Recreance (The Aeternum Chronicles Book 1)

by H. G. Chambers

  It shrieked in pain and surprise. Oren rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding the thrashing tail.

  “Attack between segments, where the armor is weak,” Khalil spoke as if he were commenting on the weather.

  Oren was about to reply that he knew, but instead ducked a swipe from the poisonous tail. He realized he wasn’t going to get a clean strike with the tail flailing around trying to kill him, and formulated a plan.

  This is the worst plan ever, he thought. Oren took a slow breath to calm his pulse, and waited for an opening. The chitin attacked Khalil again, this time with a flurry of strikes. The tail thrashed around, lending momentum to its frontal attacks. It whipped its tail up into the air and at the same time brought its body down onto the ground hard. Khalil jumped back, narrowly avoiding the crushing force.

  Now.

  Oren dove forward into a shoulder roll and popped up directly below the tail’s stingers. “Hey ugly!” he yelled. Khalil glanced at Oren, and the creature twisted its long neck to look back at him as well. The tail came down immediately at great speed. Oren had less than a second to react. He dove out of the way just as the stingers stabbed into the ground and stuck there. The chitin jerked its tail upwards, attempting to dislodge it.

  Oren had his opening. He leapt forward, carving the air overhead and bringing his blade down at an angle with all his strength. It made contact and sank between the third and fourth segments, up from the stinger. The unprotected insect flesh provided little resistance, and his blade cut clean through.

  The chitin shrieked in blind fury. It whipped the severed end of its segmented body about, tossing fluids and excrement into the air. Oren leapt back out of the way, and Khalil embodied the snake in the brush blade stance, patiently waiting as the creature whipped its head about violently. When the opportunity arose, Khalil thrust his sword up to the sky, bracing the hilt with his palm. The chitin’s head flailed downward. Khalil’s blade entered between its mandibles and sank deep into its head. It fell to the ground with a thud, heaving in violent death spasms.

  Oren moved away from the amputated tail, still flopping back and forth, with a look of disgust. The end of his sword dripped with insect goop. He stood for a moment, then the euphoria hit. “Sifu! Have you ever seen anything like that!?” Oren asked, grinning wildly. “Ha-HAH! Oh man! I was standing there thinking, How’m I gonna hit him if he won’t hold still? So I think, If only I had a giant chitin trap, then I remembered what you said about using the environment and—”

  “That was a foolish risk you took.” Khalil was frowning, obviously displeased.

  “What? Are you kidding me? I was just doing what you said! It was practically your idea!”

  “Taking an unnecessary risk is like drinking from your rations when you are not thirsty. It serves no purpose and is like to get you killed.”

  “Serves no purpose? Maybe you missed the part where I cut that off?” Oren pointed his sword toward the chitin tail. It flopped one more time for good measure. “Looks pretty purposeful to me.”

  “A wise warrior fights defensively, unless given no other choice. One sting from that tail and you would have been paralyzed before you hit the ground, assuming it did not hit a major artery…in which case you would be dead.” Oren sighed with exasperation, and Khalil continued, “With patience, we would have defeated it just the same.”

  “Well excuse me for trying to keep your head attached to your body.” Oren took a cloth from his jacket and wiped his blade clean, then sheathed it. “You know, most people might say, ‘Gee, thanks Oren, you really helped me out there!’ But no, instead it’s ‘Don’t take risks Oren,’ and ‘Don’t drink your rations, Oren.’” Part of him knew Khalil was right, but he refused to admit it.

  Khalil walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You fought well, Sa’di.”

  Oren stood up a little straighter, and Khalil looked at him, waiting.

  A moment passed, then Oren said, “Thank you, Sifu.” He performed the bao quan. It was the first form he’d learned, bowing his head and placing his right fist in his left hand before him. He must have practiced it a thousand times before Khalil was satisfied. Oren relaxed back into the role of the student he had become so familiar with.

  “In the days to come, we will face enemies far greater than this. My goal is it not to limit your potential, but to guide you away from a path of recklessness.”

