A Fickle Fate

By Justin Kemppainen

The second worst day of David's life: missed lunch, fired from job, arrested for murder, and held overnight by police. The worst day: released, shot at, almost run over, again pursued by police, and told to kill someone to save the world. The informant? A crazed and omniscient phantom swearing Fate, the real entity, went mad and is driving the world to oblivion. Oh, and only David can stop it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Justin Kemppainen
• Release date: Dec 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458188069

Justin Kemppainen

Author of The Legend of Ivan, A Fickle Fate and Haven, Justin lives in the often frigid or sweltering climes of Saint Paul Minnesota with his wife and two cats.He draws influence from such authors as Orson Scott Card and Dan Simmons as well as from his primary hobby in gaming. His goal as an author is to ferry readers to new worlds, to tell amazing stories, and simply to enjoy the wonders of literature. He is currently working a new novella called A Matter of Life and Undeath, with many other ideas and projects forthcoming.You can connect with him on Facebook, check out the latest ramblings and news on this blog, or follow him on twitter.

Book preview

A Fickle Fate

Justin Kemppainen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Justin Kemppainen

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

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Other books by Justin Kemppainen:

-Uprising (The Fall of Haven)-

-Exodus (The Fall of Haven)-

-The Legend of Ivan-

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Prologue: Someone Important

Are you absolutely certain this is necessary? Brother Roberto asked, body trembling as he crouched in the chapel bell tower. Over the stone lip, he beheld the dusty path which carried a small procession of horses and men clad in layers of plate. The soldiers bore ornamental spears, and a few held torches to illuminate the deepening gloom of the evening.

Of course! an eager voice whispered. Get the job done, and don't worry your scaly bald head. The man grabbed Brother Roberto's shoulder and shook, jabbing a finger toward the street. Ooh, ooh! Look! There he is! The speaker collapsed, overcome by a fit of giggling.

Brother Roberto wiped the beading sweat from his brow, trying to calm his screaming nerves. Heart pounding, his breath came short and ragged. He kept his gaze fixed upon the street as the procession drew closer. Dressed in a drab brown robe, he held a white-knuckled grip on a crossbow. Roberto beheld his companion writhing on the ground in crazed mirth. Blessed Father, he truly is mad, the monk thought. But then… am I any less insane to be following his will? No answer or comfort was forthcoming.

In the center of the procession crossing through the street was a man in red robes. This man sat upon a horse attired in extravagant ceremonial garb. The rider's head bowed as the parade advanced toward the cathedral.

The arrival of the Inquisition threw the small city of Carmona into an uproar. In spite of it only being a small stopping point in the travel to visit and inspect the workings of Tribunals across Spain, the locals became more than a little nervous. Just passing through, they said to each other, half-terrified by the possibilities. A half-day at most before they depart to Seville.

Brother Roberto, among others, heard rumors of the atrocities committed in the name of God by the organization. However, he decided his place was to serve God and the Church and not to judge the decisions of the Holy Father. Authority had been placed in the hands of the red-robed man, Tomas de Torquemada, and it was not Brother Roberto's place to dishonor that. Still, as he held a death grip upon the crossbow, he wondered again how he could have been foolish enough to get involved.

Gasping for breath, Roberto's odd companion sat up. He was clad in similar brown robes, which hid bizarre clothing Roberto had never seen before. The man displayed unnaturally fair and smooth skin, as though the heat of the sun held no bother to him. The man's features were soft, unremarkable. However, within the man's eyes there lay boundless amusement, and it seemed the fellow viewed the world in nothing more than a fool's terms. These smirking eyes now peeked over the stone lip.

Brother Roberto swallowed hard. Are you absolutely certain-

The strange man nudged the nervous monk. Look, look, look. You see him? That's the guy. Torquemada. He let out a high-pitched giggle and snapped his fingers. Hey, how does the saying go? Ah, Torquemada… do not beg him for mercy, or compassion, or forgiveness, or something. He covered his mouth with his hand, shaking with laughter. Let's face it, you can't Tork 'em outta anything! You get it? You can't talk him out of- He collapsed again, snickering.

