Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Hunger's Harmattan Page 6

  “I know it was him,” Felix said to his sleeping mother. “I do. He saw me and I saw the recognition in his eyes. I might have been young when he disappeared but he’s a Reaper now and I know gods-be-damned well he read my thoughts. He knew who I was.”

  Getting up to leave, he took one last look at his mother. She looked as though she were already lying in her casket. She was the only thing he had ever loved in life and the thought of losing her was almost more than he could bear.

  “I’ll bring him back to you, Mother. I swear I will, if it’s the last thing I ever do!” he said before closing the door quietly behind him.

  He did not see the humorless smile that tugged at his mother’s lips.

  * * * * *

  General Maximillian Strom had never known his mother or his father either, for that matter. He had grown up in a state-run orphanage on Esvaria, escaping that hellhole when he was fourteen. Stowing away on a cargo transport dropping off supplies for the orphanage, he had been overjoyed to find himself on Riezell. He’d made a beeline for the Coalition Forces training camp and enlisted, lying about his age. Since the conflict with the Alliance was not going well and every able-bodied male was needed to churn the wheels of the war machine, no one questioned him and he was sworn in as an infantryman.

  Rising up quickly through the enlisted ranks on bloody battlefields, one particularly heroic act of courage and selfless bravery had earned him a promotion to lieutenant and from there until the peace treaty with the Alliance was signed, Strom had steadily advanced up the ladder until the golden star of a Fleet General now rested on his broad shoulders.

  He was proud of his accomplishments from unwanted child of a nameless mother and careless father to one of the most respected positions within the Riezell Conclave. He took his job seriously and to have anyone question the way he did it was to incur Strom’s wrath.

  “You can tell that ass-wipe that if I’d heard something from Iphito, I would have already informed him!” the general yelled at the calm face of his secretary on the vid-com. He flicked off the receiver then flicked it back on just as quickly. “And tell him to stop calling this office every time the wind shifts direction. I am sick of it!” Once more he turned off the vid-com.

  Drumming his fingers angrily on the desk, Strom reached over and turned the vid-com back on. “Get me…”

  “The arch-counselor is on the line, Sir,” Miriam said, and her face changed to that of a diminutive one that was creased with humor.

  “Is that bad little vice-counselor annoying you, Max?” Arch-Counselor Euphrates inquired. He was what was politely termed a little person but there was nothing small about the man’s broad grin or his twinkling green eyes. His stubby little fingers were steepled together and loaded down with a fortune in jeweled rings on each one.

  “If he doesn’t get the fuck off my back, I’m going to flush him down the loo with yesterday’s turds!”

  The arch-counselor winced then laughed. “Please tell me you flush your loo more often than that, Max.”

  “It isn’t funny, Sebastian!” the general snapped.

  “No and very unsanitary, I should think,” the arch-counselor agreed. “Not to mention malodorous.”

  Strom growled as he flopped back in his chair. “I hate that little prick anyway.”

  “You and eighty percent of the Conclave,” the arch-counselor stated with a heartfelt sigh.

  Narrowing his eyes, the general ground his teeth. “I could get rid of him for you.”

  “Let me think about that for a while,” the arch-counselor said. “So is there any news about Lieutenant Harmattan then?”

  “We know he’s there but until the ship returns to Theristes, we won’t know if he’ll come home with our Guardian.”

  “I knew his father of course,” the arch-counselor said. “Good man, although a bit too stern for my tastes. I heard he was very rough on his eldest.”

  “I’ve heard that too,” Strom said. “If I were Ailyn Harmattan, I wouldn’t want to return to Riezell. What is there for him here?”

  “An inheritance worth more than that of the Supreme Legare’s.”

  “I’m sure he knows that and doesn’t give a Diabolusian rat’s ass about it,” the general commented. “Money is worthless on Theristes.”

  “Umm,” the arch-counselor drawled, stroking his small little chin. “Perhaps we could get him to donate the monies to the Conclave treasury.”

