Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “Meitka!”

  Jetta never saw what tripped her. She rolled head over heels down the staircase, losing the flashlight as she tumbled. The darkness was quick to consume her, giving her no chance to reorient herself. Stone stairs and slammed into her again and again, leaving panic behind like bruises until the floor brought her to an abrupt stop.

  It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, and when they did she immediately pinched herself to make sure it wasn’t another hallucination.

  “What is this?” Jetta said.

  She checked her arms and legs, surprised to find herself relatively unharmed, and gathered herself up off the floor. The stone construction of the temple had vanished, replaced by solid wood floors angled toward three raised benches arranged to face her in a semicircle. Masked figures occupied two of them, leaving the middle bench empty. A bright spotlight shone down on her, preventing her from seeing much beyond the vacant jury boxes walling her in.

  “Amargo?” Jetta called, turning on her heels to find the staircase back, but it had vanished.

  Jetta closed her eyes and searched with her talent for extrasensory information, but her abilities were muffled by the intangible interference she had felt earlier.

  A discorporate voice shot through her, cutting her in half. “Jetta Kyron, formally Jetta Drachsi, why did you give up your uncle’s surname?”

  Jetta gasped for air. “Who are you?”

  A high-pitched ringing pierced her skull, dropping her to her knees. She covered her ears, but to not avail. “I—I wanted my real name!”

  The ringing intensified. Jetta grimaced and tried again. “I didn’t want our owner to find us!”

  But that wasn’t the truth either. The ringing escalated. She squirmed and bucked, trying to escape the torment until she was certain her head would explode. “I was ashamed of my uncle!” she screamed.

  The ringing stopped.

  The bodiless voice spoke again. “What is your relationship to General Sarkof Volkor, Destroyer of Worlds?”

  Jetta spun around to face the masked figures in the tiers. “Relationship? What are you talking about?”

  A low murmur arose from the empty jury boxes. Jetta didn’t know which way she could run. When she turned back to the bench, Volkor was standing before her, eyes bloodshot and mouth ringed with something black and oily. The same ooze dripped from his fingers and pooled around his feet.

  “Jetta Kyron,” the voice asked, “what is your relationship to Yahmen Drachsi?”

  Jetta backed away quickly when her owner appeared, looking disheveled and drunk. A bottle hung lazily from his fingers, pouring out the same black slime.

  “Amargo!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  “Jetta Kyron, what is your relation to M’ah Pae, Overlord of the Damned?”

  Jetta fell backward and scooted as far away as she could when the Motti Overlord appeared alongside Volkor and Yahmen. He spun around on his undercarriage to face her, black ooze dripping from his bulging eye and the hollowed-out voice apparatus in his throat.

  The clamor from the empty jury boxes grew heated. She understood their accusations even though they were in a foreign tongue.

  “Who stands accused?” the voice asked.

  “I, Jetta Kyron, stand accused,” Volkor declared.

  “No, I, Jetta Kyron, stand accused!” Yahmen shouted.

  “I am Jetta Kyron, and I stand accused!” M’ah Pae hissed.

  Laughter cascaded down from all corners of the room.

  “No, that’s not me,” Jetta argued, but it only served to incite the invisible audience further.

  “It’s not ME!” she screamed. She didn’t let up, emptying her lungs until she could yell no longer.

  When she opened her eyes she was no longer in the spotlight. The air was stale and slightly moldy, and oddly familiar.

  “Impossible,” Jetta mumbled as she picked herself off the cavern floor.

  “Ah, the Thief awakens.”

  His kind smile was the same, as was the amethyst color of his eyes, but the celestial glow outlining his figure hinted at his otherworldly origins.

  That can’t be the Grand Oblin, can it?

  She was back in the caverns on Tralora, specifically the one where she and her sister used to sleep. Macca fruit glowed in clusters on the walls, and brown furskins were spread out on the flattest of the rocky outcroppings.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Why are you here, my dear?” the old man asked, taking a drag from his pipe. His rheumy eyes looked her over curiously. “You shouldn’t be here, you know—very dangerous for someone like you.”

