Children of Enochia

by Luke R. Mitchell

  When we cleared the bountiful forest canopy, and the old ruins themselves came into partial view at the edge below, what I expected to see was a lone skimmer—maybe two—and a small gathering of the most beloved family I had left on Enochia.

  What I saw instead, looked like the better part of a full-blown Legion parade.

  For a long moment, all I could do was stare as the ship descended to join the veritable landing field of transports and skimmers and dozens upon dozens of waiting figures that populated the once quiet clearing in front of the ruins. A jolt of panic splashed in over the high wall of my shock, spurred in on the sudden fear that this must be some kind of trap—that our communications must have been compromised, and that some vengeful faction of the Legion or the Sanctum or just the good old Enochian people had scraped together the ships and guns to come see to it that I never set foot on their planet or anywhere else ever again.

  But then I spotted Elise and Johnny at the head of the reception committee, standing right alongside Freya Glenbark, who was dressed in her finest High General ceremonial garb, and standing at respectful attention.

  “What did you do?” I whispered, only vaguely registering that the question was most likely intended for Alton.

  The raknoth said nothing, only finished setting the ship down to an easy landing opposite the waiting parade.

  For what felt like an eternity, no one moved.

  I wanted to. Tried to, even. Most of me wanted nothing more than to run from that damned ship, grab hold of Elise, and never let go again. But the rest of me was frozen, trying to process what was happening, and arriving with growing dread at an unacceptable conclusion.

  Finally, I found my voice.

  “What have you done?” I hissed, rounding on Alton, feeling my control of the situation slipping away. Scud, it was going up in damned flames.

  At the edge of my vision, I noticed the first movement from outside. Elise, I confirmed at a glance, stepping forward from the unwelcome welcoming committee to cross the short space between us and them. I looked back to Alton, anger flaring hotter for reasons I couldn’t even begin to process right then.

  He just held my glare with even certainty and raised a hand toward the exit corridor. “Go. Speak with your people.”

  I stood rooted in place, refusing to move at first simply out of principle, and then because I was too busy wondering whether or not it was possible to hurl the treacherous bastard into the sprawling translucent viewing wall hard enough to break through—or at least to break a few bones and give him something to think about.

  The sight of Elise steadily approaching outside, though, jarred me back to reality faster than I was ready to be jarred.

  I didn’t know what to do. By default, I turned for the corridor without a word, deciding that I could test the durability of Alton Parker’s cursed raknoth bones later, after I’d dealt with... whatever the scud this was.

  Elise was already waiting when I reached the open exit hatch, standing there at the base of the boarding steps with all the calm certainty of a mighty dark boulder patiently weathering the incessant forces of a rushing river. Her staff was strapped across her back, and she had a bulging knapsack thrown over one shoulder. The look on her face was one I’d never seen before.

  My eyes settled on that knapsack for a long, breathless moment before I finally found the willpower to meet her eyes. The answer I saw there was unmistakable. The same answer I’d felt in my bones the moment I’d seen our waiting reception, even if I couldn’t have said why.

  She thought she was coming with me.

  I found myself marching down the ship’s boarding steps before I’d thought about it, my wriggling insides hardening into something determined, and resolute, and downright ugly.

  I couldn’t let this happen.

  I marched down the steps, preparing to say whatever it was going to take to make this right. Only, when I drew up to Elise at the bottom of the ramp and felt the warmth and unflinching resolve of her presence, I couldn’t seem to find any words at all.

  “You shaved,” she finally said, eyeing my jawline with the faintest hint of a tentative smile.

  “You can’t do this,” I replied, hands curling themselves into fists.

  I waited for my words to sink in—for her expression to darken, and for her biting comeback about which one of us had any right to say what she could or couldn’t do. But she only gave me a slow, sad nod.

  “I understand, Hal.”

  I shook my head, refusing to be taken aback by whatever she was getting at. “I’m serious, Lise. You can’t. This is... This can’t happen. This world is...”

