Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  Queens

  The Wielders of Arantha Book 2

  Patrick Hodges

  Copyright (C) 2017 Patrick Hodges

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Molly Phipps

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Endgame preview, Chapter One

  Endgame preview, Chapter Two

  Endgame preview, Chapter Three

  Acknowledgments

  I’m often asked if this whole “writing thing” gets easier the more I do it. The short answer is … no. It’s not easier. The more you write, the more you grow as a writer, and the more you strive to tell each successive story better than the previous one.

  One thing that hasn’t, and probably will never, change is the fact that I have a ton of people to thank for helping me hone my craft to a razor’s edge. I must start with my cohorts at the Central Phoenix Writers Group, who on a weekly basis tell me just where I’m going wrong and how to fix it. Without their help, Wielders of Arantha wouldn’t be the kick-ass story it is (and it totally is).

  I must send an equal number of thanks to my friends and colleagues in the author community, many of whom are fellow members of Young Adult Author Rendezvous, the best collection of YA authors anywhere. Because of your verve and literary acumen, I not only received the impetus to keep going, but the “big picture” feedback that I so desperately required. I am so blessed to have such a vast fount of knowledge to tap into whenever I need it.

  The most thanks must go to my wife, Vaneza, for leaving me be while I go into “author mode”. She has the patience of a saint, and all this would mean nothing without her support.

  Lastly, thanks to you, the reader. Though my first books dealt with the perils of childhood and middle school, my first love as a youth was always science fiction and fantasy, and being able to dip my toe in the waters of this genre is a dream come true for me. I hope that you find my efforts worthy of praise. I promise, there will be more than a few twists and turns before you’re done.

  Chapter One

  EIGHTEEN DAYS AGO

  A man whose posture, rumpled clothes, and scruffy beard gave him the appearance of one much older than his thirty-eight years sat at the main computer console. His ginger hair bore streaks of grey, and the eyeglasses that usually clung to his face now perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

  Though he kept a watchful eye on the vast bank of monitors that scanned the sands of the Sahara Desert five hundred miles in every direction, his attention remained primarily fixed on the screen in front of him. His own image filled the screen, staring back at him as he spoke into a tiny microphone. “You're the strongest woman I've ever known, Maeve. Whatever is about to happen, I know you're going to kick ass. Win this game. For humanity.” Then he shut off the recording.

  Feeling the sting of fatigue behind his eyes, he removed his glasses and set them on the console. “One down, one to go,” he muttered to himself.

  He heard a shuffle of footsteps and turned around to see a young, olive-skinned man in a blue jumpsuit standing in the security office's doorway. A short yet thick beard and mustache covered the bottom half of his face, and his piercing brown eyes were far more alert than they should have been, given the late hour. “Hey, Richard. Mind if I join you?”

  Sahara Base had been built decades earlier as an R&D lab for the purpose of exploring propulsion methods that exceeded even supralight capabilities, one of the Terran Confederation's best-kept secrets. Though designed to house several hundred personnel, only ten people lived there now.

  Richard waved the man in. “C'mon in, Mahesh. I just made some coffee; help yourself.”

  Mahesh sat in the chair opposite Richard. “No thanks, I'll stick to tea. Besides, we packed the synthesizer yesterday, which can only mean you brewed the coffee yourself. And no offense, Richard, but your coffee could strip the paint off a starship.”

  “Screw you,” Richard said with a sardonic smile. “Besides, I got just the thing to make it taste better.”

  Mahesh gave him a bemused smile. “Drain cleaner?”

  Richard opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a small flask, waggling it in front of his friend. “Eighteen-year-old Scotch. 2719 was a very good year.”

  “Pass. If I come back to the room with that on my breath, Suri will read me the riot act.”

  “Suit yourself.” Richard unscrewed the top of the flask and took a swig, throwing it back with a satisfied exhale. “Is everything prepared?”

  “Yes.” Mahesh scooted his chair forward until it rested only a few feet away from Richard's. “Is there any way I can talk you into coming with us?”

  Five years before, Earth had been invaded by the Jegg, an insectoid race whose vastly superior technology made short work of the Confederation's defenses. Nine billion people—more than half of humanity—were wiped out. Richard, his wife and son, and the rest of his engineering team escaped subjugation by sealing themselves inside Sahara Base. They'd reasoned that even if the Jegg knew of the base's existence, their small team posed no semblance of a threat, and therefore left them alone.

  They were wrong.

  Richard's breath hitched at his friend's concern. “Someone has to be here to make sure the Talon gets away safely, to say nothing of activating the base's self-destruct.”

