Ashes of Andromeda (The Last Archide Book 3)

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Ashes of Andromeda

  Dedication

  Until Death

  Between Life and Death

  Captivity and Freedom

  Respite

  Home

  Destiny

  Posturing

  Facing the Demons

  Sicari

  Time to Act

  The Light that Shines in the Dark

  Mr. Books

  Family

  The Makers of Chaos

  Called and Qualified

  Archides, Agryphim and the War

  Enemies from Within

  The Balance of Power

  Out of Time

  Parting

  Also by Chad R. Odom

  About the Author

  The Last Archide

  Copyright © 2018 by Chad R. Odom.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced in any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues, in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is completely coincidental.

  Cover design by Ampersand Virtual

  To the man strong enough to share the truth and the man with the courage to accept it.

  Until Death

  Her heart pounded in her ears. Each beat sent a rush of adrenaline into her whole body. Her fingertips throbbed against Asher’s skin as she touched his arm, reassuring her that she was still between him and the guards.

  The day the Paladin arrived at her door, she knew she was in trouble. She didn’t know what she’d done or why they didn’t kill her, but they’d sedated them both. When they awakened, they’d found themselves in a Slave Quarter with no explanation as to why they were there. The captain of the guard hadn’t even known their names. He’d assigned them a number and sent them to their new residence with the rest of the slaves.

  Celeste remembered what Oryan told her about life in a Quarter. It sounded appalling, but her experience with this one was far worse than anything he’d described. The guards were a long way from a chain of command that might care about the treatment of slaves. They’d fixed their depraved gaze on her from the moment she arrived.

  The rape attempts started one guard at a time. They would corner her, slobbering drunk and looking to have fun at her expense. They woke up the next day in the infirmary. Then, they came in pairs with the same result. The last time they tried it, Asher was also put in harm’s way, and she showed them what she was capable of. Celeste didn’t think she’d killed them, but she didn’t see them anywhere after the altercation. For a while, the attempts stopped. Tonight, however, there were five.

  As she had done several times in the past, Celeste had taken Asher out for a walk, defying the camp curfew, to see the stars. She thought she had been clever, but apparently someone had been watching her. They cornered her but they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted. So, the best Centauri in the female circuit went to work.

  Her first attacker—either because this was his first time or because he was too drunk to think straight—learned the hard way she was anything but helpless or willing. Knowing the peril her son was in, Celeste moved to kill him before the second assailant pulled her off by the hair.

  She struggled free, but the second guard was much smarter than his friend. He kept his distance and let the three remaining join him in the conquest. She faced the four of them, constantly keeping herself between them and Asher.

  “Run,” she pleaded to her son, but Asher hesitated. The four guards moved in, fueled by alcohol, revenge, and the promise of sex.

  “Run!” she said again through gritted teeth.

  She backed up as they continued to press her. Her eyes darted from man to man, trying to keep all of them in focus at once. Finally, one of them moved in for the prize.

  “Run!” she screamed as she let go of Asher and prepared to fight. Asher finally did as he was told, sprinting toward the homes in the Quarter for shelter.

  Two more guards joined their charging comrade. She grappled with the first only to be yanked backward by the second.

  “Get the kid!” she heard one of them yell. She brought her foot up, finding the crotch of the first guard. He howled in pain and dropped to his knees. She bit the arm of another guard and tore flesh from it. Despite the pain, the man held her fast. A third guard had her by the waist and another grappled for control of her legs.

  She threw her head backward, catching the guard on the nose. A crack sounded through the air, and blood trickled down her scalp. He screamed and his arms fell free. She dodged blows from multiple assailants, and the few that landed didn’t inflict too much damage. Celeste threw punches and kicks with precision but desperation. When they finally subdued her, there wasn’t a guard left unscathed.

  “Get up and get that kid!” one of them bellowed. “He’ll wake up the whole place!”

  Her first attacker wobbled to his feet and slowly trotted in pursuit of Asher. Celeste scrambled to free a limb. She got a hand free and dug it into the eye of the first man she could find. He screamed in pain, and she had both hands free. Another guard loosened his grip, and it was just the break she needed to get her legs free as well. She shook free and tried to get to Asher.

  She was tackled to the ground and hit on the back of the head. Her vision blurred, her pounding heart most keenly in the wound beneath her hair. She tried to recover, but there was no amount of adrenaline that could overcome her swimming head and the weight of the guard sitting on her back and pinning her arms. Her wrist snapped beneath his malicious hold.

  Another blow to her head rocked her, and fuzzy expletives from the guard who’d kicked her reached her ears. He kicked her again before the last remaining guard stopped him.

  “She’s not going anywhere. Don’t ruin this for the rest of us!”

  The cloth of her pants left her body only to be replaced by rough hands. She struggled against the groping, but couldn’t find the strength. In the distance, the sound of belt buckles tinkled and heavy material flopped to the ground.