  “Yes, Sifu,” Oren nodded respectfully.

  “When we face our next challenge in combat, what will be your approach?”

  “I will maintain a defensive stance, striking only when the risk for harm is at its lowest.”

  “Excellent, now let us get to work! I shall extract the venom from the tail; you collect the glands from our friend’s stomach.” Khalil grinned and patted Oren on the back.

  “Fantastic,” Oren muttered under his breath, and walked over to the lifeless arthropod.

  Khalil had explained to Oren that passing through the grasslands was a faster route east, but it was also far more dangerous than going around. Chitins of varying sizes had made the tall grass their home. It was perfect for concealment, and they efficiently made meals of any goat, sheep, or unprepared traveler that wandered in. The grasslands stretched on for miles, and took days to cross. Fighting one’s way through would be risky at best, and fatal for most. Fortunately, Khalil knew of another way. Oren thought back to their conversation before leaving Masada.

  “Traveling through the grasslands is no trivial thing, Sa’di. A chitin can snap a man in half with its mandibles, or snip his limbs from his body like a gardener snips a rose.” Khalil made a snipping motion with his fingers to demonstrate. “In the grasslands, they are ubiquitous, and unlikely to let a meal pass by. Fortunately for us, we can keep them at bay. Despite their propensity for hunting alone, they are social creatures, built to proliferate and preserve as a group. Upon death, chitins emit an alarm pheromone. It serves as an avoidance warning to any others that may approach the area – keep away, deadly threat nearby.”

  Oren was fascinated by the creatures. Before now he’d never even known they existed. Massive insects, as large as a man…or bigger! He was both thrilled and terrified.

  Khalil continued, “The pheromones are created by two venom glands within the beast’s stomach. If one were to extract the glands and carry them, the chances of even seeing another chitin would be next to none. Therefore, our first course of action once entering the grasslands will be to lure and kill a chitin.”

  Oren grinned, he couldn’t help it. He’d spent over a year training on dummies and sparring partners. This would be a chance to really test his strength and ability. He’d never been as fast as he was now, never as aware of his surroundings. Khalil’s teachings were largely responsible, but there was something more. Ever since he took his oath, he’d felt like more than just himself. Khalil called it the one-ness, and said that some warriors experience it more strongly than others. Whatever it was, it was incredible. “I’m ready, Sifu.”

  “You must pace yourself, Sa’di. You have much work to do on mastering the Forms before such a trial. Continue with your training, and one day you truly will be ready.”

  “You can be a real stick in the mud, you know that?” Oren said, smirking.

  “Me?” Khalil asked in shock. “No, you are mistaken. I am very exciting.”

  Oren raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s true,” Khalil looked genuinely convinced.

  Oren grinned. He couldn’t help but tease. Khalil just made it so easy.

  Oren’s smile faded along with the memory as he stepped up to the dead chitin. This was going to be messy work. Oh god, that smell! Oren held his breath and pulled out a long blade sheathed against his thigh. He went to work, cutting open the thorax between segments and prying them apart. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and wrapped his scarf around his nose and mouth. The venom glands would be deep within the creature’s stomach.

  Oren gathered his courage, th
en plunged both arms in until he was elbow deep. The back of his throat threatened to climb out of his mouth, but he recovered and felt around blindly for the stomach. He remembered Khalil describing it as ribbed, and he concentrated on that. He began wondering if he was in the wrong segment, and was about to retreat when he came across a firm ridge. There was another further in, and webbing between.

  Sweet mercy, let this be it. He grabbed at the ridge with both hands, anchored his feet, and yanked. There was a ripping sound, and the organ gave about an inch. He yanked harder and it tore partway out of the thorax. Adjusting his hands for a better grip, he tensed his arms and yanked hard. The stomach tore free, trailing entrails and splattering Oren with dark fluids. Sitting on the flattened grass covered in insect bile, Oren couldn’t help but notice that Khalil had left this part out of the lessons. He glared over at Khalil, who was quite obviously stifling laughter.

