Skein Of Fates

Praise For Skein of Fates

"Leslie Ann Moore’s Skein of Fates is an exciting start to a new, lushly written and deeply imagined [science-fantasy] trilogy."

— Steven Barnes, author of Lion’s Blood.

Rich in world-building and lush in its storytelling.

— Gary Phillips, editor of Black Pulp

Moore kicks off this series with a hot blend of future weapons tech, Zorro, and strong female leads. Add in a touch of the mystical . . . and sit back and enjoy!

— Sherwood Smith – author of Crown Duel

"Leslie Ann Moore's Skein of Fates presents us with a lushly realized, scientifically plausible universe as marvelous and full of adventure as any high fantasy. Highly recommended."

— Howard Hendrix author of The Labyrinth Key

"Skein of Fates mixes planetary romance with a fairy-tale subtext, and serves it up with an intriguing background of reimagined technology and religion. The result is delicious!"

— Emma Bull-Author of War For The Oaks

Skein of Fates

Book One of the Nuetierra Chronicles

Leslie Ann Moore

Norton Place Publishing

This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

Norton Place Publishing and its logo are copyrighted by Norton Place Media. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, or and/or events is purely coincidental.

Skein of Fates

1st. edition published April 2021

2nd edition published March 2022

A Norton Place Publishing Publication

Los Angeles, Ca. 90008

www.nortonplacepublishing.com

Image

Copyright 2020 by Leslie Ann Moore

Cover Art by Cherie Fox

Interior Layout Design by Norton Place Publishing

Map by Dewi Hargreaves

ISBN: 978-1-7358330-0-2

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES

To my husband and fellow wordsmith Aaron.

You helped make this book possible.

Contents

. Chapter

1. Coup d'état

2. Day One

3. Pursuit

4. Discoveries In The Dark

5. Bayona District One

6. Trust Betrayed

7. Machinations

8. An Unacceptable Proposal

9. Dangerous Resolve

10. A Call To Witness

11. At Bella Pacifica Hospital

12. The Last Quiet Day

13. A Sudden Turn

14. A Dangerous Problem, Solved

15. Prisoner #253-195b

16. To The Edge And Back

17. Battle For Survival

18. The Power of the Curaro

19. The Rosa Blanca

20. Dreams And Visions

21. A Message of Hope

22. The Tiqui

23. Joining The Resistance

24. Journey To Reed Valley

25. The Best-Laid Plans

26. Unintended Consequences

27. Impasse

28. Disillusionment

29. A Night of Celebration

30. Dry Creek Station

31. Trial By Fire

32. A Terrible Thing of Beauty

33. Battle of Wills

34. The Secret Hostage

35. A Problem Resurfaces

36. Vulnerabilities Of A Lonely Heart

37. Race For Their Lives

38. Sanctuary

39. Fire And Blood

40. Tears For The Dead

41. Lives In The Balance

Flora And Fauna Of Nuetierra

About The Author

Also By

Chapter one

Coup d'état

Mayoral Palace, City of Nue Bayona, Nuetierra, Nueva Sol System, 834 AP

Deanna woke to the sound of gunfire below her bedroom window.

Confused, disoriented, the fourteen year old girl sat up in bed. Pushing dark hair away from her face, she stared, wide-eyed into the darkness. Cece! she called softly. Are you awake?

From the other side of the room, her little sister answered in a frightened whisper, Dee! What was that noise?

I’m not sure, Deanna said. I…I think it was a gunshot. The implications filled the young teen with fear. But birth order and a far more courageous temperament than Ceilia’s dictated that she be the one to investigate the ominous sound.

Tossing aside the blankets, Deanna slipped from bed. Shivering with both cold and apprehension, she moved toward the window. The polished hardwood floor squeaked beneath her bare feet. It was midway through the month of Fevrero and the little coal oil heater in the corner couldn’t quite banish the late winter chill.

Another series of pops startled Deanna, sending her into a crouch below the casement, her heart leaping like a gazela. Behind her, she heard the rustle of bedclothes and then Ceilia was snuggling against her, shaking. I’m scared, the eleven year old whispered.

It’ll be all right, Deanna replied. She brushed back a lock of her sister’s auburn hair and gave the girl a quick peck on the cheek. Stay down, you hear? Cautiously, she lifted her head until her eyes cleared the casement and she could see through the chilly glass.

The scene that greeted her shocked gaze froze the breath in her throat.

