Yv stood for a few moments, staring ahead blankly, and then started laughing. The Scarlet Prince standing before him slid very closely towards him, and asked in a voice that Yv, although he could not believe it, sounded a note of confusion.
“Are you ... are you laughing?”
Yv, still laughing, nodded, and said. “It occurs to me that those we considered to be the devil incarnate are actually the only true creation of the Creator ...”
They did look really magnificent. They understood everything from his one short sentence... The Scarlet Prince fell silent. Finally, he spoke in a voice that Yv heard as something akin to fear.
“Who are you?”
Yv stopped laughing and raising his sword and dagger he looked at the Scarlet Prince down the blades, then he lowered his blades and spoke in a somewhat sad voice.
“If you have any myths, then in them I must be called something like the Messenger that Followed.” He shook his head. “I feel sorry for you! I realize that you are immortal, but you were created. You have power, but you do not have power over time, or over the future, because the future ahead of you is a dead end. Every time one of you dies, your type is irrevocably in decline. You are unable to recreate your own kind, and all your Generations are just a hoax, just to repair the worn-out machines that your bodies and your minds have become.”
Yv did not know where his confidence had come from, but, apparently, he had guessed right. For a moment there was silence, then hundreds of furious cries erupted, which like everything else that the Scarlet Princes produced, sounded unspeakably beautiful to Yv. Instants later they rapidly attacked. Yv threw forward his arms holding his sword and dagger, and barely managed to protect his eyes.
He bowed his head sharply, so the kelimit claw tore into his eyebrow but did not break the bone on the ridge of his brow, merely slashing his temple. His blades did not disappoint him. Claws made of pure kelimit were shattered into pieces, and scarlet flesh fell apart before him. There was loud wailing above the nave.
Yv realized that he had overestimated his strength, but by some miracle he was still holding on. One of The Enemy’s claws went inside his unprotected stomach and stayed there along with the stump of its hand.
His lung was punctured, his left leg was cut to pieces, but he fought on because he knew that every moment increased the chances of survival for all those who now ran through the long galleries and across the rocky mountain surface to the ships on Outpost. He also knew that Tera was with them.
He probably killed more Scarlet Princes than had died in the entire conquest, but their onslaught continued unabated. Yv did not feel tired, there was no sweat in his eyes, and even the pain felt distant, as if just a reminder that some part of his body was not quite right.
He could have fought on even longer, but he had no time left. Yv was clearly aware that soon he would be simply cut to pieces, even if after what the Creator had done to him, they could survive for some time, but eventually they too would die, and then he would die.
Die here.
Still he wanted to laugh, because the important thing was to give Tera time. He lunged forward, taking out one of Scarlet Princes, who was trying to slip past him against the far wall of the arch, and he thought with surprise that Dagmar had perhaps been mistaken in thinking that the Powerful Ones lacked emotions.
What they were doing now, most resembled a berserker rage. Or maybe they just knew better than he himself what he was capable of and believed that such madness was their only chance. A kelimit covered claw cut through his right Achilles tendon, and Yv nearly collapsed. By some miracle he managed to stay on his feet, but then his thigh muscle was torn, and he had to get down on his left knee.
He was already reeling.
Yv felt his final moments coming.
He threw down his dagger and took up his sword in both hands. A second later a claw tore his windpipe out and caught against his lower jaw, twisting it. Yv roared, mustered all his strength, and violently slashed out with his sword, trying to swing in a wide arc and catch as many Enemies as he could, but the force from a terrible blow threw him to the floor.
Sandra had already made it back to her new ship, and having raised the monster ship into the air, she struck the Temple Mount with maximum fire. The last thing Yv felt was his body being blasted into atoms.
9
Yv woke up because he was desperate to take a piss.
For a while he just lay there, feeling some stiffness in his body, but his full bladder literally forced him to move. Yv tried to get up and tried to make his numb limbs move.
He succeeded a lot easier than he expected. He shook his legs and sat up abruptly, almost falling over, and he just about managed to keep his balance by putting down his hands.
For a few moments he looked around dumbfounded, with no idea where he was, but suddenly the memories of his last moments came flooding back to him, and he lost control. For a moment he sobbed convulsively, then exhaled and tried to calm down.
The painful desire to go to the toilet made him move and pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. He just felt full of sadness and bitterness. Yv sighed. What happened, is what happened. There was no turning back. It was time to get used to the fact that he couldn’t change anything.
So, was this the afterlife then? He grinned. Well, no choice then! The first craving he had in this world was the need to empty his bladder.
Needless to say, he had not lived a righteous life, so he could be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and thrown out of here to the place where sinners are welcome.
He had one consolation. Apparently, he had been here once before, and had a link to the ‘management.’
Yv shook his head, marveling at his calmness. The stiffness in his body was gone. He tucked up his legs, stood, and just to check, he stamped his foot on the floor. As expected, he had arrived in good condition in the afterlife.
He had no injuries, and his jaw was in place.
