Battle Across Worlds

by Dean Chalmers

  In answer, he reached up and pulled off his wooden eye-shield, let it drop to the gravel at his feet.

  The cool ocean air on his bare face felt oddly soothing …

  He turned, and showed them his eyes.

  The Princess nodded. “Red eyes,” she said. “We thought that was the case.”

  “So you’re a Kraelon,” Ralley added. “Like Lanaya. But we don’t really understand what that is?”

  “Let us start at the beginning,” Gaelti said. He pointed to the scroll case. “You already know some of what is written here. Most of the previously omitted material concerns the species known as the Krael.”

  “The Ancients?” Taxamia asked. “Lanaya mentioned them. She said that they were her masters.”

  “Long ago, the Krael traveled to both worlds,” Gaelti said. “Our Merphaen, and this world as well. They had mastery over aona and used this knowledge to construct powerful machines. The Key of Oberkion was one of those machines, and we’ve seen their crystal flyers and weapons used by Lanaya’s troops.”

  “But what happened to these Krael?” Ralley asked.

  “They’re asleep,” Gaelti said. “Protecting themselves … and waiting. You see, while the Krael used their aon mastery to manipulate the world around them, they also manipulated themselves, changing their bodies and minds to make themselves stronger, more intelligent— and practically immortal.

  “But it went wrong. It was as if the fabric of the universe turned against them … They had changed themselves so much—too much—so that their own patterns were out of sympathy with the flow of the universe. And this caused them ill.”

  He continued: “It was a disease—the Dissolution—an erosion of their minds and bodies. They were literally coming apart, the aona that made up their forms falling away. At first, they tried to use their aon technology to cure themselves, or to at least arrest the process; but this only made it worse.”

  “Finally, they settled on a plan. They dug deep wells, insulated from the universe, where they could wait and sleep, weak but alive, sealed behind impenetrable doors. They would sleep for eons, and in the meantime they would breed a new species, one more resistant to the dissolution, an innocent race—a fresh start. And, eventually, the plan was to use this new species as vessels for their own master aona; their own souls, as it were. New bodies and new life.”

  “They knew it would take countless millennia for this new species to mature. They gave the early specimens a nudge in the right direction, but they had to rely on the trials of time, a process of selection of the fittest over long ages. Once the vessels had attained the desired level of intellect and strength, the Krael would re-emerge and use their technology to transplant their own soul aona into the bodies of select hosts, with the remainder used as slaves to rebuild their empire.”

  “The vessels you speak of are human beings, the people of both our worlds,” Taxamia said. “But what of the Kraelons?”

  “The Kraelons …” Gaelti paused, looking into the da’ta se’s staring eyes, truly fearful now. His mouth was dry and he felt an uncharacteristic sense of vulnerability.

  This was vital. He had to maintain their trust, so much depended on it, the future of humans and the Order of Kion and Damerya and everything he’d worked for. What would they think when they learned what he really was?

  Yet the angry fire inside him was failing in the face of the cool, unreadable eyes of the da’ta se.

  “The Kraelons,” he continued, “were a safeguard for this breeding program. Krael-like souls were passed down through certain human bloodlines. Once every five hundred years or so, a few Kraelons would be born. Though human in form, they’d have the power that the Krael in their prime once had—superior strength, aon sensitivity, and a strong will that could manifest itself as a presence, compelling others to follow their leadership. They also had an instinct towards violence. Their purpose was to periodically seed chaos, to keep the vessel species from attaining any high level of civilization, or, gods forbid, aon mastery. Thus, as a disruptive influence, they would lead humanity towards war and destruction with a religious zeal.”

  “Like General Lanaya,” Ralley said. “And her holy fire.”

  “Yes,” Gaelti said. “And note that she was obsessed with destroying the Key of Oberkion to stop communication between the two worlds. I don’t think that the Krael ever expected mere humans to be able to master the devices such as the Key; thus, they never bothered to dismantle it. Lanaya may have been their only chance to prevent the demise of their race. She knew that if the people of both worlds learned of the sleeping Krael, they might combine their resources to destroy them.”

