by Don Newton
“I don’t understand,” Darryl said, “where’s Sa’riya?”
“I don’t really understand either, but the Oracle assures me this is the best thing we can do right now.”
“What about Jerain, does she know?” Darryl asked.
“She’s coming with us,” Karl said.
“You know the Na’Geena have to have a Chieftain, what about that?”
“That’s going to be you.” Karl slipped Bloodrender from his back and handed the sword to him. “One day in the future, or so I’ve been told, Harrod and Jakob and Delia will come back; Jerain will be with them, but you can’t tell them anything about us, or it might cause them harm. Make sure Harrod gets this sword when he’s due.”
“I don’t understand,” Darryl shook his head, “but you’re my brother, so whatever you need...”
“We’re at peace with the Draggons now, according to Damian,” Karl said.
“You really believe that?” Darryl asked.
“He wouldn’t lie. I believe he believes it, so I believe it. Don’t attack the Draggons, unless they attack first.”
“You got it.”
***
Karl climbed off Carion’s back and pushed up the hill, his boots slipping on the rocky slope. He passed the blaze on the tree where the stray arrow hit. He could never forget where he met her; she was the love of his life.
He found the stone, the one she’d leaned on the day they’d met.
He pulled the crystal from his pocket and held it up to the light.
The silver glow twisted and turned, begging him to break it.
He smashed the crystal against the boulder, holding his breath.
The explosion knocked him off his feet, the wave of energy expanding through the forest, trees moving with force.
Sa’riya grabbed his hand and pulled him from the ground, a huge smile on her face. “You found me.”
“How could I not?” he asked. “I can’t live without you; the universe won’t allow it.”
She touched his cheek with one hand. “You’re more right than you know.”
***
“You made this, didn’t you?” Nu’reen held the blade Markus had used to kill Sa’riya; the evil black shine still played along the edge.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never seen it before…” Ka’rin shook her head.
Nu’reen stepped closer to her, backing her up. “Only an enchanted blade could kill her, and you knew that. Markus didn’t have the power to create it. Only you or Caree could have done it—and Caree is too pure for something this wicked.”
“What about Jurak? He could have made it.” Fear crept into Ka’rin’s eyes.
“For reasons I won’t get into, I know for a fact that Jurak didn’t make it…” Nu’reen stepped closer, forcing her against the trunk of the tree, the tip of the blade inches from her chest. Ka’rin tried to teleport away, but Nu’reen waved her hand and locked her into her human form; removing her powers and circling her with silver bands of energy that held her immobile.
“So you’re going to kill me with it?” Ka’rin stared at the tip of the blade.
Nu’reen shook her head. “No, I’m going to do something much worse, and more appropriate.”
“What?” Ka’rin asked.
“I’m going to strip you of your powers and make you human. You crave power, and losing it all would be the best punishment.” Nu’reen’s pupils shined.
Ka’rin laughed. “You don’t have that ability Nu’reen. As powerful as you are, you can’t do that.”
“No, I can’t,” she waved one hand, and Sa’riya appeared next to the bed, “but she can.”
Sa’riya held one hand up and closed her eyes. The silver flow of energy passed between them: it came out of Ka’rin’s forehead and into her palm. Ka’rin slowly aged as the light left her, until she was an old woman, her skin dry and wrinkled. She fell to the floor clutching her chest.
Sa’riya looked at Nu’reen with a tear in her eye. “I don’t feel good about this…”
“That’s exactly why I needed to make you do it,” Nu’reen said.
“You want me to lose my sense of right and wrong?” she asked.
“No, I want you to understand the difference between vengeance and justice…”
“Which one is this?”
“If you have to ask, then the lesson isn’t over…” Nu’reen said.
“How do I know when it is?” Sa’riya asked.
“Once you know the right question to ask, the answer will be obvious…”
***
Sa’riya glanced out the window of the cottage. Karl was putting the team up in the barn; the field was freshly plowed. She stared at the snow-covered mountains in the distance for quite a while, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. The kids were playing some game she didn’t recognize, using the fence posts that surrounded the house: apparently, one post was safe, and the others were a goal of some kind—they were laughing and having a marvelous time—it made her smile.
“I hope you’re not too comfortable here,” Nu’reen said from behind her.
“We’re not going anywhere…” She turned and glared at Nu’reen. “Haven’t I done enough for you?”
“You think you did all this for me?” Nu’reen’s eyes shined silver fire, and her face got hard. “My whole point has been to protect you, girl…” She stepped closer to Sa’riya and grabbed a handful of her robe. “What have you given me in exchange but doubt?”
“Don’t make me hurt you…”
Nu’reen laughed and released her. “Arrogance is truly the domain of the young. Let me show you something…”
Nu’reen grew larger as Sa’riya watched: the halo formed around her head and lit her robe as it had in the Council chamber. Her eyes shone silver with the radiance of a star. She placed the tip of her index finger on Sa’riya’s forehead.
Sa’riya felt herself being pulled apart and scattered across the universe—she tried to stop it, but she couldn’t. Her essence mixed with the cosmos and got lost, each molecule forming new compounds with a stray nucleus in some distant galaxy, until nothing remained of Sa’riya but the thought she held in her mind, which somehow stayed intact.
