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WAR

People screamed and shouted. An engine rumbled beneath him. Yevgeny attacked. Dante struggled to wake up. He must wake up. The yelling faded, muffled. He drifted back into the deep sleep.

"He must have nourishment," said a worried woman's voice. "Something. An IV."

"It's better to leave him. Let his natural needs wake him up," said someone else. Luke?

"Have you ever known anyone to sleep so long?"

"No. But I've never known anyone to do what he did either."

"Well."

"Give him the broth." Luke sounded worn down and worn out.

A metal spoon jarred his teeth. Liquid caught in Dante's dry throat He coughed and choked, floundering in his sleep. He must wake up.

"Turn him on his side, for Gaia's sake," said Luke and hands pushed at Dante's back. He drifted back into the deep.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scratching and hissing against glass. Dante opened his eyes. Sleet and a bare branch scraped at a window. A barred dirty window shutting out a dull grey sky.

"No." His voice came out a barely whispered croak , no magic in it. His head throbbed. They had stopped up his powers. Thirst, hunger, pain. The old companions. Yevgeny. Had Yevgeny won?

Dante remembered destroying the ships. The window rattled. He shivered, dragging the scratchy blankets and a patchwork quilt close around his naked body. This betrayal came from the other side.

He searched his mind for the familiar feel of the hita. Nothing. Only empty loneliness. All the promises and all of them dead. They had trusted him. No grief. He narrowed his eyes. Hard cold revenge.

Torture him? Mess with his head to make him the obedient transpo? Let them try. The first time they released his magic, he would destroy them all.

Dante rolled onto his back and stared at the white ceiling. Tipping back his head he could just see a greenwood Ankh of Gaia on the white wall above the bed. The wall to his right had a tightly shut black steel door and a dull metal handle. A half opened door beyond the end of his bed revealed a small bathroom.

He moved a leg and realized they had not chained him. A point for him. Dante rolled out of bed. and immediately crumpled to the floor in a wave of nausea, whacking his stump on the metal bed frame. He gasped at the wave of pain and curled into a moaning ball.

Must pull himself together. First the bathroom and see to his physical needs, then check for any loose bars or a way to get the door open. He crawled to toilet. A trickle came out, he was dehydrated. Dante defiantly gulped water from the faucet in the sink. Water belonged to Gaia not Them. The old familiar ache of his starving stomach, he ignored. Enough water was the key. He took a washcloth from the rack, placed it under the icy stream, wrung it out and held it against his throbbing stump and temples.

Dante lurched to the window, grabbed the bars and twisted. They stayed solidly in the cement sill. He shook them in frustration. The world turned red for a moment and he leaned against the wall, faint and gasping. Outside, the sleet had turned to hard bits of snow, swirling across a plaza to a line of blackened foundations and a ruined wall. Beyond, a mixture of broken and whole buildings ran down a steep hill to a sea as grey as the sky.

Dante stumbled to the cell door and examined the handle. Long and smooth, at a right angle to the door. No lock to pick. He pulled the handle down. The door opened with a soft click. Dante almost laughed out loud. Thank you Gaia. Some fool had forgotten to lock the door.

He eased it open a crack and found a green carpeted hall on the other side. Far away voices. To his right, a guard at attention shuffled a foot. Dante snapped an arm around the soldier's neck, hauled him into the room and punched the look of surprise from his face. The jailer lay still on the floor. Dante smirked and flexed his arm. He had more than magic at his disposal. A wave of nausea engulfed him. He must escape and find some food.

Dante shivered. His teeth chattered. He dragged the quilt from the bed and pulled it over his shoulders, hiding his stump and back. Once out of this place, he must find some clothing to blend in as a refugee on his way out of the city. All he needed was to make it to the closest forest, then survive for the months or years until his magic overcame this new net. He thought for a moment about finding Luke and getting him to take it out then remembered the voice in his half-awake dreams. Death or betrayal. Only depend on yourself.

Dante slipped out of the cell then realized he had forgotten to take the guard's gun. He tried the door and grimaced. It had locked behind him.

