Obedience on Fire Read online

  The Obedient Trilogy

  Book 1

  Obedience on Fire

  by J.D. Morganne

  OBEDIENCE

  ON

  FIRE

  J.D. MORGANNE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by J.D. Morganne

  ISBN: 979-8-616-96452-6

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from this book, that is not strictly for reviewing purposes, please contact [email protected].

  PART I

  O B E Y

  1

  Jaxon gripped the fence to Kami Square, his sight locked on The Executioner’s body, a lump of bones and flesh hanging against a broad cross. The stench of death permeated the air, burning in his nostrils. Jaxon’s first year in the academy, The Executioner had whipped him for forgetting his prayers. He wondered, as he watched the old man’s body swing back and forth, if he had forgotten his prayers, if that was why he had committed suicide. Jaxon wondered if the old man’s guilt had finally crushed him. He was the one who pulled the lever for every hanging, the one who set the flame for an incinerator, the one who injected poison into a child. And he was the one who bore the weight of that alone.

  Jaxon urged himself to keep walking, humming the nursery rhyme every parent had used to make their children obey. Sleep child, sleep, and you better not peek. The Executioner is ahuntin’ tonight. Pray, child, pray. You better keep your prayers, ‘cause The Executioner is ahuntin’ tonight. But no matter how many times he hummed it, he couldn’t drag himself away. All his life he’d dreamed of helping people, but in Obedience, men were restricted to a few choices. He could go into construction, like his father—develop the necessary skills to sit behind a computer and watch houses build themselves. Or he could become one of Queen Farah’s many soldiers, surrendering his body and mind to a cause he didn’t fully understand. He’d chosen the latter. While he loved his job, he was painfully aware of two facts: One, The Executioner was a soldier, too. The tattoo of five red lines across his hand and wrists said that much. That meant the law spared no one. Two, Jaxon hadn’t helped a single person in his five years of servitude.

  He unclenched the bars, his palms red and aching, and turned away, heading in the direction of his dream job, a place he’d grown to hate. The palace was a glittering, black fortress in a sea of white. With high-arching glass windows and doors, it sat in the heart of Obedience—the holy Naruchi City. City, yes. Holy? Hell no. Much like Old-World techniques, Farah used religion to keep all her subjects in line. Without it, only fear could stop them from rebelling, and Jaxon wasn’t sure how long she could use fear against them.

  Kami Square overflowed with arsonists and people who’d committed suicide. Architects and builders were actively working on expanding Kami Square to fit the many “sinners” who couldn’t cope with their Obedient lives. In reality, they were fighting something far greater, something Farah would never understand. Their freedoms were gone, snatched away from birth, controlled by a malicious queen who only cared about one thing—technology. She controlled every citizen, every thing through technology, from the sensors in the ground to the CCTV in and outside every building.

  A loud buzzer in his ear made Jaxon slap at his implanted celbuds.

  “Demerit,” his AI chimed in his ear. King Dasher had spent his years in power perfecting Queen Farah’s control system for her to treat her soldiers like cyborgs.

  Celecomb crystals were a natural resource that merged with their tech, acting as simulated brains, bringing all of Obedience to life—an artificial intelligence control system, capable of creating and becoming anything. At birth, doctors injected every citizen with celtechnology nanites that crawled and implanted themselves in various parts of their bodies and brains, connecting wirelessly to anything with a network and feeding on their memories to learn them wholly.

  Jaxon realized he’d stepped into the street before the passing signal had permitted him to walk. These stupid rules! he screamed in his head, stepping back onto the sidewalk. He tucked his hands behind him, waiting for the passing signal to flash. In Obedience, rules were in abundance. Sometimes, he found it hard to gauge where his choices began and Farah’s ended. He couldn’t recall making many choices for himself. The only choice he’d made was to join the Crimson Army and now he belonged to someone else.

