Fire, Ruin, and Fury (Embers Saga)

by Matthew Taylor

  “Senator Baumgarten, thank you for coming all this way to convey your urgent message in person. It is a time of profound concern for all of us, so we thought it best the entire Small Council hear your presentation. Things are still dire, so I’m afraid we must dispense with the normal formalities.”

  The Chief Regent already looked annoyed at the time waiting.

  “Thank you, Minister, honored members of the Small Council,” his father began.

  Ashley Templeton sat with a dignified posture, hands folded politely on the table, looking intently at Patrick’s father. Carlos glared smugly at Patrick, a thinly veiled bloodlust in his eyes. Patrick’s father hesitated a moment to gather his thoughts and consider his phrasing.

  “As you requested, I will come straight to the point. I fear, Your Excellency, based on new evidence that has come into my possession, that this great upheaval facing our country is more than spontaneous fighting between factions. This, I’m sure, we all have already guessed.” He paused and took a sip of water. “And while my family has been busy containing the unrest that followed the recent superstorm—too preoccupied with ensuring local security to pay enough attention to the upheaval elsewhere—we now believe this attack was coordinated by specific powers, both foreign and domestic.”

  Patrick fixed his gaze on Senator Templeton, hoping for some indication that he was concerned about being exposed, but Templeton’s face was stoic and calm. The others at the table appeared disinterested in his father’s introduction. The Chief Regent feigned interest. Francesca Carroll chewed her lower lip. Deirdre Tealman was the only one showing sincere interest.

  Patrick’s father could read the table just as well, and he cleared his throat. “I have brought the evidence itself—and my top forensic scientists—to explain.” He then signaled to Miriam Gossage to join him on stage.

  Miriam started hesitantly, and Patrick detected her trembling. He willed her to steel herself, lest the audience be distracted as she walked them through the evidence but immediately detected that he was trembling slightly as well, sweat beading in his palms and on his forehead.

  As Miriam walked through the story systematically and dispassionately, Patrick waited for the “oh-shit” moment of epiphany for the Chief Regent and his leaders. But they just listened expressionless to the exposé. No one interrupted. No one asked questions. Miriam finished to a deafening silence. Only Deirdre appeared perplexed as she glanced at the Chief Regent for a reaction.

  “Your Excellency, Honored Members of the Small Council,” his father began again, shifting slightly in his seat. “I’m afraid I do not come with clear advice on how to respond. I merely felt it important that you have all the available information as you consider the next moves in restoring order and protecting the Chief Regent.”

  After a pregnant hush, the Chief Regent finally leaned forward in this throne. “And you believe that dirty little dictator, Thomas?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “I’d say he’s lucky we don’t carpet bomb him into oblivion.” A small drop of spittle gleamed on his flushed-red lips. “Does the great Generalissimo think he can split the unity of the Commonwealth with techno-trinkets flown in from his backward wasteland of a country?!”

  Patrick couldn’t believe his ears. This is our commander-in-chief, he thought bitterly. The magnanimous leader of the Commonwealth. A blowhard and an idiot.

  The Chief Regent licked his lips and wiped the spittle from his chin with a cloth.

  “I admit, it was brave for you to come all this way to bring us this information.” He paused. “But tell me, Thomas, my long-time friend and confidante, what do you recommend I make of the video by Ali Ibn al-Rashid?”

  Thomas shifted again in his chair. “Your Excellency, I am not aware—”

  “Well, I am aware of your schemes and conspiracies with the enemies of the Commonwealth, Thomas!” The Chief Regent’s face now glowed red with a fury he could barely contain. “I know all about your plans for the PetrolChurch.”

  The PetrolChurch? His father hadn’t mentioned the church, and Patrick wasn’t even aware the Chief Regent knew the derogatory short hand for the church experiment. He’d always thought the Chief Regent was its biggest secret supporter. Jasmine’s extended stay at the estate now appeared to be a liability.

  Patrick saw perversely satisfied looks cross the faces of the Big Five churches.

  Half the Council was in on the Church. You wanted to use it to dilute the power of those fat fucks right next to you! Patrick could barely contain his own rage.

