Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (44 page)

“Ahken.”

His mother’s
voice.

“Ahken, look at
me.”

Petra had
stepped into the room silently and had stood long enough to watch
most of the news reports.

“Car bombs and
suicide bombs confirmed at seven American embassies. Reports of
mass looting throughout America, Russia, France … need I go on?”
she waited for her son’s response, but none came, “Military
maneuvers in eighty three of the none EUC countries suggest they
are preparing for open war. I spoke to President Loubé a short
while ago, and he said that the situation in Paris, Tours, Orleans
and Le Mans warrants military intervention.”

Tiernan stared
off into space vacantly, feigning boredom, “Spare me Petra. You
know that these are acceptable losses; with this degree of change
wrought, the collateral damage will be heavy, but not
unbearable.”

Petra smiled
sweetly, “You want to be remembered for this? You think future
generations will look back on the calamitous beginnings of their
world, freed of the shackles of economic imbalance, stripped of
their right to religious freedom …”

“That’s the
point though,” Tiernan talked over his mother, “I have no wish to
be remembered, because that implies that I will, at some point in
the future, fall from the forefront of public consciousness. Who
would dethrone me? I am reborn, chosen, plucked from the jaws of
death by the very hand of God! Who would dare to question such a
ruler? If they’re so desperate to cling to their obsolete economic
heritage, their outmoded belief systems, then they will perish on
the battlefield.”

Petra clapped
her hands together, “Brilliant Ahken, you seem to have thought of
everything.”

“You think I
haven’t?”

“I think you’re
underestimating your enemies. I’m not sure you even believe you
have any.”

Tiernan leaned
his chair back onto two legs, folding his hands behind his head, a
picture of smug, self-satisfaction, “And you mother, would you
consider yourself an enemy?”

“I’ve tried not
to hate you. It’s the best I can manage.”

Through his
laughter, Tiernan looked genuinely surprised, “You mean you’d like
to stand in outright enmity, but you’re scared that this might all
play out in my favor.”

Petra walked
towards the door, and with her fingers on the handle, she paused.
She didn’t turn to look at her son, because the very sight of him
was fueling her frustration, “Was there more?”

Her question
hung in the air. She imagined that Tiernan was waiting for her
attention, which she would not give.

Finally Tiernan
caved, “More what?”

“More to the
dream. More than what the rest of us saw?”

Tiernan’s chair
rocked forwards, and he kicked his feet out to steady himself,
“This again? You’re still buying into West’s line of bullshit?”

“Why shouldn’t
I? After all of this time, you’re still buying your own line of
bullshit. At the end of it all, you believe in yourself.”

Lost deeply in
though, Tiernan barely noticed the door slamming in Petra’s wake.
Eventually, he became aware of the crushing silence, that single
poisonous thought skittering through in the corners, just out of
sight. West’s bullshit.

It didn’t take
Charlene long to spot a convenience store. It had been West’s idea
to pick up some sunglasses for Stephanie, who had suggested that
she would be compliant as long as they had bright red frames.
Charlene had been surprised at the store’s inventory, which
included such rare delights as rubber chickens, coloring books,
mechanical toys and a tall spinning rack of sunglasses which stood
alongside the shelves of magazines. Although Stephanie had no real
clue what color the rims were due to the ever shifting spectrum of
colors her eyes now sensed, which she hadn’t yet mastered, the
pattern of hearts which ran down the legs of the glasses didn’t
offend her sensibilities too much and there were black rubberized
sun guards at the sides of the lenses, which she approved of
entirely. Importantly, the lenses were almost completely black.

“We should only
be a few blocks from them now.” West gave Stephanie’s hand a little
squeeze and watched the corners of her mouth lift as her smile
broadened. He marveled at how resilient she was. Stephanie had
quickly eaten through the bag of provisions which Charlene had been
carrying and West was certain that if she wasn’t already
desperately hungry, she soon would be.

