Vontaura

by James C. Dunn

  ‘Indeed it has,’ he said without looking at her.

  Her mind was in panic, but he appeared as detached as ever. She watched him carefully. After all these years, she knew her master more than anyone else. Sudana knew more than anyone when to speak and when to listen. In his face now was deliberation, attention, strategy.

  ‘What are you thinking, my lord?’

  A moment of silence. ‘I am thinking,’ he said, ‘that the possibility of Peter Marx’s survival may work in our favour, if we could draw him to us.’

  SIXTY-ONE

  ‘IT IS OBVIOUS!’ Lanfranc Vortan stood at the window overlooking Avaris City’s skyline. ‘It is obvious. We have lost!’

  Justus stood silently with his arms folded in the corner of the room, eyes closed. Noah, Shree, and Aíron sat on the couch nearby. He hadn’t realised just how much he had missed them until now. Cathal had disappeared in the middle of their first night here, with the promise to return as soon as he was able. Where he had gone, not even Vortan knew.

  Vortan stepped in from the balcony. ‘The division of the Allied Moon which, in secret, prepared efforts against Malizar and his Order, has been discovered. Several of them, like me, were also incumbent members of the Von.’

  ‘How do we know that?’ Noah asked.

  Shree placed her arm around Aíron.

  Vortan held his hands in a steeple beneath his chin, slowly wiped the sweat from his face up to his brow. He bore his bottom teeth in frustration. ‘My home was not the only one ransacked and reduced to ashes two nights ago. The other disillusioned members have either been found dead or disappeared from the face of the Earth.’

  ‘So the Order came for you, not for us?’ he said. ‘He didn’t know about Justus or his father?’

  ‘It appears there we have been fortunate. However, with this news any hope is lost. The Von cannot stop the Allied Moon from taking its place as Vontaura. Their support has grown momentously these past months.’

  Aíron coughed three times and spoke up. ‘What about others?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Out . . . Outside the Rivers,’ she said. ‘There are other cities, other peoples out there, are there not?’

  ‘Yes!’ Noah agreed. ‘What about Earth Forces? There are sixteen-million men and women out there ready to defend this planet.’

  ‘All of whom answer to the Von alone,’ Vortan said. ‘And very soon the Vontaura. My influence is worth nothing alone now.’

  ‘It’s still worth a try,’ Aíron said.

  Vortan chuckled. ‘What a little strategist you would make, Aíron Veryan. You remind me so much of Avéne.’ His mind drifted off for a moment, before he regained composure. ‘Persuading the far western companies had occurred to us, as a last resort. But even that plan has been destroyed. The western nations across the sea have suffered from what has been reported as an unsurpassed natural disaster. They are in disarray.’

  ‘It’s Malizar, isn’t it?’ Noah’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘It has to be,’ Aíron said. ‘The timing is too perfect.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vortan said. ‘The three foremost leaders of the ruined western nations, also opponents of the Allied Moon for the position of Vontaura, have been removed. They stand no chance. We stand no chance.’

  ‘No.’ The group turned to Justus, who opened his eyes and unfolded his arms. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘I won’t let it happen.’

  ‘I very much doubt you have a choice, son.’

  ‘No. We all have a choice. I have a choice. And here’s what we’re going to do.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Well, I need your help. But it’s me who will face him.’

  ‘Face who?’

  ‘I will draw Malizar to me.’

  ‘And get yourself killed!’

  ‘Five months ago, maybe. But not now.’ He stood calm, solid.

  ‘You’re a fool if you think you can take him on. And that’s provided you can draw him to you in the first place!’

  ‘Even the greatest monster suffers from the most fundamental sensation,’ Justus said. ‘He has the greatest amount to lose. And fear is a good motivator, greater than guilt or passion, or love. And there’s only one person Marrak Malizar ever feared, only one person he would ever consider a threat. Now, with all this power, surrounded by darkness and strength, I think if Malizar were to meet Peter Marx face-to-face he would challenge him.’