“Am I making my point?” Nu’reen asked.
“Yes.” Somehow Sa’riya could still hear her.
“Let her go.”
“I’m not interested in your opinion right now, Yin,” Nu’reen said.
“You’re being cruel. Let her go…”
“Fine.” Nu’reen waved one hand.
Sa’riya snapped back into herself, like nothing had happened, but she retained the memory of what it was like to be scattered to oblivion: it was painful, but comfortable at the same time—spending time away from herself gave her clarity and defined who she was, more than five-hundred years inside her mind ever could.
“Did you do that to teach me something?” she asked.
“Yin doesn’t always know best.” Nu’reen ran her fingertips down Sa’riya’s cheek.
“I know the right question now...” Sa’riya said. “You really do care for me, don’t you…?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good mother if I didn’t…”
<^>
SNEAK PEEK!
Here’s a quick look at BOOK ONE - FALSE GODS.
Chapter One
Ten years ago…
Jace chased the dog up, then down three different sand dunes, each one taller than the last. The effort was taking its toll. Huffing and puffing, his shirt soaked with sweat, he scrambled through the desert sands. Passing over the top of the fourth dune, Jace drew a sharp breath. A polished gleam of metal captured his eye. There was the dog, sure enough, a fat rabbit between his jaws.
Three yards past where the dog lay enjoying his prize, the sand fell away from the side of the next dune, revealing the hard metal of something underneath. The metal caught the sun’s rays and drove daggers of light into Jace’s eyes. It was glistening silver; it loo
ked like a hatch. There were hinges on the right—the left side was covered with sand.
Jace knelt beside the covered half of the metal hatch and swept the sand away with both hands. He discovered something, a depression in the metal, and he concentrated his efforts there. A handle emerged. He turned it to the right, but when he pulled on it, nothing happened. Too much sand remained upon the door.
The dog (having tired of the rabbit and being a master digger) joined in the fun. With the dog working on the lower half of the plate and Jace on the upper, they cleared the sand away in no time.
“That’s enough, Bandit; quit it!” Jace shooed the dog away. The dog smiled and laid down on the sand, sniffing the rabbit, panting from the exertion of the chase and the digging. He eyed the boy, keen to see what would happen next.
Jace planted his feet in the liquid sand beside the hatch, wrapping both hands around the handle. With a mighty groan and a grimace of effort the dog enjoyed, he yanked on it. To his surprise (and the dog’s), it flew wide open. He landed several feet away. Sand and dust erupted from the impact, depositing a fine layer of debris upon him. Coughing and spitting, he stood up and brushed away the dirt—all the sweaty parts turned to mud. Bandit watched in fascination, a wry grin on his face.
The gaping black hole in the dune was dark and foreboding, and it smelled like old dirty laundry. Lack of light inside the hole made it hard to see past where the sun shone in. When he yelled “HELLO!” into the opening, it yelled back at least three times, so he knew it was huge.
Jace looked at the dog. Bandit cocked his head—his eyes said, “not me”.
“Well, I guess we need to go get father…”
The dog agreed.
***
Hot floodlights cast a surreal blaze, the dunes amplified the harsh glare, making everything appear ochre-yellow. The sky was starless, moonless, overcast gray—it did nothing to brighten the mood.
Silence captured all three men who stood on the ridge...
Corian Dinatos let out a long slow sigh, turning to the others, searching their faces, trying to judge their mood.
“You know what this means; they’re lying to us, this is proof.” Corian motioned toward the open hatch below, observing the men scurrying about. Four rows of tables stood outside the entrance to the buried ship. Hazard-suited workers brought items from the interior, placing them in empty spots on the tables. As they laid the new things out, scientists in laboratory coats examined, cataloged, and crated each piece, and motioned for a team of soldiers. The men carried the crates to a transport vessel waiting on a flat stretch of sand next to the dig site.
Thaddeus Thalos shot a quick glance in Corian’s direction, nodded agreement, and said what they were all thinking. “We’ve suspected this for many years. Having proof seems almost wrong somehow, but the truth is unavoidable. The question is, what to do about it?” He turned away and hung his head. “Every time I see the news of some temple being bombed, or a riot over denominational rights, it makes me cringe.”
Eustas Callas reached into the right breast pocket of his tunic and retrieved his smoke and pipe. He drew a plasma lighter from his right pants pocket and fired the bowl. Embers flew into the night wind as the leaf caught fire. Thin tendrils of smoke rose into the air, curled around his head, then drifted off on the breeze.
“Corian, you are the Tribal Governor, so this decision is yours,” Eustas said, focusing on the gray of the cloudy darkness overhead—it matched the color of his thoughts. “We’ll take this issue before the High Council, but if you want my advice, I’ll give it to you.”
“You are my military advisor,” Corian said, “and this is a military decision. After being lied to for generations, I don’t care what the Council thinks.”
