Sequel

I can just imagine the thought that flashes through Talen's head in the moment after Rel calls him a fake. Rel would have to be in shock or something, especially considering the note he makes of Talen's clothing. Talen tries to lighten things up, more likely from his own nerves than anything else.

And yes, Talen knows Rel's full and real name.

Read, Review and Enjoy.



Rel woke quickly, head still throbbing as Mari pushed a cup of coffee into his hands, a sandwich in her other hand as she waited for him to sip the coffee. One sip and the coffee was gone and the sandwich was being pushed into his hands.

"We don't know what you need after using that much power," Mari murmured, "so we figured the basics of life would be a good start. Come on, up on the feet."

"On the..." Rel was in the middle of biting into the sandwich when he realised that he was very nearly laying down, head propped up by Muan's arms, body laid out across the stage floor.

Muan helped Rel to his feet as Rel held onto the sandwich, chewing as he considered how exactly he had ended up on the floor. Mik had been shot... Rel had used power...

Rel's stomach growled, a loud complaint that reminded him that he hadn't eaten that morning. He took another bite of his sandwich and allowed Muan to lead him off the stage. The moment they were off the stage, a group of busy workers immediately took to the stage, converting it into something more like a press conference than a rally and a concert.

Fifteen minutes and the stage was ready, Rel had, by the time the stage was set, eaten a sandwich, three cookies and a cup and a half of coffee. He felt mildly better, though there was still a sort of weakness in his very bones. It was a terrible feeling, but he could always be worse.

Could be shot.

Crap. Rel mentally smacked himself, not wanting to think about that, as he was led back up on the stage. He didn't want to think about that and he didn't really have the energy. Rel had to leave on Muan's arm to get up to the stage, but on the stage there were several seats now and Rel and Mari sat in the chairs, with Muan sitting on the stage at Rel's feet. Given Muan's seat, the Sidhe was all but using himself as a shield.

Talen stepped up to the podium, looked at all the microphones and made a face. The president's phone went off as as one of the reporters, crowded at the end of the stage, tried to ask a question. Talen held up a finger to ask the reporters to wait. He stepped away from the stage and pulled his phone off his belt, glancing at the number.

"My mother," Talen said to the crowd. Who smiled but didn't laugh at the joke as Talen answer his phone with, "hello mummy. Well now's not a very good time. Yes, mummy, I realise that. Of course I will remember to eat my greens, mummy. Yes, mummy. Yes. Of course mummy. Alright." Talen looked to the crowd and tried to look embarrassed, "I... love you too mummy. Bye."

Talen hadn't been talking to his mother, likely the president had been talking to his council, as the president of Norash couldn't do much without his council's permission. Rel was surprised Talen could wipe his own ass without calling the council, given how strict they had become in recent years.

"Well then," Talen stepped up to the podium. The light of the man went out, he had tried to bring a bit of light to the hearts around him because of his information, because of his words, but the time for that was over and it was like being sucked into a black hole. Impossible to pay attention to anything else, "Mikalon Palsten, Ambassador to the Sidhe, was shot some," Talen looked at his watch, "twenty-three minutes ago. Time of death was announced twenty minutes ago, en-route to the hospital. I say again. Mikalon Palsten, Ambassador to the Sidhe has been assassinated."

Dead silence. Rel couldn't believe that many people could look horrified all at once. A few in the crowd seemed to pull themselves out of their daze and began looking around, but most stared at Talen, leaning forward just slightly, as if expecting Talen to announce that it was just one big joke.

Talen leaned towards the microphones, "I am being very serious," the president said, "Mik is dead."

"What kind of dead?" a reporter asked in a bit of a squeak.

"Dead dead," Talen muttered, "the Tahluen tried to revive Mik unsuccessfully, the Sidhe healer healed the flesh but the heart would not start. There was nothing that we could do. Technology and power couldn't save him."

"Like. Dead, dead? Never coming back, dead?" another asked.

Mari, despite being in tears, smacked her own forehead at the stupidity of the reporters. Rel could understand it, the reporters were in shock and were trying to wrap their minds around the issue. There was very little Talen could say that would allow the reporters to wrap their heads around the fact that Mik was dead. Rel couldn't even fully comprehend it.

He wanted a drink. Very badly.

