Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) (13 page)

Maybe his free day wouldn't be a complete waste.

“See something you like, sir?” asked the artist, taking a break from her latest creation at a work table just inside. Looking up, she peered at him with surprise. “Aren't you the Protectress' husband?”

“Uh, yes. You recognized me.” Still unused to the recognition, Quinn shied away from roaming publicly outside of working. “And yes, I would like to avail myself of your talents. I have an idea for a gift for my wife.”

“It would be my pleasure. What do you have in mind?”

+++

“I know you are not going to care much for this idea, but I think it's about time I met your mother.”

Quinn squinted as though the words caused him pain. “And I thought we were going to have a pleasant dinner. My dear, why would you say something like that?”

Using her fork to dig ruts in her starchy mashed tubers, Axandra drew in a deep breath through her nostrils. “Because I married you, Quinn, and throughout the millennia of human existence, that binds our families together. I'm going to invite your mother here. It's the courteous thing to do.”

Quinn inhaled deeply, filling his chest and shoulders in hopes that he could quell the growing irritation in his body. His wife didn't understand his relationship with his mother. She didn't know the history of how his family all but disowned him, because cutting all ties would force them to relinquish their emotional punching bag. With talents like hers, he could not believe Axandra didn't sense how viscerally opposed he was to seeing his family.

“Axandra, my darling,” he began to say, eyes cast down at the green rug of the great room. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but would you kindly give it a rest? I am not—I
will
not speak to my mother or my family again. Ever. They are
my
family, and I choose to cut them out of
my
life. They do not deserve my affection. It is not your problem to worry about.”

He thought he saw her bottom lip tremble slightly, but she tightened her mouth into a thin line before he could be certain.

“When we bonded, Quinn, it became my problem. We didn't just marry with words, we bound ourselves together on a deeper level. I know how they frustrate you. I feel it. You aren't happy about the way things have gone.”

“I think you're misinterpreting. I'm not happy because they insist on interfering with my life. Do I like that they treat me like dardak crap? Of course not! But I've come to terms with the fact that it isn't going to change, so I've removed myself from the influence. Please, please, dear. Do not ask them to come here,” Quinn implored earnestly. “And if you feel so inclined, ask them to never come here.”

“You know I can't make that request. No one is banned from the People's Hall for any reason.”

He let his eyes closed and sighed. “I know.”

Axandra laid her hand gently upon his knee and leaned her shoulder against his. He caught her looking at him with a sheepish expression, but she said nothing in the way of apology. She didn't have to. She attempted to do what she felt was helpful to her new family.

“Do I have any say in this matter?”

“Not really. I'm inviting them. If they come, you'll have to deal with it.”

“Glad that's settled.”

6
^th
Trimont, 308 (Farensday)

“Is someone there?”

Alicia paused in her chores when she thought she heard the sound of the front door open and close. She wasn't expecting anyone. Keeping still, she listened for indications of further activity, but heard nothing.

“Hello?” she said for good measure, but the greeting remained unanswered. Instead, she tuned her ears towards her daughter's room, wondering briefly if the girl had taken the opportunity to go outside and forgot to tell her. As she expected, she heard Rose producing sound effects as she toppled her wooden-block building, leveling her only recently constructed masterpiece of childhood engineering. The blocks clattered against the wooden floor in the playroom.

Smiling, Alicia returned to her chores. As soon as she finished with the last of the laundry, she would walk Rose over to the playground; then they would stop by the pantry to collect ingredients for dinner before Rose's father came home from playing with logistics all day. He would probably want to put the seedlings in the ground right after dinner, which would keep him and Rose busy for a while so Alicia could work on her painting. It was shaping up to be a typical evening and a beautiful day outside. She wondered if Mr. Neilson had any plans for or after dinner. Ever since Madeline, his wife, had passed away last fall, he'd sheltered himself in the house next door, not talking much to anyone. She wanted to make sure he was all right.

