by Zara Zenia
Ethazol
Warriors of Orba
Zara Zenia
Illustrated by
Kasmit Covers
Edited by
Teresa Banschbach
Contents
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Benzen Preview
The Blue Alien’s Mate Preview
About Zara Zenia
Also by Zara Zenia
Roxy Sinclaire
Also by Roxy Sinclaire
Copyright © 2017 by Zara Zenia
All rights reserved.
Cover design © 2017 by Kasmit Covers
Edited by Teresa Banschbach
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
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Chapter 1
Ethazol
I counted the money carefully then double checked it. Then I checked it again, tied the roll up tightly in a rubber band, and tucked it into the top drawer beside my bed. Lying back and looking up at the ceiling, I listened to the sounds of the hotel.
There were drunken voices drifting up from below and the sound of high heels clicking on the nearby staircase. In the distance, a door slammed. The place definitely wasn't boring, but it was sometimes scary.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed the opportunity to learn about humans and there was so much to learn in The Ligotti.
The ten-floored building stood near an almost abandoned industrial estate. The locals referred to it as ‘skid row’ but I was still trying to figure out what that meant. Although I could guess it didn't mean something good.
My bedroom smelled peculiar as though thousands of people had lived their lives, experienced pain, done things they didn't want to, and departed leaving a stench of guilt and sadness. I didn't think they cleaned here often either and in the few months I'd been living here, the lady had only come in twice to clean the sheets. I didn't mind though, I enjoyed the privacy.
I wandered over to the window and looked down to the street. A skinny girl with heavy makeup in a fur coat leaned against the doorway across the road. A cigarette was clutched between her fingers. Looking as though she was waiting for someone and growing increasingly impatient, she rolled her eyes before shifting her weight from one hip to the other.
Sensing she was being stared at, she looked up to my window and our eyes met. There seemed to be nothing in hers and she quickly glanced away as a car pulled up beside her.
I felt a pang of melancholy as I watched her climb in the passenger side, but her tragedy was not mine to bear. I walked over to the bed, opened the drawer and counted the money again. There wasn't much to count but I was trying my best.
The working world here on Earth was so different from back home and I had struggled to find employment. In Washington, DC, it was especially difficult to find a job. There were so many people and such tight regulations. Luckily, I had gathered information from books, magazines, and the internet, so it wasn't long until I obtained skills and knew what to do. But as I applied for job after job, I found that people were suspicious of me. I didn't look quite like them but they couldn't identify why. My accent was strange too and I didn't have the proper documentation.
I was grateful when, eventually, a kind old man with wrinkled eyes and a long beard said I could work in his meat factory. He wouldn't be able to pay me the same as the legal workers but I would have enough to get by. He said the work would be tough, I'd spend most days covered in blood and the hours were long but it was better than nothing so I took it.
The name ‘meat factory’, however, caught me off guard. From the sounds of it, I was going to be creating meat. I imagined an industrial factory like the ones back home the created glowstone gems and machine parts. I didn't understand how meat could be built in such a way but I was soon going to find out.
On my first day, I was greeted by a man twice as wide as me with a mustache that curled up at the edges. He was wearing a blood-smeared apron and he wiped the back of his filthy hand against his sweaty forehead.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Ethan," I replied.
I had learned that an Earthen performer by the name of Ethan Hawke resided in America and that his name was not too unfamiliar to most people.
"Nice to meet you, Ethan. He took my hand in his and shook it until my bones felt as though they were being crushed.
"Okay, your job is to cut the meat like this."
He pointed over to a long, steel table. Six guys were holding the biggest knives I'd ever seen, great big thick things that looked as though they could decapitate someone. They were built for carving their way through bone and they were making light work of the carcasses in front of them.
Second after second, the knives drove down into the bodies of cows. I could hear the ribs shattering, the sound of blood and mucus spilling onto the floor. The animals were carved up until they no longer resembled what they were born as. Then they were neatly packaged and sold to humans as food.
"Here, you can start right away," the man said as he thrust a hat and apron at me before walking away.
That night I’d returned to my hotel room with the smell of death on my skin and no amount of scrubbing would make it leave. Over the last few weeks, I'd gotten used to it though. There are fruits called lemons that work well to dissipate the smell on my fingertips and of course, the money helps to rid myself of the disgust I feel when I'm chopping away at the bodies.