  “But Lanaya is not the only Kraelon who failed her masters. The Krael’s plan was far from foolproof. They underestimated the human spirit. As history progressed, many people revolted against the Kraelons, and even some of the Kraelons themselves were able to resist their inborn drives …”

  “Such as yourself,” Taxamia declared flatly.

  “Yes, such as myself. But there was another in the Culcras house, in the last cycle half a millennium ago … haven’t you guessed?”

  “Oberkion?” Ralley suggested.

  Gaelti nodded. “Exactly. That visionary was also a Kraelon, and so he had their violent imperative within him. But he resisted it, and he discovered the truth about the Krael. Seeking to give humanity a chance, he paved the way for contact between the worlds. Using one of the Krael’s own aon masters—Krotan, the same one who engineered the Kraelons in the first place—he had the creature implant master aona in two human bloodlines, one on each world.

  “They were passed down through generations to emerge in recent times as the souls of two individuals, very much like the Kraelons, having similar abilities— but, critically, without the drive to serve the Krael or commit violence. Not only that, but their master aona would be in close sympathy, linked in consciousness—much as the two halves of the Key of Oberkion are linked. This link would give them the power to fight the Kraelons and the Krael program.”

  “Da’ta se,” Ralley whispered. “Taxamia and I … That explains the link and our fire.”

  Gaelti nodded. “Part of Oberkion’s original notes told of the da’ta se’s duty to hunt down Kraelons. Oberkion did not trust that anyone else might have his own ability to resist the imperative. He specifically mentioned red eyes as a sign of the Kraelon’s maturity … and that such persons should be put to death.”

  “That’s why Phaedon couldn’t know the whole truth,” Ralley said. “Oberkion’s full words would damn you.”

  So this was the critical point! If they judged him to be a threat, so would Phaedon … He had to convince them.

  He swallowed hard and took a breath.

  “My decision was not selfish,” he explained, “though self-preservation was involved. My Kraelon nature gives me unusual insight into aon science—which has greatly benefited the kingdom. And now that this first great crisis has passed, I wish the truth to be known.”

  “Oberkion’s thinking had flaws, but his plan was brilliant. Without his foresight, the Krael’s efforts would likely have succeeded. When we matured as a species, they would have emerged from their shelters to claim our bodies. Even if they were destroyed on one world, their presence on the other would mean our eventual doom. They would strengthen themselves, then cross over and conquer. Oberkion gave us a chance.”

  “But he was exiled in the end?” Ralley asked. “And died alone?”

  Gaelti nodded. “He knew that the warlike people of his own time weren’t ready to build an alliance between worlds. But in his final vision, he was able to see the links between aona and their future states, which gave him a vague picture of the future. The effort to do this weakened him fatally, but he was able to see a time when his people and those of Garatayne might be more receptive to his ideas, more responsible with the knowledge. That time was our time, our now. And so he seeded the da’ta se, his plan dormant for five-hundred years … until a be
tter age was realized.”

  Taxamia shook her head. “He doomed himself, so that we could have his legacy when we were ready.”

  “But that legacy is tremendous indeed,” Gaelti reminded her. “If we can fashion an alliance between worlds, share our resources … We can bring an end to suffering and want, as Oberkion dreamed of doing. And we can work together to find the Krael’s shelters and open them, stop their schemes once and for all. Still, we must plan carefully. We will have to persuade Phaedon, for example. And this Lord Protector of Garatayne must also be convinced.”

  “And the Xai Ashaon … will not be convinced,” Ralley added. “Jarlus will want to watch you closely.”

  “Once our dear royal guardian heals, we can make … arrangements,” Gaelti told them. “He can monitor my work as closely as he likes; I’ve nothing more to hide now. Since he’ll no doubt be frequently in your company, anyway, and I need your abilities for the Order, there’s no avoiding him.”

