John I

  In the Grand Chamber of Upper Lavinium, its seats bereft of all who usually occupied it, myself, Consul Edwin of the Princes, and Archon Stavros of the Blades sat upon the raised thrones in the heart of the room. To our left, past the triple-row of seats which bent around the room in a semicircle, was a window overlooking Lower Lavinium below—in all its magnificent, oily splendour. And to our right, once again past the seats, was a map of Eden, comprising and detailing all the eight districts.

  And before us, kneeled on the red carpet, was a young member of the Blades—whom they referred to as an ‘Acolyte’. His black robes, the very same the Archon himself wore, were stained with dark, dried blood; his hair, while still as dark as the night, had red stains—most likely blood too—mixed with sweat that coiled around his hairline like a poisonous crown; and his eyes… his pale eyes flickered with fear.

  Even here, at the heart of humanity, he was still afraid.

  “Speak,” Consul Edwin commanded with a wave of his golden-gloved hand, his deep aqua eyes coated with compassion and contrasting deeply with his long, blonde locks.

  But the acolyte looked hesitant. Wary. He doesn’t want me to say it with me here. “Why?”

  Understanding why I asked, he lowered his head further—shrouding his eyes from our view. “It… in some part, it concerns the grandmaster of your order. Consul Gerald.”

  His fearful nature did him no merit, but I couldn’t fault him. Were I my younger self, fresh on the high of elevating myself to the myrmidons—well… I might’ve killed him for daring to speak ill of the man I might’ve once called my father. But I am older now. Wiser. The acolyte must’ve had information of some consideration. He should hope so, at least. Otherwise I’ll have to kill him. “You’ve my leave to speak freely.”

  Archon Stavros leaned forward, causing his black robes to fall from his shoulders—which gave him a visage more fitting of a hermit than a triumvir. “Have no fear, Hildebrand. Speak what you saw. No more, no less.”

  Finding his tongue, ‘Hildebrand’ raised his head with confidence—but the fear remained. “In the Trojan Operation, I was, under the command of Blade Johan, assigned the halls which sprawled from the Eighth Gate. It was there, in the area just outside one of the District Cavern Gates, we… found the missing children.”

  Found. Not rescued. Not recovered. Found.

  “What was their fate?” Consul Edwin asked as he retreated into his throne. I could see the beginning of tears welling in his eyes, yet I would not call it out or scorn it. I cannot fault a man for… crying… when it came to kids. Even a consul.

  “They… uh…” Hildebrand’s tongue caught itself as he struggled to be as ‘informative’ as he needed to be. “They were flayed, Consul Edwin. And… and drained of their blood beforehand, I… suspect. The Cavern Gate was painted with it.” By now, despite the tears having long since bottled up, the acolyte was practically wailing the words out.

  And it was understandable…

  What a foul thing! “Did you discover who did this?” I yelled.

  Hildebrand shook his head.

  “Did you recover the skin?” Consul Edwin quietly asked. “Their bodies?”

  He shook his head again. “I—”

  “Why,” Edwin paused and hunched forward, his face marked with anger. “Not?”

  “Perhaps it might be best to allow Hildebrand a chance to tell his story?” Achon Stavros advised as he stroked his grey goatee. Even with the weight of all this hanging over me, I could tell this cretin was more annoyed with the Consul’s and I’s interruptions than actually saddened by the fate of the kids.

  “What are we to tell the broken mothers who wander the streets at night begging for their babies to return?” Edwin roared away the Archon’s words, but after a silence, motioned for Hildebrand to continue.

  Biting his lip, Hildebrand kept his head down—fearing making contact with the consul’s deranged eyes. “When we opened the gate, we saw a shrine. A simple shrine, really. Just a natural ledge, lit by a few candles. But around it, there were naked men, about six or seven, huddled about, wearing skin-masks, like the one the vigil described. We… Blade Johan and I, we screamed at them to put their hands up, but they were too busy… turning the spit.”

  It didn’t take a genius to gather what was on the spit.

