Paul felt his hands loosen their grip when Eklan lifted her into his arms. Eklan's soldiers bowed their heads and chanted a prayer of some sort. Bubba didn't translate.
Eklan cleared his throat and gave an order with a broken voice. Six men presented themselves as an honor guard. Eklan turned to Paul once more. “I think Lord Jessit will want to see you.” He pointed to the only man not dressed in uniform. “This man will escort you. We must take the Lady back first.”
He turned and walked out, a bank of men on either side of him. They were taking Rachel back to their ship. They were taking her home.
***
Paul's escort looked familiar. He had seen him once by Jessit's side. The somber-looking man fitted himself with an earpiece, but didn't approach Paul right away. He was far more interested in the dead general.
The man lifted Sorinsen by his tie, squeezing the rope of fabric like a hangman's noose. The loathing on the man's face could have killed with a look. He shook Sorinsen, hurling him to the floor as if he were something monstrous.
Paul got up to get a better look. Sorinsen's face looked like a frozen mask. His throat had red-welted finger marks around it. He had been killed with bare hands.
The general died with his eyes wide open. And he died in terror.
His escort kicked Sorinsen in the ribs, shoving the body several inches from his resting place. He knelt over the dead man and drew out a long, jeweled knife hidden under his tunic.
Knuckles whitened into bony ridges as his hand squeezed around the blade's hilt. The knife pressed against Sorinsen's pale skin, delivering only a stain of blood.
The dagger slid lower to the main artery along the neck. He severed the artery until blade met bone, allowing the blood to gurgle to the surface in thick, fleshy gobs. An empty vial appeared next, and he pressed it against the open wound, milking the blood out of the withered flesh until it filled the vial to the brim. When he was done, he capped the small jar and slipped it into a pocket, wiping his blade across the general's uniform.
For his final insult, he stood up and spat at Sorinsen's face. A string of angry words followed, but Paul didn't need a translator to know a curse when he heard one.
The blade was sheathed once more before he turned to speak to Paul. “It was a debt I owed my master. He was not allowed to come down to the surface. So I made it my duty to retrieve the blood of the Lady's murderer.” He opened the door and beckoned Paul to go first. “My name is Senit Dante, Mr. Domino. And my master, Taelen Jessit, would like a word with you.”
Paul obeyed dumbly. If Jessit intended to kill him for his failure to protect Rachel, he hoped for a swift execution. He was tired of long engagements.
They traveled the long corridors of the compound, Senit Dante following a rolling map display that he had strapped to his arm. “This way,” he said, and they turned to the left.
The halls were mostly empty now. Occasionally they would find a few Alturian soldiers leading away prisoners, but they soon found themselves alone and lost.
“This device does not seem to be working well.” Senit hit it with the edge of his palm but the monitor remained snowy. “I don't understand. Damn machine.”
They hit a dead end, so they doubled back, hoping to take a turn in another direction. In the distance the soft steady click of footfalls drew nearer.
“At least we're not alone,” Paul said. “Let's see if we can catch up to those footsteps.” They started at a trot and nearly ran into a tall sculpted figure dressed in black. The man smiled at Paul in recognition.
“How good to see you again, Paul.”
Paul's mouth hung open for a few seconds, but Senit's knee dropped to the floor. He genuflected to Gilgamesh.
“My Lord. We thought you dead.”
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes at Senit but sniffed him with interest. “Who is this man, Paul?”
“This is Senit Dante, sir. Jessit's servant, evidently.”
“Indeed. And where is Taelen now?”
Senit stuttered, “On-on board our flagship, my Lord. The Fleet Commander would not allow him to come to the planet surface. I came in his stead to take the blood of the murderer, Sorinsen. It is my master's right to burn the heathen's blood.”
Gilgamesh seemed pleased. “Blood burning? Do you still do that? How wonderful that you have not forgotten the old ways.” Senit's answer delighted him. “Rise, my young falcon, and take me to your master. I would like to be present when he burns the blood of the man who murdered my daughter.”
“You know about Rachel?” Paul asked.
“I know.” The words were said grimly. “I was the one who killed Sorinsen, but I came too late to save my daughter.”