A rough whitewashed hall lined with the black doors, ran to the right and left. He turned right and came to a landing with stairs. Peeking over, he saw two guards chatting at the bottom. The source of the voices. Dante backed away and fled back down the hall, hoping to find servant's stairs. His luck held. A small opening at the other end led to circular wooden stairs worn in the middle by the feet of countless slaves.

He slipped down, past the opening at the end of the large reception area where the guards talked. An aroma of cooking assaulted his nostrils. He headed towards the kitchen. Roasting meat, gravy, bread, pungent herbs and vegetables. His stomach clenched then the world wavered. He stumbled over the last few steps and crumpled on the limestone floor of a small vestibule. His knees and forearms stung. An icy breeze rattled through an outside door. Dante shuddered.

Through the opening on the far side of the entryway loomed a huge empty kitchen. Strains of music, talking, laughter then a cheer wafted from an unseen dining room beyond. Someone called for quiet then started a speech. Trevor in his moment of glory, no doubt. Dante tried not to think about how much he had liked it when the men cheered his decision to become Mage. How the nobles and rebels must have laughed behind his back. How many of the men were slaves again? Or dead. Because of him and his pride in his magic.

Spread out before him were half empty platters of lamb and lizard, buns, nan, mashed potato, parsnips, greens, rice casseroles, beans, poi, sauces of red and white and orange, a nearly empty gravy boat. On a far table sat a huge pastry swan, it's feathers dipped in chocolate, cream and berries whipped up over its back. Mesmerized, Dante stepped into the kitchen and up to the table. He grabbed a crispy leg of lamb and bit into it. Rich meat, O Gaia. Juice ran down his beard. He tore into it. A pitcher of milk stood on the side. He drank from the lip then took another bite.

"How did you get in here?" asked a trembling voice.

He glanced up to see a young nun standing at the other side of the table. Dante dropped the lamb and turned to the door to freedom. A guard appeared on the stairs, ran down the rest of the way and stood staring at him from the vestibule. Trapped by his own stupidity. Dante backed up against the counter.

"Oh, through the kitchen door," she said. "You were welcome to come in the front. When some of the nobles refused to come to the feast, Bishop Francis threw the cathedral doors open to everyone, but especially the poor and refugees and the homeless. Said the Mage would want it. You didn't have to come begging and stealing at the back. All are welcome to the victory feast of Gaia." Dante wiped his mouth with an edge of the quilt and shook his head. She averted her eyes. "Everyone gets a new suit. You look like you could use some."

Dante reddened and pulled the coverlet together."They took my clothes."

A crowd of nuns and cooks and servants, all women, crowded through the dinning room door, laughing and talking. They stopped and stared, falling into silence.

"Get the Bishop and the Baba and Lord Jerome. The Mage has awoken," said a cook. A half-memory of Martha. The woman knelt A nun scuttled back through the door. The others curtsied.

The chef rose, lifted over a kitchen chair and placed it in front of the table. "Sit down Excellency. How'd you scrape yourself like that? It must hurt." She sent a glare at the guard.

Dante flopped into the seat, faint again. A cold gust rattled the kitchen door. He stared at the forbidden bowls of food and shook.

"Give up, give in, sit quiet and proper," whispered the slave voice in his head. "She showed a little concern, moved the chair. A small kindness. She might feed you a bit before they take you away."

"Let me have the honour of serving you," said the cook. She bustled about, filling a plate with all kinds of good things. "Welcome to Our Lady's Cathedral of Botany." She cleared a spot at the table. "Though what a welcome." She turned to the stunned young nun. " Stop gawking Sister Katherine and get the Mage some Special Lemon. It's his favourite. You wouldn't want him to think we're not hospitable." She opened a steel cauldron big as a bass drum, ladled a cream soup into a bowl, sprinkled some parsley and placed it down. The young nun slid a glass of drink towards him.