  Taxamia looked to Ralley, nodded.

  So, they were pleased that he planned to accommodate their little watchdog? Good.

  Taxamia looked back to Gaelti. “First,” she said, “we want to question Constable Bocke. If he has first-hand knowledge of the Krael, as he claims—it might be vital to our cause.”

  “Our cause?” Gaelti squinted, staring at the pair, trying to read something in those fiery mismatched eyes. “So you don’t blame me for suppressing this information?”

  Ralley shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps you kept it hidden for too long. But without the Order of Kion and its technology, Damerya would have been doomed, and Taxamia and I might never have had to a chance to find each other.”

  “But do you trust me?” Gaelti asked.

  He tried to keep his voice calm, tried not to betray the fear that lurked deep down inside him.

  Without the da’ta se’s support, his career—and the future of everything he’d started with the Order—would be in serious jeopardy. Perhaps even his life would be threatened, though that was the lesser of his worries.

  With their backing, though, Phaedon would surely support him …

  They had to understand that he was on their side! They had to know that, despite his red eyes and Kraelon nature, his allegiance was to Oberkion’s plan and the same dreams that they served.

  Ralley turned to Taxamia, looking into her eyes for just a moment. They blinked in unison, then nodded to each other.

  “Yes,” Ralley said. “Taxamia trusts you, and I do also.”

  “Good!” Gaelti said.

  The feeling of relief was like a palpable caress running over every muscle in his body. He felt his mouth turn up in the slightest hint of a smile.

  He bent to retrieve his eye-shield, and placed it back on his face. “Best to wear this for now,” he told them. “I don’t want to frighten the locals.”

  “What do we do now?” the Princess asked.

  “Now … we get to work,” he explained. “Where can we find this Constable Bocke?”

  -47-

  Change was in the air. The town of Bryttington literally stank of it.

  Ed Bocke could smell frying sausages and the sour scent of spilled ale. There was bitter sawdust from all of the new construction and repairs, and he could taste the dry road dirt swirled up by endless passing feet and horses’ hooves.

  It had only been a week since the trading treaty with the Dameryans had been signed.

  Now, the town was so damn busy, everyone running along as if they might miss something should they slow down for a moment.

  Ed supposed he should be grateful; the hurried, rushing people probably wouldn’t pay much attention to Julea and himself. The newlywed pair made their way slowly down the main street, headed towards Mother Henne’s tavern.

  Ed’s Constable’s uniform was gone, and he was wearing a plain, drab suit of clothes—with mismatched boots to accommodate his clubfoot, as always. If someone noticed him and spat in his direction, or threw an insult, he would have to defend his own and his new wife’s honor—and would probably get beaten down in the process.

  He was still aching from all the running and climbing and fighting, and he had scars on his right arm and face from the teeth and claws of that rutting Krotan, not to mention a burn on his right leg that still stung.

  But if they insulted him, or threatened Julea, he would fight.

  No insults came his way, though.

  Indeed, he hadn’t had to deal with any such torments recently. Perhaps they’d all heard that he was supposed to be some kind of hero? That his testimony in front of the Lord Protector had helped to secure the treaty?

  They’d asked many damn questions …

  That strange masked bastard Guilty or Gawlty or whatever his name was had grilled him and Julea for hours about the Guardian and Krotan. Quenn and his Dameryan woman acted as translators, always nodding together and moving the same way, like puppets controlled by the same master.

  Then they’d been questioned again, at the treaty meetings. Five-hundred Stefanites gathered in the cool shadows of Bryttington Cathedral, with the Lord Protector sitting silent in his chair for most of the proceedings. The Dameryan King there too, bellowing and laughing and sounding like he’d be more at home in a tavern than in a meeting of kingdoms. A hundred other Dameryans with him, all men with names ending in “on,” all Pai this and Xai that for days and days, endless and exhausting.