There was a veiled look of pain across Gilgamesh's face. Glib as he normally was, he was taking his daughter's death hard. Death had to be difficult to comprehend for any father, but Paul imagined it had to be nearly unbearable to an immortal one.
Senit tapped his fingers to his chest and head. “The humans are no longer in control of this planet, sir.”
Gilgamesh nodded. “I'm glad, but that won't bring my daughter back.”
Chapter 41
Jessit shoved the priests out of the way when they laid Rachel on a hospital bed. She was stained in blood and bruises, the brutality of torture carved on her body. Jessit felt a hot streak of tears slide down his face. He sat on her bed and took her limp body into his arms. She lay cold and pale, her thick rose lips cracked and torn like crumpled paper.
A smear of dried blood tracked down her throat from four ugly puncture marks on her neck. He cradled her, rocking her in his arms, oblivious to the men around him. Jessit buried his face into the nape of her neck, whispering his oath of vengeance.
The man he was had broken. And he didn't know how to fix himself, nor did he want to, not if she were gone.
Jessit looked up at Eklan, no longer concerned about his pride or his reputation. The only creature who ever meant anything to him was taken, stolen, her spirit scattered to the winds. Jessit closed his eyes, trying to find that part of her that she had given him. Was it gone? Did it die too? He clutched her to his chest, reluctant to let her go.
“Taelen,” Eklan said gently. “Let the priests do their job. Her body needs to be prepared for the trip home.” Eklan tried to pry her from his arms but Jessit hugged her tighter. With firm tenderness, Eklan took her from Jessit's arms. “Please. We can't let her stay like this.”
Slowly, painfully, Jessit released her.
Wreaths made of ivy and paper flowers lined her bed, while the cloying smell of incense wafted over the heads of her mourning circle of priests.
Jessit, hollow-eyed and silent, stood vigil at the far end of the white sterile ward.
Dahlia, Rachel's young cousin, whose body was still very much alive, was placed in a shadowy corner away from all the commotion. The humans destroyed Dahlia's soul, but they stole everything from Rachel.
Eklan sat as the lone sentinel by Dahlia's soulless body, his head hung in prayer. Did Natol feel personally responsible for not being here sooner?
The priests' chants grew louder and two of the sisterhood, the only two priestesses who had traveled with the armada, cleaned and undressed Rachel. They bathed her body then rubbed scented oils into her still-fresh skin. Tambrez, the shipboard physician, examined her once more before they dressed her in the fine silks the sisters brought with them. The physician took Rachel's hand, experienced fingers feeling up her forearm. He clicked on a sensor and waved a probe over the length of her body.
Jessit fumed, irritated that Tambrez insisted on examining her yet again. The fool. What is he looking for?
But Tambrez was one of the best physicians in the fleet. His experienced eye often caught nuances that other medics failed to catch.
The chanting grew louder, each song a fertile prayer for the return of the gods and a safe journey for Rachel, now traveling a separate road. Separate from me, Jessit thought.
Tambrez relented and finall
y let the priestesses dress Rachel in her finery. She would travel to Alturis for a proper funeral, certain to be the grandest spectacle ever held on the planet. Jessit knew he wouldn't be there to witness it. He had other obligations to fulfill.
The sickly-sweet aroma of the incense was overpowering, forcing Tambrez to take refuge closer to Jessit.
“What was the point in examining her further?” Jessit grumbled. “What did you think you were going to find?”
“I don't know.” Tambrez rubbed his smooth pate and sighed in disappointment. “I suppose it's related to her godhood. I simply don't understand it.”
“Understand what?”
“The readings. My instruments are sensitive enough to pick up cellular decay, but the sensors are reacting strangely. The numbers are fluctuating wildly. One moment the cells are decaying, in the next, they're regenerating.” He keyed the handheld machine to run another diagnostic.
Jessit straightened up and looked over at the far end of the ward, where the priests and priestesses gathered around Rachel, praying for her blessings. Was it possible? Both hearts pounded in his chest. Jessit didn't want to go there. He didn't want to raise his hopes.
