WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  They sat some more. This time the silence was companionable, the tension had gone. Dorian’s had unburdened himself in some small degree, and Ash had acknowledged and understood him. Dorian’s face was brighter. The Dark Sankomin had receded.

  “Thank you for telling me, Dorian.” Ash stood up, resisting the urge to comfort the boy by ruffling his hair or patting his back. It would be a long time before Dorian would be at ease with a man’s touch. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

  The room was warmer than normal, set to a temperature an older, thin-skinned person would enjoy. It was full of antiques, decorated in warm colors, reds, yellows, creams and browns. There were expensive crystal chandeliers, sculptures and golden ornaments, silverware. The woman’s space was an amazing cave of hidden valuables, each holding more than monetary value to the old Seer who inhabited these rooms. The spiritual was what was important, not the material, she reminded herself. But still, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, to ease one’s mind and spirit with these few comforts she had collected over the years. Her treasures had always delighted her soul.

  Here, on the other side of Opan, in her desert isolation, the old crone had received the message via Icom from the Prefect. It said simply, “He has come.”

  Narda, once “Nardha,” Temple Prefect herself, had retired from the Sisterhood. Like all retired Sisters, she was allowed to keep her stone. She had produced ten children, five through body births, and five through artificial wombs. All of her children were Temple Sisters themselves. The current Prefect, the Lady Lindha, was her granddaughter.

  Narda had lived a full life and looked all of her one-hundred and fifty years. Her shoulders were rounded and her face was wrinkled — utterly wrinkled, each line a virtual crag, deeply etched into her features. Her skin hung in pouches, her body wasted with age. Her rheumy eyes watered constantly. It was quite irritating.

  The suspensor chair she sat in reclined as she directed with an Icom command. She still walked, yes, but it was good to keep her legs elevated. She was old and soon she would travel to the Golden Lands: she had seen this. She had only been waiting for the Trueborn to arrive, for she knew he would come to this world. This she had seen as well.

  She sighed, tired and exhausted by the burden of her visions. She would rest, soon, and stop having to drag this old carcass around with her. She would be free of it, finally. She had waited so long.

  So many lives, so many journeys: each with a beginning, middle and an end. There was no speeding up the process. A person lived and learned at the pace that they were able. Humankind was evolving, mentally, physically, and most of all spiritually. She had played a part in that evolution. After her death she would no doubt play another part. A beginning, middle and end. Like all souls, she would go back to the beginning and struggle and learn again. She sighed. It seemed that nothing had really changed since the time of Pythagoras, almost 3,000 years ago. Pythagoras, an intelligent man, was well aware of the wheel: he also wanted to escape the cycle of birth and death.

  Narda looked at the Icom holovid Lindha sent of Ash and smiled with real pleasure. That hair. Those cheekbones and jaw. The boy had the look of Jenkins in him. She wondered how the Trueborn would react to her. She imagined that he would probably like her. He would certainly be surprised to find that she had been waiting for him.

  She frowned. Soon. Just a little longer; then the circle would close. Things must take their natural course; they could not be hurried. She had messaged back to the Prefect: “Not yet.”

  Sitting up and moving her chair, Narda brought herself to the two books that lay in a transparent case upon her fine oak table. Both volumes were used by the Temple of Jana; both were in fact the foundations of their spiritual beliefs. The first was the Book of Jana; it was bound in dark blue genuine leather, with golden lettering and printed (printed: if one could imagine!) on treated paper. It was well over two-hundred years old. It contained basic truths, only a few of them. The main part of the work consisted of “The Parables”: simple, memorable stories that were created to convey a spiritual message.

  The second was the Book of Taro; it was black-leather bound, again with gold lettering, and it also was printed on treated paper. It was the same age as Jana’s book and it contained many, many lies and its own parables: the Parables of evil, of self deceit.

