‘I really need to speak with Anselm.’ Yasper was also keen. ‘Only he knows where my long-lost sibling is. They might be in this very room and I would be none the wiser.’ He made light of his dilemma, looking to his father, Zelimir. The chief had also joined the crew’s medical department, having developed his talent as a psychic healer and a seer of auras.
‘I know you’ve not forgiven me,’ Zelimir said, ‘but Anselm will not have let me down.’
‘I can’t believe you never even bothered to find out if you’d fathered a boy or a girl.’ Yasper replied without angst; his father was a very different man these days.
‘Absolutely, Yasper, you are on the team,’ Taren confirmed to end the affront. ‘There’s a good chance we’ll need you to create a bit of an airborne diversion for the Phemoray.’
Yasper wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of that.
The only crew who were originally involved in the decrowning of the Queen of Phemoria were Lucian and Ringbalin — both of whom were essential to this mission. They needed Lucian’s etheric sight to keep tabs on what the angry female thought form that guarded the crown of Phemoria was doing during their visit. They needed Ringbalin’s ability to influence the moods and emotions of others, to keep the queen’s Valourean guard in order.
‘I have to be touching someone to pacify them?’ Ringbalin was panicked upon learning this. ‘I cannot do it en masse!’
Taren knew that in the future he would learn to, but during the instance in question his talent had been no more developed than it was now.
‘That didn’t matter the last time we went through this,’ Lucian reassured him. ‘You still had hardened Valoureans pleading to their queen to spare your life!’
Zeven gave Ringbalin a chug on the shoulder. ‘You little heartbreaker, you.’
Ringbalin was very embarrassed. ‘Why was I in trouble with the Phemorian queen?’
The captain was stumped for words for a second.
‘The Queen of Phemoria tried to kidnap me, and wasn’t happy when Lucian protested.’ Taren jumped in to spare explaining to Ringbalin about a love affair that was yet to happen for him, and its tragic end — which would hopefully never eventuate. ‘Of course you sided with Lucian and …’ She shrugged in conclusion.
Ringbalin was looking at Taren sideways, as though he sensed he was not getting the whole truth. ‘Well, if you need me, I am at your service.’
‘I’m coming, of course.’ Zeven fronted up.
‘Ah no.’ Taren was frank. ‘I need to leave someone with PK on board, and I need Jazmay with me.’
‘Wha —’ Zeven didn’t have to ask why — Jazmay was Phemorian. He sucked up his disappointment and didn’t argue. ‘Bugger. What about Mythric?’
‘Mythric has Satomi with him, and I have a feeling she may want to come along.’ Taren looked to Mythric.
‘Definitely.’ Mythric spoke for her.
‘She is giving that the big nod.’ Lucian confirmed Mythric’s gut instinct.
Taren looked back to Zeven, who had resigned himself to his role. ‘Aurora can keep an eye on us from here, and if we look like we are in trouble …’
‘I’ll pop on by,’ Zeven confirmed.
‘We’re also going to need a telepath.’ Taren looked to Leal and Kassa.
‘I’ll go.’ Leal didn’t hesitate.
‘Hey.’ Kassa was offended. ‘The Phemorians are more disposed toward women than men, so … I should go.’
‘I don’t need their permission to read their mind,’ Leal bantered, with a grin.
‘Neither do I,’ she challenged, grinning back.
‘I can’t risk injury to our doctor.’ Lucian called it. ‘Leal is trained for this kind of thing.’
‘Oooh,’ Kassa protested with a big pout.
‘The Phemorians are going to be more on guard than they were last time around,’ Taren advised. ‘Anselm is the man whom the Qusay-Sabah Clarona despises most of all, but with any luck my presence will pacify the queen’s wrath long enough to get the crown off her head.’
Their team of seven joined Anselm in the presidential suite of his hotel on Phemoria. They were all dressed in the dark blue uniform of his regular guard and wore nothing that might connect the group to AMIE. Taren had purposefully left Dr Portus on board, as the Phemorians could identify her as the agent they had sent on board AMIE.
