Coming to Power

by T J Marquis

  Coming to Power

  The Arc Legacy: Book One

  T. J. Marquis

  Multiverse Books LLC

  Copyright © 2020 T.J. Marquis

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  See the World Stats page for acceptable usage in roleplay and gaming.

  Cover design by: Old Kan Art @oldkanarts on Twitter

  Made in the United States of America

  For Dad, whose mind and shelves opened the portals to many worlds.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgement

  Afterword

  About The Author

  Map of the mainland - Anek, Enkann, and Nul

  PART ONE

  Prologue

  The blood cost of attaining godhood was all too steep.

  Yet giving up had long ago ceased to be an option.

  Each morning was a glorious dawn of potential, bursting over the horizon outside the old ship’s viewports. Amazing, the beauty of sunrise, even when he no longer needed to sleep. A new day was still a fresh cycle, another opportunity for growth, a challenge to one’s resolve. Yes, though he had been in this world for far too long, he sensed the day of change was coming soon.

  He gazed at his hands, capable, strong, in awe as ever of the gifts he had attained. In a rare form of vision he could see the light swirling across the terrain of his skin like a luminescent mist in a shifting breeze. He savored the scent of it, like a delicate citrus tea. There must be more out there somewhere, more might to harvest, more control. These diligent hands had earned him that revelation, for almost every day that he spent at his life’s work, the power matured, his life extended, and this world grew a little smaller.

  Many were the worlds to be seen, a truly endless number. And that lust for discovery burned within, driving every moment forward from each new question to its answer. His knowledge had grown vast, his presence was no longer singular. For this the people loved him, worshipped him, and though the pleasures of rest and taste had long since faded to grey, the joys of respect and honor, and the loyalty of a million children had more than filled the void.

  For them, he would continue to seek his goal, though that City imprison him for ten thousand years, and yes, for himself too.

  He turned away from the ship’s windows and the lightening land far below.

  Alas, the time for rumination, for basking in the sunrise, was over all too soon. The power in him demanded new blood, and there was never a moment to waste.

  Chapter 1

  Run

  The voice speaks, familiar and yet so new.

  He’s come here from somewhere else, he knows, but the beauty of the moment overwhelms him and he can’t remember where.

  He can’t remember what happened before until it speaks and tells him to try.

  “You carry the darkness past whether you wish to or not,” it tells him. “Know it without drowning in its mire.”

  He wants to speak but cannot. All is white here but he cannot see - an inverted blindness.

  There is only emotion, and memory, and the promise of light after the dark.

  He has to push on.

  At home the voice had stayed quiet.

  There were no urgings to turn, or run, or leave. It was peaceful here - dim, isolated, protected. He spent as much time as possible within the sacred confines of his little house. Sometimes, though, business had to be done, and tonight was a work night.

  The sharp blue sky had begun to weep, graying in mere minutes down to lifelessness. A rare but expected occurrence, this thunderstorm swiftly moving in over the midsummer desert. At times the abrupt drenching was welcome, bringing respite from the scorching heat, but of course it all depended on who you were, what kind of day you were having.

  For Jon, just locking up his house to attend to the day’s business, the storm only exacerbated his pervading gloom. Today he spared no joy for the sweet smell of wet sand that had just minutes ago been dry as a bone. Today he harbored no thoughts of his childhood summers, times even before his friend Cal, gleefully splashing in the puddles with the neighborhood boys. Rain had been a treat then. He turned away from the front door and made his way down the walk to Cal’s waiting car.

  I really don’t want to do this tonight, he thought.

  His footfalls rang darkly on the pavement, heavy boots picked carefully for their mass, their audible projection of power, often useful in his line of work.

  His friend revved the motor of his black Cadillac, flaunting the V8 inside. He’d just gotten the thing. Eighty gees was way more than Jon was willing to drop on a hunk of metal though, no matter where the money came from. His own car was a humble, cookie-cutter sedan.

  Jon opened the door to the trills, pulse and thump of trapp music, and his friend’s screeching orders to close the door before the seats got wet. Cal was a big guy, white but well-tanned from his day job in construction. He had the cool guy wardrobe down pat and Jon thought he might achieve the image he wanted a little better if he could just keep his mouth shut.

  “Hey Cal,” Jon said as he slid into the passenger seat.

  “My leather, dawg!” Cal screamed.

  “Relax, Calvin,” his friend nearly pouted at the use of his proper name. “Had to get inside,” Jon smirked.

  “Archibald,” Cal mocked Jon’s surname, grinning, and pulled the Caddy away from the curb.

  “So where we goin’, homie?” Cal asked.

  “Oakwood again,” Jon answered. “Those girls are ravenous.”

  “Mmm, fine though...”

  “Yeah well if you’d act like a normal human being, you might have a chance,” Jon opined. “You know nobody says ‘dawg’ anymore.”

  Cal waved a hand. Since when had he cared what anybody thought?

