Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  Fear, never far from the surface, kept her nerves on edge, as it had since narrowly escaping her late husband’s fate. The twins were equally restless, battling their own demons, and it felt as if only five minutes had passed when Heloise, kneeling beside them, gave her a gentle shake.

  “It’s oh-one-hundred. Hartwood wants to move out.”

  “A bit more, Sister?” Marta asked in a sleepy tone, slurring her words.

  “We were fortunate to get five hours, my dear.” Heloise held out a small packet. “Survival rations. They might not seem like much, but even the smallest bite will give you a boost of energy. Hopefully enough to see us reach Pheia.”

  Norum shook off the last cobwebs of sleep and almost wished she hadn’t. The details of their precarious situation swam back into clear focus, along with despair at ever living a normal life again.

  “Any news of Anders Proulx and the others?”

  “Hartwood didn’t say. He merely told us it was time to move. I suspect we’d already be on our way if it weren’t for your little ones. Hartwood and his troopers are still operating on sheer adrenaline. The Almighty only knows how they’ll feel when it finally washes away, and their bodies go on strike.” Heloise paused as if studying Marta with her piercing eyes. “As will yours, no doubt.”

  “And you?”

  “Don’t waste a thought on us. We Void Brethren know many ways of dealing with mental and physical exhaustion, though we pay the same price as anyone else at the end since we’re only human. But we try to make that end come when the main peril has passed.” She sighed. “It doesn’t always work.”

  Heloise held out her hand to help Marta stand. She, in turn, pulled her sleepy twins up and gave each of them a hug and a kiss, murmuring reassuring words that sounded horribly false to her own ears. Nothing would ever be right again. Not with their father’s head on a pike outside Government House and their lives destroyed by Jorge Danton. Even if they escaped Mykonos, would they find safety elsewhere in a galaxy gone mad with violence?

  Marta doled out the survival rations and handed her children back to Friars Gellert and Alden, who’d appointed themselves as guardians, before their little column resumed its trek.

  This time, Heloise took Marta by the hand and led her through the night, but she still regularly stumbled, as much because of roots and rocks as from sheer exhaustion. A few hours of fitful sleep wrapped in the borrowed cloak, waking whenever Sigrid and Stefan so much as twitched, left her almost as tired as before.

  Growing up among the imperial nobility before pair-bonding with a star system governor general didn’t prepare her for physical hardship. The dawning realization she and the twins would never have escaped Petras without Heloise, her Brethren and Anders Proulx’s troopers, added to her burden of despair. Perhaps the Void’s Almighty was more than a metaphysical answer to that which humanity couldn’t understand and had bestowed blessings of survival on them.

  Few among the empire’s aristocracy held any beliefs beyond their own inalienable right to wealth, respect, and power. Marta had been, until recently, not much different from the rest of her social class. However, the last few days were forcing her to reassess everything she believed.

  Escaping Danton’s killers seemed almost like a miracle, but being found by Heloise and her little band of survivors and then by Anders Proulx’s retired Imperial Marines defied any reasonable human’s idea of coincidence, let alone probability. Perhaps there was a higher power watching over them.

  Yet one part of her mind was conscious she might be suffering from what her Uncle Olav called the oh-dark-thirty blues, a condition many experience at the lowest point of the circadian rhythm when the cloak of night and profound fatigue make life seem too much of a chore.

  After what felt like an eternity, the ghostly sense of nearby running water, a combination of increased moisture in the air and subliminal, aquatic sounds distinct from those of the forest pulled Marta from her dark thoughts. They had to be approaching the Celadon River which connected Petras with the coastal Port of Tiryns.

  It was enough to encourage hope they might escape capture, and she pushed back at her overwhelming melancholy. Moments later, Hartwood Cahal stopped them for another of their regular, hourly breaks just short of where Marta noticed the darkness lose its oppressive quality. The outer edge of the greenbelt forest, perhaps? It meant they were nearing the Lysistrata Bridge and the village of Pheia where they could rest while Heloise and the mercenary searched for Anders, a boat, and food.

  When more than half an hour passed without resuming their trek, Sister Heloise climbed to her feet and unerringly found Cahal, standing guard with his winger. The other two mercenaries had gone ahead to scout their trail, as they did during every halt.

  She returned after speaking with Cahal in a whisper so soft it was swallowed by the gentle breeze rustling through the forest’s canopy and sat beside Marta once more.

  “Hartwood’s scouts spotted soldiers near the Lysistrata Bridge.”

  “Are Danton’s troops looking for us?”

  “Possibly, but I doubt it, and so does Hartwood. He figures they’re running security patrols along the main route between Petras and the coast, looking for signs of loyalist activity.”

  “What happens now?”

  “We wait until the patrols leave.”

  “What if they make a move in our direction?”

  Heloise shrugged.

  “We retreat into the forest and find another path.”

  — 9 —

  A hint of dawn was filtering through the trees when Hartwood Cahal materialized beside Marta and Heloise. They’d been waiting in silence for over an hour since first hearing about military activity beyond the greenbelt and Cahal’s grim expression told them immediately that he came bearing unpleasant news.

