by Drew Bell
Chapter 30
Miles was transported to a rainy day, it was cold and dark, someone behind him sneezed. He stood at the foot of an open grave; an elongated urn was being lowered into the hole. Mourners wept, one Aurrus blew their nose for an entire minute. Miles peered around the funeral service, each of the mourners wore festive colored suits, but none of their faces reflected any festivity. An odd sounding horn played in the distance, the rain picked up and several of the elderly Aurrus were ushered out of the downpour. Callos were at the funeral in large numbers; Miles turned but saw only blackness; because Braes’ memory was fixated on the urn being lowered. Miles heard the familiar noise of a hand pat near his ear, someone sought to comfort Braes.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” An elderly female voice comforted.
“No. I think it was.” A mature Braes’ voice disagreed.
Mile’s perspective moved suddenly, pushing through the two mourners in front, Miles was lowered into the grave as Braes jumped down after the urn.
He was dizzied as Braes’ view spun to face the crowd of confused onlookers:
“They did this! They killed him! Why are we standing around? Does the blood of the innocent not cry loud enough for action?” She cried.
The crowd around Miles began to argue with one another, each began to raise their voice. One Aurrus demanded blood, another recommended refraining from rash decisions. Around the grave stood the grieving Aurrus and Callos, but also hundreds of humans; Miles recognized his parents, his family, his friends, and strangers he saw on a regular basis. The crowd murmured loudly incoherently. Miles did his best to filter out the distraction, Mile’s perspective shifted to the urn behind him, Braes’ view changed; she must have been embracing the long cylinder.
“I will never forget you. I loved you.” She cried, Miles began to sob.
“I’m grabbing my gun.” One Aurrus shouted angrily.
The crowd dispersed slightly, many of the males began to run. Braes had initiated some sort of confrontation. The elderly priestess lowered her hand to help Braes out of the grave;
“That was foolish.” She chided, the back of her hand flung towards Miles, he instinctively ducked, but the hand phased through him, instead connecting with Braes. “You may have very well initiated a war.”
“I loved him!” Braes’ voice screamed out, the priestess tried to cover her mouth.
“Hush!” The priestess hissed. “You shouldn’t love, love no one. Our work demands it! Love no one but the goddesses! They were wrong in choosing you.”
“I don’t choose them.” Braes confessed her voice cracking.
“You do realize what you started? A pretty young innocent priestess, crying over the remains of her lover. What better picture to provide a hunger for vengeance? Our race will war with the Yau Tang; imagine the lives that will never be the same.” The priestess cried out.
“I, I want revenge.” Braes yelled.
The humans around the grave began to yell gutturally, Miles held his hands to his head as though it would stop the noise.
“You got it, but at what cost? Do you understand the pain of revenge?” The priestess screamed, holding Braes’ hand.
Braes was silent, she began to sob.
“Revenge.” Miles mouthed, pondering the true meaning of the word. The humans around him were silenced by the word. He turned to face them, aware that he could direct the perspective.
“At what price?” The priestess sighed, exhausted. The two embraced, the rain continued. The memory ended.
Miles was thrust back into the tiled room. He dropped to the ground, sitting and digesting what he had just experienced.
“That was the worst moment in my life; I lost my loved one, and doomed the loved ones of others in my quest for revenge.” Braes’ voice whispered.
“I am sorry. You have lived through so much hurt.” Miles apologized.
“Yes. On that day, three-hundred years ago, I ignited a fire which would burn a swath through our galaxy. Whether the Yau Tang were prepared for a war, we can never be certain, but ever since, they became a savage people. Killing out of a primal bloodlust.” Braes explained.
“Three-hundred?” Miles asked.
“The Yau Tang, wreaked destruction on our planet, they aimed to destroy Phlasia too.” Braes continued sadly.
“Wait.” Miles directed, “The day the Convoy last visited was three-hundred years ago?”
“Yes. Approximately three-hundred years ago. The Aurrus don’t have an established calendar. I might be off by a few standard years.” Braes answered.
“Maybe, but maybe you aren’t. The Callos have recorded that they last visited two hundred years ago.” Miles explained.
“The Aurrus are more exact with dates. I won’t try contending with their measurements.” Braes conceded.
“Do you think that maybe the Aurrus and Callos have a different perspective on time?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know.” Braes answered honestly.
“What if, to the Aurrus the span between visits is three-hundred years, and to the Callos the span is two hundred years?” Miles proposed.
“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with my memory?” Braes admitted.
“I think traveling through the Phlasian Portal sends the Convoy far away, and far back into the past. They time travel but have no way of knowing it!” Miles guessed.
“How does this help us?” Braes asked, confused.
“I might be able to go back in time…” Miles stopped, the room shook slightly.
“Miles, I am sorry.” Braes apologized.
“What?” Miles asked, the room began to shake harder.
“By opening a memory transfer, I gave way to death. I knew this when we started, I am content if it provided something useful.” Braes told him.
“I am not done yet. Why would you let me do this? Why are you stopping?” Miles cried out.
“I am sensing something: your connection with Lalia is active. I need to let you go. Good bye, Miles. Good luck.” Braes bid farewell.
“No. You don’t need to go!” Miles shouted. The room faded as though it was melting, he was back in a seat in the upper room. Braes was slumped over in her chair, he ran to her and held her, and she limply laid still.
“You didn’t need to go.” He clung to her, he felt something square and hard in her robe pocket, he dug for it. A metal chain came from her pocket, a small picture on its end; her lover Bralvo’s portrait. She did it for him.
Miles fell to his knees and cried, he wretched sobs and clenched his fist around the portrait of Bralvo.
“Braes didn’t need to die. Galio didn’t need to die. I need to avenge them.” He thought, returning gently the portrait; the serene face of Braes reminded him of what he had just experienced. Her memories of love and loss remained in his consciousness; “Revenge…” He questioned his motives for a moment.
“Lalia!” Miles involuntarily cried out. He ceased crying, he was confused as to what had just happened. His body began to spasm and shake without control, he fell to the floor.
He was back in the slate grey room. It was his dream, but it was happening; Miles was experiencing Lalia’s torture alongside her.
“This is different.” He thought, “Different, because it is more clear, I see it more clearly now.”.
Lalia was lying on the floor; she was bound and bleeding badly.
“I am sorry.” She cried.
Miles tried to reach out to her, but his hands phased through her;
“I will come for you.” He promised.
Miles rose silently, his arms and legs shaking, his hands closed into fists.
He lowered himself from the upper room, and left the temple. He stood on the steps and faced the city before him; the sun had set and the moon above him was an icy blue.
He was ready.