Parabolis (24 page)

Alaric removed his sword and shield and handed them to Thomas. The young templar hesitated to extend his hand. Alaric thrust it upon him.

“Take it.”

“M’lord…?”

“Take it.”

“With all due respect, what’s the meaning of this?”

Alaric sighed. “I have a war to stop.”

“M’lord?”

“That’s all I will say.”

“This is…I don’t understand.”

“It’s not your place to understand. Take it.”

Thomas took the sword and shield pressed into his chest.

“I have nothing but faith that you’ll make a greater marshal than I ever was,” Alaric said. Then he added, “Inform the Bene-seneschal of my departure and your subsequent appointment at nightfall. Until then, honor me with your silence.”

Just as he was about to leave, Thomas stepped in front of the ex-marshal and drew his own sword.

“M’lord, if you’re going to stop a war, you will need a sword.”

Alaric received it with a solemn nod and rushed out of the office.

The bakery was closed. Still, Dale stopped to take a peek inside. Once he confirmed it was empty, he continued on to his house. There, he took a quick bath and changed his clothes. It was no easy task as he was acutely aware of the wounds on his back. Rushed as he felt, he knew he couldn’t risk infection. After haphazardly stuffing his Republican Guard backpack with basic supplies, throwing on a pea coat and lacing up his boots, he stood breathless in the middle of the room. The whirlwind of activity had put him in a daze. The challenge to remember everything for a trip was in this case compounded. Suddenly, he remembered his copy of
The Walgorende’s Last Stand.
It was in the back pocket of his discarded pants. As he located the book, he also remembered to grab some important documents—the deed of ownership to his house and the breaker. At last, he took up his augmented sword and headed for the door.

The family photographs on the mantle stopped him. Dale picked up the one of his mother and father together, smiling. After a close look, he gently set it back down. With a final scan of the house, he rushed out.

As he ran toward the Central District, dusk was beginning to descend. Dale passed scores of men and women in costume. The closer he got to the city’s center, the more costumes he passed. When Dale reached the Halo, everything but the circus was closed. The Concert Hall was empty.

“Damn it.” Dale remembered that Mosaic’s performance was at the Flora Crystal. He hired a cabriolet. The roads were congested and by the time he reached the Flora Crystal, the sun had set, the city lights had turned on, and the festival was well underway.

The venue, as it turned out, was more a nightclub than a concert hall. According to the cabby, who wouldn’t stop talking, the Flora Crystal was famous for making the finest imported drinks affordable for young common socialites. It boasted unrivalled service and an anything-goes environment. When Dale arrived, he saw a line of men and women in a menagerie of exotic costumes waiting to get in. The line wrapped around the building. Whatever they had in the Flora Crystal, people wanted it.

Dale ran past the line, right up to the door. A bouncer at the door stopped him. The line booed and shouted obscenities.

“Hey, that’s the line. To the back with you,” the bouncer said, still holding him by his coat.

“I need to get in,” Dale pleaded.

“Everybody needs to get in.”

“I just need to talk to my sister.”

“Who’s your sister?” asked another bouncer.

“Mosaic Shawl. She’s performing tonight. It’s an emergency.”

“Wait here.”

The bouncer disappeared into the club. A few minutes later he reemerged with another man. Dale didn’t recognize him behind his makeup and court jester costume.

“Hey, it’s me, Terry. We met at the Rapture. I work there, remember?”

“Right. Terry. Listen, is Mosaic in there?”

“Yeah.” Terry turned to the bouncer and said, “He’s fine, let him in.”

Dale was ushered in with a rain of protest from the line. The bouncer spotted Dale’s sword and tried to stop him.

“Wait, you can’t bring that in here.”

“It’s okay, Cyrus,” Terry replied on Dale’s behalf. “It’s part of his costume.”

“Mister B said absolutely no weapons.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll clear it with Mister B. Relax, Cyrus. It’s a party.”

Terry then showed Dale into the main room. There was a sea of dancing—hundreds of people molded into a single entity by the throbbing rhythm. The crowd made the large space look small and cramped.

“Thanks.”

“What was that?”

