Prophecy

by Kyle West

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Kyle West

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Contact

  Also by Kyle West

  Glossary

  Prophecy

  The Xenoworld Saga, Book 1

  Kyle West

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Kyle West

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  First e-book edition, March 2015

  Want to know when my next book comes out? Sign up for my mailing list!

  Also by Kyle West

  Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian

  The Wasteland Chronicles

  Apocalypse

  Origins

  Evolution

  Revelation

  Darkness

  Extinction

  Xenofall

  Post-Apocalyptic/Fantasy

  The Xenworld Saga

  Prophecy

  Bastion

  We took you in, and we wonder: was this our great mistake? Shall we prune humanity from our tree, as if it were deadwood?

  Anna Keener, Conversations with the Xenofold

  PROLOGUE

  THOUGH THE WORLD HAD CHANGED since the days of the Ragnarok War, the Nameless One’s lair in the Hollow of the Three Hills had remained virtually the same, as if time itself had frozen. The Old World trees still grew beside the still Mirror Lake, producing fruit that fell to be eaten by none. Even animals didn’t enter the Hollow of the Three Hills, as if they knew the power that lurked within.

  The Nameless One could feel this change in the Xenofold, though he himself hadn’t changed. His nature was changeless. In many times on many worlds, he had appeared as a floating ball of light, a point of energy in which his formless mind concentrated. He didn’t know his origin, but that didn’t concern him. He merely was, just as he ever would be: energy that existed for its own, hidden purpose.

  There was nothing benevolent in the Nameless One’s nature, and neither was there anything malevolent. He was driven by neither good nor evil, but rather the compulsion to restore all things to the mean. Darkness was neither good nor bad, just as neither was light. Both were tools in the greater scheme, tools the Nameless One used in his quest to achieve perfect balance.

  And in his Hollow, the Nameless waited, and lingered. Until one day, from the Great Void above, a voice resounded and fluctuated in his collective mind.

  He that is Nameless. I, Odium of the Dark, greet you from the Great Void.

  The Nameless One responded, Hail, Radaskim. Long has your journey no doubt been.

  How, Nameless One, are the People of Earth? Do any remember the humiliation of our Reapers last Xenofall?

  The humans sleep, and when they are not sleeping, they are killing each other. The power of Elekim abides, but even so, there is a strange resonance in the Xenofold...one that even I cannot fully explain. A rope that now even frays, balancing creation and destruction.

  So, you still speak in riddles, Odium said. We are aware of your need for balance, such as satisfies your purpose. The Radaskim are always ready to bargain, Arbiter of Ages.

  Yes. There must always be balance. I underestimated the frailty of human lives, and the near-absence of their resolve. Indeed, I often ponder how they won the day at Ragnarok to begin with, and yet they are the only ones who have succeeded where others have failed. A riddle of my own I’ve been meditating on these last centuries. Already, I have bartered with the Elekai, and their end of the bargain is satisfied.

  And this bargain is?

  It cannot be named, lest you undermine it, Odium of the Dark.

  Something like laughter resonated from Odium’s wave-voice, which ebbed across space-time within the Xenomatrix connecting worlds.

  We Radaskim are strong. And we won’t lose again. To satisfy balance, do we not also receive a boon, such as you have granted the feeble Elekai?

  Your boon has already been granted, Odium, the Nameless One said. The Elekai have sundered themselves by failing to remember the past. Long years they could have prepared a defense, but long years instead have they wasted. Only the Elder Dragons remain who remember the old days, and even they are but a fraction of their former glory. The Elekai Xenofold weakens. The human Elekai sense it, but they do not understand it. Even now, they know nothing of the doom descending from above.

  Then they shall be all the easier to destroy.

  Humanity, in its pride, forsook the Elder Dragons in pursuit of power. Even today, the Elders do not speak to them. Indeed, are these Elekai? For they do not act like it.

  If all that you speak is true, then the twilight of destruction draws near. The humans will be assimilated into our Xenofold and make for us wonderful pets to mock...and all the Elekai must be destroyed. How can Elekim save them, when he cannot leave their Xenofold? If he does, the Radaskim Xenofold is unleashed.

  He cannot, the Nameless One said. Unless he wants that ancient terror set upon humanity.

  Tell me, Great Watcher...what did humanity do to the dragons that was so terrible?

  The Nameless One went silent. The deed had passed out of human thought and memory, but the rift it had created ran deep – so much so, that it was hard to see how it could ever be mended.

  That is not for you to know, Odium, the Nameless One said. You cannot know what humanity itself has forgotten.

