Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  She took a step back, and looked up the path they’d traveled down, as if the desire to go through the portal was not there.

  Galthess moved toward her slowly. “I see it in your eyes, Winter. Go on, I want to see too. I’ll follow you.”

  She stared at him, scared that this was some kind of test. “You’re a Guardian—a Consecrator,” she said, her voice trembling. “Why would you want me to step through?”

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” said Galthess, reaching out and fingering a leaf on the tree that marked the portal. “I’ve grown enchanted with the Makers. I’ve worked in the Scrivers’ room for so long, reading prophecies and studying the Oracles, I can’t help but doubt my order’s conclusion about the gods. I wouldn’t say that I trust the gods, but I am curious. I want to see this third world in The Triangle for myself. I want to ride in the wake of a prophecy.”

  Winter shook her head. “You would allow me to fulfill the prophecy?”

  Galthess turned his head toward the scraggy tree that held the portal beneath its branches. “I believe I would. Will you take me with you?”

  --

  ARENTISS

  She paced the hallway, her thoughts focused and her steps, short and quick. She’d gone the length of the underwater facility four times already increasing her circulation. The muscles in her legs burned nicely. Her mind worked best when her heart rate was elevated.

  Her thoughts were on her homeworld, and on Aven. She had no time to delay in finding him. The odds of discovering him alive diminished with every day that passed. There were many reasons why someone might keep a person with a VOKK alive. Foremost being that they didn’t have the technology to remove it. A VOKK was an organic machine, as difficult to remove as the hypothalamus or the caudate nucleus. And then to reinsert it into another’s brain without the sophisticated tool that a Guardian Physician worked with…it was on the verge of barbaric and full of risks for the receiver.

  But she couldn’t fool herself either. There were more than a hundred civilized worlds that could perform such operations, and she knew there were many more yet undiscovered by the Guardians. It might not be beneath individuals in such a civilization to hire out mercenaries, but when she weighed the differentials, the odds were good that Aven was still alive.

  Now all she needed to do was inform Karience of her decision to leave the missionaries, travel the portal back to home, and then hire a pilot with a fast ship. If things went smoothly, she could be leaving the spaceport at Birth by tomorrow evening.

  She was midway through the corridor on her fifth circuit of the facility when an unfamiliar voice drew her attention. She stopped and moved up beside the door of the conference room where Karience had first led them the night of the catastrophe.

  Arentiss remembered the two guests that had come to speak to Winter. It was likely one of their voices. She was about to turn back down the hall when an angry male voice shouted within the room.

  “Why do we have to kill her?!”

  Arentiss froze.

  A mumbled reply came from within the room, but it crackled slightly, indicating it was coming via signal through the long-range com device. She quickly put her ear to the side of the door.

  “Why couldn’t we just bring her back to Bridge and keep her there?” said the voice again.

  A second, calmer voice sounded faintly in the room through the crackle of the com. It was the voice of an older woman, stern, yet not angry. “She has a prophecy hanging over her head—her being alive is a risk. All it takes is one mistake, one vision from the gods showing her a path of escape and The Triangle could be opened.”

  “I had to push her so fast,” came the male voice. “Winter needed much more time. It wasn’t fair for her.”

  “Life rarely is fair, Theurg,” said the woman. “Come home, dear. You don’t have to wait for Galthess to finish.”

  There was a long, drawn out quiet. “I’m already packed. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Next time,” said the woman, “I’ll make sure you’re assigned a low priority Oracle. Winter was a difficult first assignment.”

  “You are gracious, Sanctuss. I haven’t the heart for these cases.”

  Arentiss stepped back as the faint sound of footsteps neared. The door opened with a soft hiss and a tall, younger man came to a halt at the sight of her.

  Arentiss’s fist flew to the man’s throat as her right foot hooked behind his left. The blow struck full force and the man clutched at his throat, gurgling as he toppled like a tree to the ground.

  “Where is Winter?” demanded Arentiss, her voice sharp and threatening.

  The man wheezed as he tried to breathe out words.

