Fire of the Dark Triad Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Asya Semenovich

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed

  by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters in the work

  to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover art Copyright © 2021 by Yana Semenovich

  ISBN: 978-1-09836-545-5 Print

  ISBN: 978-1-09836-546-2 eBook

  Advance Quotes for FIRE OF THE DARK TRIAD

  “… [A] mind-blowing narrative … Fire of the Dark Triad is a

  perfectly timed, incredibly smart page turner — a real must-read!”

  Boris Lokshin, international film and cultural critic

  “The novel Fire of the Dark Triad predicted

  the current pandemic long before its appearance.”

  Solomon Volkov, culturologist, musicologist

  “Fire of the Dark Triad [is] a mesmerizing otherworldly story.”

  Edward Rubin, Writer, Art Critic, Curator Artes Magazine

  “Thought-provoking … Fire of the Dark Triad is science fiction

  for a reader who wants to be intellectually stimulated and

  values imagination and skill. Do yourself a favor:

  Sit down for a moment, start to read … see if you can put it down.”

  Patrick LoBrutto, editor and author

  “Full of twists and turns, Fire of the Dark Triad is an

  unusual science fiction story spiked with philosophy and

  some mathematical thinking.”

  Professor Karl Bardosh, NYU Tisch School of Arts

  “Asya Semenovich is a great talent … I literally swallowed

  Fire of the Dark Triad, hoping that it would never end.”

  Nina Zaretskaya, Director of “Married to Math”

  DEDICATION

  To Bruce and my Dad

  What would your good be doing if there were no evil, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? After all, shadows are cast by objects and people. There is the shadow of my sword. But there are also shadows of trees and living creatures. Would you like to denude the earth of all the trees and all the living beings in order to satisfy your fantasy of rejoicing in the naked light?

  Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita

  Contents

  PART I:

  HALL OF MIRRORS

  PART II:

  HEADHUNTER

  PART III:

  THE TASTE OF FREEDOM

  PART IV:

  THE OBSESSION

  PART I:

  HALL

  OF

  MIRRORS

  Earth

  A small mouse-like animal was stuck on an outcrop of boulders in the middle of a fast torrent. Let’s call it Fitzy. It was one of the first mammals on Earth, and it lived on a lush grassy field at the foot of a large dormant volcano. The ground had been shaking under Fitzy’s feet for its entire lifetime, so Fitzy more or less ignored earthquakes.

  But this morning a particularly strong shock had triggered a landslide, which changed the route of a nearby stream and flooded the meadow that Fitzy called home. Fitzy’s family had just enough time to climb onto a rocky bluff before it became a small island. They were now huddled there, sharing body heat and waiting for the water to recede. This was nothing out of the ordinary – they would retreat to higher ground every time water rushed downhill after heavy rains in the mountains.

  Fitzy was positioned in the center of the pile, its body nicely warm and dry, but it was getting desperately bored. It wasn’t naturally aggressive, but it felt that if it stayed still any longer, it would bite its neighbor. It wasn’t Fitzy’s fault. The little creature happened to carry a peculiar personality trait – its brain needed a constant stream of stimulation just to stay content.

  Fitzy burrowed its way out, ignoring the angry squeaks from all directions, and started exploring the patch of grass above the water once again. Nothing had changed since its last inspection, but suddenly it heard a loud noise – another earthfall completely blocked the current. Fitzy froze and listened, but soon everything became quiet again; too quiet, in fact. The stream around the island slowed down and stopped. Fitzy realized that a way out had become available.

  The remaining puddles were still too deep, but Fitzy kept jumping from one slippery stone to another, not giving itself time to get scared, until it reached the base of the mountain. As it scampered uphill, the dam overflowed, and the water burst out, completely covering the meadow below.

  Fitzy stopped and picked up the familiar scent of its species. Soon it would find a mate and have offspring, some of which would inherit this vexing trait that just saved Fitzy’s life.

  Millennia passed.

  The moon was full, the barren tree branches didn’t block any of its light, and Gunt could easily evade the remaining patches of porous snow on the ground as he made his way to the usual meeting place. He left his camp right after a village kid brought him a red pebble, the signal that she needed to see him urgently. He had been waiting for her message since this afternoon, when his tribesman arrived from home with news that a wooly mammoth had been killed. Food was already being prepared for the feast in honor of her marriage with the chief. Her wedding party was to leave tomorrow morning.

  Of course, they both knew that it couldn’t have ended any other way. Their love was doomed from the very beginning, but during their brief meetings they never talked about it. In fact, they barely talked at all, trying to quench their thirst for each other. Whenever they parted, he couldn’t think about anything except for their next time alone.

  This night they had to face reality. There would always be the memories, he tried to console himself.

  He thought about the first time he saw her. She and her father had come from their village three mountain ranges away to ask for peace and protection. She was beautiful even though her face and posture were understandably tense.

