The Arcane Messenger

by J G Smith

  FALLEN REALITY

  FALLEN REALITY

  The Arcane Messenger

  by

  JG Smith

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2018 JG Smith. All rights reserved.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission, in writing, of the copyright holder.

  Cover by JG Smith.

  Illustrations © 2018 Alison Smith and JG Smith.

  First eBook edition by JG Smith in 2018.

  For Surietha Hammond,

  who began and finished reading first.

  And, without whose inspiration,

  Ahteirus would not exist.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’d like to start out by acknowledging the muses and active participants in the creation of all things Fallen Reality: Surietha Hammond, Warren Freeborough, Benjamin Patrick Bankart and Priscilla Jelks. This is our reality and ever will be.

  Surietha, it started with you… and here it is. Thank you. Warren, you have quite literally been the bane of my existence. And, for it, I’m grateful. You helped work out kinks in concepts, and prevented the publication of honestly horrible ideas. Ben, my grammar Nazi. You submitted more corrections than every proof-reader combined. I sincerely appreciate your reputation-saving contributions, especially since you don’t actually read books.

  Next, my sister, proof-reader and illustrator: Alison Nikita Smith. You pushed me the most, to hone my talents and to finish what I started, and provided valuable contributions from the very beginning. For that, and the spectacular illustration of Ahteirus Navala, I am thankful.

  Following which, my mother, proof-reader and constant support: Jolene Verona Matthysen. You were the first to finish reading the original manuscript and have assisted me through every step of this journey. Your motherly and administrative hand will always be treasured.

  Then, my other fantastic proof-readers: Meghan Leigh Willoughby, Jason Brett Schalkwyk and Kezia Groesbeek. Thank you for helping me bring this story to, hopefully, error-free life.

  Not forgetting the wonderful team at SBPRA, who put up with my long leave of absence and took a chance on me anyway. You have assisted, quite graciously, in making my dream a reality.

  Last, but definitely not least, everyone who put their trust in this book, before it was even seen. Your vote of confidence will always be cherished.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE: THE MAI FATALITY

  CHAPTER ONE: REFLECTIONS

  CHAPTER TWO: RED EYES

  CHAPTER THREE: PHANTOM FOREST INC.

  CHAPTER FOUR: THE LOST GIRL

  CHAPTER FIVE: THE YOUNG BOY

  CHAPTER SIX: GHOST

  CHAPTER SEVEN: PREDATOR

  CHAPTER EIGHT: STATUES AND TOMBS

  CHAPTER NINE: MOTHER

  CHAPTER TEN: ALVERSIA

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: WHISPERS

  CHAPTER TWELVE: A QUESTION OF IMPLICATION

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ARTIFICIAL

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A LAND OF SHADOWS

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ALPHA IRRILIUM PRIME

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE ALBATROSS NEURON FACILITY

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE HERALD WILL SAVE US

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: HOWL, DECEIVE, PLEA

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: A FRIEND INDEED

  CHAPTER TWENTY: THE TEMPLE OF PROPHECY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SAVING ROBERT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE ARCANE MESSENGER

  EPILOGUE: EYRA

  “If anyone finds this they’ll see – they’ll catch, just maybe, a glimpse of what we used to be. If anyone finds this they’ll learn, percase, the truth of this—our reality. Then, by chance, they’ll come to understand how fallen it would be if it wasn’t for us – the Alversia.” Rex Anderson.

  PROLOGUE

  THE MAI FATALITY

  It’s interesting to note that every planet I’ve seen has at least a small history known to only a few. I’m talking about the ones with humans, that is. We’ll get to the others later. There’s always a story being sought out, and some are rarely uncovered.

  Take Earth for example – where I’m from. We have a renowned city that may never be found, ancient technology we can barely recreate and legends of gods among men in times foregone.

  Fables – brilliant fables. And so they’ll remain without any facts or records.