"Due to the nature of the issues," Talen snapped, "because someone out there thinks that we will back down, think that we won't follow through. We the government," the key words that meant that the council backed him, "have decided to appoint a new ambassador immediately," the president turned to Rel and motioned him forward. Rel shuffled from his seat, surprised that he didn't trip over his own feet on the way, "I will be appointing... sorry, I didn't catch your name...?"

"Rel."

"Lel?"

"Rel," he tried to pronounce it better.

"Lel, Lel what?"

"Rel," he tried again, "DeAniege."

"Lel DeAniege as the new ambassador to the Sidhe."

A pause of silence before the people erupted. Some cheered, some shouted questions, screeched and whined and tried to talk to one another over the sound.

“Congratulations,” Talen said to Rel, giving the young man’s hand a quick shake before he turned to the microphones. Something about the tone of Talen’s voice conveyed nervousness, fear even. “And now I turn you over to Mari to possibly answer questions. Thank you.”

Talen walked away quickly. Rel glanced at Mari as she stepped up to the podium. The woman gave Rel a shoo. It wasn’t until he stepped off the stage that he noticed how badly he was shaking. The light wind threatened to topple him over.

Rel pushed his back up against the stage, focusing on breathing. Breath. Breath.

What the fuck, someone was smoking. The drifting smell of tobacco wafted past Rel, interrupting Rel’s focus on breathing. Rel looked up and glared at Talen.

The man lit up the world, turned heads all around. Like Mik. Except not quite like Mik. Mik’s was a laid back sort of feeling. Talen was more focused, more out and out with his … capability. The man stood there, smoking a cigarette, in a rumpled and bloodied dress shirt and sweater vest and Rel would still do him.

Like Mik but not. Like Mik yet…

“You’re a fake.” Rel said.

Talen paused, drawing in a breath of smoke. The president held the smoke in and looked at the cigarette in his hands before he let the smoke out slowly.

“Now, I didn’t lie when I said I supported the anti-smoking laws,” Talen responded, taking a puff as a pause, “but when a man is about to be beaten by his council, he deserves to indulge in his favourite vice.”

“What…” Rel didn’t quite understand what Talen was talking about.

Rel was talking about Talen being a fake, a fake Mik, a like Mik thing but not like Mik thing. A … a… decoy.

For what?

For who?

“They gave me explicit orders,” Talen took a long draw off the cigarette and dropped the butt to the ground, grinding it out into the ground, “not to promote you or anyone in the program. They’ve preened someone from the military to take the job. But,” the president rubbed at something on his wrist, “I believe you could do a better job. Now. It’s like calling your father out for a fight. So the council’s up in a snit,” a motion to the vibrating phone on his belt loop, “because they don’t want to fight with Mari. She’ll run the entire office, you don’t have to worry about much and she’ll teach you the rules of the game and everything. Did it for Mik as well.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Rel asked, “besides. Mari… thing.”

“I don’t know,” Talen muttered, pushing his hands into his pockets as he shrugged, “what happens to someone who is only half people? Do those who come from outside of our land have the same rights to the afterlife as us?”

“Wait. Mik was … what?”

“Half people.” Talen said, “his father was a part of the … tribe, let’s say, that follow our gods, who we know are real, and his mother is from another… tribe. The gods have bred our people the way they have for a reason. His mother is, on the other hand, was from the south, where they have not been bred. Does that mean he has half a soul? Can someone who was not made like the rest of us really go to the underworld? Or if he made it there, how long would he be there, would he have a soul? Would he get lost?”

… Talen was panicking about more than just Mik being assassinated.

“There was once a violinist,” Rel said, “that my mother used to tell me about. He came from across the sea, on one of the first boats, who made himself useful to the gods and when he died the gods accepted him into their midst and into the heavens.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Talen muttered under his breath.

“Why do you need to feel better?” Rel asked, “yes, a man is dead…”

“The game’s afoot,” Talen murmured, looking off and away, “You’re probably the only one who isn’t feeling it nudge at you. Be grateful you’re so stubbornly closed off and ignorant that you can’t feel it.”

“Feel what?” Rel asked.

“The play that’s been made,” Talen turned towards the steps of the stage, lowering his voice, “that woman looks like she could use a strong drink.”

An idea occurred to Rel. He hadn’t been quite old enough when his college friends had participated in what they had simply called the ‘Game.’ Old memories, drinking and tears.

But it was more the drinking he was interested in.


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