Only his jerkin was in need of some repairs, because there were gaping holes all over it, and even the sole of one of his boots was slapping against his heel.
Yv grunted, sat down on the tiled floor, and began to slowly remove his boots.
Yv set out half an hour later, after attending to the needs of nature, leaving behind the scraps of his jerkin and boots. He thought about leaving behind his sword and dagger, but the blades had been with him since the day he had decided to become a don. Since that time, he had become so used to having them with him, that without a sword he felt naked. Also, a noble don only parted with his sword when he decided to settle down, and in this situation that was impossible for him.
A golden haze still hung around him, and the floor chilled his feet nicely. The sword slapped against his thigh as usual, and the dagger dangled from a string tied to his belt, which he put on over his underwear. For an hour or two, nothing happened.
Yv diligently walked along, just like the last time, trying to forget the idea that he wasn’t getting anywhere. Then he felt that something had changed, and plopped down on the floor with relief, shouting grumpily into the air.
“Well, finally, I really thought that during my absence the hotel had changed hands.”
“You, my friend, are an insolent chap.”
Yv turned his head. The Creator was sitting two feet away from him calmly crunching on an apple. Yv grinned and looked for somewhere to sit down. Finding a stool behind him, he dragged it over with his foot and sat down.
“What are you doing here?” asked the Creator innocently.
“Enough of your gibes!” Yv growled and, after a moment, he asked carefully. “Well, did I die this time?”
“What are you talking about?” the Creator snorted.
“What happened then?”
The Creator laughed. “Oh, lots. Firstly, do you finally believe that I’m not a figment of your imagination?”
Yv sighed.
“This has nothing to do with anything. As I remember it, the hall in t
he mountain was struck by mortars on full power. I saw me, and everything that was within three hundred feet of me, first flattened, and then smashed into atoms. How did I get here—” he paused for a moment, then gasped, stunned, “a portal?”
The Creator nodded.
“Finally, you get it!” He reached for the vase holding the apples, which was standing on a small table just between them, and by making an intricate hand movement, he explained further. “Rather than flatten you, it sucked you into the portal.”
“Everyone who was there?” Yv looked around warily and slid a hand to the hilt of his sword, but the Creator raised his hand reassuringly.
“Don’t be so nervous. Your enemies can not get here. One day I deprived them of their right to appear here, and until I lift the ban, they will not be allowed in here.”
Yv returned the half pulled out sword to its sheath and held out his hand, taking an apple from the bowl.
“So, what happened to them?”
“Those still alive returned to their places, along with the dead ones. The fact is that transition through a portal is only possible through this ... let’s say, place. Before now, they had not dared to use the portals, probably guided by ritual restrictions, or thinking that it would make me angry. If I remember correctly, this has been the case for the last seven hundred thousand years of your calendar. However, during all this time portals were being built. Now you can see ...” He spread his hands out wide.
“A good thing too,” Yv muttered, then turned and patted his chest. “Do I have you to thank for patching me up. Thank you.”
“Oh, no problem. As you have probably realized, I changed you a little when we first met, so everything that you have achieved is all to your credit. Given a little time you would have recovered there, but here it is easier to connect directly.”
“Connect to what?”
The Creator shook his head, ignoring the question, and continued on somewhat sarcastically.
“Yes, I think, it would be a good idea to give you some more time. Or instead you could be a one-sided Eternal One, just a mountain of muscles, a sackful of luck, a fair share of intuition, but an intellect the size of a thimble. Although ... you are progressing, clearly progressing, you just need more time, but that is fixable.”
Yv looked at him warily.
“Hey, what are you planning to do with me now? More dirty tricks?”
“God forbid!” said the outraged Creator. “What do you take me for?”
“Actually, for a complete villain,” admitted Yv.
The Creator laughed.
“Such disrespect. Who would dare to speak to God in such a manner?”
“I tell it as I see it,” retorted Yv. “If you behaved like a proper God, I would have long ago bowed my head down to the floor with the exhilaration that I had met a God, but you ...”
At this, the Creator clutched his stomach laughing. Then they crunched on apples for a while, but Yv could not resist for long. “Hey, why did you start all of this?”
The Creator looked at him with innocent eyes and asked simply. “Start what?”
Yv snorted. “This performance! Do I look such a naïve fool that I don’t realize that you made me some sort of superman for an ulterior motive?”
“Good for you,” nodded the Creator. “I said you were progressing!” He thought for a moment. “You see, long ago, I came to the conclusion that the less I intervened, the better the outcome. Now the situation is such that I need to intervene. Both sides in your conflict have such potential, that they could destroy the entire galaxy. Not just directly, by harming physical bodies, but in the sense of the intellect. Of course, your lousy galaxy is not the whole universe, but also, as you know, it is not without note. Now the forces on both sides are approximately equal. So, your war of conquest could last hundreds of years and suck more and more races into its orbit. A sort of huge galactic fireball fed by the galactic intellect. All it needs is a trifle, nothing more than a feather, to tilt the scales without many losses.”
