Zein: The Homecoming

by Graham J. Wood

  ‘Is this the one you said showed the strong magic?’ she asked Dominion. Before he could answer, Tyson thought it was time to announce his capability to hear the strange language, in what was presumably a royal court.

  ‘Direct your questions at me and you may receive the answers you require?’ said Tyson. Festilion stepped back in surprise and Dominion’s mouth fell open and the back of his hand snapped back to install some manners in the prisoner. When the hand swept down, Tyson easily dodged the blow, much to the anger of the Pod.

  ‘Why you…,’ said an angry Dominion but Festilion held up a hand to stop him giving retribution for the inferred slight of the outsider’s boldness.

  ‘You speak our language?’ said Festilion, still reeling from the surprise.

  ‘Yes, it must be the curse of these magics inside me,’ said Tyson, bitterly.

  ‘Curse you say, do you not revel in the magics?’ she asked, surprised to hear the bitterness of the tone.

  ‘I was born with these magics but I never wanted them. They have just brought me violence, uncertainty and pushed my friends away from me.’

  Festilion, exchanged glances with Dominion. This was becoming interesting. ‘Normally I would have you killed. You are an abomination of Zein, created from the magics that our own kind and others have used to defile our world,’ Festilion said without a hint of rancour. To her this was something she had lived with for many years.

  ‘But you won’t, will you?’ said Tyson, reading her thoughts, ‘You want to know who I am and what our plans are?’ Festilion smiled and returned to her throne. Once seated she raised one of her hands and Dominion pulled Tyson up off his knees.

  ‘You are correct, I want to know where you are from and what is your story,’ said Festilion, waving forward one of the warriors. ‘You must be hungry and thirsty. Redulon, please arrange to bring…,’ she hesitated.

  ‘Tyson, my name is Tyson.’

  Festilion studied him, impressed with his courage and his abilities. ‘Bring some fruit and water for Tyson,’ ordered Festilion. Redulon, hid his surprise at the gesture. Prisoners were usually questioned and then killed without delay. He did not say anything, not wanting to feel the wrath of Festilion and hurried off to do her bidding. ‘My name is Festilion, Queen of the Pod, the true High Priestess of Zein and not the one who commands the Malefics. You are in my Ceremony Hall.’ She waved her hand around the cavern. ‘Now talk.’

  Tyson told her of Earth and his upbringing of meeting his half-brother and of the pursuit of the group by Zylar. He kept from her the extent of his magics but told of the kidnap of his mother and the final battle. He could see in Festilion’s eyes her sympathy for the plight of his mother. The Pod were very much about family and trust, caring deeply for their family unit. The guard, who Redulon had instructed, returned and Tyson was given some fruit and water, which he quickly demolished. When sated he found his audience keen on further information.

  ‘Tell me about your ships?’ she requested.

  Tyson told her of the journey, the attack of the Xonian ships and the landing near Reinan. He saw her eyes widen at the mention of the Xonians.

  She is afraid of them.

  ‘Why come back?’ said Festilion, shaken about the mention of the Xonians. More invaders.

  ‘To find any survivors,’ said Tyson, simply.

  ‘Not to find methir?’ She saw Tyson’s confused look. ‘Our sacred mineral which you misuse.’

  ‘Zinithium, we call it zinithium,’ said Tyson, putting two and two together. He didn’t expect the flash of anger in the High Priestess’s eyes.

  ‘You give it a name that means nothing,’ she shouted, ‘Methir is in our air, water and food, yet you Defilers take it and abuse it for your own pleasure.’ Tyson cowered from the anger he felt not just from the figure on the throne but also from those beside and behind him.

  ‘Sorry, I have no idea why it is so bad to mention the mineral,’ said Tyson, timidly. Festilion saw that he was confused and that he didn’t understand.

  She stood up and walked across to a bowl on the side. She raised the bowl to her lips and had a long drink and then began pacing.

  ‘Methir is in everything you see around you,’ said Festilion, gesturing to the ceilings, walls and the water she had just drunk, ‘Some of our kind wanted more than the simple life we lead and they started transforming the use of the methir.’ Tyson remembered his thoughts in the cell on seeing Wernion’s eyes.

