by J R Devoe
D U S T
A Post-Apocalyptic Fairy Tale
1
J. R. DEVOE
Contents
D U S T
1
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3
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8
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10
11
12
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EPILOGUE
COMING SOON…
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Also by J. R. Devoe
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright © 2020 by J. R. Devoe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
Evening Star Publishing
First Printing: April 2020
Cover by Hampton Lamoureux of TS95 Studios
ISBN 978-1-7771231-0-9 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-777-1231-1-6 (eBook)
www.jrdevoe.com
For Rey Selina,
Welcome to Earth
1
—
NYA
DESERT SAND BURNS my feet as I stomp toward the great lion. Many of my kind would opt to fly at this opponent, to gain some height over him, or maybe get the drop from behind, but I need not employ such tactics. For one, the element of surprise is a coward’s advantage. That’s what they tell me, anyway, those who were caught off guard by my mother’s rebellion. But I am not my mother. I am Nya—Destroyer of Worlds!
Well, not really. ‘Princess of Ash’ is the best you’ll hear my folk call me. But the creature before me needn’t know that.
The great beast looks so regal in his pose, with three massive pyramids standing tall behind him. A hooded headdress hangs behind his ears to his shoulders, flaring wide at the neck, and gives him an air of royalty. With myself being five feet tall, this monarch is at least ten times my height. And that’s with him lying down!
But I’ve crushed greater beasts with my hands.
I spread my arms wide and say, “Greetings, mighty king. I hope you’ve enjoyed your reign here, for your end has now come.”
His limestone eyes stare over me impassively. That’s okay. I allow him this final moment of ignorance, for once he notices me, he shall tremble. All tremble at my approach.
I squeeze my hands into fists. “Well, go on…tremble!”
Still, nothing.
I smirk and crack my knuckles. “Fine,” I say. He’s in need of a little persuasion. “Any last words?”
The statue sits in silence as it has for—judging by its weathered face—thousands of years.
As I march into the shadow between his outstretched paws, my four translucent wings wrap instinctively around my torso to guard against the chill.
Sizing up the leg resting to either side of me, which stand at nearly twice my height, I can’t help but admire the size of this immortal being. Though, his physique must be a work of fiction. Skeletons I’ve seen littering the desert tell me the previous masters of this planet were, on average, similar to me in both shape and size. This monument is some sort of strange homage to a megalomaniac.
Exaggeration or not, it’s hard not to feel defenseless in my walk between its giant legs. If this figure were alive he could squash me like a pestering fly.
Well, he could try.
I press a hand against his chest and feel for the frequency range that holds this monument together at the atomic level. Every substance has a song—a silent, harmonic vibration that keeps its structure in solid form—and it’s my ability to hear this rhythm that shall be their undoing.
A dull hum radiates from deep within the limestone. I close my eyes and raise my heart rate to increase my body’s internal vibration, and direct this higher frequency through my hands and into the stone.
The megalithic statue above me rumbles in protest. Pebbles rain down upon me.
I smile. That’s it… tremble.
Raising my vibration, I send a higher frequency and feel the bonds that hold together this monolith’s particles strain to maintain their hold. This stress moves up the whole carved body, to its cobra-like headdress, and stretches the molecular bonds toward their breaking point. As I raise my frequency and approach resonance fragmentation, I look up at the king’s face and give him a smug look.
Zap! A shock breaks my connection and sends me stumbling backward.
I shake my hand and flex my fingers, which had curled tight against the electric jolt, and give the stone face overhead a suspicious appraisal. Though, I know it’s no spell that causes this resistance.
I spread my fingers wide and examine them in disappointment. I’ve not yet calibrated to this planet’s frequency enough to induce resonance fragmentation. I am an instrument out of tune.
I glare up at the statue. Looks like this giant shall continue its reign for a little longer.
Unless…
I ball both of my hands into fists and spring forward into a double punch, timing a disruptive vibration to shoot through my knuckles when they connect with the stone. A bad move. The energy rebounds and blasts me back through the air and onto the ground, where I’m left rolling around and gasping for breath.
Dust wisps down onto my face, and I shield my eyes to look up in time to see the head of the statue roll forward from its shoulders.
No!
Reflexes kick in and I roll onto my belly, then my already-buzzing wings drag me out toward the paws.
A crash behind sends a wave of sand washing over me and tells me I just narrowly escaped.
As the dust settles to reveal the facedown head resting atop its front legs, shame overcomes me. Such works of art do not deserve the fate I bring to them. We should preserve these monuments as a warning to the next species due to inhabit this planet, to remind them that other races had once thrived here. And their disharmony with their home had led to their undoing.
I step close to the decapitated head. Rubbing a hand over the smooth stone of its crown, I whisper a silent prayer for forgiveness from its creator.
