Saint (Gateway Series Book 2) (8 page)

Stone understood but did not have the words. Instead he nodded his head.

Nero returned the nod and gave Stone a quick pat on his shoulder.

“I hope to see you again soon, Tyler Lucius Stone, but I am only onboard
Winter Moon
for a briefing and must return to my men soon.”

The two Humani warriors, once adversaries and now both traitors in the eyes of their people, gave one another a long look of understanding that only they could share. And then they went their separate ways.

***

Preparations for the long mission to Echo 2 and the unbearable anxiety from waiting on permission to move forward with the ceremony that might bring him closure had consumed his thoughts.

With two days left before the mission was to start, Stone sat in his stateroom waiting on Mori to return. As a Ka-itsenko and a female without a senior male warrior in her family, she was forced to make the request of the Shirt-Wearers themselves. Mori had told Stone that her status as a Ka-itsenko assured the Shirt-Wearers would hear her request, but it didn’t mean they would approve it.

As Stone sat waiting for Mori’s return, he flipped through data screens on the terrain and population centers for the Talia landmass on Echo 2. Mindlessly shifting from one screen to the next, he soon realized he wasn’t retaining any of the data; all he could think about was the pending decision of the Shirt-Wearers. Restarting from the beginning data screen, he started over, this time reading the data aloud.

“Climate: Seasonal ranging from four to twenty-seven degrees Celsius—”

The sound of the door to his stateroom opening instantly brought his review to an end. He quickly stood and turned toward the entrance. Before Mori could make her way into the room, he spoke.

“Any word?”He tried to read her face but it was surprisingly vacant. “Mori?” he asked again.

“They said yes,” she replied flatly, her face blank. Stone smiled at Mori, but she turned her head away and looked toward the floor. He knew she was worried about the outcome of the ceremony but had hoped she would have at least been happy it was approved.

“I know you’re worried,” he replied, walking toward her. “But once we get back from Echo 2 and—”

“You’ll have your vision tonight and undergo the ceremony tomorrow,” replied Mori as she looked up toward Stone. Her face was pale and she still refused to look him in the eyes.

“That’s too soon,” blurted Stone.

“If you refuse, you’ll be forced off the ship. If you fail, you’ll be forced off the ship.” Finally, Mori looked up toward Stone. He could see tears welling up in her eyes. “This is what you asked for, Tyler. The Shirt-Wearers have decided…it’s all or nothing.”

Stone took a deep breath. It would be tough, but if anyone could get him ready it would be Mori.

“Well I guess you’re gonna have to give me a crash course.” He smiled, hiding his concern.

“I can’t,” she replied. “I can’t see you until after the ceremony.”

“But how will—”

“You have to trust the vision will lead you to your—to our—destiny,” she replied as the tears started to flow. Mori moved in close to him. She put her arms around him and gave him a deep kiss.

He couldn’t help but wonder if it was their last.

Chapter 6

“The Saint will see you shortly.” The teenage girl smiled, her smooth blonde hair falling to her neckline with two sharp tufts running the length of her jawline.

“Very well,” replied Rebecca, returning the smile.

As the girl turned and walked back into room, Rebecca inhaled deeply to calm herself. This was her first mission working for both the Association and ProConsul Astra Varus. She knew that if the Association found out about her she would simply disappear somewhere in the chaos of Port Royal. If she double-crossed Astra Varus, however, she knew the outcome would be very public, very painful, and very final.
This will be worth it
, she thought to herself. The Association offered her enough money and prestige to enter the upper crust of their culture. But Astra offered so much more. She thought back to her discussion with Astra the day after their “private” negotiations.

“So all you need from me is to report to you the same information I report to the Association Council members?” asked Rebecca.

“Yes. And in return whatever monetary and civil titles on Port Royal you are being offered will be…meaningless.

“Meaningless?”

“Would you rather have a few hundred thousand credits and a reserved table in a bar in the middle of the Dark Zone or a continent to govern in my name on a Terillian or Doran world?”

Rebecca could still remember the feeling of Astra’s hand on her cheek when she offered the proposition.

“And the Saint?”

“Just get his agreement to provide the necessary converts and slaves in return for the Association technical support and the possibility of Humani military advisors.”

“You are offering a lot for a little, ProConsul.”

She also remembered the angered look on Astra’s face as she pulled her hand away.

“You do not need to be concerned with why I do anything, Envoy Sterling. But if you must know, I simply want to make sure I know everything the Association knows.”