  ‘The creature we know as Changeling?’

  ‘Your insight serves you well. We do not call them Changelings but Malefic, which to us is translated as evil transformers,’ Tyson thought of how often Zebulon had transformed and saved their lives. He did not see the evil this priestess was referring to.

  ‘By the time we had uncovered their coven it was too late,’ said Festilion, angrily, ‘their numbers were great and they killed their own kin to escape.’

  ‘Why is it so bad to develop the magics?’ said Tyson. Festilion stopped pacing and looked deeply into what felt like his very soul.

  ‘How do you feel with the magics?’ she asked softly, and on seeing the turmoil in his look, ‘Precisely. The magics twist you, changing your very essence. Before they mastered the magics a few went mad and killed whole families.’

  Tyson swallowed hard, knowing the darkness that enveloped him at times. ‘But don’t they simply allow you to change shape or protect yourself?’

  Festilion shook her head, ‘The very act of changing shape disturbs the circle of life. The body has to change how it thinks, works and manages during the change. This can lead to changes in bodily functions and natural ageing.’

  ‘Why is that bad?’

  ‘The Malefic have very few young and live for many, many years. This increased life span creates its own uncertainty and almost greed to improve life and power. This in turn can infect other races, which can result in them attacking their own flesh and blood,’ said Festilion, sadly.

  ‘You mean the magics naturally create conflict?’

  ‘Yes, when I found out, they fled and sold their way of life to the Defilers, as if it was a simple barter for food,’ said Festilion, her face stricken with deep memories, ‘Magics for the promise to kill all the Brethren.’ A tear ran down her face.

  ‘I still remember the death. Male, female and children dying as they poisoned the very air we breathe. I escaped but many of my people didn’t. The horror still lingers today and drives us to rid this planet of all Defilers and Malefics once and for all.’

  Tyson felt her pain. Deep within him the magics stirred in empathy, which now he knew stemmed from the latent magic within these beasts.

  ‘Now don’t you see we can’t let them live as they will have us all killed. They can’t allow us to survive. That is why I order so many attacks on where they live. It is either them or us,’ Festilion finished and seemingly tired by the emotion of the discussion, sat down on the throne. She looked tired and less threatening to Tyson. Then a thought struck him.

  ‘You attack to reach the Malefics and not the Defilers, don’t you?’ he asked quietly, using the names she recognised.

  Festilion fastened onto his face; this creature had insight. ‘Yes, we are not happy with the transfer of the magics but it is the threat of the Malefics that we most fear. The Defilers stand in our way and they need to be dealt with first.’

  ‘That’s is why I and my brother felt the fear during the attack rather than hatred,’ said Tyson turning his gaze to Dominion, ‘because you don’t know whether we will support the Malefic in their aim to kill your entire species.’

  Dominion didn’t answer. He didn’t need to; the downcast look to the floor told the story. Tyson made a decision.

  ‘I will help you if you let me?’ he said.

  Festilion’s face was scornful. ‘How can you help us? You are not really a Defiler but an alien to our planet,’ she said.

  ‘I am brother to Lord Blackstone, and he would help if he knew the facts?’ />
  ‘The Blackstones were the worst. They accepted deeper magics in return for a solution to kill us,’ she said, angrily standing up and squaring up to Tyson. Tyson didn’t back down.

  ‘I am my own man. My brother is different from the Blackstones you have experience of and we will help you,’ he said, keeping his eyes locked with hers. Festilion calmed down, it had been an exhausting day. She turned her back on Tyson and returned to her seat.

  ‘Dominion, take our guest away, feed and water him but do not allow him out of the cell,’ Festilion ordered.

  She waved him away and when the warriors took hold of his arms he knew the audience was at an end.

  Chapter 13: Old Bonds

  No one noticed the small bird fly through the Outer Perimeter Barrier when the convoy left for Reinan. Zebulon watched the convoy enter the city village and with regret turned left towards the mountains to the north-west of Reinan. He couldn’t believe how ruined the city was and how far the conflict had gone. He thought time was a healer and a truce would have occurred. He had been wrong.

