Glory (The Athens Plague series)

Glory

By M.E.Wynne

Copyright © 2014 Something Else Publishing

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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DEDICATION

For KJD, a skilled coach, who taught me it’s not whether you win or lose, but that it’s more fun to win.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, teamwork makes everything better, and I’m fortunate to have some wonderful players on my team. Thanks to my cover designer Matt Delisle, who always gets exactly what I’m going for, my ebook formatter IndieMobi, and beta readers Kerry Cerra and Kristina Miranda. Kerry and Kristina, you both helped fill the holes (and some of them were gaping). Kerry you give the best advice on emotion. Kristina the world was only half built before you, and your keen understanding of my intentions helped with the construction. Thank you, thank you to you all.

Also, thanks to my superstar editor Joyce Sweeney. She made sure I didn’t embarrass myself and her advice helped me to improve some of the most important scenes. Even more important than her help on this project, is her mentoring of me (and others!) for many, many years. Thank you, Joyce, for everything.

I couldn’t have written this book without my husband and three boys, all sports fanatics. Your participation in sports has given me an immense appreciation for what competition can do for the human spirit. I admire and love all of you beyond measure.

Last, but not least, thanks to readers of my Shel Delisle books. Your acceptance and encouragement gave me the guts to do this one.

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

Epilogue

About the Author

1

THE STORM HADN’T WON a game for more than two hundred years, but: Today could be the day.

I feel it as I race toward the goal. Brecke, one of our strikers, shoots. Hard. The goalie manages to get a hand on the ball, batting it away. I volley the ball in mid-air and it curves toward the upper left corner. Everything slows down, or seems to slow.

There’s no way the goalie can get to that shot, though he tries by jumping at an angle, arms outstretched. The ball is just out of his reach and headed for the net.

It’s going in. I’m going to score. For once, we’re going to win.

It can’t happen.

At the last possible milli-second, the ball lifts and smacks into the crossbar, rattling the entire goal. After the rebound, there’s a scramble in front of the goal, and a defender clears the ball away. The ref blows his whistle—three short blasts—and that’s it. Game over.

One to one.

A tie.

The large crowd that’s dressed more for a party than a soccer match claps politely. In the higher up seats are a few true fans. I wave my hand overhead to acknowledge them and jog off the field, heading for the locker room.

***

My hair is still wet from the shower when I walk out of the locker room. I’d hung back waiting for most of the fancy fans to clear out in their limos. It’s not a long wait; they don’t like hanging in this neighborhood.

There’s five, maybe six Storm fans waiting on the sidewalk for their favorite players. A kid, who looks to be about thirteen and is wearing a Storm jersey, holds out a tablet and stylus for me. From the way he’s dressed, I’m certain he’s a Temporal.

Could I get your scribe?

I don’t get many requests compared to Brecke or Fally. The kid must’ve liked my last shot. Feeling flattered, I reply Sure, and take the stylus to scribble Ledger Dent on the screen. When I hand the tablet back to the kid, he taps the capture button and gives me a gap-toothed smile.

Thanks.

A-yeah.

On the other side of the street I spy Colie dressed in something sheer and pink, looking like Ma’s once a year bouquet. She’s waiting for me with Gaines. I make my way through the a cluster of Temporal fans and check twice for delivery vans before crossing the street. She runs up, throws her arms around my neck, and hugs me. I nestle my face in her hair, inhaling her perfume, which is as pink and flowery as her clothes. I run my hands down her back. The material of the dress, gossamer as a spider web, feels silky beneath my hands.

Ledge, I thought that last shot was going in. I actually held my breath. Such an exciting finish! Her tone is breathless; she clasps my hand. It’s warm and dry.

I chuckle to hide my discomfort with her suggestion. It’s borderline illegal.

Don’t be foolish, Colie. Gaines says his lips pursed in disapproval. He’s dressed in in crisply pressed pants and a sports shirt with the Eternal logo on the collar. How typical of him to go out of his way to advertise the fact. His silver hair would indicate aging, but his face is completely unlined. He shakes my hand roughly and raises one eyebrow. His stare is intense. What were you thinking Ledger? Did you think it might go in?

There’s a hint of animosity in his voice and the question is taboo. Every hair on my neck stands on end.

I swallow hard. Don’t be foolish, Gaines, I say, making a joke of his question. I hardly think I’ll be the first person in history of New Texas to win a soccer match.

Right you are. He nods, but continues to stare, a threat in his eyes. We should go Colie. I’m sure Ledger needs his rest.

She pouts, which is how she usually gets her way. I wanted him to walk me home. Do you feel up to it, Ledge?

A-yeah.

Fine. Gaines claps me on the back. The hypocritical gesture irritates me. I’ll see you tomorrow at Holistech, then?

Of course he’ll see me. I need to keep the power on. I merely nod.

Gaines strolls a half block up the street to his auto. He’s one of a handful of Eternals that own one. The doors silently lift open like a set of wings for him and he eases into the low-slung leather seats. The doors close with the same slow, automatic motion. I relax once he’s behind the dark-tinted windows. I’d practically been holding my breath the entire time.

He’s not that bad, Colie says.

A-yeah. You might have mentioned that before, I tease. She tells me not to worry about Gaines every time we’re alone together, but she’s his adopted daughter. I’ve never understood why you still need a parent when you live forever. Regardless, she has him completely wrapped around her finger.

Colie smiles, her small porcelain face is framed by loose auburn curls. She takes my hand. Let’s go.

***

Colie’s heels click on the uneven pavement as we walk away from the Storm stadium. Ugh! These things are killing me.

I’ve never understood why Eternals get all dressed up for matches, anyway.

"Because we’ll see other Eternals and because that’s what we do. I’d rather wear some denim than these clothes."

Well, take them off. I raise an eyebrow, teasing, and glance at her heels. Your shoes, I mean.

Colie laughs at me, and scans the area immediately surrounding Storm stadium. It’s home to me, but I try to see it through her eyes. It’s made up of mostly Ones, boxy apartments set aside for singles or marrieds without a family. The paint is peeling on a few of the buildings and faded on all the others. The residents of one building have put in a garden to grow their own veg, but all the other buildings are surrounded by weeds. There are a few small businesses, which have cropped up in this neighborhood in recent years: a thrift shop, a furniture rental place, and, most notably The Pitch, a pub where all the Ballers hang out. A battered wood fence runs along the sidewalk where we’re standing. Intermittent gaps show the devastation left behind from The Concord; piles of dirt, steel and debris make up the ruins that continue to decay. A small crew is working on clean-up of the ruins today, and at this rate they’ll be able to use that land in another thousand years. Beyond all of it, far off in the distance, are the New Texas city walls.

She makes a face. I’ll think I leave them on and bear the pain.

Suit yourself.

As we work our way through New Texas, she chatters about shopping and spa treatments and dining out and museum exhibits. I don’t have much to add except an occasional a-yeah. My life compared to hers is routine. Work and soccer practice, or sometimes a game. Time with my family. That’s it.

Soccer makes it bearable.

We wind our way past the Twos, which could be a carbon copy of the Ones except for an extra window. Colie eyes the buildings. Where is it that you live again?

Three blocks that way, a left and two more blocks. I motion with my hand to indicate the general direction. She’s only making conversation, there’ll never be a day she visits my Two.

Ah, right. I get all turned around in this part of the city.

It’s easy to do. Everything looks the same.

And it does to Eternals, I’m sure. But to Temporals, well, we notice the small insignificant differences. Like the Two that has a row of terra cotta pots filled with veg. Or the corner where someone scrawled their initials in the still