  The flashing, red passing signal counted down from ten, but four armored trucks had already slowed to a stop. The driver of one, a Crimson Lieutenant, watched Jaxon with careful intent, as if daring him to cross before the light flashed him the go. Jaxon tapped his fingers on his leg.

  Five… four…

  Farah often said her army belonged to the young. It wasn’t uncommon for preteens to enlist and most young boys knew their chances were slim if they weren’t accepted by sixteen-years-old. Older Crimson soldiers had set a dynamic before them, loyal to an inhumane way of life. Jaxon, like most men his age, were more lenient. He sure as hell wasn’t going to hang anyone for being mentally strained. The lieutenant eyed him with disdain… or was it envy?

  The walk light reached one, but as soon as Jaxon went to take a step, a floating red holoscreen clouded his vision.

  “Breaking news,” his AI blasted. “Please remain still.”

  Jaxon shot his head around to see if everyone was seeing the same thing he was. Yes, most everyone had stopped moving, some viewing the broadcast on their cornea tabs, others watching a floating screen, projecting from the sidewalk. Walking and driving were prohibited while public broadcasts played, and everyone was required to watch them.

  “Good evening, World. Sad news today out of Wealth,” the foreign newscaster announced, stringing bright red curls around her finger.

  Jaxon’s broadcast played on his cornea tab, but he still reached out to touch the woman’s peach-colored face, her sinfully teal lipstick, her sleeve of tattoos. She was a Wealthy woman. She looked like someone in a dream, someone who couldn’t possibly exist. All women looked the same in Obedience—the same dark hair, pale skin and brown eyes. Most men looked the same too—tall and lean, with short, black hair and… brown eyes. Jaxon dropped his hands, his cheeks burning pink, and glanced over his shoulder, but no one was paying attention to him.

  A collective gasp filled the streets, but he’d missed what the woman had said. “Rewind.” He twisted his hand in front of his ear, turning up the volume.

  “The last Old-World civilian Tanya Wright, has died at a hundred-and-two years old,” the woman said for the second time.

  The air rushed from Jaxon’s lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. No way. No-freaking-way. The last Old-World human was dead? She was old, but Jaxon—like everyone else—had tricked himself into thinking she’d always be around. Or that there would always be something—someone—connecting them to the Old-World.

  “Wealth will hold a memorial service in our capital city at Brkyer’s Cemetery April thirteenth to commemorate the life of this magical human being. Since the young age of ten, she spent her life teaching and loving abundantly. Without her guidance and knowledge, the New World may not be what it is today. All Doors are welcome to celebrate in this glorious ceremony.”

  Tanya Wright. Dead. She had left one hell of a legacy though. The Doors. There were four regions, each one containing three Doors that shot into the clouds like ethereal beacons. Wealth, Love and the enigmatic Forb
idden Door, Knowledge. And Tanya Wright was the great-something granddaughter of Dr. Journey Wright, the man who had made it all possible.

  All Doors were welcome to her memorial? Jaxon snorted, thinking that would never happen. It was a miracle this “blasphemous” broadcast was showing in Obedience. While everyone thrived on resources from their neighboring Doors, Obedience restricted access to all. No one was allowed in and no one was allowed out. This was the only world Jaxon had seen and the only one he knew. He wondered, as he watched everyone around him drop to their knees, if that would all change now. Tanya Wright, because of who she was, had maintained peace between the Doors.

  The broadcast flashed to a mundane, droopy-eyed woman, an Obedient newscaster. Her hair was covered in the appropriate red veil to signify mourning, while red gloves covered her hands. Jaxon knew what she would say already. Effective immediately and lasting for three days, Obedience was in mourning. Farah required all citizens to wear their traditional white, mourning attire, while officials wore red and soldiers wore black. Jaxon was already in black, so he had that down. He ended the broadcast with a swipe of his hand and went to cross the street.

  “Do not move, CO3,” his AI chimed. “Mandatory prayer in effect for the next two minutes.”

