The night prior she had prayed to Dura’Ana for salvation. She prayed for Dura’Ana to save her from herself. Her prayers, however, were answered by Korros. The one man who had sinned against her, who had stolen her soul and turned her into the shell of the being she was. What sick sort of fate had led her greatest enemy to save her from death, to guide her toward a new path? She grit her teeth in anger for the sick irony repulsed her.
The ghosts were real; she had for the most part been convinced of that. She did not know where they came from or what their presence meant, but she did wonder about the god that they so passionately kept referring to. Was he the answer to her questions? Was he truly powerful enough to present the spirits to her?
“You seem lost,” Klaus declared, looking deeply at Sarasin. She snapped out of her daydreaming and returned his gaze, trying to hide her distraction.
“Lost?” She repeated with a smile, “No, no. I’m merely reading over my speech again. I want to present it as effectively as I can.”
“What true devotion,” He politely hissed with his flat voice, “Your undying commitment will undoubtedly be recognized upon your arrival in Heaven.”
“To devote oneself in a mere and simple attempt to earn a place in Heaven seems selfish,” She rebuked, maintaining her jovial appearance, “I wish only to please the goddess.”
“That is why you are where you are,” Prince Lazarus said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Sarasin's shoulder. He shot a glance at Klaus, a reprimand for his passive aggressive actions, “May your faith be an example to us all.” His smile toward her was soft and his eyes were gentle. Sarasin returned his look and nodded.
“Thank you,” She said, “Here comes the Governor.”
Treyodees walked towards the group wearing a big grin. His hands were clasped together as he joined the three and he took a big excited sigh before he spoke.
“The people are ready for you!” he announced with excitement, “Let us hurry to the stage; we do not want to keep them waiting!”
Lazarus smiled and stepped forward. Klaus and Sarasin followed behind. Sarasin looked at the other two bishop generals and saw strangers. She realized she was no longer one of them, that there was no way she could remain at their sides. Sarasin realized she was alone; the entire world was against her. Her smile, however, did not fade.
Chapter Fifteen
Rubaan IV
13th of Ramlia – 346AG
08:00 – Canrom City
Rubaan sat at the kitchen table with his head resting in his hands. The events of the night before had been so terrifying and surreal that all he could do to keep his sanity was to try to convince himself that it had been a bad dream. He tried to push the images and feelings out of his mind but no matter what he did he could neither shake the lingering feeling of cold from his spine nor the terrible voice that reverberated in his head.
"Eon..." The name played over and over, each time getting louder and more real. He winced, every time he heard it felt like a knife penetrating his ears.
“Are you sure you will be okay today?” Amaria asked as she walked up and hugged him from behind. The sudden touch caused him to jerk in his seat, surprising his wife. He ultimately smiled and gently grabbed hold of her forearm which rested across his chest.
“You scared me,” Rubaan replied with a slightly forced laugh. He stared down at the untouched sausage on the plate before him, knowing it was getting cold, “I am simply not feeling well.”
“I do not understand why,” Amaria gently nuzzled her nose against his neck, an action that usually would have sent a different chill through his body, “Your blood smells healthier than ever. Fresh, like a baby.”
“That is a bit creepy,” Rubaan looked back at her with a forced grin, “I hope you are not thinking about taking a sip.” Amaria sighed heavily and shook her head as she let go of her husband. He immediately realized that his comment had been a mistake.
“You know I have not craved blood since the night we met,” She hissed as she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, “It is not fair that you would bring that up.”
“I’m sorry my love,” Rubaan turned around to face his beloved, arms outstretched, “You are right, that was a low blow.”
Amaria had never shown much of an appreciation for his sense of humor. He had always attributed it to their age difference, never once thinking he might actually not be funny. She had grown up in a much different time than Rubban and occasionally she was a bit perplexed by some of the jokes he made.
Amaria groaned and shook her head, “Do you think your foreman will excuse your absence today? I thought you used up all of your vacation days when Roc was born.”
