by David Roman
A mantle of silence sheltered the hall.
“Let us enjoy this evening in peace,” Galadan continued, “for it may be the last time we’ll ever get an opportunity to feast like this. Let us remember the times of Urtan and our leaders who made this world the way it is today. May the One bless us all!” Galadan downed his drink and sat down.
The room continued its numerous conversations.
“That’s much better.” Spaide slumped back in his chair after consuming several plates. “Although I could’ve used a good steak.”
“I noticed there isn’t any meat. Why is that?” Vincent asked.
“Because they’re vegans,” Damocles explained.
“What?” Spaide scoffed. “Are you serious?”
“Gaia informed me of it,” the big guy said, loading up another plate. “The Urtans don’t believe in killing.”
“But… but they’re reptiles,” the Dirsalian said in an undertone.
Damocles chewed down his food, and said, “Now you see why she’s showing so much compassion for them.”
“Impressive,” Vincent commented.
Spaide put a toothpick in his mouth. “It’s okay. I can live without meat for a while. Nothin’s like a good meal after a tough day of adventure.”
“Adventure?” Vincent asked, remembering his own desire for adventure. “Is this adventure a part of your daily routine?”
“Not really. Most of the time we train and study. But there’s always some warlord or gang leader that we meet along the way. Oh, yeah, bounty hunters can be a pain too.” Spaide paused, pulled out his toothpick, and then said, “Honestly, I hate killin.’ I didn’t want to kill today, but under the circumstances, I had to. They chose to serve this regime.” He shrugged. “They pretty much deserved it anyways. Every single one of ’em”
From the corner of his eye, Vincent noticed two Urtans across the table staring at them in appall as Spaide spoke of murder with such lack of concern.
“Hi!” The Dirsalian grinned at them. “My name’s Spaide Caroon, and I’m your average thief, smuggler, arsonist, and recently branded an assassin. But don’t get me wrong now… I’m a very nice guy once you get to know me.”
The Urtans got up in a hurry, graciously bowed, and left the room.
Damocles nearly fell over his chair in laughter. “Assassin,” the big man roared. “Spaide, you never cease to amaze me.”
“I know… right?” Spaide smiled—delighted at the fact he’d gotten the young man’s mind off recent news. He then reached over and grabbed a jug full of a crimson substance. “Now, I’ll indulge in a little alcohol.” He poured himself a glass. “Drink?” he asked Vincent.
“No,” Vincent said. “I don’t want the headache to come back.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Why do you fight, Spaide?” Vincent asked. “I mean, I get the Xenians and their situation, but I still don’t understand yours.”
“It’s a long story. I know you’d expect to hear a sad yarn, but the reason I started fightin’ was mainly because I was bored.”
“Bored?”
“Yes, bored.”
Vincent stared at the Dirsalian in stupefaction. “Tell me.”
“Well, I lived in an orphanage till I was about seven or so,” Spaide began. “My parents, I never knew. They died durin’ the Imperial takeover, which caused a civil war on my planet, Dirasali. Dirasali is known for its numerous crime guilds, exactly where I ended up as a teen. Growin’ up, I stole on a daily basis, mostly to survive, but it was the only way of stickin’ it to the Republic…” He paused for a second, recalling his early years.
“My greatest zeal was in studying the engine. I was always fascinated with how it works and why, and I dreamed of one day becoming the best pilot in the galaxy. That led me to some very dire people, and at the age of fifteen, I became a smuggler. Money was good, but my life was borin’, except for the thrill I’d get outrunnin’ Imperial fighters…
“By twenty, word of my pilotin’ skills had reached far beyond Dirasali. That was the time when I took my most bizarre mission. There were no drugs and no guns—just a simple ride for a stranger offering me more money than I ever took. That was when I first met Oryon Krynne—an encounter that’d change my life forever. I had never met anyone with so much knowledge, such dignity, such character… and a killer beneath it all. Of course, with Oryon, my simple drivin’ task eventually turned into pandemonium. As our mission turned crazy, we became closely associated. I was excited to learn from him the art of creatin’ explosives and target shootin.’ So, after our work was over, I left everythin’ behind and decided to follow him… and I mean everythin’ and everyone. Before I knew it, my life had a meanin.’ He saved me. Days became weeks, weeks became years… I watched the twins grow up and Duell become the master he is today. It’s been over thirteen years now. They’re my family; they’re all I got.” He leaned over and encircled his arm around the big guy’s neck.