Dante took the spoon the cook handed him and sipped. Best soup he had ever tasted. He attacked, tearing off chunks of a warm roll to munch between swallows of broth and gulps of Special Lemon. A warm glow grew in his stomach. It moved out along his stump. He flexed weak, invisible fingers. Not phantom, a little magic. He smirked. An iron net could not hold him. Dante speared a piece of roast potato from the plate of food.

Faint but happy and worried pictures washed through his mind. Friend. Alive! Dante looked up. The hita and a bunch of humans, Jerome and Baba among them, crowded into the kitchen. Trunks snaked round him. Snouts petted. They were alive. In answer to his question, they showed the hita deep in the caves as surviving the rock slide, though twenty had died. He would have jumped up and hugged them but he couldn't stop clearing his plate.

Jerome said, "Dan, you've got blood down your arms. What's going on here?"

"I tripped down the stairs," said Dante through his full mouth. "Just some scrapes."

"What the Hell! How did the Mage get down here like this? You just let him fall? Where's his clothes?" shouted Jerome.

"Max, I mean Private Owens has disappeared," stuttered the guard. "I came down here looking for him."

"You left the Mage alone?" The sound of a blow. Dante turned and saw the guard holding his face.

"Sergeant Terrance is guarding the Mage's room," The man sounded bewildered. " The door's locked and there are wizards' wards all over the room. I don't understand how the Mage got down here."

"Get your commanding officer," said Jerome. "If His Excellency could get down here, an assassin could have gotten up."

"That cherry?" asked Dante, pointing his fork at a pie.

"Yes," said the cook. She cut a large piece and put it on a dish. "Would you like ice cream on it?"

"Ice cream?" The memory of cranking the maker for Martha flashed through his mind. "I'd forgotten about ice cream."

"Vanilla only. The war you know."

"That's fine."

An assistant rushed a tub over to the table and the cook dug scoop after scoop out and into the dish. A wave of amusement came from the hita as they showed him eating bowl after bowl of food. Dante showed an image of all of them dead.Friend snuffled its other snout through his hair as it showed him slumped on the floor by the crystal. They had thought him dead. He held up his stump for Friend to wind its trunk around his arm and sent it a wave of sadness over the death of Blueberry. Tears ran down his stump as it showed him another egg. Always another chick.

Dante sent a wave of regret. "Not the same."

"No, not the same," sent Friend.

Dante dug into his pie. Friend snaked a curious trunk into the ice cream and whipped it out with a wave of icy surprise. Dante laughed and realized everyone stared at him. He pulled the quilt closer around him. A nun appeared and knelt beside him with a bowl of warm water, a wash cloth, soap and salve.

"Never mind about that. The Mage can be cleaned up in his bath," said Jerome. "Presumptuous of me but I assume you'll want to be dressed to meet your people." He grinned.

He was still the Mage? Things tumbled into place. Dante said with a grimace, "I might have killed the man guarding my room."

"He tried to assassinate you? Damn, I should never have left you alone. Even for the few minutes thanks from the Bishop," said Luke.

"No. I thought. The bars on the window . . . " said Dante. "See to him."

The guard, Luke, and Baba ran up the stairs.

"Can I get you anything else?" asked the cook removing his empty dish.

"I would like some clothes," said Dante. "and that bath."

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Luke pulled up the sleeve of the warmed bath robe and examined Dante's arm. "Like all scrapes, these cleaned up nicely in the bath. They looked worse than they were. You've given your stump a nasty bruise." Friend, crouching beside Dante's wooden bench, agreed.

Dante shrugged. He stared at the blue and gold religious mosaics of stylized bathing nymphs and angels that surrounded the steaming bath. All those naked nuns bathing together. Quite a thought. Though he was the only occupant today.

"Need to dance more," imaged Friend.

"Been in the jungle too long," Dante agreed. He said aloud to Luke, " How's the guard?"

"He'll live. With a crooked nose," said Luke. He rubbed a salve over the wounds. "No wonder you were confused. You slept for three days. It was like a strange state funeral, the way Trevor had you driven through the streets of Botany to the cathedral in a glass coffin. Him right in front, of course. The crowds cheering, going wild." Luke shook his head. "Felt wrong to me. Wasn't sure if you'd ever wake up. I was getting ready to give you an I.V."

