Vendel Rising Omnibus

by L A Warren

  “The emperor is correct,” the High Tender said. “Once we harnessed the power, and used it to the benefit of all Vendel, we made surprising advances. It didn’t take long before we outgrew our neighbors. You think what we did to Earth was wrong? The best thing the Vendel ever did was leave Earth when we did. We had become gods compared to our neighbors. Given more time, we would’ve done to them what the first Women of Rank had done to us.”

  The High Tender continued. His voice took on a lecturing tone. “The WOR-skill is a potent power, 10-2. We travel the stars using psychic energy. Twenty women of the First Rank operate the WOR-drive in alternating shifts. Through their use of the WOR-skill, we travel at speeds impossible in normal space. There are no engines, no warp-drives, no hyperspace. We have WOR-space. And that is just using the abilities of First Rank WOR. There are tens of thousands of the First Rank among the Vendel. Power between Ranks is exponential, not additive.”

  If twenty First Rank women could fold space-time and transport a fleet of five ships through space, what exactly could she do as a Fifth Rank WOR? She shook as the meaning of his words became clear.

  She looked across at Gregor. “What kind of weapon do you think I’ll be?” What the hell did they intend for her to become?

  “You don’t fit any of our standard patterns, Elise,” Gregor answered. He took her hand in his and threaded his fingers with hers. “As to what sort of weapon we think you’ll be?” He shrugged. “Don’t really know. But to answer your other question, one of our planets has gone silent. We’ve lost billions of people to an intelligence we don’t understand. The s’lor who keep the lines of communication open hear the screams of our people before they go silent.”

  “So, enslaving a sub-segment of your population is justified for the common good? How many WOR are there?”

  “Not nearly enough,” High Tender Marcus said.

  “Which is why Earth is so important,” Gregor added.

  “If Earth had so many WOR on it, why didn’t the WOR-skill manifest in other women in the two thousand years since you left?”

  Another look was exchanged between the men.

  “Sire, we don’t have all day. At some point, we must begin with the exercise.”

  Gregor blew out a breath and tapped the tabletop. “I agree.” The stony slant of his eyes bore into her. “For the common good, Earth has been managed.”

  What did that even mean?

  “That’s the same argument you’ve been using since my capture. You decimated Earth for the common good. You captured me for the common good. Now, you’re going to contain my power, again for the common good? Yet, I have done nothing wrong. It’s easy for you to justify your actions because you hold all the power.”

  Her hand strayed to the necklace wrapped around her neck, the one meant to control her through training. High Tender Marcus said the necklace wasn’t permanent, but when it was removed how would they control her then?

  “Who controls you?” She looked between the two men. “Who governs your power?”

  The High Tender gave a derisive snort.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You have no idea of the destructive force of the WOR-skill,” the High Tender said. “Do not sit in judgement on what you do not understand. For the greater good, all WOR are contained.”

  “You enslave WOR because you can, not because it’s right.” She couldn’t keep the defiance out of her voice.

  The High Tender’s braklav twirled in his fingers, blurring with its speed. “We’re wasting time, Sire.”

  “The WOR-skill is a terrible gift,” Gregor said. “You will gain access to portions of your mind you have never touched before. You’ll be able to manipulate the very fabric of space. This ability is dangerous if not guided appropriately. I have told you to trust me.” He stroked her hand. “We are under attack. One of our planets has been destroyed. You know this, because you were there the day it happened. We lost twenty-billion lives when Saphirah went dark. All life was destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?”

  “Everything.” He gave a nod. “We call the enemy the S’lorek. Our s’lor are defenseless against them. Our s’vlor barely protect the populace while they flee, but even they can’t protect a planet during an evacuation on that scale. Despite what you think of me, the Vendel are not a violent people. We do not have weapons to fight this war beyond our WOR—beyond what you may become.”

  She didn’t want to believe him.

  Aliens destroying planets? Her head swam with images of death and destruction on a planetary scale.