“Thanks! For getting me in!”

“No problem. I’m glad Cyrus found me,” Terry replied.

“Where’s Mo?”

Terry pointed to the stage. A winged Mosaic made up to complete her forest-sprite costume, sat behind the piano, pounding on the keys. Behind her was a full ensemble—drums, strings, horns.

As they made their way through the pulsing crowd toward the stage, one woman after another threw themselves in Terry’s path. He staved them off with words whispered into their ears. Whatever he said, each one was left in laughter or a blush. Just as they crossed the dance floor, the song ended with a shattering of the cymbals. With the crash still ringing in the air, the ensemble started on a softer song. Mosaic was no longer on the piano. She was standing center stage, her lips to a microphone. And as she sang, her mezzo-soprano voice carried like healing magic through the entire club.

Dale stood there in the middle of the swaying crowd like a marble column. The only other person not swaying was a figure making a hurried line through the dance floor, straight toward him. The deep hood attached to his charcoal-gray coat was pulled over his head. In the dim lit club, even as he approached and stood close enough to butt Dale’s head with a jerk, Dale could hardly see his face.

“What’re you still doing here? What is
she
doing here?”

“Sparrow? What’re
you
doing here?” Dale countered.

Sparrow turned and faced the stage. He pressed a flyer to Dale’s chest. It was a promotional flyer of the night’s performance. Still looking toward the stage, Sparrow said, “I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be here. I told you to take her and get out of the city.”

“I know but—” Before continuing, Dale looked around for Terry and saw that he had drifted into the crowd. “I was held up.”

“What do you mean?”

“The SSC got me. I was released just a few hours ago.”

Sparrow squared up to Dale. He pulled his hood back so Dale could look into his eyes.

“What did you tell them?”

“They drugged me.”

“
Rohar
, what did you tell them?” Sparrow repeated, carefully enunciating each word.

“I don’t know. Everything.”

The music stopped. The stage lights went out. And the dim mood lighting running throughout the club went black. The spell was broken and there was a collective gasp. Then murmurs. Laughter. Then hoots and hollers.

“Get her and meet me in the back,” said Sparrow.

Dale rushed the stage. He climbed up and grabbed Mosaic.

“Mo, it’s me. Dale.”

“Dale? Dale! You made it.”

“Listen, we need to get out of here. Now!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“I can’t. I’m in the middle of a performance.”

“You’re done. Come on.”

He took her by the arm and rushed her off stage. Unable to see, he led her down a hallway with his hand held out in front of him, like a blind man leading the blind. They managed to shuffle through the crowds and stumble out the backdoor. They emerged onto the back lot, into pitch black. Dale realized that it wasn’t the club that had turned off the lights. It was a blackout. A citywide blackout.

It’s starting.

“Sparrow!” Dale called.

“Over here.”

He was crouched beside some empty crates.

“What’s going on, Dale?” asked Mosaic. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Where are your folks?”

“Home, I think. Why?”

“
Rohar
, we need to get moving.” Sparrow stood and walked up to Dale and Mosaic.

“Who is that? Dale? What’s going on?”

“The invasion has begun.” Sparrow said.

“Invasion? What invasion? Who are you?” Mosaic grew increasingly frantic.

There was a rumble coming from the government quarter. The crackling of gunfire was followed by distant screams. The rumble rose to a steady roar. Dale knew exactly what he was hearing. Nothing sounded quite like a battlefield. The city bells began to toll. In the blackness, a ball of flame rose into the sky. Crowds stood looking up at the ominous sign in the sky. Dressed in costume, the ill-prepared citizens of the city looked pathetic. When one person realized it was a military strike, the crowd exploded into a panicked scurry.

“Follow me.”

Sparrow’s voice was calm and assertive. Avoiding the main streets, he led Dale and Mosaic into an alley behind a row of restaurants. It was a forgotten passage, considered more a waste disposal location than a street. A waft of the ripening waste hit them in the face. Dale took two deep breaths until his eyes were watery. He turned to Mosaic, who pinched her nose.

