Empires of Flux & Anchor

automatic weapons fire from the others into the ceiling of the church quieted them quickly.

“Now, everybody just sit down and shut up and nobody else has to get hurt. Anybody who makes a move, looks funny at any of us, or causes any trouble at all will join the Sister there. I won’t make any more warnings. Clear?”

It was clear. The congregation sat almost like statues, although there was some sobbing. Spirit, sitting near the center, was as shocked and horrified at the violence as any of them, but even now she had no idea what it was all about. All she could think of was how completely mad these people must be to pull this in the early morning in the middle of Anchor Logh. Where could they run?

She was startled out of her thoughts when the man said, “You, there! Spirit! Stand up!”

For a moment she did nothing but look up, but the sight of the blood-soaked altar broke through her shock. “Who? Me?” she managed.

“Yes. Walk carefully out to the aisle and to the back of the church. Don’t do anything funny, just move— now.”

The tone was unmistakable, and she did as instructed. She realized now that these were the very people she’d been warned about, but she hadn’t expected anything this fast, and certainly not in church on Holy Day. The sheer casualness of the violence was also somehow beyond any evil she had previously imagined.

“All right, folks, just relax. That’s all there is to it, except for some business. Now, my name’s Coydt, to answer your late priestess’s question, and I’m one of those terrible Seven she kept warning you about.” There were gasps at this, and he grinned, obviously enjoying his power. “Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you that, but there’s a good reason. You see, your Saint Kasdi out there in her temple fortress had a daughter, and while they went to great lengths to fake that baby’s death, it was a lie. Your great Kasdi lies. Me, I tell the truth. That says something about the two of us. That girl we just took out the back is her grown-up daughter.”

There were more gasps and murmurings at this. Many there had known Spirit since she was a baby.

“Check it out with her Mama—the real one or the one she was abandoned to ’cause it’s tough to be a saint when saddled with a brat. Now you understand what’s going on here, but don’t be scared. If your scared tin saint got rid of her daughter once, well, she’s not about to surrender the Church or give us Anchor Logh or anything like that. It is a kidnapping, though, and there’s a price, so you hustle on in to the temple in the capital and tell ’em Coydt will be in touch when he feels like it, and that she won’t be harmed so long as nobody tries to free her or hurts me or my agents in this business. Now, aside from all the folks you’ve seen, outside covering the exits are two others you never saw. If you stay here for one hour, you’ll never see them or us. Anybody who goes out before the hour will be killed. It’s that simple. So sit and relax here, and maybe discuss why the hell if your goddess is really up in the sky like that, she allows me to do shit like this down here. Bye now.”

With that, Coydt walked briskly up the aisle and out the door, followed in professional order, front to back, by the others. The door slammed behind them.

For a moment, nobody moved, then several rushed forward, jumped the altar rail, and pulled the remains of the smashed altar off the bloody body of their priestess. There was little they could do, though; a caliber that big blew a huge hole going in but an even bigger one coming out her back, and she had most certainly died instantly.

Suddenly the place was bedlam, but nobody went immediately for the doors. This was the early service, but the Vice President of the Commune Council was there and, looking pretty shaken himself, he nonetheless tried to get some order and organization. His name was Miklos Ransom, and he was well aware that his career as a professional politician was at stake here.

“All right!” he thundered. “Settle down! First things first! Now, nobody go sticking their head out the door yet!” He looked around. “Anybody here from Spirit’s immediate family?”

They all looked, but there was no one. Spirit had been having some problems sleeping the past few days and she’d been up and about long before the usual family gathering. They would not be in until next scheduled service in two hours—a rather unlikely event at this stage. She had come alone, mostly to think, and that, at least, had probably saved the lives of her foster family, who would not have let her go easily.

“O.K. Now, I’ve been thinking this out. There may be nobody out there, but I wouldn’t bet anyone’s life on it.”

“I’ll chance it,” one burly farmer growled, and several more voiced assent. “If I can get help fast enough, we can watch those people swing by their necks!”

“No! There’s a better way!” Ransom shouted back. “You—Zida! You’re the bell ringer. Get back there and ring it for all it’s worth. Give the emergency alarm! Don’t stop ringing for anything. That’ll bring a lot of folks running. Whoever’s out there won’t chance shooting people coming here, or they’ll never get away. They’ll run when they figure what we’re doing. Give it ten minutes of steady ringing, and then we’ll chance somebody making a run for it.”

The bell ringer scurried through the sacristy and back to the tower loft as quickly as possible.

Ransom looked around. There were three exits, the main one and two forward that were mainly fire exits. “Quickly—before the bells drown me out. I want one of you volunteers at each door!” He looked at his watch. “I’ll signal you when to try it. Move!”

The bells began ringing.

Once Anchor Logh had been not only a country but a fortress. The huge stone wall, itself a fortress with guard stations and battlements and room for four soldiers to march abreast on top, went completely around Anchor Logh, twenty meters high, with gates only at the two outermost ends. The days when Anchor feared Flux were gone now, although few Anchor folk actually went into Flux and many, like Spirit’s grandfather, still distrusted it. The gates at both ends were simple affairs now, and the guard stations were mostly tourist lookouts into the mysterious void beyond. Not only had the wall lost its purpose in the era of the Reformation, but it had shown in the earliest attacks just how ridiculously porous it was.

Coydt had fast horses, and knew his way around Anchor Logh as he knew his way around much of World. He was more than five hundred years old, renewing and keeping himself young through his own massive Flux powers, and that was a lot of time to explore and get to know even a world.

He wanted to get into Flux quickly, where he would be nearly invulnerable, but he knew that his inevitable pursuers would also know this and try to second-guess him. He had been close enough to hear the bell ring steadily as they rode off, and immediately guessed its purpose. He cursed himself for overlooking that detail. He did not, however, underestimate the intelligence or will of the people of Anchor Logh. Many people that he’d known well over his long years had died because they had dismissed simple folk as “just farmers” or “just grocery clerks.” A bullet from a determined grocery clerk was just as deadly as one from a professional soldier.

Most of his band had scattered, changed into different clothes, and made off along predetermined routes to various places in Anchor Logh. Their alibis had been easily prearranged. With him he kept only his two closest aides and adepts, Zekah and Yorek, and they kept close watch on Spirit.

They were riding so fast that Spirit more than once thought of escape, perhaps by veering off and leading them a chase through any farm or nearby spotted town where help would be available, but both the young adepts had submachine guns and she knew she could be cut down the moment she bolted—a fact they took precious time to point out to her as they forced her to mount.

As evil and insane as these men were, she had no wish to die like that priestess, and where there was life, there was always the possibility of escape.

Coydt’s timing and choice of exit points was perfect. He had run a dry run on another church, rigging an accidental-looking fire and a jammed exit, and he had a pretty good idea how long a panicked congregation took to summon help and for that help to arrive, sort things out, and take action. Then someone would have to rush back into the capital, explain the problem, and write out the notes and descriptions. These would then have to be put into capsules, attached to homing pigeons, and sent out to all the outposts around Anchor Logh. He knew the locations of those outposts, and all the back roads, and just how long it would take horsemen from those outposts, once they got the alarm, to adequately patrol their sections of the wall. Although it was an extra hour’s ride, he’d picked the point he had judged most difficult to reach and had confederates waiting there. When the great wall came into view, there was no sign of any opposition force on the Anchor side.

Someone was atop the wall, flashing a short signal with some sort of lantern and mirror device, and they pulled right up to the wall, stopped, and dismounted.