  I tore my eyes from her and looked toward the waiting assembly, trying to gather my racing thoughts and find the right words. All I found, though, were the watching eyes of Glenbark and Johnny. Of Franco, James, and Phineas. Therese and Barbara. Adam and Enid. Dillard and Edwards and the rest of the Hounds.

  Alpha be damned, it seemed like everyone on Enochia I’d fought beside at one point or another was gathered there, watching us. But in that moment, all I could think about was Elise, and the knapsack on her back, and the galaxy’s-worth of reasons that I couldn’t just let her drop everything and fly away with me.

  “They need you, Lise. And you—You deserve...”

  I couldn’t say it.

  Why couldn’t I say it?

  I hung my head, unable to meet her eyes. But she was already there, her arms encircling me, drawing me closer.

  “You deserve better,” I whispered. “A real life. Here, on Enochia. You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

  A part of me cringed at the words, both at how domineering they sought to be, and at how miserably flat they sounded leaving my mouth. Another part screamed at me to go further—to tell her that it was over, and that I didn’t want her with me. To shove her away, and bolt back into the ship for an emergency takeoff. Anything to keep her from throwing it all away.

  But all I could seem to do was stand there, waiting for her to react.

  She just squeezed me tighter, stroking my hair almost roughly.

  “I feel the same way, my love,” she said softly, her gentle tone at odds with the strength of her grip. I tried to draw back—tried to find the strength to tell her to stop this—but she held tighter still, and spoke before I could. “Which is why I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head even as I felt some part of my weak inner self perking up in desperation, offering the first tremulous foothold to the fluttering hope that sought to enter. But I couldn’t let it. “No, you can’t.”

  “Give me one reason.”

  “I just did,” I said, forcefully drawing back until I had her by the shoulders at arm’s length. “This world needs you here.”

  She held my gaze evenly. “They don’t. You do.”

  “The Children of Enochia—”

  “Will be just fine in the hands of their new champions,” she said, tilting her head toward our crowd of unwelcome spectators.

  I followed her gesture and spotted Garrett and Alexia there with Adam and Enid. The ex-Seekers averted their eyes like they hadn’t been staring—as did pretty much everyone else in the uncomfortably large crowd of spectators. Everyone but Garrett, who winked and threw me a sarcastic salute. The bastard.

  I turned back to Elise, wishing we could move the conversation into the privacy of the ship, but adamantly refusing to allow even the illusion that this conversation ended anywhere but with her feet firmly on the ground.

  “Lise, you can’t...”

  She showed me a sad smile, and cupped my cheek in her hand. “I think you said that one already, my love.”

  “Please.” I shook my head, tears welling. “Please, don’t make me—”

  She swept my arms aside and pulled me in with an abruptness that bordered on violence.

  “Don’t,” she practically growled in my ear. “Don’t even try it.”

  “Lise...”

  “Where you go, I g
o,” she whispered. “That was the deal. Did you really think a little revolution was going to change that?”

  I felt the first hot tears spill over, felt the trembling building at my center. Felt the entire damn thing threatening to come apart completely.

  “But... Franco. The others. You can’t just...”

  Can’t just leave them, I tried to say. But the look on her face said everything there was to say about that. And that’s when I noticed the knapsack slung over Johnny’s shoulder, and the multiple skimmer sleds of metallic packing crates piled up behind James and Phineas.

  It’s also when I lost my scud completely.

  If anyone had come there that day thinking that I was a brave soldier, or some dark demon to be feared—or anything more than a sniveling child with a few tricks up his sleeve, really—I’m pretty sure I set the record straight right then and there.

  I wasn’t really sure how long it lasted. I only know that what was left of my pathetic walls came crashing down then—crashing down so hard that I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever even truly intended for them to hold up at all. I didn’t know. But Elise held me through every wet tear and shaking sob of it. More of both than I cared to admit. At some point, Johnny joined us in a group hug long enough to deliver some comment about how I needed to get my scud together before I embarrassed him on his big day. I’m pretty sure I only cried harder at that. And again when Franco and James both took a turn at squeezing my shoulder before moving on to help Phineas load the considerable supplies they’d hauled along.