  Is that so? No matter. The Radaskim shall learn soon enough.

  The space-fold lapsed into silence. For ten million Earth years, the Radaskim had spread from the galactic center, from the now dead world of Askalon. The Nameless One had followed the Radaskim hordes to every world, ensuring that the Elekai were present to at least challenge their progress. Though the Radaskim could physically destroy the Elekai with ease, within the Elekai Xenofold was the very thing the Radaskim sought above all else – the Secrets of Creation, which would allow them to re-create the universe in their own image.

  The Elekai’s victory on Earth was a small thing in the face of the galactic Radaskim onsl
aught. On the scale of hundreds, or even thousands of years, Earth would fall, and the Radaskim’s relentless advance across the galaxy would continue. Already, every habitable star surrounding Earth for a thousand light years had fallen...and it was to Earth that the legions of the Radaskim would come, again and again, until it, too, had fallen.

  It was time for the Nameless One to uphold his end of the bargain to the Elekai, and perhaps it would be enough for them to remember.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “SHANTI, TIME TO WAKE UP. You know today is Remembrance Day.”

  I opened my eyes, seeing that my mother had already lit the lantern, but it didn’t do much to push back the early morning darkness. My eyes took a moment to adjust, and I resisted the urge to roll over and groan.

  “Why do we have to go?” I asked, throwing the blanket off my body and feeling all my warmth dissipate into the cold air.

  I meant it as a joke, but it came out more serious than intended. No one missed Remembrance Day. No one in their right mind, anyway.

  My mother looked at me severely. “Because it only comes once a year and we won’t disgrace Annara or the gods by not going. Now get up, get dressed, and come eat your oatmeal. We’re already running late, and I won’t have the entire Subura know that we are its two newest apostates.”

  If that line couldn’t get me up and dressed fast, I didn’t know what would. I put on some pants and a thick shirt over my smallclothes, and wrapped myself in my colorless cloak. It had been dark green once, and was tight on my shoulders. I hadn’t had a new cloak in years. Last of all, I put on a pair of clean socks and my only pair of boots. Those boots, too, were small, even with all the wear.

  The wood stove was off, as it had been all winter. To save money on firewood, my mother used the community stove outside. Maybe it saved money, but the room was cold, almost enough for my breath to make clouds.

  I sat with my mother at the table, and inside my wooden bowl, the oatmeal steamed. Mixed in were small berries.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Blueberries,” my mother said. “You’ve had them before.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just been so long. How much were they?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” my mother said. “Today’s a special day.”

  I took my spoon and dug in, eating slowly so I could savor the sweetness of the berries. It had been plain oatmeal almost every morning for quite a while now. There was always plenty of it, but I’d long wanted some sort of change.

  “Were they part of the ration?”

  “A little something extra,” my mother said. “I heard we just won a victory, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  “A victory? Where? Have you heard from Father?” Hope rose in my chest. “Is he coming home?”

  “It was down by Coloso, or so the rumor goes,” my mother said. “They said this could be the end to the war, and if that’s the case...maybe we’ll be seeing him soon enough.”

  My mother gave a small smile, and that was enough to tell me she was hopeful.

  “Who said?” I asked.

  “The women were talking about it outside. Apparently, a caller came all the way from Coloso bearing the news, shouting throughout the entire city. It’s nothing official, of course. If true, though...it would be a Remembrance Day to never forget.”

  “It would be Colonia’s first victory in years!”

  “I just hope that the Council and Pontifex Valian sue for peace. There are enough troubles in the world already without wars to multiply them.”

  I swallowed another bite of food. “Do you really think Father could be coming home?”

  “I hope so, dear. Nothing is certain, however.” She smiled again. “But we can hope.”

  “Can we write him another letter? If he knows, he can tell us for sure.”

  My mother shook her head. “You know we’re only allowed to write one a week, and we sent the last off yesterday. When your father does come home, he knows we live here, now.” My mother stood, taking my empty bowl. “We need to get moving, or we’ll be late.”

  My mood soured at that. I hated going to service, but it was required of everyone, and even more required on Remembrance Day. It was boring...mostly just chanting in English and watching people light candles. For Remembrance Day, everyone received a candle, even the poor. Once a year everyone was allowed a single prayer to Annara – ostensibly, to pray for her quick return, but technically, you could pray for whatever you wanted, and as long as your heart was pure, the prayer would be granted. Normally, a prayer candle cost one seste, a needless expense unless you happened to have the extra money...which few who lived in the Subura did.

  Even though going to the cathedral was required of everyone, it wasn’t frowned upon to miss it as long as you had an excuse. There would be no excuse for missing it today, though.