  “That would surely kill the old bat Jost shackled himself to,” Strom said with a snort.

  “Milady Jost wants a fledgling, Max, not the money, although if money could buy her a revenant worm on the black market, she’d have been shopping there long before now.”

  “I imagine the day will come when some enterprising bastard convinces a Reaper to let him harvest a few hellions to breed. A fortune could be made and lives endangered,” the general said, and his face showed his unease with such a notion.

  “The Conclave has already thought of that and we’re pushing through legislation to make it illegal before someone does indeed try it. We’ll be assigning the death penalty to such a crime so perhaps that will deter the less enthusiastic mobsters.”

  “Hopefully the general public hasn’t heard about what was done on R-9 but the news is bound to leak out eventually. It’s best to be prepared.”

  “And we will be,” the arch-counselor assured him. “So other than to complain about Jost being a pain in your ass, was there another reason you wished to annoy me?”

  General Strom smiled. The two men had been very good friends for a long time and Strom knew he directly owed his present promotion to head of Command Central to the arch-counselor. “Can’t I just call to rattle your cage now and then, Bas?”

  “You assume I have nothing better to do with my time than sit here and wait for you to interrupt me,” the little man grumbled. “I—unlike you—have a life, you know.”

  “And how is the lady arch-counselor?”

  Sebastian Euphrates rolled his eyes. “Speaking of pains in the ass! Pregnancy has not made Trini glow. It has made her puke and given her copious heartburn. It has not made her maternal. It has made her a veritable harpy! Her constant demands keep me scuttling back and forth between the bed and the duplicator with such odd things as kumquats and glazed fried cakes and Serenian potted meat.” The arch-counselor grimaced. “Potted meat, Maximillian. Potted meat!”

  “It’s not so bad on bread with a little Gearmánach mustard,” the general told him.

  “She sticks her finger in it and laps it up as though it is honey!”

  “Poor Sebastian. It will all be worth it when the little one arrives. You’ll see.”

  The arch-counselor heaved a sigh bigger than himself. “I suppose.” He shrugged. “Best let Jost live awhile longer, Max.”

  “Aw come on, Bas! Can’t I at least cripple him? Carve off a leg? An arm? Take out an eye?”

  “No, leave him be. We’ll just have to work around him for the time being. Let me know when you hear back from our Amazeen.”

  That said, the vid-com screen went black.

  In a much better frame of mind now that he’d swapped silliness with his friend, Strom propped his feet on his desk and threaded his fingers together at his waist. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment then closed his eyes to take a little nap.

  It was good to be the man in charge.

  * * * * *

  Vice-Counselor Laverne Jost was not a happy man. Twice in one morning he’d been spoken to as though he were no one of consequence and twice more he had been simply ignored. Such insults were not to be tolerated.

  “I wish to hire one of your people,” the vice-counselor snapped as soon as his vid-com revealed a black-hooded figure sitting at a desk behind which was a stark white wall.

  “Fifty thousand gold cúirs up front. The price is non-negotiable,” the figure said, its voice electronically altered to hide the speaker’s identity.

  “What will that buy me?”

&
nbsp; “A single unit disposal.”

  “Guaranteed?”

  “Unless—as it was in your case—a Riezell Guardian gets in the way,” the figure stated. “Then, we can not guarantee success.”

  Jost thought about the Storian assassin who had been sent after him and the way the man had died at the hands of the Primary Riezell Guardian Chastain Neff.

  “I knew about the attempt,” the vice-counselor said. “This person won’t.”

  “Whatever you say,” the figure drawled. “I require half the money now along with the target’s name given to the man who supplied you with my vid-addy. The other half must be paid upon completion of the disposal.”

  “That’s a bit steep.”

  “Take it or leave it,” the hooded man said.

  “All right,” Jost muttered. “We have a deal.