  “Nah bro, you just get us in, I’ll close the deal.”

  “Sure. So how’s Gram today Cal?” Jon asked.

  “Ah, you know,” Cal’s voice cracked for a moment, dropping some of the gangster affectation. “She’s good, most days the same. She don’t remember much recently, but she does ask about you. Keeps telling how you were one of the last things she ever saw.”

  Jon smiled inwardly at the thought of the sweet lady. Something about her demeanor had been a comfort after the early passing of his own parents. Like those blind old eyes saw something hidden away inside of him.

  It had been right after Jon’s father had died, his mom fleeing in grief back to the old country. Cal’s Gram started losing her vision, with no one else to care for her. An awful season all around. Cal moved in with his grandmother, and purely out of love stopped doing any drugs at home - he wanted to be sharp to help out Gra
m.

  There hadn’t been much warmth between Jon and his parents - they were a peculiar kind of old-fashioned - but standing there at the funeral, the preacher’s words a hazy drone, feeling nothing but the itch of addiction as he watched Dad’s casket sink into the earth, he knew something was wrong. The first time he heard that inward voice say, Stop, he knew it was time to cut himself off. He hadn’t had more than the occasional drink since then, but the vibrancy of life had also not returned. Jon had begun to wonder if it ever would.

  His mind continued to drift, and the ride passed quickly by. He started as Cal smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Hey where you at boy? We have arrived.” Cal grinned.

  The storm had passed, and the sun was already out again - just a quick wet of the whistle for the desert city. A long brick drive wound up to the gates of Oakwood Estates. The way was lined with lush grass and fat, squat oak trees, incongruous in the midst of this arid land. The dappled shadows of leaves brushed Jon’s face, weaving odd patterns across the otherwise golden light of late afternoon.

  The security booth at the gate was occupied by a bored-looking, stubbly Latino man, currently reading a young adult novel as he leaned back in his chair. His expression betrayed an odd guilt as he set the book down to attend the visitors.

  “Where you headed?” he asked routinely. “I’ll need I.D.”

  Cal gave him the house number and his driver license, which was returned after a cursory scanning. The guard gave them a visitor’s pass, the gate swung open, and they were admitted into this oasis of green lawns and wealth.

  “Gracias, homie,” Cal said with an amicable wink.

  The gate guard dove back into his book with one last hooded glance at Cal and Jon. Jon wondered to himself what world the man was escaping into.

  The homes of Oakwood were each slightly different, yet largely the same. Here were real marble columns, there a marble fountain. Circular driveways with actual gas lamp-posts to light them. Asymmetrical three storey gingerbread fantasy homes - brown brick and white trim. Now and then the rare adobe style construction mimicking the ancient southwestern homes of the area’s indigenes. Cal turned the Caddy into their destination, an adobe mansion with both the fountain and the circular drive. A dozen luxury cars were already parked here. Jon sighed, not up to this today, then thought about the money.

  Cal was pumped, Jon could tell. He wore his smile loud and proud, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulders as they approached the front door. Jon couldn’t reciprocate - the storm clouds of an hour ago still haunted him.

  From within the house came the loud, bass-heavy and laughter gilded sounds of revelry, but it wasn’t long after Cal’s knock that the door opened.

  Ashlynne. She smiled at them, bright and blonde, just Cal’s type, judging by the way he fawned over her every move. Jon briefly wished it would happen for the poor guy this time. Cal needed a woman’s touch in his life.

  “Hey boys!” she exclaimed with a cock of her head, golden tresses swinging as if created purely to mesmerize old Cal. “Come in?”

  They entered her world, and Jon sighed again, sick with the feeling of hating where he was. Why couldn’t he just enjoy this like the others? Their hostess led them through the expansive foyer. Jon felt the ridiculous urge to literally run.

  But that would be bad for business.

  “Drinks are out in the kitchen,” Ashlynne called over her shoulder Cal followed the swing of her hips. Jon plodded behind. “Grab somethin’ and join us!”

  Perfect chance, bud, just turn around.

  Jon went on autopilot as he followed Cal to the kitchen. These ‘flight’ feelings had been cropping up even more lately, bubbling to the surface of his thought as if somewhere below something boiled.

  At its strongest he heard his own voice sending those concise little messages.

  Turn.

  Go.

  Run.

  Enough.

  Still, he went forward.

  Cal placed a whiskey, neat, firmly in Jon’s hand, still smiling.

  “Look alive brotha! Bottom’s up,” he said, and clinked Jon’s glass with his own. They drank to nothing, and Cal lead Jon out to join the little party.

  Three pairs of doors stood open to the outside, and some kind of dance-pop was blaring out of speakers on the back patio. Jon vaguely noted sentiments of ‘party’ and ‘hands up”. Someone had cranked the bass.

  “What up y’all?” Cal greeted the room.