  “It doesn't have to be you.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Is that what Banikar said?”

  “In so many words.”

  Mahesh folded his arms across his che
st. “I'm not buying it.”

  Richard drew himself up. “Excuse me?”

  “This mission has been two years in the making. Have you ever wondered why the rest of us—who have never so much as laid eyes on this mysterious trans-dimensional being who has been influencing your decisions since childhood—follow your instructions without question?”

  Richard shrugged. “Because the Jegg have had us farked twelve ways from Sunday since the day they dropped from the sky?”

  “Well, there is that, of course. But there's more to it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mahesh stared at the ground. “People have believed in a higher power for thousands of years, Richard. Whether they call that higher power Jehovah, or Vishnu, or Allah, or Banikar, it doesn't matter. When things are at their most hopeless, sometimes all a person has is his faith.” He raised his head again. “For the last two years, I've watched you feed this team information you couldn't have gotten from any human source.”

  Catching sight of Richard's raised eyebrows, Mahesh held his hands out, palms up. “Believe me, things would've gone so much smoother if Banikar had decided to include the entire group in his briefings instead of insisting on appearing to you exclusively. God works in mysterious ways, and for whatever reason, he chose you as his messenger. As a man of faith, it's not my place to question that.”

  Richard took another gulp. “But you're a scientist. You're supposed to question everything.”

  “Whether I question it or not doesn't matter.” Mahesh smirked. “I'm going to heaven regardless.”

  “Sure, rub it in.” Richard rolled his eyes. “Make sure you look for me when you get there. If you don't find me, well … you know where I'll be.”

  Mahesh's deep brown eyes bore into his. “I know you're the captain of this metaphorical ship, but that doesn't mean you have to go down with it.”

  “I know.” Richard's eyes flicked toward the security monitor to his right, taking in the wide-angle view of the hangar, inside which sat the rebuilt, refurbished, soon-to-depart hulk of the Talon. “But I'm tired, Mahesh. I'm so tired. I lost my whole family to the Jegg: my parents, my brothers, my little sister … all gone.” His hands curled into fists. “After tomorrow, I will never see my wife or son again. And it's probably for the best. When Maeve plays that recording, I don't know what's gonna piss her off more: hearing the truth or that she won't get to kill me herself.”

  “You don't know that.”

  Richard sneered. “This is Maeve we're talking about, Mahesh. She's Irish and a combat veteran. If there's one thing she's better at than piloting spacecraft, it's holding a grudge.”

  Mahesh's face was, as always, infuriatingly calm. “Richard, come with us. The Resistance still needs people like you.”

  “The Resistance?” Richard turned his flask over and over in his hand. “It sounds so noble, doesn't it? Like we're a shining example to humanity, who dares to hope that we may gain victory, cast off our vile oppressors, and regain our freedom.” He chuckled. “What horseshit. Humanity doesn't even know we exist. And as for victory? This is it right here.” He gestured again at the Talon on the monitor. “This is mankind's last, very last chance. Either this works, or the next millennium will be exactly like the last five years: watching the Jegg carve up every planet in the Confederation, and unable to do jack about it.”

  Mahesh arched an eyebrow. “Well, that doesn't mean you have to be an asshole.”

  “I'm not an asshole. I'm from Texas.”

  “Not sure those two things are mutually exclusive.”

  “Well, that's certainly true.” He downed another gulp from his flask. “You've told the other five what's going to happen?”

  Mahesh leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Yes, everything Banikar told you. In four hours, I'll load the crate with the personal transporters onto the Talon, having removed six of the ten for ourselves. In seven hours, Gaspar will activate both our borrowed Jegg quantigraphic rift drive and the ship's supralight engines for final testing, and Maeve will begin the pre-flight checks. Twenty-one minutes later, the base will come under attack, by which time, the rest of us will have already transported away to Himalaya Base. You'll make sure Davin is on board?”

  “Don't worry about that. He goes wherever Gaspar goes.”

  Mahesh idly cast his eyes at the monitors, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Does Gaspar know what's going to happen to him?”

  Richard shook his head. “That would only distract him. We need his entire brain on this, or they'll never make it.”

  “Have you recorded the messages?”

  Richard turned back to face the console in front of him. “I just did Maeve's. I'm going to do Davin's in a minute.” He sighed. “For years, I've known this moment was coming, and now that it has … I don't know what the fark I'm gonna say.”

  “Tell him what he needs to hear,” Mahesh said, standing up. He reached over and put a hand on Richard's shoulder. “Nothing else matters.”

  “Is that another one of your pearls of Hindu wisdom?”