Sparrow shuffled through the garbage. Rodents scattered in their wake, causing Mosaic to scream a nose-plugged nasally scream. Sparrow stopped at a specific spot and cleared a mound of waste. Beneath his feet, he uncovered an iron grate leading into Carnaval City’s sewer. Sparrow pried it open. It smelled like a sewer.

Still holding her nose, Mosaic looked at them and asked, “Really?”

Sparrow jumped in. Dale lowered Mosaic. When they were all below, Sparrow shut the grate behind them and led them into the dark bowels of the city.

It was pitch black. They walked along a concrete ledge just a couple feet above the slow-moving stream of sludge. The sounds of trickling water, the rats, the distant, indistinguishable echoes; the stench of all forms of human waste in a damp, enclosed tube—they were surrounded by it. Sparrow was unfazed. Somehow, through the darkness, he knew where to place his steps.

Mosaic turned and said in a hushed voice, “Dale, I’m scared. Tell me what’s going on.”

As they walked under a world at war, Dale told Mosaic all he knew. She listened in quiet disbelief.

“My God,” she finally muttered. “What’re we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s your friend taking us?”

“The temple,” Sparrow replied. “It’ll be the safest place in the city.”

“I can’t go back there,” said Dale. “I need to get word to the Ancile.”

“Wires went down with the Spegen,” said Sparrow.

“Then I’ll need a horse.”

“
Rohar
, the Ancile has fallen. It’s too late.” Sparrow kept a steady pace.

Dale knew Sparrow was right. The invasion about to envelop Carnaval City was proof enough that the Ancile had not withstood the initial Balean assault. Still, he insisted. “I need to go find Darius.”

Mosaic was shivering in her costume. She couldn’t tell whether it was from the cold or from fear.

While Dale stopped to remove his coat and drape it around Mosaic, Sparrow had a moment to wonder,
What am I doing?
For a childhood friend he hadn’t seen in over ten years, he was risking everything—everything he had learned, everything to which he was committed. This singular focus with which he had ruthlessly constructed his life was now blurred. It was a strange feeling—the feeling of internal struggle. This friend had already confessed to divulging everything to the SSC. He knew the right thing to do. He knew what his commitments demanded. But in the sewer with Dale and Mosaic,
to kill
was never a real consideration. Somehow it felt right to risk everything. It felt right to risk his own life.

“Let’s keep moving.”

After what felt like four blocks of walking, Sparrow stopped and looked up. He climbed the ladder, slid the stone cover back, and poked his head out. Having scanned the area, he waved both Dale and Mosaic up. They emerged onto the middle of an empty, nondescript side street. Dale and Mosaic had no idea where they were.

“This way.”

Sparrow led them down a block and then turned at the next intersection. Just beyond was the plaza, south of the temple cloister. The plaza was empty. Mosaic saw the temple and then looked back at Dale.

“Go on, Mo. You’ll be safe inside.”

“You’re not coming?” she asked.

“No, I need to find Darius.”

“How are you going to get there? What if you can’t find him?”

“I have to try something. I can’t just wait around here.”

“Yeah, but what if something happens to you?” Mosaic’s eyes were welling up with tears.

“Look, when you see Uncle Turkish, tell him I’ll try to send word once the dust settles, okay?”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know!” Dale sighed, immediately regretting his outburst. “I’m sorry, Mo. I didn’t mean to…I just…remember when you told me that not doing anything was just as bad as doing something wrong? Well, you were right. I can’t just do nothing.”

Mosaic wept as she gave Dale a long hug. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me neither.”

“Be careful, Dale,” she said, still holding him tight.

“I will.”

She gave Dale his coat back. And then she turned to Sparrow. “Thank you.”

He acknowledged her with a nod.

Dale and Sparrow watched as she ran to the temple and was granted entry by the guard at the cloister gate. Others seeking refuge were beginning to make their way in after her. She looked back one last time with a wan look and waved. Dale waved back. Then Mosaic disappeared into the temple halls.

In the distance, there was the popping of rifle fire over the city bells still tolling.

“Come on,” said Sparrow.

With that, Sparrow began to jog. As he had since leaving the Flora Crystal, Dale followed.