The president had given his regular guard the day off, advising them he would be using his psychic task force for protection from the Phemorians at this meeting. Anselm had a regular psychic task force back on Sermetica that he’d been developing with the help of Aurora DeCadie, so no one was any wiser that the Zagriata had been brought on board for this event.
‘Are you feeling confident, champ?’ Taren rubbed her father’s shoulders as she stole a quiet moment with him in his room while he finished dressing.
Her father breathed deep and then blew a weak raspberry, as he put his shirt on. ‘I am confident … that we are going to be ambushed by every Valourean on Phemoria.’
‘Don’t be so negative,’ Taren lectured. ‘She loves you, she’s always loved you. It’s only the curse of the Phemoray that stops her from expressing how she really feels. You’ll see.’ She had never seen the Sermetic leader appear so unsure of himself.
‘There’s only the fate of the United Systems at stake, right?’ he clarified why he might be a little nervous.
‘And the fate of every psychic on Maladaan,’ she added with a grin to amuse him.
‘I think most of the psychic population have moved to Sermetica in the last few years,’ he joked. ‘Sermetica is the vogue place to be at present.’
‘Who knew being psychic could be chic?’ Taren joked. ‘And the local acceptance has been amazing! It shows just how far the Sermetic people have come since the sexual revolution. They’re ready for this reconciliation.’
Anselm gave himself the once over in the mirror, and felt presentable. ‘I just hope the Phemorians feel the same, once they know what we know.’
‘Knowledge is power,’ Taren told him, sounding like a chip off the old block.
He raised both brows, questioning his own spin. ‘Let’s get this little family reunion under way, shall we?’
Their party climbed into two vehicles. Lucian, Taren and Ringbalin rode with Anselm, whilst Jazmay, Yasper, Leal and Mythric rode together in the lead car.
‘Be aware that the last time this happened, we were lead to a meeting with the captain of the guard, who was masked,’ Lucian told his father-in-law en route.
‘How did you get past her to see the queen?’ Anselm queried.
‘We didn’t have to, the masked warrior was the queen,’ Lucian replied and Anselm nodded.
‘I shan’t get impatient with her charade then,’ he concluded.
‘That would be very wise,’ Lucian agreed.
The Qusay-Sabah Clarona, and the Phemoray who controlled her, had been coerced into this meeting by their own people. Anselm had done so much for the cause of psychics within the United Systems that the Phemorian people were starting to wonder why their queen had not acknowledged his efforts and offered to assist him to stop the oppression on Maladaan.
Phemoria had a secret that only Taren knew about; at least she’d never discussed her knowledge of it with another living soul. It was one of the sacred mysteries of her people and although Taren had never considered herself Phemorian, she would not betray her mother by repeating what she had learnt in confidence from her once upon another time line. The earthly bodies of thousands upon thousands of Phemorian women lay sleeping in a vault beneath the city, whilst their light-bodies inhabited a celestial city that interpenetrated the capital, Tonissia — the name literally meant ‘twin or double city’. Taren had visited this place herself and knew it was no fable.
From information she’d gleant over the years from the Phemorians she’d known, Taren had learnt that at a young age all Phemorian women were split into groups. The strong would become Valoureans, th
e smart would pursue studies and professional careers, and the very pretty became breeders — the hunters of men who kept the population booming. Only the more psychically gifted Phemorians were chosen to leave their physical bodies behind, for their own protection, and live and develop their psychic skills in the invisible city.
Yet now that psychic freedom was accepted on three out of four planets in the United Systems, Taren wondered if these souls were aware that they were no longer in danger? If they were made aware, might not at least some of them want to resume their lives in the physical world? Did the astral realm still feel like freedom to them, or was it now more like prison?
The president’s two-car delegation arrived at the royal palace, with minimal unarmed security as agreed prior. Taren’s crew fell in around her father to escort him through the palace. A small Valourean guard led the way to the throne room, where the official meeting would be taking place.
Flanked by his guards, Anselm entered the grand throne room of Phemoria. There were three thrones: two smaller for the queen’s viceroy and captain of the guard, both of which were occupied; and a much larger and grander throne for the queen herself — this was currently not occupied.