  She grabbed the man by the top of his shirt and lifted his head from the ground. “Where is she?” she shouted.

  The man coughed, his tongue protruding from his gaping mouth. He lamely tried to roll over onto his right side.

  Arentiss yanked him back and glared at him. “My isometric grip-strength is more robust than the average male,” she said, placing a knee on the man’s leg, pinning him down. She thrust her free hand between his legs. “In other words, I could crush your testicles in one hand.”

  The man’s eyes widened with terror and his wheezing became more pronounced.

  “I’ll ask you again…where is Winter?”

  The man nodded frantically, sucking in air. “She’s with…Galthess,” he said, between strained breaths.

  Arentiss looked up at a sound coming down the hall. Hark ran toward her. “What’s going on?”

  She put a hand up to silence him, then looked back down at the wheezing man.

  “Where are they? Where are Winter and Galthess?”

  “At the cliff…by the portal.”

  Arentiss sprang up. “Hark, tie this man up—he’s part of a conspiracy.”

  Hark scowled down at the man.

  “When you’re done, meet me at the portal. Winter’s in grave danger.”

  CHAPTER 38

  RUEIK

  Rueik pulled a wool hood up over his head as he neared the Royal Palisade. Anantium’s grand building rose like a small mountain into the darkening tint of the evening sky.

  He was dressed as a courier, having discarded his Guardian attire. A leather pouch hung from his belt where his letters would be. If not for his foreign, white skin, it would have been simple to reach the royal domiciles above. The nearness of night and the shadow cast by his hood were his two allies.

  At the top of the palisade stairs a soldier looked his way.

  Rueik nodded from within the rim of his hood.

  The soldier’s eyes lingered on him a moment, then returned to inspect the next man or woman.

  Once inside, Rueik moved quickly toward the stairs. The sparse light of torches lit the palisade’s interior. The evening traffic of servants comprised most of the individuals he saw. Rueik climbed the spiraling stairs, his mind focused on the evening’s objectives. If all went as planned, Winter’s death would provide the climactic end of the night, right after framing Karience for Damien’s murder.

  At the sixth flight of stairs, Rueik exited at a long, covered parapet that opened up like a vast balcony. A single servant scampered along the path stretching the entire length of the sixth level. Above and below were the royal domiciles. Without another person in sight, Rueik started left down the path.

  “Hold on,” said a smooth voice. Rueik stopped and slowly turned. A figure slid away from a dark swath of wall and took a torch from its holding. In the light of the fire, Rueik saw it was one of the inner guards, marked by his black shirt and pants tied at the waist with a white sash.

  “Pull your hood back and tell me your business here.”

  There was only one way around this man. He drew his hood away. “I am Rueik, a member of the Guardians.”

  Immediately the guard paled at the sight of him, Rueik’s white skin marking him like a tattoo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You’re not in uniform.”


  Rueik pulled at his satchel, drawing it close and peered out at the sea over the parapets. “I was hurrying to find the Empyrean. She is at Prince Damien’s domicile.” Rueik glanced back to the soldier. “There’s a strange ship on the water, much larger than the merchant ships to the east.” Rueik pointed. “Do you see it?”

  The man squinted, then walked to the edge of the balcony. Rueik followed. “It has large red sails. Some kind of galleon.”

  Rueik glanced back along the walkway, still empty. Swooping down, he took the soldier by his legs just below the calf and heaved him over the wall.

  The man’s screams echoed raucously for but a moment, then all was silent. Rueik hurried quickly away, knowing the guard’s loud cries might not have gone unnoticed in the levels below.

  The path along the balcony was mostly deserted. He kept a brisk pace, but dare not run and draw attention to himself.

  Rueik’s heart was pounding hard in his chest. This was the climax of his mission. If successful, his master would be able to send his forces into Loam and expand his power. It was a first step in a far grander scheme.

  Rueik knew well what a victory over Loam would mean for himself. He would be given governance to rule over this world, and better still, he would receive another Quahi. That would give him access to all of Isolaug’s secret knowledge.

