by B. R. Miller
“Right,” I begin, “under control. Did you happen to notice the flank on your left side?”
Skinner looks back down to where we just were and sure enough, a group of six Taliban were flanking his left side. I spot Jones lying on the ground still grasping his leg. We land beside Jones and Skinner quickly kneels down beside him and assesses Jones’ wound.
“We need to go back and get Rooter and Beecher!” Jones yells over the gun fire.
Skinner places a firm hand on Jones’ shoulder, pushing him back down to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere. Hang tight.”
“Second thought,” I begin, noticing movement approaching us, “get him up. Now!”
Rooter and Beecher come bursting through near by bushes firing their weapons behind them as they ran towards us. “Run!” They both yell.
Rooter stops and turns around, his weapon blazing. Eight Taliban come bursting through the bushes that Rooter and Beecher just parted. A single, piercing bullet makes impact with Rooters shoulder. Rooter falls to the ground in an angry yell.
“Rooter!” Beecher yells.
Rooter doesn’t seem to be phased by the gaping wound and continues to fire his weapon at the approaching Taliban, taking out two. “Run!”
Beecher stops in his tracks and pauses, watching Rooter. A brigade of bullets go whizzing by Beecher’s head. Beecher fires back and begins to retreat back towards us.
“You need to take him!” Skinner yells at me, pointing at Jones. “We can run, he can’t!”
I look at Skinner with worry in my eyes. Skinner notices and shoots me a reassuring look that encompasses a thousand words. Words which I longed to hear at this time of pain and fear but would never get. That one look was enough. I grab Jones by the shoulder and instantly we’re off the ground. Looking back down, I notice Beecher catching up to Skinner. When Beecher gets to Skinner’s location, Skinner releases an energy pulse which sends the leading Taliban flying ten, fifteen yards back down the mountain side. Then I remember. Rooter.
I spot a clearing up ahead and we make our way to it. We land softly and I set Jones down.
“Where’s Rooter?” Jones asks in denial.
I say nothing, just shake my head. Jones asks again but this time I just give him a look similar to the one the Skinner just gave me. Jones quiets down and I notice a single tear running down his cheek.
“Kill them,” Jones utters. “Kill them all.”
Beecher and Skinner approach us in a dead sprint. The distant sound of gun fire grows louder and louder. Skinner runs up to Jones and puts one of Jones’ arms around his shoulder, lifting him up. Together, the two hobble over the rocky terrain, up the mountain side. I follow and Beecher brings up the rear, occasionally firing his weapon behind him.
We get to the top of the mountain and to our surprise, we see a village down in the valley below.
“What were the specs on that village down there?” Jones asks Beecher, trying to catch his breath.
Beecher walks up to us and rest his hands on his knees, panting. “Friendly.”
Jones begins ushering Skinner down the mountain side. I follow and soon Beecher is right behind us. Trees, boulders, bushes all pass by us in an instant, no one stopping for anything.
Then it happens. A million things at once occur and all too numerous to explain. One second Beecher is yelling, “Gernade!” The next an explosion goes off behind us, just up the mountain, right next to Beecher. But the explosion freezes mid air. I turn around and look and Beecher is sitting on the ground, his head in his knees and his hands covering his head. I look at Skinner who returns the confused look.
“The gun fire?” I say. “It’s stopped.”
“Jones, what’s going on?” Skinner asks. “Jones?”
Skinner and I both look at Jones who is also frozen mid step down the mountain, a painful expression plastered across his face. Skinner backs up from Jones and his arms remain suspended in the air, nothing holding him up.
“It’s called ascending.”
Skinner and I turn around to see Beecher standing there next to the explosion as calm as can be.
“Ascending?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s a trait unique to Gorans, our kind.”
“Goran?” Skinner asks confusedly.
“I was born here on Earth but both of my parents were Goran, which makes me Goran.”
“What…what is it?” I ask.