  “Change in plans,” he said without preamble. “It looks like soldiers from the 84th Guards are running a fixed checkpoint by the Lysistrata Bridge and mobile patrols covering the open terrain north and south of the Celadon. I think we’re facing a cordon designed to intercept anyone fleeing Petras.”

  “People on the losing side, such as us,” Heloise said in a flat tone.

  “Yep. We can’t let them spot us because they’ll know right away what we are and who Lady Marta is. And that means the best we can pray for is instant death.”

  “The best?” Marta asked.

  “Aye. Ever since going over to Danton, the 84th has been inventing new forms of torture to prove it’s more ruthless than any other unit on this planet. It means captured loyalists usually experience a living hell before they die. Please don’t ask me for details, Milady.”

  “I won’t.”

  “The new plan is to skirt Pheia and head south under cover of the woods until we reach rougher ground where their patrols can’t easily see us. A day’s march, perhaps more. Once we’re far enough west of the Guards cordon, we’ll turn north and rejoin our intended route further downriver.”

  “What about Anders and the rest of your comrades?”

  Cahal grimaced.

  “They’ll need to figure it out for themselves. To use the radio now and send a warning would be suicide.”

  “So we won’t see them again before Tiryns for sure?” Marta asked.

  “Unless we meet up by pure luck, no. We can’t cut back to the Celadon and look for a boat until we’re well past the rendezvous point.”

  “You still intend to find transport on or near the river?”

  “Without it, whether on land or on the water, we won’t reach the coast. Neither you nor your children have the stamina for such a long trek, Milady. My men and I might make it, and perhaps the Brethren would — if we find food.” He glanced at Friars Gellert and Alden. “Besides, they can’t keep carrying the wee ones for days on end.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Gellert replied with a dismissive gesture. “We’re used to hard labor. Not all servants of the Almighty spend their days in
contemplation and prayer. Many, like Alden and I, do the manual work that keeps abbeys and priories in good shape. In fact, we escaped the massacre because of our duties. I figure the Almighty has plans for us, and they might just include carrying these precious treasures to safety.”

  An easy smile softened Alden’s square, lean features.

  “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

  When she saw Cahal didn’t know what to make of the friar’s words, Heloise said, “Scripture, from one of our holy books, though I suspect Alden is being a tad facetious.”

  “Mischievous, Sister,” he replied.

  Friar Sandor rolled his eyes.

  “And clearly unrepentant.”

  Alden sprang to his feet with athletic vigor.

  “I shall offer the Almighty proper penance once we reach a place of safety. And if we want to get there before Gellert and I grow so old we can no longer serve as beasts of burden, shouldn’t we be on our way?” He reached out toward Stefan, still sitting on a fallen tree trunk at his mother’s side. “Ready to resume the journey, my young friend?”

  The boy, who’d been as mute as his sister throughout the night, nodded shyly as he stood.

  **

  As the day advanced, their path into the depths of the greenbelt turned increasingly more arduous as animal trails became scarcer and harder to spot. By midday, Marta’s entire body was screaming for mercy. A litany of complaints rose from her empty stomach, several of them embarrassingly loud, while insect clouds gave the party no respite.

  A few hours later, she almost sobbed with joy upon realizing the late afternoon sun filtering through the dense canopy no longer came from straight ahead. Though she hadn’t noticed the change of direction, Cahal was now leading them toward the Celadon once more, hopefully far enough behind the cordon to escape notice.

  The Brethren, even Gellert and Alden, seem unaffected by their exertions. Marta barely heard them pant as they struggled through dense thickets, over fallen trees, and around fetid mires.

  When dusk threatened to smother the forest once more with impenetrable darkness for anyone who didn’t possess the mercenaries’ night vision visors or the Void Brethren’s eerie sixth sense, Cahal called a halt. He made his way back along the narrow trail to where Heloise, Marta, and the others waited.

  “We’re about two kilometers south of Elis, the next settlement downriver from Pheia. With the soldiers’ eyes on the Petras greenbelt, we shouldn’t attract much attention, but I’ve decided to spend the night here and wait until dawn. A large group traveling at night is bound to raise questions. Two of my men will head out around midnight and quietly check the area for enemy activity. If it looks clear by daybreak, Sister Heloise and I will enter Elis to look for food and a means of transportation. Settle in, eat, and sleep. We’ll stand watch over you.”

  After a quick meal of emergency rations, Marta settled into a leaf-filled hollow among the roots of a tall, native tree, Sigrid and Stefan clinging tightly to her on either side. Sister Heloise sat beside them in the lotus position and appeared to enter a trance-like state.

  “Will we ever stop running away, Mommy?” Stefan asked in a small voice, the first words he’d spoken all day.

  “Eventually, love. Once we’re far from the bad people who want to hurt us.”

  “Like they hurt daddy? Is that what will happen?”

  “Trust in the Almighty, child,” Heloise said in a soft voice without opening her eyes or so much as twitching. “You, your sister, and your mother were spared for a reason, though we cannot as yet understand why, just as Hartwood Cahal and his soldiers were spared. And we Brethren. But it should become clear in time. Tomorrow, we will find an easier way to the sea. And from there, a place where the bad people won’t find us. In the meantime, try to rest and regain your strength. We’re safe here. No one will disturb us.”