In a few minutes, she would pop next door and invite him.

A floor board creaked outside the laundry room. Alicia knew exactly which one, there in the center of the doorway, the board she couldn't avoid stepping on no matter how she corrected her stride. The sound was immediately recognizable; she would know it from anywhere in the house.

No one was standing on the board. At least, she didn't see anyone. But the floor board was definitely bowing under the weight of… something.

“How bizarre!” she whispered to herself, staring at the floorboard as it creaked again, the weight lifted.

Then she felt the room tilt. An instant later, the room didn't exist at all.

+++

“Mama? Mama?” Little Rose called about the house. She'd been playing in her room with her building blocks alone, not even minding as her mother went about the house with the laundry and the duster. But she realized that her mother hadn't been around again, peeking in through the doorway and checking on her daughter's activities.

“Mama?” she called again, beginning to worry. She'd never been in the house alone before.

Maybe her mother just stepped outside into the garden to tend the seedlings, though usually her father asked Rose to help with that treat.

Her feet sped along beneath her, almost too fast for her body to keep up. She flew out the back door into the yard, the garden just a dozen steps away.

Her mother wasn't here either.

“Mama! Mama, where are you?” she cried. But no answer came.

+++

“Thank you for the photos, Rose,” said the man from the Safety Watch. “We have everyone we can looking for your mother. We'll find her. Don't you worry.”

Mr. Neilson from next door had heard her crying about an hour ago and came to see what was the matter. He waved down the next passing Safety Watch volunteer to try to track down Alicia, having no idea where the young woman might have gone off to, leaving your daughter home all alone.

“When did she disappear, Rose? Do you remember?”

The girl shook her head, her light brown hair stringy and tousled from nervously teasing the strands with her delicate fingers. “I was playing in my room, and she was washing clothes, then she was gone.”

“Did you hear any doors or any voices?”

Rose tried to remember, squinting into her brain to recall what she'd heard in the house while she played. “I don't know. I don't know! I was just playing. Where did she go? Why did she leave me alone?”

“Rose!” came a shout from up the street, and she looked through teary eyes to see her father running toward her where she sat with Mr. Neilson and the Safety Watch on the front porch. His long strides brought him to her before anyone had time to react, and he swept her into his arms. “Rose. Are you all right? What's going on? Have you found Alicia yet?”

“No, sir. But we have personnel sweeping the area. Is it possible she had an appointment somewhere?” questioned the uniformed Safety Watch.

“She wouldn't just forget to take Rose with her, or forget take her to the center for the time being,” Rose's father argued. “She didn't have any appointments today. Something has to be wrong. Rose, did you see anything or hear anything, Honey? Anything?”

Rose could only tremble and cry, her mouth open in a full blown wail. “I want mama!”

Her father held her tightly in his arm. “I know. I know. I'm right here.”

+++

8
^th
Trimont (Turnsday)

“I need…help.”

The shaky voice coming from the trees along the walking path startled Merle, who moved as quickly as her eighty-year-old feet would carry her on this overcast afternoon. The thick forest bordered the clearing of the village like a towering fence. Between the spindly saplings and the broad grandmother trees, a young woman lay half buried in the leaves and underbrush, her face angled toward the walkway, her body front down against the damp decay of last autumn. Other than the words she gasped, she appeared immobile.

“I…need…” the words came again, but so softly, Merle could barely hear her.

Shuffling into the rough, Merle knelt down and told the stranger, “I'll help you. Can you walk?”

The head move slightly in a negative manner. Frightened tears welled in the woman's eyes. “No.”

“You're cold,” Merle observed as she laid her hands on anemic, clammy skin. Slipping her arms from her sweater, she laid the woolen weave over the woman's back and rubbed lightly to promote warmth.

