The King was no exception.
The smell of wood smoke filled the air as he arrived. Vine tendrils clung to large boulders that lay like children’s marbles, scattered around the seer’s home. The entrance to the cave in which the old woman lived was set into the ground and almost completely covered by the vines, which flowed deep and lush like the thick full hair of a woman. If the King had come a month earlier, the strong smell of wood smoke would have been softened by an overwhelming fragrance of honeysuckle, but now only withered yellow blooms remained, still attached to the tendrils at the entrance. Bending down to the low, narrow opening, he called into the darkness, “Mother Latnok, I have come to speak with you.”
“You will wait,” replied a thin dry voice.
“But I have urgent business!”
“Even kings must wait for Mother Latnok.”
Resigned, the King breathed in deeply, and sat on a smaller stone outside the cave. He had come every day since Conqueror had arrived in orbit and he had lingered, only to be turned away. He willed that the Mother would grant him audience today.
The King shifted, his boots scuffing the gravel at his feet. His thoughts were dark, heavy burdens that he had carried only a short time, but the weight of which had already dragged him further down than he had ever been before. He prayed that Mother Latnok could advise him. She was blessed with a once-a-century gift of prescience and had never given false casting.
“Come,” her voice called.
Relieved, Jarith entered and unbuttoned his tunic, as the cave was thick with moist heat. The crone sat cross-legged and wizened. She pointed toward a homespun cushion. He bowed his respect and knelt before her.
Mother Latnok looked at him with her empty, all-seeing eyes and said, “The Wolf comes.”
The King’s brows drew down as he considered the appropriate reply. He had no idea what she was talking about. There were no wolves on Delian. He said nothing for some minutes, deliberating, and then offered, “Ashton will be King?”
“He will be King,” she agreed, her seamed face solemn. “And he will rule.” The wrinkled corners of her mouth twitched into an almost imperceptible frown, her expression betraying emotion for a heartbeat: restlessness, discontent.
The King said in a rush of apprehension. “But …?”
“He will not rule our people. We of Delian will start a fresh journey. For new life to begin the old must end.”
The King paled. Had he misunderstood?
The crone gave him a thin empty smile. “You do not misunderstand.”
“Conqueror?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Events draw toward us, they run toward us.” She shrugged a bony shoulder. “Two days? Perhaps three?”
The King moved to his feet, his thoughts cascading. So much to do …
“Stay,” the crone commanded.
The King sank back to his knees. Her gaze chilled him; her empty eyes were cold and dark as water in an underground cave.
“We’ll evacuate.”
“You will strive, my King, with all your will, but it will not serve.”
He stiffened. “I do not accept this.”
She nodded, as to an equal. “I know.” She tilted her head, studying him as if looking beyond his mortal form. “I see you, Delian King. Oh, yes, I see you, and there is much pride in the seeing.” She placed one gnarled hand flat against his chest, above where his heart pounded. “The Goddess knows that such courage and determination should be rewarded.”
She paused and when she next spoke her voice was no longer thin and ancient; it echoed as if from a greater power. “Just one will survive, my King. He will be alone. It is his fate. No father, no mother, no people, no planet, no home. Lost …” The old woman bowed as if the burden of the future weighed upon her.
“You give no hope!”
“The boy is extremely powerful. He will endure.” She looked toward him, her rheumy blank eyes filled with dark knowledge. She gave a wheezing sigh. “There is much to endure.”
“He’ll go tomorrow, with the Queen.”
“The Queen and the son leave this day.”
He was silent, but accepted her demand.
“And my Queen?” he said finally. “You say even his mother … will pass?”
“Yes. You do not wait long for her. She follows close behind you. She hurries close behind you. You will journey to the Golden Lands together.”
The King stared, his mind overloaded. Impossible. His people were doomed? His son would be King, but he would be alone, with no one to guard him, to teach him, to love him. It was too much, and there was no time to stop this malicious fate. No time at all.