  Oren stood up and did his best to flick the goop from his arms. He made his way over to his pack, stowed nearby, and pulled out a rag to wipe off some of the guts. He then dug around inside the pack, searching. “Come on, where are you,” he muttered. He eventually found two jar-sized containers with hinged, perforated lids. Aha! Oren made his way back to the chitin corpse. He sat down in the grass next to it and cut into the thick stomach webbing with his knife. Even through his scarf, the putrid smell was nearly unbearable. It wasn’t long before he found the two sinuous yellow glands. These ones were big, about the size of two fists. The only others he’d seen were no larger than a plum.

  He placed each dripping gland into a lidded container at arm’s length, closed and latched them shut. A shadow covered him as Khalil walked up from behind.

  “You can use some of the canteen water to clean yourself up. We will reach a stream in two days to re-supply.” Khalil held out the canteen. There was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Oren looked up at him, then after a moment he took the canteen and mumbled his thanks.

  They spent the rest of the day walking through the tall grass undisturbed. The sun was warm, but a cool breeze kept it from getting too hot. Oren ran his hand along the top of the grass as he walked. This really isn’t all that bad, he thought. He found himself surprised to have gotten used to the smell of the gland rather quickly. Being out in the wilds was thrilling. You never know what you’re going to—

  “Wah!” Oren nearly tripped over the body of a huge snake strewn across his path. It was as thick as a tree trunk, with iridescent scales that reflected a myriad of colors in the sunlight.

  “Do not worry, they are harmless,” Khalil called from ahead. “Actually, seeing one is good luck!”

  “Good luck? What do these things eat? I’m pretty sure I’m lunch-sized.” It slithered along, displacing the grass quietly. Oren stepped carefully over it.

  “Relax, they are vegetarians. Not all beasts think you are as delicious as you do.” Khalil smiled.

  They continued walking, and Oren found himself thinking about the future. “How many days once we reach the desert?”

  “Forty-seven,” Kahlil answered. Not a trivial distance.

  I can’t believe it’s been two years since I left the city. Oren had trained himself not to think too long on the past. His new life in Masada had been completely different from anything he had ever known before. New Arcadia almost felt like a past life. It was strange to be going back. Like visiting a ghost.

  “Khalil, do you think the…thing we’re looking to find could give us an edge against them?” They continued walking in silence for a few moments before Khalil answered.

  “Any weapon produced by the Ministry would only generate further imbalance.”

  “But things are unbalanced right now. How do you expect to change anything if you don’t use every advantage you can get?”

  “And how do you suppose we arrived at this imbalance?” Khalil asked. “It is exactly that line of thinking that has led us down this path.”

  “I don’t understand. How would using their own weapon against them do anything other than tip the scales in our favor? We are out-numbered and out-armed. Why not level the playing field?” Oren asked.

  “First of all, we do not know if it is a weapon. Second, what price would you place on destroying your enemy? Would you pay one thousand gold coins? Give up your sword? Twenty years of your life?”

  “Yes if it meant ending the war,” Oren answered.

  “What about the life of a child?”

  Oren hesitated.

  “The lives of ten thousand children? Their parents? The life of the land itself?”

  Oren only shook his head. He was troubled by the idea.

  “Thus are the fruits borne from the orchards of war,” Khalil quoted.

  “That’s…Kyovski?” Oren asked hesitantly.

  “Maybe you are not so hopeless after all,” Khalil said with a slight smile. “Yes, Petrov Kyovski. It is from The Tides of War.”

  “It was assigned reading for Mr. Alai’s class in first-year…” he trailed off. After not thinking about his past for nearly two years, it sure was coming up a lot lately.

  They walked on in silence until the early evening, at which point Khalil stopped near a large, flat boulder. “We camp here for the night.”

  “Good a place as any,” Oren replied.

  They climbed up onto the large stone and began to make camp. Oren unrolled his bedroll, and placed his jacket at one end as a pillow. The sun’s light faded as it slowly descended behind the shattered peaks. They dined on dried rations with an unhindered view of the stars. Khalil appeared to be dozing as they sat there, but Oren’s mind was too busy to sleep.