“I haven’t seen
any police cars around.” Charlene commented cheerily.

West glanced up
and down the street,“I doubt we’ll see much trouble from the
police, at least for now.”

David squinted at the
reflection in the side mirror, his attention piqued by the sight of
two adults and a small child crossing the street, heading in the
direction of the library. He knew at once, the particular double
step spring in each footfall, the swing of the arms; everything
about the child’s gait told him it was Stephanie. He fumbled for
the door handle, not wanting to take his eyes of the
reflection.

Stephanie ran
and hugged her father tightly as he stepped out of the car. He
picked her up and spun with her, “Had me worried for a minute there
Spiff. Glad they brought you back in one piece.” He set her down on
the ground, and was about to remove the bright red sunglasses so he
could look into Stephanie’s eyes, when he caught sight of West who
was waving his arms in dissent.

“What’s
wrong?”

West pointed to
the Chevelle, “Charlene and I need to ride with you, we had to
ditch the car.”

Frustrated with
West’s avoidance, David tried again, “What’s wrong with
Stephanie?”

Stephanie
sighed, “Daddy I’m fine. The sun was giving me a headache.”

David glanced
up at the overcast sky and although he was dubious, he was too
relieved that Stephanie was back at his side to start questioning
her deceit.

West walked
over to Stanwick’s Pontiac as she wound down the window, “Hey, I’ll
be riding with David the rest of the way.”

“What
happened?”

“Wrecked the
car, nearly killed the kid, I’ll explain later. Just head off in a
couple of minutes and we’ll follow.”

He didn’t wait
for Stanwick’s reply, he walked over to the Chevelle and leaned
into the open driver’s side door. He turned to David, “You should
get up back with Stephanie, I’ll drive.”

“Are you sure
you don’t want me up front … you know … get to know each other a
bit better; I make a great wingman.”

West raised his
eyebrows, “No, I’m sure I know you plenty good. Move it.”

General Julius Singer
closed the video conference and offered a silent prayer to The
Father of Greatness. He had always thought of Tiernan as one who
was born of darkness; although his upbringing taught that the human
body and the Earth were both battlegrounds for the contentious
forces of darkness and light and he imagined that there could be no
greater human embodiment of the Demon of Greed than that which
presented itself in the form of President Tiernan. Julius had for
many years now tried to steel himself with the conviction that he
was one who was in possession of the true knowledge of the source
of light trapped within the human body and as such, he had allowed
himself to rise to a position of power within Tiernan’s regime.

Singer wasn’t
delusional. Centuries ago, he had watched his parents murdered for
their heretical beliefs and he had escaped a similar fate only
because he had ran like a coward and denied his devout religious
upbringing at every turn. He had reasoned, what good is a light
once it is extinguished? He asked himself that question so many
times, allowing a little more darkness in with each asking. The
light was there though, deep within him, surrounded by darkness,
yes, but still burning.

“Allow the
darkness to live in you so that you may evermore foster the light
in others.”

Hadn’t those
been the words spoken to him by Tiernan all those years ago?
Manipulative from the outset.

Now Tiernan was
asking him to lead thirty-thousand troops into a campaign that was
the product of several years of planning. During the tactical
discussions, it had never been certain which of the Eastern
European states would provide the most resistance to the Economic
Unification Council, but it seemed likely at least that most
resistance would come from that part of the world. As it turned
out, it was going to be necessary to push fifteen thousand troops
through Turkey, towards Bulgaria, Serbia and Bucharest, while
another fifteen thousand would push up through Iran and into
Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan. From there, if it was necessary, they
would lend support to President Anatoly Abakumov’s forces, although
it was predicted that once the world saw how serious the EUC was,
resistance would quickly falter.