Outside, there seemed to be more people gathering. Night was descending on the city and that's when most of the hotel guests came out of their rooms and plied their trade throughout the streets. I was never sure of what any of them did. The women stood around on the sidewalks and smoked, looking into each passing car until they were invited inside.
The men, on the other hand, lurked in their own shadows with wads of cash and small, plastic bags of powder. I'd asked the man next door what it was once and he laughed.
"Wanna smell it?" he asked and held up the white powder to my face.
He'd scared me, and there was something that felt so insidious about the substance. It turned people crazy, made their eyes look as though they were popping out of their heads and their skin stretch thin across their bones. I never wanted to try the powder if it meant I'd look like that.
I wondered about what I should do with my evening. Alone, I spent every night learning about everything on Earth. Although, sometimes I wished there was someone I could talk to about the things I didn't under
stand. The stack of books beside my bed was becoming boring as I'd read the same things time and time again. I walked over and spread them out across the bed.
There was a dictionary, an encyclopedia, an old book from many years ago that spoke of proper deportment for men and women. It had been something I had, at first, believed to be useful but had proved itself to be little more than a work of fiction. The women I saw certainly didn't act like the high society ladies in the book who walked with an erect posture and spoke softly to charm and entertain their acquaintances. It would seem the book was outdated and humans had evolved since its publication. I'd planned on throwing it away at some point, but somehow, always found myself turning back to the chapter about what constituted a gentleman and I knew the first paragraph by heart.
To be a gentleman means to think of others before oneself. It means to be strong, yet gallant. Remember manners maketh a man and nothing is seldom manlier than perfect manners, well-enunciated speech, and a calm, civil disposition.
Manners maketh a man... I had scrawled the words on a sticky note and placed it on my headboard. It may have been old advice but it made sense to me.
Besides the dry, fact-based hardbacks, I'd also gathered a few works of fiction, detective novels that were highly entertaining. In these, men in long coats with glamorous girlfriends used their brains to decipher codes and shoot down bad guys. I quite fancied myself as a detective but it wasn't likely to be my next line of employment, not while I was stuck in the meat factory anyway.
I sighed and stacked the books back up. There was a creeping boredom washing over me that permeated my mind and the whole room around me. There was little less stimulating than staring at the same four walls night after night.
There was, however, a large bookstore a mile or so away. It was open late at night and on the odd occasion, I had seated myself in one of the comfortable chairs at the end of the shelves and buried myself in a book I knew I wouldn't be able to afford. If only there was some way I could obtain more money, then I could kit out my lowly hotel room like a library.
Looking back out the window, I knew I wouldn't be getting any peace here tonight. The women were out in full force, clicking their heels along the sidewalk as they chewed and popped gum, their sorry excuses for boyfriends huddled on the corners with gold rings on every finger. Last weekend, I'd seen one of those men strike his woman and the rings had cut straight through her lip. I didn't want to see that again and so decided on venturing out into the evening in search of some more information.
Gathering up the money and pushing it down into my shoe for safe keeping, I locked the door behind me, took a few steps, stopped, then turned back to make sure I'd definitely locked it properly. I didn't have much to steal, but what I had meant everything to me.
At least nobody would be getting their hands on my wages. As I walked down the stairs I felt them press into the arch of my foot. It was enough to keep my room at the hotel for another week or so and maybe get some food too, but that was about it. There was nothing to spare on more clothes or fancy toiletries and as I stepped out onto the street, I became aware that I was as disheveled and poor as the rest of the people around me.
But as I walked away, I knew there was so much to be happy about. I had escaped Palzu and for now, I was safe here on Earth. My friends, although far away, had hopefully secreted themselves somewhere safe too and found themselves a little patch of happiness on this blue and green ball that was now our home.
I imagined Benzen and Alison living somewhere nice and Jarick and Victorinth having fun. And of course, there was Draygus... That son of a bitch better be having a drink for me tonight.
The early evening sun was shining on my face and as I waited to cross the road, I closed my eyes and raised my face to the sky, reveling in the warmth.
A moment later, someone pushed past me and I sighed and crossed the road. The bookshop was in sight in the distance, its glass walls glinting with the shining possibilities of what was inside.
The security guard gave me a momentary once over, his eyes suspiciously taking note of my ripped jeans and dirt covered shoes. I maintained eye contact with him as I walked into the store, letting him know I wasn't intimidated by him just because he was wearing a uniform. I remembered the mall cops back in Richmond and the way he treated us back then. I had since observed that security men often acted as though they were cops but had little power to do anything but squawk into their primitive radio phones. I shook my head as I looked over my shoulder and saw his eyes were still focused in my direction with a judgmental gaze.
