Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

  Patrick shared his father’s deepening worry that their family had somehow found itself in a weakened position—one that would become weaker in the coming months. He didn’t like the thought of the violence it was going to take to restore order, provide basic relief, and contain whatever disease outbreak came along. Forestalling intervention from the Chief Regent—or his family’s enemies—would probably require the kind of brutality that Jasmine and her family had been working so hard to curtail. Maybe that, on some level, he thought, also contributed to his father’s unloading on Jasmine, despite her mission of mercy.

  Still, Patrick had to hand it to Jasmine. She came out of her shell so seldom that when she did it was compelling, and her simple beauty and charm didn’t hurt. He was already surprised that his father had stopped everything else he was doing to make a call to the Chief Regent to get the accused men released from the stockade—under strict probation—until the investigation had concluded.

  Her case for a discharge may have been bolstered by her revelation that the Lancaster boy was associated with Shaymus Gray and Dorian Lee, whom his father hoped to lure away from the church project to bolster the province’s defenses. The Baumgarten family would be stretched by everything else coming their way, but it would be foolish to neglect the provincial defenses any longer, especially with Templeton’s weapons flowing in, and tensions rising with the Chief Regent. They couldn’t hope to hold out against a federal invasion, even with the aid of the Great Lakes and Ozarks Provinces and their second-tier allies. The most they could hope for was to create enough of a deterrent to give the Chief Regent pause. For that, they would need a first-rate planner and builder, and his father had had good luck with Shay years before. If they could get the Lancaster boy exonerated—and even transferred to their own militia—Shay would find it hard to refuse, at least according to Jasmine. The arrangement, no matter how self-interested, wouldn’t come without a cost, and part of that was going to be enduring some flak from his overtired and overstressed father.

  “Well,” Patrick said as they arrived at her quarters, “here we are. Should only be a couple days, I’d think.” The clouds were darkening on the distant horizon, and he somehow felt more at ease with her safely settled on the estate. “Let us know if you need anything. We’ll arrange a comms link so you can call your parents.”

  “Thank you. That’s most gracious. Bless you.”

  Patrick had no idea what to do with that response. He was not at all religious. They were nearly the same age, and he recognized her as smart and capable. And her brother was a friend. They were peers in every way—except by birthright.

  That’s when Patrick realized he had spent the better part of a full day with this beautiful girl, and he hadn’t once felt a desire to make a move. His father might have been proud—or at least surprised—at his son’s restraint. Thinking on it now, Patrick himself was surprised.

  Was he succumbing to the same stresses affecting his father? Had he ruled her out because of his friendship with Alias? Or maybe he had come to see her the way he saw her brother. An Ellie trapped in a peasant’s life. Or perhaps he secretly resented her continuing affair with his loutish rival, Carlos Templeton. He half-hoped his disinterest would last the next couple days, if only to prove some kind of point, though what the point was, and for whom, he couldn’t say.

  He then realized he’d been staring at her for some time without acknowledging her blessing.

  “Uhhhh-OK,” he muttered awkwardly, reaching out to shake her hand. “We’ll have a guard and escort at your door—not that you’ll need it. But he can take you wherever you want to go on the estate, at least until the storm hits.”

  Jasmine took his outstretched hand, and gave it a weak shake, visibly uncomfortable with the gesture. As she moved to shut the door, Patrick caught her face, melancholy and beautiful, and he felt a tinge of sadness in seeing her disappear. It was the same lonely let-down he always felt when Alias left.

  Chapter 33: Erstwhile Allies

  (Minister Alias Goodwell Sr.)

  Minister Alias Goodwell Sr. wrapped himself in his satin robe, eased into his slippers, and went to the window to regain some sense of peace. He had again lost his center, the foundation of the spiritual awakening he aimed to spread to the people of the world. Minister Goodwell always took comfort from the view he found at his window.

  Built on the remains of the ancient Silver King Mill at the head of the Woodside Gulch, the site of his cathedral was on a mine that dated back to early 1900s. Longer than he could really fathom. The ghosts of miners and laborers were still there to him, scrambling up and down mountainsides. They invariably helped him recover his preferred cosmic perspective—his sense of an infinitesimal place in a vast universe, forever renewing itself with fleeting beauty and interminable struggle. All under the watchful eye of God.

  From his window he admired the remnants of the old ski gondolas, ancient signposts from the High Times, conjuring more ghosts: skiers, hikers, and bicyclists traversing the slopes. Small children in brightly colored suits, blissfully racing on the snow. Snow. The world’s most elite athletes competing in the Olympic tournament. The intelligentsia, who descended on the town to admire and reward themselves for their own creativity. The heyday of the now-defunct United States of America.

  Although Park City was one of the few western towns to escape the ravages of the Water Wars, the secession putsches, and the White-Nazi Anschluss, it still displayed the harbingers of the High Times’ demise. The scars on the mountainsides, denuded for the entertainment of the old elites and the bourgeoisie. Great swaths of aspen trees, reduced to emaciated gray skeletons. The brittle, shrunken cones of ancient evergreens, long since consumed by the beetles and fungi that marched relentlessly higher as the climate shifted.