“Yes. Of course, ProConsul. I am sorr—”

“No need to apologize, my little peach. Just get the agreement and tell me everything you find out from the Saint and the Association Council.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good. I will send one of my Praetorians disguised as an attendant to ensure your safety…and your loyalty.”

“The Saint is ready for you.”

“Very well,” replied Rebecca with a smile as the girl’s words brought her back to the present.

“Follow me.”

Rebecca turned toward Praetorian Marcus Hamrahi. The tall, powerful-looking babysitter assigned to her by Astra was dressed in the tan, black, and white mixture of silks and leather common among Association employees. She motioned for him to follow the girl as if she was his superior and then followed the two into the chamber.

As usual, Rebecca took in the room. She was instantly struck by the stark contrast of the room compared to that of the ProConsul’s chamber on Alpha Humana. The room was dimly lit with large candles lining the walls of the space. The overhead lighting consisted of muted gas-filled lights. Their illumination was so poor that the flickering iridescence of candles on the walls several meters away only created flashes of light as she walked toward a man positioned in a chair on a small stone platform at the far end of the room. In contrast to the rest of the room, the area around the chair was well lit, shining like a beacon in the darkness of a storm.

She also noticed several others milling about the room wearing the same attire and hairstyle as the girl in front of her. Breaking the pattern of white and gray clothing were a few men wearing hooded cloaks. As she neared the opposite end of the chamber, Rebecca saw the girl stop just short of the figure in chair and kneel. Rebecca’s eyes slowly adjusted to the difference in light between her and the mysterious figure, who slowly came into view through the flickering light.

The man slowly rose. As he did, everyone in the room dropped to their knees. Rebecca quickly did the same to ensure she wasn’t violating any protocols. From her knees, she looked toward Marcus. The proud and stubborn Praetorian, even in disguise, stood erect. Rebecca quickly reached for his trousers and gave them a tug. With an audible huff, Marcus lowered himself to his knees.

“Do not tell the ProConsul of the affront to her,” he grunted under his breath.

“Shut. Up,” grumbled Rebecca through her teeth, frustrated with the Humani hubris.

“Welcome visitors, please rise,” directed the man.

Rebecca raised her head as she pulled herself to her feet. The man before her wore a brown cloak with what appeared to be gray trousers underneath. Despite his humble attire, Rebecca could tell he was far from normal. His sandy colored hair flowed perfectly to his chiseled jawline, which was covered by a light beard. Even more prominent were his brilliant blue eyes; they almost sparkled in the dim flashes of light. Rebecca could only image how striking they were in the light of day.

“Thank you, Saint,” she replied.

The man stood silent for what seemed an eternity. His piercing blue eyes were hypnotic.

Rebecca, beginning to feel uncomfortable, spoke once again.

“I am pleased to have the opportunity to speak to you for the Association Council as well as the ProConsul of Alpha Humana and Matriarch of the Varus family, Astra Var—”

“Of course.” He smiled. “The brokers of sin and the oppressors come to ask for my assistance.”

Rebecca clenched her teeth underneath her smile. She had been trained to deal with the boasts and slanders of self-important leaders and politicians; no doubt he was taking such a stance to show strength since it was he who had initially contacted the Association for support in his holy war.

“Your strength and wisdom would obviously be in high demand during such trying times,” said Rebecca, trying not to choke on her words. “Perhaps I could discuss these matters with you in private?”

“There will be no discussions,” declared the Saint.

Rebecca’s jaw tightened and her eyes squinted slightly in surprise to his response. She knew he had propped himself up as a messiah for his followers and had read in the reports that he was eccentric to say the least, but refusing to talk made to no sense to her.

“But Sa—”

“Enough of this charade,” interrupted the Saint with a smile still painted on his face. “It is true that I had contacted you for assistance, but that was before I had reached full synthesis with the Word.”

Rebecca began to wonder if he actually believed what he was saying. She could feel her pulse quicken at the thought of what that might mean. Looking to her left, she saw the Praetorian tense his body and begin to scan the room intently.

The Saint continued, “Since my singularity with the Word, I have realized associations such as the one you’re about to propose will corrupt and distort the purity of the Word, so I must decline your proposed alliance.”

“This won’t be taken well by the Association or ProConsul Varus,” shot back Rebecca. “To challenge either would be a mistake.”

“The Saint doesn’t make mistakes,” shouted one of the cloaked warrior-priests as he stepped from behind the Saint. “The Word is truth.”