The viceroy and the head Valourean rose to address Anselm as he entered. The captain of the guard was masked, as Lucian had foretold, and came forward to conduct the proceedings. Anselm glanced at Lucian, who gave a nod to confirm it was the queen. With his second sight, Lucian could clearly see the angry mass of female angst that followed the cursed crown everywhere it went, hanging over the masked woman’s head.
‘Phemoria bids you welcome, President Anselm, but our queen is not as eager to embrace you.’ The masked warrioress informed. ‘She believes your conviction to the cause of those with the Powers to be a trick, designed to turn her own people against her!’
Anselm held his hands out to appeal. ‘Well, I —’
‘Some are calling you the Zagriata,’ she scoffed. ‘Balance you may know about, but love?’ She gave a mocking laugh. ‘You are a man and therefore completely ignorant in that regard.’ All the Phemorians had a chuckle at Anselm’s expense, but were stumped when he spoke up for himself.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ he agreed. ‘For starters, I believe the Zagriata is a mass consciousness, and not any one person. If your queen would kindly speak with me, I am sure she will see I have only the greater interests of both our planets at heart. The division that has kept our nations at odds for so long is no longer applicable. I believe now is the time to bury the ill will of our history and band together for the common good.’
The masked warrior looked to the viceroy, who was squinting and shaking her head as she glared at Anselm. ‘What is it?’
The tall elegant viceroy’s name was Jalila Lamus; Taren had met her before and hadn’t liked her very much. But then, like just about everyone, the viceroy had been putting on a front. She was eager to dethrone the Phemorian queen and her Phemoray witches and replace them with a properly functioning government — so, indirectly, they were on the same side. Jalila was fiercely telepathic, and had Khalid not been exposed and sent to jail, she would have been conspiring with him by now, and being deceived.
‘I cannot read any of them,’ the viceroy explained to the masked warrioress. ‘There is only light and music,’ Jalila sounded more enchanted than frustrated.
With a stomp of the warrioress’s foot, the Valoureans who stood at ease around the chamber all snapped to attention. ‘What trick is this?’ She pointed an accusing finger at the president.
‘No offence, Your Majesty, but I am not the one masking my identity?’ Anselm repressed an urge to smile. ‘Why do you find it so difficult to understand that I mean you no harm?’
The queen removed the masked helmet and dropped it, but not even her furious expression could taint her timeless beauty. ‘You stole the heir to the throne of Phemoria! My daughter!’
‘Our daughter,’ he said before freely admitting: ‘Yes, I did.’
‘You admit it?’ She seemed surprised he had the guts.
‘I do,’ he confirmed again.
Taren chanced a glance across to Lucian, who was looking a mite concerned about what was going on directly above the queen. ‘Trouble?’ she whispered.
Lucian frowned. ‘They’re not happy,’ he advised. Still, Yasper was on alert to help out if there was trouble.
‘But today I have brought our daughter back to you, as a sign of my goodwill,’ Anselm announced to the great shock of the queen and all her attendees.
‘You don’t want to try my patience, Anselm,’ the Qusay-Sabah Clarona was saying, when Taren came forward to stand beside her father.
‘He’s not lying. Here I am,’ Taren announced, and the queen didn’t know what to say or think.
‘And I am just supposed to take your word for this?’ The queen took a seat in her throne, looking Taren over very closely.
‘Surely you can look into my face and —’ Taren began to ascend the stairs to the address platform, but the queen held a hand up to prevent it.
‘Stay where you are,’ she ordered, ‘or I shall set my guard on you.’
This was not the warm reception Taren had received last time around, when the queen had genetic proof of her kinship. ‘Do you not see a family resemblance in me, to someone you once —’
‘Satomi,’ the queen uttered, looking straight past Taren.
Of course, Taren considered that her mother had etheric world sight too; she had to have to be Queen of Phemoria! Taren looked back to Lucian, who joined her.