Beecher sighs. “A Goran can ascend only moments before his death.”
I can feel Skinner looking at me but all I can manage to do is shake my head and keep eye contact with Beecher.
“No!” I yell. “You don’t have to die! I can fly you out of here and to safety!”
Beecher lets out a light hearted laugh setting down his gun. “I’m afraid that can’t be done.”
“So you make time stand still?” Skinner inquires.
“Only to those Goran’s which the person dying chooses.”
“So,” I begin, “why us?”
Beecher takes a few steps towards me. “Because, my prince, I wanted to let you know how much of an honor it is to die by your side.”
“Prince?” I utter to myself.
Beecher grabs at something around his neck then stretches out his hand towards me. I extend my hand and he drops his dog tags into it.
“Remember me.”
Beecher smiles the most sincere smile I have ever seen then begins walking back up to where he was previously standing, right next to the explosion.
“Beecher! No!” Skinner and I both yell.
“It is done,” Beecher calmly says then closes his eyes.
Ever so slowly, things started coming to life again. I felt a warm breeze kiss my skin. Debris from the explosions began to retake its course through the air. Skinner quickly runs over to Jones and replaces himself next to Jones. I keep watching Beecher. I watch until he is consumed in flame and debris and the gun fire continues.
A Taliban terrorist spots me gazing at where Beecher just was. I make eye contact with him and see him bring up a RPG. I plant my feet firmly, ready for his deadly attack. I’m prepared. The RPG soars through the air, piercing the smoke, heading right for where I’m standing. I bring my arms up and focus on the oncoming missile. When it gets within ten yards of me, I thrust my hands up to the sky and instantly the RPG soars towards the cloudless sky. I then bring my hands back down and point them where the Taliban are standing. The missile does a U-turn and heads right for them. It lands at their feet and a wall of fire erupts into the tops of the trees.
I take this opportunity while they are distracted to catch up with Skinner and Jones. The whole way down the mountain, I couldn’t get what Beecher said. Prince? I’m not a Prince. There’s nothing royal about me. Maybe he was referring to Skinner. But still, Skinner? A Prince?
I catch up to Skinner and Jones running down the mountain side towards the small, quiet village. Memories of the last village we encountered flashed in my head. That cannot happen again. Skinner and Jones are hobbling along when I catch up to them. The gun fire gets louder and louder so I grab ahold of each of their shoulders and launch us up in the air. The sun envelopes us in a warm cocoon making the fear and anxiety melt away. I spot a clearing in the center of town with not many villagers there. I grasp Skinner and Jones’ shoulder tight and make our descent.
Chapter Seven
We land with a loud thud, a dust cloud shooting high into the sky. When the dust settles, we see the curious town come out from their homes to see what just landed in the middle of their village. One by one people stopped what they’re doing and slowly and cautiously approached us. One man approached with his gun drawn.
“Does anyone speak Arabic?” Jones asks.
Skinner and I both shake our heads. The man approaches closer with his gun now aimed at Jones probably because he is the only one with a weapon. Lowering his weapon, the man kneels down in front of Jones and slowly brings a hand up and places it on Jones’ shoulder, rubbing his American fl
ag patch.
“American?” The man asks, probably the only English he knows.
“Yes,” Jones says nodding, “American.”
Gun fire erupts from the mountain side and draws the man’s attention. He then stands up and shouts to the others in the town standing by, watching curiously. A group of three men run over to us and pick Jones up, carrying him away and into a nearby adobe style home. Skinner and I quickly follow them in and find that they set Jones down on a bed in front of a fire. I sat down on the ground and buried my head in my hands wishing that Amille and the others would come soon. I’m not sure if I have enough in me to fight another battle let alone protect an entire village. The Arabic man who shouted orders walks into the room and kneels down right in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder. I look up at him, shamefully a tear finds its way down my cheek.