Damocles grunted and shoved off the Dirsalian.
“I see,” Vincent said. “It’s funny, you know, how my people take things for granted, completely unaware of all this.”
“Once, I took things for granted too,” Spaide said. “I thought gettin’ women and money and makin’ people fear and envy you were the only things in life. I was so stupid…” He then sat up, taking a passionate tone as he said, “You see, Oryon gave my life importance—a purpose. I had so much potential, ‘the mind of an artist,’ as Duell would say, the struggle to be different, and that’s what made me follow the way of the Warrior Sage. Now…”—he stared down into his glass—“they’ve killed the man I considered to be my father… Now it’s personal.”
“Please, enough,” the big man said. “Change the subject.”
“Hey, did you forget about me?” Gaia appeared out of nowhere.
“Your highness,” Spaide said, rolling his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be out there yellin’ at someone?”
“I’ve had enough for the day.”
“Have a drink?” Spaide stretched the jar.
“So, are you beginning to adapt?” she asked Vincent, ignoring the Dirsalian.
“I’m impressed with everything on this planet,” Vincent said. “I expected some sort of technological paradise, but instead, it’s this classical world with such an artistic taste.”
“I expected barbarians,” Damocles added.
“You’ve seen it for yourself, Damocles,” she said, “the Urtans lead a life of honor similar to yours.”
“I agree.”
“That’s why I love this place. And if I die here, so be it.”
“Don’t say that!” Spaide intervened. “Nobody’s dyin’!” He then leaned back in his chair and muttered, “I’m not, that’s for sure.”
They sat there for hours sharing stories: tales of Oryon and Duell, of Spaide’s daredevil adventures, and about the twins’ successful rescue of the Princess. For that period of time, Vincent entirely forgot his situation and laughed and talked along. They were no longer aliens to him. They were people—regular people like anyone you might meet on Earth.
*
Duell and Galadan stepped out on the balcony to continue their talk in private.
“I must say, Galadan,” Duell said, “now I know why Jamon described your world with such passion. Are you familiar with Oryon’s Memoirs?”
“But of course. That book was one of the biggest inspirations behind our uprising.”
“Oryon would’ve loved your world. It would remind him of the days he spent on Kienor…”
Galadan nodded, then leaned on the balustrades and looked out at the courtyard. “I’m sorry, Sage Duell.”
“There’s no need to apologize.”
“I feel the need to say this in case I don’t get the chance. I’m sorry to have dragged you into this.”
Duell stood still, hands crossed behind his back. “You didn’t, my friend. It’s my choice to remain here.”
Galadan whirled. “But you are aware of the odds we
’re facing?”
“Galadan…” Duell said, noticing that the King was about to break apart.
“Do you think we stand a chance?”
“I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t.”
“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” the Urtan said in a half-whisper, his eyes filling with tears.
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Galadan,” Duell stated calmly. “We will triumph.”
“I’m sorry, Duell.” Galadan wiped his face. “But I don’t believe in miracles.”
“Then I’ll take it upon myself to make you.”
*
“It’s late,” Gaia said, getting up. “We’ve a long day ahead of us. Let us try to get some regular sleep.” She wished everyone goodnight and left the hall.
“You know,” said the big man as she left, “if I were a bit older, I would’ve definitely—” He didn’t finish his sentence as he stared at the door.
Spaide and Vincent turned to see Exander at the entrance.