A shiver rolls up and down my spine, and my guilt is suddenly replaced by an equally familiar feeling: fear.
I turn south to see a black blot in the blue sky. At first it’s only the size of my pinky nail, but it quickly grows so that I see two red wings flapping.
My heart races fast as a hummingbird’s. I spring into flight, whizzing west from the monument and sidelong away from the approaching predator. I set my bearing on a green tree line that stands between me and the western horizon. That newly grown forest is my only chance for safety.
I fly hard toward that sanctuary, my four wings buzzing twice as fast as my racing heart, which I feel as a throbbing lump in my throat. Cold sweat slicks my skin despite the blazing sun beating down on my back.
Risking a glance over my shoulder, I see my hunter has already devoured half the distance between us! A spear tip glints in the sun.
I swallow down my heart and return my attention to the trees ahead. In the open sky, my four, dragonfly-like wings can’t compete against the speed of my predator’s two
large foils, but in the forest I’ll gain the advantage of agility.
I put my head down to decrease wind resistance. My brown, shoulder-length hair blows back so hard that their roots threaten to rip from my scalp.
Waves of silky sand roll by underneath me. When it darkens to black earth, I look up to see I’m only a few heartbeats from the nearest trees. I glide through the first rank of trees and slow only enough to weave around trunks and branches.
A cluster of two dozen Fori, my tree-tending cousins, lounge on a perch ahead. On appearance alone you’d think we were the same species. Their four, translucent wings are identical to mine, and no doubt their panicked eyes watching my approach resemble my own. But it’s our abilities that set us apart. While the hands of these Fori sisters nurture trees to build up the new world, mine tear down the old.
They notice me speeding toward them and scatter in panic. Though, it’s not me they fear. They know what’s coming behind me.
A crash through the canopy above announces the arrival of my predator.
I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. So close!
I cut hard left, swerving around tree trunks and tearing through moss curtains. In theory I should be able to outfly my predator down here, but I won’t let this offer me a false sense of security. This new advantage has been replaced by a disadvantage, for now my attention is split between avoiding a collision with a tree and finding a safe place to hide.
Up ahead, a lone Fori clings to a mossy trunk and waves me toward her. She knows these woods better than me or any predator, so I respond to her summons. She hovers back from the tree, her clear wings buzzing excitedly, and she points to a hole burrowed under its roots.
I glide to the ground and, seeing her frantic eyes scanning the forest all around, I can only hope I’m in the clear when I dive under the roots.
My Fori savior pulls a pine bow over the hole and then flies away. Not even the forest’s best hiding spot is safe so long as it’s anywhere near me, and she knows it.
Light streams through gaps in the covering branches, but the darkness behind me is smothering. My breath shudders and seems to echo into an endless abyss below, so I cover my mouth with both hands and try to breathe as little as possible.
Outside, cheerful birdsongs suddenly die out. Tiny wings flutter away.
My heartbeat pounds hard on my eardrums. Despite the deafening tune, I hear voices whisper from the void behind me. They are the voices of those who my mother had led from the light and doomed to eternal darkness. They demand that I join them.
They aren’t real, I remind myself.
This assurance isn’t enough. I’m willing to risk a peek outside when the flutter of wings kicks my heart into a frightful dance. I recoil deeper under the tree, where the soil is cold and damp, and I swear I can see my breath puff before me in the faint light. I cover my mouth just to be safe.
The diagonal streaks of sunlight that stream down through the canopy seem to sink unnaturally fast, until the entry points nearly reach the ground. It’ll be sunset soon. Darkness is near, and I dare not find myself down here, alone with these voices, when full night takes over. Luckily, I have an idea.
I wrap my wings around my chest and belly, then smear wet soil over my body and rub it into my hair. If it’s a Watcher that awaits me, then I can only hope it mistakes me for an Ori. A really tall one, mind you, but it’s my surest chance.
I rub some muck into my hair for good measure and then slowly crawl out of my hiding spot.
A quick look around reveals not even a single insect. Everything seems frozen in time, including the leaves. Even the wind dare not trespass upon this place. I see why when I look upward.
Legs of copper skin stand like an arched doorway over my burrow.
I gasp and try scrambling back underground, but calloused hands hook under my armpits and hurl me out into the open. My wings react quickly to keep me from hitting the ground, but my attacker springs off the tree and tackles me to the forest floor.
Flipping me onto my back, she mounts me and presses a dagger to my throat. Two large, russet wings rise high above her shoulders. Sweaty strands of scarlet hair hang down from her head over my face.
“You’re getting harder to find,” Jaleera says. She watches me with unblinking eyes, and the vertical slit in each of those yellow orbs sends a shiver through me.
“You’re getting worse at hide-and-seek,” I say. The movement of my throat against the dagger point pinches my skin.