Two stories below her and Ceilia’s bedroom lay a small courtyard—one of many dotting the mayoral palace precincts. Both of Nuetierra’s moons rode high in the sky; revealed in their combined light were the bodies of several men—palace guards—sprawled on the gravel. From her vantage, Deanna couldn’t tell which, if any, were alive.

What do you see? Ceilia whispered. Her small hands gripped the sleeve of Deanna’s algodon nightgown with surprising strength.

I’m not sure, Deanna replied. She rose to her feet, pulling Ceilia up with her, thankful the darkness hid her face. She didn’t want her sister to see how close she was to panic. Keeping her voice as steady as she could, she said, Put on your robe and slippers, then wait here. I’m going to get Freeda.

Then what? the younger girl’s voice quavered with fear.

We go find Papa.

Deanna retrieved her own robe from where it lay draped across the foot of her bed. With trembling fingers, she fastened the buttons, then stepped into her slippers and went to the door. Pressing her ear to the varnished wood, she held her breath and listened. After several heartbeats, when she heard nothing in the hallway beyond, she cautiously opened the door and peered out.

The corridor, lit by ornate electric fixtures along the walls, lay empty. At one end, a staircase led up to the apartments of the Lord Alcalde of Nue Bayona and his wife. At the opposite, a smaller staircase led down three floors to the basement level palace kitchen.

Directly across from the girls’ bedroom, their governess Freeda had her own small private apartment. Deanna darted across to the door and rapped once. Before she could knock a second time, the panel flew open and Freeda emerged, bundled in a thick woolen robe. Her graying hair hung in a loose braid down her back. Where’s your sister? she whispered.

Deanna turned and beckoned. Ceilia slipped into the hall and darted to Freeda’s side.

In here. The governess shoved both girls into her room. Lock the door behind me, she ordered. Don’t make a sound and don’t come out unless it’s me or your father at that door! Do you understand?

Deanna swallowed hard and nodded. Ceilia started sniffling. Freeda crouched to fix her gaze onto the younger girl’s face. Cece, love, it’ll be all right, she soothed, then kissed Ceilia’s forehead and closed the door.

Deanna turned the key, then, by the dim light of an oil lamp, she quickly scanned the room. Seizing her sister’s hand, she pulled the younger girl over to the narrow bed against the far wall. On hands and knees, she glanced beneath and breathed a sigh of relief. The two of them would just fit. Together, they squirmed into hiding.

Lying on her stomach, her head resting on folded arms, Deanna could just see the bottom of the door from her vantage. The bare wooden floorboards underneath her radiated a chill that seeped through both robe and nightgown. She clasped Ceilia’s cold hand in hers. By mutual understanding, both girls remained silent.

Papa will come for us, Deanna thought. He has to!

How long she and her sister lay in fearful confinement, Deanna didn’t know. Her arms and shoulders had just gone numb when there came several soft knocks on the door. A familiar voice spoke from the hallway.

Girls, open up! It’s Papa!

Like flushed conayhos, the two girls wriggled from hiding and ran for the door. Deanna released the lock, threw open the panel, then both she and Ceilia rushed into their father’s embrace.

Though his arms felt steady and protective as ever, Deanna could still sense her father’s fear. Papa, what’s going on? she asked, looking up into his eyes.

The Lord Alcalde of Nue Bayona, his dark hair disheveled and feet bare, clad only in a knee-length white algodon nightshirt and drawstring pants, shook his head. My darlings, people I thought I could trust…well, it turns out I couldn’t. I’ll try to explain things more clearly to you both later, but right now, we have to go.

Where’s Freeda? Deanna asked.

"Here, dulzor. The governess materialized at the Alcalde’s shoulder. Señor, she said, her voice tense, we can get out through the kitchen."

The Alcalde nodded sharply, took each of his children by the hand and started for the back staircase.

Behind them, hoarse shouts followed by the sound of more gunfire echoed up the front staircase. A split second later came the rumble of heavy boots on wood, ascending. Simultaneously, the narrow unlit service stairwell ahead disgorged a knot of armed men.

The little group stumbled to a halt and was quickly surrounded. Freeda gasped an entreaty to the Madre. Ceilia started wailing. The Alcalde gathered both his daughters to him and squared his shoulders. His steady gaze swept the circle of guards he’d once entrusted with his own safety and that of his family. Please don’t hurt my children, he said.