  Jetta knew it was a test, but she wasn’t sure who or what was asking the questions, or what it was they wanted. Because she had raided Amargo’s mind, she had grafted his knowledge of the inscriptions and read the warnings on the doors herself. The Diez di Trios was not a gateway into Cudal but a window, and that was assuming such a place truly existed.

  Still, seeing the manifestation of the Grand Oblin before her, she knew that whether it was a window or door, she was out of her element, and she had better play it straight. “I need to know if Saol and I are the same—if I am also Rion.”

  “Rion,” the Oblin mused, tapping his pipe on his knee. “It’s been many years since I’ve been asked about that. Not too many visitors these days.”

  “Please,” Jetta asked, “I need to know.”

  “Why?” the Grand Oblin asked. “What difference would that make?”

  “All the difference!” Jetta said, not minding her tone. “I need to know if...” But the words died on her lips. She couldn’t speak her worst fear.

  “The easiest way for me to explain your predicament,” the Grand Oblin said, smoothing out the braid in his beard, “is that wherever you go, the dead will follow. That is as it will be until your last breath.”

  Jetta cringed.

  “Come now,” the Grand Oblin said, “I will show you something you want to see, but only if you promise to leave right after.”

  “Why?”

  The Grand Oblin smiled. “Not everyone will be as happy as I am to see a Thief. Best if you be on your way as soon as possible.”

  “A Thief?”

  The Oblin allayed her confusion as he gathered his robes and rose on rickety knees. “I trust you can read our language?”

  “Yes,” Jetta replied. “How did you know that?”

  The Oblin smiled, revealing the familiar toothless grin. “Who do you think I am?”

  Jetta was lost without her extrasensory perceptions but knew better than to say how she really felt. “You’re a God.”

  “But you don’t believe that, do you?” the Oblin corrected, waving a bony finger. “Even though you witness it with your own eyes?”

  “No, I don’t. It isn’t possible. There is no such thing as God. I have known that my whole life.”

  The Grand Oblin’s grin humored her. “And still you cannot explain this, can you?”

  “No rational person would assume God’s hand just because something appears unexplainable.”

  The Grand Oblin chuckled and motioned for her to follow, leading her through the passageway and into the main cavern. The old meeting circle around the fire pit was still there, with Rawyll’s tools laid out near a sharpening stone as if he were in the middle of a project. Senka’s scarves and Crissn’s electronic trinkets occupied their owners’ customary spots, indicating their imminent return. Jetta even spotted one of Dinjin’s patched boots resting against a log. It was all so real that she felt a strange and unexpected pang of longing.

  “Why are we going down there?” Jetta said, stopping at the entrance to the tunnel. The last time she went down that path she had found the Liiker they were milking for its blood. The memory, still fresh, crept under her skin and turned her stomach.

  The old man kept on going despite her. “You wanted the truth, yes?”

  Jetta followed him down the tunnel, sloshing in and out of puddle
s. None of this is real, she kept telling herself. It’s all just an illusion. Maybe I’m still poisoned. Maybe I never woke up.

  When they reached the lower cave that held the Liiker, the Grand Oblin stood at the mouth, obstructing her view. Her stomach knotted when she heard the buzzing and whining, and every fiber of her being screamed at her to run away.

  “Before you enter, Jetta, you must answer this: Who stands accused in your heart?”

  “Of what?”

  The ground quaked. It was only a slight tremor, but it shook loose rocks and dirt from the roots hanging above. She looked again at the Oblin. His eyes were no longer kindly but dark and chasmic.

  Jetta braced herself against the cave wall as the ground shook again, this time more forcefully. She didn’t have to guess what would happen if she didn’t answer correctly; she knew by the grisly look on the Oblin’s changing face.

  She looked down at the puddle at her feet and saw her own reflection. “Me.”

  When she looked up the Oblin was gone, and so was the Liiker. In its place stood a giant stone monolith etched with inscriptions.

