Sweep in Peace

  It sounded like hell.

  “That was good,” Ruga said.

  “Thank you,” Odalon said.

  “We’ve become hopelessly civilized,” Ruga said. “We are not suited for that kind of war. I don’t think our ancestors were even suited for it. They died much easier than we do, so a single long battle could decide the course of war. It takes a lot more damage to kill one of us now, so every evening all those who are still breathing end up in recuperative tanks, and a few days later, they are back out again. Endless battle. Endless war.”

  “Endless suffering.” Now I understood why Arland’s face changed when he mentioned it.

  “Yes,” Ruga said. “And now there is no hope for peace.”

  “I wouldn’t say no hope,” Odalon said. “That is rather bleak.”

  “Your people attacked the Merchants and my people attacked the Arbitrator.” Ruga sighed. “Mark my words: this is the beginning of the end.”

  We were walking back from the landing field, when Turan Adin jumped off his balcony. He did it very casually, as if clearing the thirty foot drop was like stepping down the stairs. The vampire and the otrokar at my side went for their weapons.

  “May I walk with you?” he asked me in his quiet, snarl-tinted voice.

  “Of course.” I looked at the two clergymen. “Please excuse us.”

  Odalon and Ruga hesitated for a long moment. “As you wish,” Odalon said finally. “We will go on ahead.”

  They walked on. I waited until they were a short distance ahead and turned to Turan Adin. “Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?”

  “No.”

  Maybe he just wanted some company. “I was going to take a few minutes and sit in my favorite spot to collect myself. Would you like to join me?”

  He nodded.

  I led him to the left, past the apple trees to an old overgrown hedge. I made my way through a narrow gap and waited for him. A small pond sat in the horseshoe clearing bordered by the hedge. Lily pads floated on the surface, and two large koi, one orange, one white with red spots, gently moved through the shallow water. A small wooden bench waited by the pond. I sat on one end. He sat on the other.

  We sat quietly and watched the koi.

  “Did you make this?” he asked.

  “Yes. When I was growing up, my job was to tend the gardens. It’s harder here, in Texas, because of the water restrictions, but the inn collects rainwater.”

  “It’s nice,” he said.

  “Thank you. I’m hoping to work on this more in the summer. Make it a little bigger. Maybe plant some flowers over there and put a hammock up so I can come here with my book and read…”

  He jumped off the bench and left. One moment he was there, and the next I was alone. I felt him moving back to the inn, inhumanly fast. He had jumped up, scaled the wall, gotten up to his balcony and disappeared into his rooms.

  What did I say?

  I sat by myself for another minute or two. The serenity I was looking for refused to come.

  The inn chimed. The otrokari were trying to get my attention from their quarters and something was happening in the stables.

  I sighed, got up, and headed for the stables. Inside Nuan Sama, Nuan Cee’s niece, who had helped Hardwir to repair Officer Marais’ car, crouched by one of the donkey-camel beasts. Jack sat on the bench, watching her. At Nuan Cee’s request, I had given her clearance to come to the stables every day to tend to the animals. Usually either Jack or Gaston escorted her.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  She brushed at her blue and cream fur with her paw. “Tan-tan is feeling poorly.”

  The donkey-camel looked at her with big dark eyes.

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. She is just old.” Nuan Sama sighed. “This is her last trip, I think. I come and visit her when I can, but she is… Sometimes creatures just get old.”

  “Is there anything I can do to make it easier on her?”

  “Could you increase the oxygen in the stables?” Nuan Sama looked up at me.

  I couldn’t fix anything else, but at the very least I could fix that. “Would twenty-three percent do?”

  “That would be perfect. Thank you! It will let her breathe easier.”

  “Done.” I made someone’s day better. Today wasn’t a complete loss.

  The inn chimed again. The otrokari were really persistent. I called up a screen in the nearest wall. Dagorkun’s face filled it.

  “The Khanum asks you to share her morning tea.”

