Covenants: Elegy (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 8)

by Terra Whiteman

And then the lights flickered, momentarily leaving us in darkness. When they returned half a second later, the woman was gone. Her disappearance was enough to make me flinch, the throb in my wrists attesting to the caution that I felt. I clenched my fists, subduing the primal urges. My eyes flicked across the transom, but no one was there.

  Only me, and the stars.

  VI

  MY EYES FLUTTERED OPEN. THE CITADEL field and overcast sky receded like fog. It’d all been a dream.

  Despair rushed in, and a pang in my stomach warned me that I needed food. My mouth was dry, my tongue felt like sandpaper against the flesh of my inner-cheeks. I was nauseous. I wanted to cry. All I did was stare emptily at the wall adjacent to the cabin bed.

  Sunlight no longer played on the wall like before. The room was dimmer, lit with artificial lamps embedded into the ceiling. That was when I rolled over and saw the darkness through the circular window—the stars.

  How long had I slept?

  My legs wobbled as I got to my feet, and had to stand still for a moment because my vision tunneled. Another angry growl of my stomach made me wince, but I ignored it and moved toward the window, awestruck.

  A sea of black with sparkling red, blue and white lights. It looked no different than the night sky I’d seen a million times on the Svissan Isle, just without solid ground. So, it was done, then; I was truly gone and probably never going back.

  Behind me, the cabin door slid open. I didn’t turn around, already knowing who it was.

  “You’ve been asleep for half a day,” said Ziranel, after a moment of silence. “You have bradycardia. I recommend you eat something.”

  “Bradycardia?”

  “Your cardiovascular system is slower than normal,” he said.

  Annoyed, I spun. “Are you speaking Evgani?”

  Ziranel rolled his eyes. “Your heartbeat is irregularly slow. Do I need to explain what your heartbeat is or have I watered it down enough yet?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I can hear it.”

  “And what if I’d been changing before you just opened the door at whim?”

  “You weren’t. Are you going to come and eat willingly or am I going to have to force you?”

  My shoulders sagged in defeat. I was hungry, and couldn’t deny it. “I’ll come.”

  Ziranel nodded solemnly, backing into the hall. “You’re not my prisoner, Laith. Stop making me treat you like one.”

  Oh, but I was a prisoner. Just not his.

  *

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “Fourteen hours, give or take.” Ziranel eyed the full plate of fruit and meat in front of me. I barely took notice of his confused frown as I greedily ate with my fingers. “We’re just a few hours from Ophal-II.”

  “Do we stop there?” I asked between mouthfuls.

  “No, only watch from orbit. From the information I’ve gathered, Ophal-II isn’t a safe place to land.”

  “And why is that?”

  Something wicked played in Ziranel’s eyes just then, as if my question had sparked a bad memory of sorts. His gaze left mine, deviating slightly past my shoulder; at nothing, really. “The OSC lost rule of it quite a while ago. It’s a resource-less wasteland, according to historical records. There’s no governance, only martial law.”

  “I know nothing of OSC politics.”

  Ziranel shrugged, not offering a verbal reply. Instead his eyes moved to the wooden idol of Kenlila on the dresser. The dresser was the only other furnishing in the cabin aside from the bed.

  There were too many people in the kitchen when we’d gone to collect food. Ziranel had decided to retreat back to my cabin before wandering eyes noticed the strange-looking man and the Evgani girl with sacred markings on her face. I was seated cross-legged at the head of the bed while he leaned against the wall at the foot, arms rested on his knees with his head tilted slightly. Oddly, he hadn’t opted for any food.

  “The OSC doesn’t know much about Svissan politics either,” Ziranel said after a long while, “or the faith in which it was founded.”

  I stared at him, my expression relaying, ‘Your point?’

  Surprisingly, he seemed to understand my facial cues. “Tell me of the Twin Gods.”

  “What of them?” I asked, pushing my plate aside.

  “Their… story, I guess? What is the lore behind Kenlila and Garanthe?”