  Jetta traced the writing with her finger, mumbling the translations out loud. “Saol of Gangras lost his wife and children during the Ten Wars of Perspheolys. Enraged at the Gods and angry at his own helplessness, he journeyed to Cudal and stole the power of the Gods to resurrect his wife and end the war, but his imperfect mortal body was no temple for God, and he was corrupted. Reborn on Algar as Rion the Abomination, he became obsessed with the destruction of the imperfect, and blinded by the power of the Gods, he annihilated his enemies with as little as a thought. The tribes of Algar, facing total destruction, came together under the guidance of the Great Mother and quelled the unstoppable Rion. Because of their sacrifices, the Gods gave them the power to unite for all time.”

  “With balance, the power to heal—or without, the power to destroy. Selfish desire was the Harbinger of Death,” Jaeia said, stepping back.

  She circled around to the other side.

  “Diyanna of Algarsie, daughter of the East, saved her people from the corruption of Rion by casting herself between Hetaqua and Cudal. The Gods, seeing her sacrifice, bestowed the Prodgy with a tremendous gift. Without a mortal body, the Great Mother became a Speaker for both worlds, guiding her people from the realm of Gods. She is a vessel of peace, forgiveness, and healing, and through her, all are restored.”

  Jetta dusted off the bottom half of the monolith. There she saw the warning. “So shall it be that the daughters of the South, West, and North will come as the tides of time resolve. Darkness will fall soon after, and dead fires will reign. Look not for the last Great Mother from the people, for she will fall from the stars. And with her she will bring—”

  But Jetta didn’t know the word. She sounded it out the best she could. “Trio... trio-Rion. Triorion...”

  She exhaled heavily, wiping the sweat from her brow. Triorion. Why did that word make her nervous?

  “...who will bring down the heavens and break open the skies to the realm beyond all worlds.”

  “But beware the Apparax, the Thief of all Thieves, for within the shadow of doubt lies the seedling that shall undo us all.”

  A child’s giggle echoed down the tunnel. Jetta looked back and saw a small figure scurrying away.

  “Hey!”

  Jetta remembered the Grand Oblin’s warning but couldn’t keep herself from chasing after the child.

  It couldn’t be, she thought, recognizing the familiar tune.

  The tunnel didn’t wind back to the main cavern like she remembered. Instead it narrowed, straightening out like a subway or a ship conduit. Clusters of Macca grew farther apart, and soon she was running down a dark passageway, using her sense of touch to guide her. It smelled terrible, like rotten garbage and sour decay, but as soon as she stopped to turn back, she heard the giggling again.

  A light flickered in the distance, and Jetta picked up speed. The small figure came into view, but she was still too far away to make out more than her outline. The temperature had risen noticeably, making her wipe her forehead repeatedly to keep the sweat out of her eyes as she ran.

  Suddenly she found herself on a grated walkway but was going too fast to keep from slamming into a power column. Dazed from the collision, it took her a few seconds to realize what the little girl was asking her.

  “Recombinator?”

  She hadn’t spoken Fiorahian in what seemed like decades, but she knew what the girl was asking for. Jetta saw the tool lying on the railing and grabbed it.

  The little girl was facing away from her, working on what looked like a routing console. Its components lay in a tangled heap of cords, microchips, and linear processors. When Jetta circled around to hand her the tool, she almost dropped it.

  “Thank you,” the girl said, taking it from her.

  “Now I know this isn’t real,” Jetta said, stooping down.

  It was Jetta herself, just barely four years old, as she had been so many years ago on Yahmen’s mining ship. Her younger self didn’t look up as Jetta tried to make sense of what was happening.

  “Three-volt?”

  “No, don’t use that,” Jetta said, taking the broken piece from her. “You need a two-volt with a lug inverter to fix this. A three-volt will just offset the problem until you fuse the processors.”

  The little girl frowned and studied her for a moment, but then seemed to accept her advice as she picked up the two-volt.