“Here’s the party crasher,” Spaide groaned.
“You big moron!” the blonde snapped. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“What did you want me to do?” Damocles asked.
“Help me with my research and not think with your insatiable stomach!”
“We’re guests.” The big guy defended himself. “We need to show our respect.”
“Yeah, I see how you show respect! Merrily passing your time!”
“Oh, shut up!” Spaide said. “I’m sick and tired of your moanin’ lately!”
Exander threw the Dirsalian a cold look, turned around, and left the room.
“Ex!” Damocles called out.
“Ah, let him go,” Spaide said. “He can be so aggravating sometimes.”
“Goodnight.” Damocles followed his brother.
“Well, I guess I’m the bad guy again.” Spaide sighed. “At least there’s always someone to blame.” He poured himself another drink.
“What’s with them?” Vincent asked. “They miss their grandfather?”
“They’ve a bigger burden on their shoulders than you can possibly imagine. In time, I’ll tell you, but for now I’m gonna ask you just what do you plan on doin’ ’bout Gaia?”
“What do you mean?” Vincent was stumped.
“The Princess likes you, man!” Spaide smiled. “You’d be a complete fool not to notice.”
“Come on.” Vincent blushed, his heart beginning to wildly beat. “What makes you say that?”
“I’m an expert on women,” Spaide continued.
“Oh, you’re an expert on women too?”
“Yes, and a girl like Gaia—someone who’s always fightin’—has no time to meet anyone under normal circumstances. All of the Xenian men she’s around are spoiled bastards who only care about money. But you… well, you’re different. Plus, you look like them, especially like her race with that brown hair of yours.”
“You’re drunk,” Vincent said, denying the sensation inside—the sensation that made him feel like a kid. The idea of that woman actually liking him both excited and terrified him at the same time. She was the most beautiful, most alluring woman he’d ever seen, yet she wasn’t human. Had he lived amongst this melting pot of races, perhaps things would’ve been much different. He yawned, brushing off the thoughts. “I’m tired, Spaide. Let’s head back.”
“Sure, change the subject. Well, all right then, caveman, let’s go.”
It was close to midnight when they left the mess hall, yet the planet was alive. The Urtans tried to savor every minute of their brief freedom.
“Is Exander ever going to trust me?” Vincent asked. “Or is he always like that?”
“He will, Vincent, in time,” Spaide replied. “Believe me, his attitude is outta control lately. Duell’s frustrated with him. But in many ways, he’s the most advanced Tel Kasar for his age, so he’s a bit arrogant.”
“A bit?”
“Well, extremely arrogant.”
“I just don’t understand why he’s still mad at me. I thought we already figured out I’m not the bad guy.”
“Granted, but now that Duell told him of the plans he has for you, he’s outraged.”
“What plans?”
“Duell wants to see you in the mornin.’”
“For what?”
“To begin your trainin’, of course. Exander gravely disapproved, but Duell believes in you.”
“Do you think it’s necessary?”
“If you want to survive, yes.”
They reached Vincent’s room. He stopped by the door and turned around, sulking. “I don’t know if I can control all of these… powers,” he said.
“Yes, you can.” Spaide looked him directly in the eyes. “Don’t ever tell yourself that you can’t accomplish somethin’. And you listen to Duell… he’s wise—even wiser than Oryon was, although he’d never admit it. Now, you get some rest, and I’ll get a hold of you in the mornin’.”
Without giving Vincent a chance to reply, Spaide whirled around and left.
Vincent sat down on the bed, staring at the moons and enjoying the cold wind that filled the room, destroying the ample folds on the curtains. Even at that moment, he expected to wake up. He closed his eyes and inhaled, taking in the clean air. The implication of Gaia liking him was still running through his head. But I don’t belong here… he thought. What am I thinking? It’s probably another one of Spaide’s stupid jokes…
He then looked in the corner and noticed the small robot.
