Shadows of Empyriad (The Empyriad Series Book 1)

by Josi Russell

  "But they are the Allbeings!" she looked pleadingly into the old man's eyes, begging him to answer her with a deeper wisdom than she had found on her own. "If they cannot circumvent natural laws, then what power do they really have?"

  He looked directly into her eyes. “Child, though we cannot always understand how, sometimes, even when something seems terrible, it is, in the vast scheme of things, better.”

  “How can losing our friends and our home be a good thing?”

  Meir looked sad, and he spoke to her parents, not to her. "I see I have made a mistake here. Her connection is not as strong as I initially thought."

  Her mother, as usual, leaped to her defense. "Surely questions don’t eliminate connection?"

  Meir spoke to her as he moved toward the door. "The Allbeings see the complex web of events throughout multiple universes. They see the consequences of a single act and all its echoes throughout space and time. They choose to communicate with us because of their own compassion. Their perspective surpasses ours by such orders of magnitude that we cannot comprehend it. If they do not move to change things, then those things are better off happening. Perhaps they benefit species we cannot see, with our limited vision. Perhaps those things we don’t understand set other things in motion that must happen.”

  “How can the destruction of our planet be beneficial? For anyone?” Zyn’dri didn’t know if she was angry or disappointed at his answer.

  “Acceptance of their wisdom is essential to be Avowed," Meir said.

  Zyn'dri's father reached for the departing man. "But the Allbeings would not have called her if they had doubted her ability to connect."

  This made Meir pause. "Perhaps, then, the fault lies with me." He said, then left the room in silence.

  Zyn'dri stood staring at a spot on the far wall. She didn't dare look at her parents. How disappointed they must be in her. Even when they took her hands and led her from the quiet room back to her bunk, neither they nor she spoke. She had the feeling that they would never talk about what had happened in the Council Room again.

  When they reached her bunk, she was surprised to see a set of small dark blue Avowed robes laid out on her bed. She looked up at her mother then, and her mother's eyes showed confusion. "They must have brought them before they heard the outcome." She said. "Leave them where they are and I will discuss with the Avowed what should be done with them."

  After they left, Zyn’dri sat on the bed and ran her fingers over the smooth weave of the blue robes. They were beautiful. She wondered if she had done the right thing.

  But that night, as she lay safely curled next to her mother's sleeping form, Zyn’dri knew she had made the only choice she could make. She listened to the soft sound of their synchronized breathing and knew she could not leave her mother. Zyn’dri didn't want to be alone, especially on the new blue world that gazed at them from outside the window like the face of a stranger.

  7

  South Edge was a nice little town, with a quiet Main Street and a friendly atmosphere. Sol was never on his guard there. But when he stopped at the farm store after school to pick up some extra fencing, he saw Damen standing a little way down the street. Sol ducked into the store quicker than usual. He lingered as long as he could, but when he came out the Agent in Charge called out to him and approached.

  Damen was a typical government man: early thirties, slim. He wore a comfort suit, an expensive item that was with shimmering fabric and sharp lapels. He had a dark, trimmed beard so short that it bordered on scruff. His eyes were a piercing brown, and he moved with the ease of someone who had spent all his life doing exactly what he wanted to do.

  “Hey,” Damen called as Sol tried to sidestep and slip unnoticed into Twang’s Music Shop, “let me talk to you a minute.”

  Sol thought about ignoring him, but his mom had always warned him never to act defiant to the CTL guys. He walked to his truck and put the fencing in the back, turning to face Damen.

  “Hi, Mr. Damen.”

  “It’s just Damen.” As far as Sol knew, that was right. Lots of people had dropped the antiquated practice of surnames after the Terrene War, in an effort to further erase lines that people drew between themselves and others. Sol supposed he could see their logic, but it did make it difficult to find a formal way to address them.

  “Okay, well,” Sol said, “I’d better be getting home. See you, Damen.”

  Damen dropped his pretense and stopped Sol with a single word. “Yellowstone?”