One of the guards— a sergeant— took a step forward and smashed the butt of his rifle into the Alcalde’s face, knocking him to the floor. Deanna heard the wet crunch of breaking bone.

She and Ceilia screamed as one.

An instant later, both girls were dragged clear by Freeda just as a maelstrom of violence engulfed their father.

Powerless to stop the attack, they could only watch, frozen in horror, as men who’d taken an oath to serve the Alcalde, instead were now bent on kicking him to death. As the guards’ heavy boots connected with meaty thuds against his flesh, the Alcalde cried out in pain.

Run girls! Freeda screamed.

Tearing her gaze away from the sickening spectacle, Deanna tugged on her little sister’s hand, but Ceilia had collapsed to her knees. Cece, get up! she wailed. Get up!

Freeda slipped her arms beneath the younger girl’s shoulders and tried to lift her to her feet, but Ceilia had become dead weight, limp and unresponsive. Her green eyes stared ahead, unfocused and glassy. Merciful Maria! the governess sobbed. Please, child…stand up! You must run!

Deanna peered into her sister’s face, searching for any sign of awareness, but saw none. Cece, she whispered, near breathless with terror. We have to go. Now!

As Deanna tried once again to coax her sister to stand, a voice—female, imperious, and shrill—rang out.

"Stop this instant!"

Deanna knew that voice and the one to whom it belonged.

A woman she’d never trusted.

Like obedient hounds, the guards immediately broke off their brutal assault and backed away from their victim as the Alcalde’s wife—clad in a thick woolen shawl pulled over her white silk nightgown— rapidly approached, her long dark hair tumbled loose about her shoulders and her lovely face pinched with fury. I gave orders to take him alive! she snapped. Ignoring Freeda and her stepdaughters cowering against the wall, she came to a stop beside her husband, who lay sprawled on his back, motionless, his face a bruised and bloody mess.

She glared up at the sergeant. Is he still alive?

Dama Lourdessa, I don’t know, the man answered, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Well check!" Lourdessa demanded.

From where she crouched within Freeda’s protective embrace, her own arms wrapped around Ceilia, Deanna watched with held breath, vowing that if her father was dead, she would find a way to kill her stepmother.

The sergeant went to one knee and laid two fingers against the Alcalde’s throat. After a few seconds, he straightened and nodded once.

Praise the Madre, Freeda whispered. Deanna started breathing again.

The former Alcalde began to stir. Two guards seized him by the arms and hauled him upright, where he hung, unresisting, in their grasp. He made a choking noise and spat a bloody gobbet onto the top of the sergeant’s polished boot. He then whispered something too soft and slurred for Deanna to hear.

Because you wouldn’t listen, Eduard, came Lourdessa’s cold response. I warned you. She shook her head, a look of distain on her face, then turned to the sergeant of the guards. Put him in one of the basement holding cells for now.

As the guards dragged their father past them toward the service staircase, Freeda tried to cover her charges’ eyes, but Deanna pushed the governess’s hands away. She wanted, no needed to bear witness to every moment of this tragedy, so that when she was old enough, she could exact revenge without faltering.

Several of the guards had stayed behind to form a loose semicircle around Lourdessa. They snapped to attention as another man emerged from the stairwell into the hallway. Tall, thin and balding, dressed in a black suit, the man paused to watch the former Alcalde and his guard detail hustle past and disappear down the narrow stairs. He stared for several moments more before turning and making his way to where Lourdessa stood, her shawl pulled tightly about her shoulders, her face a dispassionate mask.

The man in black spoke in a low, rasping voice. There was no need for such brutality. He would have surrendered for the sake of his family.

"I didn’t tell your men to break my husband’s face, Señor Nunyez, Lourdessa retorted. She waved her hand in dismissal. He’ll heal. In time. I’ll send a doctor to him later. Right now, you and I have a lot of work to do."

The man in black turned his gaze to the former Alcalde’s daughters and their governess, all on their knees in a forlorn huddle. What are your plans for the children? he asked.

Lourdessa pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Where is my son? she asked the sergeant of the guards.

Señor Alehan is still in his chambers, Dama. A detail is on guard at his door.

Bring him to my apartments immediately, she demanded, then in a softer, almost plaintive tone, added, I need my child with me right now.

The sergeant saluted, then ordered two guards to go fetch the boy.

Lourdessa pointed to Freeda. You. Keep my husband’s brats in their room until I decide what to do with them.