  Jon scanned the gathering. A small collection of well-dressed twenty-somethings, mostly friends from Ashlynne’s college. Most of the guys looked fairly similar - light skin, trendy haircuts and spring-colored shorts with button-up shirts. One of the guys was a bright-looking Haitian kid, smartly dressed with a pair of oval glasses perched on his nose. He was tapping at something on his phone. Two of the girls continually leaned in to whisper to each other and giggle, both blonde, so alike they might have been twins. Their eyes flitted between Jon and one another as they gossipped. Ashlynne had taken a seat near her half-sister. Jon’s eyes sparkled for an instant when they lit on the slightly younger girl. Amber’s face was framed by waves of chocolate brown hair, dark eyebrows forming a graceful arc over darker eyes. She had a slim nose, high cheeks and a perpetual pout. She gave a familiar, casual half-smile when she noticed Jon. Ashlynne was watching him intently.

  “So?” Ashlynne asked.

  “Uh…” Jon responded lamely.

  “You have it?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh… Here?” He’d never delivered to her in front of a crowd before.

  Go.

  Ashlynne chuckled, “Oh nobody cares, Jon. Daddy’s out of town and they’re all in on the fun.”

  “Payin’ for some of it too, brah,” said the guy in pink shorts. He grinned, convincingly friendly. “Want a tip?”

  “Okay,” Jon unslung his gym bag, uncinched it, laid stuff out on the coffee table. He’d organized everything into a coherent bundle of baggies, even sorted it in order of potency.

  “Always so organized, Jon. It’s why we love you!” Ashlynne said.

  “That and the quality,” Amber added with a little smirk, her eyes flitting away from him just as he looked toward her voice.

  “OCD, bruh?” asked the guy in green shorts. People chuckled. Jon pretended.

  Ashlynne came off her perch to investigate. Satisfied the order was whole, she asked, “The usual?”

  “Yep, just like usual,” Jon answered. He felt more uneasy by the moment.

  Ashlynne produced a stack of cash from the coffee table’s lower shelf. It struck him as brazen, straight up handing him five gees in front of a dozen people.

  Jon took it, though, dropping it into his bag and slinging it back over both shoulders.

  “Business done,” Cal declared. “Tiiiime for pleasure!” All the shorts guys raised their glasses, toasting pleasure with Cal.

  Amber joined Ashlynne at the collection of goodies, claiming her portion.

  “A sacramental revision of reality,” Amber spoke as if to her baggie. She gave Jon another half-smile when she saw him watching her, but then left the room without excusing herself or saying goodbye to anyone.

  An hour later. Sunset. Jon sat in a cast-iron chair on the back patio, basking in the mediocrity of the music. Cal had recently returned from somewhere upstairs with Ashlynne and a few others, and they were all yelling excitedly about various things in the living room. A few of the baggies were already empty. Jon had watched them as long as he could, Cal doting on the girl, Ashlynne either suffering it diplomatically or reciprocating - he couldn’t tell. No one bothered him. No one asked why he wasn’t getting high. They just let him nurse his whiskey and hate the music. He wanted to leave now, more than ever, but there was no way Cal would suffer it, and he was the driver. Jon could call an Uber or a cab, but it would take forever to make it out to this far-flung subdivision, long enough anyway to risk an even longer wait for his friend. He was trapped, and it
felt worse than usual.

  Run.

  He grunted, then looked around self-consciously, but nobody had heard.

  Jon heard his name. Cal had spotted him.

  “Why you out here alone?” Cal’s grin had grown even wider, if that was possible. His eyes were a little bloodshot. He laid a warm, heavy hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Where’s your girl? Yeah, I know you. You wanna get with that.”

  “She’s off tripping somewhere,” Jon said flatly.

  “Ahhh even better Jonny! I bet she’s waiting for you,” Cal cackled.

  “Look, it’s fine. I don’t care. Just go enjoy yourself.”

  “Brotha you gotta learn how to have some fun again, dang,” Cal winked through the rebuke, squeezed Jon’s shoulder, and left him alone.

  Leave.

  But it wasn’t fine. When would it stop being like this? This mundane hurricane of wants and needs and games and debauchery and awkwardnesses? Getting high was an illusory window into a better state of things, no sooner open than shut. Girls were a mystery of sweet, tantalizing darkness, a code as yet unbroken. And people… the shorts guys, the rich Haitian, even Cal… What were they all doing? Where were they going?

  Turn.

  Between his inheritance and all the drug money, Jon could survive, doing literally nothing with his life, for years. By no means was he rich like Ashlynne and Amber’s family, but he could play the bohemian game just like them, for a time at least. What would it gain?

  He’d considered grad school, but what difference would it make? Nothing anybody did mattered, and everything looked the same, year after year. No job he could land matched the earning potential of his current trade, so a new career path was equally pointless. Even going back to the drugs was inane. Why give up the little bit of control over life he already had, only to fry his brain in the name of tuning out? It was all vanity, and he wanted to quit. Disconnect. Unplug. Stop.