  Sol’s heart hammered. He had borrowed Juice’s phone to make a secret call this morning and accept the job hauling supplies into Yellowstone for the aliens. Nobody knew, not his mom, or Uncle Carl, or even Juice. When he dared to glance at Damen, the man was smiling.

  “I hear you’re coming to work for us!” Damen was confident now. So somebody knew. It was obvious that Damen also knew he had the advantage, and Sol was sure Damen sensed his apprehension.

  Sol wanted to answer that he wouldn’t be working for Damen, but as the Agent in Charge, Sol supposed that, in a way, he would. He stayed quiet.

  Damen laughed, a jovial, forced sound. “Hey, relax! We’re on the same team here! I just wanted to let you know that I’m here to help you succeed working for the CTL. If you have any questions, or anybody gives you any trouble, you come visit with me, okay, Sol?”

  Sol wondered cynically what that would cost him, but he reverted to his usual polite tone as he said, “Thanks, Damen. I appreciate that.”

  Damen was really smiling now. “Great. I understand you start tomorrow?”

  Sol nodded, still trying to puzzle out how he would get his chores done before school so he could go directly to the Park, do his shift, and get back in time for dinner.

  “That’s great. And you’ll be hauling supplies from the warehouse into the Park?”

  “I think so.”

  “Wonderful.” Damen said, and leaned in so close that Sol could smell the cloves on his breath, “And I don’t have to tell you what an honor it is for you, do I, Sol?”

  “No, sir.” Dust blew along the street, making the air taste like clay. The afternoon was growing hotter, and Sol had a lot to do tonight. He tried to edge closer to the pickup door—a subtle signal that he needed to be going.

  Damen went on anyway, “because it is an honor. Do you realize that this is the first time in over two decades that the public will be entering a Global Park? You’ll be the first in your generation to see the inside of one of the most amazing places on this planet.”

  Even though he’d known that, Sol couldn’t help but feel a little wonder when Damen said it that way.

  “And you’re a mature kid, Sol. I know you’ll take that responsibility seriously.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Because it was the public, Sol, which nearly destroyed these places a century ago. It was the public that went into them and almost used them up. You’ll remember that when you drive through the gates, won’t you Sol?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Damen leaned in. “And, just between you and me, I’m glad to see that you’re thinking about your future. We don’t give kids until they’re eighteen anymore to make these big decisions. You’re fifteen, and school ends for you this year. You’ll be graduating in just a few weeks, and you’ve got to have these decisions made. I’m glad you’re looking for other options besides the family business.”

  Sol was taken aback by Damen’s reference to the family business. He was aware that Uncle Carl was the latest in a long line of Lyons’ who had run cattle here, but he had never necessarily thought of himself as an heir to that legacy.

  Damen kept talking. “And the private cattle business is on its way out. It has been for a century and a half. Sure, we’ve made a lot of improvements to it, like the Rangeright system under every pasture, and the homeslaughter killboxes, but all those can really be managed more efficiently by a central corporation or even the Leadership, rather than thousands of individual producers, don’t
you think? The world’s food supply is too important to leave to amateurs.”

  Sol thought of something the Cascadian kid had said, about his folks’ farm being sold to the government and them having to go back to work on it as farmhands.

  Sol spoke carefully. “But, the ranchers aren’t amateurs. They’ve been doing this for generations. Nobody else would have the expertise these people have. They care more about it than a corporation, or the Leadership would. When every cow is critical to your livelihood, you treat them better, and you produce more. If hired hands did the whole business and the only ones that stood to profit by good management were at the top, you’d have a lot more waste and a lot less care for the individual animals and the land.”

  Damen leaned back slightly and looked Sol over again. His voice was a regular volume when he spoke again.

  “You’re a thinker, Sol. That’s good. I like to think, too.” Damen laid a hand on the hood of the truck. “I’ve been thinking about your family’s ranch. Silver Lake Ranch, right?” Sol nodded. “Anything interesting out at Silver Lake?”

