Utopia Falling, page 17
Both Brenal and Daedyn were taken aback to find a man sitting in the shadows against the wall across from the door. The mysterious man stood.
“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my house?” Daedyn demanded, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Almost twenty-two, Daedyn was muscular in his youth, even more so now as a young man. Years farming the orchard contributed to his well-chiseled physique. His nearly six-foot frame stood firm and motionless, staring down at the intruder.
Something looked familiar about the stranger. The man rose into a familiar stance, one that reminded Daedyn of the beggar. Yet, he wore a traveler’s leather attire. Boots laced up to his calves and a short coat looking worn but appropriate for any traveler Daedyn had ever seen. A leather scabbard for a knife tied to his belt hung down the side of his mahogany-brown leather pants. Was it the old beggar? It almost looked like him, but he didn’t look old. The man’s face offered a younger appearance than the old vagrant’s visage he had grown accustomed to over the years. Daedyn guessed the man looked to be in his mid-forties instead of the seventy-ish-year-old man he thought he knew, even though they did look a lot alike.
The stranger put out his hands with open palms. Daedyn remained firm with his arms crossed over his muscled chest, conveying the message he was someone to fear.
“I’m Meratoruc. Please call me Mera.”
“And where’s Rey?” Daedyn asked, searching the room with his eyes.
The strange man introduced as Mera paused a few beats before continuing, “Reyne’s okay. He’s sleeping in his bed. There won’t be any need for your skills tonight, my friend,” Mera said, looking towards Doc Hollid Brenal. Then, turning to Daedyn, he offered, “Reyne will be fine. I’ve taken care of him.”
“So now I know your name, but it still doesn’t answer my question. Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Daedyn demanded, ignoring Doc Brenal’s friend reference.
“Excuse me,” Mera spoke softly. “I’m here to help. That’s all.” He smiled as he faced Hollid Brenal. “How’re you, my old friend?”
“Nice to see you again, Mera,” Brenal replied.
Before Brenal could say anything else, Daedyn broke in, “Answer my question. What are you doing here, in my house? And where’s my brother?”
Daedyn swung around and, with a quick about-face, turned away from the two men. He moved swiftly down the hall to Reyne’s room. With the front door still open, the sun’s efforts to spread into the dwelling reached down the hallway before giving way to darker tones.
Daedyn opened Reyne’s bedroom door slowly, knowing the propensity of its hinges to squeak. He spied Reyne sleeping. Relief flowed through him. He stood holding the door handle, watching Reyne resting peacefully, and all the while listening to the two men talking in the other room.
“He’s over the worst of it. I worked my healing skills on him. The mark on his neck appears to be the point where spiderworm venom entered his system. And not by chance. I suspect someone tried to kill him. The poison will stay with him for the rest of his life, albeit ever so small. Lasting side effects are always possible but, oddly, only a small amount appeared to have been delivered. Uncommon and a bit strange. Good news for him, though. I don’t expect there’ll be any noticeable change like the way some people manifest behavioral changes when hit with a large dose of the stuff. Anyway, I think he’ll be okay. He should be over the worst of it for now.”
“I should’ve guessed, my friend. By the way, you look—you look great. Every time I see you, I’m amazed. I keep getting older, and you, you never seem to age.” Brenal laughed. After a few seconds, Mera’s words caught up to Brenal’s awareness, “What did you say? Someone tried to kill him?”
“Friend“ surprised Daedyn, but not as much as the supposition that someone tried to kill his brother. It hit him hard. A punch to the gut. But he was there when it happened. He didn’t see anyone try to kill Reyne.
Daedyn raced back down the hall to confront the stranger. “What did you say? You talk like old friends. Friend? And what’s with the new outfit?”
“I dressed like a bum all these years whenever I visited Hensdale. Didn’t want to be noticed and didn’t want anyone following me here. I’ve been coming and going all these years, keeping up on your brother.”
“What? No, not that. Someone tried to kill my brother? I was there. That didn’t happen,” Daedyn spit out, struggling to understand.
“That’s for another time. Right now, let’s focus on making sure Reyne is doing okay,” Mera said.
“No. It’s not for another time. It’s for right now.” Daedyn’s fists clenched.
“I will share it with all of you, but not before the good doctor gets a look at Reyne, and not before I can explain everything to Reyne. I’m sorry, but that’s final. It was intended for Brenal’s ears only for the moment. I’m here to prevent that, but I must ask that you allow me to share my suspicions with your brother at the right time. Today, just not right now and not without him here.”
“Fuck that. Here. Now.”
“No.”
Daedyn pushed but resigned himself that he would have to wait. He wanted answers, but they weren’t forthcoming.
Daedyn glared at the two men standing in his home. There appeared to be some warmth between Mera and the Doc. The old vagrant had been stopping in the village a few times a year for as long as Daedyn could remember. Daedyn never thought much of him and didn’t recall ever seeing him and Doc Hollid Brenal together or even talking between themselves. He was confused, but at least Reyne seemed to be alright, resting in peace. Someone tried to kill Rey? No. Not possible. Daedyn decided he’d let it ride for the moment, but he would get all his questions answered.