Yes, Dama, Freeda replied, her eyes downcast.

Then, as if she’d forgotten their very existence—or no longer cared— Lourdessa turned her back on her stepdaughters. With the guards in formation around them both, she and the man in black disappeared down the back staircase.

Come, Deanna, Freeda whispered. Help me with your sister.

For a few moments, all Deanna could do was stare in queasy fascination at the drops of her father’s blood left behind on the floor. Freeda had to grab her shoulders and shake her to break the spell. Together, she and the governess carried Ceilia back to her bed.

Deanna crawled in beside the younger girl and Freeda settled the blankets over them. I’ll stay with you until morning, the governess said. She bent down and kissed both girls on their foreheads, then went to the door and turned the lock.

What’s going to happen to us, Freeda? Deanna asked.

I don’t know, child, the governess replied, her voice heavy with sorrow. She crossed the room and collapsed into an armchair near the window. A few moments later, she bowed her head over clasped hands.

The sound of the older woman’s whispered prayers did little to ameliorate the turmoil within young Deanna’s heart and soul. She wrapped her arms around Ceilia—who still gave no sign of awareness— and closed her eyes, even though she was determined to sleep no more this night. The image of the guards dragging her father away bruised and bloodied to an unknown fate, haunted her; still, she refused to cry. There would be time enough for tears later. For now, she had to be strong for Ceilia.

Freeda had ceased her prayers and now sat in silence, a darker shadow against the brightening sky beyond the bedroom window. Whether the governess had fallen asleep or had simply run out of entreaties, Deanna couldn’t tell.

And what was the point of prayers anyway? The Madre didn’t listen when Deanna had begged Her not to let Mama die. Why put one’s faith in something that quite possibly didn’t exist?

Ceilia jerked, then began muttering, her voice too low for Deanna to understand. The older girl tightened her arms around the younger and rocked her until she once again went still and quiet.

After a time, despite her vow not to, Deanna drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter two

Day One

Lourdessa Sedaño flung open the double doors of her husband’s office and paused on the threshold. No, she corrected herself. My office now.

Illuminated only by Nueva Sol’s early morning lavender-gold light streaming in through a pair of casement windows, the chamber seemed suspended in time, tidied and ready for an occupant who would never return. Its furnishings were simple— a big roble wood desk, a trio of matching chairs, one behind the desk and two in front for visitors, a sideboard and a bookcase. A handwoven oveha wool area rug covered much of the polished plank floor. A large, gilt-framed map of the city hung on one wall.

The spare, masculine decor was not at all to Lourdessa’s taste. Now that she’d seized control of the city, redecoration had to be near the top of the new Dama Alcalde’s agenda.

Right behind the neutralization of her political enemies.

She entered and crossed the room to sit in the Alcalde’s chair—her chair now, or it would be, just as soon as she ordered a replacement. She rested her hands on the desktop, took a deep breath, and relaxed.

I did it, she thought. Nue Bayona is mine!

A soft knock on the door interrupted her silent self-congratulations. Come in, Señor Nunyez.

The man who until just a few hours past had served as Chief of Palace Security entered the room. Dama, he said, inclining his head. Without waiting for permission, he claimed one of the visitors’ chairs.

Lourdessa’s lip curled. Saviero Nunyez smelled like an old trunk that had recently been opened after years in storage. His threadbare black frock coat and trousers hung loosely from his thin frame. The mottled skin of his face and balding head reminded the Alcalde of a spoiling corpse. Her dislike of Nunyez bordered on loathing, but she couldn’t deny the man’s competence, nor could she afford to allow personal animus to interfere with their working relationship. As her newly appointed Minister of Intelligence, it would be Nunyez’s task to build a force of special police operatives to provide the Alcalde with her most powerful tool—information.

For several moments, each sat in silent regard of the other.

Lourdessa spoke first. How is he?

The former Alcalde took a severe beating, Dama, Nunyez replied. His peculiar, rasping voice betrayed no emotion. He is badly hurt, but he will live. A doctor is with him now.

Lourdessa allowed herself a moment of relief. Good, she said. He is still my husband, after all.

Nunyez raised one wisp of an eyebrow but said nothing.

Once the doctor clears him, I want Eduard transferred to the Hall of Justice.

There will be a trial, I expect? Otherwise…

Of course, Lourdessa said. The people will receive a full account of my husband’s crimes.

There will be unrest. Many citizens won’t be convinced of his guilt. Nunyez paused, then added, Eduard Hernaan is well-loved.