  Park City had enthralled Minister Goodwell since the moment Gilbert Calden flew him up the old route 80 valley, which still twisted through the mountain passes from Salt Lake City. The town’s old western storefronts on Main Street and its classic homes on Park Avenue. When his tracked billy-goat wagon took him to the marble stairs and arched doorway of the disused Silver King Church—his cathedral—its massive stained-glass windows and pearlescent spire reaching toward the heavens, he was nearly overcome with a profound sense of relief. The haunted mountains vanquished his ingrained wanderlust—something he had ever thought possible.

  Of course, the cathedral was close enough to the Consortium’s regional headquarters, the Nautilus, for his paymasters to keep a close eye on church business. They took his only son as an integrated liaison—a well-treated hostage. As the deal soured day by day, month by month, leaving Minister Goodwell feeling ever more removed from his destiny, the mountain vistas still imparted the clean feeling that follows a downpour.

  He made a point of coming to this spot every morning at dawn to brace himself for the day and again at dusk to let it go so he could sleep. He was confident, though, that it wouldn’t work tonight as he stewed on his meeting with Ali Ibn al-Rashid, the mastermind behind the PetrolChurch experiment.

  When the small Arab man had arrived at the cathedral’s arched entry, Minister Goodwell wrestled with anxiety and dread—and a subtle urge for violence that would have landed him and his family in a mass grave.

  “Mr. Rashid, welcome.” He mustered a smile.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Minister Goodwell,” Rashid graciously replied, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a white cloth.

  Minister Goodwell led the aging Rashid, who once upon a time carried the reputation of giant, into the vestry. He towered over the little man and wondered how he had survived so long in the dirty business of the Ellies. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  They sat down, and a church functionary brought them cups of iced tea.

  “Minister, you are busy, and time is an issue, so forgive me for coming straight to the point.”

  Minister Goodwell leaned forward in his chair, his attention undivided.

  “I received this me
ssage from your son.” Rashid passed a tablet to Minister Goodwell and gave him a moment to read.

  Minister Goodwell was slightly frustrated to hear about his son’s intent to stay on his relief mission in the Desert Plains Territory from Rashid. It reminded him of the unstated competition he had with Rashid for the affection and loyalty of his only son.

  “OK,” the minister answered nonchalantly. “He wants to stay a little longer. My understanding is the mission is having a positive impact. What’s the issue?”

  Rashid shifted uncomfortably in his seat and paused to take a breath and consider his next words. Anxiety rose in Goodwell’s chest.

  “It is my opinion that Alias should not have gone, and we need to pull him out at the first opportunity. Now, in fact.”

  Minister Goodwell raised an eyebrow of curiosity, which quickly turned to angry suspicion. “Why’s that, Mr. Rashid? What is it you think is going to happen? Must be something more than the normal chaos and crime. But what could be so different that you have such concern—especially since Junior is escorted by security you hired?” Minister Goodwell felt his face flush hot and pressed on.

  “Is there a problem with the smuggling being run through the churches? The drugs? The guns? Perhaps a gang-war over money? Some mercenaries feel cheated? A war lord muscling in? Some other Ellie scheme about to go the way they always go? And you’re here to tell me these sins are about to put my son in even more danger.”

  “Minister Goodwell,” Rashid answered flatly. “We have been through all this a dozen times, and the result is always the same.” Rashid slid his thumb and index finger under his glasses and pressed his eyes in frustration. “Do we need to recount the trade-offs being made here?

  “The church has aided thousands across the Commonwealth in ways that never would have happened otherwise. Everywhere we have helped you build churches, economic productivity is up, and violence is down. You are spreading the Word of God in ways you could never have done in the traveling ministry.

  “Which is to say nothing of the many benefits that have accrued to your family.” Rashid gestured subtly, but unmistakably, at the grandeur surrounding them.

  “As for security, you know I have lobbied hard—and successfully—to ensure your family is protected. And I am, to your point, here now to continue ensuring your family is protected.”

  Minister Goodwell answered with a scoffing grunt. “Yes, the safety of my family is atop your list, I’m sure. Remind me, Mister Rashid, how was it that you backed out of the flight you were planning to take with my son—the one that was shot down after departing your estate?”

  Minister Goodwell could see Rashid bristle to the edge of an outburst, but instead the old man drew a deep breath to regain his composure. The minister knew he should do the same, and that he had taken his anger too far. So, while he couldn’t completely relent, he softened his tone.

  “You can listen to my suggestion and take steps to keep your son safe—safer. Or you can continue berating me and leave it to me to pull Alias back. But I am less likely to convince him on my own, and the longer he is there, the more I fear he is in danger.”

  “How am I to interpret your warning?” Minister Goodwell replied. “We all know the region isn’t safe, and I never asked for him to go in the first place. But that’s not it, is it? There’s something else going on to bring you here with this kind of urgency, and I’d like to know what’s going on.”

  Minister Goodwell sighed and considered his next words.

  “This whole thing has been a disaster,” he said at last. “Rashid, I believe you want to help my son, and of course I’ll help you do that. I want him safe, as I want everyone in my family to be safe. I just think that isn’t possible anymore under the current arrangement. The church—the PetrolChurch—has become an affront to God and a danger to my family. I have to ask you—knowing that you care about Junior—if the time has come for us to step away from the church experiment.”