While doing this, Merle kept her eyes toward the pathway and village beyond, hoping to spy another resident to wave down. The path was the best route for a quick skip from the east side to the west side of the village and was traveled frequently; therefore, another passerby would appear shortly. Merle's voice would not carry far enough to throw up an alert. Leaving the prone woman alone seemed like a poor idea. Immobile as she was, the woman would be vulnerable to the next predator to happen by, a grimbear most likely.

“Please,” the woman moaned. “Please.”

“What is your name?” Merle asked to exhibit her willingness to aid the woman. She didn't recognize the face and presumed she was a traveler from the next village over.

A clouded visage of confusion twisted the tan face and several moments passed by waiting for a response. “Alicia?”

“Alicia, I'm Merle. I'm not going to leave you alone, all right. Someone will come by soon to help. Alicia, what happened to you?”

Sculpted eyebrows wrinkled and cracked lips malformed into a fierce scowl. “I don't know. I don't…know.”

“All right. I'm sorry to upset you. Are you feeling warmer?”

“Yes,” Alicia agreed, her voice fading from strain to relief in one breath.

“Good.”

A syncopated rhythm of shuffling footsteps came from several meters away just beyond the small knobby hill, growing louder.

“Alicia, I'm not going far. I'm still here. I think someone is coming.” Clambering to her feet, Merle regained her footing on the paved pathway, squinting to see who came around the corner.

The Toiler twins skipped along trying to see who could skip the fastest without tripping.

“Carson! Kyle! Run and get the Healer and Mr. Morey.”

Not expecting an old woman to shout at them, the boys instantly started to backpedal to escape a reprimand, their typical vocal lashing for causing trouble.

“Boys, listen!” Merle called again, knowing her voice sounded scolding. It seemed the only tone to work on them. “Get the Healer and Mr. Morey. Bring them here as quickly as you can”

Carson was first to absorb the reality of the situation. He looked her over with his brown eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but there is a woman over here who is. Go now!”

On quick feet that Merle envied, the boys took off across the grass at a sprint toward the nearest of the village houses.

Returning, Merle found Alicia as she'd left her, like a root frozen to the ground. “Help is on the way.”

+++

“Healer Adese, an urgent message for you.”

She accepted the folded parchment and cracked the glued seal immediately.

A woman was found in Remo Falls, Westland, suffering from hypothermia and a rare form of temporary paralysis. Adese wasn't certain why this message come so urgently to her at first. Reading more of the long description, she saw that the woman, Alicia Covert, was reported missing from her home on the 6
^th
of Trimont from Sound-of-the-Wind, almost two hundred kiloms to the southeast of Remo Falls. At the time, she was believed to be the victim of a Stormfly abduction. While she showed no current infestation by one of the parasites, she appeared to have all the markers of having been infested recently: malnutrition, dehydration, memory loss, and scar tissue in the interior of the brain

“Get this patient to Bexan immediately,” she ordered the messenger. She felt weeks of fatigue wash away with the excitement of this new development. Had someone survived a brief infestation and lived without Healer intervention? They needed to have her examined and questioned as soon as possible. Despite her exposure to the elements, she appeared to be on the road to a full recovery.

The letter included her vital statistics, which Adese quickly entered into her expanding chart of demographics. While she continued to collect a large variety of information, the most important columns to watch had become the location and mental ability quotient. Alicia possessed a high rating as a remote receiver. She appeared to have been carefully selected for this reason. Among the victims, those with the highest ratings were still missing, while lower ratings turned up dead. This increasing pattern of selection indicated that the Stormflies were looking for a certain type of vessel, though the purpose of such remained hypothetical. Hopefully, Alicia Covert would be able to supply some answers.

20
^th
Trimont, 308 (Hopesday)

Even before entering the Council chamber, Axandra sensed a bubbling of panic from within. Extending her range, she found that the emanations of the combined council extended beyond the structure of the People's Hall, therefore touching anyone within a quarter-kilom of the building and everyone within it. No wonder she had dreaded today's meeting. The quivering in her gut started an hour ago. She mistook the sensation for her own nerves, a common aggravation before full council meetings.