  Sighing, he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cold ground. The streets were quiet save for the hushed mumbling of small children praying around him. Jaxon didn’t know what he was supposed to pray for, or who to—Journey Wright, one of the scientists behind the construction of the Doors? Or Kamiaka, the fire-headed goddess who had saved them from The Old-World’s destruction, who had sacrificed herself and spread her peace with the elements, who had emerged the Doors? Jaxon chuckled, not understanding the logic behind either scenario, but he prayed. He prayed for no war. He prayed that Tanya Wright’s death wasn’t in vain. He prayed the New-World had learned from the Old-World’s mistakes. He hoped his prayers weren’t lost somewhere in the space-less, timeless void.

  “Prayer complete,” his AI said.

  “Aicis.” Elders shunned the idea of naming their AI, referring to it as simply “Control”. But if Jaxon was going to have something talking in his head, giving him commands, it was going to have a name.

  “CO3?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Jaxon crossed the street and ambled to the palace gates.

  “Peace and grace, Sir.” The toothy soldier tapped his hand on the gate’s inscription plate of a cross in the center of a fiery sun. The gate squeaked open, and the soldier slapped three fingers on his chest, a salute of respect to his outranking officer.

  “Peace and—Farah in there?” Jaxon raised an eyebrow, hoping to Kamiaka he didn’t run into the irritating queen.

  “When’s she not?”

  Jaxon wanted to curse but didn’t want to take the chance at another demerit. He didn’t count his steps before he was in the main hall. He saluted fellow soldiers as he made his way up marble steps. White banners hung from an observation deck, which slanted upward as if gazing at the moon. The first floor was business as usual, a hundred old council men in suits to-and-fro. They trudged past Jaxon, all of them speaking into implanted celbuds, while balancing orbs and screens. They walked back and forth down those endless halls for hours.

  “A volcano killed everybody in that Door.” Princess Neco’s voice echoed through the hall.

  Everyone bowed long before Princess Neco and Prince Kenner fell in line beside him. Neco waved her hand without a thought and the hall lit with mumbling again. “Like that story mother told us about the Yellowstone Caldera.”

  “I think a force field. Logical, right?” Kenner traced a rectangle in the air with his finger. “Anything that touches it turns to stone and then explodes into dust.” His bushy, black eyebrows arched high in a permanent expression of surprise.

  King Dasher had appointed Jaxon to guard them in Neco’s eighth year and Kenner’s second. Jaxon hadn’t been much older—thirteen at the time. Watching them grow had both its perks and disadvantages. While Kenner had become a handsome young man, fascinated by humanity, Neco was malicious.

  She laughed out loud, hoping to irritate Kenner. “It actually might be the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

  Kenner crossed his arms. “Then you’re stupid. What do you think’s hanging over Obedience?”

  They finally reached the end of the hall and ascended another wide stairway, lowering their voices when they reached the landing. They turned right down the wide hall and headed in the direction of the family room.

  “A volcano did it,” Neco mumbled.

  “Never happened,” Kenner said. “Did that happen, CO3?”

  They preferred to use Jaxon’s rank over his real name, though CO3 wasn’t a rank he wanted to brag about. Out of the ten officers in his battalion, he was one of the lowest. “Do I look like AI to you?”

  Neco rolled her eyes from his feet to his head. “Was that serious? Find out by tonight.”

  Jaxon agreed with a nod. “Manners?”

  “Puh-leeez.” She said it like her tongue and lips were melting from her face, syllables drawn out. She made a riling show of trying to catch her imaginary melting chin in her hands, flinging herself against the wall. “Cooooo-threeee. Helllllp meee.”

  Jaxon caught his laugh in his throat. “Something’s wrong with you.”

  Neco shrugged and pushed herself away from the wall. “Peace and grace, all that.” She straightened up, tucked her bone-straight black hair under her veil and dipped through the blue barrier into the dining hall.