  * * * * *

  Queen Polemusa, the defense queen of the Amazeen, had long hated her sister Molpadia, the domestic queen. Their rivalry went back to the cradle when each had fought over a simple rag doll both had wanted. Polemusa had won then and she won now, brutally tossing her sister over her head as they fought still once again, each striving to outdo the other on the mat. The wind knocked out of her, it was easy for Polemusa to fall upon her sister and pin her, the referee calling the match.

  “Bitch,” Molpadia managed to get out as she struggled for breath.

  “Ugly hag,” Polemusa replied, and got lithely to her feet, striding away with her naked shoulders gleaming with sweat, her long bare legs rippling with muscles.

  “You won’t always win,” Molpadia hissed as she struggled to get up from the mat.

  “Yes I will,” her sister said with a sneer.

  Glaukia Terramedes, Polemusa’s assistant, came over to the defense queen and whispered something in the tall woman’s ear.

  Polemusa’s face paled. “You are sure of this?”

  “As sure as I am that the sun will rise over Mount Thermodosa come morning,” Glaukia replied, holding the defense queen’s narrowed gaze.

  The pallor fled Polemusa’s face and anger replaced it. “Ready my runabout. I…”

  “The new one to replace the one your treacherous daughter stole,” Molpadia said with a snort. She had buried her sweaty face in a towel and did not see her sister move. With one sweep of Polemusa’s leg, Molpadia went down hard on the bare wood floor, crying out as her forearm snapped when she fell upon it.

  “Open your mouth one more time about Shanee and I swear I will relieve you of your tongue, Molpadia!” Polemusa shouted, snatching up the dagger from her belt lying on the exercise table.

  Sucking up the pain that was invading the entire left side of her body, Molpadia pushed herself to a sitting position. Her jaw was clamped tightly shut—partly so no other sign of weakness would escape her mouth and partly because she feared her sister would make good on her threat. She sat there and glowered at Polemusa with hatred.

  “I will be gone for a while,” Polemusa told Molpadia. “Try not to send our world into ruin while I am away.”

  Molpadia watched her elder sister leave the gymnasium and cursed her when she was no longer in sight. “One day soon, Polemusa, I will chant at your funeral byre!”

  Chapter Five

  The trek across the mountain in the moonlight was strangely romantic, Shanee thought. She was walking beside her lover, following a trail he knew by heart. He had dressed her once again in the black blouse and short skirt that he seemed to like so well while he was clad in the breechclout that fit his powerful physique to perfection. While he had fashioned boots for her, he was barefoot.

  “Will Tariq know we are coming?” she asked. Her right hand was in Ailyn’s as they walked. His right hand carried the spear that was never far from reach.

  “Aye, he will.”

  Ailyn had been quiet since they left the stream. He’d stopped only long enough to gather several pieces of fruit for their evening meal and even then he’d seemed preoccupied.

  “Are you angry at me?” she asked.

  He stopped and looked down at her. His face was hidden in shadow, the moon behind him, but she could see a faint reddish glow in his eyes.

  “No, ionúin. Why would I be angry at you?”

  “For wanting you to go back to Riezell with me. For me wanting to continue my job with the Guardians,” she answered.

  “We won’t discuss that now,” he said, and began walking again, tugging gently at her hand.

  “Then when will we discuss it?” she asked in a petulant voice.

  “When the time is right,” he said.

  Miffed at his response, Shanee clamped her mouth shut. If he didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t talk either.

  It didn’t seem to take as long going back to the village as it had coming out from it, Shanee thought. Ailyn had taken a different trail than Barat had and the climb up and over the mountain had not seemed as strenuous or taken as long. She wondered if Barat had been ordered to take her a longer way around to give Ailyn time to meet them.

  The village was still for it was very late by the time they entered the grassland where the huts sat in a semicircle around the massive waterfall. Here and there torches had been left burning to light the way and it was to the largest of the huts—Tariq’s—that Ailyn led her.

  Ducking beneath the leather flap that covered the arched entrance to the bamboo dwelling, Shanee was surprised to see Tariq sitting beside a lantern, a book in his hand. He smiled at them as they entered his abode.