  He decided he wanted to feel the grass between his feet and returned to the precious Zein land, transforming into his favoured wolf shape. The usual uneasy feeling he experienced when he transferred happened but his body grew used to it over the hundreds of years he had lived. There was nothing he could do. His father and Myolon made that choice for him, so many years ago.

  Zebulon bounded across the ornamental park, with its beautiful falls cascading down the three sides of the cliff. The water crashed onto the rocks below in a spectacular display of noise and mist. He knew the way. Memories never faded and he remembered better times when this park had been full of smiling and happy Zeinonians playing and picnicking.

  In truth he had missed Zein; the Earth Colony was a good alternative but when compared to this place of his ancestors and where he was born there was no competition. He had grown fond of Kabel and the other companions, they had been through a lot but now that he was home he had unfinished business and they would have to take a back seat

  He ran out of the park into the grasslands and then the mountains beyond. He hoped the entrance he had created so many years ago still remained or he would be in trouble. He didn’t need to worry. He found it. The entrance was small and at the foot of a particular high cliff face, surrounded by boulders. He transformed into a buzza fly: an animal so small it would make a mosquito look like a giant. He flew through the stone gap which widened into a steel lined tunnel he had prepared. He then returned to his wolf shape and twisted and turned through the tunnels until he came within close proximately of the main South Gate entrance.

  There he waited patiently in his secret hiding place and was rewarded when a returning group of soldiers emerged from the steel tunnel. Taking advantage of the opportunity he changed into a butterfly and flew into the main tunnel where the recon party had come from. He fluttered above their heads as the steel barricade creaked and made way for the young Zeinonian in his battered red armour and his companions.

  Then the weak Inner Perimeter Barrier was turned off behind the main entrance. Zebulon flew into the Aeria Cavern without anyone noticing a thing. Good. That was what he wanted.

  Zebulon observed the group and heard the leader call for a meeting and on the spur of the moment decided that he would follow this young man and watch the proceedings of this emergency meeting. He watched the members of the Inner Council enter and caught his breath; there she was, not changed for almost one hundred years. He heard her speech to the Inner Council and was shocked; he had arrived home just in time.

  The Inner Council meeting ended and Zebulon followed the Changelings back to their enclave. The Changelings lived in a generous, almost presidential area of the city. There were parks and impressive residential houses.

  I did a good job, he thought, impressed his work had lasted through the years.

  Heathlon, walked into her quarters. She felt uneasy. Her magics were strong and they were disturbed by a presence, something she had not felt for a long time. ‘Are you going to show yourself or skulk in a corner?’ she said, removing the cloak from her shoulders.

  ‘I see you still have the skills,’ said Zebulon. Heathlon let out a gasp of shock. Her hand flew to her mouth as she spun round to face the newcomer.

  ‘Greetings, Mother, I hope I find you well?’ said Zebulon, in his newly transformed shape that mirrored the way the Changelings on Zein liked to be seen.

  ‘Zebulon, you are alive,’ Heathlon exclaimed.

  ‘Yes Mother, I came in with the task force.’

  Heathlon’s surprise was total. She had thought he was lost to her and seeing him now had answered many prayers. He approached her and she reached out to him. They embraced.

  ‘I thought I would never see you again,’ she said, releasing the embrace and taking a seat.

  ‘Mother, I am glad to be back, but in the Inner Council you talked of a quest to extinguish the Pod,’ said Zebulon. ‘How can you make that mistake again?’

  ‘You don’t understand my son, the Pod are growing more powerful and I think they are turning to the magics.’ Heathlon dropped her head in shame, conveying that she doubted her own words.

  ‘And if they did, does that make them any worse than us?’ said Zebulon, ‘Do you want mass murder on our hands again?’

  Heathlon shook her head. Zebulon sat next to her, seeing that her advanced years were masked by the youthful façade. He took her hands. ‘I have struggled to live with what we did,’ he said quietly, ‘I have wandered for many years waiting for this very moment. I am here to put right what was wrong.’