  “Lose something?” a calm and sober voice asked.

  Her three attackers froze, and the crushing weight on her back disappeared. Much needed oxygen flowed deeply into her lungs.

  An eerie silence permeated the air. Her eyelids fluttered, and she pushed herself to her knees. A flashlight nearly blinded her in the darkness. Beyond it was an officer who treated slaves with a mild contempt at best and sheer hatred at worst. A look of disgust and aggravation was on his face. In one hand, he held the light. In the other, he held Asher fast to his side.

  The man sent to find Asher came trotting up but stopped short. At first, he tried to back away, but an angry command from their superior held him fast.

  “You know what I have to do at this point?” the officer asked. His question was met with more silence.

  “No matter what, I have to file a report, since, from the looks of it, you’re all stupid enough to get injured. However, I believe, even in the Quarter, the attempted rape of an inmate means jail time.”

  “You’re going to protect this slut over us?” one of the guards protested.

  “Who do you think you’re speaking to?” he barked. “Question me again, and I’ll see to it the only rape you’re a part of, is the
man in your cell block! You’ve made me miss my sleep. And I love my sleep. All so you could get yourselves off on some slave whore.”

  He sighed as if settling his temper and making a choice. “I want to go back to bed. The only way this winds up okay for you, and allows me to sleep, is if you were injured trying to stop an inmate from escaping.”

  She and Asher were both dead. She closed her lips tightly, breathing heavily through her nose. Helpless nausea rose in her stomach as she desperately looked for an escape that she already knew was impossible.

  The officer grabbed Asher by the back of his neck and escorted him to his mother’s side. Asher hugged his mother. Pain shot through her body, but she returned the embrace as tears streamed down her face. The officer left.

  “Do it fast!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  The guard with the wounded eye sneered as he removed his pistol and grinned at Celeste.

  “I love you, baby!” she whispered to Asher.

  Unaware of what was about to happen but scared from the trauma of the night, Asher replied lovingly to his mother, “Love you, too, Mommy.”

  “Shut your eyes, son. Don’t look.” She shut her own, squeezing her son for the last time. Deep sorrow filled her heart for the boy who would never grow up and the man who would never know he existed. A sob rose from her chest as the guard leveled the pistol at her head.

  “I love you!” she reassured her baby boy one last time.

  A crack slashed through the air like thunder, but it was no gun shot. The guards began to curse and scramble, shuffling around in disarray. The one closest to her held the pistol at her head, but was no longer looking at her. Like everyone else, he was looking for the origin of the noise that shook the Quarter.

  Celeste could hear the shouts of slaves and gun shots. Smoke was rising and the growing fire gradually lit the Quarter.

  “Come on!” a guard’s voice shouted from the direction of the chaos. “We’re being attacked!”

  The guard looked at Celeste and then at Asher. Sweat poured down his face. She locked eyes with him and shook her head as tears streamed down her cheek.

  “No,” she said quietly, but strongly. “You don’t have to do this. He’s just a little boy.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said before hitting her over the head with the butt of his pistol. Asher screamed and hugged her as she slumped to the ground. Blackness closed in on her. Asher was in her face, crying and screaming for her. The guard’s feet fell hard against the ground for a few paces, followed by a guttural scream. In the remaining minutes of her consciousness, an angel in white lifted Asher from her while another set of hands picked up her broken body.

  Between Life and Death

  In Oryan’s world there was only blackness. He didn’t know how long it had been, maybe years had passed. His life had played before him as if it were for his own torture. He recalled each decision, good or ill, and he watched as each shaped his fortunes.

  Faces of the boys from the Quarter haunted his feverish dream. Then he saw the contorted face of Agrion and then the hundreds who died by his hand since that day. He saw the twisted faces of Halgren and his cohorts as he had tortured and eventually killed them.

  He could nearly feel the pulse of the Captain swiftly ebb away as he stole the life from its body. Oryan could feel the panic and pain even that wretch felt in its dying moments. Would this be the last memory he would ever have? Not Oryan the hero. Not the undefeated Centauri or the Warlord of Navarus. Not even the man who won the heart of the most beautiful woman ever to live. He would always be Oryan the murderer.

  He opened his eyes to a brilliant white light. As they adjusted, he found himself staring into an open ceiling rimmed with stones. Vines with sweet-smelling blue flowers hung from the corners, making a truly beautiful scene. He lay on his back on a soft sofa. He took in the stone courtyard he was in the middle of. Six elegant columns made of strong, polished marble supported the ceiling. The same blue-flowered vines clung to them. Between the columns was open space that led to stairs from there into green grass and freedom.