“He’s fine with it,” Rubaan reassured her, “I called him and told him this morning. Everything is okay.”
“Okay…” She sounded unsure. He was acting strange and her intuition told her something was off, "Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”
“No, I am fine. I just need to relax.” He smiled weakly and turned back around to the cold sausage.
“Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.” Rubaan nodded slowly and Amaria walked into the other room.
***
“Thank you for providing me with transportation this morning, my dear friend Glen,” Rubaan held his hard hat in his lap and looked over at his co-worker Glen who sat behind the wheel of his truck, “I do declare the Caroset was giving me a grave amount of trouble this morning. I think I may require a new alternator.”
“It’s no problem buddy,” Glen replied slowly, greatly confused by Rubaan's sudden and strange way of speaking, “Cliven said he’d kill us all if anyone else called in this month so I’m glad I could save everybody.”
Glen was a tubby Elf with short blonde hair. He was simple and friendly and had been a friend to Rubaan ever since he left Black Knight and began working in the mines.
“As am I,” Rubaan smiled softly and rubbed the top of the hardhat, “Pray tell, might you have an extra cigarette?”
“Cigarette?” Glen repeated. He turned his head and looked at Rubaan through his sunglass-covered eyes, “When did you start smoking?”
“Nearly ten lifetimes ago,” Rubaan grinned mischievously, “How about it, friend?”
“Sure buddy..." Glen fidgeted in his seat. He reached into his pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. Flipping it open, he handed one to Rubaan and returned his eyes to the road.
“‘Tis been an eon,” Rubaan stared at the cigarette for a moment and then spun it around between his fingers and popped it in his mouth, “This will be greatly satisfying.”
“Oh, shit buddy I’m sorry!” Glen patted his pockets as he searched for something, “You’re probably going to need a lighter. I’ve got one right here.” He looked over at Rubaan and held the lighter out, but quickly found himself confused when he saw that the cigarette was already burning.
“Many thanks, Glen,” Rubaan smiled wickedly to himself, not bothering to look at his co-worker, “But I do believe I shall be just fine without it.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and slowly turned his head. As he exhaled the smoke toward him, Glen gasped at the face he saw.
Rubaan wore a menacing, toothy grin and where his friend's eyes had once been Glen saw only dark holes. Gazing into them felt like looking into one of the gates of the Hells themselves and he strangely found himself unable to look away.
As Glen stared into the deep black eyes in Rubaan’s head, he felt his sudden and short-lived fear begin to subside as a soothing sense of calm came over him. An icy chill crept up his spine and he found himself completely at ease.
“Glen,” He heard a voice in his mind beckon, “You belong to me now Glen.”
“Okay, thank you,” Glen politely said as he blankly stared at the road ahead of him.
“I am your king,” The voice said to him. “I am Eon.”
“Hail King Eon.”
***
“No, everything is fine,” Rubaan s
poke reassuringly into the phone. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, “No… Listen… listen!” The person on the other end finally stopped talking long enough for Rubaan to find room to speak.
“I know we have not spoken for a few months and for that I apologize. I have been busy with work and the baby but... I have an issue that you may be able to help me with.”
“My dear nephew it brings me great joy that you would find time for your old Auntie,” The voice replied, “I will stop talking so that you may begin. Tell me, what is troubling you.”
Rubaan took a deep breath and exhaled as silently as he could as not to warrant any worry. “What do you know of Eon?”
“Pray tell child, you are referring to the Eon?” his aunt asked in a surprised tone.
“I think so,” Rubaan replied, “How many Eons are there?”
“I can think of none but the one. What brings you to ask me about this?”
“A… coworker mentioned him,” Rubaan lied as he heard the voice in his head again, “He said our boss was like Eon.”