  He lifted her chin. ‘I am so pleased to see you and be back home. I have made new friends who have accepted me as I am – no questions asked.’

  ‘It’s too late, Zebulon. Your brother set out two termins days ago and is on his way to the breeding grounds to launch the serum.’

  He patted her hands, ‘One thing which these humans have taught me is never give up,’ he said firmly. ‘How is my dear brother?’ Heathlon’s face told the story. ‘So he is still reckless then?’ said Zebulon.

  ‘Yes you know your brother, he has made us isolated, where once we were integrated,’ said Heathlon, ‘He wants to rid Zein of the Pod once and for all and forced me to speak at the Inner Council, knowing no one would stand against me.’

  ‘Isolated?’

  ‘We stay in our enclaves and do not mix with the other clans. We have a sickness and he will not seek help.’ She took hold of his hand, ‘Son we are dying, we have very few children and there is an illness the magics bring. We need help.’

  Zebulon shook his head. It was the reason he had taken up the request by the young Lord Chancellor Morgan Blackstone to support the Zein Expeditionary Force all those years ago. He and twenty of his personal pack had agreed to support the quest. He had lost most of his brethren during the journey. They had landed on a planet they thought would be hospitable to the Zeinonians; however, they were attacked by monstrous beasts that required the Changelings to protect the Lord Chancellor. Many died. Others died during asteroid and mercenary attacks. The few who survived perished in Zylar’s attacks on the quadrants until he was the only one left. He had given up, voluntary becoming an attraction at the Federation Fair until he had seen Morgan’s grandson strolling across the fairground.

  ‘I have seen death and destruction from hatred and greed. My father and your husband recognised that when he absorbed and controlled the magics there was no return.’ Zebulon became pensive as he remembered the events that happened a long time ago.

  ‘We were wrong. We shouldn’t have corrupted the scriptures and remained one with Zein, like our brethren.’ He shook his head. ‘To try and wipe our own kin off the face of this planet, not just once but twice, when they were in the right all along, is a travesty.’

  Zebulon slumped into one of the large chairs in the room. He placed his hand over his eyes.

  ‘But our magics helped us defeat the Xonians,
’ said his mother, defending history.

  ‘Maybe, maybe or we may have bonded with the Defilers and defeated the Xonians, who knows.’ Zebulon was tired. He had lived for over three hundred years, seen many things, and fought many battles.

  ‘I think my father knew this when I volunteered for the expedition. He knew that I needed to escape Zein and seek out a new world were this sickness does not invade the body.’

  ‘Did you find it on this Earth?’

  Zebulon, bit his lip in concentration ‘Not fully. They have their own share of misery, evil and greed but conversely I see something in them which exudes hope and peace.’

  ‘So what do we do now, my son?’

  ‘I am not sure, but Mother, I have returned to put right what I feel is wrong. Things will change, I promise you that,’ said Zebulon with an evangelical look on his face. For the first time in many years Heathlon felt there was a future for them.

  Chapter 14: The Morning After

  Slowly the companions woke up as the daily activities on the ship began. Kabel untangled himself from the still sleeping Gemma. He swung his legs out of the bed and placed his head into his hands. His dream last night had switched from an angry Tyson sat in a cell, to an underground lake. He knew it was on this planet due to seeing Pod all around him. But they weren’t attacking, they were dying. Fear all across their faces as both child and adult died by the thousand. The dream ended with a strange human like person with a spiteful look upon his face. The eyes, the eyes reminded him of someone.

  There was a groan behind him as Gemma stretched. She sensed his pain. Her hand touched his heavily muscled shoulder and brushed along the ridges.

  ‘Another dream?’ she said quietly. He gestured that it was. ‘Was it about Tyson again?’ she asked.

  ‘Not all of it,’ said Kabel, ‘though I do think he is still alive.’ Gemma felt relieved, worrying most of the night on whether Tyson had survived or not.

  Kabel stood up and moved athletically to the table where a jug of water rested. Gemma stared at the curve of his back and the magnificence of his nakedness.