  Heloise’s voice seemed to exert an almost hypnotic effect because Marta felt Stefan and his sister relax in her arms, their breathing rhythms taking on the regularity of sleep.

  “Do you believe what you told them?” She asked in a whisper.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not particularly religious, Sister.”

  “Most humans aren’t particularly religious, but everyone places faith in something. The urge to believe is a vital part of what makes us the sapient beings we are.”

  Marta exhaled softly. “It makes me wonder what the likes of Jorge Danton and Harvey Marat believe. Especially since they seem bound and determined to eliminate every single servant of the Almighty in this star system.”

  “Power. Political ideology. Amassing wealth. Any of the seven deadly sins will do. Mind you, it’s more complicated than mere human appetites running amok. Many of our greatest thinkers believe those who reject the notion there might be a greater power holding the universe together often replace the emptiness in their souls by elevating the human to the status of the divine. But since the divine must be perfect, ideologues of various stripes have bedeviled our species for a long time with the notion we can be perfected. Sadly, they end up carrying out genocide after genocide to force an ideal on creatures inherently incapable of attaining it.”

  “I wouldn’t think Danton and Marat are political ideologues, Sister.”

  “And you’d be correct. But their souls are afflicted by an emptiness, a craving they can’t understand, and thus they try to fill it by amassing power without consideration for basic decency.”

  Marta digested Heloise’s words before asking, “Why destroy your Order?”

  “I wish it were because we represent their antithesis, but few humans possess that level of self-awareness. No, we’re being persecuted because our Order bows to no secular authority. We’re beyond the control of lawmakers, admirals, viceroys, and governors general, and thus perceived as dangerously powerful in our own right, even though we abstain from interfering in secular matters. As a result, those who overthrew the existing political and social construct through illegitimate means consider us a threat.”

  “So Danton and his master, Admiral Zahar, aren’t persecuting you on religious grounds but because they believe your spiritual power, whatever that is, might imperil their temporal power? Considering what I know of either man, it makes sense.”

  “That’s my conclusion as well, though I could be wrong. But we Void Brethren have studied human nature since well before the empire’s birth, and basic human behavior patterns haven’t changed since we first gained sapience.”

  A grim chuckle escaped Marta’s throat.

  “So much for the notion we can be perfected if only we’d adopt the proper way of thinking.”

  “And neither of us will come closer to that goal if we don’t sleep.” Heloise abandoned the lotus position and stretched out on the spongy moss at Marta’s feet, wrapped in her cloak. “Good night.”

  — 10 —

  Lyonesse

  “Good morning, Sister. Thank you for joining us.” Morane, at the head of a scuffed conference table, waved Gwenneth toward the last empty chair. DeCarde and Kayne were already seated, while a display on the far wall showed Acting Captain Mikkel aboard Vanquish as well as Commanders Ryzkov and Sirak from the tactical transport Narwhal and the frigate Myrtale, respectively.

  She inclined her head by way of greeting, then sat.

  “It would be churlish of me to refuse, considering the burden you’re shouldering on our behalf.”

  “Speaking of burdens, I don’t think I’ve formally thanked you yet for taking charge of the political prisoners. Please accept my and everyone else’s gratitude, Sister. How are they doing?”

  An unguarded flash of exasperation crossed Gwenneth’s face.

  “We do not seek gratitude, but to serve others, though a few of the recently decanted are causing several Brethren to reconsider their vows. We will be pleased once Colonel Kayne’s training camps are r
eady to receive them.”

  DeCarde snorted.

  “Ungrateful little sods, eh? Figures. We save their useless, titled butts from a nasty fate on Parth but it’s not good enough. What do they want? A ticket back to Wyvern? Their own palaces on the shores of the Middle Sea? Government sinecures in Lannion?”

  Gwenneth speared the Marine with emotionless eyes.

  “There are more complex psychological issues at play, Colonel. Few of them grasped what exile meant when Dendera pronounced her sentence. They were not given any time to reflect on their changed circumstances before entering stasis, and it is only now, here on Lyonesse, that the realization is striking them with full force. Many, perhaps even most are not equipped to deal with changes of such magnitude after a cosseted life of privilege and power. However, the dramatics a few put on thanks to their deeply disturbed states of mind can try the patience of a saint.”

  “Wait until they find out we actually expect them to find jobs and work for a living, like the rest of us peasants.”

  Morane raised a hand to stop any further banter and turned to Gwenneth once more.

  “Should you like me to speak with them and lay the situation out in a clear military manner, just say the word.”

  “Perhaps that will become necessary, though I daresay a few of the higher ranked among them will demand to see you soon enough, anyhow.”

  “Thank you for the warning, Sister. Now on to other business. I’d like all starships to top up their antimatter fuel containment units at the cracking station. One at a time, please. I always want two ships guarding the high orbitals.”

  “You think someone might take out the cracking station?” Mikkel asked.

  “It’s the most vulnerable target in the system, Iona.”

  Vanquish’s acting captain nodded in agreement.