‘It’s Satomi,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘She’s saying something to the queen … I can’t understand it …’ He returned his gaze to the spot above the queen’s head, ‘but it’s really getting them riled.’ He referred to the seething mass protecting the crown, when suddenly all the doors in the chamber slammed closed in protest.
‘Stick with me, let’s do this.’ Taren made a move toward her mother, which was the cue for the rest of the team to move into action. ‘That’s right, my dearest foremothers, we’ve come to claim my mother back!’ Taren raised her voice in challenge, and with a wave of her arm all the doors in the room flung open once more. As the Valoureans made a move to defend their queen, Yasper rose into the air to urge caution. Ringbalin took up Taren and Lucian’s flank to prevent anyone reaching them, and Jazmay, Mythric and Leal surrounded Anselm — the goal was to do this without anyone getting hurt.
‘They’re massing,’ Lucian said to Taren, referring to the thought form, getting ready to attack them. Once the angry mass began its dive toward them, Lucian let Taren know with a squeeze of his hand in hers. She shifted them, with a thought, to behind her mother’s throne.
Yasper watched for their reappearance and looked to where Lucian was directing him. He began waving his arms about to draw the attention of the thought form. ‘Hey ladies, I’m all yours.’ He held his arms open wide and in a second he found himself in the middle of an all in brawl he couldn’t see.
With a thought, Taren removed the crown from her mother’s head and cast it across the room. A case made of osmium appeared and it locked around the crown, encasing it within.
Yasper’s peril ended. With a final wail, he came to a stop in midair and breathed a sigh of relief.
The Valoureans advanced and Mythric focused his intention on making them run on the spot, but when they started casting weapons at him he froze them altogether. Ringbalin caught the viceroy pulling a blade, which she intended to use on Taren. When he grabbed hold of her, Jalila turned the weapon on him, but found she was too filled with goodwill to use it. ‘We are the answer to your greatest wish, Viceroy Lamus. All will be well with your people now, you’ll see.’ He took the blade from her hand.
Her frustration at wanting to kill and hug him at once conflicted and brought tears to her eyes. ‘Why should you care what happens to my people?’
‘We are all one,’ he told her. Although she was perplexed by his answer, she could feel hi
s good intention and without question, believed it.
‘Is this a siege?’ she asked, casting her eyes around the room at the frozen Valoureans and her stupefied queen, who was shaking and weeping uncontrollably.
‘It is a liberation,’ he commented, as President Anselm approached the mother of his child.
‘Clarona?’ He knelt before the crumbling woman. ‘We have both been horribly deceived, for the longest time,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she managed to agree, and forced a smile. ‘Thank you … for … coming … I couldn’t —’ The queen collapsed forward and Anselm caught her.
‘That didn’t happen before,’ Lucian recalled. ‘She was weak, but she did stay conscious long enough to take the heat off us.’
‘That’s not good.’ Taren came round to join her father.
‘Help us?’ Ringbalin beseeched Jalila Lamus.
‘There is a chamber through here,’ the viceroy lead off toward a door at the rear of the throne room. ‘I will send for the queen’s physician.’
Once the queen was comfortably resting, their party returned to the throne room to await the doctor’s prognosis, where the glaring eyes of fifty Valoureans bored holes through them.
‘What was I saying about being ambushed?’ Anselm posed to his daughter.
‘We’re the ambush,’ she bantered. ‘This is just a minor hiccup.’
‘Can’t you make them close their eyes?’ Yasper asked Mythric, about the evil-eyed Valoureans.
‘No, they tend to lose balance and tip over if you do that,’ he replied, and Yasper grinned.
‘Valourean tipping,’ he joked and Mythric shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t go there if you don’t want to be beaten up by women twice in one day.’ He took a seat on the stairs and Yasper approached Anselm.
‘Mr President, sir? I know you’ve got a lot on your mind right now, but I was wondering if I could ask you about something?’
‘You may.’ Anselm looked to Taren to see if she knew what this was about.
‘This is Yasper Ronan, Chief Ronan’s son,’ she jogged his memory, having spoken about Yasper’s situation to her father earlier.