  Gregor said he was trying to save everyone. He sounded sincere.

  He leaned forward, grabbed the rosebud, and set it down in front of her. Then he placed the tray of water and the red ball back in position. The deep timbre of his voice reached out, drawing her back to him. “So, opés, if you want to know why I killed all those people on Earth, here’s you answer. I’m losing a war I don’t understand, against an enemy I cannot fight. I need weapons. I need you.”

  “That still doesn’t give you the right—”

  “It doesn’t? I’m running out of WOR. Our enemy loves them best. I need weapons, and a concentrated source of high-ranking WOR. Earth has been a genetic melting pot for eons after the Vendel left and ripe with untapped WOR. You know what, opés?” Gregor placed his hands on the table and stood, looming over her.

  She cringed at the sudden movement. The fury in his face, and the absolute certainty in his eyes told her he regretted none of what he’d done. The dark tattoo danced over his eye and hardened steel flashed.

  “The Vendel are at war. If Earth had kept broadcasting into space, it would have attracted the attention of the S’Lorek sooner or later.” He wiped his upper lip and lowered his head within inches of her face.

  She felt the heat of his breath and his heady aroma of musk and spice made her head spin.

  “The S’Lorek are knocking at our borders. By harvesting Earth, I may…I will stop them. By sending Earth back to the dark ages, I may get them to ignore the home of humanity. So, if you’re done with your self-righteous, downtrodden victim routine, it’s time to get to work. The good of the many outweigh the good of one. You’re not more important than the whole of the human race. Your freedom is insignificant. I’m willing to do this the easy way and work with you, answering your questions, but you will cooperate. If not, I have no problem resorting to the braklav. One way or the other, you will be trained.”

  He sat back with a thud and glowered, looking down at her over the bridge of his nose. The High Tender sat silent. Elise tried to breathe.

  The loss of billions of Vendel didn’t justify the destruction of Earth’s population. Only madmen thought such things.

  “It never occurred to you to ask for our help. For volunteers?”

  Was he insane? Colors spiraled at the edges of her vision. Multicolored hues flickered in a kaleidoscope of chaotic jewels. The tips of her fingertips tingled and a prickling sensation in her lips had her biting down on the plump flesh. A deep breath staggered into her lungs, struggling to find its way inside. Another breath shuttled inward, filling her lungs with oxygen.

  “Even if what you say is true, if you’re trying to save your empire, why would you take one unnecessary life?”

  “Not every decision is easy.”

  The absolute certainty in his voice terrified her, because he believed every word of what he said. The dark tattoo danced on his brow and hardened steel flashed in his eyes.

  The High Tender’s pacing intensified. Every time he came into her field of vision, he spun and caught the braklav in his palm. The silver rod twirled in the soft light of the room, an ominous threat if she failed to comply.

  No moral argument warranted Gregor’s conclusion.

  “With all your knowledge of biotech, you couldn’t have found another way?” Her gaze shifted between the men.

  “The Vector’s lethality was designed,” the High Tender said.

  “Why?”
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  “Only someone carrying at least five of the twenty WOR-genes survived the Vector. With each passing generation, more WOR will be born than not.” High Tender Marcus snapped the braklav in his palm and gripped it tightly.

  He couldn’t be serious. “You turned Earth into a WOR breeding ground?”

  Gregor spoke. “I serve humanity, by blood and oath. The death of a few is acceptable when considering the survival of the species.”

  “When did we stop being human in your eyes?” She wanted to yell—to scream—instead her words came out a whisper.

  “Not all of my choices are easy. I serve the Vendel. You asked what I fear? I fear the extinction of the human race and I’ve vowed to do what I can to save us. The price Earth paid was small.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? No, Elise. I’m resolute in my goal.”

  He glanced at the High Tender who twirled the braklav, then he placed his hands palm down on the table.

  “It is time to train, opés.” He glanced at High Tender Marcus who gave a nod.