  “Nope. Metallica.”

  “You and that old heavy metal of yours.” Richard stood up and extended his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Mahesh took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. “It's been an honor serving with you.”

  “Well, it's right you should feel that way,” Richard said with a grim smile.

  Mahesh rolled his eyes as he moved toward the door. “Definitely not mutually exclusive.” He gave a brief wave, and then was gone.

  Richard listened to his friend's footsteps fade away. He closed the door to the Security Office and resumed his seat in front of the console. He downed one more swig as he gathered his thoughts, and his courage, then pressed the Record button on the screen. One more deep breath, and he began to speak.

  Chapter Two

  Kelia choked back a sob as she removed her hands from the Stone.

  Her heart raced, thumping wildly in her chest. This was not unusual when she consulted Arantha, but it was made worse by the unfathomable horror of her latest vision, the same vision she'd been subjected to repeatedly since returning from the Kaberian Mountains.

  Perspiration beading on her brow and acid roiling in her stomach, she lurched across the dusty stone floor and out through the narrow entrance, stumbling as she crossed the threshold. She squinted in the light of the morning sun as her eyes adjusted from the dimness of the cave.

  She turned to the right, taking in the view of the Ixtrayu village that had been her people's home for eight centuries. Built directly into the walls of the plateau on either side of the River Ix, it was a sight she'd seen countless times since she was a little girl walking at the side of her mother, Onara. Back then, the sight was welcome, familiar, but with every unhelpful vision she'd had since donning the mantle of Protectress, it felt less and less so. On this day, the comforting babble of the river did nothing to calm her turbulent thoughts.

  Rather than cross the nearest bridge to the other side of the river, where her home lay invitingly close at the top of a large stone staircase, she moved down the narrow footpath along the eastern bank toward the Room of Healing. Upon entering, she scanned the spacious room for either of the tribe's two healers. She spotted Sershi near the back wall, watching as the young, willowy woman removed a kettle from over a small fire and filled three mugs with its contents. The spicy fragrance of jingal-root tea filled the air, and Kelia instantly felt her mind quiet.

  “Protectress,” Sershi said, her mouth morphing into a tired smile that wasn't reflected in her eyes.

  Kelia strode forward, picked up a mug of tea from the table and held it under her nose, closing her eyes as it filled her senses. She took another deep breath before blowing on the tea and taking a cautious sip. She felt the hot liquid slide down her throat, savoring its piquant taste.

  “Oh, I needed that.” Kelia took another quenching sip and set the mug back down. “How is your mother doing?”
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  “Still weak,” Sershi said. “It may be another day before she's up and around. Extracting the hugar's venom from our … guest's body took more out of her than either of us realized.”

  “I understand,” Kelia said, casting a glance at several huddled forms sleeping on beds of lyrax pelts on the other side of the room. Davin lay curled up next to his mother, snoring peacefully, his curly red hair spilling over his face. “How are they doing?”

  “The woman has improved,” Sershi said, following Kelia's gaze. “She seems to have regained some movement in her extremities. I believe we eradicated all of the poison, but now it's up to her body to rejuvenate itself.”

  “There's nothing more you can do?” Kelia glanced at her half-empty mug, wishing its restorative powers would have a similar effect on her friend.

  Sershi shook her head. “As you know, we've never had to heal something like this before. We're monitoring her, and I assure you, we'll chronicle every detail in our records in case it ever happens again.”

  Kelia nodded. “And Nyla?”

  The healer took two steps forward, shifting her gaze to Kelia's thirteen-year-old daughter, lying on a different pallet of furs. “Her heartbeat is strong, and the burns on her palms have healed. Beyond that, she's in Arantha's hands. I'm sorry I don't have more to tell you than that, Protectress.”

  Kelia just nodded again.

  Sershi's voice became even more tentative. “What are we going to do about the boy?”

  Kelia remained silent. It was a good question, and one she didn't have an answer for. Davin was the first male to set foot in the village. Ever. And as such, he couldn't be allowed to roam around unattended. Having spent two days getting to know Davin, she knew him to be an intelligent, personable young man, playful and mischievous at times but a devoted son. Until she could convince her sisters of his good nature, however, he would be considered dangerous, and thus in danger himself. For eight hundred years, her people had looked upon men with suspicion and contempt, only interacting with them when seeking mates on Sojourn.

  Additionally, he was from the Above, as was his mother. She only hoped she could get her sisters to understand that their new friends, just like the Ixtrayu, were following a path set forth by Arantha, and it was that moment in time that those paths were converging. Kelia desperately needed the Council's help in that regard.