  Sol couldn’t believe Damen was still trying to get information from him. He wasn’t a little kid like the Schneiders.

  “No, sir. Just cows and bills.” He opened the truck door.

  “Well, you let me know if you need anything, okay, Sol?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  The next day after school Sol found that the Terrene Park Service warehouse was bustling with activity. Sol had checked in and gotten the permit he needed to get into the park. Now he almost had the truck loaded. But the place was crawling with Rangers in full body armor, and their dark presence made Sol nervous. He couldn’t help but remember the Rangers in the meadow, the hot smell of death, his father reaching out, trying to stop the twister projectile that took his life.

  Sol threw another crate of food on the truck and strode around to the driver's side. He tried not to glance around, tried not to look scared.

  He flinched when he heard a gruff voice.

  "Let me see your permits, kid."

  Sol pulled the permits from the truck that said he was allowed to travel in and out of the park. The Ranger, a swaggering guy with narrow eyes who wasn't much older than Sol, pored over the standard paperwork. As if driving here and lifting heavy crates of food and blankets would be worth counterfeiting permits.

  His presence made Sol nervous. The helmet, the heavy body armor, the guns. It all felt too familiar and brought back too many memories. Sol’s fists were involuntarily clenched, his heart beating hard.

  "They're fine." The Ranger handed the permits back. "But keep this piece of junk on the road and no stopping in the park. Deliver the goods and get back out. You’re working for us. You’re not on a sightseeing tour. Understand?"

  Sol understood. It was no secret that the public wasn't welcome in the global parks.

  As the Ranger walked away, a roar over Sol's head made him look up to see the smooth belly of another transport glide slowly above him. He climbed into the truck and drove after the transport, down the long road out of town and toward the South gate. Maybe he would get to see the aliens coming off the ship.

  As he drove, he passed extensive pastures and thick forests. He passed the little turnoff that led back to Uncle Carl’s house and kept going, hoping Uncle Carl wouldn’t be out in the pastures along the road just now.

  The South gate was a huge metal and stone structure flanked by the formidable fences Sol remembered so well. Two high peaks jutted up on either side of it which you could see from the back pasture. Uncle Carl said they had been formed during a violent earthquake back before the Terrene War. Sol thought they looked like guards. Just past the gate, there was a fortified building where the Rangers stood waiting. Sol pulled up, and a Ranger approached the truck.

  The Ranger reached up and pulled off her helmet as she took his permit.

  “This thing is driving me crazy,” she said. She had kind green eyes and long blonde hair. Sol was surprised when she smiled.

  “Welcome to Yellowstone,” she checked his permit, then added, “Solomon.”

  Sol didn’t know what to say. “Thanks,” was all he could manage. The afternoon sun was shining between the peaks, but the gate cast a shadow over both of them.

  The Ranger checked the back of the truck. “I’m Ranger Allison. Food delivery?” she asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “How many cases?”

  “Fifteen.”

  She ran her eyes over the load, then tapped something on a screen on her left sleeve.

  “Okay, switch on your screen.” Sol reached for the little screen embedded in his dashboard, and she beamed something to it. A map showed on the display.

  “There are two Stracahn villages. One is at Old Faithful, and one is in Hayden Valley. This one’s headed to Hayden Valley. You’re going to go straight on this road until you see the lake on your right. Pretty soon after that, you’ll come to a ‘Y’ in the road. Take the right fork to go up along the lake to Hayden Valley Village.”

  “Okay.” Sol was warming up. She wasn’t anything like the other Rangers he had encountered.

  As if to confirm his assessment, she leaned in conspiratorially. “And you didn’t hear this from me, but there is a magnificent bull moose that’s been hanging around Lewis Lake all day. If you stop by the road and walk up into the old campground toward Lewis Falls on the South of the lake, you might get a good view of him.”

  Sol wondered if this was a setup. “I’m not supposed to stop.” He said.