  It was all too much. A tiny voice in the back of my mind pointed out that I should probably call a stop to their incessant loading, seeing as I was going to be doing this thing alone. But that voice grew quieter with each second spent in Elise’s embrace. Weaker and weaker, until there was no escaping it.

  I couldn’t let them do this. And I couldn’t stop them, either.

  I cursed myself for my weakness. I wished I would’ve had the courage to simply say goodbye over the Lights from a safe distance, and simply have had done with it there. Told myself I should’ve known all along that they wouldn’t be willing to let me fly off on my own, and that I should’ve known I never could’ve found the strength to stop them from stopping me.

  But I hadn’t done any of those things. I’d failed to protect my family. And now they were here to protect me, for better or worse.

  And merciful Alpha, was I relieved.

  Bitterly, guiltily, utterly self-loathingly relieved.

  I felt sick with it. So sick and relieved that I cried some more. I couldn’t even bring myself to speak. By the time Elise and I finally parted, I could barely bring myself to turn toward the crowd for the shame of it all. I was sure they’d be pointing and laughing and muttering behind raised hands, or just packing up to leave, disappointed at the sad sight.

  The last thing I expected was a crisp parade salute from a few hundred legionnaires, led by the High General herself. But it’s what we got.

  “She was tempted to say demons to the wind with all of it, and have this send-off right in the heart of Haven,” Johnny said quietly beside me. I’d been too stunned to even notice him approaching. “If she hadn’t kept this thing quiet, we would’ve been overflowing out here.”

  I glanced pointedly toward the veritable parade of saluting soldiers and assembled ships. “You call this quiet?”

  They were the first words I’d managed in I don’t know how many minutes. They came out with a croak, and they felt horribly inadequate in the moment, but Johnny didn’t seem to mind.

  “I call this a heroes’ sendoff,” he said with a smile that looked only a little pained. “Obviously.”

  He turned at something, and when I tracked the focus of his pained smile, I saw Glenbark approaching, her stride so regal and perfectly disciplined that no legionnaire on her flank would’ve ever thought to guess that she could be smiling. But smile, she did. More warmly and freely than I was used to seeing from her. It was radiant. So radiant that I’m pretty sure I heard Johnny bubbling down into a warm puddle beside me.

  “On behalf of the Enochian Legion, and of the people we have sworn to defend,” Glenbark said as she drew up to us, “I hereby thank and commend each and every one of you for your service to the planet.”

  I followed her scanning eyes over my shoulder and saw that Franco and the others had joined us. I almost could’ve shed more tears at the sight of our brave little family, fully assembled and ready to fly off into Alpha—or, rather, Alton Parker—knew what, but then I noticed Glenbark’s gaze had tracked with a slight frown to the ship, and to Alton himself, who’d appeared in the open hatchway, and was frowning right back.

  “Reticent as many among us are to say goodbye to such fine servants of Enochia”—she glanced Alton’s way again—“not to mention to release a potentially hostile alien ship into the wild, as it were, I for one will be glad to know you are out there, protecting the future of Enochia. I wish you nothing but good fortune.” Her brow arched, and in a voice that seemed intended for Alton, she added, “And fortunately, I’m told by our technicians that we already harvested sufficient samples from the ship to get to work on adequate countermeasures anyway, in the event that any such threat were to return to our planet in the future.”

  “I noticed,” Alton grumbled, just loudly enough that we could hear. He disappeared back into the ship, apparently in no mood to be on display.