Eustas considered the response for a moment, took another pull on his pipe, and wished he was a hundred miles away. “Good. Then my suggestion is this. These False Gods are powerful. To fight power of that kind, you need that kind of power.” “I know only one person that powerful, but I hesitate to suggest her, for my own reasons...”
Eustas nodded, spun around, and walked away down the face of the dune toward the transport ship, leaving them standing on the hill.
Corian stood there, dumbfounded; his mouth agape. He watched as Eustas walked away. “I don’t understand!” he yelled, turning to Thaddeus, “Who is this person?”
Thaddeus motioned for him to be quiet, placing his left palm in the center of Corian’s chest to stop him. “It’s his step-daughter…”
Chapter Two
—From the Journal of General Eustas Callus —
Day 121, 1219, Cycle 3:
The discovery of this ship buried in the desert has me at odds. I’ve known for some time, we all have, the Gods are lying about our origins. Only common folk still believe the lie because they don’t know what the High Council does.
They claim they created us, gave us life, but their overt jealousy of each other, and their inability to control things like natural disasters: floods and storms killing hundreds or even thousands at a time, gives the lie to their tale. When questioned about their inability, they claim a hidden agenda mere mortals couldn’t understand. Rubbish. Is a true God not all-powerful? It’s not as if we were asking them to resurrect the dead.
Now, this ship. The official story is, the vessel is of alien origin, which is true—as it did not originate from this planet. Discoveries we’ve made upon examination of the technology it contained are astounding. The ship is not wrecked; we can find no damage upon the vessel, leading the scientists to believe whoever landed it did so in a very controlled manner, which begs the question—where did they go?
Our senior researcher, Carolus, believes the ship has been buried there for over two thousand years—some aging test he performed upon the material they found in the seating. This timeframe predates our oldest known records by twelve-hundred years, but then, during the ‘Dark Years’, there’s an absolute dearth of history because of records being destroyed and the nomadic nature of people.
It’s complicated, I imagine, to keep detailed records while fighting for your life. Erador is filled with many wild and terrible beasts, and a single Draggon attack might wipe out an entire village. I suppose I can forgive our ancestors for not putting pen to paper more often.
So, I ponder this situation, and I wonder, did our ancestors come to Erador from another place, long ago? Was it on that ship? Is it conceivable we lost the memory of this in only eighty generations? If this is true, then how did these False-Gods come to be here? It boggles the mind.
And now, the crux of the matter. These Gods are not Gods at all; they’re pretenders—fraudulent purveyors of false hope—they need to be stopped. Alisha is the most powerful Adept I’ve ever known, but she’s young and not fully trained. The High Council agrees, we’ve waited for millennia already—a few more years can’t hurt. I hope they don’t press the issue.
***
Present-day Erador Prime...
Little noise escaped the door's hinges as he eased through the gap. In the distance, over the sound of running water, the lilting tones of a song floated toward him. The assassin’s training had honed his senses and tightened his control. He could be silent when he needed to.
He moved toward the sound of her voice.
He recognized the song now; his mother used to sing it to him. In his mind, he saw her sitting beside the stream flowing past their home, the blossoms from the Redfruit trees dancing in the breeze, blanketing the ground with a carpet of white and pink petals.
The cool wind on his face... his mother’s smile…
He found his target in the arboretum. He watched her for several moments, tending to the greenery growing around the edge of the pool. She was a beautiful woman. Flowing black hair cascaded around her shoulders, like the water falling on the stones behind. Dark silkiness, surrounding soft beauty.
By inches, he snuck up on her as she trimmed the plants—every muscle taut. The song she sang returned to
the chorus and her voice lifted his spirits as he glided toward her.
This will be sweet...
Behind her now, lightning-fast, he reached out and encircled her with both arms, pulling her to his chest, holding her fast so she couldn't move.
“I’ve known you were there since you came in, Garrian.” Alisha Callus laughed, grasping his wrists where they crossed her chest. The plant shears falling to the stone floor made a clattering metallic sound, echoing from the walls.
“Impossible!” Garrian Callus shot back, faking indignance. “I’m a trained soldier, woman!”
“And if I hadn’t enchanted the doors to warn me, you might’ve been successful.” She spun in his arms and kissed him. Her infectious grin made him smile.
“Ahh… undone by your magic, Sorceress,” Garrian said, as he released her and took a step back, bowing at the waist and making a grand flourish with both hands. He gave her his most ravishing smile and a flirtatious wink. “When will I ever learn?”
“Never, I would wager.” She exaggerated a long sigh. “You are too hard-headed.”
“Which do you love more, my boyish good looks, or my exceptional charm?”
“I will ignore the question,” she said. “I can’t possibly choose between the two.”
She followed Garrian into the kitchen. The hem of her robe caressed the stones as she moved, making a soft noise like leaves brushing the ground. Garrian watched her walk. She had a gentle grace about her—it reminded him of a bird floating on the wind.
He opened the cooler door, rummaging around for a snack. He grabbed the milk. Alisha watched him drink from the bottle with a disapproving look.
“I know we’re low on food, but the grocer’s boy comes this morning to refill our regular order.” She frowned. “Can’t you use a cup?”
“Good.” He ignored the disparaging cup question. “I’m starving…”