You sound unconvinced, Señor Nunyez. Lourdessa gazed at her husband’s former security chief through narrowed eyes. Was I mistaken in trusting you? He had been the last to join her cause…

No, Dama Alcalde, the M.O.I. replied. I am pledged to help you however I can.

Lourdessa nodded. She searched Nunyez’s face for any hint of insincerity, but found none. That is very good to hear, Señor. Because I need to be able to trust you.

Nunyez held himself like a coiled serpent at rest; relaxed, yet completely alert and ready to strike. Lourdessa suppressed a shudder. To hide her discomfiture, she made a show of going through a stack of papers on the desk until the feeling passed.

After a few moments of silence, Nunyez asked, What about Eduard’s daughters, Dama?

What about them?

The M.O.I.’s thin lips twitched. Have you thought about how you wish to…handle them?

Lourdessa huffed in annoyance. The rabble love those brats because they’re his, she said. Especially Deanna. Thank the Madre she’s only fourteen! She paused to rein in her escalating ire. It’s going to be hard enough establishing control over this city as it is, she continued in a cooler tone. I need to be seen as the concerned, loving parent, offering protection to two poor girls whose father has not only betrayed the city, but put his own corrupt schemes ahead of his children’s welfare.

Then, perhaps you should consider a public appearance, with the girls by your side? Nunyez suggested.

Not going to happen. Can’t trust the little creatures to behave, now can I? the Alcalde replied, her eyes narrowed in thought. No. But what I can do…is offer the older one a deal.

A deal, Dama? Nunyez raised both eyebrows.

Yes. Last night was the culmination of two years of careful planning. I will not have all my hard work undone by anything or anyone.

What manner of deal, if I may ask?

One that even she can understand will be in her best interest, Lourdessa replied. Send a pair of your men to fetch her here.

Now, Dama? It’s still quite early…

Yes, now! Lourdessa snapped.

Nunyez rose to his feet, nodded once then left the room.

As the door closed behind him, it seemed to Lourdessa that the chamber somehow grew brighter. For a few, heady moments, she felt like a giantess, her feet astride the world, thunderbolts of power crackling in her fists.

The euphoria passed like a fast-moving squall, to be replaced by ruthless determination.

The Alcalde of Nue Bayona, her rule not yet a day old, could not afford to lose focus. She had a city to run.

Deanna was awakened once again by a startling noise— this time, the sound of a fist pounding on wood. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she struggled onto one elbow, and stared, bleary-eyed at the bedroom door. Beside her in bed, curled on her side, Ceilia lay unmoving.

From the chair by the window, Freeda jerked awake with a grunt. What is it? What do you want? the governess called out, her voice tremulous with apprehension. Pulling her thick robe close about her, she rose to her feet and took a pair of halting steps toward the door, then froze as a man’s voice barked a muffled but still discernible command to open up.

What do you want? Freeda repeated. Deanna started to speak but the governess forestalled her with a quick shake of her head and a forefinger pressed to her lips.

We’re here to escort Señorita Deanna Hernaan to the Dama Alcalde’s office, the unseen man said. Now, open up!

Deanna was already out of bed, dressed in robe and slippers before Freeda turned the key in the lock and pulled the door open a crack. It’s still very early, señor, she said to the guard. Surely, the…the Alcalde can see Deanna later this morning?

No, dama, the man replied, his tone firm, but not aggressive. I have my orders. The girl is to come with us now.

Freeda shot Deanna a frightened look.

It’s all right, Freeda. Deanna gave the woman a quick hug. I’m not afraid. I actually want to speak to her, and now is as good a time as any.

You are very brave, child, the governess murmured. She kissed Deanna’s forehead and smoothed her sleep-mussed mahogany locks. I’ll look after your sister, she added, glancing at the bed where Ceilia still lay, her back to the room.

Deanna slipped past the older woman, pulled the door open wide and stepped into the hallway where a pair of green-uniformed palace guards waited.

Before last night, these men would have saluted her.

Neither saluted Deanna this morning, but neither did they glower or make any hostile moves. The one who’d issued the command took her elbow in a gentle grip. Come along, miss, he said. The Alcalde is waiting.

Deanna squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and allowed the guards to lead her away without protest. After a few strides, the one holding her arm released it and both guards fell in on either side of her.