Inside the large room of desks and risers, the councilors gathered in three separate groups, with interns scurrying between them with sheets of paper. Another intern raced in with more sheets.

“Your Honor!” Jared, barely eighteen, exclaimed noticing her entrance. He extended a sheaf of papers in her direction. “I'll get your tea.”

“Thank you. What's going on?” she asked.

“It's started,” was all he could muster between panting breaths.

On the sheets of paper were listed villages and names but no titles. She surmised the list summarized victims of the first wide-scale attack. Antonette Lelle struck a gavel on the wood block several times, bringing only slight order to the chaos.

“Everyone take your seats!” Lelle ordered, her voice deep and reverberating through the chamber. She turned to the Protectress with a quick and courteous bow of the head. “Good morning, Madam. We've had a major development. Seats, people!”

The Council members dodged each other to plop down in the appropriate places at the desks. Axandra ascended the three steps to the dais and the richly upholstered chair reserved for her at the front table, a chair she faced with trepidation at each sitting. More ghosts in residence.

“So, we'll skip directly to urgent business. You've each been reading the lists. Protectress, these sheets include seven hundred names of individuals who are now victims of Stormfly attacks. Either as hosts or victims of violence. The names in red are deceased. Fifty so far. The others are injured, in green, or ailing, in yellow. Safety Watch is detaining those it can reach. Dozens of these individuals are unaccounted for at this time. Those are marked with a star.”

“When did the attacks begin?” the Protectress asked, her voice constricted by a tightening throat. Dozens of stars marked the page, dozens of missing persons likely in the hands of the Prophets becoming part of the army of bodies that nourished and housed the creatures. All taken by surprise. Their strategy appeared to be collecting as many vessels as possible before they came after the capital.

“Last night, around 8 o'clock,” Lelle replied, “but we just now received definitive reports. The incidents are wide-spread, between one and ten per village. Each episode happened quite suddenly, taking the victims by surprise, and ended just as quickly.”

Axandra shook her head in disbelief. So many killed in such a short few hours and she hadn't sensed any of the terror like she had during the murders before the Passing last year. She reminded herself that the entity attached to her brain at the time made it possible for her to sense the crimes from over a hundred kiloms away, as it absorbed the energy of the terror and funneled the life-force back to its flock in the Great Storm. She resolved to overcome the failing by applying her knowledge to stopping the creatures.

During those months of infestation, Axandra had no understanding of the Stormflies or the biological process by which they fed their population. She knew only that she was the heir to a powerful creature, on many people believed was their savior. Axandra felt blessed now to have the thing evicted and her mind and body left untortured by the creatures. But the advanced warning might have helped save lives—she could have sent out a general alert.

“Have descriptions of those missing been distributed for search parties?” she inquired.

“Yes, Your Honor,” the Councilor assured.

“Do we know their psychic status?”

Lelle paused uncertainly at the question. “I—I don't know. Why? Do you still think that…?”

“They have struck so broadly and with such apparent randomness, it occurred to me that, yes, they are targeting remoters.” Axandra realized her statement struck a chord that produced panic inside the Head-of-Council, a deep-seated fear that Lelle did not allow herself to show on the surface, an emotion she had worked long and hard to bury. Remoters frightened her.

“I will advise the committee to make inquiries,” Lelle stated to appease the thought for the time being. She barked at the councilors once again, “Please be seated!”

Months ago, when the Stormflies were freed, the Council, Elite Guard Commander Ty Narone, and the Safety Watch Ministry sat down and hashed out a set of procedures to be followed once the Stormflies began to act out.

The plan was being followed precisely so far. The detainees would be treated with the current knowledge of the Stormflies, which unfortunately meant, for the time being, they would be detained until they inevitably passed away from the infection. The Healers continued to struggle finding a method to extract, capture, contain, and nullify the Stormflies and their side effects without detriment to the patients. Palliative care was the most they could offer to the victims.