Dante silently cursed Trevor. He asked, "Yevgeny?"

"Escaped with a few nobles and imperial guard as the city fell. Pretty small ship, they'll have an uncomfortable few months back to the Old World.."

"He should be brought to account."

"I'm sure your father will have a few things to say to him for losing a planet," said Luke with a smile. "Dedalus says the old man's not above using his cane on a grown son."

"What's Trevor up to?"

"Working hard creating a parliament, networking with the sympathetic nobles. He's anxious to meet with you."

"I bet he is."

"There's been a bunch of executions and vigilante revenges, the soldiers have been busy restoring order. The nuns are overwhelmed with the relief for the displaced and refugees. Most of the factories have ground to a halt. A lot of free slaves milling about. Trevor wants to give them land grants. Everyone's waiting for The Bodhisatva to awake."

Dante placed a hand on Friend's trunk."Who's land? The Hita? I don't trust Trevor,"

"Neither do I," said Luke. "If things don't go his way, and nothing can go your way all the time, he will become a dictator. You a powerless puppet. He's said that the absolute power of the Mage, except over the religious, should be taken away. But he hasn't said what will replace it."

Dante frowned. "Absolute power corrupts."

"So you've done a bit of reading."

"What I could find. The hermit left a book called The Prince that was interesting."

"You can have some good advisors. Bishop Francis, John Sweet, Jerome, Dedalus. Make up with your mother, she knows such a lot."

"You?"

"I'd be honoured. And if I may give my first advice. There are some Imperial Guards who want to give you their loyalty. Either refused to go or left behind by Yevgeny. Transpos who committed atrocities and received a good soldier's living from it."

Dante looked puzzled. "A soldier's living?"

"Plunder, rape. Also well appointed barracks. Carousing, gambling and womanizing. "

"The rebel soldiers don't do that. They're disciplined."

"General Evans assessed the guards. Most are going to a monastery set up by the Merciful Brothers. For healing circles, re-education. Then you can decide which ones if any you want to serve you. The others need a trial and execution, they're too well known as torturers and criminals."

"The nobles who refused to turn up for the dinner," said Dante. "I want them on a ship to the Old World. Their lands can be used for the grants."

Surprise crossed Luke's face. "How'd you know that?"

Dante said nothing, trying out an enigmatic face.

"I don't think we're going to have to worry too much about you," said Luke, finishing with the cream. "You could have a problem. People will say they waited for you to awake, that they only want to deal with you. Or that they weren't given their invitation soon enough. And on and on. There are other ways to assure loyalty. And the areas owned by the companies mustn't be forgotten. Not that we shouldn't take note of those who didn't come."

"True," said Dante.

"Can I speak about the trainers, the captured ones and the ones from the transpo re-education center?."

Dante pulled the bath robe closer around him."What do you mean, re-educating?"

"No. Not what you think," said Luke. "The healing circles are therapy and talking. Working at overcoming the fear of the rod. Strategies for freedom. Working on restitution. Totally voluntary."

"Except if they say no."

"That's only the Imperial Guard. Special cases. Jerome's going for a few weeks after things calm down, he says." Luke gave Dante an expectant look.

Dante stood and strode out of the room. "Where's my clothes?"

Luke ambled up behind him. "All of the trainers are being executed. What are you going to do about the one you saved from the rebels?"

Dante took a gold robe and undergarments from an overwhelmed young monk and pulled them on. "Do you know anything about the Lord of Malhut?"

"The Lord of Malhut. An ally of the Yagas. Controlled a third of the planet before the Mage brought him down. He ruled well. Was bringing in some democratic changes."

"Mick was bodyguard and valet to him. Forced between transpo and trainer. I want proper trials for the trainers. We're not Yevgeny. I'm not backing off."

"It's good to bring it all out in the open ," said Luke.

Fine leather shoes sat beside a bench. His feet felt confined as the boy tied them. The monk helped him into a purple mantle then held out a circlet of beaten gold.