  “So what are all these massive stones from? Any idea?” Oren asked.

  Khalil slowly puffed on his pipe before answering, “This land once belonged to a kingdom long gone from this world.” He took another puff and blew a smoke ring. “It was ruled by King Eurig Teyrnon, a fiercely powerful man. Despite his strength, he possessed wisdom well beyond that of other rulers. His people too were resilient and wise. They loved and respected their king so much that they would drink to him in taverns, and bless him in their prayers. Many strived to embody what he stood for, and dedicated their lives to it.”

  Khalil paused again to puff his pipe and Oren took advantage of the opening. “If they were so powerful, how come they’re not still here?”

  Khalil continued as if Oren hadn’t spoken, “These grasslands were known as Eurig’s Veld, and the stones are remnants of a single structure that stood over seven centuries ago.”

  “A single structure? But these stones are everywhere. It would have had to be enormous…colossal!”

  “Indeed. It was beyond colossal. The Tower of G’shiyrah stood thousands of feet tall. It was an immense beacon of power. Some have suggested that it was the source of Eurig’s strength. Of his kingdom’s.”

  Oren was fascinated. “Power, as in gathering? As in kai?” Ever since Khalil mentioned it the night of Oren’s oath, he’d been frustratingly tight lipped about anything to do with gathering. As a result, Oren was beyond curious, and practically burst with excitement any time Khalil even hinted at it.

  “Yes.” Khalil paused, considering. “There are places in the world where kai energy is more concentrated. It is said that the Tower of G’shiyrah was a nexus, a place where our world intersected with her sister worlds. Legends tell of pilgrims who would travel between them, collecting knowledge and seeking enlightenment.”

  Khalil’s expression changed to one of despondent resignation. “The kingdom of Sunnmor was largely decimated in the Aeternum Wars. Those who survived were scattered and forced into hiding. The few remaining today have since abandoned their past, and no longer acknowledge their origins. If you were to ask them, they would deny Sunnmor’s very existence. Their descendants consider themselves citizens of the nations in which they currently reside, and will never know the great kingdom of their forefathers.”

  “Why would they deny their history? I mean, maybe the
y could start over somewhere new?” Oren asked.

  “Survival is a strong motivator. The Ministry Patriarch, or the Voss as it was known back then, had sworn a Blood Oath. He vowed to eliminate every last Sunn, down to the women, children, and elderly. For those who escaped, to acknowledge their past was a death sentence.”

  “Why did the…Voss hate them so much? Couldn’t the Sunn fight back if they were so powerful?”

  “They did fight back, for quite some time. Sunnmor was one of the few nations that held against the Voss Empire. The battles they fought were the stuff of legends. Their heroes overcame incredible odds. Perhaps one day I shall tell you of the battle of Caemon Fjord.” Khalil took a drink from his canteen. “The Sunn repelled the Voss for many years, and it seemed as though they would do so indefinitely.”

  “What changed? How were they defeated?” Oren felt the bumpy stone beneath him.

  “Gabrial was not one to give up, even after sacrificing tens of thousands of soldiers. You see the Patriarch is a frighteningly cunning foe. He is a man without conscience.” Khalil took another drink. “When he realized that he could not overcome Eurig with strength, he sought other means.”

  “Other means?” Oren asked.

  “Yes. You see Gabrial was Eurig’s brother.”

  Oren interrupted, “The Patriarch had a brother?”

  Khalil nodded. “Eurig was a righteous man. He chose to see the good in others, even when there was none. Despite Gabrial’s betrayal, he refused to give up on him. If he had, perhaps things may have worked out differently.”

  “It began the night a large black raven flew in through Eurig’s window. It hopped onto his desk, and upon closer inspection, Eurig found a small messenger tube strapped to its leg.”

  Oren settled in as Khalil’s story transported him into Eurig’s chambers, over seven-hundred years into the past…

  Eurig removed the tube from the bird’s leg and extracted a small, rolled up note. He unfurled it, revealing the message within. It was written in neat, tiny script.

  Brother,