BALANCE OF POWER
THE BLACKENED PROPHECY PART II
Oganalp Canatan
Copyright©2021
Oganalp Canatan.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Oganalp Canatan
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www.oganalp.com
Cover artwork by Freestyle Images via Shutterstock license
Edited by Allison Williams
Additional proofreading by Kutluhan Çelik and Ross Ingall
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Balance of Power / Oganalp Canatan. – 2nd ed. February 2021. First released in May 2017.
For dad.
May you rest in peace... wherever you are. Say “hi” to mom for me.
He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
―Friedrich Nietzsche
Also by O. Canatan
THE BLACKENED PROPHECY
Shadows Bear No Names
Balance of Power
The Cursed Throne
Standalone fiction
Demise of Hopes
Contents
BALANCE OF POWER
AWAKENINGS
CABBAGES
REUNITED
DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY
TRAIL OF THE HUNT
FARMING
BUSY AS A BEE
WHAT GOES AROUND...
ACCIDENTS HAPPEN
INFESTED
MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL
EVERYBODY RUNS
THE GREAT DECEIVER
UNHOLY ALLIANCE
FROM BAD TO WORSE
TAKE US OUT, NUMBER ONE
FRIENDS
VENGEANCE
SIMPLER TIMES
A ROYAL DRAMA
THE IRON LADY
NOT ONE STEP BACKWARD
TOOLS OF THE TRADE
THE BURDEN OF COMMAND
DECONSTRUCTION
ONE LAST VOYAGE
ONE MAN’S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN’S TREASURE
THE WILD CARD
JUSTICE DELIVERED
STEFANU
THE FOUNDATION OF ROME
YOU HAVE KILLED ME, YOU HAVE KILLED ME
HARVESTER OF SORROWS
SKIP OF A BEAT
TWISTED EYES
EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH...
ORGANIC FARMING
RUDE AWAKENING
DIE BY MY HANDS
THE RIFT
ALL ABOARD
THE STEPS OF AMASSHAN
BROTHERS IN ARMS
LIGHT GUIDE MY PATH
ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS FAMILY
ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER
SINS OF OUR MOTHERS
ALL THE KING’S HORSES AND ALL THE KING’S MEN
About the Author
AWAKENINGS
At first, it was a tingling, a subtle touch. The void had carried such vibrations and echoes of lives since the beginning of existence. Every living being’s voice left a mark on the endless eternity. They were unimportant. She heard them all the time. This time was different.
Mother. She heard her children’s whisper deep in her thoughts. What is happening?
Within moments, the tingling transformed into a lust for power. Like an avalanche consuming everything in its path, the craving disturbed their eternal rest, their unholy peace beyond the void. They, too, were aware of the exquisite taste of this new voice, enough to feed their boundless hunger.
She opened her thousand eyes, her endless stare seeing beyond the darkness that blinded so many lesser creations. There it was, a shining beacon of their zeal. At first, the song of the Calling was pleasing, quenching their everlasting thirst. Then the power of the voice boomed, cracking thunder that would shift planets from their orbits and extinguish the life force of suns. The blazing beam washed over their essence, and they cherished the taste, singing their song of blackness that echoed through the starless shadows of the void.
The voice ceased.
Her children screamed in protest, ready to rip their way into the lesser planes for more, but she prevented them. Traveling into the realm of mortal beings caused her great pain, and she avoided it at all costs unless she was sure it would be fruitful. The pain would mean the death of many of her children. She had countless, and yet every one of them mattered. Answering the Calling was her duty, but she had to be sure. The Calling's flavor was always raw, as with its taste, but there was something different about the way it chimed, like twisted, jangling music scratching her senses.
Hold, she ordered, and her children obeyed. I have to ‘see.’
Descending into lesser planes hurt, no matter how little interaction occurred, and it was better to look first than to move. Unless her duties required to traverse, she preferred to rest in the eternal void beyond the planes of mortals. Their essence was toxic, always risking her drawing too much from their life forces to the point of overdose. She had always protected her children. She focused her thousand eyes toward the source of the voice, her endless stare reaching through planets and rocks, drilling through the fabric of time and space. The void resisted, burning her countless eyes, but she insisted. If this was the Calling, she had to respond.
There, her thoughts vibrated, turning her thousand stares back into her domain. Her pain jolted through the bond, and her children mourned for her, sharing the agony. The voice was genuine; it tasted right—but it sounded hollow. It focused on a lesser being. She never understood why the song always carried through the beings of inferior planes. The code of her creation demanded that she devour.