  The Temple taught that all thoughts should be viewed. An educated mind was able to entertain an idea without accepting it. Thus the book of the Deceiver was as important as the book of truth. An individual must know evil, to look it in the face in order to defeat it. The seeds of goodness and wickedness were present in all. Unless one could view such evil and recognize it, the mind could be attracted by it. In ignorance one could then inadvertently feed and water such malevolence, and allow it to grow.

  She recalled the saying, “Goodness was simple, where evil was manifold.” Now who had said that? she wondered. Mangan? She didn’t bother to check Icom. Her own mind and memory were no longer what they were, but that hardly mattered at this point. However, it was also true that goodness arrived in infinite form and variety, while evil, although diverse, was similar to itself.

  Narda had witnessed this many times. Siblings growing up in a loving, wholesome environment, facilitated in their interests and each given the opportunity to pursue his or her personal goals, became astonishingly unique. She had seen within the same families scientists, artists, musicians — oh, many, many unique interests and groundbreaking ideas. From one tree grew an enormous variety of fruit. A quality upbringing created difference, allowed unique individual attributes to flourish, and gave each family member the ability to find their own minds, their own purpose.

  She had also seen the opposite: a toxic environment seemed to her to be all the same, with similar themes running through the common taint of evil: drugs, alcohol, domestic violence, criminal activities, gambling, physical, mental and sexual abuse, and abandonment. No uniqueness at all. Same, same, same. The children of these families, unless fighters with the fortitude to escape, were one and all damaged. They often perpetuated the cycle of evil themselves.

  Narda knew who had written these two books; the Book of Jana and the Book of Taro. Jana meant “God’s grace” in Hebrew; Taro was of aboriginal tongue and meant “God’s destruction.” The gentleman hadn’t actually written these volumes; he had in fact arranged for them to be written and printed well before he had left Earth. He had employed many people, professionals in every religious and philosophic field. He had them put the main concepts of their knowledge into simple parables. It was this man who, after commissioning this enterprise, had taken only the parables that he felt were the finest from a plethora of world religions and philosophies.

  That man had foreseen what the UWG planned, how all religion, through careful government machination, was becoming unpopular, and how they all would eventually be lost. There would be a vacuum, a need to fill, when all knowledge of divinity was gone. From his endeavors would come a new religion, a revised belief that took all the best and the worst of every religion and philosophy and combined them into two volumes.

  The Trueborn would be surprised when he found that both books had been commissioned, fashioned and created by his ancestor, the man who discovered Omni and the first King of Delian: Brent Jenkins. Jenkins had changed his last name to Chayton, the name Ashton bore. The Trueborn had never heard the full story of the first King of Delian and the Damithst talisman, the King’s Mirror. It was up to her to tell him, as she alone knew the entire story. It had been passed on to her through word of mouth.

  Narda sighed. The circle was closing, and completion was near. For she was a direct descendant of Brent Jenkins and the Trueborn, Ashton Chayton, was blood kin to her. Together they would help bring the final prophecy to pass.

  27. Trueborn Requirements

  ShanTu said that we must set the soul free from the body and its lusts. Having thus gotten rid of the foolishness of the flesh, we shall be pure.
While an admirable goal, the Sisterhood has not found this practical. For whatever purpose, body and soul are joined. Denying one’s bodily lusts is about as effective as prohibition, which is to say not effective at all.

  — Sister Nisha Sutha

  The Prefect of the Temple of Jana, the Lady Lindha, finished instructing her morning class late, had a quick lunch, and then went to her room to change into something less formal. The sun shone brightly outside, and rays of sunlight spilled through her bedroom curtains. The room was close and warm. After spending the morning inside she was looking forward to getting outside. Lindha looked through her wardrobe, deciding on a flattering, light nano-fiber red dress. She knew she looked good in it and wanted Ash to notice.

  Lindha shook her head, irritated with herself. She was dressing her best in order to attract him.

  Since the Trueborn’s arrival all she could think of was Ash. Her whole life seemed to center on him. Ash’s presence was overwhelming, charismatic. Like magic or mystery, he drew her to him. He is so beautiful, she thought. Was he her dream lover? Would he even know if he was? Or was it all her imagination? Forsaken worlds. She felt like a crazy woman. She was definitely losing her mind. Was this love?