But I forgot about him as soon as I entered the store. I had read somewhere that bookstores and libraries were often referred to as hospitals for the mind and I could think of no better way of explaining them. They restored my thoughts and made me feel as though I was empowered by all the new information I was gathering. Now all I had to do was decide which floor to go to first.
After deliberating for a few moments, I decided to travel up to the religious section that was situated on the top floor. Religion remained, to me at least, somewhat of a mystery. There were so many to choose from and each proclaimed to be the right choice, but they all made similar points and I felt as though they were all valid choices.
Back on Orba, there was no such thing as religion in such a formal capacity. We were told to respect one another and treat everyone as an equal. Well, that was until Palzu arrived. Yet we had no concept of an afterlife and it was still something that both confused and terrified me in equal measures.
Alison had explained to me once about the phenomenon of ghosts and I had stared at her, riveted by the idea that when you die it isn’t the end.
"But how can you just come back?" I'd gasped. "If you are dead, then that is that. You're dead, right?"
Alison had nodded solemnly and said, "Some people believe that is the case but there are lots of folks who think our spirits live on for all eternity. If you live a good life, your spirit goes somewhere good but if you're bad, then your spirit must suffer until the end of the time."
The end of time... How could there be such a thing?
Long after my lesson with Alison, I’d tried to locate where this spirit could possibly exist. For a long while, I lingered on the idea that it resided in an orifice that humans had but Orbans didn't. I searched through endless anatomical textbooks in search for this enigmatic place but there did not appear to be such a thing. At last, after much research, I concluded that the spirit was nothing more than a figment of humans' imagination. You could argue that it lived in your head, or even in your heart, but ultimately it was in your mind. It was just an idea.
As I perused the shelves, I ran my fingertips over the book spines as I looked at the titles. So many of the names seemed perplexing and some weren't even in English. I decided, after staring at a shelf until I felt as though I was going cross-eyed, that I should just choose a book at random.
I closed my eyes and reached out. My hand hit off something and when I looked, I saw I was holding something called The Intention. It promised to bring me endless riches and romance, all with the power of my own mind. All I had to do was think about things and they would come to me.
I needed money! And romance wouldn't hurt. I decided to sit down in one of the seats and flick through the pages.
Outside, the sun was setting as night settled over the city. Most of the customers had left and so only I remained on the top floor.
When I began scanning the words of the first chapter, I noticed a girl about my age step off the escalator. She had vibrant red hair, not something I'd seen often. She also had the greenest eyes and a slender figure. I watched her walk by toward the neighboring art department which was only a few rows away. When she moved out of sight, I resumed reading my book. A minute later, there was a tap on my shoulder and the sound of someone angrily clearing their throat.
"Excuse me. Are you actually going to buy that book?"
The voice was a little squeaky like a child tha
t was trying to sound like a grown-up. I looked up and saw a chubby man with glasses that he had to sniff up to stay in place. An eruption of acne had blustered its way across his jawline and his forehead looked damp with sweat.
"Erm... Sorry?"
"You heard me," he said, this time with more confidence. "I asked if you were going to buy the book."
He pointed at it.
Unsure of what to say, I blinked at him. His officious sense of entitlement was rather comical and I wondered if he was being serious or not.
"I've seen you here before," he continued. "You come here, you read books for free and then you leave. Well, we can't have that. I'll call security."
"Call security?" I laughed. "I haven't done anything. I've just been here minding my own business reading in silence."
I noticed the girl pop her head around the shelf as she heard our raised voices.
"Look, I'm afraid if you don't buy that I'll have to call security," and he gestured toward his stupid radio that was hanging from his belt.
Enraged, I stood up and soon realized I was head and shoulders taller than him.
"Who do you think you are? You're not the police, are you?"
He gulped and shook his head.
"Look, I'm just going on manager's orders," he said and nodded his head toward the main desk where an even more officious looking jerk was standing with his arms folded and a lanyard hanging around his neck like a warrant to be an asshole.
"I'm not buying this," I said. "It's expensive. I mean fifteen dollars for a book! Are you insane? The text is enlarged too so it takes up more pages and most of them are blank anyway!"
Out the corner of my eye, I could see the manager striding over.
Ah, crap.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked as he stood between us. "Because to me, it looks as though you're abusing my staff."