  Flaying? You might chalk that up to a deranged lunatic. But flaying and child cannibalism? You can’t call that a man anymore. And six of them? You can’t call that the cause of ‘men’ anymore. I didn’t want to be right. I wished I wasn’t. But it seems I was. This wasn’t a case of serial killers or perverse, deranged lunatics. This was something else. It could only be the Rot.

  “Continue on,” Archon Stavros commanded the acolyte.

  “After the f-fourth or fifth time we screamed,” Hildebrand followed his master’s order. “Every one of them looked up at us—we were still at the gate—and they all looked up at once. Their… their eyes… behind the mask—their eyes were red. Pure red. Even in the dark.”

  “Not pink?” I asked.

  Hildebrand shook his head.

  “So it can’t be the Rot.” Consul Edwin affirmed his opposition.

  “It could affect men’s eyes differently,” the archon posed.

  “It’s never affected men, period.”

  “Is it so unbelievable?” I furrowed my brow at his constant denial, day after day, since the first time I brought it up. “There was once a time when it killed us, plain and simple! Now we’ve clairvoyant telekinetics running about. Things evolve. The Rot can evolve!”

  After a prolonged stare, the consul found himself, raised a hand and dragged his face from the forehead down. “It doesn’t matter. Finish your tale, Acolyte. I wish to hear how my Co-Consul plays into this madness.”

  “We fired at the men. Blade Johan and I. In the dark, we couldn’t see much, but the light of the tunnels and the candles did well to serve us. And even when it didn’t, we heard them drop. I swear, we heard them drop. But everytime… everytime… everytime we heard them drop, a candle on the rock went out. One by one. When they were all dead—or-or gone—and the cavern was completely dark, I looked back… and Blade Johan was naked. His skin was bubbling, his eyes were turning pink. I’ve no idea where his gear went. We never found it. And he looked at me and he said ‘Tell Gerald I miss him,’. And then… he blew his brains out with my gun. In fear, I decompressed—ran until I found another blade and their acolyte, but when we returned, everything was gone. There was no blood. No candles. No corpses. No children. Everything was gone.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  That wasn’t good. Perhaps it wasn’t the rot—I knew for a fact Gerald wasn’t infected with it—even an evolved strain—but regardless, it was something ominous. My master, my would-be father, my mentor… have you been consorting with something that wasn’t of our… people? Something as intelligent as us? Something that… did this? To us! Have you betrayed us? Betrayed humanity! For what? What did it promise you? What did it promise… for this?

  Consul Edwin pointed at the door. “Leave, Hildebrand. Speak nothing of what you saw—to anyone, on pain of death. Have a shower too—they shouldn’t have paraded you through Lavinium looking like that.”

  Hildebrand, leaping at the chance, rushed out of the room.

  “Do…” My anger was beginning to bubble. All through that horror, I’d forgotten how they’d warned me of my master. I wish I never knew… I want to kill him. I want to make him give me answers. I want him to explain—because if he doesn’t explain… then it’s true. “Did this ‘Johan’ ever meet Gerald?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” the Archon’s dull eyes flashed—as if he was scanning the troves of information he no doubt had stored in that brain. Of the three of us, it was clear this revelation affected him the least. Although I know better, I’ll chalk it up to the fact he heard it already.

  Consul Edwin rose from his throne, flicked his blue half-cape from off his shoulder, and strolled over to the windows overlooking Lower Lavinium. There his figure stool still like a statue; gold upon blue upon black.

  The Archon got up from his own chair and positioned himself between the consul and I. “The way I see it, we have two matters of chief urgency: One, we guard and protect every Cavern Entrance across the entire city; there’s no telling what shafts and holes exist in those caverns, connecting them. Furthermore, we conduct thorough investigations of both the Sons Headquarters here in Lavinium, and the entire district of New Troy. Every man, every woman, every child. Everyone.”

  “And two?” I looked straight into the Archon’s eyes. I knew. I already knew. And despite whatever nascent, repressed love I have for the man, I couldn’t possibly object.