  Noah almost choked. ‘You can’t be thinking—’

  ‘Convince him that Peter Marx has returned, threaten him with a catastrophe the likes of which no tyrant has ever before witnessed, step into the boots of the greatest man that ever lived, and I can take him down. Malizar is the problem. Remove him and the Von can take back control.’

  ‘How?’ Vortan said. ‘How? Where would we even start?’

  ‘I have already started.’

  ‘You have what?’

  ‘Last night I placed an image of the old Laxiad Order on the tallest tower in the city. High profile. The Dark Lord will have seen it by now. There is only one conclusion he will leap to.’

  ‘He will believe that Peter Marx lives!’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ Noah said.

  ‘And me,’ Aíron consented.

  Shree shook her head.

  Vortan sighed. ‘The Old Laxiad were once contenders for the role of governing the Seven Rivers. The Von won out and were appointed leaders instead. But it is who led the Laxiad that will cause Malizar the greatest amount of grief.’

  ‘Peter Marx,’ Justus said. ‘Before the Iástron Race was driven into hiding, they held some power. Now they will again.’

  Things moved quickly that night. Justus allowed Noah and Shree to accompany him. Aíron put up a fight once again, but Justus would not allow her to go. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he told her. ‘You are young. Had I known this was waiting upon Earth, I would have thought twice about bringing you along.’

  And so Aíron sat in the apartment watching the broadcast with Vortan, watching and waiting for Justus’ plan to take effect. The plot was laid down: an accident at the heart of Avaris. An unknown hero: Peter Marx. Malizar would witness the footage, the rumour, and the image of the Laxiad they would leave behind, and the Dark Lord would believe it. Then the trap would be set.

  At a quarter to midnight, the streets of the city still busy among the night market, an alarming news broadcast appeared before them. Aíron wished she could have been there to help.

  ‘There!’ Vortan said. ‘Pan up! Pan up!’

  ‘The cameraman can’t hear you,’ Aíron said.

  ‘There he is – there’s Antal!’

  And there he was. Justus stood atop a crumbling roof and looked down into the wet streets of the city. Screams and cries from far below echoed into the apartment. Across the street, some several storeys higher, were Noah and Shree, out of sight, raising the great building beam to the correct height. Long and unimaginably heavy, it swung back and forth, held firm only by a feeble length of cable.

  ‘Up there!’ people on the screen cried. ‘What is it?’ ‘Can you see?’ ‘A man!’

  And then, a great metal beam swung across the gap between buildings, battering a nearby roof, half collapsing through. Shards of glass fell from above, littering the ground, while bricks and mortar descended. More cries rang out.

  The reporter cried out Justus’ description as he caught the beam, placing it carefully onto the roof several storeys up.

  ‘What is he doing?’ Aíron asked.

  ‘Doing what he does best,’ Vortan said. ‘Seeking attention.’

  ‘Well it’s working.’

  ‘Who is it?!’ voices cried. ‘What was that?’ ‘Did you see?!’

  Then, the small image of Justus stepped to the edge of the building high above. ‘I am Peter Marx!’ he said, so loud and powerful that Aíron could almost believe it was him. ‘Marrak Malizar, I CALL YOU OUT!’ And he stepped back. Disappeared.

  ‘Do you think it will work?’ she asked.

>   ‘I think it might.’ Vortan gulped.

  ‘He’s so strong, though. He has so much power.’

  Vortan looked away. ‘Those who possess much, have much to fear.’

  SIXTY-TWO

  LORD MALIZAR AND his mistress paced down a deep corridor among the crypts of his estate. They entered a pure white room. It was clinical, surgical. Neither said a word. In the middle of the room was a table upon which lay a dark-skinned young man. He wasn’t moving, held down by thick straps, emaciated and weak. His eyes were open. Behind him stretched a conveyor belt, which crossed the room into a furnace at the end. An orderly way to dispose of the bodies used for testing down here.

  The young man watched them stand nearby. Sudana turned her back on him.