  Her tribe was in trouble. Many men had been killed during a botched hunt, and now the village was unable to defend their hunting territory from the riverside people. The chief liked her. His wife recently died during childbirth, and he offered marriage as a guarantee for truce and cooperation. It was a very good deal for her tribe.

  She was supposed to return home and wait for word about the big kill. Gunt, together with two other hunters, was assigned to protect her on her way there and back.

  She nodded when he introduced himself and politely smiled. She seemed relaxed now, probably because the peace agreement had been reached. He was sure that she didn’t notice it, but he touched her hair during their first short exchange.

  He remembered the morning when they left for their trip, which was supposed to take six days. She was in a great mood, and they chatted a lot, all five of them, including her father. Gunt was observing. He noted how direct and earnest she was, how loyal to her people, how dignified.

  For all practical purposes she was unattainable.

  But he noticed the look she gave him when she thought he wasn’t watching.

  He knew right then that he could win her, and it became his obsession. The obvious insanity of it in the current setup made him want her even crazier. He let his instinct play the game – his subconscious was fantastic in recognizing emotions and reflecting them back to their owners. This always worked, and she wasn’t an exception. He was on her ter
ritory without having to break any boundaries. He turned her into his mental accomplice before she even realized it.

  And he definitely knew that he won when he held her hand a bit too long helping her to cross a rough stream, and she didn’t take it away.

  They became lovers once they reached her village. They met in the shelter of nearby forest caves every night. His head was spinning.

  But now they had to end their affair, tragically. Tomorrow, Gunt and her wedding party would leave for his village.

  He entered the familiar clearing in the woods, and she immediately appeared from the shadow of the eroded mountain wall. She was very pale.

  She looked at his face and said, “I had a dream. We’ll have a child. Let’s run away. I brought food for several days.”

  He thought he didn’t hear her right. “What are you saying? Your whole tribe will be slaughtered!”

  “I don’t care. I love you too much.”

  She stepped towards him, but he stopped her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

  “We can’t do it. You won’t forgive yourself if we do. We have to say goodbye.”

  Her eyes were wide open. The next phase would be tears, he thought. It was better to end this conversation now.

  “Goodbye,” he said and walked back toward the forest.

  He started downhill, towards his camp, not bothering to avoid snow patches anymore. He had just lost her forever. The forever part hurt especially badly, but there was something noble about it. He had sacrificed his own happiness for the sake of people he didn’t even know.

  You might believe this bullshit to feel even better said a sober voice in his head – but you don’t care about these people and you know it. You don’t care about people in general, except for yourself … but in any case, you’re right, you needed to stop.

  Gunt shook his head and with relief switched into his base self, the owner of the sober voice. He needed a break from the volatile personality that he employed for his emotional thrills.

  Indeed, it was dangerous. He didn’t want to become hunted by his tribe, the best men in the mountains. And even if the two of them escaped to the steppes, they wouldn’t survive by themselves, and who knew if any local clan would accept them.

  It wasn’t worth it. The best – the hunt, the game – was over. She threw the lives of her people to his feet. Passion didn’t get any better than that. He knew that all excitement would go downhill if they got together. She might be pregnant too, and any tribe they ended up with would expect him to stick around her for good.

  He imagined her getting old and shuddered. How could others stand sleeping with the same person forever? They probably cheated, he thought, or if they couldn’t get away with it, in which case they must be depressed and resentful. Anyway, he was sure that it was better for her to stay with the Chief. He would be a better father for their child.

  He finally saw a campfire light in the distance and thought that the other guys were probably resting, preparing for the journey tomorrow. They were happy to go back. They said that they missed their families. He didn’t understand it, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know that he was different from most other people. The moment he got what he wanted, he became desperately bored and restless again.

  It ruined him and the rest of his personality type for long-term relationships and caused a reproductive disadvantage, but evolution, for some reason, decided to compensate for this.

  It gave Gunt charm and deceptiveness to lure in the next victim, self-confidence and boldness to initiate the affair, lack of empathy and guilt to discard and move on.

  He was outfitted for the Fast Life Strategy, as scientists would call it much later.

  Gunt wrapped himself in several layers of fur skins and lay on the ground. Looking at the fire, he relived the emotions of the last conversation. A warm feeling flooded his chest. But that was enough, he told himself. This story was over. He noticed a girl when he came down to their village yesterday. She had an even nicer body and looked happy, for a change. She was glancing at him.

  The tribes would be mixing now, and he would win her soon, he thought before falling asleep. He had what it took.

  Thousands of years elapsed.

  The queen of the high plains stopped her horse on the side of the mountain and looked at the city under siege in the valley below. It was far, but she could see that her vanguard troops were standing in front of the drawbridge rather than advancing towards the gates.