  That’s why I write; to keep an account of things that have happened, that others may know – and that I may never forget. I’ve been doing a lot of forgetting, lately, and it doesn’t help that humans, in general, do the same.

  That’s where this story will begin – with a people unremembered. On a planet called Lithon. You’ll need to keep up. There are many planets – and many verses. Lithon, by way of illustration, is in a verse called Spectum and the people I’ll be talking about lived during its primeval age.

  No, they weren’t the only civilisation at the time. They merely appear to have known more than the rest. They, the Mai, knew the impact Alversia would have in centuries to come. Even so, they seem to have gone, almost completely, unnoticed.

  I think of the days preceding their end, as they began preparations for a building peculiar to their norm. For one, it’d be the first of all their buildings built above ground. It’d be the first of all their buildings designed for others and not themselves.

  I’ve never seen it with my own two eyes, yet I often have flashes of being inside. As if I saw the archaic text, ran through its seamless passageways and opened its mystic doors. They’re not my memories, though. I believe they’re Robert’s.

  But first, it’s important to note that the forest in which the Mai lived presented many dangers, prompting them to find safety in underground houses. Survival compelled them to design dwellings for nuclear units and isolated pairs. Any more than that and they’d be snuffed out by gilligators – lizard-like reptiles with the teeth and appetite of piranhas.

  That last, peculiar building broke all their native rules. I’m of the opinion that there were a few among the Mai that worked on it in secret, with guidance from Fate and Time.

  I don’t find the disappearance of six, moments after the buildings completion, happenstance. I don’t… because just moments later, the chronicle shows, shadows swept the land like a plague – as if from nowhere.

  The Mai, in what seems to be the quickest genocide I know, fell—dropped like flies. They tried to run. They tried to hide. Unfortunately, it was all in vain. I can only imagine the cries that would’ve filled the air. Followed by silence… cold, bitter, moonlit silence.

  Fortunately, for those who’d come to learn, everything they had discovered was left deep inside that building. That’s where we come in. More specifically, that’s where she comes in.

  It keeps pointing back to her. They knew – and this is the message they left:

  “She’ll see the future, and she’ll have a message to deliver.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  REFLECTIONS

  “Every story has a beginning. No matter how arid, tedious or vapid it may seem. It remains vitally important to the events that are about to transpire. My name is Robert Peters… This is how my story begins and this is how it ends.” Robert Peters.

  §

  Why? Oh, why am I awake? It’s cold. It’s dark. And I can barely open my eyes. All I want to do is roll over and go back to sleep. Just thirty minutes. That’s all I need… maybe a little longer.

  I bury my head into my pillow. It’s cold. My blanket is cold. My sheets are cold. Everything is cold. I need another blanket. But I don’t want to get out of bed.

  What is th
e time, anyway? I think to myself, wanting to know how long I can push to stay in bed. I rustle around for a moment, because I really don’t want to open my eyes, and psyche myself up. I’m thinking.

  I turn to my right and open one eye. Two is too much. The light from my bedside clock pierces my cornea. What?! Twelve what? I only need to wake up at three am. Why am I awake? And why is it so cold? I know I closed the windows before going to bed.

  An unwelcome breeze comes over me. You’re not going to sleep until you check, I tell myself.

  I sigh, push away the thick duvet and climb out of bed, shuddering and rubbing my eyes. I may as well use the toilet while I’m at it. That’s when I notice, even the curtain is open. Well, Robert, it appears you didn’t close that window. Maybe I should’ve slept in more than just boxers and a t-shirt, but I’m too lazy to look.

  I rub my arms for warmth and force myself over to do last night’s job, before heading to the bathroom. I use the toilet, then wash my face. Bad idea. The water is freezing.

  That’s when I notice something change in my reflection, I see—nothing. You see nothing, Robert. Maybe I’m just tired. I need to sleep. Two hours or so should be enough.

  Another shudder hits me as I return to my bedroom. Longer clothes might be nice, I think to myself. A second blanket would do wonders. But that stuff is all somewhere… and I’m still too lazy to look.