Brother Roberto released an involuntary whimper, not comprehending the gibberish and foreign tongue the man lapsed into when more highly amused. He took a deep breath, grimacing at the deadly pointed shafts in a small stack on the ground next to him. Roberto ran a hand over his bald head, wiping away more perspiration. I… I don't believe I can do this.

His companion ceased laughing and sat up, a serious expression on his face. Oh, but you have to. This man, Torquemada, Roberto could see the briefest flash of stifled amusement, is destructive and evil. He's brought misery to hundreds, thousands even, of potentially innocent people.

P-potentially-?

The other man waved his hand. "Don't get bogged down in semantics, good chum. Few of them matter in the grand scheme anyway. He gave a thin smile. What is important, however, is this man's death will save billions, eventually."

The concept of such a number was impossible to Brother Roberto, and he said, I don't see how this could-

The other man closed one eye and pursed his lips, pumping his arms back and forth. Ohhh youuuu, he said with a playful tone. Do we have to go over this again? C'mon Bob. He stopped the boxing motion. Don't worry about what your head tells you; just trust me. The man laid a hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes.

Panic gripped Roberto in steel bands.

No. No, no no… y-you, Roberto thrust out an accusing finger. You are mad. You are entirely mad, and I will have nothing more to do with this. He scrambled toward the stairway.

Hold on. Roberto's robes were seized from behind. Tripping, he fell hard upon the stonework of the bell tower. He rolled over and threw his arms across his face, preparing to ward off the assault from the crazed man. Blessed Father, why did I put any trust or faith into this disturbed individual?

No attack came, but his companion knelt over him. I know, it's tough. You've never killed anyone before; I get it. It's not like I didn't see this coming, you know. He paused in thought. "Well, maybe you don't actually know because you don't seem to believe I can do what I say I can do. Okay, it is a little weird. He stopped again, noticing the trembling, frightened man beneath. Right. Sorry, I get carried away sometimes, but I do understand the problem. What you need is a little faith."

No. I am sorry, but I cannot continue with this insanity. Roberto clasped his hands together. Please, let me depart in peace.

The stranger sighed. Do you remember your dream?

Roberto's breath caught in his throat.

Yes, that one.

The monk buried his face in his hands. "It cannot be true."

Unbidden, the memory of his recent nightmare came forth. Many of Brother Roberto's dreams related to his daily tasks and duties. Sheltered and simple was his life, and this held true for his dreams. However, of late his sleep was very different. For weeks, Brother Roberto had been plagued by a figure, whispering to him in his mind as he slept. It culminated in one terrible nightmare:

Voices, voices, whispering voices. It was first in this dream he was able to see this madman, this specter who haunted him and murmured tales of the future. Brilliant light exploded across Roberto's eyes. His frightened cries were enveloped by a harsh wind, rushing over and through his body.

Disembodied, his figureless sight lay within an inky void of darkness, stars twinkling all around. In front lay a celestial bauble, a beautiful shade of indigo with white clouds skittering across its spherical surface. Verdant shapes imposed themselves over the blue. Earth, a familiar, ethereal voice filled his mind, and his subconscious wondered if God was speaking.

Unguided by his own will, Roberto's sight rushed forward, down onto the planet. He gasped, causing a strange and endless echo.

Carmona.

Roberto marveled at the city, barely recognizable yet holding the stonework and landmarks he knew so well. Fascination and wonder flooded his thoughts. People clad in strange clothing progressed through their daily lives as metallic beasts crawled upon the ground.

A flare of deep orange like a setting sun washed over the city. Roberto watched in horror as flames roared and danced in the distance, rushing through the hills. The vision began to pull outward again as the city exploded into fire. Ancient stone buildings blasted to fragments and the people screamed, burning in the streets.

The vision retreated further, and the green lands of the earth settled into a deep orange, black smoke pouring into the sky. Further yet, out into the void of space, the beautiful blue sphere now appeared wreathed in flame.