  While we quickly cleaned the dishes, I could hear the bustle of other people getting ready outside, talking and laughing in the darkness. Once done, I washed my face and arms in the water my mother had already set aside. After that, I brushed my hair. It was something I made sure to do every morning, even if all I was destined to do was work in the fields.

  Once I was done, my mother nodded, satisfied. I took the time to look her over. My mother was a naturally beautiful woman with brown hair and eyes. Even if the last four years had put new lines on her face and weathered her hands, it only lent to her additional beauty, a quiet strength and determination to do whatever it took to survive.

  “You look pretty,” I said.

  “Thanks, dear. You do, too.”

  She switched off the lantern, and I followed her into the early morning.

  The eastern sky above the adobe tenements was tinged gray with the coming dawn. I rubbed the last of the sleep from my eyes, following my mother’s steps toward the procession already making its way south on the wide dirt road leading to the Red Cathedral, one mile south. It was the closest cathedral to us, and in order to have room, one had to arrive early. There would be services all day, but the least crowded were the earliest ones.

  As we walked with the procession, everyone’s breath clouded the dry air. We passed rows of decrepit apartments, and on our right flowed the wide Colorado River, its surface smooth and dark in the still morning. Small piles of snow had collected at the base of desert scrub lining its banks. Downriver, a barge floated with the current, probably loaded with food and supplies for the army.

  The group was mostly quiet, though some were chanting the more familiar refrains. They probably didn’t know their meanings...it was only for priests to know the meaning of Holy English, but the faithful who had heard sacraments from the cradle could still repeat them without fail.

  Even now I could see Colonia across the river, its red sandstone walls still dark in the predawn. Turrets and shadowed domes rose above its walls, and at its highest point stood its two largest buildings – the Dome of Annara and its four turrets, and the Red Bastion, a towering fortress which had never been taken, not since the founding of the Covenant two hundred and fifty years ago. Silver Bridge spanned the Colorado, its arch a shadow above the dark river.

  It was still half a mile yet to Eastshore, the town across the bridge from Colonia, where the Red Cathedral stood.

  As we neared Colonia proper, the buildings became taller and less crude, and the streets paved. Patrols of Peacemakers in their leathers and red capes, armed with staves, passed by, out in greater numbers on account of the Holy Day.

  My mother and I hadn’t always lived in the Subura. Before my father had gone to the war four years ago, he owned a hardware shop in Colonia itself. The war, however, had sent him south to fight against the Novan Empire, like most men of fighting age. My mother ran the store for a year, but business died when better-connected merchants began supplying the army at more competitive rates. We were forced to sell out, something Father hadn’t been pleased about, but there had been no other option. My mother wasn’t able to get a
good price, and the proceeds of the sale, along with our family’s stipend from my father’s service, weren’t enough to cover the city’s rising rent. We were evicted, and like many war families put in similar positions, we were forced to live on the outskirts of town, where it was cheapest. The Subura was known as the roughest part of Colonia, but the move had been necessary.

  My mother and I lived alone, but we had formed close bonds with our neighbors. Many of them were also soldiers’ families, and there were plenty of people my age. My best friend’s name was Shara, and she and I were both seventeen. She was my next-door neighbor, along with her mother, Naomi, and her little brother and sister.

  The war was hard on a lot of families. The soldiers’ suffering was by far the worst – something my mother reminded me of often when I complained about not getting the things I used to get. The Covenant tried to help by giving out rations and stipends, but with the war going poorly, the stipends were never enough. To supplement our income, my mother and I either sowed or reaped in the fields, depending on the season. It was hard work, and it wasn’t the life I had imagined for myself. Like most city girls, I thought I’d find a trade of my own, or at least work in my father’s shop. Not that I had any particular talent – not like Shara, who could paint as if Annara herself guided her hand.

  I made the best of it, though. People could get used to just about anything, good or bad.

  At last, the sun peeked above the eastern buildings, spreading its first fiery rays across the city. The golden light caught my mother’s browned face and high cheekbones, lighting her brown eyes. She smiled, at nothing in particular, a smile that said everything was going to be okay, if only we had faith. Annara would protect us all.

  I prayed every night for my father to return alive and well, because I had nightmares that he would die down there, as so many others had. It had been so long that I was beginning to forget what he looked like. I only knew him from his letters, which were always detailed, but he seemed to talk about everything besides the fighting, such as the food he ate, what Coloso looked like, and the daily routines of maintaining his camp. His letters usually came on Saturday, and were something I always looked forward to.