  “Why are you here?” Jetta asked her.

  “My brother and sister are in the engine room fixing the burnout, but we need a working routing console or we’ll never get it up again.”

  “Can’t stand the heat?” Jetta asked, remembering why she had elected to work away from her siblings all those years ago.

  The little girl shook her head. “Sometimes I can’t stand listening to them,” she whispered. Her words were heavy with fatigue. “I know how bad it is. I’m doing my best to make it better. I know I can get us out of here.”

  Jetta sat back on her heels and swallowed the knot of emotion in her throat. She knew better than to play this game. It would only lead to her undoing. “I’m done with this. Show me who you really are. I’m tired of these games.”

  The little girl shook her head. “This isn’t a game. I’m trying to help you. Not everyone is as nice as me.”

  “Who else are you talking about?”

  The little girl snapped a few cords in place and tested the wiring. “We have many names, some of which you know, none of which are of any consequence.”

  The girl brushed the damp brown hair back from her face, revealing her dark eyes. Jetta’s eyes had always been light green, and never had they cast such an odd shadow over the rest of her face. “You wanted to know what is inside you, yes? Well, it isn’t that simple. You aren’t deserving, and you have upset our plans.”

  “What are you? What are you talking about?” Jetta said, standing up and taking a few steps back.

  The little girl rose too, her eyes deepening into polychromatic wells. “Thief. You stole from us—you stole from me. You took my chacathra, and I want it back!”

  Jetta didn’t know what to do but run as the younger version of herself expanded into a hulking creature with many heads and slick, red flesh. The only voice she recognized as she fled down the ship corridors was Victor’s. It rattled the ship as he called out to her, telling her to give back what she had stolen.

  She hit Deck Juncture A and climbed the steps to the cargo room, hoping to find some sort of mining tool to use as a weapon, but the steps never ended. The instant she put her foot down a dozen more would appear before her.

  Her legs burned as she struggled to stay ahead of the monster at her heels. She could feel its hot, carnal breath on her back as she pushed her legs to keep going past the pain and exhaustion.

  Thief.

  Slimy, red fingers wrapped around her leg and pulled her feet out from under her. She slotted her fingers into t
he grated stairs, fighting with every last ounce of strength against the force threatening to pull her free. In the corner of her vision she could see Victor’s smile, the diamonds sparkling in the red light of the mining ship before he sank his teeth into her calf.

  TRIEL FOLLOWED LADY Helena and her troop of Jumaris down the dimly lit hallways to the worship chamber of the Gods. The two wolves kept pace with her, brushing up against her every once and a while and leaning in for a scratch.

  Triel barely noticed the sculptures or stonework adorning the hallways, and since she couldn’t read Amiqi, she paid little attention to the writings. Her mind lingered on what Lady Helena had told her in the antechamber: The last Healer would become the next Great Mother.

  It can’t be me, she kept telling herself. She thought of all the times she had rebelled against Prodgy teachings, how she had fought her father over the pacifist ways of her people, how she had run away when the Dominion came. Everything she had done was against her people’s ways, and now she was confronted with the bewildering possibility of becoming their most revered leader, second only to the Gods.

  “Something troubling you, dear?” Helena asked as they entered the worship area. The place was vast, with tiles in the marble floor forming the Prodgy symbol and giant stone men holding up the ceiling.

  “Yes,” Triel said, stopping in the center of the circle. “This. It can’t be me. I may be the last Prodgy, but I’m not the next Great Mother. I’m—I’m weak. I’ve Fallen, and if it weren’t for Jetta, I’d be a Dissembler. That’s the whole reason I came here, anyway—to see how I could even survive as a Solitary—not to assume the role of my peoples’ savior.”

  “But here you are,” Lady Helena said.

  “I’m not the best Healer, either. I’m decent, but the Great Mother—she has to restore all of Algar. And to top that off—are there any of my people left?”

  “You know the answer to that, my dear,” Lady Helena said, taking her hands. “Not all hope is lost. Your friend has told you this.”