Shattered Destiny

by West, Shay

  They already look at us with untrusting glances. Gwen tried to imagine what the rescue must have looked like through the eyes of the Jhinn. It would be frightening and disconcerting to see the enemy struck down with fire and invisible blades. None had brought it up, but she could sense the burning questions boiling just below the surface of their polite gratitude. A part of her thought that they should come clean about who they really were and where they came from. Another part wanted to leave them in their ignorant bliss.

  The Sawbones covered Brok's body with a dingy blanket that he found in what was left of his office. He waved some men over, and together they lifted Brok and carried him to the cemetery. The Chosen and the last two Guardians followed.

  Feeror and Voilor offered to dig the hole. The two men worked silently, slightly uncomfortable with the idea of burying someone beneath the cold, hard ground but aware of the need for discretion on this planet. The two were sweating by the time they finished. Robert stood nearby, hands clasped in front, head bowed. No one said anything when two Jhinn men lowered Brok's body into the ground. They wordlessly picked up the shovels discarded by the two Volgon warriors and slowly added dirt back to the grave.

  To Forka, the sound of the dirt hitting the body sounded much too loud in the silence. Robert waited until the men had covered the body halfway before speaking. “We are gathered here today to bid farewell to Brok. I wished I could have known him better, but from what I have seen he was a brave man, and dedicated to his duty.

  “We do not believe that death is the end of all things. Our souls drift to heaven where we will dwell with the Lord and his only son, Jesus, for all eternity.

  “Therefore, do not mourn his passing. Rejoice! For he will be young and healthy in the house of the Lord, throwing off the heavy burden of age and pain. And there he will await you.

  “Let us bow our heads.” Robert took a deep breath, taking comfort in the familiar words. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Robert recited the words of Psalm 23 by heart. When he thought of his family Bible, his heart sank. He had not had a chance to look for it, but little else had survived the reaving of the camp; he did not hold out much hope for his treasured book.

  He was pleased to hear the voices of Sloan, Brad, and even Forka reciting the verse. It reminded him of happier days, when he would stand at the pulpit and look on the faces of the congregation. Robert had always been proud to hold the station not only of Protector, but also of Reverend. He had been brought up to believe what was written in the Bible, to hold dear the words of God and the teachings of Jesus. His heart swelled when he thought of his Savior's sacrifice on the cross, to shed his blood so that mankind could have a chance at eternal life.

  The Astran Chosen seemed uncomfortable. They were talking together and whispering, and Jon was gesturing wildly. Robert wondered what they were arguing about. He moved a little closer. They were so involved with what they were saying they didn't notice his approach.

  “I'm sure the words are fine and dandy for people that believe in this God or whoever he is, but Brok isn't from here! We need to say an Astran prayer,” Jon said heatedly.

  “Brok wasn't Astran! I think the words Robert said were nice. Astrans believe our spirits live on. I kind of like the idea of this Heaven. It sounds like a good place to be.”

  Jon turned to face Gwen, fury evident on his face. “Well, don't you just seem to be embracing everyone's beliefs! How about standing up for your own?”

  Gwen's heart broke a little at the look on Jon's face. It hurt that the fury was directed at her. “I'm just saying that what Astrans believe and what the Earthmen believe are similar. What's wrong with that?” She was becoming angry herself. “So what if I am embracing others’ beliefs? Isn't that what we are supposed to be doing?”

  “Not at the expense of all we hold dear. Not at the expense of turning your back on your own kind.”

  “Aren't you being a little melodramatic? Complimenting Robert isn't exactly turning her back on her own kind.” Keera stood next to Gwen, arms crossed over her chest, red hair in a fiery halo around her head.

  “If you would like to say a few words, I welcome it. And I think everyone else would too.” Robert decided to cut in before things got out of hand. He did not take offense at the boy's words. He was grieving and needed to lash out. Robert was curious as to what sort of prayer the Astrans spoke over the bodies of their dead.

  Jon turned, waiting with some smart retort, but at the open kindness in Robert's eyes, he swallowed what he was going to say. The voices were trying to lure him into drawing on the dark magic, and they were growing louder by the minute. Brok's death had left Jon shaken. Thus far, the Astrans had escaped the deaths that had seemed to plague the group. If Brok could die, then any of them could perish at any time.

  “Do you want me to do it?” Saemus asked.

  Jon nodded and turned to face Brok's body. The others, who had been standing awkwardly nearby, cleared throats and stood facing the mound of dirt. The two men from the Jhinn encampment who had filled the grave had already lashed together two sticks to form a cross and stuck it in the dirt right above where Master Brok's head lay, several feet below the surface.

  Saemus looked to his twin. She gave him a smile of encouragement. “Dear Spirits, we ask that you welcome your brother Brok into your fold. He lived a life of servitude, healing the sick and counseling the distraught. He comes to join you in the great dark sky, to watch over those that still dwell here below.” Seamus felt awkward about saying these words on this world. He wondered if Brok's spirit would live in this place Robert called Heaven, or if it would travel back to Astra, there to dwell in the night sky. Or perhaps his spirit would go to wherever Gentran souls went.