I wish I could tell you what he said to me right then but all I know is that it was encouraging, hopeful. He then places his hand on his chest and says, “Amir.” I look at him confused at first so he says it again. I then place a hand on my chest and say, “Tristan.” Amir repeats it then smiles. He then went over to Skinner and did the same thing followed by Jones. Jones hesitates at first, I can tell, because he’s Arabic. But then he gives in and they exchange friendly smiles.
Gun fire echoes through the clay walls. Amir walks over to the door and shouts something to the other men standing in the hallway just outside of our room. The men scatter and soon come back with all sorts of weaponry. One of the men begins shouting frantically and running into our room followed by the rest. They line themselves up in a line in front of us, guns drawn. A blue spark shoots out from the fire. The men begin talking to each other in a harsh whisper. You can tell they’re scared. Do they really fear the Taliban this much? Another blue spark, this time bigger, erupts from the fire. What is going on?
A cold, pale hand appears, grasping the door way. Another blue spark shoots from the fire, this time followed by many. Skinner looks at the fire then at me. He is wondering the same thing I am. What is going on here? That’s when I realize it. I look around the room and notice how quiet it is. No shouting, no gun fire. The blue flames begin to shoot out of the fire and surround the room. No one else but Skinner seems to notice this. The flames swirl around us but are actually cool to the touch. I look at the door way and see a cloaked man with mist trailing his black coat. Rave.
“Skinner!” I yell while pointing at the door way. “Rave!”
Then gun fire erupted and the flames shot higher and consumed the whole room. I close my eyes and try to focus on what to do. Then it was over. A cool breeze kisses my skin and I feel the heat of the sun on my parched skin. I open my eyes and see Skinner sitting cross legged in front of me, head buried in his hands.
“Skinner,” I beckon.
He raises his head slowly then looks at me then all around at our surroundings. We’re sitting on top of hill in a valley surrounding by snowcapped mountains. Right next to us is a cherry tree with blossoms in full bloom. The sweet aroma stimulates my senses and relaxes me.
“Welcome.”
I look to my left and sitting cross legged is a blonde haired woman dressed in all white. She has a calming smile stretched across her face as she makes eye contact with Skinner then myself.
“It is so glad to finally have this conversation,” she says in a reassuring tone.
I look at Skinner with a confused look plastered on my face then at her. “I’m sorry, but who are you? And where are we?”
“My name is Taume. And we are in your minds.”
“I’m Skinner,” Skinner begins. “And this is…”
“Tristan. Yes I know both of you very well.”
“Um…” I say searching for the right words, “how, exactly, do you know of us?”
Taume lets out a gentle laugh. “Why Tristan, I’m your aunt.”
“My aunt?”
“And Skinner, your mother was a close and dear friend of mine.”
“My mother?”
“Not to be rude or anything,” I start, “but how come I’ve never heard of you? Or seen you at any family reunions?”
“Because I’m your real aunt, your blood aunt. Your father is my brother.”
“And who exactly is my father?”
“Do you know nothing?” She inquisitively asks.
Skinner and I look at each other then both shake our heads.
“Haven’t you ever wondered where you get it?”
“Get what?” Skinner asks.
Yet again, Taume lets out a smile as if she knows way more than she’s letting on. “Your abilities. Skinner, you can tell where everything is with just a touch of dirt and you have the ability to release strong and controlled energy pulses. Tristan, telekinesis isn’t your only strength. You can manipulate air and bend it however you will.”
A few brief moments are spent in silence as Skinner and myself digest the knowledge that she has of us.
“So,” I say breaking the deafening silence, “you’re….you’re Goran?”
“Just like you. For tens of thousands of years, Gorans have had abilities. Most use them for good while others for personal gain.”
“Where are the others?”
“Some are here, on Earth. Most are on colony ships drifting through the galaxy.”
“Colony ships?” Skinner curiously asks. “Where are they from?”