Carmen Offut rose first, requesting to address the Council. “Head-of-Council, Esteemed Matriarch, I received late yesterday a new report from Healer Adese in Bexan. As you'll recall, she is the leading investigator appointed by the Healer's Assembly. According to this report, she has discovered that, in order to securely imprison the Stormflies, the bodies of the victims must be kept alive and in coma-like states.”

“What!?” Franny exclaimed with undue excitement. She quickly composed herself while the eyes of all other Councilors and interns stared her down.

Carmen resumed her report. “Healer Adese has, with a great deal of apology, twenty individuals in the Bexan University Medical Center in these coma states. The Stormflies are unable to exit the unconscious bodies. As long as the coma is maintained, the creature is unable to either execute or receive any commands from the queen.”

“Unacceptable!” Franny roared. “You can't treat them that way!”

“Councilor Gilbert, please keep you peace or remove yourself from this room,” Lelle roared, her face pink with frustration. “I won't stand for any more of these outbursts. Carmen, anything further?”

“Yes, Ma'am. I shared this information with Councilor Osander when I received the report. Healer Adese is devising a method to sedate all patients known to harbor Stormflies to prevent them from jumping to new hosts. She also has a team attempting to extract these sedated parasites in order to perfect extraction, and for study—”

Mark Osander rose to his feet with a wave of interruption. “My apologies, Councilor Offut. We must assume this is the beginning of many dark days to come. I mentioned before that we may have to consider a method of destroying the creatures completely, otherwise our continued existence may be in jeopardy.”

“We would like to exhaust all other options,” Lelle reminded. Many previous debates centered on determining a way to either relocate the creatures or negotiate a new treaty.

“I believe we have exhausted those possibilities already, and we must be prepared to make our move quickly. If we wait, even another few days, we may find ourselves too late to the party.” Mark's flared nostrils indicted the idea left him feeling as foul as it did every other decent person, but his ultimate duty was to his own people. He acted in a manner in accordance with that responsibility. “Healer Adese is providing us with the information we need to form an active defense. I wish to take this information and integrate it into the plan I've been composing. In the meantime, I wish to keep the details…quiet…due to uncertainty about whom to trust.”

Mark's bronze eyes cast directly in the direction of the Protectress. His stare felt intentionally weighty, and Axandra attempted to interpret his unspoken meaning. He didn't mean to implicate her, but he was trying to tell her something, possibly about someone else in this room. Unfortunately, everyone else in the room misinterpreted his glare. She couldn't say a word to the contrary.

The excess commotion disappeared completely. At this proximity, Axandra could sense the thoughts of each individual councilor. Mark's idea was more welcome than she anticipated, but many had difficulty expressing their own acceptance on the matter. A few felt they failed their ethics, allowing concepts such as revenge to drive their decision. Others recited the Covenants in their heads, trying to find something that would make sense of this insane situation.

Lelle spoke. “You are probably right, Mark. Bring us your proposal in three days.”

“I will be ready tomorrow,” he announced.

“Of course. Tomorrow, then. Today, we need to approve emergency distribution requests for the affected families,” Lelle accepted.

The Council continued through their daily motions with an underlying sense of impending catastrophe. Even as they prepared for the attacks, they prayed the Stormflies would leave them be, spare them further torture—act as a reasonable, civilized species—or simply disappear altogether.

To impose upon the Stormflies—a sentient race of beings of unique structure, capable of self-propelled flight, and of controlling a humanoid body and mind—a world view and culture like their own was like asking packhounds to become fork-wielding vegetarians. Whatever process caused an evolution of this type also set the creatures' view of humans as nothing more than livestock to be cultivated, bred, and consumed. Human conscience, or perhaps stupidity, prevented the People of Bona Dea from flat out decimating the Stormflies. Genocide was unconscionable.