Preparations
Hensdale: 27th day of the Salmon Moon
Quith
On the day the people of Tartica celebrated the Feast of Teth, Quith and his unit spent part of it reducing the continent’s population. The day meant nothing to them but for their objective to eliminate Reyne Brenton. Their first attempt earlier that morning had failed. Later that same day, the team of Evidarian assassins gathered, minus the operations manager Dylla, to regroup before their next attempt to murder Reyne.
The safe house sat along a quiet stretch on the outskirts of Hensdale, a few miles from the market square. The small family farm consisted of several meager barns for equipment storage needed to support the insubstantial apple orchard. The older couple had worked the fruit grove and eked out a simple yet satisfying living. That is until Selundra Quith and his fellow agents from Evidar needed a sanctuary to hide out and a central point from which to prepare their covert operations. The small house the husband and wife called home until only hours before became command central for Quith, Tylus, and Grafph.
No one would miss the older couple for the two days Quith’s unit expected to occupy the deceased’s homestead. It wouldn’t be until after Quith and his team departed Hensdale the lifelong farmers’ whereabouts would begin to worry the community. Quith was certain their bodies would never be found.
“Gentlemen,” Quith offered his security detail, “we’ve been in this world too long. I’m exhausted with all this daylight, as I’m sure you are.”
Tylus, the cinnamon-blond, rugged-looking, dedicated operative in his prime spoke up. “Gotta agree with you, boss. Makes it a lot harder for us to do our job.”
Agent Grafph, more bulbous around the mid-section than the others of the team, saw life away from Evidar a little different. “But you have to admit, you’re not looking over your shoulder every minute at someone coming at you all the time. Not sure it’s how I would run things over here, but I’ve enjoyed the reprieve from fighting for my life every day.”
Quith reveled in Evidar’s brutality where Grafph simply survived in it.
Evidar was a dark world from a different reality, a place where only minimal light reached the surface. People like Quith found freedom in the lack of organized civilization—a place where the strong wrestled control over their environs. A place where everyone else cowered under a strong-arm’s sphere of influence.
A place without laws.
A place without order.
A place of unchallenged freedom.
A place where one could kill or be killed at any moment without consequence.
A place where the powerful excelled and the lesser were subjugated.
It came as no surprise that Quith and Grafph perceived their lots in Evidar from different perspectives.
Quith warned Grafph, “Keep up that attitude, and you’ll be fighting for your life here too.”
Grafph slinked back, and his body seemed to shrink in stature in response to Quith’s threat. The mild-mannered yet deadly agent Grafph was a contradiction to his occupation. Highly skilled at killing when directed to do so, submissive otherwise.
“So why did you ask to see us, boss?” Tylus asked.
“I spoke with Dylla earlier today in Owls Neck, where she’s stationed herself. I filled her in on our efforts this morning. She could be happier. She confirmed Plan B, the follow-up to the Brenton op, is a go. That is, if he doesn’t die before nightfall.”
“What’s the chance of that happening?” Grafph asked.
Tylus said, “I’ve been watching the guy all day. A lot of commotion at his house these past few hours. He’s still alive, but from what I gather, he’s had a rough go of it. My guess, fifty-fifty at best that he’s dead by the end of the day.”
As the small unit’s leader, Quith issued the orders they’d follow. “Dylla wants us ready to go. That means we activate the backup plan and set it in motion as though we have the intention of seeing it through to completion. If Reyne Brenton dies before we take final action, all’s the better.”
Grafph steepled both hands in front of his mouth. “The same plan we’ve all been briefed on?”
Quith nodded. “There’s a firepit between the house and the orchard. It’s used to clear out debris, branches and rotten nuts to keep the rows of trees empty. They burn there every day. And every evening, Reyne Brenton walks out to that fire pit just after dark and puts it out. He’s always alone. That’s our strike point. As we’ve all been briefed before. Plan hasn’t changed.”
Grafph asked, “But he’s sick. You think he’ll follow that same routine?”
“If he shows up to kill the fire, we kill him,” Quith stated matter-of-factly.
Tylus asked, “What about the new girl Dylla briefed us on when we did that thing back in Jarouhar? Haven’t seen anyone new yet, and shouldn’t she be here for the briefing?”
“She arrived. Dylla met with her. She’s in Hensdale already,” Quith said. “I’ll meet up with her at the kill site just as it gets dark. You two will be on lookout duty.”
Grafph looked away from Quith, yet asked, “Have you met with her yet, and what do you think of her?”
“Dylla has confidence in her, and that’s all you need to know. She’s been assigned to our unit, and she’s supposed to be excellent. Everything we do tonight will be in support of her completing this mission.”
Tylus noted, “Let’s hope she’s that good. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to go home. Let’s get this last one finished so we can get the fuck out of here. All the rules in this place—enough already.”
Quith followed, “I couldn’t agree with you more. Let’s nail this down and head home. Let’s go through the plan one more time.”
Quith, Tylus, and Grafph walked through every detail of the op. Each man outlined their respective assignments and what was expected of them. They recited each other’s roles in case anyone needed to fill in for the other or to account for any unforeseen variables.
