Parabolis (32 page)

“The girl will die a slow death!” the Riders began to shout. They took cautious steps forward. As they closed in, the Balean Calvary arrived.

“What’s going on here?” asked the ranking Balean trooper.

“A curse be upon you,
ostra
whore!” cried the Shaldea. “She killed the
Rajeth
.”

Alaric stepped forward and shouted, “Protect your queen! Protect the queen of Bale!”

“Quiet! All of you! Who are you, templar?” the Balean trooper then asked.

“I am Balean born
Sir
Alaric Linhelm, exile of the Crimson Knights. And here stands before you Cyrene Evenford Leawen, daughter of the late King Aegis Leawen, heir to the Balean throne. For the kingdom and the crown, do not deliver her into their hands.”

Dale turned around to look at Selah. She looked at him. She looked like a girl—a little girl, startled and scared. Dale turned back around and sat down on the ground.

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

“Royal troopers to arms!
Verunda!
” the trooper then shouted.

With their blades drawn, the Balean cavalry rode in between the Shaldea and created a tight barrier around Alaric, Selah, Dale, and Valkyrie.

“Stand down, Shaldea. These four are now under the custody of the crown.”

“She killed our
Rajeth!
”

“And there will be reckoning. But if you harm her, woe to Loreland and all its inhabitants, for the wrath of Groveland, both Meredine and Bale, will rain upon it. Now return to the Ancile before you make a blaze of a spark.”

The Shaldea reluctantly mounted their Gliders and turned them around. And before they started back down the ridge, one yelled back, “The general will hear of this.”

The trooper replied, “Indeed. Tell him then that we’ve found the princess.”

Mosaic was lying on her cot, reading a copy of the Mystic Tome that the clerics had distributed to the refugees. It was a collection of sacred writings and stories on which the Benesanti faith had been established. Engrossed in its dense content, she was unaware of the ensuing commotion around her until her neighbor peered over the partition that separated them.

“I think they’re calling you.”

“What?” Mosaic asked.

“They’re calling all men and women between the ages of eighteen and thirty.” The older lady pointed to the center aisle of the main sanctuary. A templar was gathering young women into a line. “I bet it has something to do with the Bene-seneschal’s murder.”

“What does our age have to do with it?”

Her neighbor shrugged. “You better get up there.”

Mosaic set the tome down and started toward the growing line. A cleric approached and greeted her.

“Young lady, how old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Mosaic replied. “What’s going on?”

“Please, wait right over there.”

“What for?”

“You needn’t be concerned. We’re assisting the Baleans in their effort to reunite lost sons and daughters with their families.”

“Well, why not everyone else? Why not the little ones first?”

“It’s all just part of the procedure,” the cleric replied. “It will only take a few minutes and you’ll remain under the protection of the Benesanti.”

The cleric then went on to fetch others. There were whispers and rumors, but no one spoke with any level of authority. Within five minutes, Mosaic was in the vestibule where the line ended.

“Next!” a senior templar shouted, standing out in the courtyard.

He waved her over and directed her to one of six tents that were set up along the West Gate: three for the women, three for the men.

When she entered the tent, another templar was standing in the back behind a panel of three unarmed Balean officers who sat at a table. The officer in the middle was a blonde woman in her late thirties with a humorless face, thin lips, and hair pressed tight against her scalp as if it had been painted on with a fine brush.

“Sit,” she said.

Mosaic sat in the chair provided.

“Name, date of birth, and residence before the occupation.”

“I’m sorry. May I ask what this is regarding?”

“We’re conducting a search. The sooner you answer the questions, the sooner you’ll be excused.”

“Mosaic Shawl. I was born on the Third Day of the Seventh Month. This is my nineteenth year. And my home is in Hoche, Barrington Prefecture.”

“Hoche, Hoche, Hoche—let’s see, ah! There we are. Yes, the Shawls. You are the missing daughter of Turkish and Cora Tess, I presume?”

Mosaic sat up alert.

“Cora Tess, yes. Do you know where they are?”