His aunt hummed softly and then spoke, “A rather arbitrary reference. Though in all likelihood a fitting description…” She paused for a moment as if to gather her thoughts and then continued, “Eon was known by many names; The Puppet King, The Calamity, The Ancient Demon… On paper, he was one of the last of the Ancients that walked among us. He took his final breath nearly a century ago when Commander Xian destroyed him.”
“Did you ever see him?” Rubaan asked.
“I did not,” His aunt replied, “The campaign against Eon only lasted a few years… I believe it was sometime in the 240s. I remember at that time I was stationed in the Galatiian Islands.”
“You said he was called the Puppet King," Rubaan thought back to the night before and how he had lost control of his body, "Can you tell me why?”
“Well, essentially Eon trapped people in their own bodies,” His aunt explained, “He in a sense possessed them by ways of which you would not understand. He had the ability to make nearly anyone do anything he wished.”
“I would not understand?” Rubaan repeated, “Why would I not?”
“I am not questioning your intellect dear nephew,” His aunt clarified, “Eon was a master of a very powerful Ancient technology so complex that you would only understand it to be magic. Even I only understand the fundamentals of the technology. It would be fruitless for me to explain it to you as it would require a significant amount of time.”
Rubaan considered his aunt’s words for a moment and then sighed, “Thank you Emerald,” He finally said, “You have been helpful.”
“You are most welcome my nephew,” She had a hint of suspicion in her tone, “Perhaps we may speak again soon. Until then, do take care.”
At that, Rubaan closed his phone and slouched back in his chair.
“That was not what I wanted to hear…” He mumbled.
***
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” Rubaan’s balding, heavyset foreman Cliven grumbled, barely looking up from his paperwork to acknowledge the two workers in his office, “Nor was I expecting you to be late Glen.”
He glanced up at the motionless, expressionless laborer for a moment and took a drag off his cigarette, “Gonna have to write you both up for being late.” Cliven sighed at the inconvenience of having to roll backward in his chair and licked his finger before he began thumbing through some paperwork.
“Shoulda stayed home like you told me you were going to this morning Rubaan," His cigarette flopped around in his mouth as he spoke. He found the paper he was searching for and with a slight hum of self-approval, he pulled it from the stack and apathetically placed it on the desk in front of him.
“You alright?” Cliven asked when he caught a glimpse of Glen, “You’re lookin’ a little off.” Glen remained silent and completely still. Cliven took a drag of his cigarette and looked over at Eon's new body, “Something wrong with him Rubaan? He been this quiet all day?”
“I do believe that something may, in fact, be wrong with Glen,” Eon confessed with a smile. Cliven’s face wrinkled up at the unfamiliar sound of Eon’s excessively proper tone and he ashed his cigarette in a tray on his desk.
“Something sounds wrong with you too,” Cliven was becoming suspicious, “You’re not acting the same.” He looked at the two queerly and hummed to himself softly, “You better not be sucking sugir, are we gonna be havin’ any problems today?”
“None at all,” Eon wore a confident look on his face, “In fact, Glen here will make certain that you have absolutely nothing on your mind to worry about anymore.” Eon looked over at Glen and nodded his head, “If you will.”
At that, Glen wrapped his hand around Cliven’s head and slammed it into the desk. Cliven responded with a surprised grunt of sorts and immediately started to struggle.
“Now, now we shall have none of that,” Eon declared as he walked behind Cliven, “It will all be over soon.”
“Let go of me!” Cliven shouted as he kicked his chair back into Eon’s legs. Eon did not move. He simply chuckled and grabbed hold of the foreman, pushing the chair aside.
“Hush. I need to concentrate,” His eyes turned to Glen, “The pickaxe if you will.” Glen silently obeyed. He grabbed a pickaxe that was resting against Cliven’s desk and handed it over.