  “Your Excellency—” his father began again, only to be immediately cut-off again.

  “Are you not interested in the other things I know before you spin more fictions? Your mutual-defense agreement with Ozarks Province—a pact expressly forbidden under law. And all this while our Expeditionary Force is coming under fire defending our interests abroad, and out Domestic Security Service needing every able-bodied soldier?!”

  Fear galloped in Patrick’s chest with every word, as the Chief Regent wound himself up and spat foamy saliva. Miriam backed away from the table slowly, fearfully, and Patrick sensed Beez cower behind him and Bully, as if hoping not to be seen.

  Worse than the Chief Regent’s shouting, Patrick knew they were guilty of the charges, even if the scale and intensity of the upheaval wasn’t their doing.

  Even if we could convince him that his understanding is off by a few degrees, it wouldn’t help us now. Heat rose-up in his neck, and a drop of sweat cascaded down his church.

  “And all this from the man who swore himself to be my trusted ally,” the Chief Regent spat. “A family that has been allied with mine for decades. My confidante is my betrayer. Judas!” Deirdre patted the Chief Regent’s arm again, prompting him to rub his head and draw a long, calming breath.

  “I weep for what we have lost, Thomas,” he said at last, visibly as sad as he was angry.

  Patrick stood dumfounded behind his father, who sat motionless and speechless, grappling with the shock of the events unfolding.

  Move the pieces, Patrick thought. Move them fast—any of them. Say something!

  “Thomas,” the Chief Regent said as calmly as he could, “we will send forces to the Mid-Atlantic Province. They will finish putting down the unrest that you claim has been such a distraction for you. The Council will assume direct control of the provincial government, including your provincial militia. Your assets will be forfeit, and all corporate security forces will be merged into the Domestic Security Service. And though I already know what I want to do with you, you and your top advisors will be detained here until we can arrange a trial for treason against the Commonwealth.”

  “Your Excellency,” Ashley Templeton inserted with a nod to the others at the table, “pardon my interruption, but at the risk of overstepping my bounds, may I offer some considerations for mitigating the risks of this unfortunate situation?”

  The Chief Regent gestured with a wave of his hand, as if he was too spent to object.

  Here we go. Our fate in the hands of our greatest enemy, and the man who is most likely behind this entire shit-show.

  “Perhaps a full invasion of a single province—a province that is mostly secure—at this stage in the upheaval isn’t the optimal approach. There is still fighting in other areas. I suggest we put down the existing upheaval where it is first. Thomas can give the order to transfer military control to another, more trustworthy ally of the Commonwealth and begin demobilizing his militia. Perhaps we can just dispatch a small unit of the Palace Guard to take control of the Mid-At forces and to secure communications. Would that not suffice at this stage, Your Excellency?”

  The Chief Regent leaned over to exchange whispers with Deirdre Tealman.

  “Agreed,” he said after a long minute’s pause. “Who do you suggest lead the detachment, Ashley?”

  “I believe our Minister of War would be the natural choice to oversee it, but with everything on her plate, I would—humbly—volunteer my son Carlos.”


  Oh my God. He did it. They finally beat us.

  Several members of the Council gasped and squirmed at the proposition, and the Chief Regent slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

  C’mon, Patrick silently encouraged. You can do the math as well as anyone. He felt a glimmer of hope that Senator Templeton had finally overplayed his hand. All the evidence says he’s behind all this, and now he bids you to shift the balance of power in the entire country to House Templeton.

  The Chief Regent sat silently, weighing the recommendation, before sighing, “I think another House would be better suited to the task at this stage, but I will think on it and render a decision in an hour or so.”

  Patrick felt an odd sense of relief. Shouldn’t matter who takes our realm if we’re dead, but somehow keeping it from those fuckers makes it less devastating.

  Francesca Carroll got up from her seat and walked over to the Chief Regent, leaning in to offer her advice. Then Madison Pitt, followed by Guillermo Perez. They huddled around the throne, to the visible chagrin of the Chief Regent, who stood up as if to walk away.

  “One last thing, Your Excellency, if I might,” said Templeton. “There are perils to taking control of an autonomous province of the Commonwealth.”