  “You are well, Shanee?” he asked.

  “My mate is in good health,” Ailyn answered, and in his voice was a bit of a warning.

  Tariq nodded and put a leaf in the book to mark his place before putting it aside and getting to his feet. He noticed Shanee looking at the old-fashioned tome. “A gift from Ryden,” he said. “Its origin is Terra.”

  Shanee drew in a surprised breath. “Surely not!”

  “Aye, it is,” Tariq assured her. “It is a history of their world before the Burning War. I am finding it very informative.”

  “I would like to read it when you are finished,” Ailyn said, drawing the Prime Reaper’s eyes back to him.

  “Of course,” Tariq said. “My lady-wife has prepared a pallet for you and Shanee. It is late and she should be abed.”

  “I agree,” Ailyn said. He turned to look at Shanee. “I will be along shortly.”

  “But…”

  “Your mate and I have business to attend, Shanee,” Tariq said.

  She had to bite her tongue to keep from hissing at the men. When Tariq pointed to a leather-draped doorway off to his right, she strode over to it and ducked inside.

  “Angry women do not make good bed partners, Ailyn,” Tariq said with a sigh then held his hand out for Ailyn to precede him from the hut.

  The two Reapers walked away from the stand of huts so their talking would not bother the villagers trying to sleep. Though the moon had set, neither needed a torch to light their way for their eyesight was as keen as a wolf’s in the darkness. It was to the waterfall they went. Sitting down side by side on a broad, flat rock, they stared out over the water. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally it was Tariq who broke the silence.

  “From the dawning of time when man awoke to find a rib missing and a woman lying at his side, it has been the duty and the obligation of the male to protect the female, to care for her, to provide for her, to give her children. It has been the female’s task to care for her mate, to keep his hut, to bear his children and to give him the pleasure of her body. Traditionally, she is the weaker, he the stronger, and it is his will that is done.”

  Tariq said nothing for a few minutes as he let his companion absorb those words. When he spoke again, he drew one leg up and rested his wrist upon his knee.

  “Now consider the Amazeen,” he said. “They are a race of women who believe it was not they who came second into creation but that they were here first, life having been breathed into them by the goddess. The first
man came from woman’s womb as a child to be led and taught and controlled. Because they believe males are inferior, the Amazeen bow to no man. They are fierce warrior women and are deadly, capable fighters. They capture and enslave men of other races and think nothing of castrating them if the mood strikes. They think nothing of cutting off their breast to enhance their ability to pull a bow. What man—I ask you—would cut off one of his balls to better wield a sword? Amazeens make formidable enemies.”

  Once again Tariq fell silent to allow Ailyn to think about what he’d said.

  “Are you telling me I should go back with her to Riezell?”

  Tariq turned his attention to Ailyn. “No man can tell you what to do, my friend. You are a Reaper. You will do what you wish to do.”

  “What if I don’t know what I want to do?” Ailyn challenged.

  The Prime Reaper smiled knowingly. “The moment you looked into her eyes, you knew she was destined to be your mate. You felt the pull toward her. You felt what my people call the eolach, the knowing. The moment you put hands to her, she was yours and you were hers.” He laid a hand on Ailyn’s shoulder. “You will not be able to allow her to leave Theristes and return to her world without you. She cannot stay here for she has a destiny on Riezell. You cannot ask her to put aside her desires, her beliefs and her goals simply because you are the male and she is the female. That might work with a Riezellian woman but I can promise you it will not work with an Amazeen.”

  “I don’t want to go back to Riezell,” Ailyn stated.

  “I know this but I also know it will be hell for you here without her, a hell much worse than anything to be found in the laboratories on Riezell-Nine.” Tariq’s hand tightened on Ailyn’s shoulder. “You know Reapers mate for life and no matter where you are or where she is, there too will your heart strive to be. It is a miserable existence when your heart is separated from hers. It is a misery I do not want you to ever know, Ailyn.”