Having grown up within these walls, Deanna knew perfectly well how to reach her father’s office. No. Not Father’s office, she corrected herself. Not anymore. Lourdessa’s dispatch of armed palace guards to escort her was meant to intimidate, pure and simple.

It won’t work, the girl thought.

After several minutes of silent travel through corridors which, even at this early hour should have shown some signs of life, Deanna asked, What has happened to my father? She glanced at the profile of the guard who’d spoken to her.

He turned his head and met her eyes for an instant before looking away; in that one, brief moment, Deanna thought she saw a flash of sympathy. Sorry, miss, but I’m not allowed to talk to you about that, he said. The Alcalde will explain everything, I’m sure.

At a brisk pace, the walk from the residential wing of the palace to the administrative offices took no more than six or seven minutes. As each step brought her closer to confrontation with the woman who’d just ruined her and her sister’s young lives, Deanna’s anger and anxiety mounted.

By the time she and her escort stood in an antechamber before a set of tall, polished wooden double doors, Deanna’s entire body was shaking, her small hands knotted into fists at her sides.

The guard rapped his gloved hand thrice upon the right panel, then turned the ornate brass handle and pushed the door open. Dama Alcalde, Señorita Hernaan is here.

Send her in.

The guard gestured to Deanna. Go on now, girl, he said in a quiet voice. As she stepped past him, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. Deanna threw a startled look at him, but he’d already swung the door shut.

Come here, girl, Lourdessa called.

Deanna turned and gazed across the large room at her stepmother, who now sat behind the big roble desk that only yesterday had been her father’s. For an instant, Deanna swayed with a sudden wave of vertigo, as her brain struggled to process the disorienting sight. The complete and utter wrongness of it made her sick.

Sick with fury.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, then with slow steps approached the desk, stopping when she’d drawn even with the two visitor’s chairs. There, she fixed her stepmother’s face with a defiant stare. At least she hoped it looked defiant. In truth, now that she stood here beneath Lourdessa’s cold, unreadable regard, her righteous anger had withered with fear.

Sit down, child. Lourdessa ordered.

Deanna shook her head in refusal.

As you wish, Lourdessa replied. A brief frown twitched across her red-painted lips. There are a lot of things you and I must discuss. I’d like…

What have you done with my father? Deanna wished her voice had more strength, but at least it didn’t shake. If he’s badly hurt, I swear I’ll make you pay!

Lourdessa let out a gusty sigh and shook her head. Deanna, child…you are in no position to make threats. She picked up a slim-bladed silver letter opener and began twirling it between her fingers. Now, let’s not begin our new relationship on such negative footing. As for Eduard, he’s exactly where he belongs right now. He’s receiving medical care and I promise you he will recover. She paused, then added, I’m very sorry you and Ceilia had to witness your father’s arrest.

Why are you doing this?

It’s far too complicated to explain fully, my dulzor, Lourdessa said. But, sometimes adults must do things that seem terrible to children, but are really necessary in order to stop worse things from happening.

Deanna’s anger, tamped down by fear, suddenly flared to renewed, white hot life.

I’m not a child, Lourdessa! she said, her voice nearing a shout. She might be just fourteen, but she knew condescension when she heard it. Stop talking down to me like I am!

I’d watch my tone if I were you, young lady, Lourdessa replied softly. Just who do you think you’re speaking to?

The perra who hurt my father, Deanna thought.

Lourdessa took her silence for submission; the dangerous gleam in her hazel eyes remained, however. Now, you listen to me, girl. Things have changed in a big way. I’m in charge, not your father, and that’s a fact. The sooner you accept it, the easier life will be for you. You and your sister are still members of the mayoral family, so that part, at least, hasn’t changed.

The new Alcalde scrutinized her stepdaughter’s face for several heartbeats, then continued. I will make you a deal. As long as you and Ceilia stay out of my way, your lives can go on as before. Well, not quite, obviously. You’ll still have the privileges you’ve enjoyed as the Alcalde’s family, with a few minor exceptions. But… She rose from her chair, planted her red-manicured fingers flat on the desk top and leaned forward. If you, or your sister ever cross me, if you ever cause me the slightest trouble, I won’t hesitate to send you both to the Marian Sisters. You’ll live out the rest of your days behind those high, high red walls, dressed all in black, with only the Blessed Yesu for your lover. Do you understand me, girl?

Deanna could only nod. All the fierce, rebellious words she’d planned on screaming into her stepmother’s face had frozen on her tongue. The anger that had burned so bright a moment ago had been snuffed out by her stepmother’s delivered threat.