  Another breeze makes its way through my room. Wait… I just closed the window. My heart begins to pound. Robert… my mind drags out. I linger for a moment, awake – well, sort of.

  Is there something outside? Don’t look at the shadows, Robert. Don’t even think of them. It’ll just make you more scared.

  “Hello?” I mutter, with moonlight shining through the window. The curtain is open.

  What if it’s inside? Of course it’s not inside. There’s nothing there. Man up, Robert. You’re just tired. You didn’t close the window. But I did close the window. Clearly you haven’t. I’m a mad man, arguing with myself.

  I take a deep breath in, a deep breath out and march over to close the window.

  That’s new, I think, looking outside—a large, black bird. Rather strange-looking, I might add. Normally, there aren’t any birds in the dead of winter. Normally, there aren’t any nocturnal birds in this part of town. Yet there it is, neatly perched on an averion tree.

  Then something about it shifts. I rub my eyes. Come on, Robert. Now you’re hallucinating. Get some sleep. I close the curtain as well and climb into bed, wrapping myself tightly in the icy comforter. You didn’t see anything, I tell myself. There was no glow. Its eyes did not turn red.

  Sleep!

  It doesn’t happen immediately. I close my eyes and wrestle with my thoughts for quite some time before yawning and, eventually, falling back to sleep.

  §

  Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm goes off. My first thought is hoping it’d sink to the bottom of the ocean… down to where no one can hear its parlous noise. My second thought swears that I just closed my eyes. I reach out to the old digital clock, whacking it hard and breathing easy as the beeping stops.

  It gleams my way, brightly: 03:00. I have to wake up.

  I wrap the blanket around me tighter, sitting up. Why is it so cold?

  Today is the 32nd of San; three months into the new year. School holidays have just begun and I’m waking up at this hour for a camping trip – a darned week-long camping trip. At least it’s to Phantom Forest Incorporated. I can keep myself entertained with the little bits of history knowledge I’ve already attained. And, who knows? Maybe they’ll let us into the actual forest. Don’t be silly, Robert.

  I look at the clock: 03:08. I’m procrastinating. My friends will be over in about an hour or so and I haven’t even started packing yet. I make my bed, begrudgingly, and head for the shower. It’s a bit of a wait before hot water escapes the faucet. Though, knowing that isn’t enough to prepare me for the icy splash that comes at first. I jump back. The hairs on my arms and legs rise and the tattoo on my right forearm tightens.

  Why do I even have this thing? I think to myself, clenching my right hand into fist and rubbing the area with my left.

  The water warms up, I wash myself clean and put on a red and black tracksuit. Red’s my colour. It’s in my towels, bed sheets and curtains. Not in my bathroom, though. Jennifer, my mother, chose white… of all colours. And she wasn’t willing to budge.

  Back in my room, I feel a chilling breeze. But, how? I close the window, for what feels like the hundredth time, looking outside to make sure nothing’s there. There isn’t. Not even the strange-looking bird. Maybe I’m going crazy. I double check that it’s closed anyway… and the curtain. Get a grip, Robert.

  I stand around for a moment before remembering to pack my bag. I roll up and tuck away a few pyjamas, boxers, t-shirts, socks, tracksuit pants and… one jacket. What else do I need? A sleeping-bag. The tents are coming with Kyle. Food is sorted. Toiletries.

  I go back to the bathroom to gather them, after brushing my teeth and spiking my hair. While I’m busy, I notice something in the mirror change – just like earlier this morning. I rub my eyes, but this time it stays. I see, in my reflection, someone else. He looks like me, but isn’t. His hair is shorter. His clothes are different. And… Why does it feel like I’ve seen this before?

  I move closer to the mirror, but the reflection doesn’t. It—he isn’t looking back. He’s washing his face. I look behind me, then back at the mirror. I rub my eyes. Nothing changes. Wait… He’s looking back.