“Oh, well,” he said, getting up and reaching for the mechanical glove, “let’s learn about our new world.”
*
The two brothers were on the balcony atop the tower.
“Exander,” Damocles said. “Tell me, what’s on your mind?”
What’s on your mind? Exander thought. Sometimes Damocles asked very ridiculous questions. “I want to get out of here!” he shouted. “Off this godforsaken planet and get him! Kill him!”
“Relax, brother…”
“How can you relax?” Exander faced Damocles. “After what we’ve found out? He killed her! He killed our mother, Damocles!”
Damocles looked down and said, “You’ve heard Duell… she couldn’t even speak—”
“Don’t you dare defend him!” Exander pointed his finger in the big man’s face. He then turned away to stare at the busy plaza and added, “The very second I become a Sage, I’m leaving…”
“Leaving? Where to?”
“To Xenon.”
Damocles nodded, realizing his brother was inconsolable. “Come,” he pulled him by the arm. “We must get some rest, for it’s getting late.”
“You go ahead.” Exander cooled down. “I’ll come in a minute. I just need some time to be alone.”
Damocles sighed and walked away, leaving Exander to his preferred solitude.
CHAPTER XII
The Tutelage of Duell Kammasiarra
Vincent was inside a hall filled with red-skinned aliens that had sharp, pointy ears and dark blue hair. Some of them stood at the doorway, shooting at the incoming enemy with lead-firing, Earth-like weapons. The women and children were huddled in one corner, their cries intermixing with the gunfire and the agony of the dying that lay scattered on the floor amid puddles of blood
Where am I?
He stepped closer to the entrance and glanced outside. The entire city was ablaze to the point that it was impossible to distinguish land from sky. Where there once were buildings, now stood minarets of fire. Waves of Xenian soldiers scoured the city, chasing down and executing the helpless red aliens. Dozens of warships hovered overhead, hurling rockets into the structures. More bodies, by the thousands, were strewn throughout the rubble.
Vincent felt a lump form in his throat as he witnessed this unspeakable violence.
Not so far away, he saw a family of three running down an alley with soldiers in pursuit. The soldiers opened fire. The man fell to his knees, screaming to his wife and child to continue
. They shot again, killing him, and persisted after the others.
He reached to his side and—much to his surprise—felt a hilt of a sword. He looked down and saw the shining blade of the Tel Kasar. Not giving it a second thought, he leapt ahead. An explosion wobbled the foundation, nearly knocking him off his feet, and a young man beside him collapsed with shrapnel in his head.
He continued forth, exiting the building and making it to the alley within seconds while dodging the multitude of blasts.
The Tel Kasar power… I feel it…
The soldiers had the woman cornered. She clutched the child in her arms as one of them raised the rifle to her head.
Vincent jumped forth and slashed through the soldier before safely landing on his feet. He then ducked and stabbed the second.
“But sir—” the third said in confusion as Vincent plunged through him as well.
Vincent sheathed the bloody sword and extended his hand to the victim. “It’s okay.”
The woman withdrew, terrified.
“I won’t hurt you,” he assured, crouching down.
But it was to no use; she continued staring at him in horror.
He sighed and rose up. And then something caught his eye: his own reflection in the window of a nearby building. He swallowed hard and approached the glass. He was not human—a Xenian man with long black hair stared back at him.
“Who are you?” Vincent asked, and then looked at his bizarre apparel and at the surroundings.
Where…
“But, then… who am I…?”
*
Vincent woke up out of the blue. He’d no idea what time it was or how long he’d been asleep, but it appeared to be past dawn by seeing the suns of Urtan begin their ascension on this beautiful world.
He looked up at the round crystal on the wall, which was a clock of sorts but with way more than a dozen symbols on its face.
“Good luck with that, caveman,” he muttered. He then threw off the blanket and sat up.
As he was regaining his senses, there was a loud knock on the door, and—before he could consent the guest—Spaide barged in, holding a bag and a plastic container.