He gazed at her lifeless body. She was dead. Anyone could see that.
“I'm sure it is due to her particular physiology. Perhaps the cells degenerate more slowly or go through a metamorphism.” Tambrez wiped his smooth head again. “Whatever is happening, the body's not decomposing in a normal manner.” He checked his reader again. “More fuel for the legend, I suppose. If her flesh doesn't decay it offers more evidence of her godhood. Not that she needed any proof.”
Jessit sat back in his chair. “She didn't want anyone to know. I should've listened to her. Maybe she'd still be alive today.”
“The humans have paid for their blasphemy. It will take them generations to recover.”
“It won't bring Rachel back.”
“I'm truly sorry, Commander.”
Jessit glared at him. Tambrez immediately understood his mistake.
“Apologies, my lord. I can't see you as anything but my commanding officer. We've worked together for too long.”
Jessit's face softened. Losing command still hurt. It was the final insult to a cursed life. He had lost everything in one day, Rachel, his rank—his pride. Still noble-born, it meant nothing in the grander scheme. The military was his life, the only thing he'd ever loved, until he met Rachel. Now both were stolen from him in one sweep.
He got up and stumbled over to Eklan, still keeping vigil over Dahlia's comatose body. “Where did we go wrong?”
Eklan regarded him glumly. “We didn't do anything wrong. We just didn't do everything right.”
Eklan excused himself from Jessit's company then walked over to Rachel's bed. He should have been back up on his bridge, but like everyone else he wanted to be close to these two women, to know the presence of real divinity.
The priests moved to one side, annoyed at having their prayers interrupted.
Eklan knelt besides Rachel's bed, bowing his head in silent prayer. When he finished, he bowed at the waist to the Lady and boldly touched the hem of her dress.
A soldier approached Eklan and whispered a message into his ear. Eklan said nothing to Jessit but motioned Tambrez to follow him. In different circumstances, Taelen would have been insulted by the slight, but he was past caring.
Jessit watched in envy as the chanting grew louder. Rachel belonged to the priests now. They would take her back to Alturis and preserve her under glass. Bits of her hair would be clipped and presented to select temples as the holy relic of a deity. An entire planet would bow at her feet and ask for her blessing. He could already envision the shrines and temples built in her name.
The frosted door opened once more, and Senit walked toward him. Jessit was glad to see him back. “Did you get it?”
“Yes,” Senit said. He handed Jessit a tall thin vial of blood. “Sorinsen's blood, spilled by your knife.”
“You're a good friend, Senit.”
“You would have done the same for me.” He turned back to an empty doorway. “I brought you something else too.”
“Oh?” Jessit glanced back to where Senit was looking but only medical personnel traipsed between this ward and the next one. “What did you bring me?”
Senit nodded back toward the door as someone escorted Paul Domino in. “I brought you him.”
Paul limped into the room under the guidance of an orderly. His face was bruised and swollen, and the whites of his eyes were marbled in blood.
Jessit dismissed the orderly. “Welcome back, Mr. Domino. May I say, you look terrible.”
Domino smiled wryly. “Obviously you haven't looked in a mirror lately.” Something else was going to leave his mouth when he noticed Dahlia lying in a sheltered cove. He wobbled over to her bed and stared at her for several minutes, muttering something under his breath before falling into the chair next to her bed.
Dahlia looked like a child sleeping. If only they could wake her. Kalya was leaving it up to the high priest Avenar to make a decision on what to do with the body.
Domino picked up her hand and kissed it. He turned to Jessit suddenly and asked, “Where's Rachel?”
Jessit felt angry, though he wasn't sure why. Was it the remnant of an old jealousy? He didn't want to share Rachel with Domino, even in death.
Domino saw the flock of priests at the far end of the infirmary and stumbled to his feet. The poor wretch nearly toppled over Dahlia's body. Jessit helped him up. Paul was far weaker than he expected.
“I want to see her,” he protested.
Jessit huffed at him. “What did Rachel ever see in you?”
Domino raised himself up as straight as he could and looked at Jessit eye to eye. “You know, I often asked myself the same question about you. Are you going to let me see her or not?”
