"What language were you talking?" Grant asked.
"It's Iotic," Jaibriol said. In the same moment Kelric shot him a warning glance, someone inhaled sharply. Glancing around, Jaibriol saw the reverend staring at him in disbelief.
Jaibriol pushed his hand through his dusty hair. He had to be more careful. Only Skolian nobles and royalty spoke Iotic as a first language. That didn't mean Kelric was either, but it was a good explanation of why an Aristo would speak to him in that tongue. The chances of someone here knowing that were small but apparently not zero.
"Iotic, idiotic." the doctor muttered. "Never heard of it." He considered Kelric. "Who set your leg? He did a good job."
"I did it," Jaibriol said. He swayed, then caught himself. It occurred to him that he wouldn't stay on his feet much longer.
The doctor paused to study him. "When did you last have water or a meal?"
"We've found a lot of streams," Jaibriol said. "A few berries." He had to think about the food. "About two and a half days since an actual meal."
Grant scowled at the reverend, and then at the woman in the blue dress, who had come to stand with him. Seeing the reverend and the woman together, Jaibriol thought perhaps they were father and daughter.
"If we're going to help them," Grant told them gruffly, "I reckon we should get them some food. And a place to rest."
"Don't chew them out while I'm gone," the woman said. Then she bustled off.
"We can take them to the hospital," the reverend said.
"It couldn't hurt." The doctor stood up next to Jaibriol. "Does your friend speak English?"
"I don't think so." Jaibriol glanced at Kelric. "Can you understand any of what they're saying?"
Kelric shook his head. "My node can interpret Spanish, but not this language."
Jaibriol nodded and spoke to the doctor. "He doesn't, but I can translate for him."
"I need a release form to treat him," Grant said. "He has to sign it. We'll need your passports as well."
"Our what?" Jaibriol asked.
"Your documents. Your permission to be in our country, on our world, in our free space." Anger snapped in his voice. "No matter who you are, you need some authorization."
"No passport." Jaibriol decided he had better keep his answers short.
"How did you land?" Grant demanded. "They just let you traipse in here?"
"I don't know this word, traipse," Jaibriol said. "But if you mean, did I have permission to land, the answer is yes."
"Without a passport."
"Yes." He had no intention of describing the discreet and disguised manner he had used to enter Allied space.
The doctor jerked his thumb at Kelric. "He got documents?"
Jaibriol spoke to Kelric. "He wants to know if you have any papers allowing you entry into Allied space." Dice patterns swirled in his mind. He felt light-headed, as if he could float.
Kelric leaned back in the pew. "They were in the cabin." He lifted his gauntleted arm. "This comm has my military ID."
Jaibriol suspected Kelric wanted to give his identification as the Imperator about as much as he wanted another broken leg. He turned back to the doctor. "He doesn't have anything he can show you, either."
Grant shook his head. "This has got to be the strangest case I've ever had."
The woman who had left earlier returned, walking into the sunshine that streamed past the open door of the church. She came to Jaibriol and spoke shyly. "We have rooms where you and your friend can stay. We've also a lunch for the two of you."
Jaibriol inclined his head. "I thank you." He barely stopped himself from using the royal "we." He felt her mood. She thought he was attractive, so much so, it intimidated her as much as his being a Highton. It was an odd reaction, but it took him a moment to figure out why. Hightons coveted beauty. They never had a simple appreciation for it; their possessive cruelty swamped out any softness. If a taskmaker noticed him that way, her reaction was lost in awe or fear. Providers were supposed to love him; they were bred, conditioned, and drugged for it. This woman's simple response so rattled him that it made him question whether, after ten years among the Hightons, he could ever again react like a normal human being.
I.
Jaibriol stood in the dimly lit parlor with the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Kelric had fallen asleep on the couch in the "bed and breakfast" where the people from the church had brought them. Kelric had refused to go to a hospital, so the doctor reset his leg in the church, covering it with a med-sheath from thigh to foot. In sleep, his legendary face was at repose for the first time since Jaibriol had met him.
The married couple that lived here had fed them, fussing as if they were any tourists who had stopped in town. Jaibriol had discretely looked into finding his siblings, but no trace of them came up in his searches and he feared to draw attention to their existence if he pushed any harder.
He had also spoken his request to his hosts, the other reason he had wanted to come to these mountains. It didn't have to be the Appalachians; he could have satisfied this request almost anywhere on this continent or several others. But he had once called this part of the world home, and it was here he turned for refuge.
His request had stunned his hosts. But they had been willing to help.
A soft knock came at the door. Jaibriol jerked up his head. He almost said, "Come," but stopped himself, not wishing to wake Kelric. Instead, he went to the door and opened it by the antique glass knob.
A priest stood outside. He wore a black collar with white underneath, and black slacks. Grey streaked his brown hair, and his calm face had a gentle quality. He started to speak, then noticed Kelric and stopped.
"Perhaps we should go somewhere else," Jaibriol said. "He needs to sleep."