  I didn’t want to share tea. I didn’t want to play politics or be smart. I just wanted to go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee. I would need backup. “Thank you. I will be right up.”

  I waved at the screen, calling up the covered balcony where Caldenia liked to have her breakfast. Her Grace was in her favorite chair, impeccably dressed into a complicated cobalt hybrid of a dress and a kimono embroidered with gold and red flowers.

  “Good morning, Your Grace. Would you mind accompanying me to Khanum’s morning tea?”

  “Of course not. I will be right down.”

  I dismissed the screen and went to meet Caldenia by the stairs.

  ***

  The otrokari quarters were unusually quiet. A somber-faced Dagorkun led Caldenia and me to the balcony once again and stood behind his mother, who sat in her robe on the bright pillows. This time a flame burned in the circular fire pit sending up a cloud of spicy smoke. I recognized the scent – jeva grass. The otrokari burned it for good luck before a long journey. The Khanum stared into the flames, her eyebrows furrowed. She didn’t acknowledge Caldenia’s presence.

  I took a seat on the circular couch. “Are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow evening,”

  “Why?”

  “The peace negotiations have failed.” The Khanum narrowed her eyes. “There can be no peace now.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said gently. “What changed?”

  “We were embarrassed and humiliated.”

  So were the vampires, but pointing it out in quite those words wouldn’t be the best strategy. “The Holy Anocracy struck the first blow.”

  The Khanum sighed. “Yes, but now we are both in a position of weakness. We are here.” She raised her hand, holding her palm parallel to the ground. “The Merchants are here.” She raised her other palm a few inches higher.

  “The Merchants want peace. Without peace, there is no profit.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Dagorkun said.

  “We are a democracy,” the Khanum said. “The men and women who are here are all distinguished warriors. They are the best seeds of the crop and they lead specific factions within the Horde. Had the peace treaty been ratified, each otrokar would’ve added the weight and value of his or her reputation to it. It is their reputations and their honor that would’ve made our agreement binding. My people were given a simple order: to never initiate violence while they are under your roof. Ruah disobeyed it. It reflects badly on his commanding officer. On me.”

  Dagorkun winced.

  “I came here to negotiate and I was unable to control the people under my command. Because of this happening, we, as a delegation, are no longer united. A decision of peace, a decision of great gravity and significance, must be unanimously approved. And now, since my honor has been tarnished, I would need that unanimous vote more than ever. Without a united vote, the treaty will hold no weight with the rest of the Horde.”

  A male otrokar approached us, carrying a platter with a pot of tea and four cups. He placed it on the table, inclined his head, and left. Dagorkun poured the dark red liquid into the cups. The Khanum watched him, her face impassive. She had wanted the peace treaty to succeed so much. My heart was breaking for her.

  “Is there any hope for peace? Any at all?” I asked softly.

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t like debts,” the Khanum stated, her voice flat. “So before we go, I would ask that you name the price of our rest
itution for our transgression.”

  I sipped my tea.

  A puff of mist erupted from the floor of the balcony and within it for a briefest of moments I saw a faint outline of a body.

  My muscles locked. My body turned hard, as if I suddenly became steel and I crashed on the floor. The air vanished. I struggled to inhale and couldn’t. My lungs sat in my chest like two boulders, unable to expand.

  “Dina!” Caldenia lunged to me.

  I couldn’t look at her. My eyes wouldn’t move.

  Poison… I’ve been poisoned.

  The inn screamed, its wood creaking and groaning, reaching for me. I shoved at it with my magic. No! If it touched me, the poison would spread. I couldn’t kill Gertrude Hunt.

  “You poisoned her!” Caldenia snarled, her sharp teeth rending the air.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe… My body refused to respond.

  I’m dying…

  The balcony parted under me. I fell through it, down, and landed on the table in the kitchen, right between George, Sophie, and Jack. Pain slapped my rigid back. Above me, through the hole in the fabric of existence, Caldenia screamed, “She’s been poisoned!”