  “Hello?” I call, mutteringly.

  He frowns. Where do I recognise him from?

  “Can you hear me?” I ask, still muttering.

  No answer. All he does is wipe the mirror on his end. Can he see me?

  A sinister figure appears behind him. I snap back, looking behind me. No one’s here. I turn back to the reflection. The figure has something in its hand.

  “Look behind you,” I call, loudly this time.

  He frowns, moving closer to the mirror. Though I’m certain he can see me, I don’t think he can hear. I call a second time anyway, noticing the figure raise the object in its hand. But it’s to no avail. It smacks him clean on the head, into the mirror.

  Smash! I pull back. My reflection reverts. There’s more than a dozen, but all of them… mine.

  “What the devil was that?!” booms Stephen’s voice, clearly agitated.

  “Nothing,” I yell, staring at the fractured mirror. Well, nothing I can explain.

  “That was definitely something,” he shouts. “It woke me up.”

  I stay quiet. It’s my go-to when I want out of a situation.

  Stephen, my… father, doesn’t follow up. It worked and I feel somewhat relieved.

  I take my toiletries and a towel, and pack it into my bag (it has versatile straps and a number of compartments). Just keep going, Robert. Just keep going. I grab my carryall and take it with me to the kitchen. I think that’s everything. I don’t really want to go back there right now.

  I place my bag against the wall and open the fridge. I see leftovers. I see fruit. I see milk. None of which seems appetising. A packet of Fraedo (dry biscuits that melt in your mouth) from the cupboard will have to do. These ones taste of chocolate and vanilla.

  As I eat, Stephen and Jennifer enter the kitchen, both wearing navy-blue bathrobes. Stephen goes for the grocery cupboard while Jennifer holds a small box wrapped in white and red.

  “Happy birthday, my son!” exclaims Jennifer with a large smile on her face.

  “How old is he again?” she asks, turning to Stephen.

  “Fourteen,” he says as he too gets a packet of Fraedo.

  “Enjoy being fourteen!” she gleams, turning back to Stephen. “Aren’t you going to wish your son a happy birthday?”

  “Happy birthday,” he wishes me, with some Fraedo in his mouth.

  “It’s not my birthday,” I say. Not like he cares.

  He shrugs, heading towards
the study.

  Jennifer replies defensively, “But it is your birthday. You’re fourteen now.”

  “Fifteen, actually, and I turn sixteen on the 10th of Octa.”

  “You can’t be!” exclaims Jennifer. A look of horror spreads across her face. “That makes me… thirty-six. My word, I’m old. Stephen, I’m thirty-six.”

  She leaves the gift on the marble counter, running over to the study to vent her newfound worry. Soon she’ll be thirty-seven, but there’s no need to remind her of that.

  My journal… The thought comes as an epiphany. That’s what I forgot.

  The doorbell rings. Perfect timing, I think to myself, sarcastically. I prioritise my actions and answer the door. Kyle enters first. Steve, Dylan and Bradley shuffle in just behind.

  “Rob!” beckons the gang together. “It’s finally here.”

  They’re clearly a lot more enthusiastic, and awake, than I am.

  “Good morning,” I greet.

  “Are you ready to get going?” asks Kyle.

  “Not yet,” interrupts Steve. “I’m starving.”

  I glare at him. It’s not like the question was even aimed at him.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asks, looking my way without a care in the world.

  “Whatever’s available,” I say. “I just had a packet of Fraedo.”

  Almost immediately, the four of them get digging.

  “Where are your dads?” I ask, addressing Kyle and Dylan.

  “Being slow,” pipes Kyle.

  “They’re outside,” cuts Dylan, attempting to overshadow Kyle’s blasé response. From the look on his face, it is clear Kyle has just irritated him.

  I take the opportunity to collect my journal and a couple of pens as they scavenge for food.

  “Rob!” I hear Steve holler. That didn’t take long. “Get over here.”