  At least it was finally over. Ed even had a commendation from the Lord Protector, given to him through the local Magistrate after the meetings had ended. Not personally granted, of course … bastard. The Lord Protector had never even looked directly at him during the whole proceedings, let alone spoken to him.

  The commendation had come with a token reward in coin, and a new job posting …

  Now, they drew close to Mother Henne’s tavern and Ed heard the hubbub from inside. He grew nervous. He knew the tavern could be a rough place, and he didn’t want to expose Julea to any trouble.

  Gently nudging her, he pointed her towards a sundries shop across the street.

  “Why don’t you go over there and … uh … look around for a while?” he suggested. “I won’t be long.”

  “But Edwyn …” she protested, shaking her head in dismay, “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “But they probably sell books in there, you know, and … here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few silver coins, handed them to her. “Why don’t you buy a few new romances? It’ll be another little present from me, okay?”

  “Really?” Her big brown eyes went wide. “New books?”

  “Really. Just wait by the shop and I’ll find you in a few minutes, all right?”

  She nodded eagerly, and he watched her skip across the street, her long golden hair bobbing behind her and the skirts of her new yellow dress—another recent present from him—streaming out as she went.

  She looked so bright, so happy …

  Oh Julea, he thought. You trust me so much. I want to give you so many things and take care of you but how can I tell you—I have no idea what our future will hold?

  Ed opened the heavy door and entered Mother Henne’s, bracing himself for the inevitable insults.

  But they didn’t come. Everyone in the room seemed too intent on their own business to notice him.

  They were huddled close together, excited conversations everywhere. There were a few new faces, too. Some Grenadiers he didn’t recognize—probably shipped in from the mainland—and two of the brown-skinned, braided-haired Dameryans.

  Rope-heads, some of the locals called them, presumably because of the hair. Ed couldn’t stand such simple-minded bigotry. Still, he himself mostly ignored the Dameryans, as he couldn’t speak their language and didn’t really understand anything about them.

  This particular pair of Dameryans was sitting with a Garataynian merchant who appeared to be trying to conduct a deal with them via hand signals. The whole proceeding looked very … awkward.

/>   The serving-girl, Jinny, was actually whistling as she wiped down the top of the bar. She’d picked up on that energy in the air, too.

  Ed almost missed her old, dour demeanor.

  Rutting hell, he thought. They find some gate to another world and suddenly everyone’s assuming that things are going to be prosperous and wonderful?

  But then, maybe he was just a slightly bitter. He was envious of their mood; optimism didn’t come easily to him, and never had.

  “Good afternoon, Mister Bocke,” Jinny said as he approached her.

  Ed was shocked by the friendly greeting. “Umm … hi,” he said. “Uh … Mother Henne’s in the cupboard?”

  Jinny shrugged. “Yeah. As usual. Nothing to be done for it.”

  He made his way to the cupboard and found the old lady in her usual spot.

  She had a paper in front of her on her little table there. It looked like some kind of official document, and she ran her finger down the lines of it as if scrutinizing the details. When Ed entered, though, she swiftly folded it up and shoved it under one of her ledger books.

  “Edwyn!” she cooed.

  He nodded. “I got your note. You wanted to see me, but you didn’t say why.”

  “Sit down!” she beckoned him to sit on the floor, then pointed towards a small tray resting on a nearby shelf. On it was a piece of currant cake and a mug of ginger beer.

  Ed wasn’t very hungry, but he eased down to the floor and took the mug right away; the sweet ginger beer tasted wonderful on his dry tongue.

  Chewing her jerky as usual, Mother Henne leaned forward, squinting at him.

  “Why so glum?” she asked. “I heard you got a commendation. From the bastard Lord Protector, eh?”

  He nodded. “Yes, they gave me a letter, and some … a few pieces of silver.”

  “So!” she clapped her hands. “Becoming a man of the world. Well! Back when you were slouching in here all the time, I never thought anything would become of you.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “I’m just saying, boy, you did surprise me. And you killed that demon—we can all thank you for that, eh?”