  When no one else spoke up, the group gathered close. They needed to figure out what to do. They had rescued the Jhinn from the Horde and the Cowboys. A few thought it was time to head back to Gentra, though the idea of entering the portal filled them with dread. They did not want to be lost forever in the painful darkness.

  “We need to stay at least a few days, to make sure the enemy doesn't regroup and come back,” Brad said. He also wanted to help the Jhinn begin felling timber for new homes and barns. It would be a huge undertaking and winter would be upon them in a short time.

  “I agree. We can't leave them defenseless. We need to build some rudimentary fortifications at the very least.” Sloan was worried about what would happen to the Jhinn if they were to be attacked again. Samson, in his anger, would probably put them all to death for daring to escape.

  “We will stay four days, no longer. After that, we must return to Gentra.” Forka hated to leave. Since being back, he had taken up the mantle of General again. It felt good being back among these people. It felt right.

  “What can we do to help?” Saemus asked.

  “We need to cut timber, and fast. I only hope the saws were saved from the fire.” Forka ordered the male Chosen to follow him. The Protectors kept a secret stash of tools and other useful materials hidden in the floor of the bunkhouse. The saws, hammers, synthetic rope, and other things were invaluable. The only way to get more was to dig through the ruins of the old cities and pray something of use would be found. Forka knew it was only a matter of time before Sawbones would be heading to old Denver with a cart. He would spend days digging and come back with a cartload of tools. Many of the other Jhinn would travel further south and north to those cities. It was dangerous but necessary. They did not have the means to forge the m
etal used in the tools.

  “At least Widow Foster still has her tubs,” Robert said as they passed by the ruins of the bathhouse. Widow Foster and her children were hauling burned wood out of the house, and the boys were knocking down the wood that was still standing. Most of the buildings had been too damaged to salvage. They would have to be rebuilt from scratch.

  “Thank God for small favors.” Forka knew he would be wanting to enjoy a hot bath before too long. The last one didn't go so well.

  Forka glanced at Sloan. He had slowly begun to come out of his guilt-induced shell since they had begun their interplanetary adventure. Much of that was due to the red-headed Astran girl. Forka was glad that she had begun to put cracks in the man's thick armor. No one could live their life without making a few mistakes. Sloan and I have made some bad ones.

  It was heartbreaking to watch the Protectors taking away pieces of the bunkhouse. The building had sheltered them for so long. It seemed wrong that it was being torn apart. Anger swelled in Forka. Why didn't I kill Samson and Wild Bill when I had the chance? He wished to see their blood flow as payment for what they had done to the Jhinn encampment.

  Robert and Brad made directly for the spot where their stash was located. Forka sent up a silent prayer. He breathed a sigh of relief when the men began taking out saws, hammers, nails, synthetic rope, even some sharp blades. At least some of the Protectors will be armed. He ran a hand over his own black-handled blade, wishing again that it had tasted the blood of the enemy leaders.

  The Volgons looked at the materials with some confusion. They did not use items such as these. To them, they looked like what they were: primitive. The Astrans had at least seen most of the tools and could use them. Forka sent them to cut trees for a barricade. He knew it would be hard to use the wood for that rather than to begin rebuilding homes, but the first order of business was the camp's defenses. The next thing we need is more watchtowers.

  Forka turned at a neigh that sounded from behind. “And here you are, eating. Again.”

  No Name stared at him placidly, chewing a mouthful of green grass.

  “That reminds me. I need to see to getting food for these people.” Forka went in search of some of the best hunters among the Jhinn. They were useful to the enemy and were rarely killed when they were taken. Any who could show a useful skill were often spared death.

  “What is this?” He came upon several women using rocks to crush wheat.

  They looked to the General, unsure of what he was asking. “We are crushing wheat to make bread,” one said hesitantly.

  Forka shook his head. “No, I know what you are doing. Where did you get the wheat?”

  “We had it hidden under the house. Lots of us did.”

  Forka shook his head and laughed. He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. The women stared at him as though he had grown a second head. They didn't say anything, afraid that their General had taken a bad case of brain sickness.

  “Don't you see? The enemy has completely and utterly failed! They thought they were destroying the Jhinn by burning the buildings and killing the livestock. But as long as you live, the Jhinn will survive.” Forka patted the women on their cheeks as he walked passed them. He could hear their hurried whispering as he walked away but he didn't care. His face broke out into a huge grin as he noticed people carting armloads of valuables they had stored in hidden places beneath their floors.

  He had assumed that the fires had destroyed anything stored under the Jhinn homes, which was why he hadn't bothered looking when they had first arrived. Just goes to show their General doesn't know everything.

  As he looked at the people of the camp he knew that they were going to be fine. They would rebuild, they would replant, they would search the plains for livestock that may have survived the raids, and they would gather more tools from the cities.

  And they would survive.

  EARTH

  THE NEXT FOUR DAYS passed much too quickly as the Chosen helped the Jhinn rebuild. By the last day, buildings had grown from the ashes of former homes and the Jhinn looked ten years younger as they fed on their stores of bread and dried vegetables. The Chosen poured themselves into helping the Jhinn, trying to keep their minds off the impending trip through the portal.