  A promise of power yet unimaginable.

  His eyes set, Rueik moved swiftly toward Damien’s living quarters, the deaths of the prince and Karience as certain in his mind as his next breath.

  --

  ARENTISS

  Arentiss ran down the path to the portal, the dimming light making the journey difficult. From the top of the sloping terrain, she’d seen Winter with a man, down at the cliff. Her warning shouts had gone unheard, carried away by the wind and muffled by the waves’ repetitive hydraulic pounding against the granite cliff walls.

  Arentiss wasn’t certain what she’d do once she reached Winter. Likely the man called Galthess would be carrying a weapon, but if she could intervene before he exposed it, she hypothesized that he would delay his plan to murder until he could get Winter alone again.

  Arentiss grew alarmed as Winter moved within a hand’s reach of the portal. She appeared poised to go through. Arentiss slid to a stop on the loose rocks and shouted again, but too late.

  Winter stepped through and disappeared. And on her heels was Galthess.

  Arentiss started to sprint forward again, then halted. She had no chance of reaching the portal in time to catch Winter’s wake.

  There was nothing she could do. Winter was on her own.

  Arentiss turned and hurried back to the hidden entrance of the facility. Hark appeared at the top of the hill. He waved both arms at her as she sprinted up the path.

  “Where’s Winter?” he shouted.

  “She went through the portal—and her assassin followed her wake. I couldn’t get near enough in time to warn her.”

  She glanced at the open hatch. “Did you tie him up?”

  “Yeah, his name is Theurg. He’s not going anywhere. Told me he’s with some special order called the Consecrators and claimed their mission was authorized.”

  Arentiss frowned. “I don’t know why his subgroup within the Guardians matters…unless he believes the murder was sanctioned.”

  Hark shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

  “Few things qualify as impossible, Hark. We need to find Karience. She can pursue the matter through Higelion.”

  “Karience is with Damien. Shouldn’t we wait for her to return?”

  Arentiss glanced back down to the portal. “No, she needs to be informed now.”

  --

  Rueik rounded a corner and paused in the darkness before Damien’s domicile. A young boy scurried from torch to torch, adding pitch from his bucket to the flues.

  He pulled a thick black glove over his right hand and pushed a small button woven into the palm. A dim red light flashed, signaling the glove was now armed. It was an expensive piece of equipment his master had purchased from the mercenaries back on Hearth. Expensive, but well worth the cost. Rueik glanced at the roof and wood thatching that ran just under the overhang. He wanted to avoid the servants. No one would suspect an intruder had come in. The crime scene would be pure.

  Rueik hugged the thin hallway wall until it opened into a small porch at the door. He jumped up and grabbed the wood beam beneath the roof and began working his way to the side of the house. Below him was a precipitous drop to the third floor below. The domiciles had been well designed against the common thief or intruder. Only the truly desperate might dare such a risky undertaking…or a well-trained Shadowman.

  Rueik stopped at the first window and peered into the foyer. Quickly he maneuvered across and continued on. The wood was worn and splintering into his ungloved hand, but he ignored the small pain. It was nothing compared to the agony he’d endured in the training sessions under Isolaug. Those were the true tests. And he had slaughtered his way to the very top to earn his chance at becoming a Shadowman within the Guardian order.

  A long set of windows glowed with faint candlelight. Rueik peered inside. It was the dining room. Two partially eaten plates of food and empty wine glasses rested on the tabletop, but the room was empty.

  Had Karience already left?

  He pressed his gloved index finger against the glass and made a circle big enough for his arm. The circle of glass wiggled loose in his hand.

  Reaching in, he unlocked the window and stepped down inside the domicile. Faint voices came from an open doorway to his right. Not Karience’s or Damien’s, but the servants in the kitchen. He reached up and placed the circle of loose glass back into the hole in the window, and then reattached it using the glove’s thermal array on the index finger of the glove.

  He stepped lightly over to the only other door in the room and slowly opened it. The foyer was empty. He entered as quiet as a shadow and softly closed the door behind him. Stairs ran up to the second floor. He had no other choice but to search the house…if Karience was gone, his plans would change fast.