  She remembered the trip they made a few days after his arrival. They had taken a speeder to where he lived with the wolves. He had lived in a den! Solar energy, bedding, foodstuffs — he had made himself comfortable; but for a child to live without human companionship for five years? It was astonishing, and disturbing.

  The den was empty and had been so for some time. Troubled by the wolves’ disappearance, Ash had searched but was unable to find his “family.” Lindha tensed, still shocked. His family. Ash considered those wild predators kin.

  She left off all rings and necklaces, firmly telling herself enough was enough, but she conceded to a small amount of perfume. Lindha could believe Ash felt kin to wolves. He had a savage sort of fury stored up inside, and had shown his volatile temper more than once. The position of Prefect was inviolate. No one would dare to lay hands on her, speak to her in anger, or show disrespect in any way. Ash had done all three already. At times he seemed unable to suppress his rage. It had been a new experience for her.

  Once while attending a philosophy class, Ash had said that for everything there was a season: “A time to live, a time to die.” Everyone knew the parables — that was nothing new. But Ash had then argued that there was also a time to kill.

  A jolt of fear ran through her. It was the duty of the Prefect and the Temple to help the Trueborn to achieve his goals. But did he really want to kill someone? With his temper she could well believe that Ash was capable of killing during an angry passion. But his comments led her to believe that the Trueborn was capable of planning to kill. She wanted to ask, but couldn’t find the words. Did Ash already have someone in mind? Someone he wanted dead?

  It was against every principle. To kill — for hate, for revenge — one would have to pay for an act such as that, if not in this life then certainly in another. Lindha sighed as she looked into the mirror, checking to ensure that she looked her best. Yes, the Trueborn had implied that he may want to kill another, and he had the temper to prove it. It made no difference. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything.

  Lindha added a small amount of lip gloss. Everything about the Trueborn unsettled her. Her moods changed so rapidly, it was like being astride a shying horse, a mad gallop of emotions that she could barely rein in: desire, anxiety, euphoria, excitement and fear. Excitement was foremost. It was always there. She was too wound up to sleep or eat. It was all she could do to give an appearance of composure. Was this love? This madness? She honestly felt as if she were being beaten and caressed at the same time.

  Brushing her hair she began to braid it, pulling it up high on her head. Yes. She had a long, graceful neck. Maybe Ash would like her hair up? Lindha giggled. Here she was, trying to attract him, while pretending she was ambivalent. It was hilarious! Too bad she was too conflicted to fully enjoy the absurdity.

  Lindha had a mischievous sense of humor and a keen sense of the ridiculous. She loved pointing out flawed or inconsistent behavior. She took it in good part when others teased her, because she considered herself far from perfect. For if one could not laugh at one’s faults, what was there to laugh at?

  The morning after his arrival, Lindha had attempted to tease the Trueborn. He had embarrassed her the night before, telling her that she had beautiful eyes like his mother’s. Oh, he had been such a trial that first night. Calling her beautiful, asking if she was promised. She was sure it was the drink talking. It was no wonder she had been unable to resist tormenting him. Maybe it was a perverse desire to make him squirm. Perhaps she had done it simply to repay the embarrassment she had suffered at his hands. Either way, teasing him hadn’t worked. He had stared at her with such measured intensity that she had to look away. In the end all that happened was she had made herself uncomfortable.

  Drunk or sober, Ash was entirely out of her experience and she still had no idea how to manage him. He seemed so much better able to manage her — her and everyone else. Not to mention the animals. She sighed. Yes, the Trueborn definitely had a way with the animals. It was as if they talked to him. Did they talk to him? Perhaps it was some sort of psychic connection. She would like to ask him about that.

  Ash spent a lot of time with the Temple horses. Her mind went back in recall. It was two days after the Trueborn had come to live at the Temple. Ash had been admiring the Temple beasts, stopping last at the horses, her favorite animals. Tarplan, a fierce, untamed stallion, newly added to the herd, had become loose. Lindha held her breath as her memory returned.