  The day of the journey back to the portal dawned cloudy, with just a slight drizzle. The Protectors had tried to send the group with horses.

  “We can't take them where we're going.” Forka had been unwilling to say more.

  Sloan and Brad stood silent, disproving. They had wanted to come clean to the Jhinn about their journey. They felt it only fair to prepare them for the coming threat.

  “We don't know when the Mekans will land here, if they even do at all. What is the use of scaring them to death, forcing them to look over their shoulders each and every day waiting for a threat they can't hope to fight? Best to leave them in ignorance and hope we can stop the Mekans before they get here.” Forka did not budge in this decision.

  Keera rolled her eyes. “You are as bad as Kaelin and Brad!”

  Gwen arched an eyebrow. “Or you and Sloan?”

  The two girls shared a giggle and a quick hug. It was strange to feel happiness and contentment in the midst of fear and apprehension. Gwen was glad they all seemed to have someone.

  “Kinda feel sorry for the boys though,” Keera said, glancing at Saemus and Jon.

  “They don't seem to mind.”

  “They wouldn't know what to do with a woman if one fell in their lap!”

  Gwen snorted laughter.

  “Something funny?” Saemus gave the girls a bland look. He did not need to know what they were talking about to feel certain that they were not speaking kindly of the menfolk. It was a tone he had gotten used to over the years.

  Their banter was cut short by Forka giving the order to move out. The Chosen and the last two Guardians walked slowly through the throngs of people coming to say their good-byes. There was much hand shaking, hugging, and back-slapping.

  Forka had to force back his tears when he passed the makeshift corral they'd made for the horses they'd brought back from the Horde and Cowboy camp. No Name was pacing back and forth, shaking her head, and pawing at the ground.

  If I go to her, I will never leave. Forka stared into her liquid brown eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that he didn't have this duty hanging over his head. His despair was overwhelming. He was tired of duty, tired of traveling, tired of worrying, just tired. The stress was beginning to wear him down. How much longer until I fall over dead?

  Thoughts of his old friend simply added to the agony. For so many years, he and the other three Guardians had only had each other to lean on, talk to, and confide in. Their lives had been torn apart when they'd been summoned to the home of the prophets that fateful day. Forka could remember his mother floating in the doorway, the chromatophores in her skin changing color rapidly. His father had tried to look in control, soothing his mother and his littermates, but the rapidly changing colors in his bell had betrayed his feelings.

  Their training had been arduous and lonely. One would have thought that the endless hours spent poring over scrolls and staring at clunky computer terminals, their inner workings protected against the salt water by thick polymer, would fill the days, but it only made the Elected more aware of their isolation. They were not allowed to speak to any save the servants and the few acolytes that the Masters would send with scrolls. The young Elected simply did what they were told. It was too ingrained in Gentrans to obey the Masters in all things. Forka, Mirka, Gerok, and Brok had felt it a great honor to be raised to the level of Elected, even though they had no special sight for future events.

  The Elected continued to follow the orders of the Masters, taking multiple trips through the portals to their planets, learning how to adapt and blend in. They suffered in silence when the Masters refused their requests to see their families. All day they were bombarded with talk of their role in guiding and protecting the Chosen, the absolute nee
d for secrecy, the danger the Mekans posed, and the uncertainty of when they would arrive in the galaxy.

  Forka was surprised at his sudden rebellious desire to stay behind and let the others deal with the threat. I have been on Earth too long. No sane Gentran would dare defy the Masters. And yet here he was, contemplating doing just that.

  No Name's whinny cut straight to his heart. He prayed to God to keep his friend safe and to watch over the Jhinn. If the Horde or the Cowboys attacked again, the Jhinn wouldn't stand a chance. There were not enough Protectors to fight off the enemy.

  “We have to put our faith in God. He will look out for them.”

  Forka snorted. “Robert, where was He when the Horde and the Cowboys destroyed the encampment?” He shook his head at Robert's attempt to interrupt. “There is no guarantee that He will protect them any more than there is a guarantee that we will all arrive on Gentra through the portal, or that we will beat the Mekans. But I will pray all the same.”

  “Have you stopped to think about the events that happened here? As near as we can figure it, the Horde and the Cowboys arrived shortly after we left. According to you, you had no intention of leaving the encampment until the signs appeared, right? So -” Robert took a deep breath, ignoring the icy stare from his General. “Don't you see? If Tess hadn't been murdered, by one of our own no less, you would never have left early.

  “Which means we would have been here when the enemy attacked.” Robert looked at Forka intently.

  Forka opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it closed. His head was full of swirling thoughts taking him from the night of Tess’ death back to that fateful day in the cave when he had encountered Sloan's family after emerging from the portal.

  “I have always said, everything happens for a reason,” Robert said quietly.

  There was the possibility that if they had been in the encampment when the combined forces of the enemy had arrived, many of them would have been killed. “So how does this fit in with the deaths of the other Chosen that have happened since then?”