  ‘You still haven’t explained to me your arrangements for the Allied Moon’s forces,’ she said. ‘The Beacon.’

  ‘You are right. It is coming.’

  ‘Why do I sense I should drop the subject?’

  ‘Do not concern yourself with the Order’s forces, Sudana.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We must consider Peter Marx and the Laxiad. He may ruin everything. He has called me out. I must respond. I must draw him to me.’

  ‘But my lord, how do we find him when we do not know what it is he wants?’

  Malizar smiled, something very rarely witnessed in the aging man. ‘We no longer have to find him.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because I already have.’

  She looked to a screen, hovering before them. A recorded image presented a man, dark-haired and athletic, bounding across a rooftop in the middle of Avaris City. He caught a heavy-looking metal beam, saving the lives of the many people watching below.

  ‘Is that him? Is that Peter Marx?’

  ‘It appears so, Sudana.’

  ‘So he is here, in Francium. That was him attempting to seize your attention?’

  ‘He succeeded.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make him easy to find.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘You will,’ he said and motioned to a table near the still body lying close by. Upon the table stood a single, clear container no larger than her hand. Inside was what looked like a large, exotic caterpillar. ‘I have neglected to share with you an instrument such as this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This, my dear, is Abdominus Acidus. A bioengineered parasite. It works much like Ampulex Compressa, Toxoplasma Gondii, and the worm known as Dracunculus.’ He gestured at a wall covered in clear containers, each with insects and creatures held within their individual ecological units.

  ‘You use them for torture?’

  ‘A man in my position has many dissidents, Sudana. You know how I approach my opponents.’

  Sudana gazed down at the bug, about the size and length of her finger, as Malizar held his hand over it and, without making contact, raised it from its container and across the room. He allowed it to fall onto the boy’s dark-skinned arm, where it wriggled swiftly across and down to his hand.

  ‘Watch carefully now,’ he told her. ‘Its underside comes into contact with the prey’s skin and something interesting occurs.’ Sudana watched and at once the area touched by the caterpillar began to bubble and turn black, popping up in bright yellow spots. The boy’s eyes were open, wide open. His lips tightened, but he couldn’t move.

  ‘Acidic saliva.’ Malizar laughed deeply. ‘The parasite then moves back across the tempered skin, devouring the crust and revealing muscle and bone beneath. A single parasite can devour a human body in under ten hours, though the victim would most likely die much sooner.’

  Sudana felt nauseous and squirmed, unable to watch. She turned away, focusing her attention on anything but the boy’s pain or the sickening smell of charred flesh. ‘Are you going to kill him?’ she asked. She knew he enjoyed his wicked torments; everyone had their flaws, even she. This was simply his, and it did not shake her loyalty. She was fortunate. This boy, she imagined, wouldn’t be.

  ‘Worry not, mistress,’ Malizar said. ‘I do not want the boy to die. He is more useful to us alive. I will have a practitioner attend to the wound.’

  ‘Very good, my lord. But the real issue, as you said, is the Laxiad. The possibility that Peter Marx is alive is the worst thing that could happen, with this Beacon approaching.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he said.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  You know what he is thinking. He wants what he has always wanted: Peter’s gift!

  He motioned down to the young man’s body. ‘This is how we will dictate what Peter does. We will use this boy.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Patience, my mistress.’

  ‘But we will use him to trap Peter?’

  ‘I will move for no one. Peter Marx thinks he can outmanoeuvre me. But I am not the weak party. I will walk into no trap. He will walk into mine.’

  SIXTY-THREE

  ‘IT IS TIME,’ the old woman said.

  Anna sat with her sister. Callista paced before them, hands behind her back. She appeared unnervingly calm, despite what they knew was coming.

  Gílana sat up straight. ‘Are they here?’

  Callista stopped pacing and looked at them. Nodded.

  ‘I feel sick,’ the girl said, clutching the bump beneath her clothes. ‘I don’t know what to do, Anna. I’m sorry I did this.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong. It’s them. All them.’