  “Why aren’t they crossing?” she turned to their commander who had just arrived to give her an update. He was galloping all the way here, his hair drenched with sweat, his gray stallion foaming at the mouth.

  “An enemy squad is defending the entrance, your highness.”

  “I see. But you previously reported that you had killed all the fighters.”

  He wanted to say something, but she impatiently waved at him to shut up.

  “Never mind … so what are you waiting for? Just finish them off and go ahead with your looting.”

  “They’re …” he hesitated.

  “What?” She raised her eyebrows. “I heard your people aren’t afraid of anyone.”

  “You better see, your highness. You should decide.”

  He was a good commander, she trusted him. She knew that if he couldn’t make the call himself then it was serious enough, and she had to take a look.

  “Fine, tell my son to catch up. We’ll ride down together. I’ll wait for him here.”

  Her ten-year-old son and his people were staying closer to her main forces, but not too far behind, so she waited in the saddle, looking at the city below.

  They made a big mistake refusing to surrender, she thought, and they had an idiotic reason too – they swore to defend their faith from barbarians. She didn’t give a damn about their religion. They could have carried on with whatever nonsense they worshiped as long as they accepted her as a ruler. But they decided to fight. It was pathetic, and she dealt with their small army in a quick battle.

  That was one thing that she definitely cared about. She strongly disliked morons who had the stupidity to annoy her. In her ideal world, she would be doing whatever she wanted, and pissing her off wouldn’t even occur to people as a possibility. Maybe it was the definition of power, she asked herself? Anyway, whatever it was she always knew that she deserved it. And, incidentally, she remembered herself at a very early age. She knew that she was exceptional, and she knew that she had to keep it a secret. But she had already stared attracting attention when it became apparent that she had never lost a single fight. She was offered a prominent position. People liked her charming personality, and she was always logical and fair. She became an adored leader.

  She heard the approaching sound of pounding hooves, and then her son with his guards appeared from the other side of the ridge.

  She waved in the direction of the city, and trotted towards the road leading to the valley. The two groups merged and assumed a proper formation.

  She and her son rode in front, next to each other. They didn’t talk, but she periodically glanced in his direction with immense pleasure. She loved him. He took after her. He was exceptional too; he had the same focus and intensity in his eyes. Thankfully, he got nothing from his father, her late husband, the king.

  Her marriage was the second step to the place she deserved. She didn’t know that she owed her charm to Gunt’s genetic heritage, but she used it to provoke and secure the king’s obsession with her. He was a mediocre lover and had no value in general, so she got rid of him quickly. She did it for the boy’s sake too, even though she never told him who was behind the assassination of his father. She needed all of the power to herself to be able to give her son the empire he deserved. Unlike her meek husband, she was extremely good at conquering new lands – Gunt’s genes were critical for that too. Successful wars required the same traits a
s illicit affairs: controlled aggression, fluid intelligence and cunningness, just taken to the next level. It worked well, and her military victories confirmed her conviction that she was exceptional.

  She stopped her horse to evaluate the standoff at the bridge. She was close enough now to see a group of people defending the entrance, and there was something unnatural about them. The figures were the height of her son and had similar child proportions. Their fishnet armor and helmets looked ridiculously oversized, and the way that they held the heavy adult swords in their hands was laughable. It, probably, was the city’s attempt to appeal to her female instincts, she thought, and it was very stupid of them.

  “I repeat, what are you waiting for?” she asked the commander. “Kill them and tell our people they can have the city till tomorrow morning. Then we march.”

  The commander nodded; his face didn’t flinch. He turned his horse and took off towards his troops, shouting commands on his way.

  She couldn’t see the arrows, but most of the small bodies fell, and her warriors galloped across the bridge, occasionally striking the ones who remained standing.

  She imagined what would soon be happening inside the walls.

  “We’ll stay in tents outside,” she said to the boy, “it will be nasty in the city tonight.”

  He shrugged his shoulders in response. “They shouldn’t have pissed you off.”

  She smiled to herself. He was very smart for a ten-year-old.

  It was too early for him, she thought, but when he got older, she would make sure that he had his first pick of the women in defeated cities, and she would bring along the ones he fancied to keep. They would be treated well as long as they would bear his children. She needed heirs.

  A thousand years passed.

  It was the dawn of the 21st century. Garrett, a former New York financier, was watching the news on a private boat that peacefully glided over azure Mediterranean waters.

  Pictures of one of his clients, taken in a family circle, in political meetings, in front of election rallies, replaced each other on the flat-screen TV. If anyone asked this happily smiling man on the screen how he defined his relationship with Garrett, he doubtlessly would call it a close friendship. But nobody could ask him anything anymore – this morning he hanged himself. He went all in investing into Garrett’s fund, and lost everything including the money he borrowed from his relatives and business partners.