Only after Quith was satisfied did he allow Tylus and Grafph to finally settle down for a meal.
Quith passed up a chance to fill his belly. Superstition kept him from eating before a kill.
He reflected, Reyne Brenton will be dead, one way or another, before this day ends.
The Faithful
Teth: 27th day of the Salmon Moon
Jerithan | Razoal
Not long after Firstmeal wrapped up, Jerithan, pleased with himself at the results of the ceremony, met with his co-conspirator, Second Lord Razoal. The pair gathered, sequestered inside a private room within the Temple Palace to analyze, regroup, and plot their next steps in the aftermath of Chancellor Tomelai’s failed assassination.
The First Lord took hold of Razoal’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said, “We failed this morning. But we cannot be stopped. The world needs us to unite everyone in Tartica under one banner. The people deserve better than their current state of affairs. Father Sun and Mother Earth are as good a cause as any. If I do nothing else with this life, I will bring the faithful together under our leadership without secular interference. This Gift of Life given to me drives me to complete my God-given task. With the power and tools of this Lordship, I must bring them all together under one roof for the good of humanity.”
He was passionate and convincing. For all the questionable things the two had done in the Temple’s name, at least in this, Jerithan believed himself to have noble intent. It mattered not: his plan included slaying those who stood in his way.
Killing the Chancellor was supposed to be the opening stage of the campaign to create the Empire of Tartica. Parts two and three of the campaign would address how to deal with the other two world leaders. The First Lord expected the implementation of the plan to usurp Dimenk’s authority would be wrought with difficulties, but anticipated Larsed’s downfall would unfold easily.
“Now that Tomelai is still on the board, we’re going to need to rouse the passions of our followers even more to pull this off. We are going to need their support,” Prudent Razoal made the obvious observation for the First Lord.
“Why do you think they listen to us, follow us? The faithful masses, I mean,” Jerithan asked his Second.
The quizzical look on Razoal’s face didn’t slow Jerithan, who continued without waiting for a reply. “Is it because we are their friends? No. Is it because we give them shelter, freely disperse grain rations to feed them? No. We barely affect the miserable existence most of them live other than to placate them.”
Razoal opened his mouth to speak, but he was too slow. First Lord Jerithan was on a roll.
“No. They follow us because we offer the easiest path to Hope. They need hope to get through life every day. Otherwise, there would be chaos in the streets. Do you think people would continue to live like they do, absent a promise of something better? The Circle of Life, after they die, is the ‘better’ they desire. The good join the Community of Souls. Part of a better life in the next round. And we make Hope easy for them to follow. We are like water. Hope flows through us, through the path of least resistance, to the masses. If we make our faith too hard for them to follow, we are no better than the secular rulers who tax and judge them every day. We are Hope made easy. If anyone threatens to take their only Hope from them, that will get them riled up. That is our path to rouse our troops. And we will begin scaring them into submission right after the annual Council meeting. Marvo is going to plant a few seeds of dissention in the next several days.”
Jerithan took a quick breath, but before he could finish, Razoal began, “I was wondering where you were going with that. I’ve laid out Marvo’s speeches. And I’m exceptionally pleased about how Firstmeal turned out with the Council of Prudents. I agree. It couldn’t have gone better.”
Both men smiled, recalling the success they achieved at Firstmeal only hours earlier, before First Lord Jerithan Cree put in, “Oh, that fat bastard Serco. We just might have to delete him from the equation before this thing is through.”
Razoal cautiously replied, “That is one option, yet I fear martyrdom might make him even stronger in death.”
“Maybe.”
“Killing Serco, while both the easiest and most desirous way to solve the problem of his open opposition, has many drawbacks. The biggest disadvantage is that the rest of the Council of Prudents would see your hand in it. To protect you, I fear we need an alternate approach to eliminate your chief rival now that we’ve neutralized Marvo. I’m sorry I failed you with Chancellor Tomelai inside The Stand this morning. I still don’t understand what went wrong, but I will find out,” Razoal offered.
“Killing a pain-in-the-ass Chancellor, sure, why not? But killing a Prudent? An obvious adversary, no less. There is much to consider before striking.” The Voice paused—“First Lord.”
Jerithan stopped, frozen in place. The implication was clear. As First Lord, he existed as the living symbol of the Temple of Life, the voice of the faithful on Earth. Killing Serco was a risky move, but only if blame could be hung around his neck. Besides, he was clever enough to deal with Serco in other ways. Though he had to admit, the idea of killing him carried in it more than a degree of satisfaction.
Jerithan said to the Voice, Serco must be removed, that is obvious, after the show he put on this morning. As we move forward to wrest secular authority away from Dimenk, Larsed, and Tomelai, Serco is going to oppose our efforts every step of the way.
“No. They listen to us because they are lazy,” Jerithan said to Razoal, keeping the two conversations he was having simultaneously separate, trying to think of other options other than murdering Serco. “Serco does not understand human nature. He thinks everyone must be a staunch believer. If we had to rely on true believers, Communion of the Circle would be convened in a small tavern.”