Domino looked like he was ready to keel over and he fell into his chair once more. Sorinsen's people had tortured him well.
Jessit glanced over at the mob of warbling priests and nodded to his one-time rival. “All right, but do not fall on top of her. It will just make the priests mad.” Jessit lifted him up, putting his arm around him to keep him on his feet. They both stumbled over to Rachel's bed.
The priestesses moved away, but the priests hissed their disapproval. Kalya was among them, and he stood up and ordered them away. Jessit pulled out a small shock pistol hidden inside his tunic. “Move away, Kalya. I will gladly shoot you now and do penance later.”
To Jessit's dismay the priests banded together and stood their ground, each taking a spot near Rachel's bed and allowing them to get no closer. Kalya smiled in smug satisfaction.
“You have no authority here, Taelen. And your assistance to Commander Eklan is at an end.” Kalya turned his back on Jessit and leaned over Rachel, adjusting the silky cowl of her dress. His feeble hands slipped and touched her bare skin.
At the moment of contact, a bolt of lightning shot out of Rachel's body, striking Kalya and catapulting him against the wall. He was knocked out cold. The other priests chittered amongst themselves like agitated insects, milling too close to Rachel's body. One of the priests bumped the edge of the bed, touching her bare foot, and he too was shot with a violent bolt of energy.
Her entourage shuffled away from the bed and Jessit noticed a soft glow of silver-blue light doming around her body. Glory. Was she trying to come back?
The other priests in the wing saw it too and rushed to her side en masse, but were hurled away like errant toys.
Jessit staggered toward her, concerned she might be in danger, but Domino held him back. “Wait. Gilgamesh is on the ship. Call him. He'll know what to do.”
Jessit didn't have to utter a word. One of the priests contacted Eklan at once. Within moments, Eklan and Tambrez escorted the mighty Gilgamesh into the medical ward. Priests prostrated themselves and chanted, orderlies bowed and scraped, but Gilgamesh ignored them and went straight to Rachel.
&
nbsp; He studied her for a moment then put his hands inches above her body. A bright blue glow emanated between them. Silently, he pulled away.
“You must clear the room. She is harmful to you in this state.”
Everyone stared at him as if he was mad, but Tambrez corroborated Gilgamesh's claim. Rachel was giving off dangerous doses of glory, enough to harm every man in the ward.
The medical staff shuffled out unwillingly, while the valiant priests scrambled like a mob to the exit.
Jessit lingered near Rachel's bed while Senit tugged at his arm. “We have to go, Taelen.”
Gilgamesh turned to Jessit and snapped his fingers at him. “Not you.”
Senit stood his ground. “You said she was dangerous to us in her state.”
The Holy narrowed his eyes at Senit. “Taelen will stay. That is my order.”
Eklan hurried everyone else out, including Senit. Both men took one last look at Jessit before the door was bolted from the outside.
When the room was silent once more, Gilgamesh turned to Jessit. “Do you know why you are staying?”
Jessit folded his hands behind him. “As punishment, I presume. You mean to see me die of radiation poisoning.”
“If only it were that easy.” Gilgamesh shook his head. “You really don't understand what's happened to you, do you? She gave you a piece of her virginity, a piece of her DNA.” He poked a finger at his chest. “It's inside you, fused with your DNA. Glory won't hurt you, Taelen. It's a part of you.”
Jessit rubbed his fingers against his solar plexus. Was that what he felt inside him?
“Welcome to godhood, young man.”
Jessit stared at Gilgamesh in horror. To even think such a thing was sacrilege. It was true he couldn't explain the strange sensations inside him, but that didn't make him one of them. How could it? He was mortal.
“Impossible.”
“Yes, well, I thought so too. But here you are, no longer the man I met in the cave.”
“You are mistaken, sir. I am no god.”
“Perhaps not, but you carry a piece of us in you nonetheless, and it allows you to remain in a place that would kill anyone else on this ship.” He stroked Rachel's hair, a father's sorrow in his eyes. “I must negotiate treaties between your people and the humans. I leave you to care for my daughter in my absence.”
True Believers Page 29