  The Chief Regent looked at Templeton inquisitively, and with a nod from Templeton, Carroll and Pitt plunged hidden daggers into the Chief Regent’s neck and back. Guillermo Perez leaped forward, followed by Josephina Thomson, adding their blades to the bloodletting.

  Patrick staggered back, tripping on his own feet and falling to the marble floor in horror. His father leaped from his chair, grabbed Miriam by the arm, and raced from the carnage. The handful of Palace Guards stationed around the room balked in shock—time enough for a host of Templeton’s henchmen to emerge from side doors, knock some of the guards unconscious with chock-batons, and gun-down the rest.

  Bully surged forward to get Patrick to his feet, as Patrick watched Senator Templeton amble over to the Chief Regent, now doubled over on the marble table. The Senator pulled off his crown, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and slit his throat. The Chief Regent’s writhing ceased, and he flopped onto the stone floor with a splat.

  Deirdre Tealman unfroze from her shock, screamed, and started pounding an alarm button on the arm rest of the throne, setting off an ear-splitting cry throughout the Palace. Without so much as flinching, Carlos Templeton marched up behind her, drew a pistol, and shot her in the back of the head.

  Patrick’s father now helped Bully hoist Patrick to his feet, dragging him toward the door as he did so. A throng of Palace Guards burst through into the room. The soldiers halted for a second to survey the situation—eager to avoid hitting anyone they were charged to protect—and Templeton’s men felled several of them in their moment of hesitation. The others took cover where they could and returned fire.

  A tempest of bullets consumed the Small Council room. Patrick instinctively pushed his father to the front of their fleeing group to speed his escape. Bully stopped to pick up a pistol next to a squirming bloody soldier and knelt down to cover their retreat.

  “Get to the ship—fast as you can!” Bully shouted, as Gajah grabbed a nearby rifle from a pool of blood and joined Bully in firing into the melee.

  Patrick tugged Miriam’s hand to snap her out of her paralysis, but they hadn’t taken a step before her hand went limp and heavy. He looked down to find her sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood. He bent over to feel for a pulse when Bully grabbed him by the collar and forced him onward, only to cry out as a bullet pierced his shoulder. Bully paused in agony for a second before pushing Patrick forward to rejoin his father at the doorway.

  Patrick ran toward the door, which his father had pushed open, the glaring sun forcing them all to squint. In his moment of blindness, Patrick heard the wet, sickening crack of blood and bone beside him. A warm spray slapped the side of his face, and he knew instantly that his father was gone.

  When his vision returned, Patrick found himself staring at his father, face down on the concrete, half his head missing. Patrick unconsciously started dragging his lifeless body down the stairs in a futile bid to get him back to the ship and home.

  Bully again intervened, stepping over his father’s back and prying it from Patrick’s grip. Patrick turned to swing at Bully’s interference, but Bully sprung in close and wrapped himself around Patrick before he could launch the punch.

  “We go!” Bully shouted in his ear. “We go now, Boy!”

  Patrick could barely see Bully through his tears and the glare, when he realized Bully had lifted him off his feet and was lugging him forward. Remembering himself, and seeing Bully’s grimace, Patrick tapped him on the shoulder calmly, returned to his feet, and renewed their race to the airship.

  Small groups of Palace Guards raced past them, charging toward the gunfire still echoing from the Palace, none bothering to detain what was left of Patrick’s party. Beez was already waiting at the airship when Patrick arrived with Bully, Gajah guarding their rear. The Baumgartens’ guards had established perimeter around the ship, and their pilot had fired up the engines.

  Patrick, dazed and despondent, passed Bully off to a guard, who started first aid as the bull-shark rocked into the cold air and thundered over the treetops toward home. Patrick collapsed into a chair and watched the door gunner scan their surroundings with a relentless intensity that made him think he might survive the trip back home—though he now had no sense of what home really was anymore.