  At the top of the stairs, his concern eased. Karience’s voice echoed softly in the hallway. Rueik stalked quietly toward the sound, passing open rooms edged in darkness until he reached a closed door glowing faintly with light.

  With a soft touch, he opened the door.

  Two figures stood by a balcony, each holding a glass in their hands. The room was largely comprised of a desk surrounded by bookshelves. A small table held two empty plates. The two dishes he’d seen in the dining room had belonged to the servants. Only two servants, noted Rueik.

  Rueik cleared his throat. “I apologize for interrupting.”

  “Rueik, what are you doing here?” said Karience. She didn’t seem perturbed, only concerned.

  Damien scowled. “Why are you dressed like a delivery man?”

  Rueik walked toward Damien. “I wanted to meet the Opposition leader. I missed my opportunity at the Hall of Discourse.” Rueik extended his gloved hand and Damien took it with a curious expression on his face.

  He suddenly jerked his hand away and grimaced. “You must have some glass stuck in your glove,” he breathed out in pain. He clenched his teeth as he held his injured hand. “I’m bleeding.”

  Rueik glanced at Karience. Her face was like stone. Questions passed like clouds through her eyes.

  “What are you doing, Rueik?” she asked tonelessly.

  Damien sank to the floor with a whimper. “What’s happening to me,” he blubbered, his tongue growing numb from the poison.

  Rueik withdrew the miniature crossbow from his satchel. Karience glared at him with a mixture of anger and fear.

  “It was you all along,” said Karience with a tremor in her voice. “You made the story up about Zoecara.”

  “Only in part,” said Rueik. “Zoecara’s hands were as dirty as mine. She served a Beast, but she didn’t know I did as well.” He gestured to the crumpled form on the floor. “I want
you to lift Damien up and set him in his chair.”

  He saw defiance flare in Karience’s eyes, but her rebellion bowed to reason as her gaze came to rest on the weapon in his hands. With effort, she hefted up Damien and sat him at the table.

  “Push his food plate away and then spill the wine on the floor.”

  Karience complied slowly, as if her attention was consumed by possible avenues of escape. Or perhaps she was only trying to delay the inevitable end she sensed was coming. Finally, the Empyrean laid the bottle on the floor and the dark red liquid sloshed onto the embroidered rug.

  “What have you done to him?” she asked.

  “The young prince?” began Rueik, “I pricked him with a drop of black hemlock oil. It’s fatal—as you probably know.

  “And you, Karience,” he took a slow step toward her. “When the Loamian authorities arrive, you’ll be a sniveling, incoherent mess.”

  With the crossbow held steady in his right hand, he reached into the satchel with his left and withdrew the mind probe. “I’m going to tinker with your mind, Karience.”

  He saw the fear in her dark features, her eyes held captive by the objects in his hands. But what she didn’t know was that the probe and the crossbow were only diversions, the glove he wore was what he would incapacitate her with. Then he’d put the probe to work.

  “You’re not going to get away with this,” she whispered, stepping back toward the balcony. “They’ll smell treachery.”

  He sneered. “I hear the doubt in your voice. To the Royals, you’ll be a murderer. You killed their mighty Prince Damien. And in the eyes of the Guardians, you’ll simply be a mediocre Empyrean who snapped when the pressure grew too great. Your death will ensure the end of the charter. The Guardians will be forced to leave.” Rueik raised the crossbow. “For all your effort, Loam will fall to my master. I win.”

  Karience’s eyes shifted to the door.

  Before Rueik could turn, a pair of arms wrapped themselves over his chest, knocking the crossbow and the mind probe from his grip. Rueik flung his head back, striking his attacker’s face with the back of his head. The grip around him faltered, and Rueik spun, drawing an arrow from his satchel. The flash of a familiar face crossed his vision. Hark’s big hands grabbed Rueik’s shirt and pulled him to the floor. Rueik twisted his right arm up, and drove the arrow through the soft spot of Hark’s temple.