  “We send an assassin to Enoch,” Consul Edwin spoke without turning away from the city. “To investigate and—if necessary—kill my Co-Consul.”

  “Absolute nonsense!” I roared, leaping from my chair. “We march on Enoch, capture the swine and torture the truth out of his traitorous heart!”

  “A civil war is the death of a people, John.” Consul Edwin tapped the glass as the lights of Lavinium began to turn off, one by one. Night had come. “There can be no return from such a thing. Regardless, I believe the vote is two-to-one, right Stavros?”

  Stavros nodded, turning fully to me. “It is. I understand your… reasons, but a war will grant us no answers. Of your myrmidon brothers, are there any you think might be of assistance.”

  There was a certain stinging irony in the fact that the six of us were sworn to protect the man, and here the Archon is wanting us to kill him, like the old Caesars. He always was a fan of history.

  As to the question itself: Ajax was a staunch man—and loyal. Far too loyal. Chances are he’d send an assassin after me for merely requesting his help. Frederick and Fabius… maybe. Carolus was absolutely out of the question—and for the sake of that boy I met all those years ago, I’d refrain from even mentioning him in a conversation such as this. And Young Perseus hung on the every word of Carolus like a broken dog awaiting a kiss.

  So it was down to the brothers Hanna, Frederick and Fabius. Yet I wouldn’t trust either of them with this. They were too ambitious. Cutthroats, both of them. They’d kill Gerald with the only evidence being their chance to do so. “None I would choose.”

  “And what of the ones you wouldn’t?” Archon Stavros pressed.

  “Frederick and Fabius Hanna. Fabius, more so. For all his faults, the man has kept the facade of a staunch Edenist all these years. But both their investigations would be compromised by their own, twin natures.”

  Edwin, still watching the district below, clicked his tongue. “Wasn’t that the one that abandoned his post alongside you?”

  “It is,” I chuckled, Frederick’s blotted, snivelling face flashing through my mind. “He says it was because ‘he missed his brother’ but I’m doubtful of such a thing. No, I think he just couldn’t stand being my second.”

  “To be fair,” Consul Edwin laughed in turn. “No disrespect to you, John, but both of us were… perplexed—at your election as Gerald’s regent. We had thought Ajax was a surety—perhaps, Archon, that might beg some consideration in the investigation? Have you any idea on who you might send?”

  Waving my hand in disbelief, I tilted my head at the Archon—still standing over me in some vain power play. “There’s no way you don’t already have spies in Enoch. Why not use one of them?”

  “I don’t trust them to give their hearts fully,” Archon Stavros solemnly replied. “They’ve been there too long. Who knows whether their existence is compromised—or their ideals. Perhaps they’ve grown prideful of their new city, their new ‘king’. I can’t trust them, and so I must send one.”

  “It’s a terrible thing when you can’t trust the soldiers under your command.”

  “My men are not soldiers,” he corrected me. “They’re patriots. And nationalism is a fickle thing.” The Archon turned his head to the window where Edwin stood. “And I do have someone. They’ll have a reasonable disguise—most apt to the job, and I figure it best to send them out with the pleb reinforcements in a few days.”

  “There are sisters in that caravan too, Archon,” I chided him. “Have you no fear the ruse will be discovered?”

  He waved away the concerns. “They’ll be too busy controlling their perverse inclinations. Even so, our blades are no strangers to fending off their probes.” The Archon clasped his hands together, forming a black tongue which fell from his arms, and slightly bowed. “With your leave, I must go prepare.”

  I nodded and turned to Consul Edwin.

  “You have it,” he declared, but for the first time I looked not at him, but at the mirror—and saw eyes like the old oceans staring back at me. Once I heard the Archon leave, Consul Edwin’s eyes dropped alongside his head as he turned back towards me. “You didn’t mention Bilia. Why?”

  “Because there is no reality where Carolus helps slay the man who raised him… on the orders of the one who should have.”

  Biting his tongue, the consul scoffed and left the chambers.