The King’s thoughts spun: disbelieving, scheming, despairing and then resolved. I will prove this prophecy wrong, he thought. But he said, “As Jana wills.”
“All is not lost.”
The King’s heart flared with hope.
She shook her head. “Only the Prince survives, my King.” An odd smile played about her mouth. With inexplicable, almost predatory satisfaction the seer repeated: “The Wolf is coming.”
Mother Latnok turned her head away.
The King’s audience was over.
King Jarith Chayton rose and left, hastening toward the future, whatever it may bring.
Hours later that same day, after feverish activity, the King, his Queen, the young prince and his wolfhound travelled by speeder to the unpopulated desert. There the Royal Delian Ship Assurance stood with loading ramp extended, her destination set for the backwater world of Kalar. The Delian Flagship gave the distinct impression it was impatient to be on its way.
King Jarith Chayton and his wife, the Lady Sartha, stood near the portal, listening to the sound of their son, Prince Ashton Rynan Chayton, giggling. The boy, who preferred to be called Ash, was seemingly oblivious to adult concerns and skipped across the landing field behind the large spacecraft, chasing after his wolfhound, Tynan.
Despite his fears, Jarith smiled at the lighthearted sound of childish joy. His son was small for his age. He had barely survived birth, failed to thrive during infancy, and was prone to illness — often languishing near death. The prince would never be robust or even obtain a modest height, but his constitution had strengthened. Jarith no longer feared for his son’s life. With his father’s black hair and his mother’s pale skin, Ash’s lips seemed impossibly red. At times his dark eyes were fathomless, as though they were able to view a reality no one else could see. It was in these moments that the extraordinary force of his power could touch you like a hot, dry wind. Perhaps his son had been given his astonishing mind to compensate for a small and weak body. In his sixteenth year Ash would realize the Delian gift of mind-touch, and learn to use and control it. Only then would he be considered Trueborn.
Both dog and boy raced from round the other side of Assurance, returning to the front of the vessel. “Father, can we go inside?” Ash asked breathlessly.
Jarith said with a trace of humor in his voice, “Of course. Just don’t press any buttons. You may accidentally start the ignition sequence. Then where will we be?”
Ash laughed. “Silly! C’mon, Tynan,” he shouted, and charged up the ramp.
The weak late afternoon sun glinted from the queen’s shining hair. Lady Sartha had genetically reprogrammed her wavy tresses into bright burnished gold. It was an unnecessary ostentation that had delighted her. Jarith was rather bemused by Sartha’s unexpected display of feminine vanity. He had enjoyed the pale blonde locks of her birthright.
Sartha glared meaningfully at him, with striking blue eyes. Her eyes had needed no alteration. Jarith took her hands. “I know — you don’t want to go.”
“It’s a risk either way. I’d rather die here, with you.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’ll both be safe aboard Assurance,” Jarith said, displaying a certainty he didn’t feel. “The sensors registering unauthorised liftoff will show aboard Conqueror for only an instant — I doubt an
yone will notice.”
“We could hide …”
“No.” Jarith said. “We’ve been through this. Fleet vessels have advanced sensors; Conqueror is no exception. Survivors would be discovered. I’ll find a way to get through to Admiral Neopol.” His expression softened. “Please don’t worry, love.” He pulled her to him, stroked her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “Have I ever let you down?”
Sartha gave a faint smile and shook her head, but they both knew the truth. She was afraid.
Jarith’s stomach clenched. How could he still her fears when he could not silence his own? He recalled the words of the Seer. “You will strive, my King, with all your will, but it will not serve. Just one will survive. He will be alone. It is his fate. No father, no mother, no people, no planet, no home.”
Tynan, from somewhere within Assurance, began a rapid series of barks.
Jarith turned, anxiously scanning the distant hills. There was no breeze and the sky remained cloudless. It was almost sundown and the desert was at peace. Low on the horizon, First Moon shone a pale pink crescent. The evening air was crisp yet to Jarith it clung like a shroud. With the passing of a single day his whole world had shattered. He mentally viewed Icom options. Ignoring unopened messages, he chose planetary strings. Projecting visual, he located the orbiting government vessel. No change, yet he couldn’t dispel his sense of urgency.