“They were your natural parents, then?”

“I’m sorry.
Were
?” Both her hands slipped off her thighs. She gripped a leg of the chair to try to steady herself.

“I regret to inform you that they were unintended casualties of war. They were your natural parents, yes?”

She didn’t hear the question. “Casualties of war? What do you mean? What happened? How do you know?”

The officer remained cold and spoke with matter-of-fact authority. “We do not have that information. These records were relayed from the field. They are accurate.” And then she reiterated her question. “They were your natural parents?”

With tears beginning to stream down her face, Mosaic answered, “Yes.”

“Miss Shawl, do you know anything regarding the Bene-seneschal’s recent demise? Any affiliates, perhaps, that expressed disappointment with the Holy Order, or someone who entered the premises without proper papers?”

Again, Mosaic did not hear the question. At that moment, there was nothing she cared about.

“Miss Shawl?”

She looked up, her vision blurred.

The female officer glanced at her comrade. He shook his head.

“That will be all,” she said. “We ask that you remain here on the temple grounds for the time being until our investigation is complete.”

Mosaic stood and walked out of the tent, her movements severed from her will. The line outside the tent looked to her for answers.

“It’s about the Bene-seneschal, isn’t it?”

“What do they want in there?”

“Are there Baleans in there?”

“I’m talking to no goddamn Balean if I can help it.”

She ignored them. When she got past the gauntlet of questions, Mosaic stumbled toward a wall. She fell to her knees and wept.

Back in her partitioned space, she lay on her cot. Time was without pity, carrying along with a mocking bounce in its steps. For days she lay there, hardly eating, hardly speaking. She fell asleep hoping to wake up in the next Realm, reunited with her mother and father. But her eyes opened to the present—a partitioned wall, alone in her own corner of a cold temple sanctuary, the ambient murmurings of fellow refugees. An unflinching reality.

After several days, when her tears were depleted, her grief exhausted, she finally sat up. Slowly, she distributed the weight of her wilted body onto her legs, and stood. Shuffling one foot in front of the other, she managed to bathe, eat a proper meal, and dress herself. And by the time Sparrow visited her later that evening she was gone.

“You just missed her,” her neighbor explained. “She’s been lying there in a bed of tears for days, just up until this morning.”

“Where did she go?”

“Beats me. She found out her parents were killed in the invasion.”

“What day is it?”

“The Fifth, I believe. I’ll tell her you stopped by when she comes back. What was your name again?”

Sparrow checked his watch. It was nearing curfew.

Mosaic met Sebastian at the fountain in Trivelka Square. He quietly explained to her that they were forming a resistance group, just as Sparrow had warned. They were congregating at an undisclosed location. Although Sebastian had initially invited her, he hadn’t expected her to show up. He was suddenly reluctant to bring her along but Mosaic insisted on going.

“Are you sure?”

“They killed my parents, Sebastian. As far as I know, they’ve killed Dale and Darius. They’ve taken everything. I can’t just lie around the temple and wait to see what happens next.”

Despite his unease, he finally relented. Sebastian led Mosaic down an alley in what appeared to be an industrial part of the city. There was an inconspicuous green door. When they approached, a lookout peered through a small, curtained window adjacent to the door. Recognizing Sebastian, the young man with a gaunt face and black hat let them in. It was a small, out-of-place café. No one who was not from the area would ever expect to see a café on that street.

The air was stale in the dim, candlelit room. A clerk kept wiping down an already spotless bar while patrons quietly sat around tables with drinks and smokes. They were all young. Not much older than Mosaic. They trained their eyes on her as she trailed behind Sebastian. It didn’t take long for Mosaic to realize the whole scene was set up as a front.

One of the patrons arose from the table and got in front of Sebastian. “Who’s this?”

“She’s with me,” Sebastian replied.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“She’s the one I was telling Max about. Her brother’s a Republican Guard.”