  Callista breathed out. ‘Perhaps I can persuade them to let her stay. Or maybe to simply have the Pure Gene procedure. They don’t need to take her.’

  ‘Do you think it would work?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Gílana said. ‘I don’t want you to get into trouble as well.’

  ‘We won’t let anything happen to you,’ Anna told her.

  ‘Now is not the time for falsehood,’ Callista snapped.

  ‘We can’t let them take her.’

  ‘What can we do, child?’

  ‘I am not going to let this happen!’

  Callista resumed pacing.

  It was true. She would die before they took her sister away. Before they brutally murdered the only ray of light in her life. She had spent most of the night attempting to get through into her uncle’s vault so that she could make contact with the Accentaurian’s message. She knew it from memory now. The same words flashed repeatedly through her mind:

  You must lose. You must lose everything . . .

  Sounds outside the apartment door sent all three into panic. Gílana whimpered, terrified. Anna held her close, still sat upon the couch. She froze, unable to think. She gazed to her feet, to the paper littering the floor. The Crilshan statements she had neglected to pick up. The same one stood out.

  THERE IS NO DESTINY.

  THERE IS NO FATE.

  THERE IS NO CHANCE.

  It struck her.

  The Accentaurian’s message. No destiny. No fate. No chance.

  No coincidence.

  The thuds on the front door took her breath away.

  It was linked, all linked.

  ‘We are not going to die here,’ she said. ‘No chance!’

  The door swung open. Two Crilshans entered. Both held large rifles, one aimed at Callista, the other at Anna. ‘We are here,’ one said, ‘for Gílana . . . Berenguer.’ He sniggered, obviously aware of who she was. ‘Stand, Gílana Berenguer. Nobody else.’

  Gílana stood.

  Anna moved to the other end of the couch but the closest Crilshan took hold of Gílana and threw her to the ground. ‘Stay where you are, girl, or we will take all three of you.’

  Anna breathed out slowly, taking care not to make any sudden movements. ‘Please don’t take her. Take me.’

  ‘Are you with child too?’

  ‘No,’ Callista said. ‘No she’s not. But you do not have to take this one. Take me and we will
negotiate.’

  ‘There will be no negotiation, old woman.’

  ‘Leave her and take me!’ Anna said, standing.

  The Crilshan aimed his rifle towards Callista. ‘Gílana Berenguer will come with us. One move and the old woman is also dead. No sound, or she dies.’

  Gílana breathed out slowly. ‘It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay.’

  ‘No, it’s not. None of it is. All they’ve done. All this time.’

  The Crilshans backed towards the door. Callista fell to her knees.

  ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘I said NO!’

  She reached behind the cushion, pulled the coilbolt out, and igniting blue sparks fired at the closest Crilshan’s chest. The strike threw him back across the room, and she fired again at the second Crilshan. She aimed high, not wishing to hit Gílana, and missed.

  He flung Gílana to the ground and raised his own rifle.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Callista commanded. ‘Stay still!’

  The dark-eyed being stopped still, unable to fire.

  ‘Do it now, Anna!’

  She held the coil out, pressed down, and sent the Crilshan crashing into the wall.

  Gílana did not move from the floor, sobbing with her hands over her head. But Anna was already on her feet, moving over to strip the Crilshans of their weapons.

  Callista stumbled forward. ‘How?’

  ‘I took a coilbolt from the vault weeks ago and hid it in my room.’

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Yes, Callista?’

  ‘I think it’s time we left.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘What choice do we have now?’

  ‘You’re right. Wait here. Gílana—’

  She moved towards her sister. But Gílana, now on her knees, toppled onto her back, crying out in pain.

  ‘Gílana!’

  Anna pushed the apartment door closed. The two then propped the girl up, but she fell once more onto her back.

  ‘It’s all the stress. It must be!’

  Anna froze, the rug beneath them soaked through. ‘Callista?’

  The old woman looked her in the eye. ‘She’s going into labour.’

  ‘Noooo!’ Gílana said. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready – please no!’