Jarith removed the priceless Delian talisman that circled his upper arm. “Take this with you.” He placed it in Sartha’s hand, closing her fingers around it.
The armguard was often called the “King’s Mirror,” or “King’s Guard.” Centuries old, the main stone was flat and oval, a little larger than an adult’s eye. It had been placed into the silver arm band with smaller crystals giving it the appearance of a continuous ring of blue. The stones were rich blue Damithst — a rare crystalline mineral unique to Delian. It took extraordinary wealth to procure such a jewel and few grew larger than a child’s fingernail. The King’s Mirror, the center stone, was the largest of its kind.
“This belongs with you and all our people,” Sartha said, clearly shocked by the sacrilege.
Jarith grasped her hand with a grip that made her wince. It was a grip guided more by anxiety than anger. “It’s mine to give, as Delian’s sovereign.”
“Then Ashton should have it.”
Jarith looked toward the talisman. It warmed from within his hand and seemed to glow in agreement. Something tight in his chest loosened. “Yes, of course. It is his birthright.”
“Hey, you guys,” Ash’s called out, his voice echoing with childish enthusiasm from somewhere within the ship. “Check this out!”
They smiled. Together Jarith and Sartha moved inside the stately vessel, walking up into the lounge and servery. Assurance was a Needle-Class vessel. Its living spaces were originally small, as they had been fitted for a battleship crew of less than ten. This one had been converted and generously laid out in a more lavish design. Its automated systems made single piloting an option. Ash circled around them both like a satellite, showing them all he had discovered. Jarith tolerated it for as long as possible, stretching out the moment.
Ash sat in the reclining chair designed for liftoff. His father said, “Son, I want you to have this.” Jarith held out the King’s Mirror.
“Me? Why? This belongs to you. I don’t want it.”
Jarith smiled with as much reassurance as he could manage. “Will you take it for now for safekeeping? Just for a little while? You can restore it to me when you return to Delian.”
Ash shrugged his acceptance, and took the talisman. Jarith engaged the protective cushioning web, securing Ash to his seat.
“Oh, wow,” Ash said, marveling at the webbing that protected him during takeoff. “How neat is this?” Sartha and Jarith chuckled at his reaction. Tynan began to pace anxiously back and forth, giving shrill barks of censure. “Oh poor Tynan,” Ash said. “Don’t worry boy, we won’t be gone long. You stay and guard my father for me, okay boy?”
The wolfhound sat down instantly, tilted his head and gave a slight, disapproving whine.
Sartha patted the dog, fondled his ears and said, “You are a good boy.”
The King reflected, not for the first time, that his son had a distinctive connection with his four-legged friend. Yet their relationship was not one of owner and pet; it was more like two best friends. Jarith wanted to send Tynan with Ash on Assurance, but animals rarely travelled well in space, and the wolfhound was not exactly small. His wife had enough to manage as it was. No. The dog would have to stay with him, here on Delian.
He could delay no longer. Jarith’s throat felt thick. He cleared it and his mouth tightened. He said, “It’s time to go.”
Ash’s eyes flew to his father’s face.
Shocked, Jarith felt the full force and burning heat of his son’s gaze. It was like standing in front of an open furnace. Ash had astonishing potential, and despite everything, Jarith, was thrilled to be reminded of this. He is so strong. So powerful.
Ash said in a strangely adult and somber tone, “Are either of you going to tell me what is really going on?”
Jarith realized then that despite his and Sartha’s attempts to hide their anxiety, Ash knew. Of course he would know. Ash wasn’t stupid, and like all children of Delian, he had been born with the gift. His son’s childish playfulness had been an act, camouflaging his awareness of their apprehension, their fear. He recalled the seer’s words: The boy is extremely powerful. He will endure. There is much to endure. But what could he tell his son? He was too young for such truths.