“Without many losses!” Yv chuckled. “So many worlds have been destroyed. You should have seen Zovros ...”
The Creator grinned. “Still, the losses are a lot less than they could have been and still could be. So, I thought. why not embody a legend and at the same time provide a chance for humanity?”
“So, am I really the Eternal One?”
The Creator grinned again. “You not convinced yet?”
Yv was dismissive. “I’m not talking about that ...” He paused and shuddered, just imagining the vastness of what he would need to achieve.
The Creator sighed. “You really have little option. However, if you are totally against it...”
“OK, I’m in,” said Yv cheerily. “It would be better if Grey Moustache or Don Krushinka were to do it.”
“No,” the Creator shook his head.
“Why?”
The Creator shrugged. “I give your kind just one shot at this. Either you become the Eternal One, or nobody does. How you to deal with it is down to you...”
“But ...”
The Creator looked at him ruefully.
“Do you know how many intelligent species exist in this Universe? Do you want me to tell you the exact number?”
Yv shivered. “No, I don’t.”
It was true. Why would the Creator worry about the fate of one distant intelligent species, called humanity? In the end, on this scale, one more or one less made no difference. Even the entire Galaxy was of little importance to him. They both fell silent. Yv felt a sensation in his stomach. The fairy tale had turned into a heavy burden.
The Creator sighed. “Well, it’s all down to you.”
“Wait a minute!” Yv stood up resolutely and adjusted his sword sash. “What am I supposed to do?”
The Creator smiled and replied, “Who the hell knows, you will find out for yourself when you get there.”
An instant later, Yv found himself standing on green grass in dense thickets of myrtle. A blue sky shone above his head and chirping cicadas clamored around him.
He looked around awestruck.
This was nothing like Outpost, rather it looked like the Throne of the World. Yv sighed, and pushing back branches with his hands, he strode forward.
Five minutes later he came out into the small back yard of a two-story mansion in Regulan style, and he sat down and looked around.
No, this was not the Throne of the World. He had never seen any sign of Regulan architecture there. He chuckled, thinking how once he had dreamed of becoming an architect, and so he had arrived on New Simaron.
Inscrutable are the ways of God, so on the next occasion that they met he needed to ask Him about all of this. Yv got up and walked briskly through the courtyard. Behind the fence he heard a noise and hubbub, and someone shouting something, along with the sound of a wagon rolling along.
Yv looked around himself with a critical eye and grinned. Eternal One what do you look like? He was clothed in just tattered underwear, with a sword, a dagger, and an unshaven face. He looked around the yard and went to the porch of the house.
Yv went through several rooms without meeting a soul. The house was obviously wealthy. He climbed to the second floor and walked down the hall, looking into the rooms, hoping to relieve the master’s wardrobe of some well-made men’s clothing, and silently disappear without being noticed.
As it turned out, that was not to be his destiny.
Yv walked to the next door and froze, hearing a quiet weeping. He stood there, fighting the urge to pass on by silently, but then he remembered Tera. He pushed open the door and saw a woman with three children.
Seeing him, she recoiled and cried out, shielding the children with her body. Yv moved back a few steps and tried to make a soothing gesture, when the door burst open.
Yv, as was now his habit slid into battle mode and gently leaping aside, turned toward the door. A big-bellied man with a ray gun burst into the room. Yv waited until he pointed the gun at hi
m, reached out and easily pulled the weapon from his fat fingers, poking the fat man in the chest, and sending him to the floor. The woman covered her face with her hands and cried out even louder, while the man lay on his back, his mouth open catching his breath. Yv waited for the screams to die down, and then spoke in Arabic, for some reason, perhaps influenced by the house’s Regulan style architecture.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you. I got in some trouble and was looking for some clothes and came into the room because I heard crying.”
The woman sobbed, opened her eyes, and looked at him warily. The man grunted, sat, and addressed Yv in English.
“You are not from Zovros, are you?”
“Who, me?”
The man shook his head angrily. “What kind of answer is that?” He stood up and introduced himself. “I am the Consul of the Sultanate of Regulus on Zovros, of Basha Ibn Muhammad Ibur Soi-Timar.”
“Am I on Zovros?” Yv looked stunned, and then asked hoarsely. Is this really Zovros?”
The man looked at him in surprise, wary, but apparently obeying a habit generated by long years of diplomatic service, he cautiously replied. “Yes.”
Yv fell silent, wondering frantically what this could mean. So, the Creator had thrown him not only far from the spot where he fell on his head, but also to a different time period. So that was what his words meant when he told him that he needed more time...
“What year is it?”
Even an experienced diplomat could not hide his astonishment at this “What do you mean what year is it?”
“I need to know.”
“Three thousand five hundred and eighty. Novruztime—”
“Thank you.”
It was the year before the start of the war, and the real Yv had not even been born yet. Yv remembered the war began with an attack on Zovros. The right thing to do would be to get out of here as soon as possible. A renewed burst of indignant shouting came from the street. Yv glanced toward the window and asked. “What is happening there?”
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