No, not threat. Promise. Deanna shivered. Never had she felt so alone and helpless. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she held them back through sheer force of will. She’d be damned if she’d let Lourdessa see her cry.

May I go back to my room now? she asked.

Lourdessa resumed her seat and waved a hand in dismissal.

Her entire body numb, Deanna turned and walked back to the door. The two guards who’d escorted her were waiting in the antechamber. Before she crossed the threshold, Deanna paused to look at her stepmother, sitting at her father’s desk like she belonged there. Lourdessa’s attention was focused on a sheaf of papers in her hand, as if the teenaged girl staring at her from the doorway did not merit the slightest consideration.

Deanna wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe and exited the office. The guards came to attention as she slipped through the door. Take me back to my sister, please, she said.

No matter what happened now, Deanna realized that her first duty was to protect Ceilia. Their father had been ripped away from them, and might be gone forever. Something had broken within her little sister, in a way that Deanna did not yet understand.

For now, the teen realized she had no choice but to obey. She was too young to do otherwise. But she wouldn’t always be so.

One day, I will make you pay, Lourdessa, Deanna murmured.

Both guards looked at her, but neither man said anything. The older turned away to hide a little smile on his craggy face.

Six Years Later...

Chapter three

Pursuit

Outskirts of Veyho Bayona, approx. 80 klims SW of Nue Bayona

"M aria’s holy tits ! Monseñor Gabril Ledesme, ever-mindful of the proprieties of his sacred office as a priest of the Holy Church, nevertheless uttered the impious obscenity as a hot needle of pain spiked his temple. Will you demon-spawn ever leave me in peace? He slapped at his silver-frosted hairline, then glared with unholy ferocity at the small, winged attacker crushed against his palm. A venom-induced headache began pounding behind his eyeballs. Damned skeeto !" 

The myriad screeches, grunts, clicks, and whistles of a forest alive with hidden fauna surrounded him. Vegetation cloaked the tumbled ruins of the ancient city with a variegated mantle of green and brown against which daubs of brilliant, floral colors—red, purple, blue, and orange—stood out like jewels in a nest of velvet. Overhead, yellow-breasted doloras rode the thermals in pairs and triads on black, sickle-shaped wings, weaving lazy circular patterns through the cloudless violet sky. 

Nothing of Ledesme’s outward appearance marked his priestly station. Lean and well-muscled as a man twenty years his junior, only the rake of fine lines around his eyes and the scatter of argent strands through sable hair betrayed his maturity. Dressed as he was for heat and hard trekking in tough, lightweight khaki and heavy brown boots, any observer would think him simply another wildcat salvager, scouring the bones of the dead city for useable tech. In truth, that assumption was mostly correct.

Dragging his wide-brimmed leather hat from his aching head, Ledesme dropped to his haunches in the lee of a half-fallen section of glassite wall to rest and aerate his sweat-damp hair. The cool translucent blocks at his back, shielded from hard sunlight by a forest canopy grown lush on spring rains, sent a frisson of pleasure through his overheated body as he leaned against them. 

The kittle kittle cries of wild turquia calling to each other in the surrounding undergrowth mingled with the soft peeps of forest ranas, clinging with suckered feet to the pebbly green trunks of a cluster of boca trees. The delicate scent of corella flowers delighted his nose and the sough of the wind in the leaves overhead  reminded him of the distant murmur of the sea. A pod of wild sky jellies, named for their resemblance to a marine creature of Old Earth, floated above the trees, their gas-filled bodies almost invisible against the firmament. The animals were too distant to pose a threat as they probed the canopy for small prey with their stinger-tipped tentacles. After a score of years spent in scientific exploration and salvage for the Church, Ledesme knew every sight, sound, and smell of this place as intimately as he knew his own skin. 

 Relaxed, he massaged his forehead and watched with delighted interest a rare sight: the boca tree closest to him, less than ten paces away, shuddered, then rose out of the damp soil on roots like a pale clump of thick, squirming serpents. It then began a slow glide, made more amazing by the ponderous beauty of its movement, away from its watcher. A second later, its half-dozen herd mates uprooted themselves and followed in the wake of their leader. Ledesme suspected the creatures—not trees at all, but gentle beasts of flesh and blood evolved to an uncanny resemblance—were making their stately way toward a nearby creek where they could dangle