  Chapter 55: Wayward

  (Emily Goldbloom)

  Emily Goldbloom sat on the floor with Jasmine Goodwell in Emily’s cavernous room in the Baumgarten Estate. One-way comms had miraculously been restored, and Emily had never been so happy to hear the sickly-sweet voice of Operetta. At least until the OmniComms avatar responded to their request for the news with a torrent of images of the waning upheaval.

  Stacks of bodies being bulldozed into mass graves. Shell-shocked men and women wondering in a daze through the smoldering rubble of broken cities, towns, and shanties. Billowing columns of smoke curling skyward into lakes of ashen haze. The last gun battles running their bloody, inexorable courses. Soldiers in hazmat suits marching through clouds of yellow poison gas. Fire fighters spraying chemicals on the stubborn fires still raging. Orphaned children wailing. Hospitals crammed to overflowing with the victims of fire, gas, bullets, machetes, bombs, and poisoned water. Interminable lines of hungry stomachs, desperate for sustenance.

  Just when Emily finally thought she couldn’t stand another second watching, Jasmine surfed to the Ministry of Information media-feed, and a small brown man with sunken eyes and ornate garb appeared on their screen. Emily recognized him, but only vaguely.

  “Oh my God,” muttered Jasmine, staring fixedly on the screen.

  Emily thought to ask but decided it better to be quiet and listen. She soon found herself frozen as the man’s story unfolded and the details of the inexplicable, unspeakable violence finally came to light. She found herself registering only every few words as she digested the last.

  “Ali Ibn al-Rashid—”

  I recognize that name.

  “Meso-Americans . . . Chinese. . .”

  “Major arteries . . . Galveston . . . Oklahoma City . . . Albert Lea . . . Sioux Falls . . .”

  I know almost all of those places.

  “Senator Thomas Baumgarten . . .”

  Ohhhh shit.

  “Minister Alias Goodwell and the secretive Church of Salvation and Heavenly Peace . . .”

  Her heart stopped.

  At the end of the speech, the screen went black for a fraction of a second, and the video started over. They had no way of knowing how long the Ministry of Information had been broadcasting it on a loop, sending a bolt of terror through them both. The implications for Jasmine were more immediate and dire, so Emily sat still beside her friend for what seemed like a long time as Rashid’s speech dragged on again. Jasmine’s cheeks glistened with tears, her hand cup
ped over her mouth in disbelief. But just as Emily had worked up the courage to break the silence, Operetta interjected.

  “Ms. Goodwell and Ms. Goldbloom, please stay tuned for an important announcement from the Ministry of Information.”

  Emily felt the urge to vomit at hearing Operetta speak their names—an unwelcome reminder that both were on the grid. She stirred anxiously, and started to get up, but Jasmine reach out to still her with a touch on the arm. Emily reluctantly obliged, returning to the floor beside Jasmine.

  Seconds later, another man appeared on the screen before them.

  “Oh my God,” Jasmine hiccupped tearfully. Despite Jasmine’s emotional reaction to the sight of the Ellie on the screen, Emily didn’t recognize him at all. He wore Ellie clothes, with perfect Ellie posture, so she figured he was a man of some stature. Maybe a Senator. Maybe a minister. She looked at Jasmine for a clue.

  “That’s Carlos’ father.”

  Hope flashed through Emily’s mind.

  “Order will be restored soon,” Templeton promised. Emily found her ability to focus diminish again.

  “An attack in the Chief Regent’s Small Council . . .

  “A great cost . . . Chief Regent slain . . .

  “No mercy for the Conspirators . . . Ali Ibn al-Rashid . . . Baumgartens . . .”

  Emily’s flash of hope dissipated.

  “Teach them all a lesson . . .

  “Power to revert to the provinces . . .”

  Loath to abandon Jasmine, now visibly shaking and pale, Emily nonetheless sprang to her feet and set out for the comms room. Passing Nanner and Billy asleep on sofas in the hall, she bounded down the stairs toward the reinforced double doors, where guards from Baumgarten’s security finally stopped her.

  “I need to speak with Patrick right away,” she implored.

  A distressed expression fell over the guard’s face.

  “Ma’am,” he replied, steeling his emotions, “Master Baumgarten’s still in flight from Winnipeg. No one’s allowed into the comms room until he returns.”