Roberto wished to close his eyes or turn away, but he could exert no will of his own. The fires died away, melting the vibrant orange of the burning world. The infinite blue of the oceans turned a blackish hue, and the lands were enveloped by a lifeless ashen gray…

A tear slid down Roberto's cheek as he remembered the dream, vivid and horrifying in every tiny detail. He had all but forgotten it, days earlier. The strange man then appeared out of nowhere and swore to him his dream had been a vision of the future. The more the man spoke, prodding and convincing, the more the monk came to believe it.

The world dies, his companion said, breaking through Roberto's troubled thoughts, but your action here, today, can change that.

The monk trembled, the image of the beautiful world's lifeless husk burned into his mind. How can one man's death do so much?

The stranger twirled his hand. It can't.

But you said-

Nonononono, don't worry. His companion covered his mouth with both hands. He spoke again, voice muffled. It isn't the one man. It's several. Dozens. A long chain of carefully manipulated events over the course of, he threw his arms wide open, hundreds of years will give a slight chance to potentially forestall this devastating occurrence. Mmm'kay?

Roberto lay upon on the cold stone. He wondered why this apparent great responsibility, given in the form of a lunatic, came to him instead of someone else. Dear God… I truly believe this man, he realized. Have I lost my own mind? How is this possible? he asked.

His companion cracked a wide grin and offered him a hand. Don't you sweat the details, kiddo. I've got everything under control. Somehow, the monk was not at all reassured. Trust me, it'll all be fine. He hauled Roberto to his feet and handed him the crossbow. Oh by the way, you've got about thirty seconds now.

A chill swept through Brother Roberto. The procession began passing underneath the bell tower of the chapel, moving toward the larger cathedral. A few townspeople loitered about, watching the members of the Inquisition pass.

Roberto wiped the sweat from his palms. He stretched the cord on the device to its firing position. He picked up one of the bolts, quickly examining its length for crookedness or imperfection. He lay it into the housing, ready to fire.

Breathing shallow, Brother Roberto shouldered the weapon. The red-robed man, Tomas de Torquemada, the leader of the Inquisition who had overseen the torture and death of hundreds, rode beneath. God grant me strength, Roberto prayed silently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Let this task be a part of your will.

Sighting in on the robed figure, he started to squeeze the trigger.

Not yet! his companion said. Brother Roberto jumped, an involuntary muscle clench almost discharging the weapon. Wait for my signal.

Brother Roberto's mind screamed, No! You can't do this! Every second of waiting loosened his resolve. Put the weapon down and walk away. You don't have to go through with it! In spite of his panic, he kept his aim locked on the target. The procession started to move away from the chapel, and for a moment he felt relieved he might not have to-

Shoot now!

Roberto's eyes slid shut as he uttered a small prayer for forgiveness, and he squeezed the trigger. With a snapping twang, the bolt sprang free of the weapon and fired through the air toward its target. Roberto opened his eyes.

It missed.

The bolt whizzed past the Inquisitor's hooded head, a mere inch away from lethally wounding the man. Roberto felt cold shock spill into his midsection. The unhindered bolt continued, whistling its path before sinking deep into the chest of a man leaning against a nearby tree. The victim's eyes popped wide, and he cut loose a horrified scream. Surprised and bleeding, the wounded man toppled to the ground.

The soldiers shouted, wheeling their horses around. The procession dissolved as the Inquisitor spurred his own mount, blazing away down the street. A few of the men below pointed toward the chapel where Roberto hid.

No, this can't be, Roberto thought in horror. He frantically pulled at the cord to load another bolt. He slapped the shaft into place and brought the weapon to bear, but the Inquisitor moved far out of range. I've failed… the monk thought, helpless.

Perfect, his companion said, smiling. Well done, Bob. Well done indeed.

Roberto gaped. But you said I had to-

The stranger stifled a laugh and waved his hand. "Ohhh, it doesn't really matter what I said, does it? He wagged a finger. What matters is you did it! Perfectly!"

But Torquemada-

Oh it's not even him; this whole thing is just a ploy to make the other Tribunals think he's inspecting.

Panic blurred Roberto's vision. His mouth worked up and down, desperate with questions.

