James Axler – Gaia’s Demise

Chapter Eleven

“He will lie,” said the female mutie, leaning on the table, “but believe every word.”

Lunch long done with, Baron Jackson Polk looked up from the crumbling book on chemistry he was struggling to read and stared at the doomie. “What was that?” the man asked.

Althea said nothing for a moment, listening to the silence of the throne room. The predark auditorium was shaped like a seashell, with a raised dais at the apex of the truncated cone. Radiating outward across the room were hundreds of seats, and the softest whisper on stage would carry to the farthest reaches. Simply amazing. Many of the farmers and fishermen thought it was magic, and secretly worshiped the wizard baron. Knowing a good thing when he heard it, Polk did nothing to change their opinion, and having a doomie for a lover only helped his mystique of being more than just a man.

Her solid white eyes seeing nothing, the beautiful mutie came closer and took his hand. “The black man with one eye,” Althea whispered, “he will lie, but believe every word. He has come to kill, has already killed and must kill more. His destiny is in blood and fire.”

“An assassin?” Polk asked, probing for details.

“Yes and no. He hasn’t come for you, doesn’t know you, cares not for you. He seeks the sky killer who threatens the world.”

“Sky killer. A plane?”

The woman wobbled on her feet, and the baron snapped his fingers. A servant appeared to slide a chair into place before she fell. Polk waited until Althea caught her breath. When he’d first found the mutie woman ten years ago, he took her to his bed because she was blind. His disfigurements were such that he couldn’t stand to have another person see him without the robes of state. Then Polk learned of her gift and realized what a treasure the doomie was. Twice in his reign as baron, Althea had foretold of attacks by coldhearts, giving them enough time to prepare a deadly welcome for the raiders, and once she warned him of a close friend who plotted to chill him and become baron. Sadly, that also come true. Althea was always correct.

But now the baron wondered if her gift of seeing the shadows of the future had driven her over the edge into madness. Believe a liar—what was the point in that? Besides which, she always reminded him that the future wasn’t set in stone. Sometimes when they were alone in his chambers, Althea spoke of karma, a person’s destiny, but also of yarma, a person beating karma through courage and wisdom.

“Some water, my dear?” Polk suggested, pushing the carafe forward. There was no response. “Wine, then?”

“I need sleep,” Althea whispered, and walked from the throne room holding her temples.

The moment she was gone, a sec man entered the throne room and shouted, “My lord, several of the fishing captains request an audience.”

“Let them enter,” Polk commanded, rolling his chair to the edge of the dais.

When the sailors arrived, they took seats in the first row and were forced to crane their necks to look at the baron. Polk could smell the salt and tar on them even from his elevated vantage point.

He glowered down at them. “Well?”

Twisting a cloth cap in craggy hands, a big man in rough-hewn clothes stood, “I’m Dwight Lane, captain of the Dixie Rebel. Baron Polk, the big swamp mutie aced another five of my men yesterday when it ripped apart my nets and stole a full day’s catch of fish. My lord, our crews are starving, and each has lost kin to the mutie.”

“Some of us have lost more than that,” Polk stated forcibly, his anger readily present.

“Of course, sir,” Lane said, smiling uncomfortably. “Now, what we would like, with your permission, is to organize the crews of our five ships, and the whole ville, into a single hunting party to track down and kill the thing!”

“Useless,” the baron stated. “Without blasters, nobody stands a chance against the behemoth. Plus, there are the bugs to worry about. A hunting party that size could easily be thought of as an invasion force, and while we’re hunting the beast, they’re burning our homes.”