  Elise swallowed, hard. The slow nod she gave was only because she needed to learn the WOR-skill before she could use it against them. The red ball and rose received a dubious look.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gregor and the High Tender were wrong. There had to be another way.

  “Put your hand in the water…” Gregor's tone had softened now they'd begun the focusing exercises.

  Cool water closed over the back of her hand. The sensation calmed her at first, but the moment she acclimated, an electrical jolt shot up her arm.

  Gregor gave an encouraging nod. “Form in your mind an image of the rose.”

  Whatever this exercise was it was stupid. He was stupid. This whole place was stupid.

  The WOR-skill was stupid!

  Her hand was wet and the rose was sitting right there. She stared at it, no reason to form an image in her mind when the rose sat right in front of her.

  For four months—four sun cycles—these men had controlled every facet of her day, from what she wore, to what she ate, to when she slept, and when she woke. They tortured her and beat her and killed her with kindness.

  If this is what they’d been building up to, then why did her first step to becoming an all-powerful superwoman begin with a tray full of warm water and a stupid red rose? Ridiculous didn’t even begin to describe it.

  She would have laughed if she weren’t sitting in a fancy prison, inside a small white room, with a High Tender who had an overly fond fascination with his torture device. Twice he’d used that thing on her. The last time had messed with her head. Gregor said he had sensed a dissonance, whatever that meant, and thankfully he forbade the High Tender from using it on her again.

  “Focus, Elise.” Strain edged into Gregor’s calming voice.

  “I’m trying,” she lied. Everything about this moment stirred up memories of exactly what these two men had taken from her.

  Gregor had sat in her grandfather’s chair, gloating over the capture of his treasure, while her hands and feet had been bound. The High Tender had knelt on the ground, constructing the device which confirmed and consigned her to this fate. Spiraling colors on the Tenderstat proclaimed her Fifth Rank and allowed Gregor to stake his claim.

  Her grandfather died in her childhood home. As had Dale, and Mark, and Angel, and Mr. and Mrs. Jameson. She’d been left to dig their graves and bury them all by herself.

  The damn braklav never stopped moving. “Sire, her mind is drifting, guide her back.”

  Of course, her mind was drifting.

  Tension creeped into Gregor’s voice. “Feel the water on the back of your hand. Imagine the water as an endless ocean. Empty your thoughts into it and let them float away.”

  She curled her fingers into her palm, frustrated. “It’s not that easy. Why do I have to do this?”

  “Your place is not to question,” the High Tender snapped. “Follow the exercise.”

  “Easy, Lord vlor’Vardhal,” Gregor said. He tried to soothe her. “Relax your hand and close your eyes. This exercise is not difficult. Let’s try some deep breathing to calm you.” He took a deep breath and blew it out.

  Clearly, she was supposed to copy him. She tried, but it did nothing to ease her mind. Instead, her head swam with more images of those final weeks.

  Dragging her grandfather’s body down the staircase while his feet thudded on the steps, loading his body into a wheelbarrow, blisters on her palms as she wheeled him outside and the heat beating down as she fought with the tractor to dig his grave. In death, he’d been denied the dignity he’d earned in life. They had taken that from him.

  Her last conversation with her brother-in-law, Tom, replayed in her head, pleading with him to flee. Never knowing what had happened to him and her nieces would bother her for the rest of her life. She was supposed to have joined them on the island retreat. If she’d been brave enough to face those empty, tortured streets and had driven to the airfield, could she have flown to the island? Refueling an aircraft took a lot more planning. Planning kept her holed up in Comwell Estates, right where Gregor and the High Tender found her, waiting like an idiot to be taken. She’d made it so easy for them.

  “You’re hyperventilating,” he said. “Slow down. Take deep, easy breaths.”

  “She makes a mockery of your control.”

  “Silence, Lord vlor’Vardhal, or I will ask you to leave.”