Jaleera stands and slides her dagger into a sheath hanging from her waist. “This isn’t a game, Nya. I checked your work area—you’ve been here a month and you’ve not dusted a single thing. Do you remember what happens to those who disobey?”
I sit up and rub my throat. “A delinquent spark goes straight to the Dark,” I say.
I shiver at the thought of spending an eternity in that nothingness. Ever since the Watchers tricked my people into serving them, they’ve used a portal to the Dark to keep us in line. That black hole is a cold, empty void where you spend forever alone in darkness.
“I’m not honed in yet,” I say. “This planet’s frequency is throwing me off.”
Jaleera shakes her head at me. “You’re too old to be using that excuse. Whatever resistance you’re feeling has nothing to do with Earth.” She pokes my forehead. “It’s coming from inside that head of yours. You fail because you won’t embrace what you are.”
“But it’s true. It’s so dense here—”
Jaleera smacks me upside the head. “Always excuses with you.”
My left ear rings and my temple stings where Jaleera’s hand had connected. I lower my head and prod the area to feel a wet spot on my brown hair, and when I pull my fingers away I see by their glistening tips that her nails had broken the skin. The sight of my own blood makes me lightheaded.
I’m lying down on my back when Jaleera seizes my wrist and launches into upward flight, dragging me up through the treetops with her. The sudden tug nearly rips my arm off, and it takes everything in me to keep pace with her as she hauls me northward over the canopy. Her bearing is set on a barren mountain that stands from the forest, its flattened top clear against the orange dusk sky.
My throat tightens. Has she finally had enough of my antics? I once saw a Watcher cut off a Fori’s wings before throwing her over a cliff. It was awful! Her tree-tending siblings said it was for faking sick to avoid work, which makes what I’ve been up to way worse.
My belly roils as we speed toward that mountain. I’m actually going to puke by the way my jaw is quivering, and I now realize illness would have made a better excuse for not getting my work done.
Cowering under the treetops below, Fori watch me with frightened eyes as my Watcher drags me toward a fate that only she knows.
Jaleera’s grip around my wrist tightens, her nails digging into my skin, as she picks up speed. Unlike my four narrow wings, her two giant foils catch more air and moves us so fast that it takes all my strength to keep my arm from popping from its socket.
We arrive at the mountain in record time and rise up its barren slope. That’s when the tremors kick in. Though my hand has long since gone numb, it still shakes like a leaf in a hurricane at the sight around me. The new forest stretches in every direction for as far as I can see, making this the perfect place to make an example of me.
We crest the level peak and fly across its flattened top to the northern edge. Here, Jaleera dumps me on the ground and hovers in a circle around me.
I rub my wrist and watch her warily.
She points to my feet. “Sit.”
My trembling knees collapse into a cross-legged position. I lock eyes on the sun setting to the west. If that red disk melting into the distant horizon is the last sight these eyes are to see, I suppose I could do worse.
Jaleera looms over me and points her spear down the western slope. “Look at how busy your cousins have been since they arrived.”
I trace her spear tip to an Ori gang
hauling a glittering blue net up the mountainside, just above the tree line. The crystalline material attracts the molecules that enrich even the most unforgiving ground.
“The Magister’s inspection is in a fortnight, Nya. What do you think he’ll have to say about your work?”
I keep my shoulders tense to disguise my relief. She wants me to feel guilty for not contributing, but I’m just glad she hasn’t brought me here for punishment.
I watch the stout, wingless Ori scramble up and across the incline so eagerly, motivated by purpose as they spread the shimmering blue net that resembles a massive spiderweb, creating conditions that races shall enjoy for ages to come. That’s their legacy. What am I to be remembered for?
A fool’s daughter, at best.
But for all their enthusiasm, their leader’s shouting suggests they aren’t moving fast enough.
I hug myself. Typical. Everyone always gets worked into a frenzy before the Magister’s arrival. He comes each year to inspect our progress, and he doesn’t take failure lightly.
See, whenever an intelligent species loses their home, it’s the Magister’s job to find them a new planet. Sometimes that means renewing the home of an extinct race, like this one. Gaia, they call her. And she has suffered greatly at the hands of her previous custodians. We have much work to do to heal her, but it’s not the first time we’ve tended her wounds.
My ancestors came here long ago, to reboot the planet after a great catastrophe. Our methods were different then. We worked alongside survivors to restore their habitats. The native folk called us pixies. Imagine, pixy! What a ridiculous name for a savior of worlds. If anyone ever called me that, they’d get a swift smack on the lips.
Jaleera kneels before me, blocking my view of the sunset, its orange light giving the loose strands of her scarlet hair a fiery glow. She picks flakes of dry blood from my hair, almost tenderly. Almost like she cares about me. Almost. But the way she grips her spear with her other hand, squeezing the wooden shaft as if itching to put it to use, betrays her true nature. How many disobedient Servants has she put an end to with its tip?