  Glenbark turned back to us, relaxing ever so slightly for the raknoth’s absence. “Alien threats aside, I also thought you might be relieved to learn that I recently opened official communications with our new High Cleric, and that, in light of our numerous recent discoveries, he seems much more prepared to keep an open mind than his predecessor was.” She focused on me. “Though he did specifically ask if you would be continuing to serve at my side.” Her lips twitched at the memory. “With notable apprehension, I might add.”

  “You take down two High Clerics,” Johnny muttered, “and suddenly everyone starts getting all superstitious.”

  I looked over at my friend. He was unusually downcast, eyes to the ground, like he was afraid to even look at Glenbark. It broke my heart all over again, thinking about everything they were all planning to give up here to join me.

  I wanted to tell him then that he didn’t have to. That he shouldn’t. But now probably wasn’t the time. Not in front of the others like this.

  “So what did you say to him?” I asked, turning back to Glenbark.

  “I told him that, to the best of my knowledge, you were considering stepping back from your short but bright jaunt into Enochian politics.”

  “Guess that’s one way of putting it,” Elise said with a faint grin.

  Part of me wanted to smile at that too. The rest was too mired down in the guilt.

  “Suffice it to say, I expect news of your departure will be... eagerly received by the White Tower.” Glenbark frowned slightly at her own words before adding, “For whatever comfort that thought is worth.”

  It was something. Not nearly enough to quell the guilt. But something.

  “I know I don’t have to tell you all to be careful out there,” she continued, looking around at our gathered party. “So I won’t.” She stepped forward and placed a hand each on my shoulder, and on Elise’s. “I will only say that I have faith in you. In all of you. Please, take care of one another, and never forget that your home is waiting for you when the time comes.” She focused on me. “I won’t stop here until that rings true for all of you. I promise you that much.”

  I let go of Elise’s hand to lay my own over Glenbark’s. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Please...” she said, tilting her head expectantly.

  “Thank you, Freya,” Elise said.

  Glenbark showed her a warm smile, then stepped back from us, composing herself. “You are welcome. Always. And now,” she added, with a backward glance at the waiting crowd, “I do believe I had better stop keeping you all to myself.”


  The next hour was a whirlwind of friendly faces, shaken hands, and heartily patted backs—or in the case of Edwards, painfully patted ones. More than that, it was an endless string of goodbyes that I had to admit I’d been utterly unprepared to make, no matter what I’d told myself from the safe distance of orbit. Difficult as it was, though, realizing just a little bit more with each hug and handshake everything that we would be leaving behind, I was glad for the opportunity.

  Somewhere between promising my most helpful medic, Melanie Mills, that I’d do my best to keep myself in one piece, and between sharing a good laugh—and several apologies—with Ordo Dillard and the 51st Hounds about what an unholy pain in the ass I’d been for them on more occasions than we could all easily count, I had to admit something else.

  I’d been wrong to think that Johnny and Elise were all I had left on Enochia.

  I had Melanie and Dillard. I had Edwards, and Therese, and Barbara Sanders, who I realized with a jolt of unease was there with her camera crew, quietly documenting the entire procession. She gave me a warm hug, and told me that she was going to show Enochia the man I truly was, even if it took the rest of her life.

  I had Annabelle, and the Wingards, who pulled me into a hug beside Johnny and told us to take care of each other so vehemently that I almost lost control all over again.

  Scud, I even had Docere Mathis.

  “Silver Spoon,” he said, in that perpetually disgusted tone of his, “I just want you to know, you have to be the most stubborn, steel-headed, sad excuse for a legionnaire I’ve ever had the displeasure of instructing.” He grinned then—something I’m positive I’d never had the uncomfortable pleasure of witnessing. It looked more like the man had accidentally swallowed a bag of hardsteel bolts than an expression of joy, but that hardly mattered when he took my hand and spoke his next words. “Just like your father.”

  Coming from Mathis, I think it was the highest compliment I ever could’ve received.

  The feeling culminated when Edwards pushed his hulking way through the crowd to come see us again, this time escorting a lean, limping soldier with eyes like hardsteel.