  “You should do no such thing,” Rashid snapped, taking the minister aback. He composed himself and continued in a near whisper. “Important Ellie families are seeing a great deal of benefit from the church, and you cannot know how they will react to disappointment. I suggest you not test it.” Rashid searched Minister Goodwell’s eyes to ensure his message was not lost. “And if, as you suspect, something very bad is coming, it would be infinitely better for your family to be on the in with the Ellies and the Consortium.”

  “Unless it’s the Ellies and the Consortium who are about to tear each other apart,” Goodwell answered. But he knew Rashid was right and relented, sinking his head into both hands.

  Rashid leaned in and put his hand on the minister’s knee. “It’s a precaution,” Rashid assured. “But Alias cannot stay a few more weeks, as he had planned.” Moreover, Rashid suggested the entire family find an excuse to go north, or to one of the coasts. “Just for a few weeks.” Rashid then promised to tell him when it was safe to come back.

  “Wait, what?” Minister Goodwell stiffened. “The whole family needs to be gone? What in blazes does that mean?”

  Rashid withdrew his hand, recoiled slowly, and paused.

  “You should cancel your upcoming trips. Bring back Alias and fly to the Mid-Atlantic Province. The Baumgartens will surely accommodate them now that the storm and its aftermath are getting back in hand.”

  “Whyyyy?” Minister Goodwell asked hesitantly. “Why isn’t Park City safe?”

  Rashid said nothing, rocketing Minister Goodwell’s worry to new heights.

  “And why should we go to the Mid-Atlantic? If we’re going to flee, I’d be inclined to go to Oregonia. We have a better relationship with Templetons. At least they support the church. In fact, the Baumgartens would be one of the last places I’d seek refuge.”

  “I suspect Senator Baumgarten won’t be overly keen to have you, with everything else going on.”

  No kidding, the minister thought. His province is being pummeled by a hurricane, surely to be followed by the normal rioting and rebellion. I’d get Jasmine out today if I could. I don’t even like it when Alias goes there, and he’s at least friends with the son.

  “I wish I could explain it,” Rashid sighed. “I would normally counsel that all the Ellies are equally bad choices, but I think the Baumgartens are the best bet.”

  Minister Goodwell was stunned by the admission.

  “I cannot force you to do anything, Minister, but I urge you in the strongest possible terms to bring Alias back and head east. As soon as possible.”

  Minister Goodwell could hardly believe his ears, and he sat silently trying to absorb it all.

  “Where will you go?” he asked at last, again suspicious. Rashid’s answer, that he would remain in Park City, compounded the minister’s distrust.

  “And what about the churches and our ministers? Shouldn’t they be evacuated from anywhere you think the risks are serious.”

  “Minister, I cannot dictate that you leave or where you go, but I will insist that you say nothing about this conversation—to anyone. Not your wife. Not your children. Not the Templetons or even the Baumgartens. You know nothing, and you should send no signals that might indicate otherwise.”

  Rashid’s stare was grave and determined, even uncharacteristically menacing. Minister Goodwell’s Adam’s apple swelled in his throat. He swallowed hard, hoping to control his vexation, and almost gagged.

  If I can’t say anything to anyone, how do I convince Alias to come home? How do I convince Jasmine to stay put? How do I get my wife on a jet when she hates flying? How do I get the Baumgartens to take us—even Rashid knows they won’t be keen. And how do I protect my ministers?

  “Alias is stubborn,” Rashid inserted. Minister Goodwell had to nod in agreement. “We should send him the same message. Tell him we are being summoned by the Chief Regent for a briefing, and we need him to help us prepare. Jasmine will do what you say, if you are firm—even if you gave no reason. Tell her to feign illness. When Alias returns,
announce a detour to check on Jasmine before the trip to Winnipeg. I will grease it with Senator Baumgarten and arrange security. Once you are there, make yourself useful to Baumgarten, and we will find excuses to keep you there.”

  Rashid then passed Minister Goodwell a micro-comms device. “Don’t use the comms the Consortium gave you, or any OmniComms channels for that matter.” He telegraphed a knowing look at the minister to ensure his message registered. “I will need to know your decision by tomorrow morning if I am to make the arrangements.”

  With Rashid’s departure, Minister Goodwell went upstairs to stand in front of his window and gaze upon the mountain side. As the sun fell behind the crest. The beautiful sight of nature was of it was bittersweet with the knowledge he must leave, and his suspicion that it could all be destroyed. It made his heart ache.

  He fiddled with the micro-comms device, as his thoughts jumped uncontrollably. The beauty of the mountains. The ghosts. The sickening thought of his decision to get in bed with the Ellies. Rashid’s warning. The fate of his ministers, and what God would think about him abandoning them.

  Finally, Alias flashed into his mind. The memory of his son studying in the back of the traveling ministry’s bus with Jasmine and Joshua. The image of him playing catch with his sister and Camila. The sight of him busily working the V-plat console to bring the ministry’s sermons to life. The thought of admonishing him the last time they saw each other.