His companion held a hand to his ear. The sounds of armor-clad, shouting men spilled into the chapel below, followed by pounding against the soft wood of the door leading to the bell tower. Sounds like they're playing my song, the man said. Actually, it's your song, but it's still my cue to leave. He turned away.

Roberto lunged forward and gripped the stranger's clothing. Please, wait! What does this all mean?

Well... The stranger pointed with both hands toward the stairwell. Sounds of thudding and splintering wood echoed below. "That means several armed Spanish soldiers are about to rush up these stairs to kill you. He cocked his head, thinking. Or arrest you. Another pause. Or arrest you and kill you later."

Roberto gasped, his face turning a deathly shade of white. B-b-but you said…

The stranger snapped his fingers. Oh, don't worry about what I said. Take comfort in what you did tonight. Killing that particular man was an important piece to what comes later.

The door below gave way, and the shouting intensified along with a clatter of plate boots upon the stairs. How?

Ohhh fine. I'll give you a hint. The man ticked off on his fingers. "Killing that one saved another person you may or may not know. Your target's confession under duress and subsequent execution in a few days would have implicated this other individual, a very important one. Let's just say tonight's escapade will also grant my important friend a certain immunity from the suspicion of the Inquisition. I need this fellow, and this was one pretty decent way to keep him alive."

B-but that's it? What about me? Roberto asked, frantic.

You'll die, the man said. The stairwell noises intensified, and the soldiers drew close enough for Roberto to imagine he could smell the dust and sweat from their day's travel. His companion's figure began to blur around the edges, and Roberto blinked, fearing his eyes were failing. You would have died anyway, if it makes you feel better. Today, tomorrow, a week from now; it doesn't matter. Your death has no impact on the grand scheme of Fate, the wily bastard. However, the stranger grinned, your one action tonight has done wonders. Congratulations!

The figure began to applaud, and after a moment, he vanished from the monk's view. Brother Roberto tried to clear his vision, but the stranger had disappeared leaving no trace behind. He breathed hard, praying soundlessly as the armor-clad soldiers spilled into the bell tower platform. They viewed the lone man with the crossbow and shouted accusations.

Brother Roberto barely heard them. His mind decided to vacate and find somewhere more bearable to exist for a while. He paid little notice when they hauled him roughly away, and he made no plea or whimper when he was sentenced. The soldiers gathered no coherent information from him. The former monk provided no complaint or resistance when put out of his misery a short time later.

Chapter 1: Evaluations

David Martin sat in front of his computer, pecking at the keyboard. Sales records, profits, incentives. It took very little mental capacity to input this mindless statistical information. As the Assistant Manager of Customer Service at Global Marketplace International, David often found himself assigned this manner of work. The din of phones ringing filled the background. Phone operators addressed complaints or engaged in cheap trinket-hocking.

How's it going, Dave? A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, squeezing in what was probably intended to be an affectionate manner. However, with the strength of the six foot plus and built-like-a-truck manager, Chuck Samuelson, the gesture was quite painful.

David winced at the bones grinding in his shoulder as well as the nickname. Not turning away from his entry, he replied, Not too bad, Chuck. How 'bout you? He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder.

In spite of his imposing nature, Chuck was a nice guy if a bit too timid for a boss. Oh, I'm fine, just fine. Thanks. The muscle-bound man leaned up against the thin wall of David's cubicle. The weak material leaned under Chuck's weight, creaking in protest. Sorry to bother you, Dave, but I'm afraid I need to ask you a favor.

Uh-huh, sure. David finished filling in another spreadsheet box and saved the document. He swiveled around. What do you need?

Chuck tossed down a thick folder stuffed with papers. Employee evaluations. A consoling expression crossed the manager's face.

Again? David asked, wincing. I thought we only did those once a year.

Yeah, usually. However, corporate wants another round to see if they can weed out the problem children.

Problem children? David said, a little too loudly. He lowered his voice. What a crock. What's the excuse? More outsourcing? Affirmative action?

Both, probably.

David rolled his eyes. Do we have to do personnel interviews, too?