Mosaic made no attempt to correct him as the unconvinced man scrutinized her. Then with a reluctant head toss, he gestured them to the back where there was a small gathering around a table. A young man who appeared to be about thirty years old greeted them. He was in a black turtleneck. Considering the circumstances, he appeared cheerful and carefree.

“Max, this is her,” said Sebastian. “This is Mosaic.”

“Welcome, Mosaic. Welcome. I’ve seen you before. The muse of the Halo. You have the most beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances. Please, sit with us.”

In a couple minutes, three facts about Mosaic were communicated: She was a close friend of Sebastian, an artist who performed regularly at the Halo, and the younger sister of two Republican Guardsmen. The information seemed to appease the nervous room. They made room for Sebastian and Mosaic at the table where they continued to plot their next course of action.

Mosaic looked around the room. The group was comprised mostly of young men. There were only a handful of women. It was unlikely that a single one of them had any type of military training. They appeared to be mostly students, maybe a few artists and literary types. By candlelight, she could see that they were either terrified or filled with idealistic zeal. It was telling of their naivety, their ignorance. As Mosaic surveyed the room, she thought Sparrow’s warning was more of a clear prediction. These people were going to get themselves killed.

“Well, how can we trust the Shen detective?” someone asked.

“Because the Eagle trusts him,” another replied. “He’s the only source we have on the inside.”

Sebastian leaned over and explained to Mosaic that “the Eagle” was the leader of the nascent resistance, a sentinel of the State Security Command that happened to be in town when the invasion began. Just as he finished, the lookout at the window whistled.

“Someone’s coming!”

Immediately, candles were blown out. The café went dark. Everyone froze and held their breath. A minute of taut silence was broken by a loud crash. The little green door was blown into the café and Balean soldiers poured in like rodents through a sewage pipe. There was screaming as the room scattered in a panic. A couple of the men who were at the tables tried to put up a fight, but were quickly subdued or killed.

Once the front room was secured, a Balean soldier started to yell for everyone to get down on the ground. Max and the others who sat at the table were already running through the kitchen. Sebastian and Mosaic followed closely behind. They squeezed their way between the narrow counters toward the backdoor. As they burst through, they were met by a squad of soldiers. Max and several others were apprehended, but a few broke through the squad.

Pulling Mosaic by the wrist, Sebastian managed to get them past. As they ran down the street, they could hear soldiers in close pursuit.

They turned the corner into a wider street. One of their pursuers caught up and dragged Sebastian to the ground. In the process, he knocked Mosaic down on the cobblestone road. Another soldier joined them and began to club Sebastian. With the first couple blows he split Sebastian’s scalp. He was knocked unconscious. They kept beating him, smashing his glasses onto his face.

“Sebastian!” Mosaic cried. “Stop it, you’re going to kill him.”

She got up, ran at them and jumped on one of the assailants. He grabbed her and lunging forward, threw her off of him. As she tried to get to her feet, he ran up to her from behind and kicked her on the small of her back.

He returned to Sebastian, who was being shackled. The soldiers were out of breath and irritated. Sebastian was bleeding profusely but the soldiers did not seem rushed. The one who had kicked Mosaic returned to her. She was still lying face down on the ground.

“You are in violation of curfew and hereby charged with unlawful assembly. You and your friend are coming with us.”

As he spoke, Mosaic remained unresponsive. Then the other soldier spoke up.

“Wait. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

There was silence. But the soldier hovering over Sebastian couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, was lurking in the darkness of an alley just a few paces from where he stood. He removed his pistol and locked his gaze into the black. “Someone there?” he called.

Again, silence.

“What is it? You see something?” his comrade asked.

With all attention honed in on the alley, no one seemed to notice the charcoal gray figure walking up fast from behind. He grappled the armed soldier in such a way that the barrel of his pistol ended up tucked below his chin. There was a pop. A poof of blood and brain matter dissipating. Without pause, the figure drew his blade and lunged toward the soldier who had kicked Mosaic. Backpedaling, the soldier raised his pistol. In a panic, he flinched and set off an errant shot. When the smoke cleared, he had been disemboweled.