  “Look out!” someone cried, and she turned to see Tarplan madly racing straight for her. There was no time to move. She could have been killed, crushed by the stallion’s sharp and angry hoofs. Unexpectedly, Ash stood in front of the powerful animal, hands outstretched, calm and assured … with his eyes shut!

  Tarplan skidded to a stop and stood quivering, his sides heaving. Ash had reached over, gently taking the riding blanket off the trembling animal, placing it at his feet.

  For one awful moment, the great beast had reared up with new fury. Lindha was certain that the Trueborn was going to be trampled underfoot, but the maddened horse had simply thoroughly stomped the rug and then sniffed it. When Tarplan was finished, Ash calmly led him back to his stable.

  Ash had returned, moments later. “Your stallion is fine now.” He shrugged and smiled a wry crooked grin at the shocked faces that stared at him, amazed by the performance. “He was simply afraid of that blanket, you know,” he explained, moving his hands in excuse, as if it was nothing.

  Lindha exhaled, returning to the present. No one doubted that Ash was the Trueborn — not after that. He was the only one to this day that Tarplan let mount him.

  Lindha looked back into the mirror and didn’t like what she saw. Suddenly she burst out laughing and pulled her hair down. She couldn’t decide how to wear it so she may as well leave it au naturel. Oh, Jana, she was in such a state. All because of a man not quite eighteen years old. She was Temple Prefect and four years older. With so much knowledge, training and experience she should be better than this. Only she wasn’t. She had never felt so befuddled and uncertain in her life. Except for that time in the storeroom, Ash had touched her, just once, grabbing her arm in anger. The warmth of his touch had sent a thrill of heat through her. The pleasure it caused had been difficult to conceal. How could that have attracted her? But it did. Such madness. It must be love. She wanted him. But did he want her?

  Lindha left her quarters, striding toward the stables. She knew exactly where she would find the Trueborn. Her stomach fluttered, she couldn’t wait to see him. Lindha took a deep breath and firmly suppressed her longing. As Prefect she would supply his every need, but first she must be sure of what he wanted. Everything must be his decision, his alone. The future was up to the Trueborn.

  The sky was
cloudless and light green. The crisp morning air had become warm in the afternoon sun and a light breeze was blowing. Ash stood with his arms resting on the railing of the horse’s enclosure. Enjoying the warmth of the sun, he was feeling pleasantly full after a large midday meal of salads, fruit, and fish. He had finished it all off with a cinnamon palm sweet roll; he could still taste the honey on his tongue. Ash had put on weight from eating so well. He planned to put on more weight still. While he enjoyed meat, he loved the variety available at the Temple. For years while living with his wolf family it seemed that meat was all he ate.

  It had been four weeks since he had come to the Temple and his life was so completely different that he could only wonder at it. Occasionally he still woke, expecting to find himself in the cold darkness of the mine.

  Temple routine was comfortable and predictable. There were so many subjects to join in, including every form of martial art, physics, science, mathematics, sport, drama, sculpture, painting, design and dance. He checked Icom and found he had received a personal message to the “Trueborn” from a “friend.” Personal Icom messages! Something he hadn’t had since he was a child on Delian.

  Ash opened the note and laughed out loud. Sideso the children’s pony had written, professing undying love. It appeared that the aging mare had a crush on him. Very funny. No doubt it had been sent by that mischievous Dorian. He was always up to something. Ash smiled, remembering the cynical, untrusting youth. When they had first met, Dorian had been willing to do anything for a chance to have Icom.

  Sideso came up to the railing, ears pricked. Ash reached into his pocket and gave the pony an apple. He loved animals but human contact was a blessing. Ash had forgotten the satisfaction of having human company, although he did worry about his wolf family. He had taken a speeder to the den, to reassure them that he was alive and well, but they had moved on. He wondered if they were looking for him. Soon he would return for a proper search. Ash felt they were alive. If something happened to them he would know.