  “Peace be, CO3.” Kenner gave a quick wave and his customary shy smile, before following Neco.

  Jaxon spun, finally relieved, but almost collided with Princess Naomi. Her dark hair hung in ringlets from beneath a lace veil. “What about me?” She batted her long eyelashes, blinked her big toffee eyes and smiled like she would burst out laughing any minute.

  “Why do you insist on being on her bad side?” Jaxon couldn’t understand how Naomi never ran out of ways to piss off Queen Farah.

  “What am I doing?”

  “You’re gonna eat… in prayer clothes?”

  She looked herself up and down like she hadn’t noticed she was wearing the flowing, white prayer gown. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Jaxon had met Naomi five years ago during his first palace tour. She had been pretty then, too, despite her inability to keep a straight face. “Queen Farah told me to escort Neco and Kenner only… Your Highness.”

  “I'm treated like the evil stepsister around here.”

  “The what?”

  “Aschenputtel. Brothers Grimm. We went over that one. No?”

  Jaxon started a chuckle but caught himself. “Why’re you saying no like that? Like I should’ve?”

  “This changes things.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

  “I mean”—She turned her head and he noticed the runaway strand of hair trickling over her neck. “I’m not sure I can trust a man who hasn’t read Aschenputtel.”

  “Is that your fancy way of saying you don’t trust any man?”

  Before Jaxon was a soldier, during his curious secret tunnel explorations, he'd found Naomi huddled in a homemade nook. Indulging in her rule-breaking. King Dasher had banned books for every citizen. They were damned to watch their depressing news stories, feeling the weight of them crush their resolve minute-by-minute.

  When Naomi turned back to him, she was grinning. “Will you be in the palace tonight?”

  “Nope, going home.”

  “I’ll come to you,” she said.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I’m the princess. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re a princess. And I’m honestly surprised you’d risk my life.” He slapped his hand over his heart, feigning shock.

  Naomi pouted. “I don’t see the fairness. You know where I sleep.”

  “It’s my job.” Jaxon could
n’t help laughing. She was always going on about what was and wasn’t fair.

  “Wipe that sm”—

  “Naomi.” Queen Farah’s voice carried a tone of disgust, always belittling. She ignored Jaxon’s swift bow as she approached her insubordinate step-daughter. Even with his head down, he was aware of her layers of fine garments, covering almost every inch of skin. The only thing visible were the orange veins glowing through her white gloves.

  “You’re still in prayer dress?”

  Jaxon couldn’t see Naomi, but he imagined her drooping eyebrows and pruned lips, the same look she’d given him. “Hadn’t noticed.” Silence dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. “I’ll go change.”

  “After you have us wait for you to chatter with the help?”

  “Don’t ever call him that,” Naomi asserted, though Jaxon knew she was no match for the queen. “He’s the one person in this boring place that knows me.”

  Queen Farah was quiet for a long time before responding. “You should learn to tame your tongue. Get inside. Your father’s waiting.”

  “Can’t I change first?”

  “Get-in-side.”

  Naomi sighed and laughed and sighed again. “My queen beckons, CO3. I must go.” She skipped away.

  Jaxon was about to rise before he realized the queen was still beside him.

  “My favorite.” She moved so that she was in front of him and when she lifted his chin with a silk hand fan, a shiver of fear slid down his spine. He inspected her through the black veil but couldn't see her face. “You’ve grown,” she said, after Jaxon stood to his full height. “What year?”

  “Nineteenth, My Queen.”

  “Ah.” She looked him over again. “Control.” With a tap of her rings, a blue orb spun before them out of thin air.

  Jaxon shut his eyes.

  “Yes, My Queen?” It spoke out loud.

  “Commandeer CO3 Fletcher’s control system.”

  “Authorization confirmed,” Aicis said, in Jaxon’s earbuds and aloud. “Welcome, My Queen.”