  “Dina!” Sophie cried out.

  I saw Turan Adin. He was there and then he vanished.

  I couldn’t even gasp. My mouth wouldn’t move.

  George’s face, pale, his eyes wide open, swung into my view. The tip of his cane was glowing, projecting information in front of it, scrolling with dizzying speed.

  Not enough air…

  “Not again!” Orro howled. “No, no, no….”

  “Fix this,” Sophie ground out through her teeth. “Fix it now, George. This is too far.”

  “I can’t. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “Do something!”

  “I’m trying,” George growled. “The database doesn’t know this poison.”

  This is it, flashed in my head. This is how I am going to die.

  The inn wavered around me, warping, its roots stretching to me.

  No!

  “The inn can heal,” Caldenia called out. “Let it heal her!”

  “No,” George barked. “If the inn forges a connection with her, the poison can spread.”

  Thank you. Thank you for looking out for Gertrude Hunt.

  “Don’t die, small human!” Orro yelled. “Don’t die!”

  I sent my magic out, letting it brush the walls. I love you. You are the best. You will be okay.

  Wood snapped, cracking, as if something within the inn tore itself apart.

  Shhhh. It will be okay. You will be okay.

  I wish I could’ve found my parents. I wish I could have seen Sean one last time…

  The light was fading. I couldn’t even close my eyes. I would die with them open.

  Turan Adin filled my view. Nuan Cee’s furry muzzle appeared near me.

  “I have your word?” the Merchant said.

  All went black.

  Chapter 14

  I opened my eyes.

  The room was dim, the light soft and muted, coming from the setting sun. The ceiling looked familiar. I was lying on the couch in the front room. And I was still alive.

  I inhaled deeply and felt my chest rise, then fall. The air flooded my lungs, so sweet. Such an easy small movement. I would never again take it for granted. I sent my magic out. It whispered through the rooms, testing the connection, and Gertrude Hunt sighed in relief.

  I was still alive.

  The thought made me smile. I stretched a little and wiggled my toes. Someone had taken off my shoes. I turned my head slightly. The room was empty except for Turan Adin. He sat in a chair, his head inclined, his face hidden behind the empty blackness. Beast lay on his lap, her eyes closed.

  The smile vanished from my lips. In all the time I owned Gertrude Hunt, there was only one person besides me who could hold Beast on his lap.

  I slipped off the couch. Turan Adin raised his head but didn’t move. I walked over to him, my bare feet making almost no sound on the floorboards, reached out, and touched his hood. It retracted, folding as it slid to settle over his back. For a moment I saw a lupine head armed with monstrous jaws, and then it melted in a blink. Sean Evans looked at me with his amber eyes. His hair was shaved down to stubble. A ragged scar cut across his forehead, slanting to the left, interrupting his eyebrow and chewing up his cheek. Another scar snaked its way up his neck on the right, breaking into a tangle of smaller scars near his ear. What kind of injuries could they have been that the Merchants’ medical equipment couldn’t knit him back together?

  His face was hard, so much harder than I remembered, as if any hint of softness had been bled out of him. His eyes were haunted. He looked at me and through me at the same time, as if he were expecting a distant threat to appear on some far horizon behind me. The cocky funny guy was gone. I was staring war in the face and it was looking back at me.

  Oh no.

  I reached out and touched the ragged scar on his cheek with my trembling fingertips. He leaned into my hand, like a stray dog who’s been on the run for too long, desperate for any crumb of affection. Painful heat burned my eyes and fell on my cheeks. Beast whimpered on his lap.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  “I owed a favor to Wilmos,” he said, his voice quiet. “I said I wanted a challenge. Turan Adins don’t last. The Merchants just keep recruiting more when the latest one bites the dust. As long as you match the height, the armor takes care of everything else. I signed up for six Nexus months and got there two days after the last Turan Adin died.”