  “I…” I began, but hesitated. “I don’t understand why you’d want to know about them.”

  A half-smile played across Ziranel’s lips. His eyes, intense as they already were, seemed to light up at my inquiry. I was beginning to get used to his strange features. Begrudgingly, I wondered if he was considered handsome where he was from. “My kind is a curious lot. Part of the reason we indulge in contracts at all is to learn of the people and places of which we serve.”

  My interest was now piqued. “For what?”

  He shrugged again. “We’re Multiversal Scholars. Our prime directive is to collect information for our library.”

  “So you keep records of everything there is, then? Like the scriveners at the citadel?”

  “Yes, like that. But with better technology.” He smiled, and so did I, but our moment was fleeting and I looked away, fidgeting uncomfortably. I felt guilty for smiling; for forgetting that I’d been abandoned by my people and sold to the Ophal Confederacy in exchange for political gain. I was a bargaining chip. “Are you going to tell me about the Twin Gods or not?” he pressed after I’d gone silent for a full minute.

  “Kenlila and Garanthe were revas from the Anteworld,” I began. “Twin pups, forced to fight against their family to claim the right to cross realms. I…” I bowed my head, feeling heat in my cheeks. “Forgive me, I don’t remember why. I wasn’t a good student in lectures.” A dezid should have known the doctrines of their faith inside and out. I’d always daydreamed about being a renowned ‘kitch champion during my temple classes. That or a lethal blademaster, like Issu.

  Ziranel regarded me with a strange look. “That’s alright.”

  “A chief of the ancient tribecouncil called Nobenek ruled during a blight on the Evgans. His twin daughter and son were gravely sick and the shamans told him they were dying. He had a dream one night—a vision, of a cloud of light instructing him to take his children to the grove and lay them on a tree with violet and blue leaves. He intended to do that, but they died on the way there. Grieving, Nobenek still laid them at the foot of the tree as it started to rain. He left them there and headed back to the village.

  “The next day, to everyone’s shock, the twin children returned to the village alive and well. Neither would tell their father or the tribe what happened, but said they were the incarnation of Kenlila and Garanthe. They could control the weather and heal sick people through touch. When they grew to a certain point, they stopped getting old. When their father died they ruled the tribe, until one day they returned to the sacred tree. They made a bonfire and threw themselves upon it, returning to the Anteworld. Each had borne a child with an Evgan tribemember. Their children were the first line of Dezids.”

  At that, I fell silent. Ziranel remained silent for a moment as well, considering the story. “So your family descended from Kenlila and Garanthe.”

  “No,” I said. “The first dozen Dezids were. Now it is thought that everyone has some of the Twin Gods in them. My father was a member of the tribecouncil, appointed by his peers.”

  “The tree that the children were laid on; that was the tree at the grove, right?”

  I nodded.

  Ziranel nodded as well. “Interesting story. Do you believe it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “The Evgani culture has been fading ever since the Ophal colonizers arrived with their magic.” I waved my arm around the cabin. “Their technology is more useful to some than our old customs.”

  “But do you believe it?”

  I hesitated, locking eyes with him. “Sometimes. When I saw you at the
grove, I thought you were a lesser god.”

  Ziranel seemed surprised at first, then he grinned. “Maybe I am.”

  “A lesser god who has to travel by cruise ships?”

  “Only because you can’t travel like me.”

  The look on his face made me question whether we were joking anymore. Before I could respond, a voice from a porous contraption on the ceiling announced something far too quickly for me to fully understand. I was almost fluent in mainlander tongue, but not quite.

  “It seems we’re about to pass over Ophal-II,” said Ziranel, eyes raised to the ceiling. “The observatory deck will be crowded, but I found a place that should be quieter.” He rose from the bed, offering his hand. “Might as well take advantage of the sights along the way.”

  The way he looked down at me, his hair falling across the bridge of his nose, casting shadow on everything except for his eyes—so alien, but so alluring. He seemed like a reva himself; beautiful from afar, deadly in close quarters.