In the long silence the sound of their breathing seemed loud.
Jarith shook his head. “Sorry, Ash. King’s business.” He bent down, embraced and kissed him. “Look after your mother for me, all right?” Tynan nuzzled Ash’s hand as Jarith clipped a lead on him. The wolfhound was so large that Jarith didn’t even need to bend to reach the animal’s collar.
“I will,” Ash said.
“I’ll be right back, Ash,” Sartha said. “I’ll see your father out.”
Sartha and Jarith walked through the corridors and lounge area of Assurance, and down the ramp, to the desert. Tynan followed tamely behind them.
A rustling sound seemed loud in the desert silence. It disturbed Jarith’s thoughts and he stiffened, looking toward the source of the noise. A bo-plant was closing its leaves in the evening dusk. He studied the sunburnt landscape, alert for intruders, accessing Icom proximity alarms. They were definitely alone, yet the knowledge, instead of providing relief, seemed more like an evil portent. It was as though all living things had fled like birds sensing an imminent storm.
Jarith took Sartha’s arm. “Better hurry. I might be missed. If there’s a search and Assurance is found …” he paused, unwilling to speak of the consequences. Jarith wrapped his arms around Sartha and they held each other tightly, unwilling to let her go.
Their mouths came together, in sudden desperation.
After a long moment they broke apart, eyes locked, hearts pounding.
“Sartha,” Jarith whispered, breaking the spell. “Tell Ashton …” his voice trailed off. What could she tell him? He was only a child! The Seer was wrong. His people would escape. His mind strayed for a moment, drawn to the details of mass departure once more. His teeth clenched. No. Jarith thrust his thoughts aside and forced a smile. “Just tell Ash that I love him.”
As Sartha boarded Assurance Jarith projected a positive mental touch to his wife. He felt the same confident promise radiating from her. Having never hidden a thought or feeling from each other, they did so now with unvoiced agreement. Each hid a crushing fear. The future was dark but not unknown: it had been cast.
The airlock doors closed with the finality of a burial vault. Tynan pulled restively against his collar, whined and barked and barked. Jarith kept a firm grip on the animal’s lead. His rapid stride took them from the liftoff area, to a safe distance where they both watched and waited.
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Minutes later, with a circle of blue flame, Assurance was gone.
Tynan’s agitation and restlessness vanished. The wolfhound sat unmoving. The King too remained still. He stood staring at the empty sky well after Assurance was out of sight. King Jarith Chayton’s features were strained and ashen, his emotions no longer concealed.
Despair was written across his face, obvious for all to see — even to those not Trueborn.
2. The Dark Sankomin
All souls suffer the Dark Sankomin. If one is in the present, if the mind remains in attendance, the Sankomin cannot seize or bind. The Sankomin is a combination of all that has been and all that can be. It is not evil in itself: it merely is. Time is like a river and the mind is the water. When the water flows, all is well and sequential, in chronological order. However, these past events, encompassing all the conscious feelings within them — thought, pain and emotion — can fall on one en masse. They attach to one’s soul like metal filings drawn to a magnet. At times presenting as burdened river eddies, they dam the river and the mind becomes bound. It will not flow. The Dark Sankomin is solid, a heavy mass in the mind, a dark burden to the soul. Unresolved, it will cause madness and despair.
— Seer Foweraker, The Interpretations
Ash woke, temporarily disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his bed. He was in a bunk, secured by protective webbing. Taking a deep breath of air that had a recycled tang, Ash both felt and heard a rhythmic kind of hum.
I’m on a spaceship, traveling to another world.
But why? Nothing made sense. They had left in a departure so secret that even he didn’t know until the last moment. A United Worlds Government warship, Conqueror, had been in orbit around Delian. Warships protected the Freeworlds, yet Conqueror seemed somehow menacing. Was that why they had left? Could they actually be running away?
WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) Page 2