Five years earlier,
when the medical supplies had started to arrive with instructions
for a new wave of inoculations, Julius had made it his duty to
administer every last shot, and each time, as the needle sent forth
the Delvers of Allim, he would utter those words as a prayer.
“Allow the darkness to live in you so that you may evermore foster
the light in others.” Sometimes the words echoed internally, his
tongue moving against the roof of his mouth, occasionally he would
mutter them under his breath as he reached for a new phial.
Thirty-thousand troops stationed in the Persian Gulf and Julius had
blessed each of them in turn over the course of several days.

Only a handful
of troops had complained or questioned, even though many harbored
doubts about this new wonder drug which would provide protection
against influenza, measles, rubella, tetanus, yellow fever,
hepatitis and typhoid to name but a few of the purported benefits.
A small pamphlet was given to each soldier, explaining that it
would be necessary to take antihistamines once a day, even if they
had previously experienced poor reactions to such medication. The
pamphlets also outlined some of the possible side effects;
increased appetite and insomnia, but word soon traveled throughout
the base that those side effects could scarcely be measured against
the benefits.

Every attempt had been
made by Julius to mitigate against the risk of the soldiers
realizing the full extent of the protection offered by the leeches.
It had never been stated by Tiernan specifically, but it had been
Julius’s understanding that this was the way it was to be. Still,
given the nature of the training that these men and women endured,
it was inevitable that sooner or later, one of them would sustain
what would otherwise have been a life threatening injury. It was
equally inevitable that the particular someone would be private
first class Sally Berger.

Singer had been
surprised that Sally Berger had lasted out her first year of
service. She had spent three weeks out of her fourteen months in
the infirmary and those had been three hard earned weeks. When
Julius had read the report of the latest incident, he had
understood that the situation was starting to stray beyond the
bounds of his control.

Sally Berger
had somehow managed to allow her legs to come between the drop gate
of a flat bed truck and the concrete wall of a loading bay. There
had been eight witnesses to the event and all of them were certain
that it would spell the end of private first class Berger’s career;
the compression wound was clearly catastrophic and Sally had passed
out cold. By the time the closest medic had reached the loading
bay, Sally was up on her feet again. Granted, she was waddling
drunkenly and she looked like she’d been on hunger strike for
weeks, but she was up, and that was enough to give the most
hardened of witnesses the chills.

“My report is accurate
and succinct General Singer and there’s seven soldiers who will
back me up on every word of it.”
Julius had folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his
chair, “Lieutenant Cruft, I am not questioning the veracity of your
report. Far from it … What I’m suggesting is that for the sake of
the morale and sanity of these men and women, you need to find a
rational explanation for what you saw.”

“General
Singer, this isn’t the only incident that requires such liberal
rationalizations. There’s been a lot happening out there that you
may or may not be aware of. The term ‘close call’ is becoming
somewhat of a joke around here to tell you the truth.”

Julius waited,
expecting Lieutenant Cruft to elaborate. When it had become obvious
that Cruft wanted Julius to fulfill his part of the social contract
by responding, Julius had winced at the thought of coaxing the
conversation any further forward.

“Lieutenant
Cruft, you’re an intelligent man … surely you’ve formulated some
conclusions about what’s going on?”

“General
Singer, that’s rather the point isn’t it? Without direction or real
information to go on, some very fanciful conclusions are being
drawn in the collective consciousness. I’ve seen a tendency … and
it’s growing rapidly among the troops mind you … this tendency
towards carelessness and hedonism. I’ve got to be honest with you
Julius, I worry about it more every day. It’s as if they think
they’re indestructible. Someone’s going to end up dead.”

When he’d spoken to
President Tiernan about the situation, the response had been
typically callous, “Julius, they are an army of Blood-Bastards. The
best we could have hoped for is that they would not fully
understand the extent of their power until war was upon us. That
time is coming. Enlighten your army, illuminate them, bring them
into the fold. I fear that some of the men and women under your
command will be beyond enlightenment and in those cases, you need
look no further than your own family history for the preferred
method of containment; if any of them dare utter a word to their
families, extinguish the flame.”