  “Sean…”

  “The Army wasn’t hard for me. Everything I had done on this planet was easy. What my parents went through was beyond anything I ever tried. It was a test. I wanted to know if I could do it. If I was good enough to survive. If I was someone they could look on with pride. I wanted the training wheels off. I had to know if I could.”

  Six Nexus months, that was barely two months our time. “Why didn’t you leave? Your contract ended.”

  “There are civilians in the spaceport and the colony.” His voice was ragged and low. “Children. Our resources are stretched too thin. They would be overrun. They need me.”

  He was trapped. Sean’s parents were alpha strain werewolves, designed and genetically engineered to protect the escape gates against overwhelming force as the rest of population evacuated their dying planet. Sean was born with the drive to protect, the kind of drive that overrode everything else. Repelling the siege of the spaceport must’ve felt right to him, so right, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. His very nature trapped him there in the never ending hell.

  That’s why he’d fled from the pond. He knew that he would go back to Nexus. He would never see the pond in summer. He would never see me again. He never cook another barbeque in my back yard and sneak bones to Beast. I would never hear him crack another joke. He…

  Nuan Cee had said something, just before I passed out. He said, “Do I have your word?”

  Ice shot through me. “What did you promise Nuan Cee to save me?”

  Sean smiled. “Nothing I regret. You’re alive. It makes me happy.”

  “Sean?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I spun around and dashed up the stairs to the Merchant quarters.

  I found Nuan Cee sitting alone in the front room. The huge screen on the wall was glowing. A recording of some Merchant festival played, its sound muted to mere murmur, as foxes in bright garments twirled long ribbons while dancing through the streets.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said quietly.

  “What did he promise you?”

  “Lifetime of service,” Nuan Cee said, his voice mournful. “A life for a life. A fair trade.”

  No. No, I don’t think so. Sean Evans wouldn’t die for me. I had to save him now. I came over and sat on the couch.

  I looked at the screen. The festival recording melted, obeying my push, and a different image took over the screen. Ma
ssive tree trunks twisted between the spires of grey and white stone, each branch as wide as a highway, bearing clouds of blue and turquoise leaves. Pink flowers bloomed on long indigo vines. Golden moss sheathed the trunks, catching the rays of bright sun. A massive feline predator, its fur splattered with rosettes of black and cream, made it way down one of the branches, keeping to the shadows, its massive black claws scratching the moss lightly.

  “I once asked my father how the lees became the dominant species on their planet,” I said.

  Nuan Cee winced. Few knew the true name of the Merchants’ species and outsiders weren’t supposed to say it out loud, but I was past the point of caring.

  The predator kept moving down the trunk. The view slid down, to a spot below where, tucked into a crook between a small, thin branch and the massive tree limb, a single fox sat, gathered into a tiny ball. His blue fur was striped with white and black paint. Compared to the predator, he was tiny. The feline beast could swallow him in two gulps.

  “After all, you are so small and your birth planet is so vicious.”

  The feline beast smelled the air. He was almost to the fox.

  “Do you know what my father told me?”

  On screen the fox’s bright indigo eyes opened wide.

  “He told me to never trust a lees, for they are smart and crafty, and when their negotiations fail, they kill to get what they want.”

  On the screen the small fox shot out from under the massive tree branch, leaping into the air, a blow gun at his lips. A tiny dart shot out and bit into the fur of the feline hunter. The beast shuddered, wracked by convulsions, struggling to stay on its feet. The fox landed next to it on soft paws and yanked a dagger from the sheath at his waist. His black lips drew back, baring savage teeth. His muzzle wrinkled. A deranged light flared in his eyes. The fox fighter fell on the convulsing beast, stabbing its throat again and again, flinging blood everywhere in a frenzy. There was nothing refined about it. Nothing civilized or calm. It was a pure, primordial bloodlust, brutal and violent.