  Oryan sat up slowly. His white hair fell loosely about his neck and shoulders. He was dressed in a dark green, single piece garment that began at his neck and flowed down, ending just above his shins. There was a leather belt at his waist that, along with a few golden buttons down the front, held the garment closed. He wore dark pants underneath but nothing on his feet. There was a ring on his finger he could not identify, yet it seemed strangely familiar.

  He couldn’t recall this place in any of his travels, but it was anything but foreign to him. Somehow, he felt perfectly at home. He gently swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and placed his bare feet on the stone floor.

  What paradise had he found himself in? As he continued to soak in the tranquil scene before him, he came to two conclusions: he was not dead and this was not heaven. The solace was only a temporary respite from the turmoil he had suffered in his fevered state. His heart sank.

  “You don’t look well, my son.”

  He rose to see the man he longed to see for a lifetime. Armay stood in one of the openings to the courtyard where he lay. He was a symbol of perfection in both form and feature. His clothing was similar to Oryan’s, though a simple golden crown was laid across his brow. To his great relief, Armay had been restored to his proper frame. All the scars, stress, and worry from his mortal life had been erased.

  Oryan obeyed his first impulse and ran to his father. Joy and elation overrode every adult reserve he had developed through the years. However, as he neared him, he fell under the loving gaze of the man he had lost, and shame outweighed his joy. He slowed to a walk several feet away from his father. There was love in Armay’s eyes, but Oryan could no longer bear to look. His final few steps were the most difficult he had ever taken, and when he was inches away, he fell to his knees and wept at his father’s feet.

  “I’m sorry! So sorry!” he sobbed through bitter tears. “I love you! I love you, and I’m so sorry!” There were a thousand things he wanted to say. A million words of joy and admiration. Of thanks for all the things he taught and thousands more for the regret he felt in not having taken from Armay the things he should have learned. Now, when he had the chance to say all of it, he could only beg for forgiveness.

  There was no strength left in Oryan. Where he had once knelt, he now lay prostrate on the ground. His face pressed against the stone, his cheeks red and eyes bloodshot as tears streamed from them, pooling on the floor. Whimpers fell from his lips. He hated everything about himself. He had to die, if for no other reason than to end the pain of living.

  A hand brushed his face, caressing his cheeks and clearing the newly forming tears with the gentle touch of a parent. Love was in that gesture, yet for Oryan, each finger stung him, and he wept more bitterly. He forced his eyes open, trying to see Armay through the pain, but as the tears were brushed away he did not see the face of his father.

  A woman knelt beside him. She continued to brush her delicate fingers across his face. With rose-petal fingertips, she moved the matted white hair from in front of his eyes and back behind his ear. There were tears on her face as well, but her blue eyes alone told the story of her strength and compassion. Those eyes pierced him and reached for him, drawing him back from the precipice he stood on.

  “Mom…?” The acknowledgement confused him more. “Why am I here?”

  “You chose to be,” she replied.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No. Not yet,” said Armay.

  His mother extended a hand to him, her bright smile encouraging him to take it. She grasped his hand firmly, yet with all the tenderness of a parent, and almost effortlessly she drew him to his feet.

  Armay was strong. He was physically strong because he had to be. He was emotionally strong for his son. But there was always something missing in his eyes, and now Oryan knew what that was. Armay had described her beauty and her depth of soul. He had told him the only thing greater than her perfe
ct smile was her golden heart. It was only now, when he stood so close to her, that he understood.

  She laced her arm in his, left the canopy of stone, the hanging vines, the pleasant shade of the courtyard, and entered the open air. They walked together in silence until both stopped and faced him. The breeze struck his face, carrying the faint scent of salt from the sea. Each blade of cool grass bent gently under his weight. The sun’s rays warmed their faces and gave life to their bodies. It was rejuvenating and refreshing, yet for all the majesty around them, Oryan’s face remained grim.

  “What happened, Oryan?” Armay asked. “When did you become so lost?”

  “When I lost you. The day I left the Quarter. The day of the fight.”

  “When you left, I didn’t want to see my little boy again. I wanted to see the man he would become. I never had that chance, but I see so much of the boy I knew in the man before me.”

  “I did what I had to do, Dad. I had to survive and to make things right.”

  “Who could have possibly hurt you enough to make you do the things you’ve done?”

  Tears of both anger and guilt lined Oryan’s eyes. “How can you ask me that? They took you from me! They took her from you! They robbed me of every chance I could’ve had at a normal life! There’s a reason we’re speaking like this.”

  “You feel the men you killed chose their own fate? You feel that your actions were the result of one great chain of events that led you inexorably to the where you are now? Do you feel your actions are justified?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did their deaths make the pain subside?”

  “My anger replaced my pain. Since Halgren, my guilt outweighs them both.”

  “Did you expect something different?”

  “I had to because the rest of the world turned a blind eye to us. I had to make things right.”

  “For who? Yourself?”

  “For you! For us! For the family that could’ve been!”