabin, practicing something I taught him earlier today.”

  Kala stiffened.

  “You may return to your suite,” Morgan said as they left the brig. “I want you to take the rest of the day to reflect on what’s happened. It’s a shame things had to come to this. I thought I’d made it clear when you released me how things were going to be, but obviously I didn’t make it clear enough. We can get along, providing you adopt the right attitude. I’m not interested in leading the Crusade. I have no desire to be worshipped. Your people’s love means nothing to me, and your ceremonies are boring. But I will not be deceived, and I will not be pushed aside. In truth, your behavior saddens me. You are my kin, though far distant. We should be allies, not enemies.”

  “I...would like to be your ally,” Kala said.

  Morgan gave her a look that implied she didn’t quite believe her.

  Could Morgan read her mind?

  Kala hoped not. She had the impression from her sessions on telepathy that it couldn’t happen without both subjects being willing.

  “It would definitely be preferable if we could get along,” Morgan said. “We have much work to do if the Crusade is to achieve its goals.”

  Kala was hanging to a shred of hope. She judged that Morgan considered Perran too young to assume the role she had in mind for him; that she still needed Kala for the time being. When her usefulness ran out, that would be the end of her. She had until then to get rid of Morgan, but from now on she would have to tread exceptionally carefully.

  They’d reached her suite.

  “Relax,” Morgan said. “Think. I know you’ll see the wisdom of our new way forward.”

  As soon as she’d gone, Kala sat on the edge of her bed, gripping the silken coverlet tightly. She waited several minutes, thinking things over. When she thought Morgan had to be out of hearing distance, she requested refreshments.

  The man who brought them to her looked a little familiar, but she hadn’t paid much attention to the lower ranks aboard her flagship. They had been of no importance to her, until now.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, as the man put down the tray on her bedside table.

  Without meeting her gaze, he replied, “Cookson, ma’am.”

  “Cookson, do you know where I’ve been for the past week?”

  “I do, ma’am.”

  “And what do you think about that?”

  “I think it’s a terrible shame. I...we all do, but no one was able to stop it.”

  “No one was able to stop it? Explain.”

  “We can’t seem to do what we want to do whenever that woman, Morgan, has anything to do with it.”

  “I see. So, you wanted to release me from the brig, but you found you couldn’t?”

  “Something like that. It was more like, we would go there, and then we would forget why we were there, until we left again. Then we would remember, and return, only for the same thing to happen. It’s strange.”

  The man’s words brought her joy. So Morgan hadn’t managed to turn her followers against her. She was only exerting some sort of mind control over them. If that was the case, there had to be a limit to what she could do, either by distance, or number of people she could influence, or to what extent. At some point, they would return to Earth, and then, possibly, Kala could harness the support of the Crusaders against her latest enemy. And if she could find out who had imprisoned Morgan all those years ago, all the better.

  There was hope yet.

  “Thank you. You’re dismissed,” she told Cookson.

  The biggest problem was Perran. Kala doubted Morgan was controlling her son’s mind. The bond she’d created with him meant she didn’t need to. The boy was young and easily impressed. He thirsted for the knowledge Morgan could teach, in the same way she had herself. The enticement held great sway over him and Morgan had been quick to exploit it.

  Kala could destroy Morgan and regain control of her life, but it would mean nothing if she lost Perran.

  Chapter Thirty

  Bryn Celli Ddu didn’t look like much, in Taylan’s opinion. From the outside, it was just a long, grassy mound. She guessed the inside had to be more impressive. She’d heard the standing stone the sun would light up when it rose tomorrow was carved in incredibly ancient symbols, predating even Arthur’s time. But her chances of getting a look at it were zero. Thousands of Crusaders thronged the site, barely held back by the ropes and guards that ringed the mound.

  Brightly colored pavilions dotted the fields all around, housing stalls selling food, drink, trinkets, souvenirs, textiles, and camping supplies. Some of the pavilions were for entertainment purposes. Strains of music and the laughter of audiences watching performances could be heard coming from them. Others seemed to have nefarious purposes, judging from the closed entrances, the hawkers standing outside, and the glances to the left and right of any customers who ventured in.

  The low rise Taylan was standing on was around half a kilometer from the festival site, but scents from it still reached her: barbecuing meat, wood smoke, incense.

  What struck her most forcibly was how old it all looked. There was very little technology on show, perhaps only the security guards’ pulse rifles. No screens or holos, no electronic toys for the kids, nothing that required electricity to run. The cars some of the attendees had arrived in had been parked far away, out of sight. It was like watching a history docuvid based on pre-industrial times.

  Beyond the pavilions, a sea of tents stretched to the horizon with figures moving between them.

  She had a brief vision of flames leaping from tent to tent and people running, screaming, on fire.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”

  Meilyr stood next to her.

  “I understand.”

  He’d asked her to think over her decision and, out of respect for him, she had. She felt churlish. She’d asked to come along and take part in this attack on the Crusaders. Her inclusion could have placed an additional burden on the brothers, though, as it turned out, she didn’t think
that had been the case in the end.

  “I’ll help steal supplies for the trek back to the hideout,” she said.

  “You don’t have a problem with that too?” asked Meilyr, seeming to want to make light of the situation.

  “I don’t have a problem with stealing and I don’t have a problem with attacking the other side’s military, but this? Look. There are little kids here. Babies. And these people...most of them have probably never held a weapon. They’ve moved in from Europe after the invasion. I don’t know why they follow the Dwyr. They’re probably just deluded. People can be incredibly dumb. That doesn’t mean they deserve to die.”

  “Let me ask you something,” said Meilyr. “If you or I were to walk among those Crusaders now and tell them who we are, what do you think they would do?”

  Taylan swallowed. He had a point. She recalled standing on the quayside at Dwyr Orr’s invasion launch, waiting for the right moment to shoot the woman, knowing the crowd would rip her limb from limb if they knew her intention.

  “What would they do, Taylan?” he pressed.

  “They would kill us. I can’t deny it, but that’s because—”

  “Because they’re deluded? Or because, deep down, they’re depraved and vicious?”

  “Maybe their beliefs have made them like that. But people can change. If they could be taught a different understanding of the world, they would change.”

  “I think you give them too much credit,” said Meilyr. “The older ones didn’t grow up like that. They saw and heard what Dwyr Orr’s way had to offer, and they chose it of their own free will. They weren’t indoctrinated. Her methods appealed to them. All the invasions, murdering and enslaving the local populaces, turning back the wheel of progress. They want all that. And you know that if our positions were reversed and Crusaders were standing here watching a crowd of our people preparing for a celebration, they would not be having this discussion. They would not hesitate to hurt us.”

  The memory of the search patrol who had hunted her down flashed into her mind, their joy at wounding her and cold debate over whether to kill her. They’d seen her as less than human, an other.