  And despite it all, I took his hand.

  ***

  The girl was growing on me. All she’d needed was a little sleep.

  When I led her to the transom near the bridge, I stepped back as she inched toward the windows, her large eyes widening with awe. No one else was here, the echoed whir of machinery the only sound in the vicinity.

  Svissans appeared cat-like, for lack of a better description. Their eyes were large, yet oval. All of the ones I’d seen so far had irises of gray or green, some of them even had heterochromia gray and green. Their noses were triangular and small, hardly protruding from their faces, with lips curved into a perma-smile. Svissan skin was on the tanner side, no doubt to protect them from their tropical climate. Their hair was dark brown or black, kinked or spiraled, twisted into braids or woven with colored thread. Of all the races I’d come across in my line of work, Evgans were one of the most aesthetically-pleasing.

  Ophal-II wasn’t particularly stunning; a globe of mottled red and brown, yellow clouds and pockets of sparse greenery, all suspended in a backdrop of stars like a sea of tea lights. Some tour this was. But Laith had never seen what a planet looked like from space. By her expression, she found the sight wondrous.

  As she stared, mesmerized, I was on high alert, hoping the mysterious woman would appear again. But she didn’t. Nothing happened.

  Disappointed, I slipped my hands into my pockets and slouched against the window. Laith looked toward me, noticing my lack of enthusiasm.

  “How many times have you been in space?” she asked.

  “Not too many, actually. Maybe five, or six. We don’t usually travel like this.”

  “How do you travel?”

  She was persistent, I’d give her that. “Through portals.”

  Laith stared at me, hesitant with a reply. “Like the portals to the Anteworld?”

  “Sure.” If any of that nonsense had been real. But I knew to keep such irreverent comments to myself. I’d been around the Multiverse enough to understand that religious tradition had more to do with ascertaining and maintaining power, along with mortal fear. Laith didn’t need to know that. Maybe one day, but not now. Smart as she was, she’d certainly figure it out for herself.

  Laith pressed her hand against the window, her attention returning to the planet that was now sliding away from view. “What would happen if we walked out of the ship?”

  I smirked. “You’d die.”

  “But not you?”

  “Not sure. Never tried it. At the very least it’d hurt. There’s no air in space; no atmosphere. No gravity, either. You’d float off as a frozen, gray statue.”

  Laith cocked her head slightly. “Gravity? Atmosphere?”

  “Never mind. We should probably get back before—”

  And then I stopped, because something in the window caught my eye. We had passed Ophal-II and had come up on an asteroid cluster arcing between Ophal-II’s farthest moon, Acedylon, and Ophal-I. The distance between Ophal-II and I was the longest between two worlds in the system. It would be another day and a half before we reached our destination. I’d read that Ophal-I used planetary orbital shields to protect them from rogue asteroids, no doubt from this belt.

  There was activity coming from the belt. Nothing that could be seen with a lesser eye, but the space around one icy rock in particular rippled. Seconds later, out burst a flux of gamma rays, and then I knew.

  I knew well before the actual fiery tail of a missile was seen within the visible spectrum. The impact on our ship sent tremors through the walls and beneath my feet as I practically dragged Laith toward her cabin. She was confused, asking what was happening—why I looked like that, why the ship was shaking—and I was reluctant to tell her the truth. I was reluctant to lie, too, so instead I simply said, “Stay in your cabin and wait there. Lock the door, and do not open it for anyone other than me.”

  I shoved her lightly across the threshold. She stared at me, aghast. “Ziranel, tell me what is happening!”

  “Again, call me Zira. I’ll tell you when I return, but you are safe for now. Close the door, Laith.”

  “P-Please don’t leave me—”

  “Close the door,” I snarled, and my reaction scared her enough that she finally obliged. I waited for the click of the lock engage mechanism and then fled toward the direction of the bridge, weaving through concerned tourists hemorrhaging out through the halls, having felt the turbulence as well.