“The Saint embodies the Word!” replied the followers in the chamber in unison.

Rebecca could sense the room grow smaller as those in the followers began to move toward her and Marcus.

“This is madness,” pled Rebecca.

“Madness.” The Saint laughed, shaking his head. “This is clarity. This is purity. This is…the beginning.”

Rebecca felt a hand grip her arm.

Before she could react, she heard the whistle of a blade unsheathing and saw the blur of Marcus’s body as he drove a hidden knife into her attacker’s chest. Instinctively she fell to the floor and covered her face. Curled in a ball on the floor, she could hear the rush of priests moving toward Marcus followed by the slashing of swords and the screams and groans as the weapons found their mark. In a few seconds, she heard a loud moan, the thud of a body hitting the floor, and then silence.

She slowly opened her eyes to look directly into the dead, vacant eyes of Marcus as he lay on the floor with the bodies of two priests. She felt warmness on her hand and looked to see a pool of blood flowing toward her. Rebecca let out a shriek of horror and quickly scrambled away from the gruesome scene. Almost instantly, however, she felt the grip of several hands on her body. Looking up from her position she saw several followers above her. Her body jerked upward as they pulled her to her feet and held her tightly in their grasp. Fear raced through her body.

“Butchers!” she cried as she looked toward the Saint.

“Butchers?” the Saint asked with a chuckle. “Does the farmer butcher his field before planting his crops? Or is he simply removing the chaff and the weeds so the crop may flourish?”

“We’re here on a diplomatic mission,” she sobbed.

“No!” he shouted as he walked toward her. “You were bringing the diseases of corruption, privilege, and excess. So I’m forced to purify you.”

Rebecca’s body shook with anxiety.

“You’ll face the power of both the Association and Humani for what you’ve done,” she warned, hoping to bring the Saint to whatever senses he had left.

“Power?” retorted the Saint. “You don’t have power. The Humani have technology and the Association has wealth. Those things aren’t power.” He smiled. “Let me show you what true power is, girl.”

The Saint turned toward the girl who had directed them into the chamber. “Come, my child,” he directed and the girl quickly positioned herself in front of the Saint and knelt before him.

The Saint stepped around the girl, reached down toward Marcus’s body, and pulled a blade from the Praetorian’s back. Stepping back, he looked down toward the girl and spoke. “Rise, child.”

The girl rose to her feet, her head still bowed.

The Saint placed his hands on the girl’s shoulder and slowly turned her so that she was facing Rebecca. “Look at the nonbeliever,” he said gently.

The girl slowly looked upward into Rebecca’s eyes. She had a calm, pleasant look on her face. With his hands still on her shoulders, the Saint leaned in toward her cheek.

“Tell her about the believers?” he asked.

Rebecca saw a smile of contentment on the girl’s face.

“The believers hear the Word and understand. The believers turn themselves over to the Word. The Believers serve the Saint through the Priest-Bishop. The believers do not fear death.”

“Correct, child,” he smiled as he ran his hand over the tuft of hair over her right cheek. After stroking the girl’s hair, he gently placed the blade into her hand.

Rebecca swallowed hard and the blood rushed from her head as she tried to come to grips with her last seconds of life.

“Now child,” he continued as he placed his hand back on her shoulder. “Show this nonbeliever the power of the Word.”

Rebecca’s knees gave out but the other followers held her erect.

“Yes, Saint,” the girl replied as she raised the blade.

“No!” screamed Rebecca as the girl put the blade to her own throat and in one motion sliced her neck from ear to ear. Looking on in shock, Rebecca was drawn to the smile locked on the girl’s face as blood sprayed from her neck, covering her clothing.

As the life-blood flowed from the girl’s body onto the floor, the Saint released his grip on the girl and she crumpled to the floor beside Marcus and the others.

“That…is power,” exclaimed the Saint as he stepped over the girl’s body and leaned close to Rebecca’s face. His fierce blue eyes gazed into hers, but all Rebecca could focus on was the young girl’s blood splattered on his face.

“You’re insane,” she cried.

“No, Envoy Sterling. I’m the vessel of the Word. And in time you’ll come to see that,” he said to her.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, half grateful he wasn’t going to kill her immediately but terrified of what was next.

He ran his hand over her smooth red hair. “I’m going to cure you of the diseases of your past life and welcome you into the peace and comfort of the Word.”

The Saint stepped back and slowly wiped the blood from his face. Looking again toward Rebecca, he spoke. “Take her away.”