The man nodded. His face was difficult to read, but he hadn't guarded his mind. Although he recognized neither Jaibriol nor Kelric, he had some idea what he was dealing with. What he thought about it, Jaibriol couldn't tell; except for his apprehension, the man's reactions were deep in his mind.
They went to a parlor with the curtains pulled. Jaibriol didn't turn on the lights; he preferred the dimness. Perhaps it made it easier to hide from himself.
"My name is Father Restia," the man said.
"Thank you for coming." Jaibriol knew he should introduce himself, but what could he say? His personal name was one of the most common among Aristos, but it was common because three emperors had borne it, including himself and his father.
"Missus Clayton didn't give me details," the priest said. "Normally I would ask that you come to the church. But when she described you, I understood why you preferred to remain in private." Quietly he added, "I've never spoken to a nobleman of any kind, let alone a Eubian. If I act in a manner that offers offense, please accept my apology."
It relieved Jaibriol that his hosts had found someone who didn't hate Aristos. "No need to apologize. I lived on Earth for two years, in another part of these mountains, in fact. I understand the customs."
Restia stared at him, and his face paled. So he knew. Only one Aristo had lived in the Appalachians for two years. Three empires knew that name. Jaibriol Qox.
The priest exhaled. "Is that when you became a Catholic?"
"My first year here. It gave me an anchor." Jaibriol had desperately needed something to give him hope while his parents waged war against—and for—each other.
"Then you know," Restia said. "Anything said between us remains in confidence."
Jaibriol inclined his head in acknowledgement. It made no difference. He had too much he couldn't say, and nothing this priest could tell him would change that. But perhaps Restia could offer a respite for Jaibriol's soul. He had little doubt that if hell existed, he would end up there, if he hadn't already, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.
He knelt at a small table and the priest sat on the sofa next to him. That in itself would have horrified Jaibriol's people, that their emperor knelt to any man, let alone one they considered a taskmaker. He put his elbows o
n the table and folded his hands so he could rest his forehead on them. It wasn't really a position of prayer; in truth, he couldn't look at the priest. After ten years, he had forgotten the proper phrases, so he went by what little he remembered.
"Bless me Father," he said. "For I have sinned. It has been ten years since my last confession. These are my sins." Then he stopped. What could he say? It would take a thousand years to confess.
After a moment, the priest said, "Go ahead, son."
Jaibriol sat back on the floor, leaning against a chair at right angles to Restia. Staring across the room, he said, "A man is responsible for the sins committed in his name as well as his own. The roster is too long, Father. No one can absolve me for the crimes against humanity inflicted in 'honor' of my name."
"You are not the keeper of an entire race."
"No?" Jaibriol finally looked at him. "The Hightons think I am. They glorify my name while they torture, enslave, and kill, with impunity. I own billions of people. Hundreds of worlds. I descend from a line of monsters who considered genocide an appropriate response to defiance. The populations I control live with that specter, and if I've never slaughtered, neither have I acknowledged I consider it abhorrent. I could free my people. I could turn against the Hightons. I haven't." He felt the darkness within himself, and he feared Restia could do nothing for him.
The priest spoke in a quiet manner that fit like a cover over another emotion. If Jaibriol hadn't known better, he would have thought it was grief. But this man had no reason to mourn the tyrant of Glory.
"And if you did these things," Restia asked. "If you turned against the ways of the Hightons, what would happen to you?"
Jaibriol gave a harsh laugh. "What do you think? They would kill me." Bitterly he said, "Not that they don't try anyway."
"Then answer me this," Restia said. "If you can do more good by living with the evil, is that a greater sin than turning your back on what you can accomplish?"
"It's killing me," Jaibriol said.
"I wish I could offer you better counsel." Restia spoke softly. "Perhaps God has given you a greater trial because you have a greater purpose."
"Do you truly believe in this God?" Jaibriol asked. "So many cultures have a pantheon. Ask the man sleeping in the other room. His people believe in many gods and goddesses. Yet here on Earth, it is only one. A merciful god, you say. Yet what deity of mercy would create the Aristos?" He felt too heavy to continue, but the words he had pent up for so long poured out. "What mercy will be left when the Hightons hold sway over the entire human race, across all the stars, when no one is free but a race of monsters who would murder me in an instant if they saw me sitting here, speaking with you?"
"If I told you," Restia said, "that the greater humanity believes it has become, the greater the trials we must face, I would sound sanctimonious even to myself. I can't imagine what you face. Or what you endure. I know nothing of you but what we see on broadcasts." Quietly he said, "If you have come to me for the absolution of confession, that I can offer. But the forgiveness you need isn't from me. It is your own."
"Then I will never have it," Jaibriol said. "I can reach for peace, Father, but I can't change the character of man, even within myself. In the coldest hours of my nights, when the specter of power lures with its siren call, will I turn away?" It haunted him, for he knew now what he had within his grasp. The knowledge had all been within Kelric's mind—the Triad Chair, the Kyle web. Kelric hadn't wanted to open that portion of himself, but Jaibriol had seen. In giving Jaibriol an inestimable gift that could allow Eube's emperor to survive, Kelric had also given him the knowledge to conquer humanity.