  Curiously, not another shot had been fired since.

  VII

  AELA.

  —I’m here, Zira.

  Something is wrong.

  —Status?

  Something is attacking the ship we’re on. It’s not a coincidence. They know we’re here.

  —Your last update stated your names weren’t on the ship manifest.

  We aren’t. Something is going on in the background; someone is talking. They marked her face, Aela. I didn’t understand why. I thought it’d been a naïve act. They did it on purpose. They were tagging her; her own people.

  —Zira, slow down. Your thoughts are breaking the connection.

  I’m headed to the bridge to see what’s happening. I need you to send a query for any source of information channels within the OSC that have mentioned us. Any broadcast, any telecommunicated conversations, any transmissions whatsoever. Find something, please.

  —Are the crew members of the ship suspects?

  No, but I’ll check their signals anyway. I doubt they’d go as far as blowing themselves up to serve a higher purpose.

  —Query is in process. I’ll send you any updates as I receive them.

  Likewise.

  *

  This contract was becoming a lot more exciting than I’d anticipated. Any other time I wouldn’t have complained, but getting blown up in space had never been an item on my list of things to experience.

  A crowd of concerned passengers had formed at the entrance to the bridge. This quiet place of solace I’d found only minutes ago was now tarnished by fear. Mechanical failure alarms rang overhead while an obviously-terrified crew member stood at the sealed bridge entranceway, trying to quell the rising panic with empty assurances that everything was fine. But everything wasn’t fine. I knew it, and so did she. The look on her face said it all.

  Her eyes flicked to me for an instant as I made my way to the front of the crowd. With a small side-step, she allowed me to pass without pause. The door unlocked long enough for me to slip through, sliding shut as soon as I crossed the threshold, a foot of metal now blocking the sound of chaos in front of the bridge.

  But the chaos wasn’t gone. There was a different kind of chaos in the bridge. The kind that was palpable, tangible—generated by truth and logic. The monitor closest to me showed damage to one of the two engines, that section of the ship map flashing a critical red. The Captain and CO were at the navigation panel at the front of the room, speaking to a group of crew members. The logos on their uniforms told me that they were from the maintenanc
e team.

  I didn’t need anyone to tell me that this ship was going down. The atmosphere made that apparent enough.

  The dual leaders offered me brief glances as I joined them. The CO’s look was cautious; perhaps she was awaiting hostility from me, but I said nothing, simply watching diagnostics scroll dizzyingly across the screen.

  “Something hit us,” said the Captain. “Debris, or—”

  “Someone hit you,” I said. “There was a ship hiding in the Acedylon belt.”

  The CO was horrified. “How do you know?”

  “I saw it. This was planned.”

  “You saw it?” one of the maintenance crew balked. “It hit our propulsion engine at sound-barrier speed.”

  I blinked at him, offering no response. Then to the Captain, I said, “I would like access to your transmission satellites.”

  The bewilderment in the Captain’s face changed to disgust. “You think we had something to do with this?”

  “Not really, but I have to make certain.”

  “There’s no time,” argued the CO. “We have to find a safe place to land.”

  “The only place we can land is Ophal-II,” said the Captain, grimly.

  Oh, fun.

  “I need your transmission signals.” This time, my tone relayed that I wouldn’t be made to ask again. The CO whirled to face me, about to give me a piece of her mind; luckily one of the crew members offered to escort me to the communications desk instead.

  Luckily, as in for her.

  There was now a sickly chug underlying the hum of the engines. The gravity shifted as the ship made a hard turn toward Ophal-II. The crew member accessed the transmission sequence logs, both incoming and outgoing, dating all the way back to when the ship first left Jabron. I touched my ear, activating synchronization with attica’s conscious stream. I plugged the frequency codes into a single communications thread that would translate them all in a fraction of the time that I could manually. While there, I checked for any updates from Enigmus regarding my previous requests. Nothing.