  Allison smiled. “I know. But he is amazing.” She paused and glanced around. “The park is stunning, Sol. There are so few people who can see it firsthand, and it won’t be open long. Once the Stracahn are gone, it will be locked up again. Enjoy it while you can.”

  Then she stepped back and waved him through the gate. Another Ranger joined her as Sol pulled away, and he hoped that the man hadn’t heard her. Talk like that could get them both in trouble.

  Sol didn’t stop at Lewis Lake, but he drove slowly, hoping to get a glimpse of that moose. It must have moved on, though, so Sol did too.

  The Stracahn had already begun to disembark when he pulled into the dusty makeshift parking lot in Hayden Valley. Sol saw the big transport ship in the grass and wondered how they had flown it in here. The entire park was covered by an invisible anti-aircraft field that arched above it like half a bubble. Park rangers were directing the line of spiders and old cars and crawlers filled with supplies, and when he pulled up next to one and had to wait, he got his courage up and asked about the transport.

  “There’s a hatch.” The Ranger said through his helmet. His response wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t unkind. “At the very top of the field, there is a hatch that can be deactivated to let a single craft in at a time. Then the field can be manipulated to allow the ship to maneuver where it needs to go.”

  “So pretty much only massive, space-going ships?” Sol asked, thinking about Tim Green, the kid who had run his spinner into the field two summers ago and been fried instantly.

  “That’s right. The Ranger looked up, and the line had moved forward. He gestured Sol along, and for the first time, Sol wondered if it was hot in that heavy black body armor and those rounded helmets. He tried not to stare at the blunt, compact twister gun the Ranger carried. Sol thanked him and pulled away.

  The unloading docks were crowded, and Rangers directed him to pull the truck into a side lot and park. They told him to come back in half an hour to unload the truck.

  “There’s a rest area over there where you can wait,” one Ranger said, waving toward the big ship.

  The rest area was made up of several JiffyPot collapsible bathrooms and a tent covering a table laden with snacks and water. Sol grabbed a bag of wheatchips and climbed up on the low platform at one end of the area.

  About 30 other people were standing along the edge of the platform, leaning against the "Do Not Cross" barrier. Ordinary people of varying ages
. He figured they were mostly workers from neighboring towns, like him.

  With a jolt, Sol noticed that several of them had the telltale purple-stained Cascadian fingertips. He thought of the kid again, wondered about him. Of course, there would be Cascadians here, too. There was another warehouse in Sunset, and Sunset was in Cascadia.

  Sol tried not to look too Libertyite but soon realized that no one was paying attention to him, anyway. And once he turned his attention to the disembarking aliens, Sol barely noticed the humans around him.

  He looked up at the series of ramps that lead down from the transport's hull, and there they were, the iridescent Stracahn, gleaming like bright feathers in the light of Earth's sun, making their way down the ramps in long lines. At the bottom of the slopes, they moved into a maze of ropes which ended at several tent-covered tables in the front. There they each stepped up to be cataloged, issued their new clothes, and assigned to QuickForm huts.

  From his first glance, Sol loved the sight of them. They moved with such grace, calmness, and dignity. Even with their planet destroyed and nowhere else to go, they looked regal.

  "Foreigners," hissed the woman next to him. "Just opening the floodgates, if you ask me."

  Sol blinked and glanced over at her. She was small and wiry. Her hair was styled in the intricate plaits that people wore in the region to the East: Harvest. Sol remembered thinking when he was small that it looked like wheat. A Cascadian man next to her spoke up, too, "Yeah, who knows where they'll come from next, once word gets out that Earth is open for invasion."

  A voice of reason chimed in. A tall, strong-looking Cascadian woman whose fingers were stained purple, almost as if to match her violet jumpsuit. "It's not an invasion. We brought them here."

  "I didn't. Nobody asked me if I wanted aliens in my backyard." The stylish woman sniffed.

  He could tell the Cascadian woman was annoyed. "Where else would they have gone?"

  "One of the thousand planets between here and there. I don't care. Just not here." Said the man.