“Cliven you should feel greatly honored that you were fortunate enough to find yourself first in a long line of many. ‘Tis been over one hundred years since I have satisfied these... burning desires of mine,” His eyes lost focus for a moment as he reminisced over his last kill, “Mortal flesh… I have neither adorned nor beheld for so long. For a lifetime I sat in the hottest fires of the darkest dungeons waiting, no, yearning for my chance to present itself, for my opportunity to seek vengeance, to find salvation. Lo, I have returned from the Hells and my chance has emerged.” Eon looked down at the pickaxe in his hand and then to Cliven.
“All beings love to live yet none are aware of their true purpose on Duraan. I am the liberator, the savior; I am your messiah. All who thirst for truth, any who shall desire to find their way through the darkness that is life come to me and I shall guide your feet. I will lead you to your purpose. Cliven, you shall understand that this is your purpose.”
At that, Eon slammed Cliven’s face into the desk and in one swift move planted the pickaxe into the back of his head. Cliven's body tensed for a moment as his blood and brains dripped through the hole in the desk and puddled on the floor beneath. With a final twitch, his muscles relaxed and his knees hit the floor as the foreman pissed himself. He was dead before he had an opportunity to scream.
***
Rubaan parked his Caroset in the alleyway, just outside a weathered single-story shop. The building was made of aged dried up gray brick that looked like it could crumble and fall apart at any moment and a yellowed sign that was probably white about thirty years prior hung above the door. It said “Dauid’s Automotive” Rubaan stepped out of his car and walked to the front door.
“Anyone home?” A bell above the door jingled, notifying anyone inside of his presence, “Old man?” Rubaan heard some rustling in the back and waited silently for a moment.
The inside of the shop was dim, messy and a claustrophobe’s worst nightmare. Uneven stacks of papers smeared with greasy fingerprints were littered about the desk up front and a calendar with a picture of nearly nude Lycaani female hung on the wall to his right. There were a couple of chairs against the same wall that looked like they could have been acceptable three decades ago. Rubaan shrugged and took a seat on one of the deflated looking cushions.
It was not his first time in Dauid’s Automotive. He had met the Humaan a long time ago and had always visited when he needed help with his car. Rubaan's Caroset was an old vehicle and Dauid had worked on plenty of them in his lifetime so Rubaan trusted him with it. Plus, he liked the guy.
“Well, what a damn surprise,” The old man called out as he walked into the front
of his shop. He had a wrench clenched in his right hand or his “good hand” as he called it. His left hand or his “better hand” was entirely robotic and held a glass of something that Rubaan assumed could melt the skin off a cat, “I was expecting to spend the day watching the game in the back. Didn’t I just fix your car?”
Dauid Landkeeper was a sight to behold. At nearly seventy years of age, he looked more machine than Humaan. His eyes were covered by an electronic visor that wrapped halfway around his head and enabled him to see. He wore a breathing mask as his lungs were completely shot from smoking and breathing poisonous fumes his whole life and his left arm from the elbow down was completely robotic. All the augmentation was due to the fact that he primarily worked on Canrom City’s Inquisitor’s vehicles. The local government apparently liked his work well enough to keep him going as long as they could.
“Good to see you old man,” Rubaan nearly laughed in response to Dauid, “The Caroset is running perfectly. I have no complaints.”
“Well I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the company then,” Dauid set the wrench down and ran his “good hand” through what was left of his gray hair, “But what the fuck do you need? The game is on.”
“Sorry if I came at a bad time…”
“I’ve seen plenty of games in my time I guess,” Dauid's mischievous grin could be seen behind the clear breathing mask, “What can I help you with?”
“Well, I have a question,” Rubaan replied.
“Well, the best way to get the answer to a question is to ask it then,” Dauid replied, softly laughing at his own joke.
“You have spent a lot of time learning about history, right?” Rubaan asked.
“Is that your question?” Dauid replied, “Or are you still beatin’ around the bush? You kids are too polite these days. I remember back in the ’90s if we had a question, we asked the damn question and didn’t waste old folk’s time.”
“Do you know anything about Eon?” Rubaan blurted.
The Black Knight Box Set Page 44