The whole mess. Interviews, questionnaires, coworker evals. Chuck shrugged. Sorry, that's the way it is.

They sending someone in to help us again?

Yep, usual tribunal of judgment. Chuck nodded. The corporate rep is supposed to be a different fellow, I think.

David rubbed his face. We at least going to get paid overtime for this?

Over-what?

David gave a bitter smirk. All right, I guess so. When do we start?

This afternoon in the conference room. Chuck clapped him on the shoulder. I'll come get you when it's time. He turned around for a moment before stopping. Oh, he snapped his fingers, I know it's going to be kind of a pain, but make sure and get those reports finished before we start. David opened his mouth to object to the unreasonable request, but Chuck was already halfway to his office.

Sighing, David swiveled around and went back to work. Bloody hell, he thought, figuring he'd at least try to buckle down and blaze through it. It's not possible; not with the interviews this afternoon. I'm going to have to stay late and finish them. He frowned, clenching a fist against his forehead. I guess it doesn't matter. I don't have anywhere to be tonight. Or ever…

Bitter curses at poor life choices rolled through his mind, and David returned to work. A few minutes later the memo email popped up, informing everyone about the upcoming surprise interviews. David didn't bother opening it.

His phone rang. Donning the headset, he tapped the button and answered. GMI Manhattan. This is the Assistant Manager, David Martin. How may I help you?

Hey, Dave, an exasperated female voice came through. One of the phone operators, he thought. Jenny, maybe? I've got a weird guy here I don't know what to do with.

Okay, David replied. What's he saying?

The girl took on an irritated tone. I don't know. He's just some freak.

David rolled his eyes. All right. I'll take care of it.

A few seconds later, the line was transferred over to him. He gave a quick glance to his watch. Good morning. This is David, the assistant manager. How may I help you?

A call center? Really? an incredulous male voice came through the line. Could you possibly get any more dull or cliché?

Confused, David replied, I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with?

I mean seriously, the voice continued, "here you are, Mr. David Martin, the most unique person to ever grace the planet, and you're working in this utterly average, boring, insignificant, typical, and let's face it, chump job. After all this work, I thought you might be a little more-"

Excuse me, sir? David said, interrupting the strange rant. I'm sorry, but is there a certain problem you have with Global Marketplace or any of its products?

Directly no, but conceptually, God yes! the man continued. "Someone like you finding himself peddling the most useless garbage. Faux-ethnic kitsch? For real Martin? Good gravy, even your name is dull! I swear by your dead parents-"

David squeezed his eyes shut. I'm sorry, sir, do I know you?

No! the voice shouted. I mean, yes. Or maybe. Not yet, you don't, but give it a minute and maybe you might-

Sir? David asked, trying to cut through the babble. Sir. Sir! Please, sir, do you have a valid question?

All questions are valid, David, the man said in a stern, condescending-professor sort of tone. Except those regarding existentialism. Seriously, what the hell is the point? If Kierkegaard or Heidegger had even the slightest clue about the true nature of the universe, they'd have found real jobs or killed themselves. How's that for a philosophical problem, Camus?!

Bewildered, David's practiced phone composure slipped. "What are you talking about?"

It doesn't matter! None of it. How can you describe a system by which people move from existence to essence by way of choice when nothing in and among it matters even the slightest bit? Predetermination, fatalism, unauthenticity and the illusion of free will?

Why am I still listening to this crackpot? David wondered. With a firm tone, he said, Listen, sir. I apologize I cannot be of any help. If you have any serious questions or concerns about GMI or its products, direct your queries to Corporate Headquarters. Have a nice day.

He disconnected the line, not caring he hadn't provided a number for the strange man to call. David removed his headset and rubbed his eyes. Standing up, he gripped his plain mug with the intent of grabbing another cup of coffee. As he moved down the aisle toward the break room, he paused.

David stopped by a phone station, where a young woman, a cuteish red-head with freckles, was chicken-peck typing information on her computer. She wore a tank-top and dangling star-shaped earrings. Not exactly dress-code, he thought.