Axandra accepted, if the survival of her people came down to annihilating another race or losing her own, she would favor her own people and be forced to live the rest of her days knowing that she was capable of monstrous acts. The archivists would have to choose whether to laud her victory or pitch her into the depths of historical hell for her actions.

The Council recessed for the day just after twelve o'clock. Most headed directly to lunch in the dining room, famished after the long hours. Axandra was met on her way out the main door by Miri, who informed her that her guest had arrived and waited on the veranda.

“Is Quinn here?” Axandra questioned.

“He is, Madam. Luke went upstairs to fetch him.”

“Thank you. I'll wait for him before I meet our guest. Please make sure Mr. Mainsteer is comfortable.”

“Mainsteer?” Lelle nearly shouted the name across the near-empty chamber that echoed when the bodies were absent. The older woman hurried over. “He's here?”

“Yes, Annie. Since the gentleman was in town, I invited him for a friendly lunch,” Axandra explained, hoping to play it off as a casual encounter.

Antonette contorted her face like she'd swallowed a bug. “And you didn't see fit to inform me that a staunch opponent of our current government was coming to our front door?”

“No. He's my guest, not yours,” Axandra defended, for once flaunting her superiority. “Why would I? He has the same rights as anyone to step foot in this building, no matter his opinions.”

“You don't honestly believe you're going to persuade him that our way is better than his.” As head of the People's Council, Antonette earned the right to call into question Mainsteer's notorious stance against the government.

“Absolutely not, Annie,” Axandra scoffed. “I've no chance of that. I'm curious about him and want to ask him a few questions is all. He agreed to come on the terms I offered—a pleasant meal and each of us is free to refuse to answer any question without retaliation, including concerning his rally.”

“And if he disregards your agreement during his rally…?”

“The consequences have already been made clear, Councilor,” Axandra said, but made no offer to expand upon the subject. “Good day.” She turned and exited, sensing that her husband waited at the bottom of the curved staircase.

She planted a kiss on his lips, hoping the action would bring peace to her unsettled heart. Between talk of war, the confrontation with Lelle, and the impending meeting, her insides felt frayed. She wasn't certain she'd be interested in eating much.

“Hello, there,” Quinn accepted the greeting cheerfully.

“Are you ready?” she asked, openly wary.

Quinn observed her pale face. “Are you asking me or yourself? You look a little nervous.”

“A little,” she admitted. “I hope someday I'll get over that.”

“Not without a great deal of alcohol. Are we having any with lunch?” He posed the question with all seriousness.

“It might not hurt to order some up,” she sighed. She didn't want alcohol to become a crutch, yet she needed something to ease the stress. Quickly checking over her clothes for any stray threads or debris, she inhaled a deep, shoulder-setting breath. She'd chosen a crisp dress suit for the occasion. Her usually wild dark hair was tamed into a sleek bun without a single hair out of place.

“Nothing wrong with it. Let's get this out of the way.”

Taking a step through the open glass-paned doors, Axandra heeded her husband's words. Stalling wouldn't delay her nervousness.

She did not expect Mainsteer to be such an excessively tall man, topping two meters by a few centims. Each limb appeared disproportionate to normal human structure, with monstrous hands dangling too far down his thighs, knobby knees, and feet the size of skis. He folded his body in two like a pivoting crane arm in a courteous bow toward the Protectress.

“Greetings, Mr. Mainsteer.” Axandra welcomed, extending a warm emanation in his direction. By the expression that flashed across the man's hound-like face, he recognized her push outward for what it was, an influence, a suggestion to his inner being of how to behave. Mainsteer was a remoter as well, evidenced by the sharp increase in psychic energy existing in the immediate vicinity that even Quinn felt palpable. She delicately withdrew her circle of influence.

“Good afternoon, Esteemed Protectress,” Mainsteer said. “It is a sincere honor to meet you.”