"What's this? I'm not crowned yet," said Dante.

"You are a prince," said Luke. He took the circlet from the monk's shaking hands. "Let me. Your attendant is entirely too nervous."

Luke placed it on his head. Dante straightened. In a full length mirror, a handsome noble with newly trimmed beard and hair stared back at him. Not a scar showed. He reached out to touch the stranger. The grey ermine end of one sleeve folded over nothing. The monk displayed a pair of thin brown leather gloves. Dante pulled them on. Light, almost skin. No not hita skin, he imaged to Friend.. The noble in the mirror had two normal hands. He smiled at the religious. "Thank you." The monk reddened with pleasure.

"Are they taking good care of Mick?" Dante asked Luke.

"No one would dare do otherwise. He's in a well appointed cell. Asked for a recorder. He's dictating his memoirs. Wonders if he could live long enough to finish it. We deferred to you."

"He will have to go to trial like the rest, but I would prefer him go through your re-educaton rather than executed. He's a slave. Bought by Correctional Services after his Lord was killed. There must be others like him. Torture or be tortured. There for the grace of Gaia . . ." He sighed "Not that being a slave is an excuse for atrocities."

"Your people are waiting for you," said Luke.

They walked out of the baths, down a plain hall through an arch to the open vestibule Dante had seen from the balcony. Two guards opened the ornately carved wooden doors.

Huge white stone walls soared up to a ceiling hung with fresh hangings and green branches. In the middle of the crowded circle of guests, on her pedestal, stood Gaia surveying her worshippers and listening to the choir. Nothing like the real Gaia. A lovely representation of God. But only a representation.

In front of her sat an empty throne. Red carpeted stairs then aisle lead from it to the door. To him. Trevor, Jerome, Baba, the Generals, Dedalus, the Queen, nobles he didn't know, sat on a dias on either side of the chair. Beatrice sat on a smaller throne beside it. She sent him a shy smile. He remembered. Soon he would have his own beautiful nymph, to love and cherish. He gave a small grin. To have sex with. No more lonely Adonis nights.

The choir stopped. The room went quiet. Everyone, prince and pauper, turned and stared at him then everyone knelt. He liked it.

He stepped onto the carpet. Gaia, don't let this go to my head. The slight china smile on her porcelain face seemed to say that she wouldn't. Dante paced up the aisle and mounted the stairs to stand in front of the throne. He turned to face the people.

"Please rise," he said.

The crowd roared to their feet. Clapping and cheering, they wouldn't stop.

After a few minutes, Trevor moved up beside him and motioned for them to end so he could speak. They ignored him.

Dante raised a hand and the crowd quieted. Take that Trevor.

"Thank you," he said.

"Thank YOU!" someone shouted and agreement thundered.

Suddenly Dante realized that he stood in front of a huge number of people hanging onto his every word. Cameras whirred at the edges of the podium. Millions of people watched. He had no speech. He couldn't think what to say. What if he didn't speak loud enough? What if he couldn't speak at all? Dante swallowed, panic rising.

Baba moved up to his other side. "Are you all right?" she whispered. He stood frozen. The mob fell quiet. It was all falling apart."Pick two or three people on different sides of the room and tell them what's in your heart." She took a small microphone from her collar and fastened it on him.

Dante remembered Luke's words. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "I'm fine now." Tears stood in her eyes. The crowd erupted again.

He picked out Jamie to one side of the cathedral, the noblewoman whose sister had died on the other, one of Trevor's transpos in the center. He was scared. But what was courage but doing what you were most afraid of? Might as well go all the way. Time to face it. He took a deep breath.

Pain, terror, grief
Abomination of God.
Come to me
damned rod.

A correction rod materialized, held straight between his hands. Gasps from the room and the dias. He shuddered, the heraldic shield on the side told him it belonged to Yevgeny, his master.

"No more!" Dante broke the rod over his knee and dashed it to the ground in a shower of sparks. "Justice and freedom."

Dante sat down on the throne.