  High Tender Marcus thrust the tip of the braklav at her face. “It’s a simple exercise, 10-2. Resistance will not be tolerated.”

  “Lord vlor’Vardhal, stand down!”

  They’d taken everything. She’d never really resisted. Even her escape plan was a joke, a mess of magical thinking. To think she even had a chance at escape.

  The stupid water bowl and rose. Her fingers curled.

  They’d killed everyone she’d ever loved. Captured, imprisoned, and enslaved her and she’d let it all happen never putting up a fight. She’d even let her guard down, only to have them do it all over again. Another round of deaths followed with Activation.

  The bowl shook beneath her hand.

  Whatever this power was, once she learned how to use it, she would turn it upon them. Crush them. She’d fight until there was nothing left and take as much as they’d stolen from her.

  Just don’t touch her with that silver rod. Her insides clenched every time it came near. Like now, a twirling blur, she cringed against the silver flash as he pressed it to her shoulder. Fear bubbled up inside.

  “Stop, High Tender Marcus, please. I’m trying.” Panic raced through her, she wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

  “That is not helping with this exercise.” Gregor brushed the braklav off her shoulder.

  The High Tender retreated to the far wall.

  Gregor reached out. Their palms touched and scalding water slipped between their skin. The bond thrummed between them, spiraling up her arm and tunneling into her nerves. The electrical vibrations traveled a path it had never taken before and headed directly into her mind where an expansion of her consciousness stole her breath and left her with sudden clarity.

  Just breathe he had said. Impossible when you had left your body behind.

  Colors of every hue imaginable swirled around her and ignited in an explosion of burning radiance. Her mind stretched impossibly far, then pulled taut and balanced on a knife’s edge. Then, currents of power slammed into the core of her being. Her consciousness spiraled outward—unanchored, she flew into another realm of existence.

  The world shifted, folding in on itself, then exploded. Impossibly, space twisted, deforming and rejoining in right angles atop right angles. She spanned the dimensions of space and time and traversed newly formed places, which branched and subdivided into new realms.

  Back in the room, walls buckled and warped. Lights flickered. A deafening alarm sounded. The false sky of the Confinement Deck darkened and swi
rled with newly formed clouds, where jagged bolts of lightning flashed. Ozone burnt the air and lightning struck the room.

  The High Tender gasped. He held his chest where a dime-sized hole appeared. Perfectly circular, the edges cauterized with the surge of current she pulled from the air. He staggered and gripped his chest. Wide, terrified eyes turned toward where her body slumped at the table.

  Gregor leapt to her limp body and cradled her in his arms. “Elise! Elise!” The floor canted and buckled beneath his feet.

  High Tender Marcus clutched at the hole in his chest, his breathing labored. He held out the braklav. “Sire, I must stop her!”

  A contingent of WOR-guards arrived, their booted feet clomping against the shaking ground, black whipsticks swinging at their hips. She pulled on her new abilities and cast them back. She was the tempest, centered within a maelstrom of fury. Klaxons sounded and more men arrived.

  Gregor stumbled to his knees, nearly dropping her body.

  “By the Gods,” High Tender Marcus said, “what has she done?” The braklav trembled in his grip. “I must stop her.”

  She reached for the power to kill the High Tender, excited to inflict terrible pain. The braklav was nothing compared to what she would inflict upon him.

  “No. I will do it.” Gregor kissed her forehead and whispered a command. “Opés, you must stop.”

  The bond slammed into her and severed her access to the divine force, causing her to howl with unimagined pain.

  Gregor staggered too, pain furrowed deep within his brow.

  “You cannot escape the ties that bind us. The WOR-skill will destroy you without me to temper it.” He lowered her fragile body to the ground and kissed her brow. “I offer you a concession, a promise from me to you, a bridge of trust I am extending.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Work with me and all will be forgiven, but know this: force me to act against you and I will not stay the Tenders’ hand. Choose wisely, my opés.”