“Gorans are from the nation of Gora, one of seven surviving nations from the planet Killion. Second humans, or people living on Earth without abilities, call our planet Mars.”
“Mars?” I say. “We’re from Mars?”
“Yes. Thousands and thousands of years ago, Killion was a peaceful, prospering planet full of life and tranquility. The seven nations lived in harmony with each other, each with their own strengths and attributes. Then the invasion began. Hordes of Rave ships penetrated our atmosphere and when they refused to leave, they began firing their deadly weapons on us. Most of the planet was able to evacuate in time, but some were not. The remaining Killinians fought hard but were no match to the numbers of the Raves.
“In a last ditch effort, King Romen, your ancestor Tristan, detonated a secret weapon. The detonation of this weapon won the war, but we lost our planet. We moved to our nearest planet, Earth, and began colonizing. Hundreds of years later, the Gorans living on Earth had stopped or completely forgotten how to use their abilities. So with time, the power died out.
“Governments and kings began ordering that we share technology with them. At first we agreed. But then we saw the deceit and malice in their hearts and we stopped. Eventually, we pulled out of the everyday lives of second humans all together, to let them rule themselves as they wanted, while we sit up in our ships waiting for Killion to be habitable once again, or second humans to change their ways.”
Skinner and I sit there in awe at this new information. I have so many questions but nothing seems to form enough structure to form a sentence.
“The Raves,” Skinner begins, “they’re obviously back.”
“Yes,” Taume replies, “with the destruction of Killion and the Rave ships that were in our atmosphere, more came. It’s taken thousands of years for them to reach us but now that they have, they have one purpose: eliminating every last Goran and taking over the planet.”
“So that’s why they are hunting us,” I say lowering my eyes.
Taume nods gently. “Gorans are the only thing standing in their way of total take over.”
Nothing is said for a while. The gravity of this new information weighs heavy on Skinner and myself. Raves don’t want to just kill us, they want us eliminated.
“Ishnaha. Ishnahan. Ole ra. Ranahan,” Taume sings.
“That lullaby,” I begin, “I’ve heard it before.”
Taume nods again. “Your mother used to sing it to you.”
“What’s it mean?” I ask.
“The stars are bright. The stars are bright. They’ll bring you home, home to me.”
“So why are we here?” Skinner begins. “I mean, here on Earth. Why not up on a colony ship?”
“At the time, Raves were infiltrating our ships. It was safest for you to be on Earth.”
“So, there never was a Tristan? I mean, with my family on Earth?” I curiously ask, not sure if I’m wanting the answer.
“There was,” Taume begins, “but that car accident, when you were four? He died in it. We took this opportunity to save the heart ache of two families and switch you then.”
“That explains it,” I say. “The boy that died, hurt his face. If he would have survived, he would have needed plastic surgery to correct his injuries.”
Taume nods. “Go on.”
“So, you switched him for me and I underwent the plastic surgery, to look more like him.” I pause letting this all sink in. “So, does my family here know? About me?”
Taume shakes her head. “It was too much of a security risk. That’s why in your training, you were taught to never tell a single soul about your abilities and your involvement with the government.”
“Yeah,” Skinner intrudes, “let’s talk about our involvement with the government. That was planned the whole time I take it.”
“We needed a way to keep an eye on you.”
“So you thought risking our lives and putting us in danger all the time was the best way for that to happen?” Skinner mockingly asks.
“It’s because of our involvement that we are on the run today,” I add.
“This would have happened whether you were involved or not.”
“How do you figure?” Skinner asks.
“Because of the prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” I inquire.
“One dark night, in the middle of June, two stars fell, lies became doom. A civilization as wise as it was old, hid their prince, four years old. Till one day he would rise again and bring his people peace, prosperity would begin.”
“Before Beecher died, he ascended,” I say.
“Yes, a common trait among Gorans.”
“He called me prince. Am I the prince in that prophecy?”
Taume nods.
“So,” I begin, “I am going to bring peace?”