"Knowing I have within my grasp the power to rule it all," Jaibriol asked, "will I seek peace?"
Restia's face paled. "I pray you do seek it."
"So do I," Jaibriol whispered.
The rumble of an engine tugged Kelric out of his doze, back into a waking reality. He was sprawled on the couch in a pleasant room of the house. The people here seemed puzzled by his refusal to go to the hospital, but no one insisted. They couldn't know he wanted these last few moments of freedom before his world collapsed. Better a house than a hospital with doctors monitoring him on machines.
Kelric wondered what these people would do if they knew their two guests contained within their internal nodes a peace treaty of incredible proportions. Whether or not it would be ratified was a question he feared to look at too closely, for in giving Jaibriol the knowledge to protect himself, Kelric had also given him knowledge that would negate the need for any treaty, if the Highton emperor chose conquest instead of peace.
Jaibriol was standing across the room, gazing at holocube pictures on the mantel. Antique paper with flowers and leaves covered the walls, and the moldings that bordered the ceiling were painted a pale shade of rose. Kelric listened to the engines overhead and wondered if this soothing room would be his last sight of freedom.
He had watched with bemused fascination while Doctor Grant heckled Jaibriol all morning. He didn't have to understand English to figure out the doctor had thrown barb after barb at his Aristo guest. Jaibriol took it with equanimity, but still, it had to be strange for a man whose people considered him a god.
He sensed the haze of Quis patterns in Jaibriol's thoughts. It softened the scarred edges of the young man's mind. Given time and treatment Jaibriol might someday heal. He would never get that help, not as long as he ruled Eube, but perhaps Quis could give him relief. It had done so for Kelric, making his life bearable in times when he thought he could no longer go on. Seeing his dice pouch hanging from Jaibriol's belt wrenched him, all the more so because he knew what else he had given Jaibriol. If he was wrong about the emperor, he truly had committed treason at its highest level, and he deserved the execution looming before him. Jaibriol could return to Eube, erase the document he and Kelric had signed, and seek to enslave all humanity.
That Jaibriol was a decent man, Kelric had no doubt. But no one could live with the lure of that power and deny its hold. In the moment Kelric had offered him Quis, he had faced the most difficult decision in his life. He had based it not on concrete principles or logic, but on the unquantifiable patterns evolving in his mind. Whether he had done a great good or committed unforgivable harm against humanity, he didn't know.
The grumble of the engines intensified, until it sounded as if they were in the street outside. Jaibriol turned around and met Kelric's gaze. He looked as if he had aged years in the past few days, but he seemed much calmer now than earlier.
Someone had left Kelric's staff by the sofa. He grasped it with both hands and pushed himself to his feet. The doctor had done his job well; only a twinge of pain shot up his sheathed limb. He hoped Grant didn't have heart failure when he realized whom he had given so much grief today. Then again, someone willing to talk that way to an Aristo would probably survive knowing he had spoken to an emperor. It might be bravery, but more likely the doctor simply had no idea his words could have him put to death among Eubians. The people of the Allied Worlds lived a sheltered existence in the shadow of their violent neighbors.
The roar of the engine outside muted. A moment later, someone pounded on some part of the house. Kelric tensed, his hand tightening around the staff.
"They do that here," Jaibriol said. He came up next to Kelric. "It's called knocking on the door. It's how they announce their presence."
Kelric relaxed his grip on the staff. "We probably won't have another chance to talk."
Jaibriol bit his lip, and for one moment, he wasn't an emperor, he was a young man of twenty-seven caught in events too great to bear. It was hard to believe he was the same age as Kelric's son or Jeremiah Coltman, the youth Kelric had rescued from Coba. Jaibriol seemed years older, decades, centuries. No one should have to see in a lifetime what he endured every day.
"Be well," Kelric said. "No matter what happens, know that you can survive."
Jaibriol looked up at him. God's speed, Kelric.
The
thought was an unexpected gift. Before Kelric could respond, steps sounded outside. They stopped—and the door creaked open. A man in the uniform of an Allied Air Force colonel stood framed in the rectangular doorway, and more uniformed men and women waited behind him in the hall, as well as the couple who owned the house. Dust motes swirled in a shaft of sunlight that slanted past.
The colonel's face paled as he saw Jaibriol and Kelric. He walked into the room, his pace measured, and bowed deeply from the waist, a gesture part Skolian and part Eubian but one rarely seen on Earth in this modern age. With foreboding, Kelric inclined his head, aware of Jaibriol doing the same.
The colonel spoke in English. Bolt had been analyzing the language, developing a translation program. He interpreted the words as My honor at your presence, Your Majesties.
Kelric glanced at Jaibriol, wondering if he were offended. Eubians used Highness rather than Majesty. But the emperor didn't even seem to notice.