A brief light cracked the nothingness, filling the void with the disturbing brightness of space. For mortals, the gap was a dark, cold place. Not for her thousand eyes. Mortals had no idea what vacuum meant. Stars sent their rays like curious insects, inspecting every flower in a valley of endless blossom. Then came the echo of life, reflecting from the wall of eternity, washing her kingdom with its dirtied reverb. She was disgusted by it, but the taste was undeniable. When she and her children rested behind the planar veil, lesser beings' essence didn’t attract their attention. Now they were washed by the flavor, and it smelled right, too good to deny. The real source, the fountain of existence, was somewhere deep within a lesser plane, and the journey would take its toll, but with all these life songs filling the gap between her and her prey, she knew the quest was possible. The bond carried her thoughts, and her children mimicked their mother. For lesser creations, these thoughts would be feelings. She had none.
It is the Calling she acknowledged, with relief and sadness in equal, mortal terms. Once again, the time has come.
CABBAGES
Ray scratched his beard, looking at his reflection in the dirty mirror, skimming through the reddish hairs in search of gray ones, a habit he had developed in recent month
s. He leaned forward to get a closer look in the grimy mirror.
“It makes you look messy,” Brother Cavil commented over his shoulder, taking fruit from his robe’s pocket. “I think you should cut it. Maybe leave a goatee.”
Ray raised a brow, catching the old priest’s stare in the mirror.
“Okay, not a goatee. Perhaps something that would make you look a bit nicer. You look rough.” The priest’s eyes flared. “A chin puff!”
“I’m happy with my beard.” Ray paused for a moment and sighed, giving one last look at his beard. “And I’m happy with my seclusion.”
“Seclusion. Bah, nonsense!” Brother Cavil moved to a nearby stool to rest his old body. “At least go talk to the girl.”
“For the tenth time—” Ray’s words were cut short by yet another snort.
“Are you drinking still?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.”
“I am not too fond of you drinking yourself through your sorrows, boy.”
“A few sips help me relax, old man. No biggie.”
“Always the same excuses. Relaxes me this, helps me that.” Brother Cavil bit into his fruit, something they had come to call a juina. They had found the fruit in one of the caves near the main settlement; it resembled a mushroom but tasted more like a peach. “You want to hurt yourself, punish yourself for things you have no control over. Still the same oak-headed man. You cannot change or save everything.”
“I’m myself. What can I do?” Ray shrugged, but the words of the old man sunk deeper than his comfort. He knew he should at least talk to Sarah. The affection she had shown had worked well for him in the beginning, and Ray was happy. Why wouldn’t he be happy now? The priest was right about him escaping the present, but Brother Cavil was wrong about Ray’s reasoning. He had felt different after they had settled into New Eden.
The planet they had found themselves stranded on had turned out to be a tropical paradise, albeit a bit different than what they were used to. Still, it provided food and shelter to the remnants of Deviator’s crew, and that was all that mattered, at least initially. Ray smiled, remembering their first weeks settling in after they had accepted their fate. He glanced at Brother Cavil, his smile broadening as he narrowed his eyes, revealing the lines of tiredness he had earned after the battle.
“What?” the old priest mumbled through his chewing.
Ray chuckled. “Nothing, I just remembered the naming convention we had in the town square.”
“What? It was a good name. New Eden, pfft,” Brother Cavil stuck his tongue out. “What a boring name. Name the planet New Eden, name the town ‘New Eden.’ What’s next? Name the children New Eden too?”
“Brother, you suggested we ought to name the planet Kumat’s Fortune.”
“It is a good name!”
Ray shook his head in disbelief. No matter how battered they all were, how long the journey, the priest hadn’t lost his humor one bit. Or maybe it wasn’t humor and more along the lines of losing it. Still, Ray envied the old man. “How’s that going, anyway? People embracing the Light?”
“It is not about them embracing anything. More like giving the folk some way of comfort, talking to whatever higher being they want to talk to and complain about their life. Light, dark, Cabala… whatever suits.”
“I never thought I would see a priest preaching for other gods.” Ray walked past Brother Cavil, reaching for the kitchen countertop. “You want some tea?”
“That is not tea. We should name it differently.” Brother Cavil made a face. “I will call it humbus.”
“What the hell is humbus?”
“No idea.” Brother Cavil shrugged. “It sounds right. Anyway,” he waved the topic away, “beliefs are not about what deity you follow. They are about you, yourself. They come to the praying room and express themselves. It helps.”
“Yeah, tell that to those people who died in religious conflict. The Crusades, the Holy War, the discovery of Titan ruins… Shall I continue?”
Brother Cavil’s mouth turned down. “Well, religious credenda rarely have a prerequisite of intelligence. Or common sense, for that matter. The teachings are going fine. I am trying to retain the sense of a greater cause with these people. Keeping a moral compass present, if you will. In a way”—Brother Cavil smiled, lost in memories for a second—“it is what the elders on Bunari were supposed to teach. I am trying not to make the same mistakes, of taking things for granted. I am trying to see good and evil as perspectives.”
“Good and evil… not everything’s black and white, old man.” Ray touched the priest’s shoulder and smiled. Unlike Ray, Brother Cavil had continued his teachings, living his former life to the best of his abilities. Ray didn’t have a former life. He turned his attention to the kettle.
“You are alone, boy.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are mostly keeping to yourself and are avoiding anything slightly social, and any gathering with more than two people is too crowded for your tastes. That is loneliness.”
“Solitude, maybe. I feel fine.”
Brother Cavil snorted. “Sure, lie all you want to this old soul. You should go and see Sarah.”
“Brother, don’t start…”
“Why? She is perfect for you.”
Ray just shook his head, focusing more on his tea. “Forget about me. How are you holding up?”
Brother Cavil’s eyebrows rose. “Me? I am fine.”
“I’m glad you’re all right, old man. I don’t think my heart would be able to carry your loss.”
Brother Cavil grimaced. “It aches before the rain.”
“Your ribs?”
“Ribs, heart, thoughts.” Brother Cavil shrugged. “I still see his face in my dreams. Relive my father’s last moments. But”—a heavy sigh interrupted his words—“you cannot dwell in the past. I believe in these young army kids, and perhaps we can start a future here. Come Spring, I will ask Admiral Conway to let me construct a small temple.”
“Fair enough.”
“You have to believe in something too, you know.”
“Mm… What?”
The old man wiped his hands on his robe, earning a disgusted look from Ray. “What?” He licked his fingers. “Anyway, you have to find something to believe in.”
Ray’s voice was flat. “The whole cosmic creation's a joke, playing us for fools, and you want me to believe?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s a farce.”
“Of course, it is!” The old priest smiled, giving Ray one of his wiser looks.
Ray reached for the bottle nearby to pour the ‘good stuff’ into his tea. “I thought you were a priest of Light, believing in meanings beyond our comprehension and such.” He had been fermenting his own booze for some time now, and the taste was remarkably decent. Not that Ray cared as much for its pleasantries in his mouth as he cared for the aftermath. He found himself more attracted to the bottle with each passing day.
“We are talking about hypothetical subjects. Perhaps no one has ever returned to tell the tale. That does not mean they are wrong or not useful. Well, you have to believe in something to go on, Raymond.” Brother Cavil stood up, brushing the remains of his snack off his robe. “The question is, what do you believe in?” He nodded curtly at Ray’s cup. “I mean, besides that new hobby of yours?”
“Cabbages.”
Brother Cavil nodded. “Fair enough.” He looked through the nearby window at Ray’s backyard farm. “Boy, those are some real fine cabbages! Remind me to get that recipe from Miss Hawking.”
“Sure…”
“You also have to fix that roof near the well.”
“It’s those damned birds. They can’t leave the bolts alone.”
“They like shiny things.” Brother Cavil nuzzled his face against the window. “Oh, your window is dirty.”
“The cleaning lady didn’t show up this morning.” Ray scratched his beard again and sipped his morning drink, sm
iling. “Those birds have sharp beaks, you know. They’re not like Earth magpies.”
“True.” Brother Cavil stopped showing affection to the window. His eyebrows drawing together, he waved a finger. “Nasty birds. Still, you need to go back to Deviator and ask for more scraps if you want your cabbages to be protected from the rain. Maybe get that cat from Sarah to shoo off the birds.”
Cabbages. Ray watched the steam rising from his cup. I defended Earth against an alien invasion, I can scatter beams of destructive lights from my eyes, and now I’m growing cabbages.
“You fought against aliens, and you shone lights from your hands and did space magic stuff.” Brother Cavil waved his arms awkwardly to show ‘magic doing.’ “And now you feel hollow. Perhaps it is fear, even.”
“Not like that.” Exactly like that.
“Bah, you are like a ten-year-old boy, lying your way out when caught by the kitchen mistress.”
“Kitchen mistress?”
“You know, the boy steals bread and butter, gets caught… bah, you got my point!”
“Well…” At least I managed to save some lives. Ray had saved some lives. After he had activated the Arinar and ended up here, no one had any idea how the battle with Baeal had concluded or what was going on outside of the planet they had randomly ended up. No one even knew where New Eden was. None of the constellations that appeared in the night sky were familiar, and Deviator had ended up half-buried in a jungle, most of its systems fried. No one had ever seen the sky formation before, or the planet, for that matter, and they had no functioning guidance system. The world was full of vibrant life and creatures; it was familiar yet alien. The first few weeks were all about repairing the ship and returning to Earth. Soon, it proved an impossible task with the power generators damaged beyond salvage and the superdreadnought draining its power cells through the repair process. There was also how to dig Deviator out of the soil, but no one paid any attention to that part once it turned out to be a hopeless endeavor anyway. Repairs were still underway, but it was more of a passion project now, rather than one of survival.
Balance of Power: The Blackened Prophecy Book 2 Page 1